> The Trinity of Moons: Mending Shards
>  by Cloud Ring
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Prologue: Externity
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Blacklight's cutie mark



✨✨✨


P.S. I shall always be by your side. 


💡💡💡


Other words from the scroll she had dreamed slipped from Blacklight's memory even before she limped to the bathroom without opening her eyes and stuck her head under the cool water. It was a part of the unicorn’s waking-up routine. Then the anxiety melted away.

The last line stood before her eyes, perhaps a little blurry. A scroll with dark ink, both extremely outdated; somepony else's neat hornwriting in an unknown language. Blacklight had been sure of the meaning.

Moons did not seek loyalty — none of the three did. Everypony chose for themself, so there were cases when ponies were reassessing their first choice, feeling that other aspects, a different way to perceive the world or think about it, suited them better. Infrequent as they were, these, too, were decent choices.

Blacklight was not one of those outliers.

After taking a bath, combing her mane, tying it back in two tails with elastic bands and drinking three cups of coffee right there in her small kitchen, the unicorn returned to her only room. She cast a bedmaking spell that she herself had formulated long ago. It performed all the actions and checked edge cases — and yet, she watched the process over. This was a bad habit, a waste of time, because the spell simply could not make a mistake. She created it shortly after she had passed her entry exam for a university; now, three rounds later, she was in the middle of a study program and could create similar spells with a third of her mind, sleep-deprived or otherwise.

Yet, it was a pleasure to see how it worked, and that it indeed worked flawlessly. In this fashion Blacklight found her resemblance to Twilight Sparkle, and therefore did not blame herself for being alert and controlling. Not a favorite legendary pony's best trait, but still a favorite legendary pony's trait, wasn't it?

Twilight Sparkle was, of course, legendary, even if these legends were known to about three ponies per habitable sector. On the scale of Metropolis, the number of researchers and archivists who, along with Blacklight, understood who she was thinking about, would still be enough to fill a small stadium. Maybe even slightly more, leaving a small crowd outside at the entrance.

Blacklight turned on the projection terminal. She was devoting two-thirds of her computing quota to an astronomical project. More specifically, to search for ultra-distant, very dim, almost motionless stars on the sky map. Those that were absolutely impossible to see with the naked eye. Even telescopes would have to accumulate light for a long time so that a faint spot was then noticeable in the image. The eternal dance of many fast-moving nearby stars prevented these far away ones from being easily detected, and the ponies learned about their very existence not so long ago on a historical scale. Blacklight's grandfather was young then.

Strictly speaking, ponies had learned about them much earlier — nine generations ago, at least — but had long since put the knowledge aside on forgotten library shelves. They never had any importance for spells or ceremonies, unlike the nine major, zodiacal constellations and thrice nine minor ones that always kept their form through evershifting heavens and were an anchor for many rites.

But two generations ago, ultra-distant stars were listed as objects of particular interest to Black Moon, with the attachment of Her request for public cooperation on related issues. A square nine of rounds since that they never left the list.

Blacklight wrote a short letter about the dream on the terminal, accurately quoting the last line both in supposed meaning and — as a quickly and precisely drawn picture — in visible image too. She separately noted that this time she had no sensation of phantom wings.

With one touch she sent it to Black Moon. There was no need to enter the address — at one time Black Moon had explained to her how to unlock the direct personal access function built into each terminal. In Blacklight's apartment, this function was already unlocked and confirmed by the key and the consent of the Moon. Since then, to make contact she only needed to boop the nose of a specific 3D pictogram: a black alicorn with pink and purple strands in Her mane. 

The pictogram turned around and silently sneezed; a three-dimensional neon green sign of loops and sharp angles was woven from a cloud of drops, and Blacklight peered into it. A quick glance would have been enough, but consent made it easier to receive: “I have read your message. Please keep sending messages about similar occurrences. There is no cause for concern. There are no other suggestions for you. Thanks."

As always, these were not words but meaning, interpreted by Blacklight's mind alike to her own thoughts. At one point she had asked the Black Moon to show her how to create such symbols herself, ones that could be understood by anypony who was watching, but received a polite refusal: “For this, you need to structure your thinking in a different way, which will complicate your work and your designation. I can help you on this path if you choose it, but please do not make such a choice."

The phase clock, weather forecast and monitoring of the surroundings gave a pretty picture: only White Moon was approaching full glory, but She was nearing the horizon at the end of the phase, and the glory of the other two Moons was not even in the middle of the rise. Short drizzle, only touching nearby streets, then clear sky all around until the very end of the next phase. Estimated probability of the Red was about zero. Two packs of unbounds in the sector, both mono-colored, "white" and "blue" — both in transit, without inclinations to make a den in the sector. Other possible troubles — Blacklight scrolled down the page, glancing over — were also highlighted in calming blue or green.

Thus it was not unreasonable to leave her protective cap with a polarised visor at home.

Neither did she have the need to figure out the route to the nearest fully self-sufficient vault nor track on which side of the street entrances into short-term shelters were.

It was even okay for her to be habitually absent-minded on her way to the cafe, as the route did not intersect with either trajectory of the unbounds’ movement.

The latter fact was fortunate, everything beyond that was a variant of a norm. All the inhabitants of Metropolis who lived to adulthood and, therefore, survived the foalhood and unbound age, were always checking the state of the sky — for many reasons, but mainly because the Red did not always obey the forecasts; otherwise, it would not have been the Red.

Automated monitoring was only helpful in estimating the likelihood of future events. It could not replace personal survival skills.

Weather permitting, going out of the door, Blacklight was wearing nothing but a bag, thin-rimmed glasses and a communication bracelet on her left foreleg. The tall buildings of habitat sector 134-W, the playground carousel, the four-color traffic light pole all cast thick, trembling shadows. The air and paving stones were colored with a ghostly radiance, slowly shifting colors in an unpredictable pattern — orange, yellow, blue, white, yellow again. This Moon was undoubtedly White, according to the color of Her central disc, but the everchanging multicolored halo around the disk fascinated even those who saw it many times before. Even knowing that she very well could get lost in White Moon’s brilliance — could literally forget her destination and stray away to nowhere — Blacklight froze at her doorstep and took the picture in. 

That was full glory — in this case not even a true full glory, just approaching such. Pretty much all times it was confusing, impressive and dangerous for those who did not choose this particular Moon.

White’s full glory was mostly causing aimless wanderings or a yearning to prove one’s worth.

Blue’s was associated with gradual and inevitable poisons that were bewildering best medics of Metropolis, or outbursts of suppressed and powerful emotions.

Black’s one — ultraviolet one; this Moon’s first gift to those who aligned with Her was an ability to actually see this color — was most cryptic in effect. It was about insights and doubts so powerful and all-consuming, that a pony caught in Her glory was often losing connection to their previous life and hobbies. Sometimes Black Moon rearranged the very ability to think and speak so that those caught for too long in Her ultraviolet were becoming effectively deaf and mute to anypony else, including others suffering from this affliction. Only strong and pure friendships were sometimes able to break through this shell.

The Net stretched over Metropolis was significantly mitigating these influences. Not cancelling it outright; and, as everypony chooses for themself, there were areas unprotected by the Net.

Blacklight pulled a camera out of her bag and took a few pictures, despite knowing for sure that the camera would not be able to convey this magnificence. On her way to the cafe, she voiced a short message to Plum Jam on the bracelet — the pink pony thought that Blacklight was too rarely out of the house, and she would probably be glad about the very fact of the walk, even if she could not join Blacklight right now.

But Plum Jam would not be Plum Jam if she did not know how to squeeze out at least a slice at every such occasion.

In the nearby cafe — a dimly lit one-story building with three entrances, one on each side — they already knew her. Blacklight's status permitted her to take a plate of fruits, a plate of cheese and a bottle of juice for free — it could be any other similarly valuable meal, of course, assuming it was provided here.

She was in that weird niche of age and skills when money for work was already coming in but the income was still completely insufficient to transcend options provided by her second grade of status, if only rarely, and she simply had no patience to make savings. The status was enough for decent food, a well-equipped one-room apartment, transport within the sector, rare trips to the cinema and additional services at the terminal — that is, to accumulate status further on without much trouble or worries.

Money were sometimes needed to access the closed wings of the central library, but even that did little to drain her income. So she donated five bits to the development of the cafe, ticked the box “contact me if necessary; preferred skills include chemistry, search and small-weight transportation.” Then she re-entered her biochem index, as either it was not remembered from the last time, or the system wanted to make sure that the last time it was entered correctly. Then, finally, she went inside, chose a table for herself and lay down there comfortably among the posts through which nopony usually comes. Personal space was personal space. 

The marks on the menu, set by quick touches, let the kitchen know what to cook. Blacklight was in doubt for three beats, but to avoid a potentially awkward situation, decided to not order anything for Plum Jam, for now. However, the pink earth pony appeared a few beats later, as if out of thin air, together with a bunch of small jars of jam in a sling on her side and the namesake aroma — subtle but undeniable.

Plum made a few optional — pompous and embarrassing — congratulations that Blacklight had once again dared to look out the door. That was to say, aside from going to work or the university. Then she sat down opposite the unicorn, arranged her jars of jam in a row in front of her, and with a sweeping gesture offered Blacklight her choice. A beat of honest thought later, Blacklight drew in some strawberry jam. It could be a big nuisance in itself, if Plum did not dye it blue, as blue as Blacklight's magic.

Plum knew how to change the color of berries, although she did not like to do it. After several instances of food poisoning that had had no reason beyond the natural strawberry color left untouched, she considered the color change to be the lesser evil. To ease the deed, Blacklight herself had been helping her friend out in selecting food dyes to mask the forbidden color. But still, sometimes Blacklight saw that this stage of preparing the sweets made Plum upset. "It is no worse than the other colors!" she had exclaimed once, in a bout of frustration. "All of this over a big dumb superstition."

Blacklight had nothing to say then. Everypony could name among their acquaintances those who had a close friend who, in turn, was a living — or, more often, dead — example of the fact that the cursed color was, objectively, worse. She did not want to distress Plum even more.

Pancakes, sour cheese and jam were wonderful, and Plum was really interested in Blacklight’s work endeavours, although the brisk pink pony got confused about reagent names. Soon the conversation turned to Blacklight's designation — that was, to the Six and their stories, exploits and adventures. More precisely as to Blacklight’s research focus, the distribution of Applejack's descendants in Metropolis.

They could be found everywhere, in almost every sector, on any outskirts, but still noticeably more often at the very edge of the Great Desert. It was a strange choice for a home — the rather unfavorable weather required the constant intervention of pegasi, so that at least something worthy of attention would grow there.

“Maybe she just does not want to give up before a hard task?” Plum suggested, leaning across the table, all but touching her nose to Blacklight’s. “You have difficult topic too, and it is more than just your Moon and Her designation you agreed to follow — even without that you still really want to research the Six, don’t you?”

“Who is this ‘she’?” Blacklight asked.

“Applejack, of course.”

Blacklight coughed. "Um— she's been dead for a long time. We have talked about this.”

“Uh-huh.” Plum nodded. “You’d think so, but the reality is more tricky than you think. Just try to ask your Moon whether they are alive or not. Moons do not lie, let's see what She answers you.”

Blacklight nodded. “I have asked recently. Although this is nonsense, nopony returns from the Forest, nor from soul vaults. They did not undergo soul reimplantation... and Black Moon did not answer me anyway.”

“Didn't answer?” Plum tilted her head. “I think this is the answer! And it's positive!”

Blacklight chuckled. “Then why not say so? There are many ponies who would be happy to see them.”

“Many? You, me, your archivists, and that’s it? One small feast is enough, even this cafe would not be occupied for long.” Plum circled her hoof around. “The rest of the ponies have their own lives. If anypony remembers the Six, it is Metropolis Herself, not Her citizens. So, do you want me to tell you what's really going on?”

Blacklight nodded, and Plum whispered mysteriously, “They really want to be forgotten. They are ashamed that we made all this as we did. But don't despair. A lot will change soon, because the traveler returns victorious.”

“What…?” Blacklight blinked.

“Nothing!” Plum Jam giggled. ”You just misheard everything. So, three more pancakes and let's go to your house. I'll at least clean up there. The wrappers are probably all around the corners and dust is up to your ears.”

Blacklight blushed but curtly nodded. It was very impolite, very Plum-style, but very pleasant in the sense that there was a pony who cared.

Unlike many of Jam's other plans, she did not forget about this one, and for the rest of their common time, several slices until Jam became drowsy — as ponies of different Moons were active at different phases of a cycle — Blacklight had to endure the company of a hyperactive pink pony. Her room really became noticeably cleaner in the meantime.

"Endure" needed to be put in quotation marks, honestly. For all her oddities, Plum knew how to behave, so there was the only one occurrence of a hug without asking in advance. Like the last time, Plum asked no questions about the large, clear, pony-sized mirror standing against the wall. This distinguished their friendship from acquaintances with other ponies.

Given the difference in phases, an empty bed for Plum was trivial to find — she could simply sleep in Blacklight's. Though for the next few cycles, Blacklight would have to fall asleep to the distinct, sugary smell of preserved fruits.
> Chapter 1: Calling
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Solid Line's cutie mark


∿∿∿


: How can I become Your Herald?

The yellowish letters of civilian language flickered and wavered against a blue background. It was too late to cancel the sending.

A tabby feline flank obscured the question, wading between Solid Line and the screen. The library was quiet, and Signal, being primarily not a cat but a reimplant — the soul of a dead pony — knew how to behave.

The unicorn pulled the cat by her side, unrolled a map of sector 14-S on the library terminal screen, and delved deeper into the task. 

Computing systems were able to do a lot but not everything. Living ponies were required to outline the basic needs of the sector, from parks and benches to transport stops. They were to collect data and make a coherent picture out of it, to take into account not only the most probable events, but also catastrophes that happened no more than once a generation. For these tasks, a synthesis of organic and computer thinking was needed. Only in S sectors, where the line between living and non-living was blurred, could this synthesis be truly effective.

The work required referring to documents, making inquiries in the archives, concretizing the traditions adopted here, writing them down in precise formulations based on indirect signs.

Moving the coffee shop to the other side of the street increased the flow of its visitors by a fifth — on average, of course. A second newsstand around the corner, even as it had few customers compared to the first one, increased the satisfaction of residents in the area, because it provided them with a choice. The bowl of the fountain in the central square, if shaped as a six-pointed star rather than a circle, gave a long-term increase in migrations to 14-S.


∿∿∿


Solid Line was such a migrant. Three rounds ago, having already left the unbound age and having heard a lot from acquaintances how weird it was in S sectors, out of a sense of contradiction she went exactly there. Not to the nearest one, but the smallest of those that were nearby. The permitting reason was, of course, the fact that even then she was already aligned to Black Moon and was able to see Her in the starry sky. Without that, she heard, any of these sectors would be akin to a deep lake, freezing cold and completely inhospitable to her.

Had Signal resisted the notion, Solid, of course, would have abandoned this thought despite all her curiosity. But in response to a direct question, Signal simply arched her back, stretched, and affirmatively poked her paw right at 14-S, indicated on the unfolded map of Metropolis. 

A step into 14-S, after having just crossed a white stripe on the ground, the unicorn stopped and looked around. Rumors should have a reason, right?

She slowly turned her head, peering through magical vision too, perked her ears and listened to the silence, sniffed and found nothing special. She cast a few simple spells; they worked flawlessly. Yes, there were noticeably more stars in the sky — she had heard about that — and they did not dim in the faded light of Blue Moon. But the piercing cold about which others had spoken was noticeably absent; there was no crushing despair that would, supposedly, come from the heavens. It was almost the same as outside, beyond a few oddities. For example, there was no illumination on the road sign, and yet Solid could easily distinguish the letters of civilian language:

For guests of the sector
For potential inhabitants
For seekers of the unusual
Loneliness
Basics of movement
Unjustified expectations

She followed the arrow on the penultimate branch of the sign. After a few steps she turned her head and saw neither the border nor the pillar with signs nor even the sky. There was a storage room around. More precisely, its outline: gray walls, empty shelves, several greenish boxes against the wall. No lamps, and nevertheless all the outlines were visible, as was the inscription in common language on the wall of the impasse where Solid Line now stood:

“You will leave the course if you turn away and walk three steps forward.
You will continue the course if you turn away and walk three steps in any other direction.
You see this wall only because you have not yet been trained, but are already able to be successfully trained."

She smiled and froze in place; not a step, not a movement of her head.

Soon the inscription changed:

“This is also a correct answer. Don't be alarmed. You cannot make a mistake in learning, just continue it or return to other business. You can do whatever you see fit. Basic recommendation: Observe the directions of your gaze and movement at the same time. Your request for help will be heard.”

Solid Line teleported outside the sector. Easy, short jump: She had not passed even a nine of steps inside. She snorted, irritated but not angry.

“I am fine without any help, or do you think I'm dumber than you?”

Once again she crossed the boundary of the sector.

In subsequent cycles she did need help, and more than once. It was hard to wrap her head around the fact that space depended not only on where she was but also on where she was looking at the same time. That her first emergency, outward teleportation worked only because this reaction was foreseen and this path was deliberately open. That teleportation in 14-S was not a jump through known space, but an act of distinct and independent movement. There were places where she could only move by teleportation, not because there were abysses or walls like on an ordinary road, but because there was no ordinary road at all; it could not be.

Her dreams in hotel rooms devoid of lamps were full of flights, falls, wandering in labyrinths that did not exist — but she was not worried. She felt her own growing into something more complex. Solid Line knew that she could and, in a sense, she must cope. It was her world.

Indeed, she gradually grew accustomed to it. There were always other ponies nearby, not offering help with that and other matters, but ready to provide.

Ponies of 14-S were slightly more common than light sources — that was, they actually were there, somewhere, maybe at a horizon, as Solid got to see once she learned to actually look for them. They were larger than ordinary ponies, and Solid had never seen horns with such curves, or such dense plumage, or such clear shining eyes. Their coats were of gold, silver or ash, but, contrary to other ponies they actually could change their color at will. Much more often than Solid would have liked, they did not allow themselves to be seen or heard, although, of course, they remained nearby.

However, they were not particularly withdrawn or shy, just quiet and even more distant than it is usual in Metropolis. Over time, a circle of friends formed around Solid for walks to concerts or to embankments in a small company, and she even invited three especially cute stallions home. 

The 14-S's features were not limited to the unusual space. Communication of local ponies could be not only speech, not only telepathy and not only direct transmission of data but all this combined and more. That was exactly how, alone with a friend and too close to him, looking into the too bright eyes of the stallion opposite of her, she learned why the ponies here avoided showing themselves to others.

Because they can, albeit in rare cases, given rather close and prolonged contact, rebuild the existence of other ponies according to their own image. This did not apply to Solid then — at the time, she had already been one of the locals for long enough to effectively lead other ponies into ways and means of S too. It would be much easier with those yet unaligned though.

In the first luster she, too, learned to hide from inept eyes. In the second luster she got to know that everside, the esoteric layer of the world that was puzzling scientists of Metropolis for generations, here was just another hideout from the Red. In the third luster she realized that all these shifts in other directions were not a whim, but a necessity caused by an acute lack of space. And that all S sectors held onto those who loved them; so she also fell in love with her new home.

Almost three rounds had passed since then. Occasionally getting out to the rest of the Metropolis, Solid now felt the even and flat space more like as a playing field, spread out in anticipation of a long-awaited meeting.

It took a special effort not to look through the walls, as there was simply no ‘thickness’ in a few specific directions of her new sight. Behind each pony she saw there was a distinct trail of the route these ponies traveled to get there. Public transport was too slow and inefficient for her now. Frankly, for each long and crowded ride nine or so steps were enough — just in the other direction.

Solid's mind had many things to be busy with and it eagerly devoured new problems and questions, picking up answers to them. She solved the problems of arrangement — both of the sector and of herself in it, was chaperoning newcomer migrants, conducted evacuation exercises against infusions of the Red. Here too, unfortunately, these infusions did happen.

Each cycle, she felt that she still knew much less than she would like. Still, over a long time she became pretty sure that her past was slipping away in her trot for new knowledge; that she had not written letters outside the 14-S for a long time since the first and only one. It was pretty short and still tangled, ending with the same line it had begun. 

Sometimes it bothered her, but the slight confusion always went away whenever she directed her mind to the next problem. Little things were dissolved in the past, the usual road to her new apartments required unremitting attention, and life was almost endless — in the literal sense. In 14-S it was almost impossible to die, and the easiest way to keep a doll from coming to life was simply not to play with the doll. Best of all, not to make it in the first place.

Of course, this was not quite true life. Those who died once in 14-S wore purple bracelets as a silent reminder that they should not generally be taken out of the sector.

She forgot about her question to Black Moon — about her request to become a Herald — in the same way.


∿∿∿


The answer came a long time later, after Solid Line saw the bright glow of her own neon-green eyes in the dark glass of the terminal. She could not remember what they were like. She only remembered that they were not green.

>>> You are already a Herald. Probably.

The letter came from Black Moon, but it was written in a civilian language.

Black Moon has never used a civilian language in correspondence.

Solid pet the cat and answered without touching the keyboard, just reaching out to the terminal with her mind:

: Too vague words for a Moon. Forgive the rudeness of the question, but is it true that the Moons can lie in common writing?

The answer was a green sigil of true writing, one that did not require anypony to know the language, but nevertheless was clear to all those who have eyes and a mind behind them, and Solid also got the message: Moons do not lie.

Technically, it still was not the answer. But these signs were how the Moons actually wrote, to others, not Solid. For Solid, this was the first conversation with Her.

: Then why don't I know it yet? Where is the entry ceremony? Where are the uniforms and everything else that usually happens?

>>> Where you need it all. That is, nowhere. But I really don't know if you are Herald or not, in the future or now, here or never.

: How can You and I find it out?

>>> Come to meet me. Here is the address. Don't tell anypony about the meeting. If you break the condition, the meeting will not happen.

Solid hugged the cat tighter, looked at the screen, then into the cat's bright green eyes. The same as hers. This could be a family trait if Solid did not know better.

“Will we go?”

Signal — that was, Signal Line, the deceased aunt's reimplant — made a distinct nod.

Solid giggled. “Even if it's not the Moon... then, for sure, it will be interesting and unusual. Am I right?”

The cat nuzzled her.
> Chapter 2: Preparation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


∿∿∿ 


Ponies have a saying: When visiting Black Moon, start with a list. It was known throughout the city as an universal advice for ‘If you’re puzzled, don't be afraid to question surroundings and ask for help’. For those who lived in S sectors this was more a landmark than saying.

As Black Moon was about to dip below the horizon, before going to bed, Solid set three alarm clocks for nine slices before the Moon’s zenith. Specifically, electronic one, mechanical one, and a self-decaying acoustic spell just to be sure. 

When they came off she made and ate breakfast from appropriate and nutritious foods,  checked the charge of her  bracelet. She put in her bag her notebook enchanted to withstand all the possible troubles that can happen to paper; reliable, fresh writing refills; and a book with an illustrated hardcover.

Not that she expected the Immortal to be late. The book, an entertaining science fiction novel, was more like a talisman, an appropriate symbol of Black Moon. Still, had the alicorn been late anyway, Solid would have a pleasing time in waiting.

She focused on the pattern of the flooring that consisted of spirals slowly rotating inward. Tuned to it, she chose a version of the balcony to visit: one that was facing a slow river and an unending thunderstorm instead of a library or a sky. She stopped any thoughts for a third of a slice, just breathing in the wind, inhaling smells of ozone and fresh leaves.

I wonder if Moons do that.

For such an early wake-up there were a few reasons besides the natural thrill from a personal meeting with the Moon.

First, she wanted to take a walk.

Solid turned around, shutting her eyes, and went down an openwork staircase, which was not there just now, from the blank wall of a completely different house onto the pavement.

A curving boulevard lined with sparse trees and frequent stalls was a place that meant “I want to be seen.” By 14-S standards, crowds were swarming here. Sometimes two or even three ponies next to each other.

On Solid, anypony with an eye could read "Wish me luck." It was true generally, not only in 14-S. In Metropolis, you either know how to be attentive and sensitive, or you are unlikely to survive for very long.

She imagined how, perhaps, she would feel their respectful joy for her, had she followed Blue Moon. By aligning to Black Moon, you do not get much empathy, but you learn to build models and observe.

She knew that this joy was here, imperceptible, beyond the reach. Sometimes, instead of joy, she imagined sympathy.

This sympathy would be expected, and there lay the second reason.

Being into her fourth round in 14-S, Solid knew for sure: Moons appreciated and understood ponies. Besides citizens of Metropolis, They had nopony else to be friends with. Thus both sides had to accept friends as they are and care for them. In this relationship Moons were more observant, and looked right through time at many threads of fate. Sometimes it hurt. Sometimes it was lethal. Sometimes it was lethal more than once.

So, the second reason: she wanted to delay the moment of the meeting.

The street ended with a viewing platform overhanging a small calm lake. Standing in a place unobtrusively marked with a pattern of road slabs, Solid set her thoughts on a business-like mood and teleported no matter where.

Each street had its own state of mind and soul.

She took the feeling of “My life will never be the same again” and discarded it forever, like a worn-out raincoat. She moved through the downtown. She modeled urgent worries, accurate calculations and fear of failure in her mind. It was a toy to play with, not any accurate prediction or observation. Just a method to cope with her jealousy of Blue Moon’s ways.

The computing center, where she certainly would not get to work in this cycle, seemed unfamiliar and alien. Work was going on there without her, and that was bewildering. The lights were on and familiar voices were heard.

But Black Moon taught not to turn away from new experiences. Even if the experience makes you feel like you are bleeding. She trotted past that building.

Fear and efficiency were making sorties onto each other: repeat the list to herself, watch the time, hold the stylus correctly, don't ask stupid questions, don't forget to ask smart ones, don't forget to be thankful for the meeting.

The high seven-sided spire of the reassigned center for the sector served as the designated meeting place. She walked by without hesitation. In 14-S, the direct route was not always the shortest, while the shortest was not always the best.

What she needed now was emptiness. Turning to the drawing on the wall, cutting a corner, then again, she walked out into a semi-abandoned area.

Because there was also a third reason.

There were places in the Metropolis that could not be fully called wastelands- nor anything else definite. Somepony still lived here, maintaining incomprehensible brick sheds and large pipes and planting bushes.

Such places were loved by urban nature.

Insects swarmed in the thorny brown grass. Rodents rustled, semi-homeless cats stalked quietly. It was the most empty and boring area for everypony but her.

What pulled her here every time? What made the calculator, urbanist and rationalizer by vocation and profession rejoice at this unhygienic chaos of living nature? Solid did not know. She never went to zoos though.

There was a slice left until the meeting. The wasteland ended, leaning against the door of a tall building. She arrived.

The elevator, cool, gray and clean on the inside, went on endlessly. There was no more fear. It was a little boring.

The bell rang and the doors flew open.

Around the bend of the perfectly straight corridor with a discreet-coloured carpet, her fate awaited, likely involving an offer of a designation, which she would likely accept.

Signal went halfway out of the bag and meowed — loudly, alarmingly, warningly.

She entered through a high door into a huge office with a panoramic window and a massive table, decorated in straight lines and muted colors.

She saw a clear mirror in front of the table, and a reflection of Solid Line, already standing on this side of it.

Where and when had I been reflected? Solid did not think about it much. When you see a double sent by the Red, it's usually too late to think about the reasons.

She was alone and, therefore, she could not risk attacking the double. It had no such limitations.

Solid saw not a trace of Black Moon. She raised her magic shields against possible attack types — kinetic, thermal, electric — and turned to her copy politely and calmly, “May I ask you why you came over to this side, and what do you need?”

Not all meetings with doppelgangers ended in combat. More often they simply reminded of something forgotten, offered strange things, asked for the impossible. They always sounded angry and envious of that which was eternally desired and eternally beyond their reach: being alive.

“You have a choice to make,” it said in her voice, familiar yet eerily alien and trembling, as if somepony forgot to close a window tightly and left it to rattle in the chilly wind, rattle loud enough to be heard over the sounds of instruments and singing and laughter.

“I always have a choice,” Solid Line nodded. “Do you intend to offer it?”

The reflection turned sideways to her. There was no mark on its flank. There was not a trace or a line on the even yellow background of its coat — and yet this background was not the usual absence of a pattern. On the double, literally and palpably, there was a gaping absence of what was cut off by the mirror edge and forever frozen behind it, unable to achieve reality. Not "zero", and definitely not Solid’s own pink wavy line, but a deep minus, eye-catching like a bottomless abyss.

A single touch of the doppelganger to the mark of the original not only could kill — it was guaranteed to kill.

“Yes,” said the reflection. “I can leave and you will meet Black Moon as you intended. Or I can give you back your memory. After that, I will leave, too. I don't need anything else. For the choice to be balanced and fair,” it laughed, and the laughter was a blizzard far from home, “in the first case, when I leave, I will take your cat with me. Forever.”

Signal meowed briefly, and Solid clearly understood, "I agree to come with it."

Solid disagreed. She did not even have to think about it, “Well... I choose memory. I really miss it.”

She did not have time to finish the thought, as she stumbled and fell into memories that were not there.
> Chapter 3: Remembrance
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


∿∿∿


"Mom, why do you keep leaving? I keep waiting and waiting for you, and then you leave again."

Igni leaned over to Solid, rubbed her nose over her foal’s cheek.

"For the Moon's deeds. It should be so. Do you like playing with other foals? And two cycles before you and I went to the pool. Next cycle, I promise, we will go to Underrock Mountain. In order for you and me to have all this, I must sometimes fulfill White Moon's requests."

Solid frowned, “You always say that. I've already tried to count the slices when you are away. Somewhere in the second nine I get confused."

Mom did not answer right away. She tugged her under her wing of sparkling, pure gold and sat down.

"You will understand later, dear. You will choose your Moon and you will understand," Igni said.

Solid coughed and winced, and tried to reconcile, "Oh... okay. But can you at least not smell of blood when you come back? And buy me dewberry ice cream."


∿∿∿


“Mild confusion is typical for those who have just passed into adulthood.” The cream-colored pegasus looked directly at Solid, hovering on the far side of a green line on the floor, her face full of respectful sympathy, “Welcome to society. Do not rush to answer but this is an important question: would you like to return to your relatives, or, conversely, write to them that you would rather sever all connections? If preferred, you can also hide from their searches without such notice. Still, the last letter is more traditional.”

Solid hesitated, “I don’t remember them— I don’t remember anypony. Is that how it should be…?” She blinked, trying not to give out how scared she was.

“Well… you came up from the unbound age less than a cycle ago, right?” Solid nodded, and the pegasus gave her an encouraging smile, “It would be a miracle if you remembered. Personal memory can return, within one luster. It may never come, but this does not mean that you are by any means less capable. Rather, statistically, the opposite is true. So, take your time. In this luster of your life, Metropolis is especially sensitive to you, and She would especially like you surviving.”

Solid lay down on the opposing bench, looked at the pegasus and smiled timidly, “Tell me, is it possible to quickly check what my abilities are and what I am in fact capable of? Also, were there among my relatives those who wanted to find me when— if I get out of the unbound age alive? If so, can I find out their addresses?”


∿∿∿


"Would you like to come home?" Solid Line turned her head away, afraid to look at her brother. She knew that he would refuse, even as the road to his place took her more than seven cycles from the very center of Metropolis to Her outskirts.

"My home is here," Dotted Line hoofed around his apple orchard, "And, most importantly, here," he playfully pushed the beige earth mare next to him with his forehoof; she smiled awkwardly and reached out to hug Solid Line. The unicorn swiftly retreated; they both laughed, and Solid Line blushed involuntarily.

"But I need you. I never found our father. I need... somepony from our family by my side," Solid Line said.

"I see. You can stay here. We will be really happy to have you around," he replied, smiling.
Solid Line closed her eyes and sighed, still not making direct eye contact.

"There are no schools of my level here. I’d like to repeat my question. Please reply." She side-stepped, and at the same moment turned her head to Dotted Line, the point of her horn a bit lower than it should be in a less tense conversation.

"I could invite you in a less shrouded way instead. I already looked the school up for you — the University of Remnant Sciences looks promising."

Solid Line glanced at him. I do not want to refuse straight away.

"I'll think about it. If I agree, I’ll write to you. I want to look into an S." she said.

Dotted Line walked over to her, and this time she did not pull away. He poked her with his nose, forcing her head up.

"Yes, please, think about it. I understand that you want to remain 'in sight of Electra,' so to speak. But S sectors are in exile, frankly.”

"Do not press her," the beige mare interrupted. “The poor filly, albeit an adult, is already one step from turning around and running away," She went to Solid Line and stood in line with her, against Solid’s brother.

Then she spoke to Solid directly, "We will be glad to see you. Always, whenever you come and whoever you become."


∿∿∿


"Turn her over onto her stomach, put her head slightly below the level! And watch her breath, if it starts to get troubled, place vanadinite in a triad around and direct—"

"I know!" Solid Line shouted in reply.

The mare in the blue robe on the other side of the projection nodded, "Good. Now wait, and the team will arrive soon. We are doing our best, but the number of afflicted by the ongoing infusion of the Red is above all reasonable expectations."

She disabled the connection and walked into the room where Igni Line’s listless body was sprawled. Solid’s legs were shaking at every unsteady step. Everything was blurry and swaying slightly.

Why? The Red, why do you hate us so? And why did this happen to us?

There was a knock on the door. Solid Line turned awkwardly, opened the door without asking who had come. Signal Line gave her a stern look through her glasses from top to bottom and marched past her into the apartment.

"To the bathroom, wash and tidy yourself up. I will come and check," Signal Line growled.

"But, auntie..."

"No 'but'. You will not help her with your tears. And, as we will stabilize my sister and send her to the hospital, I will immediately start teaching you. I hope you will do your best. And mind you, for breakfast — every breakfast — I love croutons."

"Teach what, and for what reason?" Solid Line lowered her voice. "Don’t even start to pretend that you know how to deal with the Red. And why can even Blue Moon do almost nothing against it? Aren't healing arts in Her domain? Or, I don’t know, could White Moon burn it to cinders and cinders to nothing? Isn’t that what She has to do?!"

"Yes, They cannot win against the Red; and my knowledge will not guard you against the Red either. But it will help you. When you will become useless for and rejected by your chosen Moon, my lessons will stay with you," Signal Line replied calmly.

Solid Line barely found the strength to keep her voice relatively calm too, "Yes, and let all the Moons go away! What is the point of every one of them while there is the Red?!”

The aunt looked at her, coughed, but said nothing. Glasses on her nose gleamed faintly.

"I would do anything to ensure this doesn't happen ever again," Solid Line exhaled.

“Me too,” her aunt said quietly. "Me too. But there are things that we cannot change."


∿∿∿


Her memory of the ocean was sparkling. Soft sand lay under Solid Line's hooves, bright stars shone above and directly in front of her, a gentle hum of dark waves carried all over the beach, and little blue spots of fluorescent plankton were left on it by the waves to wither and eventually dim to nothing.

She walked closer to the ocean's edge. One step after another, hearing the soft hum that rose and fell with each new wave in an eternal cycle.

She looked down to the water, and saw that it was the abyss stretched far, far down and full of stars. And among them — the undeniable presence of Black Moon, the clear-cut circle of absolute darkness in the starry sky, all-seeing and eternally curious, Electra's eye, as it was sometimes called.


∿∿∿


Solid Line woke up on the floor of the office. There was no double, nor a mirror. She was unharmed, and only the faint smell of rot reminded her that the doppelganger was indeed here.

Now Solid knew she began to lose her memory even before she moved to 14-S. The cat, her body heat a tangible contour pressed to Solid’s back, was there. Solid knew what Signal Line had looked like before, when aunt was still a pony.

She tried to get to her hooves and realized that she was unbearably weak. Her body was a dead weight and every movement could be conceived in theory; in practice she just could not force herself to actually make it.

Well, yes, what did you expect from the creation of the Red, she chuckled to herself, then asked the cat to call somepony in for help and passed out.


∿∿∿


Black Moon lay next to her, the alicorn’s head resting on Her front legs. No armor, no artifacts, no lightning — just a very thin dark alicorn with deep-set purple eyes in a bony skull. A cup of nutritious broth in a greenish aura sank in front of Solid's nose. She did not refuse the treat.

Solid raised her head —  they were in the same office where the double met her.

Was that Your plan? she tried to ask and the Moon answered her in her own thoughts, Your meeting with a double? No. Other things that were related to you since entering 14-S? In a few cases, yes.

Solid did not even have time to formulate the question about memory, and Black Moon had already been answering in a calm and even tone like a second voice at the edge of consciousness, All mortal inhabitants of the S sectors have the problem of the dissipating past. Usually you lose what you do not really want to remember. It is interesting that you have supplanted from your memory both what you considered to be My invitation and your anger at the Red. In your case, I did not make any conscious interventions in your memory.

Would you like to accept me as your Herald? Solid thought, And thanks for saving me from the Red!

I would be honored, there was no smile in the thought, But you deserve more, Solid Line. You are one of those mortal ponies that I have been waiting for generations and I do not want to lose again.

Waves of weakness were rolling over, spots of color floated before her eyes. She tried to look around in search of the cat, but turned her head in the entirely wrong direction. The Moon's voice in her head became a little faster; more alarmed.

You can awaken a miracle. You can defeat the Red, even though the Trinity of Moons cannot. But you will need the help of other souls. And before that, a very long sleep.

Will we talk again? I have so many questions! Solid asked. What about Signal? And what's the catch?

We will, Black Moon assured her. More than once. Signal will stay with you, it's her own condition to participate. The catch— the alicorn fell silent and Solid thought that she would not get an answer.

Yet she got one later on, This path will not do without losses, by the very nature of the path. You will understand later. And, unfortunately, we — both of us — will have to wait for your fellow travelers on the road for a miracle. It takes time. You will find out the details later and there will be more than one choice for you. Until then — sweet dreams, Solid Line, and know that you deserve them.

Okay, Solid thought and fell asleep. In this last beat she had one more question about the Moon’s exact quoting from the book that she had taken for the meeting as a talisman. This question, too, had no answer for now.

Her dreams were long, colorful and outlining her possible new purpose; without any actual change at first, just exploring options for the seemingly-impossible along the minor fault lines of reality that, if properly cultivated, could damage and break it. That was one of Black Moon’s aspects, after all.

A little later, they ceased to be dreams.

Signal always remained at her side, even when she once again parted with her memory, willfully and for greater purpose this time.

But neither in this round nor in the next nor nine rounds later, did Solid Line return to 14-S.
> Chapter 4: Ease
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Gentle Touch's cutie mark



⊛⊛⊛


Gentle Touch was a very young earth pony. She rested contentedly in Blue Moon’s soft fur, gazing into Her mane of eternal twinkling stars and smattering of nebulae. Gentle listened to the silence and thought of nothing in particular. There was no pain, no fear and no waiting for the next bout of queasiness, only Blue Moon and Her unending calm.

The pale orange earth pony raised her head to look into her Princess’ turquoise eyes, and Blue Moon smiled back.

“Do you know that you are powerful?” Moon said.

Gentle Touch thought about it, and doubted — not Moon’s words, but herself. Yes, she was able to help tulips sprout while working with her mom and dad, but then who couldn’t? And then there was that one time when she felt that a friend fell down in the cellar. Not heard but felt that Dispassion’s legs were hurt; that the unicorn was suddenly in the cramped and dark space; that she was lonely and afraid, and couldn’t even cry out for help. Gentle Touch decided to come down too and speak with Dispassion until the unicorn’s parents returned from their work. She took away another pony’s pain for the first time then… yes, maybe it was something to be cautiously proud of… but powerful? Nothing of that sort.

Especially since the Red looked at her right side through an unshielded window. Her coat there never would be the same as it had been.

And so Gentle Touch shook her head and blushed. “No, my Princess. I am just a pony.”

Blue Moon laughed, and the sound was as quiet stars in infinite space, points of light which never drew too close to each other, but who took comfort the others were there.

“Still, you have the will to deny Moon’s sayings. That is pretty powerful in my book.”

“But does it matter if I am going to—” Gentle Touch never finished; she suddenly got a mouthful of deep-blue feathers.

“You will survive,” Blue Moon assured, and in that moment it was always so. Because what Moon does say in word exists and what Moon keeps in silence does not.

Then Gentle Touch slowly surfaced from dreams to reality. Pain was the principal feeling there, sometimes weak and subtle, sometimes hot and throbbing. In a few cycles she learned that aquamarine lights on appliances surrounding her were usually good and promised a few relaxing slices. Yellow and orange ones were usually bad, and scarlet was… nothing could be said about scarlet, the cursed color, ever. Then, of course, the color was barred from entering her hospital room too.

Still, it was there, in her feverish ravings, until they eventually came to an end.

She had been visited by Blue Moon, or Desire, as She was sometimes called, in her dreams as well as in the waking world. Gentle Touch noticed that all other ponies that ever happened to be around Blue Moon tried to avoid Her sight and Her attention. But she herself paid no mind for that. Moon was always nice and polite next to her.

These visits were, then, exceptionally common — out-of-the-blue common, if Gentle Touch would have been in a mood for puns; later on she did giggle on that. Gentle Touch had lived in a hospital sector for a really long time. In her first luster of many to pass there she spoke with Blue Moon many more times than, on average, a pony does in all their life. And it had gone on like that, continually without pause: at least a single visit per three cycles, or nine visits per luster, no matter if Blue Moon had been waning or utterly magnificent in Her full glory.

She taught Gentle Touch to actually see the lines of pain, to move along them and draw them away from minds. A few lusters later Gentle learned how to ignite them in self-defense, and more than once she had been reminded of the consequences of doing so. Then, exactly one full round, or exactly nine lusters, or exactly three square nines of cycles since she had been first visited by Blue Moon, well on the way to her own recovery, she had delivered her first painless eternal sleep, and in doing so became a full-fledged Herald.

She cried in her room after that, and reminded herself, then and now, that she was just a pony, and that it was not her place to decide who should live. Five lusters later, she still saw the patient’s face in her dreams. Blue Moon comforted her for a while but then said that the memories are to stay for now, and that She would not alleviate the feeling, because without it the applications of Gentle Touch’s powers might eventually become too frivolous.

Only a few cycles ago she found that she actually could don her blue uniform without a twitch of sadness in her heart. She did not like wearing it though. She did not wear it if she could — mostly it was just there, in the bag, silently confirming her being a Herald. The uniform was hidden, rolled up in her bag when she finally left a hospital sector, as well as right now. 

Now, in a train approaching the center region of Metropolis, she felt unsure about… pretty much everything. Where to live, how to find a friend in this busy community, would she be dismissed by colleagues?

Also, did the designation that she treasured in the envelope at her chest — one that she was constantly checking to make sure that the sheet sealed by the Trinity of Moons was not, against all odds, lost — mean that she would be mostly alone? 

Once ponies deduced that you were a Herald, they usually minimized contact with you. For them, you were a function — healer and painkiller, in her case — rather than a living pony, and sometimes Gentle Touch asked herself if she had made the correct choice then.

Only sometimes, of course. Right now she was tugging the lines of three heartbeats and one headache almost subconsciously. The foal nearby was sound asleep for six slices straight while his grandmother found that she actually could tell her husband how she really loved him without being distracted by aching temples.

They never looked at Gentle’s small orange-tinted form on the top shelf too closely, of course, and no “thank you” was needed.
> Chapter 5: Companionship
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


⊛⊛⊛


Gentle Touch jumped off a short retractable ramp into the warm drizzling rain and took a few steps from the edge of the platform. Large drops began to gather and roll from her pale orange fur, unusually dense for an earth pony; Gentle shivered and looked around for a kiosk. There were too many ponies around with bags, suitcases on wheels, or loaded trunks on their backs. In this short inspection, Gentle saw more ponies than she had seen in her own sector for a luster.

“But I forgot my umbrella…” she said aloud, and immediately mentally reprimanded herself for an unnecessary lie. In fact, she was simply too lazy to come upstairs for an umbrella and a raincoat and to look for them among the boxes and packages before leaving: In the past nine rounds they were needed no more than three times.

She sniffed to find the station cafe but smelled nothing apart from the hot metal of a train and rails, strong rail grease, slight traces of pickles in other ponies’ personal bags, and the ponies themselves — irritated, contented, anxious, waiting. At the home station, from where she departed less than two cycles ago, the cafe could be smelled from at least three throws away, but here... it was as if nopony had ever lived here!

Gentle closed her eyes, searching for the right kinds of lines. Among the many colors she could sense, she tried to concentrate on the white lines. And of the white lines, she sought the warmest among them, but not necessarily the hottest. A calm one, without sparks and throbs. 

She went to it, almost being knocked down by a couple on the way. A mare and a stallion, in a hurry for the train, ran side-by-side and left no space for her, nor even noticed her.

For the first few lusters everything will most likely be fine for them both; quite close, but not identical spectra.

She had had no time to look at them any closer, to form any more than this brief impression.

Gentle Touch apologized; the stallion nodded that no offense was taken. After that she kept her eyes open, although that meant she saw no lines anymore.

She cautiously approached a tall, graceful grayish-white pegasus mare in a White Moon’s uniform. Said mare was deep in a crossword puzzle under a yellow streetlight, and right now she was filling in another guessed word.

Gentle Touch waited for her to finish and asked quietly, “If I don’t disturb you… I have a question. A few questions. Can you help me?”

The mare smiled, turning her head to look at Gentle Touch and shaking it slightly; raindrops scattered from her short white and purple bob, but apparently this did not bother the pegasus. She dropped a marker in her bag, and replied brightly, “Oh, but of course, dear. It’s okay, I'm here and poised to listen.”

The pegasus opened a badge’s cover on her left foreleg, and lifted it, showing: transport sector double zero, Cursory Streak, 120211002.

“Where can I shelter from the rain, and how do I get to habitat sector 12-S?” Gentle asked.

The badge snapped shut.

”You intend to go there for a... long time?” 

“Not sure yet... I have my designation. Why does it matter?” Gentle asked in turn.

"Then a pair of guiding glasses will be quite helpful," Cursory smiled. “Don't worry, I'll buy them for you. You should know that in S sectors, only locals are really comfortable traveling without a pair.”

“No, no, I have the bits! And, I had one more question… it still rains, you know.” Gentle tried to shake the moisture out of her white mane too, without much success.

“You can look for me,” Cursory took a short run, and with two strong flaps of wings sent herself skyward. 

Gentle looked up and shouted, “Hey, where are you going? And why can't we just use our hooves?”

“We could, but it’ll be slower, and you are already wet! In case of fences, jump over!” came the response from above.

Rude much…? Gentle hurried up so as not to lose sight of the pegasus. As if she didn’t even notice that I have no wings!

She really had to jump along the road once, on a half-open bridge across the highway. But the rest of the route turned out to be smooth, and only once was Gentle at a loss for a few beats, with a run-up that crashed her into the space under the arch. From there the road obviously went further, just the arch simply stopped her as an invisible resinous obstacle. She had to turn around and look for another way. What if she flies away…? whispered fear. As if you can't find somepony to persuade, another voice in her head replied with a light-hearted laugh.

But, nevertheless, after a time, Gentle Touch calmed down and entered the rhythm of an easy canter, neither hurrying nor hesitating, managing to look around and evade passers-by, and correctly run under permissive signals at intersections — Cursory Streak clearly led her in an exactly intended way such that the earth pony never had to stop.

So, a slice later, the half-open doors of the restaurant appeared in front of her, a bright lemon light pouring out from within. Heavy drops of the rain — by now almost a downpour —  beat her coat in an uneven and frequent rhythm. Cursory dived five steps from Gentle, and a vertical torrent of wind descended on Gentle, rustling her white mane.

“All right, here we have the ‘Garden of Forgotten Finds.’ A pretentious name, to be sure, and I certainly do not recommend forgetting about it!” Cursory giggled. “At least, not until you tire of it. But most of the food is decent, and there is no queue at the tables at this time of the cycle, so you needn’t worry about taking somepony’s place while you dry. Here we can also buy you some guiding glasses.” 


⊛⊛⊛


It was nice to meet you, reputable Herald Gentle Touch. The session is over, the disembodied voice whispered not in her ear but in the back of her head. Gentle put her newly-acquired guiding glasses on the restaurant table and took two more large sips of grapefruit juice. Colors and contours were painfully bright, even as she knew for sure there were no modifiers in the salad or in the drink. It was just... there were too many ponies around, and she was too unaccustomed to the glasses’ link. Even now, with glasses on the table, she still had been vaguely annoyed about how they worked. 

She rolled the glasses’ white case in her hooves, peering at the logo: the utterly black silhouette of an alicorn rearing up on her hind legs with barely noticeable pink and purple strands in the mane. 

Three rounds ago the purchase would have been out of reach due to her status, but now, with her being Herald and with Cursory Streak’s help, it had cost her almost nothing. Less than delivery service. Only one unit, no replacement except under warranty, so she should be cautious to not break anything, though. She tried to close the case for a few beats, felt awkward, but then it clicked satisfyingly, and Gentle Touch looked at Cursory.

“Thank you for the treat and for helping with…” According to the packaging, the glasses were ‘conditionally safe route planner, personal form factor’ but it was too much of a mouthful and did not match the friendly and attentive voice inside the glasses.

“With a companion, you wanted to say,” Cursory Streak laughed. “I see you’re not doing very well with it. Maybe you’d like to spend two or three cycles at my house until you get used to it and have time to look around? I’d prefer to keep working but while I'm away, make yourself at home. Cosmetics, books — mostly just detective novels, mind you — and a hot tub with a shower! I can find you an extra bed if need be. But it’s okay to just use my own; your alignment isn’t White, is it? And your smell — an unripe apple, to my nose — is quite cute, I definitely smell that this isn’t a perfume. So I don't mind having you around.”

Gentle Touch blinked twice, and took a closer look at a pegasus. Ever closer, almost to a cutting pain in her closed eyes. I’m sure there is no— almost no, she corrected herself— sexual attraction to me.

A pity. Maybe I could play with it, ignite it some more if I followed that other aspect of Blue Moon…

She stopped herself dead in the tracks of this thought, sent the train of it to the home station, and locked all its doors to be sure. Heralds should never misuse their powers for disproportional personal gain, she recalled the lesson; exhaled slowly. 

She tried to be quick in refusal, until Cursory read the stammer. “Thanks for the offer, but I’d better go to my address.” She touched the envelope with the designation sent by the Trinity of Moons. “I don’t want to postpone, let it be as it should be.”

Cursory replied in an instant, as if expecting the refusal, “In that case, I'll fly with you.”

Gentle shivered again, but no matter how much she looked, she saw nothing but benevolence and a will to guard and protect. Well, yes, of course, White Moon has this aspect too...

“Okay, but I want to get to the place myself, without your prompts. You won't always be there,” Gentle Touch said, trying to sound confident.

“Of course, dear!” Cursory Streak held out her hoof, and Gentle Touch confirmed the deal with a short bump in return.
> Chapter 6: Movement
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Cursory Streak's cutie mark



☄☄☄


Cursory Streak always loved Metropolis, and the feeling was mutual. She was flying over the avenues to the horizon with four-colored blinking of streetlights and airlights, high arches over the streets. There she was, entering a dive, folding her wings, rushing between the black-gray walls, and rising again to a Moon, closer to the Net.

Most often it was White Moon, according to Cursory’s chosen alignment and thus phase of the cycle. She was too much of a sleepyhead to see the others often. She liked to bask in Her ghost-fiery brilliance, listen to the wind, catch a message or three sent by other pegasi on distant winds,

“Better to meet after the Conjunction—”
 
“—no, wait, how long?” 

“—derrock a tornado is born again—”.

Then she often liked to visit agricultural sectors and water areas, to play with the clouds, either giving foals a ride on them or making rain for the locals.

She avoided flying over the Forest; The Forest is there / and all winding trails / are waiting to seize you, as it had been sung once.

A third of the cycle later, at the end of the phase, as a habit she would end that nonstop flight and drop to a cloud bed knowing for sure that Metropolis was there for her, stretched in all Her immensity for half of the continent. Knowing that Metropolis heard and saw Cursory, and would remain there forever for her.

That was her youth, and she liked Metropolis still.

But now, sitting in the tight capsule of the aviette, side by side with the cowering earth pony, Cursory was working on a different issue, by other methods. Not ones she preferred but… well, that was interesting.

The fact that Gentle Touch is alive was a contradiction in itself. First, she got a burn of the Red. A deadly one, judging by the sheer area of the coat too pale on her right side, with a shape of a window frame clearly seen on it. Cursory looked up the name through the aviette’s terminal, and sure enough, found Gentle among the to-be-casualties of an infusion of the Red, tagged with “patient arrived in living ghost state.”

That was leaving only direct intervention of a Moon as a possible reason why Gentle Touch is even alive now. And this intervention was listed there too, hidden from a casual glance, visible to Cursory with her tech access… with all details, once again, classified. Still, a Moon was there, and She said… something to be kept secret? 

That would not be weird enough by itself. But Gentle had been closing her eyes too often, her head tilting too far forward, and there was a subtle shine of a blue web on her pinkish irises once she did open her eyes—

Cursory had seen exactly these signs before, even if at first she did not want to believe she now saw them in Gentle Touch. These signs and what they meant were a serious concern at a societal level, albeit a rare enough one that your average pony would not be in the know about it. All the same, these signs — as well as others that were dangerous enough to have an assigned threat level — were highly suggestive of an unfortunate end for whoever exhibited them. Or, to be precise, an eventual, unpleasant meeting with a team of Resolvers that happened to be immune to a particular misused ability.

Often, a Moon personally asked for similar issues to be resolved. In Gentle Touch's case, it seemed, a Moon had saved her life instead. With a note marking her “Mostly harmless.”

On top of that, they were flying to 12-S, and nopony, however problematic they were, deserved to get lost there. Cursory knew that, first-hoof experience. And Gentle was not even problematic, now.

A designation, and, much more importantly, Gentle's will to follow on it, meant they could not back away from 12-S either.

So. If Moons kept her alive and felt no need to contain her in advance, I will follow along and keep her safe. And believe that she is harmless, Cursory finally decided, sighing and putting the terminal away.

She turned around to look at the earth pony.

She actually liked Gentle, and knew that. That was not making the choice much easier. But at least “guard and protect” had been her main chosen aspect, effortless to follow on.

“Do you mind sharing what your aspect and profession are? I can deduce where you learned the language by how you speak, so Great Desert, but on the edge or in habitable places deeper in? Do you still live there? I've been there myself, actually, both on the job and just for personal travel. I have to say the weather was quite extreme.” Cursory asked, smiling.

“Yes,” Gentle was clearly distracted, fearful of being so high off the ground. “I was born there, and I returned there after my unbound age. At the edge of a desert, not too deep in. My friends lived deeper, though. Was lucky to get under the Red not even a luster after returning home. A few cycles after a celebration. Well, at least I had a celebration.”

“Please don’t take it as a forced compliment,” Cursory said slowly, “but… there are two obvious things. First, no need to say you got under the ray. It’s… right there. Second one, you are genuinely pretty, with or without this—”

“I know,” Gentle nodded. “My face and mane are intact. I know that at worst I am okay. But I don’t think many would choose me anyway.”

“Those who would, will be good and loyal ponies for you. I simply know that!” Cursory smiled reassuringly. “Or maybe it will be you who does the choosing. Just don’t be shy of this nuance, and no harm will be done.”

Gentle giggled quietly, and replied, “Thanks. I will say my aspects, but you go first, okay?”

Cursory nodded, “Pathways and defense. With this set—yes, don’t ask, mixed Moons. Please, just don’t ask, it’s too long a story—I was bound to work there, in resolving issues of the lost and strayed, at the center of Metropolis where it is needed the most. You?”

“Medicine,” Gentle Touch sighed, “Blue Moon—”

“Helped you. What’s your second aspect? I can invite you in our team, we need good medics more often than you’d think.”

“I did not say I have a second aspect,” Gentle whispered, her pink eyes opened wide.

"Please excuse me… I mean, nothing bad if you happen to have another one—"

Cursory stopped. It was clear that Gentle went defensive, and she was not an issue, so not a single reason to call her out on a lie. Even if it was obvious that Gentle does hide her second aspect. So Cursory went from another angle instead, "I understand that this is a sensitive question. Sorry. I know how aspects might be conflicting. That happens. And, just in case if you are Herald too, I don't know if you are," she paused, "I have nothing against us. One Moon or another, we have many things in common. Please, don't be afraid."

Gentle nodded, once, and smiled, "I accept your apology. It is a sensitive topic for me.”

The conversation died from there, so Cursory curled up on the seat — too hard and prickly compared to the clouds — and returned to the crossword puzzle. A pilot did not bother them with any talking, the destination set close to the borders of 12-S.

Her mind slowly drifted away from the puzzle a third of a slice later. The aviette swayed side to side in silence. Under Cursory’s shut eyelids blank report forms wandered on her table at the police station. The habitable place of the Great Desert was an ‘oasis’, five letters across. Gentle's warmth and her deep, even breathing were felt and heard from the next chair... wonder if I could come closer… and how would that ‘oasis’ be written in Lunar...


☄☄☄


“Cursory! Cursory Streak, please wake up!”

She waved to sway away the persistent worried voice, trying to hold the dream just a little bit more. In the dream there was something important, somewhere to fly right here, in this instant, but she could not remember where and with each beat the memory slipped farther away. 

“Oh, I just…”, she tried to say, but said nothing.

Without waking up, Cursory caught the air with her wings, climbed higher, made a couple of turns, and only then realized that there were no more obstacles either on the sides or above. She tried to open her eyes, but they denied the attempt.

“Have we arrived?” she said, but in fact managed only something of a questioning mumble rather than coherent words.

Fortunately, Gentle Touch understood.

“Yes, for a long time already. Six slices at the very least, and you are still asleep!”

Cursory Streak tried to open her eyes again. They still did not obey, but her wings kept a steady rhythm, and her magnetic sense gave an indicative signal: Yes, we are almost there, sector S is nearby. You just can’t confuse these uniform interferences with anything else... 

“I will be with you shortly... maybe one third of a slice more... The bag...?” she muttered.

“I have the bag. It’s intact, I didn’t look into it.”

“Mhm... Leave it on the ground, now. And how did you pull me outside that I did not…” Cursory yawned wide, unable to finish the question.

Anyway, the answer did not come.


⊛⊛⊛


Nine steps away Gentle Touch watched the pegasus preening in the diffuse light of White Moon. They were in a field, not so far from the road. Gentle lay on her side in the thick whitish grass. Cursory Streak used two properly clouded mirrors on a flexible holder, three different brushes in turn and a bottle with an unknown aerosol.

This was more than just caring for her feathers and cleaning out sweat; Cursory did not stop the process until literally every strand of her mane was exactly in its place and became exactly the right shade of purple or white. She was not as sleek in the restaurant as she aimed to be now. Gentle was hardly distracted from this performance even by the carriages’ noise on the road to the side and above them.

Earlier, when the aviette was already set on the return course disappearing into the distance, and Cursory still refused to wake up, Gentle made sure that her slumber was not caused by illness or fatigue, but something yet was wrong with it. She did not get what exactly, and the images of the dream disturbed Gentle. Flying in a pinkish-scarlet fog, the voice of ocean waves or a heart beating, no land under hooves however long to fall, a salty and bitter smell...

More than a slice had passed for sure, but finally the pegasus chuckled with satisfaction and went up to Gentle.

“Well, we can go ahead. Are the glasses ready?” Cursory asked.

“Yes,” Gentle held out the case in her front hooves. “But are you sure? White Moon is already at bow; this is no longer your phase.”

Cursory glanced up at the sky and smiled reassuringly, “Don't even worry. I usually don’t sleep in my phase, but when this happens, I’m able to hold up and through my next one. For now, I’ll not say that I slept well, but I’ll manage; I’m a little tougher than you think. But... don't you know what I was dreaming about?”

Gentle alerted herself, and asked warily, “What do you mean?”

Cursory tried to hide a smile, without much success, “They say Blue Moon's Heralds are able to dreamwalk, and I dreamed of something important — and forgotten! — and there are three options. Either you aren’t Herald after all, which is unlikely, or you have no curiosity at all, or— or you do know what I have dreamed of!”

Gentle pulled her legs under her, squeaked, but pulled herself together and replied in a calm tone, “Firstly, I was advised not to enter other ponies’ dreams. Even assuming I could. Secondly, if the dream was important or sent by a Moon, it would be remembered. Thirdly, I think you have become too close with me, reputable Cursory Streak.”

The pegasus immediately pressed her hoof to her chest, and tilted her head a bit. “Please forgive me, as I overstepped, and I will not make the mistake again. Of course, your secrets are your secrets only. But just so you know — I'm so very curious about what it's like to be under Blue Moon.”

Gentle did not answer at once. Only when they had already climbed the slope to the road, she breathed out, “To know more than I want to. That’s what it’s like.”

She asked for help with opening the case, and putting on the glasses: heavy, with rough clips, dark lenses and an elastic strap to wrap around her head; barely warm when touched, imposing the feeling of a live body during biting frost. Greetings, reputable Herald Gentle Touch, a disembodied voice whispered. Ready to chart your route. Remember that S sectors are not recommended for your stay.


☄☄☄ ⊛⊛⊛


When they crossed the border of sector 12-S — two warning signs in advance, but after them only a barely marked white line on solid ground — Gentle took two steps, stopped and sank to the ground.

Cursory moved to her, covered her with a wing. “What's wrong, dear?”

She didn’t pull away, despite her bravado only a slice ago. Sobbing, she said, “Nothing… I see nothing... but… but… these stars…!”

Cursory looked up at the sky. White Moon, still partly above the horizon, was a barely outlined translucent circle. Blue Moon, at hail, was also barely noticeable. Not Moons as They should be but Their faint contours, reflections and echoes. But merciless stars were shining fiercely like a scattering of diamonds on a dark fabric, completely still as if there was no air at all.

“Oh, yes, of course,” she said quietly. “We are in sector S. I have said already that only locals are comfortable here. This place is not broken but for us it very well might be.”

But Gentle kept sobbing quietly under the sky — cubic nines of brightest, impossibly colorful, sparkling stars in the sky that was nonetheless hopelessly black. 

Everything that happened below had no meaning to the black sky, for which there was no time, no aspirations, and no needs and worries associated with them. One could just lie there for all eternity. Maybe, after a time the pony would weightlessly soar up and join the endless tribe of heavenly fires, powerless to dispel the darkness.

Cursory took a deep breath and looked for the White's quivering warmth in her own chest. She caught the reminiscence of Her light, Her power, Her fire; remembered how impeccable Cursory was and how she appreciated and took care of herself and others. She spread her wings, noticed their pearly radiance by the corner of her eye, and pushed away the oppressive gloom from Gentle and herself. It’s still you, my dear? This is still a part of you, am I right? Cursory directed her thoughts at Metropolis, but the answer was indistinct.

“Come on, dear. Let's go. You have the designation, and I’m your guard. So let's go.”

“What do you mean? I did not ask for any guard, did I?” Gentle tried to object weakly; but Cursory nodded as if there was no question.

“If you want to get to your designation, you will need my protection. I'll go ahead.”

Cursory took a few steps forward and paused. “Well?” she asked.

And so they went deeper in.
> Chapter 7: Unfolding
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


⊛⊛⊛


Gentle Touch was blind.

That is, in a way she continued to see — diamond and pentagon tiles alternating pink and purple; dark, supposedly habitable towers going into the sky; passing flocks of mechanical birds, numerous enough to eclipse the stars; rails that against all expectations did not converge to a point at the end of the avenue.

But in her actual and most needed sight... she was now trying in vain to look at Cursory, and seeing not the intertwining of the lines of life, pain and breathing, where each limb and every desire has its own pulse, but the translucent flicker of a grayish-white flame, the same shade as the pegasus’ coat was in ordinary light.

She was afraid to look away from the guide or miss a brief advice of the voice from the glasses; and the one time she did miss it, she failed to step away from an incoming portal vortex in time, and found herself a throw or even farther away from Cursory, dizzy and totally confused. Sometimes, nevertheless, she tried to glance around. But the scans failed to reveal even a single web rainbow that could've been a signature of another pony. Only gray shadows, like wings of giant moths around a lamp, and it was not even clear how many there were around.

The only thing she could clearly perceive by her real sight was the stars. Triple nines of stars, and each one — Gentle could see it for sure — once had a soul. She saw once-ponies that went into the sky, and in eons that passed were withered and ground by the sands of time, so now there remained nothing of them but light.

In this celestial crowd there was not a single star that cared about Gentle, not even a little, and yet they looked at her and saw her. She wanted to lie down, cover her head with her hooves, and quietly disappear, as it was the only way to escape their gaze.

Cursory did not wear glasses. Sometimes she asked Gentle to wait on the spot and under no circumstances go anywhere; then Cursory walked away to exchange a few phrases with the alicorn statue at the intersection or with the black obelisk at the edge of the avenue.

Two or three slices later — it was very hard for Gentle to keep track of the time, even though she tried to count the steps to distract herself — the pegasus put a small creamy cake with macadamia nuts under Gentle’s nose, and kept explaining that it would definitely help until eventually it was eaten to the crumb. Even if her life depended on this, Gentle would not be able to say when and where it even came from, and how good it was, but... still it really helped, and then they went faster.

It became even easier when they descended into the underground tunnel. Be it another time or place, Gentle would never make even a step below ground level; after all, there were neither Moons nor Their attention. But there were no stars in the dimly lit tunnel either, so they just agreed to pause, laid on benches looking at each other and rested their tired legs. She may have dozed off, but the flow of thought did not seem to dim even for a beat.

However, when Gentle got all four hooves back on the floor and said she was ready to move on, Cursory was gone.

She closed her eyes, looked around. The heart was beating hard and fast; a disembodied voice from her glasses said that no immediate threat is present. She tried to call Cursory out loud, but only heard an echo. On unsteady hooves she walked back to the stairs, keeping to the rounded wall, and looked along the upward-going steps. Tears welled up in her eyes.

At that moment she was attacked. Something heavy fell from above, instantly and almost silently, if not for a tense, high voice, “Gentle, dear... We took a stop to rest, and then you immediately ran away somewhere. How by your mind can I protect you if you don't stick around?”

Gentle twisted onto her back under the fluffy and hot weight and looked at the alarmed Cursory, barely realizing that she was, in fact, alarmed — her vision was still sorely lacking.

“B-but... but it was you who disappeared somewhere…” she whimpered.

"Me? No. I don't think I even slept. I didn't even turn away from you, even for a bit! You've disappeared literally right before my eyes. If you cloud my vision like that..." the pegasus said, still worried.

Curious if I am able to do that too... — Gentle felt that thought as somepony alien’s, joyful and uncaring, too not-Gentle’s one.

But for Cursory she quickly and desperately shook her head, “No, no, I would never... I'm afraid! I'm not afraid of Moons’ attention, but up there, there is something totally different!.. That is, I can cope without you …” —she mentally yelled at herself, but continued anyway, because her words were true— “I can cope and I'll get there, but with you it's more safe.”

Positive, the glasses added quietly.

They disentangled from each other and stood side by side, then walked a befitting five steps apart. Cursory coughed, then said, “I believe you. You couldn’t see me. I could not see you. It means that something here wants to mess with us.”

Gentle nodded quickly, “All the stars are out for us. They don't like us and they don't need us. They wish we weren't here.”

Cursory tilted her head, “Then it’s better for us to go faster. By your designation you will definitely be protected and covered. It can't be that such a weak pony was recommended to go there. You would just get lost, and that's all. And more than that,” — Cursory paused for a moment, choosing her words. — “Yes, the stars have always been unwelcoming, no matter how much I've been here... but next to you I feel that they want to erase me. Or turn me into one of them. I don’t recall anything like that before.”

Gentle swallowed a flash of rage — she called me weak?! — and answered looking straight into Cursory’s eyes, “How long do we have to go yet?”

“Not so long. Shortly a train will arrive upstairs, then a third of a slice more, and we are at the center of 12-S; you have no avenue or intersection listed in your designation, correct?”

Gentle felt a chill in her heart once she heard the ‘train’ word. No warnings or signals, just the touch of ice through her coat and body — a beat of sticky nauseating horror almost like then, in the hospital sector. She went to the stairs, through the cotton wool in the back of her head heard the glasses’ voice ...suboptimal..., and turned her head to Cursory, “Can you take another route? The train is very bad.”

The pegasus seemed to be surprised, for less than a third of the beat. Then she nodded quickly.

“Yes, I can. What's with the train, is there poison in it or what? I remember we had a case…”

“I don't know, but we shouldn't go there!”

They went up the stairs; the roar of an incoming train resounded in their hooves. It stopped thirty steps away from them, the doors flung open, and out of the doors reflections came. The same faces, the same hairstyles, the same colors — Cursory’s grayish-white coat with a bob purple and white, Gentle’s pale orange coat with a loose mane. Cutie marks made the only real difference; in its places the doubles had an absolute void of the mirror labyrinth, in which there is no way back, no viewer and no mirrors themselves. That almost always was the case with doubles, however; as well as the lifeless faces.

“Dear, if you've had an accident involving mirrors, you could’ve warned me,” Cursory didn't even sound angry. She was merely advising, but perhaps too calmly.

“No! I know how…”

“You can tell about it later. I have something to say too, for later, once we deal with this. Are you ready to fight now, or are we retreating? Remember, your own double is off limits for you. Cross-targeting now.”

Gentle turned to the doubles with her whole body, lowered her head, looking at them and choosing the pegasus double as the target. Even blind and unable to reach the pain, she still was an earth pony, and had the advantage of strength, durability and coordination to connect with the double’s body and break the hollow bones if need be. The doubles were walking towards them: slow, calm and sure.

“Ready,” Gentle Touch said.

No way you will ever see me weak.
> Chapter 8: Crossing
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


☄☄☄


Cursory rose into the air and surveyed the surroundings. Rails, train stop, shop, four locals, one heading in our direction, two track indicators, recharge booth... nothing vital nearby. The White Moon was still dim as through a stormcloud, but in Cursory's heart Her presence was certain despite the oppressive darkness around. Cursory chose a point above and behind the doubles — half-way between them and the train. Then she accelerated and flew towards the target, creating a shower of blinding light-blue sparks behind her. Gentle's reflection looked up; each of the sparks expanded to a small pentagon, and they rained down on the reflection and stuck to its coat. It began to speak.

“We came to discuss…” it said.

But Cursory pulled the pentagons to her, along with the captured double, lifting it above the station tiles, higher and higher. She herself landed onto the roof of the booth and slowly pulled the invisible threads towards her, pulling up the captive creature, but leaving it hanging in the air, sideways against the wall of the booth. 

Then she encouraged it: “For what it's worth, let’s discuss. After all, you always come with a purpose. But I’d like to talk this way, it's safer. So, do you want to speak? You may.”

She glanced in her companion's direction, quickly confirming that Gentle pinned the pegasus-reflection to the ground, nodded to herself, and turned back to the suspended one.

“The rules must be obliged. What do you want to say? There is not much time left until the third question, and the fourth will not be,” she reminded.

“We came to warn you,” the reflection answered quickly. “If you will come for…”

Cursory shook the threads, turning the prisoner upside down.

“I don’t believe you and don’t want to hear your lies. What do you really want to say? This was the third question.”

“On the road of Moons you will perish, all three of you,” the reflection said, its voice clear; with a subtle ringing it crumbled into fragments of glass. Cursory grunted and pulled closer a fan of pentagons with glass shards freeze-stuck to them. She took out the scraper and small pouch from her saddlebag, and proceeded to tear off and deposit the shards into it. She then glided towards Gentle, who was still standing on the chest of the pegasus double.

“Well? Have you talked?” Cursory asked.


⊛⊛⊛


Gentle turned her head towards the pegasus. The copy of Cursory under her hooves looked and sounded like a real one, but it was definitely not real; instead of a thin and graceful multilayered rainbow, a scarce few separate, scattered, disconnected lines barely gleamed through Gentle Touch’s star blindness, and each of them broke off in the wrong place and in the wrong way.

“Yes. It's... peaceful. It asks us — asks, do you get it? — to leave this sector by our own will, while there is no need to stop us by other means. We can, and I quote, help the Red in its grief and quench its anger. But only if we leave right now and wait for its sign,” Gentle twitched, and added lowering her voice to a whisper, “And I'm not going to do anything that’s even close to it. I suffered from the Red. One and a third of a round of my life lost to it, and I do not know how much more cut from my life expectations.”

Pegasus under her hooves quickly nodded, glancing at them both with a pitiful wide eyes.

"That's right," Cursory nodded. “Reflections don’t lie often, they just don't tell the whole truth. Better to forget all its words. You need to listen, not to hearken.”

Gentle hesitated, looked at the reflection, then at Cursory herself, “And... how to let it go?”

The older pony snorted in response, “Just swear it to not harm you nor anypony else, and it will have no other purpose. It will go away by itself.”

Gentle blinked, "That simple?" 

There was a dry, unfamiliar voice from behind, “Yes, it is that simple. You have exchanged reflections. Even before I was convinced that Our choice was correct, but now I have almost no doubt.”


☄☄☄


Black Moon stood behind them. Alicorn, in black armor with neon-green streaks, changing and floating, coalescing into sigils of an unknown language; one that will become clear if you look at it closely for some time. If you believe the horror tales about Moons, these signs were ready to answer the unasked and even unconscious questions of the beholder; but the answers carried nothing but sadness. Cursory didn’t need to believe in it, she knew it for sure, and therefore tried to look at the armor as little as possible, lifting her head to see the face of the alicorn. However, she noticed that the breastplate was inlaid with six dull gems in a smooth arc; this meant that the Black Moon had arrived in Her primordial armor.

She walked toward them with short, soundless steps. Each time Black Moon tilted Her head, or even glanced aside, a greenish lightning would run along Her horn, from the base to the very tip. As an afterglow of a few lightnings, Cursory briefly saw fleeting ponies’ silhouettes that appeared and vanished in their wake, drawn with green on a dense darkness.

Finally, Black Moon tilted Her head towards them and looked straight. On Her face there was neither a mask nor a helmet; nothing hid the tired but living violet eyes shining in deep sockets of Her bony skull for which Her coat was too tight; the coat almost purely black save for the slightest shade of purple and tiny sparks of lightning. Other tales said that the Black Moon was capable of unmaking a pony with a glance, leaving a soul to shiver in the cosmic winds, and Cursory looked down at her front hoof for a moment. Her body was here, for now.

“Welcome, Heralds of other Apexes. I know you have questions. Ask and do not be afraid of the answers,” Black Moon said then paused, “When I was still in the mood for playing with ponies, I could have limited you to three questions total for you two combined. Now I am ready to answer until your curiosity runs out.”


⊛⊛⊛


Gentle stood up; bowed not too deep but with all due respect, as she should to Moon that she had not chosen.

“Then my first question is: what is my task and designation here?” she asked.

“To become a part of a special team that will help the entire Trinity,” Black Moon answered matter-of-factly, ”You will get two grades of status on completing the assignment. Cursory Streak included and invited.”

Gentle froze for three beats assessing the possibilities. Three rooms instead of one. Cinema without limits. Unlimited meals nine cycles per luster...

“Three grades,” she replied, looking straight into the face of the alicorn.

“Two grades,” Black Moon repeated.

“What will we have to do?”

“To search for the missing ponies.”

“This is not our specialty,” Cursory said.

“Irrelevant. Moreover, I am sure that you are the first item on the list for this search.”

“But for us it’s relevant. My deck at my job will not stay vacant waiting for me. I need to know that the risk is worth it. Everypony chooses for themself, don't they? And you’ve too many items on your lists,” Cursory Streak pressed on, while Gentle waited.

Black Moon tilted Her head and grinned; a row of teeth too white. She came closer, keeping Her head down, so as not to overwhelm; the grin faded from Her face, and Her voice wavered slightly, “You can help five good ponies. I am not the only one asking, it is an offer from the entire Trinity.”

Cursory did not look away, “At work, every cycle, I help at least nine ponies. This is many times more than five per, I’m sure, many more than just one cycle.”

“I am not the only one asking, but I am the one to whom these five are most important. Personally. According to our calculations, there is a chance that I can come back to life.”

Cursory took a third of a step back and looked down. For a beat she was silent, then raised her head again.

“This addition… changes a lot. Does the Trinity promise that I will come out of this quest without notable loss?” Cursory Streak asked with a tiny hint of apology in her voice.

“No. I promise that you can perish. But I also promise that I will take care of you after your death, and will neither let you leave for the Forest, nor add you to my stars.”

Gentle touched Cursory's side with her own and asked, her voice trembling, "Not very encouraging, hm?" and it was unclear just who she was asking.

The Black Moon remained silent, but the pegasus answered: “Yes. And so I need more details. I need a concise briefing. If something important depends on us, we need to know exactly what we’re going to do. By the way, you knew that... those words of yours about the Forest... were... important to me? That I’d like to be anywhere but there,” she hesitated but still managed to finish the phrase.

The alicorn lay down on the tiled floor with her legs tucked in. Her voice was calm again, “Of course. I need you; I have collected data about you, reputable Cursory Streak. But first, there is a question for both of you. Do you believe in reincarnation?”
> Chapter 9: Coordination
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


⊛⊛⊛


“Do you believe in reincarnation?” Black Moon asked, and the question was... too simple. Deceptively simple. Even unmarked foals have heard of reincarnation.

Maybe it’s a lead to an actual question?..

The question was there, waiting. Gentle coughed, trying to stall for time and find an answer; Cursory answered before her with a wry smile,

“Of course not. There is no need to believe in common knowledge. You personally observed Project Lens five generations ago. The project fulfilled all its stated goals, and in two generations You have finalized and implemented soul reimplantation,” Cursory chuckled. “I’m not even talking about the stars.” She raised her hoof, pointing up at the glimmering sky. “And about the tools that were created for this.”

Black Moon silently turned Her head towards Gentle Touch; Cursory lowered her ears for a moment, but then lifted her nose and snorted.

So this is the wrong answer? Gentle Touch thought, crossing her hooves in a defensive gesture. But four beats later, something was still expected of her. The gaze was steadfast, unblinking, and only slightly warmer than the celestial light.

Reputable Gentle Touch, I note that the answer of the Herald of White Moon did not correspond to the question that was asked, the glasses intervened. There seemed to be a faint smile in their voice.

“Um… is there a difference between reincarnation and reimplantation?..” Gentle asked cautiously.

Black Moon narrowed Her eyes, but remained silent. Gentle took a deep breath and blurted out in one breath:

“I haven’t heard of any difference between these words. Synonyms, here. And there really is no need to believe in a routine procedure! Once you have a receiver for a reimplant — an animal or a thing — there are not many issues. If there is a difference, I ask You to share your knowledge with me!”

Black Moon nodded and answered in a dry tone, “There is a difference. What happens to those who have not gone through the procedure?”

“Um? The Forest, of course.”

Cursory wedged herself into a pause, “Or, very likely, Your stars…”

Gentle exhaled sharply, put a hoof to her forehead, but, blushing strongly, kept silent.

Cursory winked at her and continued “...or one of the other Moons' vaults. Radiance of White or Veil of Blue. But these are rare cases, compared to the Forest and the Stars.”

“And that is it?” Black Moon asked. The voice was neither angry nor annoyed, for now.

Gentle Touch shook her head, but still nothing came to mind.

“That's it,” she replied quietly.

Black Moon looked away from her. For three beats between the two ponies and one Moon there was silence; the stars still would like for Gentle to disappear.

“The word ‘reincarnation’ used to mean a rare phenomenon, which was studied in the Project Lens. Spontaneous attachment of a soul of a deceased pony to another carrier, as it was then believed, with the soul’s partial destruction in the process. Fragmentary memories of somepony else's life, certain habits, mannerisms, character traits. Personality disorders associated with the presence of a stranger. Poorly diagnosed, even less curable. Reimplantation, as we use it now, allows us to control and limit the inevitable decay, nullifies rejection reactions in both directions. We have domesticated a natural phenomenon and directed it to benefits of society.”

Black Moon's voice was detached and indifferent, as if She were reading, for an infinite time, a badly glued and half-peeled leaflet on the dirty wall.

Gentle closed her eyes, peered at the Black Moon, and could not understand almost anything: the web was at least nine times denser than usual, with green and purple waves moving along it. Absolutely nothing like a living being, let alone a pony, but cubic nines of times more complex than a mirror double.

Gentle blinked, and asked with a guilt, “Excuse me for not knowing this difference... and I should have, yes? Now you will withdraw the designation, huh?..” She hung her head, in wait of being sent back.

“No, of course—”

Cursory intervened, not letting the alicorn finish, “And, most importantly, why do you need me? Why did you set up our meeting with Gentle, knowing that I won't let her go to sector S alone?”

Alicorn stood up, arched her neck and looked down at Cursory. After a long pause, she replied: “Nopony interrupted me for a long time. Here is the answer to the first question: you are not afraid of reflections, you are able to fight them and think tactically, and even in the very heart of My domain you still shine — and more than just with a borrowed light. Even among Heralds . Without you, the reflections and will of the Red are bound to reach Gentle Touch on her way and she will be lucky to be just dead then. On the second question: I did not set up your meeting. But the fact that it happened is a good sign; you will understand when you hear the essence of your assignment.”

Gentle did not rise. She wanted to say no and return home to stay under the familiar and comfortable black sky, to be protected by the Net in it. Nopony would argue, as everypony chooses for themself.

But that meant being weak in Cursory Streak’s eyes. Gentle whispered, “So what is the task, and who exactly should we find for You? And why can't You do it? And why did You call me, knowing that the Red will be on my tail in your mission, as You surely know that I have encountered it already?”

She was heard.

“Two ponies. Two who died many rounds ago.”

“But You said we’ll help five?” Cursory interjected with a slight sneer. “Your counting abilities seem to be lacking, Electra.”

Black Moon turned sharply and stomped Her hoof, “You're trying to throw me off balance, reputable Cursory Streak,” She said, Her voice freezing.

She is really trying, Gentle thought as she glanced at the pegasus, to get dropped from the mission and return home at worst, or learn more at best. And... those who died? This is another leading line, not something literal, right?

Cursory smiled triumphantly, “Well, now I see that this is really important to you. Sorry, Princess. I don't want to be a piece in your endless game. I can help a live pony, but not—” then the pegasus cut herself off, pressing her hoof to her mouth.

“...Sorry. I didn’t mean… I didn’t want to… I’m ready to accept the consequences of my offense, as you assign them and as you see fit.” 

For the first time since first meeting Cursory, Gentle heard the pegasus’s voice clearly trembling with fear and guilt in equal measure.

“You do not actually want to help the Princess of Science, Magic and the Dead. Since our last meeting you have grown considerably but still think that I had mistreated you; I can deduce it is more mental than physical trauma,” the alicorn said neutrally, stating the fact. “The duty of the Herald of White, and the aspect you have chosen, are pushing you to help, but you yourself are against it.”

“No,” Cursory Streak shook her head, struggling to keep direct eye contact with the alicorn.

Yes, her body and her soul said to the eyes of Gentle Touch.

“I'm in. If it helps you…” she hesitated, but still exhaled. “...come to life. But I ask for help and protection from the Red. We may still be able to manage the reflections, but direct gaze of the Red... is not something that a mortal pony can stay against.”

“As We are, the Trinity cannot either. If you are expecting that I would give you a protective amulet, then no. It's impossible.” Black Moon went up to her and stood beside her; ran the edge of Her hoof along Gentle’s side, “The Red is our mistake. When we were young, Princesses, not even the Trinity then, made a mistake with a pony. What remains, has the right to destroy us, and in matters of high magic, the right and confidence matter more than strength.”

"So it's still... a pony? A conscious person?" Gentle shuddered, remembering the icy touch of the scarlet, the low hiss, the heavy stench of rotting roses. “No pony would harm... all of us.”

“Therefore, it is a disaster for our ponies. Whether it is a pony or not... Even I do not know for sure what it is now. I know it was, once. And I hope for it to remain so; then maybe we could talk to it and come to an agreement eventually. But other Apexes may disagree.”

“So there will be no protection?” Gentle asked quietly.

“There might be one. I have a good friend. Somepony who... is not directly or indirectly related to the great error. In the times long gone she did not know at all what the Princesses were going to do. So the first thing you may try doing is visit her. Maybe you could even persuade her to join the team. And I think that she has some kind of protection.”

Gentle thought for a few beats.

“But how many cubic nines of rounds your friend is old then?” she asked.

“Slightly less than Apexes, or slightly more than that. At this scale it does not matter anymore.”

Gentle blinked, and pressed closer to the Black Moon.

“That is, she is the fourth?..” She did not finish the question.

“No, of course not,” Black Moon giggled shortly in response, as if She was the only one to get the joke. “Quiet Melody — that’s her current name — just refused to stop looking after Me. But you asked…”

Cursory stood on the other side of Gentle, looked at the alicorn, but said nothing. Black Moon nodded to Cursory and continued, “As for why I can not do the task myself: I have been doing it already, for many nines of rounds, and have found a few souls of the dead that I have sought. This cycle I found two more. Two dead ponies still remain unaccounted for.”

Cursory snorted, “That's what I'm talking about. ‘Unaccounted’. As if we aren’t ponies for you but lines in the ledger that should match. And who are these two found in this cycle?”

“You are,” Black Moon replied.
> Chapter 10: Agreement
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


☄☄☄⊛⊛⊛


“What do you mean?” Cursory Streak went around Gentle to look at alicorn, facing them both and tilting her head. “The word of Moon is beyond doubt, but I ask for clarification. In the part where you called us dead.”

Gentle Touch blinked. Did She? First She talked about ancient reincarnation, then that She is looking for two ancient souls… then, well, She said that we are found now. Does that mean that we are those souls too? 

“This is how you comprehend it,” Black Moon paused. “And it is inaccurate. You are alive, but the voice of the dead echoes in you. Unlike glasses, where a shadow of a guide will never be alive, or a table lamp that wants to look after their grandfoals, you are able to act outside of your purpose and your main aspirations.”

“Does this mean that we belong to your aspect, like all reimplants?” Cursory tilted her head. “I disagree!”

“Of course not. In that case everything would be easier. You may not be in a hurry; you can discuss the offer with your friends and with your own Moons.”

Cursory nodded, “I'll warn colleagues at my station. Gentle, dear, is that exactly what you want? This sector is awkward for inexperienced ponies, and—”

“It is as I want,” Gentle took a few steps forward, bypassing the alicorn in front, raised and turned her head and also looked into the violet eyes. “But… Black Moon, are you sure I can refuse? Are you sure you leave me enough freedom? That I will find my purpose in this sector even if I do not follow your paths?”

The Black Moon answered instantly: “Thrice yes. Then you can support my Heralds and other ponies of my labs. They need it more than often, albeit rarely admit the fact.”

I will continue to explain the routes until you get used to it and my presence stops being useful to you, the glasses intervened in a whispering thought.

Cursory blinked, "You have Heralds too?"

Black Moon did not answer, and did not even move Her ear, continuing to stare at Gentle. 

Gentle Touch nodded, “Then I agree.”

Only after that did the alicorn turn to the grayish-white pegasus, and with a smile — to be more precise, a grin — answered:

“Yes, I had. And your fellow traveler is — or rather was — one of them.”

“A fellow traveler?” Gentle and Cursory asked in unison; the pegasus giggled.

“The first ‘echo’, Solid Line. I found her two square nines and eight nines and two of rounds ago, and I lost her soon after that. One of the most successful creations of the Red compromised our connection, met with her knowing how important she was, and distorted her memory. I had been able to partially compensate for the damage and outline a new plan, based on Solid Line’s own concept, but her condition was deteriorating. It is a common trait for assaults of the Red. I asked her to sleep and calm down.”

Cursory chuckled, “I thought the reflections weren’t yet around back then… but oh well.”

Gentle did not understand right then, but after a beat she looked at the Black Moon with horror. “Almost three square nines?..”

Black Moon nodded, “I started looking for you right away. Unfortunately, you were hidden from me. But now you are before me, and I have hope once again.”

“How can we help, and how will it help? And you implied that we should help ourselves, no?” Gentle asked, tense.

“Coordinates of Solid’s capsule have already been placed in your ‘companion’, the access key is either one of you, the time is unlimited. If you want to reposition it, say so. Along with the capsule, notice pointers to a few other ponies which can assist you, or, too, wield echoes of the past. Or both."

“How would you help — I mentioned echoes of the dead. I see that they — and you too — are eager to come together. Doing so will calm them and will probably make yourself feel better. Formless drives, the feeling of losing what you missed without even knowing that you had it, these ones should disappear. Feelings like this are familiar to you, correct?” Black Moon asked.

Gentle nodded. Cursory frowned a bit but remained still.

Can I see the coordinates? Gentle thought to the glasses.

The map of Metropolis flashed before her eyes. It had four flickering points. A stylized yellow unicorn, ‘Solid Line’ in the far descent-of-Blue, almost outside Metropolis, three cycles for the fastest aviette from the center, a third less from here; pale pink pegasus, ‘Quiet Melody’ even further descent-of-Blue, in the wild and uninhabited lands; pale blue pegasus, ‘Dart?’ in the ascent-of-Blue, not far from the center of Metropolis; and a colorless earth pony, outlined by a dotted silhouette without a label on the shore of the far left-of-Blue ocean.

“Hey, what about me?” Cursory asked with a touch of irony.

“You have not yet decided whether you are participating or not,” answered the Black Moon.

The pegasus chuckled, "Is this capsule of your Herald such a secret?"

“Yes, it is.”

“Then I will consult with the White Moon.” Cursory replied firmly. ”And don't let this foal go anywhere without me.”

Gentle raised her head and snapped, “I'm not a foal! I can decide for myself!"

Cursory froze for a moment, then blushed and said, "Sorry. I'm really trying to see you as an adult — and you are an adult, don't worry! — but... it's me who just can't do that. Can't always, at least. You just... don't register for me as one. Please, excuse me."

Gentle Touch still felt anger for a moment, but then it subsided, as the answer was sincere as far as Gentle could see below these stars — and, after all, she was the healer who should be calm at all times.

Later on we will show her, whispered a carefree, cheerful voice in Gentle’s thoughts. She shook her head, about to ask the glasses if they were... but did not, afraid to hear that they weren’t saying anything.

“I will escort you to the border of the sector, but I cannot go further,” Black Moon said.

“Why?” Gentle asked.

“By the will of the White Moon, which is secured by the Trinity's verdict, the laws of reality have been changed here to suit my being and the needs of my research, I cannot exist beyond them anymore,” was an indifferent response.

Gentle blinked, but restrained from further questions.


⊛⊛⊛


Close up, the White Moon was stunning. Her coat was a pearl white, and sparks danced over the deceptively pale whiteness the way they dance in the mountain snow. Her mane was a flame, and nopony could have said whether it was yellow, red, white or piercing blue; everchanging, almost predictable yet completely elusive. Even many steps away, Her heat made Gentle’s eyes water, and skin dry, like from feast bonfires that some earth ponies keep alive for three cycles straight, celebrating the Conjunctions. 

The deceptive gleam of insanely cheerful eyes made it almost impossible to look directly at the alicorn; She wanted to kill and to save, protect from the enemy and send to war, cover under Her wing from all adversity and give impeccable freedom, up to the right to perish for the glory of the Trinity. 

Together and at a distance, alone and in a dance, She recognized the ponies' right to be who they are, but determined all the boundaries and facets of this right.

And the voice — Gentle couldn't say if it was soft or fierce. In this voice White Moon decreed that She approves of whatever decision Cursory Streak would make; and by said approval made it known that Her Herald's protection is necessary and useful for the reputable Gentle Touch; so it happened.

Then, by Her word, She made it so that not only now and in the future, but also since before time, in any sector of Metropolis and Outland, according to eternal traditions of the Trinity, pilgrims could ask for and expect any help, so long as this didn't infringe on other primordial rights of other ponies.

She also said that their journey in search of the dead was pleasing to Her and useful both to Her and to all the ponies and their traditions and laws.

And for a long, long time She continued to speak, communicating and affirming the truths that Gentle was not able to understand or remember; she only knew that a ligature of rules and axioms was weaved around them that would serve them as protection on their long journey.

Finally, She fell silent. Cursory Streak remained sitting next to the White Moon, and Gentle did not understand how she did not burn. So, to avoid the suffering from witnessing the impossibility of what was happening, she bowed and left the grand hall where even the ceiling was too high to be seen, slipping on the icy-smooth stone slabs, and unsuccessfully tried to calm down the ringing rumble in her head.

I want to go home, Gentle sobbed while nopony saw her.

Nopony answered her. Except glasses; but even those not with words. Only by feeling I'm nearby, I'm here for you.
> Chapter 11: Limitation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


⊛⊛⊛


Gentle Touch lay on the bench, totally relaxed. The columns on the sides cut off the space that nopony would enter; on the round table in front of her was a bowl of spiced alfalfa salad. The cafe was smaller and more comfortable than the restaurant from where she and Cursory Streak went to sector 12-S, the Black Moon’s sector, just a few cycles — and so many events ago. She had found a companion; she saw White Moon up close; and there was the major quest to follow up. Now, at the quiet cafe not so far away from central sectors, she was… mostly calm; maybe worried at Cursory Streak’s recent and sudden leave.

There were no modifiers in the menu at all, and the scent background was made by tulips of the green line — almost like at home — reminding of grass and unripe apples.

Your smell is quite cute, she remembered Cursory's words and smiled to herself. She looked around, easily finding the pegasus Herald — beyond the entrance and above the wooden ceiling of the cafe, at a height of several nines of throws, at the Great Net that sprawled unusually low here. At such a great distance, it was impossible to gauge the range more precisely: there was nothing to compare with. Next to Cursory Streak were three more web rainbows, without major flaws, but, obviously, at that age.

Well, in any case, she could stand up for herself… Gentle carefully chewed a third of the salad, enjoying the spicy sweetness and impeccable freshness of the taste, filled out the appreciation form, but the worry remained. She placed table spatulas in a triangle on the edge of the bowl and went outside, under the Blue Moon.


☄☄☄


Cursory Streak kept her distance from the purple glass pipes as thick as her legs that made up the global damping Net here. No Red in the forecast, so it should be only semi-active now…

She narrowed her eyes, tracking the three young pegasi; the pinkish one accelerated, folded his wings and swept through the cell without touching the Net itself, except perhaps by the wind in his wake; it responded with a low, thick hum. 

His companions followed suit. The lilac one almost touched the pipe with the edge of his wing; the rumble increased sharply, filled the air, and a seemingly slow ice tentacle stretched from the Net’s nearest crossing, branching and rushing to the lilac trespasser. Less than a third of a beat later, the next three ice branches aimed at the remaining pegasi.

The one that darted towards Cursory melted down when she instinctively recalled the flame before her; the young ponies were less fortunate. All of them froze in an icy grip on the thin and sparkling tridents created by the Net. Immovable — and above the level of the Net, under the shrouding hazy glow of the Blue Moon in full glory, dense and drowning, undissipated by the Net.

And I thought it was not in full... Cursory sighed in her mind and repeated the leader's maneuver, also slipping through the Net into the unprotected sky. Otherwise, she would not have been taken seriously. Blue Moon's shimmering brilliance confused her and misted her vision, but still Cursory was able to position herself correctly — right by the pinkish leader of the trio. He was positioned almost exactly in between the two of his trapped followers, which was convenient: Cursory Streak was showing that she talks to the leader first, but without disrespecting his wingmates, or favouring one over the other. 

“Do you understand the consequences, unbounds?” She allowed herself to be angry and dropped the honorific. Non-children wouldn't appreciate it anyway.

The three-voiced noise of reluctant confirmation was an answer for her.

“As an observing adult, I’m entitled to accept a request for assistance. Or listen to a comment for family and friends. You probably know about the risk of change already. The leader of the pack sure does.”

She took a crossword puzzle out of her bag, turned the sheet over — clean side up — and prepared to write replies down.

“I'm Short Cut. I refuse to speak and do not ask for help,” the pink leader replied. Cursory tried to pick up more from his expression, but his face was akin to a mask.

“I'm Vortex Flow. I am asking for help,” the lilac one said in a raised tone but not in a shout. Cursory Streak did not wait, sharply hitting the ice trident with her shoulder girdle and breaking ice; the Herald’s shoulder went numb, the pain leaked into the wing muscles on the same side, and the single mobile pegasus barely stayed in the air, hammering with the other wing until she found a new balance. It's impossible to get used to it… Released, Vortex Flow descended to the safe air under the Net; from there, his lilac form disappeared behind a corner in an instant.

“I'm Dip. Just Dip. I'll stay to watch over my friend. Sector 113-L, second habitat, three square nines and two nines apartment. Tell them that I am not sorry, that it was not their fault and that they are good ponies,” the dark blue pegasus said these words very slowly, as if thinking over each word. Cursory knew this was how ice worked.

“But are you going to come back?” Cursory asked for clarification.

“If at all possible. If I will be enough… to become Herald… I’ll return,” Dip blinked slowly. She could not nod anymore.

Cursory chuckled and added a couple more notes to the list; wrote down the address for the report to follow. Words that were said and heard, personal and sacred ones, were memorised instead. Then, without looking back, she dived through the Net into Metropolis.

She allowed herself to fall. Her shoulder was heavy with a soggy pain; she wanted to get to a warm bath and totally clear her thoughts for a slice or three. But below the Net there was one with whom a meeting had been more anticipated than would normally be proper among two strangers; Gentle Touch. Cursory chuckled to herself. It's not my fault that it's true. It’s not her fault that she has already passed the unbound age either.


⊛⊛⊛


Cursory Streak was angry, although she tried to hide it — but they were under a normal sky, near a perfectly normal cafe, and Gentle Touch saw everything quite clearly. So Gentle came over and asked bluntly, “I take it they weren't engineers of the Net, were they? And you were hardly offered a race for a prize,” She smiled. “Although you look like you have lost. A race, I mean.”

Cursory looked down and did not answer right away.

“I got an urgent message from my Moon.”

Gentle gasped, “I didn't know Moons could do that... that Moons do that in fact. Is the message a secret? If not, and if it would be better for you to tell me about it, then I will listen. Attentively.”

“Yes, I will tell, but first things first. I agree to accept your help so that you can relieve the pain. If you are following the relevant aspect,” the pegasus turned sideways to Gentle; she came up, peered, and snorted at what she saw. The flow of color over the front leg of Cursory Streak practically stopped, and the colors themselves... Gentle knew only a few poisons that could cause such an effect, and only one of them...

She understood, bit her lip and got to work, creating new lines from the branches to bypass the silenced area. Almost immediately the pegasus exhaled and moved to the side; Gentle had to warn the patient that the treatment was far from over and that it will be necessary to visit the hospital sector later on.  Gentle purred under her breath a training rhyme for the correct rhythm, ‘One, two, three — a line there should be free / Three, two, one, zero, test — the Forest awaits to be next,’ and Cursory was able to support her and get in tune, although at the Forest line her voice was audibly — for Gentle — hesitating.

In a slice or a little more the flow was, for the most part, restored in the foreleg and in the wing muscles on the same side, except for a small patch of direct impart. For a time, they simply remained next to each other, side by side against the wall of the cafe. Then Cursory said as if nothing had happened, “Three unbounds, who went up to test themselves and offer themselves to Moons, by flying over the Net. Thankfully, there is no Red in the forecast… well, if they ever look at it.” She smiled sadly. “So… they are lucky to get Blue Moon. She will be more than enough.”

Gentle was compassionately silent for a few beats; then sniffed and said, “Could they return yet?”

“One of them has a chance to hold it off down there, the other two... I don't think they'll manage, no.” Cursory replied. The bitter lump in her throat caught her breath for a moment. 

Gentle nuzzled the pegasus's wing, “Well… two more Heralds for the Blue Moon.”

Cursory didn't move back — she felt sapped, placed in an invisible yet rigid shell. Just replied. ”They say Blue Moon may be kind when She wants to.” She took a small pause; Gentle nodded to it. “With White Moon there’s no chance that way, you see. She is unforgiving. She pulls unbounds through all the stops, and leaves them Changed. But if Blue Moon is softer, if She really is lenient, then... then, yes, it's good then.”

“Are you sure about them?” Gentle asked carefully.

“Yes. Just like about you. You see, I knew you’re a Herald right off the bat, once you hesitated at my proposal. Only a Herald would earnestly consider it: you, too, are lonely.”

Gentle blinked and nodded; the faint blue mesh in her irises pulsed.

Cursory felt more at ease as she spoke, hurried a little, letting it on. “In general, I can see when... ponies think more than they say. Especially when they do not think about what they say. My own skill, a lot of time at the station... you gradually learn to hear more than spoken. So, they were clear too."

Gentle frowned, her mouth opened slightly, ears drooped in a look of silent disappointed surprise, but she said nothing.

Oh. Cursory bit her lip. “I thought about telling you that before but had neither good words nor time. To explain how I intruded into what you wanted to keep secret.” She chose to leave the apology out. If Cursory was right about a few other things Gentle preferred to hold unspoken — at this point the pegasus was pretty sure about that — it will be just fine anyway. 

Gentle stood up and rubbed her nose behind Cursory's ear, “I understand. And I sympathize with you. What these unbounds did is nonsense — if the Moons wanted more Heralds, they wouldn’t deploy the Net. I understand why the Net is not everywhere and why it is possible to penetrate through it. I just don’t agree with this decision.”

Apparently, the unspoken apology was accepted. “Yeah. So do I. I mean, I can see how it is the traditional way. White loves Her traditions, I obliged to look for them. But still…”

Cursory went on after a beat, “Anyway... in my experience only unbounds look for it. Of course, otherwise you have to work, to train, to hope, with no promises given. You know, like many say they do and fewer do. Like I once failed to do.” Bitter disappointment was clear in Cursory's voice, addressed to nopony in particular– or maybe to the world itself, or to herself before she first inhaled 'Guiding Starfall-TX'. She sniffed. caught herself at it and tried to calm down. Three deep breaths, and she opted for the less tense topic, “By the way, I want to ask you... how did you go through the unbound age yourself? I don't mean that you shouldn't have, but how? I'm just collecting these stories…”

Cursory fell silent, but Gentle saw that the wish to act the anger out, or at the very least to speak more was still seething in her, and that she was holding back, picking her words and calming down. After nine beats she continued, “Collecting stories. To take them all, and just explain to my Moon that this age is not needed. That it makes the world worse for everypony. That it adds to the issues that we are forced to resolve. So that She would put the unbound age in silence and never say it again.”

Gentle tensed and took a half step back. But she answered in a calm voice, “I will probably answer your query later. We are too far away for it — both from each other and from our many destinations on the Black Moon’s map. First, we need to decide what we are going to do on the quest of the Triangle.”

The pegasus nodded, “I'd like us to get closer.”

“I know. I do not want to, yet. And please do not insist: I see that you are drawn to me, and that there is a spark of sexual attraction, hidden in the tertiary lanes. But the closer you try to be, the harder it gets for me.”

Cursory didn't answer right away; she moved both her wings a bit — still not in true sync — and blushed, “Can you see me that well?”

“No worse than you can see me,” Gentle Touch replied, smiling but still tense.

“And this is not a refusal?”

Gentle Touch was silent for a beat.

“No, it isn’t.”
> Chapter 12: Distancing
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


♡🐝♡🐝♡


Quiet Melody has not celebrated anniversaries for a long time. The festive mood came to her without checking up the number of the round or the name of the era. Sometimes she realized that it was time to change a name that had worn out; sometimes a name left her by itself, like how a child swarm separates from a parent hive. Generations of ponies were following each other; she was invited to cute-ceañeras, weddings and funerals, and sometimes she agreed to come, although the latter she did not really like. There is no sweetness in sorrow and loss.

But for her, festivities were not tied to regular intervals of time — not anymore. A feast could be made out of any joy, any small or big pleasure. For example, now that she was expecting guests, her joy was cake. Wafer cake, with blueberry cream, with a pinch of ground coffee and cream cheese, as Solid Line loved it — without confessing this love; never asking for more, but Quiet Melody felt the taste of this pleasure anyway. Quiet Melody knew that the yellow unicorn was not there, but she remembered that she would be, and the feast was associated with her.

So the bees said, and they are never wrong, even if they hear much less than Moons.

From the central railway station and to the far Descent of the Blue Moon — despite not being a follower of the Blue, or any Moon at all, she kept using such a naming convention out of æsthetic reasons — two ponies were coming to visit her with a joint question from Moons, which she learned both from a letter with a seal and from nine bees, imperceptibly following the guests.

Melody did not really want to spoil the first impression with a look through the eyes of the swarm, and definitely was not ever going to let any guests into her home proper, so she apologised to time itself for what she was about to do. 

Of the many possible futures, she examined one branch of what will happen three cycles later, one where she does meet the guests, but away from her domain. In this branch she will narrow her eyes and look around; her eyes now were not as they were before.

She will see the usual for this part of her domain: dark semi-opaque water, white marble tracks that were outlining hexagonal cells of bridges, blossoming pear trees away from the tracks and at the water's edge.

Two ponies will stay on the track. Outside, beyond the confines of her loneliness which she shared with her close ones, an eternal blizzard was, and will ever be, raging, and on the face and sides of the pale orange earth pony — powerful Herald of the Blue — will be cut marks of vicious ice dust. The coat on her side will be marked by a long line of mostly absent fur; the pony’s eyes will be watering, but Melody will understand that she will be seen very clearly, and that there is no point in hiding.

The pegasus next to the earth pony will blink, “This is a dream, isn't it? And you are not an alicorn and not a Moon?..” suggesting that there may be ones that are not others at the same time.

Having made sure this is indeed the branch she's interested in, Melody then set it as the one to be recalled by the guests, even as it will not happen in the main flow.

She tucked her legs to appear shorter and said, “No, it’s not a dream. It’s what will most likely happen to you, or happened already. I can’t clearly distinct these ones anymore. I am immortal like them, but I am not of Their kin. Have you ever heard of Moons that aren’t known? I didn’t put the weight of the whole world onto my back. I have enough ponies to care about. My little Starfall and her friends... and my friends too. It’s not my thing to patch up the history for all eternity, it’s easier to just make friends with Time…”

She knew that she would not have time to finish the thought and then she would forget it, but trying to preempt it would only disrupt the flow further; nevertheless, Melody's transparent wings fluttered in irritation, buzzed, and two bees got entangled in the guest's orange coat two beats before the earth pony wedged in.

“Black Moon said that you can protect us from the Red!” she exclaimed aloud.

...a burning pain, a heavy putrid smell...

Melody blinked, “Is that what she said?”

The earth pony glanced at the grayish-white pegasus; she fluttered her wings, snorted and replied, "We don’t remember. Something like this. This place is marked on Her map.”

“Oh,” Melody realized she didn't know what to say. She herself never had and will not have protection from the Red, no amulets, no charms, no spells... Only by taking refuge in a fragment of space and time hidden from the world could she and her close ones be relatively safe. But she had no way to offer this protection to somepony venturing outside.

She asked, heard the refusal even before she finished — no, we have our own way, and we still have to wake Solid Line — and cut herself off. Instead she asked in surprise about Solid ahead of time, “I could protect you but only if you would stay here with me among the ponies of my family— Solid Line?.. So is… will she be alive?”

Melody fluttered her thin wings in annoyance again, hearing the rejection a second time, note-for-note as at the first. 

"Just asleep for now," — "That’s good, I guess?” — “Yes, she is alive," — "What do you mean?" the voices of the guests split into a cacophony in Melody's head when she momentarily lost her focus on the desired branch.

Melody tried to apologize, “I've lived too long, and I can't always tell the past from the future. Sorry.”

The earth pony smiled, “If Solid Line wakes up, I'll take care of her. This is my calling. And that's okay, I understand. Although it baffles me that you have no protection... we walked here…” she frowned, trying to figure it out, “not yet so far, or for how long? For a cycle and a third since we left the train... sleeping in the open air in the wilderness, chasing away snow ghosts... and for what, to find nothing that could protect us here?”

Melody winced from the bitter frustration that earth pony tried to hide. She inhaled and murmured, “Give me a moment, I will try to find something for you. I trust that Black Moon had a good reason to guide you here, so… yes, I will try.”

She froze, thinking feverishly and slipping through the branching time, connecting the largest bee swarm to her mind to help her process the options. She really didn't want to disappoint the ward and those two who were woven into the ward's calculations. Nines of nines of variants, each with its own chord of time, intertwined into a uniform gray noise that grew and receded like the hum of bees.

She found nothing.

Melody tried to look deeper — Time glanced back at her in annoyance and raised a hoof to forbid and disapprove — but I have to!—

She still found nothing at all.

She lowered her head, lifted and lowered a pale pink hoof. Then she exhaled, almost crying, “No. I can not. I don’t know. If you don't want to stay here, then I just don't know how to protect you. Maybe she means that you have to find something here that will help you? My ward is never mistaken, especially in such matters, but her advice is never simple.”

The earth pony came over and hugged her sympathetically. The pegasus snorted, her head lifted.

“It’s okay. Thanks for your honest answer, Melody,” the pale orange earth pony said, splitting into two ghostly images, one pulling back, the other remaining in her embrace. Melody shook her head and re-focused. “When we will come... or we have come already... I mean, when the order of things will be normal, we will stay with you and take a look around. Maybe we can find…” 

The pegasus nodded, sharply, “Yes. Something that reputable Quiet Melody does not even notice over so many rounds. Somehow she lives here, and is not afraid of the Red. I bet two to one, that is the answer.”

“I accept the bet,” the earth pony replied.

“Well, anyway, I had a cake for you. Or, I will have, right?” Melody asked, guilt in her voice. She started disconnecting from the branch.

From the look on their faces, both of them will not mind the cake after the long hike, and Melody will think it might be that she has not much to blame herself for yet.

Three beats before they will have their leave Melody will taste their emotions: bay leaf of the readiness to protect and cover, to stand up against any enemy, the sour fermented grapes of uncertainty and the frostbitten passion to be stronger, ever stronger, so that the elder one would appreciate, and something dark and inebriant, and an awkward tingle caused by an event that made this branch unlikely to be revisited by the guests.

But Melody already looked too deeply into the future; any more and she would lose track of the branch entirely. And so she focused on the main branch of the predicted future in her mind, trimming away all the side branches, reducing it to a single thread that can be comprehended easily by young ponies, and imparting it as a vision onto her yet-distant future guests. 

Most importantly, the very act of sharing such a prophecy made it so that this future would not come to pass, thus ensuring that her home will be safe from intruders.
> Chapter 13: Confrontation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


⊛⊛⊛


The future resounded and fluttered, collapsing — Gentle Touch remembered that the coffee would be too cold, but it would have to be drunk, because money might still be useful — and then it became present.

She stood at the train window, looking out over the low, flat-topped hills. As far as the eye could see, each of them was dominated by a snow-white arch of the power system, enveloped in a crystalline pink glow. Few of the ponies, knowing the risks, dared to settle here — even now pink lightning connected two arches five or six throws apart, spilled needles along the channel it had found, and the thin snow cover melted along the line, exposing the scorched earth.

Melody was pink too... or will she be? She shook her head, remembering a tall not-quite-pegasus with slender translucent wings and a dull shimmering band of chitinous armor along her spine and sides; herself falling silent for a long time but then answering questions almost before they were spoken.

There were still three cycles left before the meeting — one and two thirds by train, the rest on hooves through the snow desert. Her left side ached; Gentle stepped over and looked at it — the laceration was not there yet, and in her eyes there weren’t any dancing blinding sparks from the snow that she never saw before; but still she blinked thrice, and the unease subsided.

She headed for the train compartment and bumped into Cursory Streak coming out of it; recalled this would happen and tried to step back before the collision, with no success. The pegasus darted to the side, took a befitting distance of five steps, and with slightly parted wings turned to face Gentle Touch.

“We should update our strategy,” Cursory said, her voice on the verge of faltering, like a solid enough lake ice that will be under Gentle's hooves two cycles later.

Gentle tilted her head, “I'm sorry, but what is there to discuss, again? We will get to her, take a look around the place and figure out what we can use  for protection from the Red. As we were going to do.”

“And also on the way you’ll be injured,” Cursory crouched down on her front legs, spread her wings, and a barely noticeable pearly wave rolled over them, ”And I won't be fast enough to cover you.”

Gentle shuddered, stepped over with her left hind leg; there was no reason yet for the pain she felt, or will feel, and yet… she replied, stepping forward, “Yes. But you remember that I will be okay, and I will heal this scratch just fine.”

Cursory raised an eyebrow, but Gentle persisted, “A scratch, I said! And then…”

She blushed; Cursory did not look away, breaking the beat of silence, “That's it. I also remember what will happen next, and... that's why we should stray from the path.”

You dislike it that much? Gentle almost asked.

She lowered her ears and closed her eyes for a couple of strokes, looking into Cursory's web rainbow. The volition to correct the mistake, to be better than she is; the neverending desire to shield protected ponies from any harm; and the awkwardness of what was yet to come that they both shared. Gentle stomped, and replied with a huff, “Let's say I understand what you feel. But what do you suggest then?”

“Get off the train at the nearest station and go wake up Solid Line.”

Gentle shook her head, but Cursory continued, insisting, “Do you remember how Melody asked about Solid Line? This pony is important to her, so everypony will be better off if we return to Melody’s place as a trio; as a full team, not as two ponies arriving only to leave in vain.”

“But what about the protection? The doubles will find us, if not now, then...”

Cursory Streak smiled, “We will win. We've won already.”

Gentle Touch shook her head, “Even if we did, next time they will take past mistakes into account. And if we will attract the attention of the Red itself...”

“Then Solid Line may have her own word to say. Three of us will be stronger.”

“But how?! She has slept for generations! In her time, nopony knew the common practices!”, Gentle cried in reply. 

“Until you wake her up, you will not know,“ Cursory stepped closer, “She is the Black Moon’s Herald. Do you know anything about them?”

Gentle swallowed and looked away.

“I do not know either,” Cursory said, her voice soft in an instant, “But in my eyes, the team should be complete. This is right and... the way it should be. Even at my station it’s not recommended to fly for an issue with a roster that’s less than full. And then you will not be injured. That’s even more important.”

Gentle lowered herself, covered her head with her front hooves, and sighed; then quietly replied, “Well. Let it be your way.”

She clearly felt that they were making a mistake, but there was no strength to argue with the elder.

She was a small, weak and defenseless pony, and the coffee that Cursory brought her was ice cold, as she knew already.
> Chapter 14: Warning
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


☄☄☄


Cursory Streak pressed the phoretic patch that went from her left shoulder further to her side by left wing, to ensure that it did not hinder wing muscles; the wing was still beating with a slight delay, breaking out of rhythm with its counterpart.

“Will I fly... as good as before?” she asked a small, dark brown stallion with a  cutie  mark of multicolored pills on his flank. He was lying behind a low table with a projection in front of him.

“Oh sure. With time, if you are not lazy, and if you will not forget that the air above the Net is dangerous for you. Especially when Blue is in Her full glory,” he replied in a pleasant low voice.

Cursory didn't ask a question, but leaned forward and looked directly into the doctor's eyes, indicating that she was waiting for more.

He sighed, “Listen, this is not Moon you are aligned to. Blue’s poisons are gradual and inevitable. So they accumulate in you — the analysis suggests that you might have had too many…” he twitched his ear, but continued, “...too close contacts with Her Changed.”

Cursory nodded, “This is my job. Now for what can I do to keep myself better,” she lowered her ears for a beat, “Are you suggesting that I avoid solving issues relating to Blue Moon entirely?”

“For a start, I’m suggesting that you decide what is more important to you. I see that your percentage of issues solved is very high now. But your overall contribution will be higher if you sacrifice the percentage now, but maintain a longer and healthier life, and thus longer productivity. Leave the Blue Moon related issues to the young ponies you teach.”

Cursory closed her eyes, made a step back and sideways. She didn’t find the words right away, but eventually asked, “How much time do I have left?”

“That's the wrong question,” the doctor replied in an instant.

“And yet, try to answer.”

“It will be very difficult for us to pull you out without irreversible consequences if you come into such severe contact with Blue Moon once more. But there are teams out there better than ours, if you would look more to the center of Metropolis and less to the Outlands than we are. And I believe we can do it one more time.” 

He coughed, turned fully towards her, and placed both front hooves on the table, leaning forward slightly. It was difficult to recognize the expression on his face through a translucent projection, but his voice betrayed him headlong. Sympathy, slight sadness, sincerity, “I won't put even one coin against nine on two more times.”

“And if I listen to your opinion and stay safe, then, nevertheless, how much time do I have left?” Cursory inquired in a monotone.

“This is an even less correct question!” the doctor raised his voice, “You can die from nines of different reasons. Your behavioral profile…”

“I know! Let's say right now I abandon my station, take a grade of status, lock myself up and sit quietly all my remaining life, like that colony under the Bridge. What then?” she leaned forward, twitching her wings.

“To begin with, you cannot live like this. Behavioral profile…”

Cursory jumped onto the table, ‘breaking’ the projection with her body — the greenish ripples of the news release flickered, but after two beats the image corrected itself for the interference, distributed across two screens on the sides of Cursory Streak — who hung over the doctor. 

He leaned back, fell sideways from the bench with a thud, shook his head, and snorted without getting up, “Just as I said. You won't live like this, reputable Cursory Streak. And for my own reasons, understanding your question and seeing your data, I will not answer it. You are healthy and you can leave the hospital building and fly away by all nine winds.”

The white pegasus stepped closer to him. The doctor raised his head, and, not turning away from her, also got to his hooves. He stepped forward — a third of a step, but that was enough.

Cursory sighed, "I apologize. I have another question. My companion is the Blue Moon’s Herald. Is that good or bad for me?”

The doctor blinked. He opened his mouth as if about to answer. He grunted and asked, “The same one with whom you signed up for check-up and treatment, named Gentle Touch?” waited for a nod and said dryly, “I can't say. There are too many unstable factors. Decide for yourself and negotiate yourself. These are the affairs of the Heralds and I cannot say what I would do if I were you.”

Now, when the news projection did not interfere with her, Cursory clearly saw that the doctor had a part of his thought hidden, and was not so much afraid of responsibility for a decision or influence as... yes, he literally could not say.

She exhaled and reached for the distant, unfamiliar aspect of White Moon — rules, traditions, permissions. The aspect's fire was not pearly, but slightly yellowish, like baked milk. Sparks passed through the nerves, causing both wings to fly open, one a little slower and not at full width. An alien and uncomfortable fire whispered to her, indistinct but displeased, like a distant unloved relative, ready to slip out at any beat and take its payment.

But the question was too important, and Cursory Streak did not like to postpone important questions.

“I invoke the sixth personal permission of the White Moon for special teams of the Trinity. I have the right to require an answer to the question if it is more important for the team than for me.” 

The alien aspect exhausted her faster than flying too fast through the thin air at an altitude too high would. She felt a growing dizziness, but she did not allow herself to be interrupted, and completed the formal, obligatory appeal, “Is the presence of Gentle Touch harmful for me or for the team? For the sake of the team's mission, I remove and cancel every and all inhibitions for this question!”

She exhaled, letting the sparks of the flames roll down from her wings like raindrops. The yellow fire coiled into two low pillars on either side of the doctor, and on each of them the same question was repeated twice, in civilian and in lunar language.

The doctor looked at them with wide eyes... and shook his head, “I can not answer. I can not! Withdraw the question!”

Cursory looked into his face, the world on the sides was turning gray, there was no strength, the flame kept taking its price with each beat. He was sincere — and scared.

She sharply folded her wings, expecting both pillars to go out as she withdrew the appeal from her soul — but they exploded, throwing her off the table against the far wall of the room.

...go ahead ...I will rest a little...

Darkness came for Cursory Streak, and the flame went out.


⊛⊛⊛


Gentle Touch was sitting near the bed with the unconscious white pegasus with a book; noticing that the patient was stirring in her sleep, Blue Moon’s Herald quietly but hastily turned the book from the second page to one of the middle ones. She turned her ears to Cursory, waiting for the first question, and heard, “Why?..” Cursory's voice was quiet, hoarse, but clear.

“You’ll be better off if you keep quiet for now,” Gentle Touch slid off the deck chair and brought her a mug with a spout. Cursory took a long, greedy gulp of the apple juice, but continued almost immediately, despite the advice, “Why didn't he answer? He had to answer!..”

“Because you created a collision. You set a rule against an equally powerful rule. I thought you would be at least more careful with your powers. I didn’t think you, of the two of us, would be prone to self-validation like that,” Gentle tried very hard not to sound judgmental, but while speaking realized that she could not. Looking at the web rainbow inside of Cursory, Gentle Touch saw that she would turn red even before the blood actually went to the pegasus's cheeks.

“I mean…” Cursory Streak shook her head. “I can't figure out… how is it? Where does the collision come from?..”

Gentle Touch smiled, “I wrote a letter to the Trinity, and They answered. If you know the answer to this question, it will interfere with the mission. The fact that you have a question at all has already interfered with the mission but this cannot be fixed. Unless, of course, you agree to a deep memory correction with limiting triggers — and you will not agree.”

Cursory again sharply jerked her head, like a bird, “That’s awful... that is, I let everypony down? Because I can pretty much figure the answer out from the fact that it’s hidden.”

“No, not at all,” Gentle whispered quickly and soothingly, almost chirping, “so far everything is fine and you are a good, strong pony. Just don't worry about it. Take the question, and the answer, aside if you can. That would be the best for the team.”

At first it appeared like the conversation ended there, but after a long silence the pegasus glanced at her and spoke again, “Can you cure me entirely from… the Blue? They say they cannot, but you are stronger than them, right?”

Gentle lowered her ears, “I can remove some of Her poison, while it is fresh and did not have had time to penetrate deeply. But I myself run with it, do you understand? I can prevent the acute effects, but the chronic ones I will only intensify. In a way…” she shook her head, “you can say that I had hurt you. I should have worked slower with your wound. More thoroughly. And more skillfully. Sorry. If only I had been stronger...“ Gentle Touch sniffed.

Cursory went silent again for a long time, then turned to Gentle and got to her hooves.

“It's okay. I trust you, I allowed you to heal me in good conscience, and I accepted your judgement then, now, and for the future, even if you made a mistake once. It's good that you said that. And in any case, the first few cycles after your help I was almost completely fine. We managed to visit Melody, if that not-meeting counts. And now I am almost completely fine,“ but after these words, there was a small question in Cursory's tone.

Gentle nodded and remarked encouragingly, “I would say that now you can drop the ‘almost’. Do not worry. You will definitely fly just fine. Now... get some sleep. I'll be there. I would like for Solid Line, when she wakes up, to see you the way I used to see you... I mean, as somepony less alike to a greenish ghost with a skeleton inside,” the earth pony smiled and rubbed her eyes with a fetlock.

Cursory snorted, nodded and returned to the bed; turned to the wall, as if falling asleep, and the question went unexpectedly, without a base for it — Gentle did not even see the flow of lines that would lead to any question at all. All this time, she was afraid and prepared to answer about the doctor in case of Cursory remembering him, but the actual question was different.

“What will happen to those two? Short Cut, and that familyless unbound, Dip.”

Gentle was surprised that Cursory Streak assumed she would know the answer, but told the truth, as it is always better to do with those aligned to White Moon, “Two to one, I would say. Dip has found herself well on the Herald’s path, the second unbound… he is in a long sleep, for now. There is a chance that he will find a way, too, but not so great.”

“Oh, so it’s true… They say that all Blue Moon’s Heralds feel each other through dreams, that’s what I mean. I just checked, without expecting much. Or how else do you know?” the pegasus asked curiously, but with caution.

“In their case, there was an attachment in the reply letter from the Trinity. Written in a hurry and at the last beat, judging by the hornwriting,” Gentle Touch smiled.

She understood the significance of the previous question, and added, “So, your formal observing helped overall, even if you didn’t count Vortex. You did not fly to that issue in vain, reputable Cursory Streak.”
> Chapter 15: Approaching
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


⊛⊛⊛


“Are you asleep?” Cursory Streak’s voice went through Gentle’s dream. She grunted, being drawn from the sleep at the last slices of her quiet phase. For Cursory, her White Moon just had went through its zenith in the sky, so she was more than awake.

Gentle Touch turned her head towards the milky silhouette and glanced aside. The monotone rustle of the forgotten ocean sounded in her head, but soon it was gone. There were dark green walls of the hospital hotel, a half-open window, a barely noticeable reflection of light coming from the corridor. The silence, so deep that she can hear Cursory breathing. A snowy smell of disinfection that made her nose numb.

Still hopelessly far from home. 

Gentle sneezed, but it didn't help much. The smell of pegasus became apparent though — a little bit of lightning and the smallest note of dry fireplace heat against the background of lifeless purity.

“Not anymore,” Gentle huddled deeper under the warm blanket, but did not turn away. Her body remained almost motionless, her breathing was even, and it didn't even work out to be angry, except that the answer was still a bit harsh.

“I need to talk,” the white pony sounded a little embarrassed — just a little.

Gentle couldn't help but smile, and saw that on the other side, against the far wall of the hotel room, Cursory Streak smiled back.

“You’re already talking, and I’m fully awake. I mean, my head woke up, and my ears are here for you too. The rest is up for discussion,” Gentle teased a bit.

“The rest is not required yet,” the joke was accepted and sent back. Gentle smiled wider.

However, Cursory did not uphold the game after that. The question sounded very serious, “Do you think Solid will fit between us?”

Gentle yawned and turned her head fully towards Cursory, looking in. No, not afraid of a threat... a little jealousy, perhaps... and afraid to be unprepared, unsuitable.

“Why ‘between’?” the earth pony asked.

“Because everything will be different with her. Right now I know that you would not be offended. But if a third, unfamiliar, pony slept here?”

Gentle Touch paused, then laughed softly, “Nonsense. When our phases intersect, Black Moon’s ponies usually sleep so deep that not even a storm could wake them.”

The pegasus muttered indistinctly, then followed on anyway, “I mean something else. You and I have already gotten used to and learned to be together. And if she doesn't get along with us at all? And how do you think we will work if at least one of us three will always be asleep?”

Gentle closed her eyes and hid her head between her front legs. Not that she wasn't afraid of it herself. Still she replied, trying to sound confident, “Do you understand that she will wake up alone? There will be nopony but us. We will be her first guides in this world. It's... as if you came to an unknown company — at first you carefully look and listen to what is going around.” 

Gentle took a deep breath and continued without raising her head — in fact, she was not so certain in her words, so for the sake of quelling Cursory’s anxiety she chose to hide her face for now, “And the phases of the cycle... they can be shifted, I know a recipe for such a potion. Or we might take an aviette, and pilot in turn. If you want, you tell me what to draw on the aviette’s board for our team, and I will draw it,” Gentle giggled.

“How much time has passed since she was alive?.. Two square nines of rounds, at least. It's a totally different life. They had no Net...”

“First, almost three,” Gentle corrected, “Second, being a Herald, she should be able to hit the ground running on her own — we don’t need anypony but our Moon. In fact, she might be so attuned to Black Moon’s solitude as to immediately run away.”

Gentle Touch made a break, waiting for a reply. There was none, and she continued, “Still, it is unlikely in my eyes. She would not want to lose us. We are to point out what has changed and what remains… and I will be honest here: given your Moon’s mantle, it is possible that you exaggerate the rate of change. Just be natural: think about others as you always do. And all will be well. I will check up on her state, too.”

Cursory chuckled. Gentle, believing that the conversation was over, briefly went out the door. When she returned, she noticed a piece of thin cardboard with a crossword puzzle on it on the bedside table. She took it to give it back to its owner, but she went out the door again instead and, under the dim electric light, carefully appreciated her own portrait done with a few pencil strokes on the back of the crossword puzzle.

When she returned, Cursory Streak pretended to be asleep — and out of phase at that. Gentle quietly made her way to her bed, put the crossword puzzle on the table exactly the same way as it was before, pulled herself under the fluffy blanket again and went into lighter dreams — her own ones.

These were enough, for now.


☄☄☄


Before heading to the capsule, they sent out letters just in case —  by distant winds, which Cursory took care of, and copies by slow mail in envelopes.

Gentle's letter contained almost nothing but two long lists of names. First, her relatives — the first, second, third degree of kinship, with short questions about their health and souvenirs from the center, with a few words of care and memory for everypony; the place of friends was limited to the line ‘Now for the friends’, but this section remained completely empty, and immediately after it there was a list of acquaintances to whom — all together, also listed by names — Gentle wished success in their endeavors.

About herself Gentle Touch wrote only that she did not intend to return, except for a visit — Moons promised her a job on the spot and a completed designation, and this was worth a little fleeting yearning. Such a letter would have been inconvenient for another voice of the wind, but Cursory Streak had to memorize similar lists quite often, and the letter left without reconciliation and without errors.

Cursory sent a couple of short letters to the station and the home — ‘I will be back, I won't be able to pick up all the issues anymore, tell mom to be cautious in the mountains’, — and found a mnemo station.

She asked Gentle to stay at the door and wait a little, spent a notable sum on three copies, and sent out all dreams about the ocean and the unrealized memory of Melody to her station and two trusted contacts at the center of Metropolis. She imprinted additional instructions at a deep level, submerging and weighing them down with key-images. Nopony of the mnemo operators in the Black Moon’s uniform tried to rush her, probably because there was no queue.

When she left the mnemo room, Gentle was gone. She was neither in the slow post office, nor in the nearest cafes, nor at the gates of the hospital. Cursory took off, looked around, found a tower clock — the Black Moon is almost at Her zenith, White Moon is leaning towards descent, Blue Moon is in nadir — and almost forgot to flap her wings, surprised.

She lost more than four slices. Mnemos took no more than a third of a slice, and even if she estimated the time wrong, which had never happened before... still, the degree of failure was just too big!

She remembered the underground tunnel in 12-S, where they lost each other in the same way, so Cursory found a terminal at a quiet intersection, entered her tech access codes and requested data on reflection activity in the immediate vicinity. She incredulously re-read the summary for the last cycle, although the graphs spoke for themselves — the number and complexity of issues is one sixth of the expected level, the sensors may be damaged or miscalibrated, operators are advised to keep their alertness above average — but did not linger.

With a heavy heart, the pegasus rose into the air, determined the vector and set off in a straight line to the place of Solid Line's long sleep. In the web of airways, this point and the small surrounding area were an imperceptible void — very few lines crossed this neighborhood, but even those were isolated and low-speed.

A pulling not-quite-desire lit up in her chest, as if she should, because it was necessary and right, to approach this exact ‘void’; as if it contained something that was lost during childhood and since then forgotten — until now; thus, for the last one and a half slices, once she crossed the sector’s border, she was guided by this feeling and not by the map.

She arrived at a hill slope overgrown with clover. Gentle Touch was not here either, but looking closely, Cursory noticed several lines of snow-white clover, and all these lines converged at one point. She went there, accidentally stepping on the white line, and the clover turned into dry dust. Cursory jumped up and turned around, but there was nopony around; feeling curious, she once again tried to step on the white with the same result — a dehydrated flower, lifeless copy of itself, crumbled into dust from the slightest touch.

Where the lines met, in the depression, crushed by the stone, lay a note with six lines in Gentle's hoofwriting.

‘I waited for you while I could. Going back to the hospital is stupid, all the other options more so. Desire pulls me to the tower, but I promise that I will wait for you for the whole next cycle — there, on the tower. I really hope that you are alive. When I looked into the mnemo station, you were not there, and no one knew where did you fly, and they barely recalled you were there at all. If I disappointed you with something, I would like to know what exactly.’

Cursory blinked. On the tower?

She looked around and saw it. Incredibly high, thin, with arched supports, lattice, and completely black even against the background of darkness. It did not cast the slightest shadow from the setting White Moon.

She jumped, giving a quiet yelp, and the tower disappeared, as if it had never existed.

Except... it had. So carefully, very carefully, out of the corner of her eye, Cursory made it stay where it was and where it was not, but...

Slowly, step by step, looking to the side and trying not to pay attention to the crunch of dried clover, Cursory reached the very tower, shivering from the icy cold that oozed from the black metal. Then she walked between the supports and almost pressed the button, over which the signs of neon-green flame danced and floated.

She could not read them, but one glance was enough to find out and never forget that this is an elevator, that it is directed upwards, and that it leads to a place of unbearable rest, and...

Cursory turned away and the tower disappeared again. The knowledge persisted, shining with undeniable neon green before her mind regardless of her eyes being closed or open. For at least a third of a slice, she tried to forget what had been written, recalling home and going for long flights. And yet the subtle desire still had been pointing her to the tower. Counting backwards from square nine to zero eventually subsided the pattern, but still it remained as sharp as ever — just deeper. 

She was so very afraid and had nopony to hide it from. All of this, despite obvious signs of Black Moon, still might have been a clever ruse by the reflections. And, as Black Moon said then, in 12-S, Cursory Streak felt that Black Moon had failed her — even though Moons never lie.

Who knows, maybe at the top it will not be Gentle who waits… maybe there are more of these neon signs, and they rewrote her, devoured her — or, worse, she is the sign now. Black Moon does that! Maybe I should just run away and never turn back… but what if she needs me there?..

These thoughts were suppressing her will, dispersing her power. A third of a slice went by while she was afraid to move, feeling that she too was only a beat or three away from crumbling to dust. Yet, eventually she managed to remind herself and stay reminded that the doubt is one of Black Moon’s aspects. 

She braced herself to see the tower again, to call the elevator, to enter it.

The smooth rocking of the booth going up was enough, to some extent, to calm her down.
> Interlude 1: Retrieval
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


☄☄☄



"How do you work?"

Cursory Streak blinked and staggered, abruptly coming to the real world from her thoughts. The foal looked up at her with wide and curious eyes.  The little pegasus had neither a cutie mark nor wings ready to fly.

"What? What do you mean? I am not Black Moon's creation! I'm a living pony," Cursory replied, confused, " And... Look, we are here, safe and sound. Let me signal your parents to pick you up from 16-WSD."

They were almost at the meeting gazebo — a giant black circle on the ground, surrounded by neon lights on the perimeter, a green canopy above, and a big white sign saying '16-WSD' on top of it. There was a terminal in the middle, a bathroom cubicle to the side, a washstand, a table with a few plates and a glass of fruit juice. On the floor, there were several yellow triangular contours — at a significant distance from each other — marking the underground lockers holding stashed sleeping mats, ready to be unrolled with a few commands from the terminal.

Overall, the place was spacious enough even for nine ponies to stay there comfortably for some time, so it was more than enough for Cursory and the accompanied foal — Evading Snow, apparently. 

Then she got it, not without a tingle of awkwardness, "You mean, where I work, and what I do at my job, yes?" she chuckled and blushed.

Evading Snow nodded twice, "Please? While we wait, could you talk to me? So that you stay here."

"I shall not leave," Cursory Streak assured her, "Not when you’re in danger of going back to..." she raised a hoof and pointed sideways, "SOUP."

"Soup?" Now it was the foal's turn to be confused, "And what is shall?"

She postponed her answer to attend to the duty most important right now. She went to the terminal, inviting the foal to come with her, pulled her onto her back and raised into the air so that the little one would be able to see what was going on.

She authenticated as an operator, told the foal's name to the terminal, found her relatives — yes, it’s them, squeaked the little one — and launched a message to inform them about their child’s location. Now it was up to Metropolis' observing systems to actually find the parents and deliver the message. That always took time, if just a short one.

This being over, she came back to her reply, "Set of objects of unknown purpose. SOUP. Remnants from old experiments... things," she corrected herself. "And I mean, I will be here as long as you need it. So, how do I work, you say? Well... how about you just visit our station? With your parents, and maybe a friend or three. I will be glad to show you around. Deal?"

The foal practically lit up, even jumped a bit, "Deal!"

"One more thing. I may be a bit away from the station. It's not like I'm just, you know, sitting there all my time up. On my slices, I need to be around, not at the place. So, just say at the entrance that you're here for Cursory Streak, and they will look after you while I fly in. And... until then, please take care and read the signs. Seriously, it's not a place to go until you know what you do."

"I... it's hard to read," the little pegasus mumbled.

Well, how about color code then? Cursory Streak managed to not ask this out loud. She frowned. Apparently, her parents were... lacking in basic education, if not worse.

"When long yellow sometimes flashes orange, and you can count to three and see at least one orange flash, that means it's not safe to come in, okay? You will be lost. It's not a mortal danger, it's just..." she frowned, trying to find short and clear words, "It's not always 'back' when you go back. Things depend on from which side you look at them."

Cursory Streak looked at the terminal, and in that beat it beeped and flashed. Green, not orange. Green, confirming that the message was accepted. She exhaled. Not an orphan, then.

Just a few beats ago Cursory was ready to take this foal to the station straight away. Not an unbound, Evading Snow had a basic right to a caring adult, and Cursory was resigned to be the one.

Now she smiled and said, "That happens. Don't worry, I'll be glad to tell you all about how I work. Here," she wrote the address on the paper, "Could you give me your own, please?"

Evading Snow replied, if a bit uncertain, with standard sector-habitat-apartment chain, and Cursory Streak noted herself to visit it as soon as possible.

How do they even allow her to leave for the city with no knowledge of warning colors nor decent reading? she wondered. I definitely need to investigate.


---


Issue 3 of cycle 186 of round 26 ALRI, White Time.

ID: 27483906 (global, ALRI based)

Summary: External living object at SOUP-16W, possibly underaged pony.

Type: Breach/retrieval

Priority: Medium

Rewards: 0.025% to the next status grade, 85 bits

Preferences: S&R (anisotropic space), CivComm

Operator: Cursory Streak

Reporter: Tear Drop (civilian)

Confirmed by: Metropolis

Status: resolved, success

Related issues: Investigation of possible parental neglect by Evading Stream and Delusive Aura, ID 27483917
> Chapter 16: Orienting
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


☄☄☄ 


As she exited the elevator, Cursory was expecting anything. That silent six-legged mechanical beasts would come out to meet her and disassemble her into spare parts for the Black Moon’s creations. An endless library in which one step beyond the door is enough to get lost forever. Absolute darkness.

Or maybe a familiar and soothing view of Metropolis from a height: three-storey houses forming habitats, lined up into triangles by wide avenues, eternal illumination of traffic routes, cloud houses a little to the side, built to the personal taste of each winged family, but with all the diversity still following unspoken yet coherent rules.

Or so she thought. She certainly didn't expect to get into a forest.

Fortunately, just a forest. Not the Forest. Tall, wide-standing birches, yellowish-scarlet soft moss; she snorted from the admixture of rot and young mushrooms. And a strange, almost complete silence. Not a single sound of animal life, no beast, no bird, no fish disturbing a surface of a pond — only the wind rustling the leaves.

Nothing but the wind.

With a barely audible noise, the elevator went underground, the slab slid back, closing the shaft, and not a trace remained, no matter how closely the pegasus looked, even poking the soft soil with her hoof.

She looked up and overhead, above the trees, and saw... nothing. Totally black void. No Net, no clouds, nor stars, nor Moons; and rare sparks of maybe-stars were, most likely, born in her weary eyes unaccustomed to such absence of any light.

She looked at the forest again. Diffuse light that allowed her to see all around and distinguish mostly natural colors was born without a clear singular source — from many small ones, judging by the shadows. But still, as she turned her head up, there were no stars, nor lamps, nor anything else.  Just the void.

With each subsequent beat, Cursory noticed more and more things that were simply wrong. More precisely, repetitive. Birch branches were almost of the same pattern. The birches themselves were in almost perfect rows. Low mounds of fallen leaves were in a precise grid… except not exactly. As if the world’s artist had drawn them so at first, then hastily shifted a few of them away before submitting the world, to make it feel more natural.

If so, the artist failed at that.

Even the wind blew only sometimes, as if it almost forgot that, in fact, it should indicate its presence.

Cursory blinked and jumped into the skyless void, flying vertically upward to look from above the forest for Gentle and Solid Line... to find them, pick them up and take them away from this lifeless void. After five beats she crashed into something cold and hard at full speed, pierced it and saw the void from outside.

More precisely, from aside.

Even more precisely, she was hanging over a giant black table, where an obsidian hemisphere was fixed on three holders under a bright white lamp. Not so big to contain a pegasus now, though.

A hemisphere with a star-shaped black speck on the side; it was spreading, and the grains of glass broke off and fell inward right before Cursory's eyes.

She shook her head and looked around again.

Other tables — impeccably black even under the harsh white light, which had nothing of the usual ghost brilliance of the White Moon — stood all around, with no clues at all to distinguish one from another. And, as far as she could see, each one had its own hemisphere and its own lamp, exactly as the one she flew out from.

Cursory saw a painful clarity of forms; not a single mistake in the contours; she felt not a smell, heard not a sound. She climbed higher, even higher, looked around the endless tables on a green floor — there was an elusive order in their placement, with no clear pattern. She almost believed that the place was infinite, that she would wander here until the end of time.

Just in case, she checked the space for isotropy and connectivity — first she left a pair of crosswords on two neighboring tables, then looked at them while flying around; they did not disappear nor move in any unexpected way.

The magnetic sense was puzzled, almost silent, reporting uniform weak interference from all directions.

Then she chose a random direction — there were no special signs to rely on — and flew along it, leaving pentagon-beacons shining behind her so as not to go astray.

The light of the White Moon could still be felt, trembling like a pearly flame in Cursory Streak, and then outside, in the sky invisible through the green floor, even though the sky was now far below. It calmed and supported her. It confirmed that she was not in a dream nor in a deliberate illusion.

She was already starting to get tired when her gaze found a milky-smoky wall too far ahead, and she was definitely tired when she got to it. Gentle Touch was not there. There were a few doors and an almost familiar terminal at the door instead.

Almost. The closer Cursory Streak examined the terminal, the higher she raised her eyebrows. No voice input, no projecting, five times the size of what it should be, with a concave and very small screen, a six-row keyboard — the seventh row, one for phonetic modifiers, was simply absent.

If the terminal was only missing buttons for click consonants, that would at least make sense — they were added to the civilian language only two iterations ago, and Cursory’s great-grandmother still remembered the language without them. But there were no tones on the keyboard either — and tones always had been.

And most importantly, it was rusty. On the edges and sides of the body, in small dark spots. The first flawed object in this room!

There was not even a couch to lay beside it — and if it were, it would have been very high up. She tried, and failed, to lower the keyboard or the screen; and even at a glance it was clear that should she sit on top of the screen case, she would have to type blindly then. This thing was... impolite. It, by its very existence, denied that unicorns or earth ponies would work with it.

At first Cursory refused to believe in such a thing. She looked for hidden levers or buttons; she pushed one of the doors, and behind it saw Metropolis, from slightly above the cloud level, as it should be if she were still on the black tower.

She carefully considered whether to step through and fly away.

Then she closed the door, returning to the terminal — it woke before she came next to it, displaying a green neon sigil at the lower half of the screen. She got the doubtless message of necessive automated recognition. A few beats later it disappeared from the screen — but kept floating there in her mind, requiring.

She took a careful peek, and the screen seemed innocuous enough — normal dim yellow symbols in a normal if archaic mono-width font. Two fields to enter login and password; and, albeit not right away, she had found a slit in a terminal's box to put in a slice of paper — a snapshot or a blank.

After a few beats of carefully examining the small screen she had found, tucked in the upper left corner, the prompt to switch to a text interface, and pressed the required combination.



---☄☄☄


: set language to civilian

>>> OK

: use the set language only, unless written otherwise

>>> command unclear; did you perhaps mean ‘set language’?

: disable all languages except civilian

>>> command rejected: access denied

The struggle with inconvenient interface while keeping steadily airborne would be relatively easy if not for the time. Completely out of her phase, as White Moon was in Her nadir, she was straining to stay awake for a while now, and the urge to sleep was becoming harder and harder to ignore, a quiet, persistent force at odds with the neon sigil shining bright in her mind's eye.

Her own voice in this argument was advisory at best. The anxiety over other sigils to come was weirdly helping, though.

Let’s try some more… 

: display my access level

>>> access level: 2 (guest)

: disable all output where language is not civilian

>>> command unclear: can’t parse

Too bad. Well, let’s move on and get this over with.

: set the naming convention to white

>>> OK

: set the numerics to lunar

>>> OK

: start authentication

>>> usage:
>>> authenticate “name” authentication_factor
>>>
>>> to check if the user is present in the system
>>> first enter the name without a factor

Once she went this route, the demand for attention from the sigil subsided in a beat. She was doing the right thing. Drowsiness rushed in, taking advantage of its adversary’s setback, and she made a typo in a long word.

: authenicate “cursory streak”

>>> command unknown; did you perhaps mean authenticate?

: auth “cursory streak”

>>> user found, id 7869046

Oh, it knows aliases? Nice.

: help auth

>>> usage:
>>> authenticate “name” authentication_factor
>>>
>>> suggested authentication factor is:
>>> - a mnemogram: recall the designated memory while entering
>>> authenticate “Exemplary Example” mnemogram
>>>
>>> alternate authentication factors are:
>>> password or image
>>>
>>> to get a hint for a forgotten factor, enter
>>> authenticate hint “name” authentication_factor

: auth hint “Cursory Streak” mnemogram

>>> hint: the mnemogram is set corresponding to the resting place

: auth “cursory streak” mnemogram

>>> provide the mnemogram in more detail
>>>
>>> authentication successful

Cursory Streak slowly exhaled. It was not hard to imagine the Forest, with its green darkness and whitish shadows among the spruce trunks, with its heavy resinous scent, with its interlocking branches, from which thick moisture falls on the coat.

From a certain depth it was more difficult to stop imagining.

At least the neon sigil moved out of focus and hid in the lateral branches of her memory. The sleep was completely unopposed now though, threatening to wash over her at any beat. She wished that Gentle Touch was here, and almost succumbed to the sleep while doing so. The little mare had her way with dreaming, Cursory Streak was sure of that, however much her companion was evading the subject.

For now, White’s perseverance would just have to do. She called for it, and got a reply, however weak it was. Just a spark in the darkness, nothing more.

Enough to carry on.

And, speaking of Gentle Touch...

: display my access level

>>> access level: 3 (user)

: list users

>>> display all 7863214 results (Y/N)?

: N
: list users summary

>>> 7863214 resting users in the system
>>> 2 active units in the system
>>> 8245 heralds in the system

: list users with keywords “gentle touch”

>>> users with keywords "gentle, touch" not found

I just have no time for that… I will find her, I promise. Just not now, not like that…

Let’s move to Solid then.

: list users with keywords “solid line”

>>> found users:
>>> name: solid line
>>> rank: herald
>>> id: 677821

Got you! Now, how do I contact you?

: display commands with access level {3, 2} inline

>>> would you like to see all 129 results?

: N

Cursory Streak spent at least half of a slice and more than enough faulty tries on it. The system was trying to help her, that much was a given, and more obvious with each following reply. It was just awfully clumsy and somewhat stupid, if not less friendly than modern terminals.

But eventually she contrived the line that worked.

: list commands where access level {3, 2} and functionality ≥ “limited” then sort by usage frequency then take first 15 results then group by functionality level
 
>>> full functionality:
>>> alert, arrange, convey, help, list, logout, rest
>>>
>>> limited functionality:
>>> cleanup, display, instance, library, mail, schedule, seed, set

: help mail

>>> usage:
>>> mail user_id "message"
>>> please note that user's immediate attention
>>> is not guaranteed below access level 5

This is no good. But what about...

: help convey

>>> usage
>>> convey user_id "reason for attention"
>>> please note that the reason as well as the user's reply
>>> will be processed by immersion subroutines
>>> so please keep it concise and clear;
>>> the target user has the undeniable right
>>> to block conveys from your address

Oh well. I have the reason, sure...

: convey  id 677821 “joint mission for the trinity of moons”

>>> trying to connect the user id 677821
>>> connection established: id 677821
>>> reason rejected by the user

What do you mean, rejected?!

She tried again with the first reason from the top of her head, and kept doing that. It was the single thing that was keeping her awake. 

: convey id 677821 “we need your help”

>>> connection established: id 677821
>>> the user requires rephrasing or clarification

: convey id 677821 "you can revive the black moon”

>>> connection established: id 677821
>>> failed to parse the user’s reply

She is a Black Moon’s Herald, right?..

She typed the line,

: convey id 677821 “new knowledge”

almost sent it as is, then in a flash of insight added three more words to it.

: convey id 677821 “new knowledge and new friends”

>>> connection established: id 677821
>>> the user accepted the reason
>>> solid line would like to be summoned to your location. Accept (Y/N)?

: T

>>> reply unclear. Accept (Y/N)

: Y

>>> summoning of user 677821 initiated
>>> summoning of the user authorized by the system
>>> the summoning of user 677821 is in progress; please wait at this terminal
>>> connection to id 677821 terminated

Cursory Streak’s body performed the soft landing by itself: the consciousness was MIA.

Her dream of an ocean was sparkling.
> Chapter 17: Reality
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Solid Line's cutie mark


∿∿∿


Solid Line waited for the grayish white pegasus to wake up. Her stomach was empty, her mouth was dry, and the ultraviolet of the Black Moon hardly replenished her strength. However, Solid only retained the title of a Black Moon’s Herald due to it being irrevocable, so there was nothing surprising in the latter fact.

Signal, who was lying by her side, lifted her head and pointed at the door with her paw. Solid Line already knew what was beyond it. A city; inside, a tower in a carefully crafted void. The tower was ready to return to the everside, waiting only for the number of active units to reach zero.

That meant, those who did not sleep in their little universes. Three, the terminal said, as it was perceived by Solid Line’s mind once she did the necessary input and read the lines on the screen.

That was but a sliver of full power though, Solid Line lamented: had she been a decent Herald in this aspect, she would not always be in need of actual typing or voicing; and the good ones were beyond even that.

Three? Just to be sure, she looked into the matter relating to the cat. Reimplants were a subcategory of flawed souls, of course. And yet one would expect them to be reclassified as proper users by way of a special rule in the classification system. But there was no such rule — and that meant there was one more active soul in a soul vault, beyond herself and the white pegasus. 

Even among the erased programs, she found no mention of food — and her living body demanded attention to its needs.

The water, slightly salty, a smeared trace of another, rejected project, stood nearby in a glass jug. Had that project been chosen as the primary one, this soul vault would look totally different now.

Solid doubted the word. She picked up another, tasted it. Perhaps not "rejected" but "unfinished". Although, that one would be wrong too. To convey the meaning and feeling, she would need to write it in the imaging language of Black Moon’s Heralds.

She thought up a sigil depicted in four strokes, two incisions and one piercing, a repeating function on a time arrow; it moved, infinitely repeating itself, unless the observer was trained to see it as the sigil. 

Simplified, it was 'a double arrow of fading hope for the future hooked by current priorities' or, in other words, 'the probability of later completion; its practical value does not exactly equal zero.'

The sigil wanted to know if it would be recorded or not. She wondered if she might pull the feather from the sleeping pegasus to practice, and decided not to. The sigil turned inside out, offended, and left.

Only after that Solid Line recalled a relatively fitting word from the civilian language — backburner — and felt seriously embarrassed because of that. 


Time passed; background processes of Solid Line's psyche brought forth a digital clock with a countdown of beats to the left side of her field of vision. The first two registers displayed nonsense, vaguely similar to the numbers reflected in the mirror. The rest were fine.

Hunger was obdurate in its reminders. There was still no food in the foreseeable spacetime.

When the six right-side registers converged to zero, Solid searched for an acceptable consensus of priorities and ethics, sighed and slowly rolled the pegasus onto her back with ponykinesis. The sleeper jerked her hind legs and woke up.

The most surprising thing was the eyes. Not a drop of sleepy haze, a clear deep blue, vaguely like ice in the sample storage compartment of armoured tanker V-30. Solid Line shook her head. That universe was not the best ever lived, but the most interesting, and the most unfinished. She never found out if the epidemic was averted.

That was one of a scarce few where she had other ponies simulated in it, too. Solid Line had a clear preference to interfacing with computers.

"So you are Solid Line?" the pegasus asked in a sing-song voice.

Solid Line wanted to listen to this voice. To decompose it into harmonics, optimize with minimal losses, record her favorite songs by the resulting model, and just keep listening. She slowly exhaled and nodded.

Then she replied aloud, and in comparison, the voice was hoarse, rattling like a rusty metal sheet on the roof, from which foals roll into the snow, "Yes, it's me. And who are you? Friend, or knowledge? I was summoned for either one or both…"

She closed her eyes and waited for another fall into a snowdrift. That is, when in the same voice, trying not to upset her, the summoner will say that the summon is performed  by mistake, and another, real Herald is needed, who does not doubt, who wields their power... in general, a Herald, not... almost-Changed.

"Both of them," the reply was.

Solid Line blinked, reproduced what she had heard three more times, the second and third times not on purpose, and quickly nodded, “Good. What is the essence of your knowledge? Or what would you like to do to optimally start a friendship defined by your values?"

"Well, for starters, you slept for a long time…" 

Solid Line interrupted her as soon as she reached into the background processes to see exactly how long, "I know, I know! Maybe something else?"

She really tried to say it with cheer and haste, for she did not want to double-dip in the sadness of so many rounds lost.

"So you don't want to know how the world has changed?" the white pony was surprised, perhaps. Two beats later, Solid Line crossed out perhaps; the analysis of the voice confirmed the suspicion with reasonable confidence of 78%.

The past-Solid had been somewhat okay in recognizing those cues; the present-Solid really needed integrated assistance.

"This much I already know! What do you like most when you select food for yourself?" exclaimed Solid Line.

The pegasus blinked and slowly backed away from Solid; a step, then a second, then a third.

Maybe I said something wrong...

"What has happened?" Solid could not say it aloud. More precisely, she could, but very, very quietly.

"Can I try another question?" This one turned out aloud, almost. She was heard.

"Of course. We’ve been looking for you for almost a luster. So, of course, everything you ask and say is very important to us. Don't be shy," the pegasus said, and Solid did not get the data from the tone, but based on the words alone she supposed… was afraid that… she is a burden for the guest.

"Are you my friend? What's your preferred alias if not the name in the system? Can these questions be reversed? May we skip this one at all? That is, these two. I mean—"

Solid Line halted the speech process; she could not look at the pegasus either.

This conversation just did not work as it should. And this 'not works as it should' was a characteristic feature of some Black Moon's Heralds — poor quality ones, let's be honest, she thought, reading the Facts Related to the World Outside — as well as all of Her Changed.

No matter how true this fact was, and no matter how relevant it was to Solid Line right now, it did not help her at all.

Absolutely.

She had not chosen that specific combination of aspects that would be turning this weakness into strength. The very existence of such a combination was dubious at best.

At least Signal was there — as always, as in all past universes.

Just like she was there when Solid Line agreed to become... a little smaller and weaker than she was.

It is necessary, Black Moon said then. It is a step in a plan that you have offered and I have agreed to, just reinforced and corrected by me. It still is your plan at the core. I understand that you may be afraid, but that is how you will make the Red miss your importance. It will believe that it has you broken.

She said, and explained, and past-Solid understood and agreed with these corrections; also past-Solid knew that present-Solid would not be able to grasp the plan, and would have to believe and trust her.

Solid Line did just so; she trusted those who knew more.

Here the train of her thought made a stop, as she was offered a glass of pure water, a hug, a few crackers, a field ration and a chocolate.

It took a while to consider the options and then to clarify between the two of them that all of it were would-be-gifts without any expectations or payments but she agreed in full, changing just water to coffee while being at it.

The pegasus then left for Metropolis to buy the items, and Solid Line went out of the soul vault too. 

She stood at the railings, looking around. At first glance the Net was impressive, the traffic downright scary and the overall level of lighting was over the top by her tastes. Cornsilk field of her ambient magic was, to her quiet joy, still there, all around the world, so she practiced the less difficult patterns a bit, making sure that she was not defenseless and somewhat mobile in the new world.

She had spoken with Signal, too, and the cat confirmed that nothing malicious is lurking around, and even the everside is mostly empty, except for a few lost spirits. Even sub-radiation of the Red was subsided to near-zero level.

She replayed the talk at a lower speed, and made a few notes, blushing.

Then Cursory Streak returned with food and drinks for both, and after the hug of deliverance she asked, "First I'd like to get my companion, Gentle Touch, on board. She is lost in that… giant room of yours. She said that she will be waiting and I saw not a hair of her tail. Gentle Touch was not among the sleepers, either,” Cursory Streak made a stop here, considering, then continued, “But what do you want to do? It's my task, not yours."

"How many ponies are in your team now?" Solid Line asked. The reply would be defining which branch of past-Solid's plan is in action. She still was unable to get all the details, but key turning points were another story.

"Two. Three, if you would agree to come with us"

"What is the quest of your team?"

"To look for a few missing ponies. You are the first of them, by the way."

Solid Line missed a breath. That's it. The other souls are looking for me!

"Is Green Moon among them too, by chance?" Solid Line attempted at a joke. It was also a password, a valid reply to which would indicate that certain unlikely events have come to pass. It was a hidden password, too. Because in a common sense ‘look for Green Moon’ was a polite way to say that somepony becomes really obsessed with something; in a scientific sense it was a problem that was just too simple at first glance… and which kept avoiding the solution for many generations.

Green Moon was possible, in theory. There were events that might be attributed to it. But… just in theory. She was either too small, or too distant, or — which was most likely — simply non-existent.

Solid Line hurried to close the imaginary book of Facts Related to the World Outside; she did it almost in time, without a pause in a conversation too big and too awkward; they both giggled.

"No, this quest is much less fringe, seriously," Cursory Streak laughed, and Solid Line noted the sound was pleasant. Too pleasant, in fact.

Also, the password was perceived as a mere joke. The reply was invalid. That meant that Cursory was still ignorant of the plan.

"Who is the reporter of the issue?" Solid Line asked to be completely sure.

"Black Moon, in person… wait! You use our terms!"

"I am the one who developed them, and I was a part of the team who made the system. Well, my past-self had. Long story."

Cursory Streak smiled, "Maybe not flashy but impressive. That system helps. Thanks."

"Not for me. For my past-self. Different ponies."

Solid Line thought, from the long pause, that something’s going on. She was unable to read the face.

"Sorry," Cursory Streak prompted after a few beats.

"No offence," Solid Line selected a hopefully approptiate reply.

"So, what will you do?" the pegasus asked.

"I will wait while you look for your companion. Unless there was a request for help that I missed? It's hard for me to read between the lines."

"There was not. But…" she sighed "...now there is. Please help me find Gentle Touch in that room of your rest."

"Okay," Solid Line agreed, glad to somehow make it through the conversation without a disaster.

“May I ask, though? Please don’t be offended, but… you mean, you are unwell now? Something wrong in your head? And can it be corrected? I mean, can I help? In theory, if the help is needed, of course,” having finished this series of questions, Cursory Streak blushed, and that, too, was a sight to behold.

Solid Line arranged all questions in a queue, looked for the answers and saw that they stack nicely.

“Yes to all,” Solid Line said.
> Chapter 18: Complication
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


☄☄☄


Solid Line’s image evoked an urge to care and shelter for — almost demanding to protect this pony — a feeling that, in Cursory Streak’s opinion, should be strictly reserved to pre-edging foals.

She was so thin and short — almost on the brink of appearing starved. Not as short as to warrant bending one's neck to look into her green eyes, but still much shorter than is typical for adults.

Solid Line's face was a living mask. She portrayed emotions correctly and felt them as far as Cursory could pick up by the tones of her voice — if the tones were related to the truth. But this mask was separated from the real Solid. She seemed as if to be controlled from a distance, and the controller, in theory, remembered that the expression on her face should be portrayed, and even found it quite significant, but said controller always had something much more important to care about.

This puzzled Cursory Streak, who was used to spotting the echoes of lies, omissions and secrecy by the small facial expressions, by the movement of the eyes and ears. Even the pace of gait — especially the little misbeats in it — could betray confusion or fear. But Solid Line gave nothing away, no matter how hard Cursory tried to read her.

Even the cat that was sitting in Solid's bag, sticking its head out and looking around, had more natural facial expressions.

A pause of two beats between joke and laughter — Cursory had to support the laugh, because that was right; completely absent facial expressions in these two beats, and only the eyes’ movements was telling that the unicorn was still alive.

Last but not least, Solid Line’s absurd question about help ‘between the lines’. As if she didn’t know that the request for help is always voiced directly, and in no other way! This is too important to rely on any hints!

So... yes. Everything in Solid Line indicated an illness, and taking an ill wingpony on a long flight was asking for trouble. 

Of course, Gentle Touch was also small and rather thin-boned. For her it was justified by age and ancestral branch. Solid was an adult... and yet so vulnerable. Like a vase of a lost civilization at the very edge of a cabinet shaken by a distant explosion.

Cursory Streak understood that these feelings were inspired by her own aspect. But this aspect was long ago chosen by her decision and action; she had long become one with it, and Cursory did not like abstract philosophy.

But at least something had to be done about it. An attempt to feed the pony did not help in any way, even after the second meal — the field ration vanished as if into a black hole, and Solid's voice remained the same — sharp, ringing, cutting like glass.

By the Black Moon aspects, I would not be surprised if there is a black hole... Cursory Streak smiled and asked about it directly.

“No… I'm not an artificial pony. There are no magical nor technical transdimensional constructs, including black holes, in me. Correction to the first note: some of my brain regions are coordinated by artificial drivers, and some parts of my body were reproduced imprecisely after a contact with the light of the Red.”

Here, for an instant and without apparent reason, a strong concern appeared in Solid's voice; slightly raised tone, tremble, volume slightly lower, “Nevertheless, I rate my artificiality no higher than one-ninth. An outside expert might put it at two ninths.” 

The anxiety disappeared from her speech, and Solid's voice was almost neutral again as she continued, “Will this complicate our cooperation? I am very anxious about losing you.”

As far as Cursory could understand, the feeling was there, and it was sincere.

It just was expressed totally outside from where one would expect it in accordance to the rules of speech.

It's strange. Almost as if she’s confusing me on purpose...

Cursory snorted. Doubt was among Black Moon’s aspects, and they were in the midst of Her domain. “No, it won't complicate anything in your case… but you’re right to take care. I have my story with Black Moon’s creations. Strongly negative one. But what’s the reason of these changes? Especially in that brain part. If the question doesn't bother you. I don’t want to make it worse for you.”

“I don’t want that either,” Solid Line's smile was still alien and out of place, but she was at least trying, “Do you know why Moons do not recommend us to look in clear mirrors?”

“I do know, as everypony knows: because from there doubles come; they need our cutie marks, or our suffering. Questions of this sort are asked only when the questioner has a different answer — and Black Moon has already pulled such a trick on me. Please share your answer right away, play no games, okay?” Cursory Streak managed to stay polite, with some effort.

They continued to walk across the green floor, with the unicorn on the left. As they went deeper into the hall among the huge tables, the surroundings were indistinct — the space had been made with no expectations of anypony travelling by themself.

No answer came.

It was exactly like a few slices before that. Once they went into the soul vault, and Solid Line first outright confirmed that each dome was its own little world of a sleeping soul, there was another question, and the same long silence after that.

Then Cursory Streak told her companion about the lifeless and unnatural forest which she got into as she left the elevator, “Don't you think this is torture, heartless and senseless? I understand that some things may be different for Black Moon’s followers, but surely not that much?" she asked then.

Back then no answer came. After some silence Solid Line just went to sleep — without stopping on the way, only asking Cursory to look after her as her body was walking. Now she was awake, and just as silent.

Cursory Streak was ready to wait and give the unicorn the time needed to think it through, but it was getting ridiculous — again.

Once she began to lose her temper, Solid Line replied, and Cursory shivered: the wording was eerily similar to the past one, with exactly zero difference — in the first words at least, “I can see from where your opinion comes, but this is an incomplete answer.”

For a beat, Cursory Streak felt like time itself was broken and dislocated, repeating itself without clear ties to common reality.

The illusion shattered an instant later, though.

Back then, once she woke up, Solid Line completed her answer with a counterquestion: "You didn't let this universe get used to you, did you?"

And now, to the question about the mirrors, Solid Line completed her answer thusly, “The Red wants to return from dreams to reality. To where it is denied to be.”

Cursory interrupted, “As if it was denied! Where do its infusions come from then? Where did it come from? And Blue Moon rules over dreams, so it’s ridiculous! It can’t be in the dreams!”

“From there,” and Solid fell silent. However, this time the pause was short, “In the imaging language it is impossible to write ‘the Red’, meaning it, and at the same time not to instill ‘Moon’. In the civilian language, it’s impossible to write the other way around, at least in a direct way, and an awkward thing to speak out loud too,” A few beats later Solid Line added, “It is ‘She’ in the imaging language, too. It is the truth.”

After a few beats, Cursory tried to continue the conversation, “I interrupted you. I'm sorry. Could you finish what you had been claiming on mirrors and the Red?”

Solid Line glanced at her but didn't answer.

In a third of a slice Cursory Streak tried again, with a smile, as if the flow of the talk did not rub her in the wrong way, “So why doesn't the Trinity want us to look in the mirrors?”

This time there was not even a glance. Cursory sighed heavily and tried to change the subject, “Are we walking blindly, or do you somehow know where Gentle is now among all of... this?” she swept her hoof around the space.

“Yes. I know where she is. Gentle called me through the dreams, asking for a meeting. I have no dreams anymore. Therefore, for me her call did not reach. But those who have heard sent the bottle across the unmoving river. You know, the one to cross if you die in your sleep. To the borderlands of death. To the Black Moon’s most distant domain. I was able to read this letter. The Red took Gentle Touch into conditional captivity.”

“What?” The front legs felt heavy and Cursory nearly fell face forward.

“It cannot hold Gentle Touch forever. Sooner or later, Gentle will wake up. But if we arrive at her conduit and communicate, and the communication satisfies the Red, then Gentle will be released to us earlier.”

“But…” no matter how Cursory tried to stay calm, White Moon was rising, her heart was beating hard, and the stream of Her flame entered the Herald; petals of piercing blue fire glittered before her eyes, waiting only for the beat of her wings to envelop those who...  the one who wanted to harm her special pony in Cursory's absence.

She suppressed it. First, the distant aspect, which would consume too much strength... and would still be powerless against the Red.

Then, the notion of being another pony’s owner, no matter how cute she may be.

And finally, rapid and heavy breathing. Slowly out, slowly in…

“Will she at least stay alive? Without mortal wounds?”

“Gentle Touch sent the Red's own words: ‘If Gentle Touch dies, her team shall find a way to destroy the Red. Her team shall not find the way while Gentle Touch is alive.’  I know the Red can lie, but that was a formal prophecy, and those twenty six words were true.” 

Solid Line paused, her expression unclear. Probably she expected a request for clarification, but the pegasus was still too busy with a much more important issue — her companion was in mortal danger! Two beats later, Solid Line continued, “So, as we always do, we have a choice. We may gambit Gentle Touch to win. I can show you a sigil if you would lend me a feather and a paper.”

The suggestion of a ‘gambit’ was heard but went over the Herald’s head — even the very idea was too alien to somepony of the White Moon’s Protecting aspect. It never became a question to think through.

"Please no!" Cursory Streak replied, guarding herself from the unacceptable.

"Why?" The tone was innocent, curious.

"They scare me. They offend my freedom," Cursory Streak admitted, huffing.

"Interesting that you chose to object to the sigils rather than the gambit. In this case, no. No, they actually don't," and Solid Line fell silent.

They walked on. Cursory Streak wanted to take off, push through and break the air, get to the goal faster — whatever it may be; start a fight, and then… the scene would unfold.

She never was the best in suppressing her desires. A spark of thought became a chain of actions. A rapid but calculated turn left; the body sent forward with a fall to the floor, to slide for a few steps; another turn, quick and sharp; legs sprung for a tall jump; heavy load on the back; wings wide, “Steer me!..”

...and forward she flew, with Solid Line and her cat on her back, in a perfect straight line, leaving behind a band of blue, sparkling and piercing bright.


> Chapter 19: Flying
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


☄☄☄


This was not the first time the pegasus carried a live load. But Solid Line was a remarkably undemanding passenger compared to a few of Cursory's former clients, let alone to the occasional resisting captive. She clung tight to Cursory's back, making sure to stay within the field of the windshield, and trying to avoid shifting her centre of mass. The windshield, once recalled, did not disappear on its own.

So, if Solid even had been a weight on her back, then only in the most literal sense. And even then — a light one, almost weightless. Less than the average adult pegasus; almost a foal.

“This is not the fastest way,” Solid Line said quietly, while Cursory cut through the still air — more than two slices at comfortable cruising speed, adjusted for the state of her left wing after the poisoning. In Metropolis they would have made a notable, albeit small, streak on Her map — three nines of such ranges would be enough to cross Metropolis from the ocean to the wild lands where the audience with Melody did not quite happen. Six zeroes, if you write down the distance counting in steps; four zeroes in throws; two zeroes in stages; one range — the distance that a pegasus is expected to cover in one cycle.

Any healthy adult pegasus, that is. Cursory did not consider herself just ‘any’ pegasus. Still, it was hard to imagine such distances being compressed within the interior of one tiny black tower in the middle of nowhere.

She did not bother recalling the distance units of other Moons. Her thoughts wandered freely, from her home to the station — Cursory missed it, but she knew that her skillful friends would manage without her help — then in an instant they went to the ocean. The image of the ocean followed her during the last few cycles. It was always there, even before that; she just got an opportunity to see it lately. Slow waves, dim plankton glow, stars around and in the depths...

"This is not the fastest way," these Solid Line’s first words after a long time did not immediately reach the consciousness of the pegasus. 

Cursory Streak was not even sure these were the first ones. The coordinated beats of wings and magic, with her left wing being off, required heavy concentration, and until now Solid did nothing to break it.

“What?” Cursory Streak began to slow down by gradually allowing the incoming air through the windshield. If it were her real wingpony, she would be angry — you just don’t keep these suggestions to yourself; but Solid Line was a pony of the past, and did break the customs a few times already without even noticing.

“I thought that you needed to think and calm down. If you are calm and collected now, I can perform a jaunt to a destination for us both,” Solid Line said in monotone.

No, not really calm.

“If it's faster, then please, whatever suits you,” Cursory replied, quiet, as if speaking to a foal.

“Multiply 17 by 52?” Solid Line suggested.

“By the lunar numbers?”

“Of course.”

“Cubic nine... no square nines… two nines… and five.” Cursory counted. Lunar symbols were brighter in their mind than usual, and the multiplying grid appeared glowing.

Cursory was unsure of the answer; but she understood that the process was more important than the result; and, besides, these few beats woke her up from a flying trance.

“Acceptable. Please close your eyes,” Solid Line asked.

“For what?” Cursory heard that there was no rudeness in Solid's voice. But there was also no tone shift reserved specifically for such requests.

“It is impossible to perform a jaunt while somepony is watching.”

Cursory Streak nodded and started to descend.

"No. We should keep flying. We should have a way and a destination," Solid Line made a tiny, insisting stomp.

“But… okay. If we crash to our deaths, next time I'm not flying you anywhere!” The joke turned out to be somewhat gloomy, but honest.

She closed her eyes and nothing happened. Nothing continued to happen. And it still didn't go on. No voice, no breath, no wind, no beating of wings. A long moment in which there were only four questions.

Who are you? Where are you from? Where are you now? Where are you bound?

An entity which used to call itself Cursory Streak answered these questions:

Cursory Streak, Metropolis, the soul vault, rescue Gentle Touch.

Wrong, the reply came from nowhere. From inside of Cursory or from outside void, she did not know.

She tried to repeat the answer, but in a mute horror realized that she did not remember the words that had just been her reply.

The void had been waiting.

Pegasus, from home, in flight, through the portal.

Wrong, the reply came again.

She continued to go over the answers, and with each answer more words got lost, and it was impossible to remember them.

Wrong.
Wrong.
Wrong.

There was less and less of herself. Nothing around and nothing inside.

Another voice appeared nearby, slightly to the side. Harsh, raspy, confident, almost her own. 

Words, with a heavy sigh between answers, long pauses too. Like a pony making an effort to recall how sounds are made trying to speak.

Rainbow... from above...  next to a friend... Twi...

Time passed. There was no answer.

The world flared up, bright to a blinding point even through closed eyelids. They were still there, in the soul vault. A whirlwind of lost words and knowledge surrounded Cursory, closed in on her and filled her. Names, colors, ranks and routes. Favorite dishes, flight techniques, subtle smells of perfumes and a sharp, frightening one — the smell of the 'Guiding Starfall-TX' modifier.  She only used it twice, and was resolute not to ever touch it for the third time.

And songs, of course. All the songs of the world, from that sickeningly gleeful hit about the Forest, through the changeable rhythmic melodies of her foalhood, to the opera in the faraway sectors, titled "The Perishment of Moon".

She was on the commission that evaluated the health of the creators and the suitability of the opera to a wider audience. Because the commission was in a deadlock eventually broken by a victory by a single vote, Cursory liked to believe that her vote was the decisive one; that she all by herself kept the opera recommended for a wide range of consumers.

Cursory didn't know how much time had passed. Once she exhaled, “Never… ever… do this again,"

...the memory kept returning.

And it kept flowing in.


💎💎💎


... pulling pain in the chest, and even the deepest breath was sometimes not enough; this has been going on for too many rounds, but a pony can get used to it ... but what was worse: magic blinked and flickered, and even so only up to three needles now, not the nine of her youth...

But my darling, this is too dangerous... We have already discussed this. We know that we will die before you... I already have in mind which dresses would do for different stages of grief while you will say goodbye. They will help you calm down and let us go.


There was no next breath.


☄☄☄


It kept flowing in.


🌩🌩🌩


... the air disperses in a blast wave of unbearable colors. They cannot be imprinted

💎💎💎

neither in fabric nor in jewelry. Only to look and remember, to keep in such a way as to remember even after death.

🌩🌩🌩

I don't need to get out of the dive this time.

💎💎💎🌩🌩🌩

This time, the last gift for the Princess is given. 


☄☄☄

Cursory Streak already forgot this.

Please remember us… a loose thought drowned in the ocean; a sliver of a dream astral and lace.

Cursory Streak shook her head, wiped away her tears with a fetlock, "Solid Line, please, no matter what, never again do that to us… to me."

Why am I crying? Who (are we) am I?

The unicorn replied dryly, “The prerequisite components for a jaunt have been expended. Another one would require a change in team composition and a different jaunt-path, among other things. I cannot promise to not jaunt anymore though. I know it’s hard for you, but it is the only way to come back from the meeting, and there might be other circumstances that will warrant the use of this tool."

Cursory tuned the last third of the speech out. She looked around and saw it.

Over the dome on the table a nine or so steps away the air itself slowly, irregularly, pulsed scarlet red.
> Chapter 20: Dyeing
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


⊛⊛⊛


Gentle Touch knew she was dreaming. As she left the tower elevator, she felt a faint click of magic under her hooves, as if from thread once taut but broken by her step.

Far away from her — nothing but the highest spires on the horizon — lay Metropolis; She was there, seen from the tower as well as from the clover-covered hill.

And in the sky — dark, almost starless sky, permeated by thin pinkish lines, without the slightest trace of the Net — there was the Red.

The Red did not emit flashes or waves; it only painted the world in slowly shifting tones of pomegranate seeds and ripe cherries. No angry shivers; no beams cutting through the avenues; no alarms and pointers to the nearest vault. 

It was simply there, and the pressing pain in Gentle Touch’s right side was nothing more than a phantom.

Gentle Touch remembered how she lost Cursory Streak at the door of the mnemo station; how she waited there more and more plagued by the thought that the older pegasus simply slipped through the back door and flew away so that she would never see this useless pony again. How Gentle, yielding to a quiet call in her heart and the prompts of glasses, decided to hit the road and reach for Solid Line herself. 

The glasses were with her now too, benevolent as usual. But now there was a distinct glee in their mindvoice. Anticipation of sorts. Gentle Touch tried to clarify what they are happy about, and received the answer that ‘The feast is near.’ Attempts to clarify on that led either to repeats, or to long reflections on the arrangement of the festivities ‘Among other things, do not forget about two knives, one of volcanic glass, the other we will not name, oh no, we will not name it’, or to the equally cryptic ‘The path is over and the traveler returns victorious.’

Having spent a few slices running towards habitat sectors, Gentle Touch was finally convinced that this was just a dream: Blue Moon stood almost in nadir — Heralds, as they do, felt the precise place of their Moon all the time — not moving in all the time even for a third of Her radius.

And despite this, Gentle Touch did not want to sleep at all. 

She closed her eyes, looked around — nopony was nearby, only a few cobwebs among the dark contours on the horizon — and imagined four forget-me-nots behind her. She compiled their story — from a seed brought by the wind from the balcony of the one who loved gardening and carried this love in memory of her departed spouse; about how three helped the fourth to germinate, pushing the obstructing stone aside. Gentle Touch suspended the story before it blossomed too brightly, cautiously turned around and saw four half-open fluorescent blue buds.

Yes, a dream for sure.

And she was still deeply afraid of the incredible ease of working with the aspect of dreams; this horror made her dizzy and her stomach weightless. It was a third aspect for her.

Even those who accepted it as the first and only aspect would spend, as the Blue Moon once said — and Moons never lie — square nine times as much power and nine times as much time on a task of the same difficulty compared to Gentle Touch.

Yet Gentle Touch almost slipped into disbelief when she first heard about how hard it usually goes for other Heralds.

What could be easier than telling a story? What could be easier than knowing that you are asleep, and therefore managing the world and ruling it to your liking? What adventures can compare with this reality, ready to burst open from only one plot spark, a fleeting thought?

Then Blue Moon told and showed her the story of Violet Vision, a mortal pony who pursued her ideals far beyond any comparison in the mastery of dreams, rivaling the Blue Moon Herself; and, as if that was not enough, took her to an overgrown cemetery created specifically for the six square nines of Heralds who fell during the containment and subsequent battle with the Shimmering Horror birthed by Violet.

Up to the cycle of her death, in a quiet and distant retirement home many rounds after the battle, Violet was neither able to understand what she did nor accept the consequences of her actions. The way she saw it, she merely helped the only possible reality take form.

Dying didn't do much to change her mind.

Then, at the unremarkable white tombstones, Blue Moon summoned Violet, and six questions in a conversation with her were enough for Gentle Touch to never talk about her third aspect.

But the aspect continued to demand its own place. It was wrong; wrong from the very beginning. Usually, Heralds-to-be chose their aspect for themselves; Gentle Touch never chose dreams, nor did she study dreams until, in the shallow slumber of the hospital sector, trying to settle in a new, harsh and stiff room among the ash-blue walls, she first met a Moon. After that, she took lessons at the behest of Blue Moon, but only to keep her mind mostly in check. 

The ability to control dreams was like a backyard of the house, where the soil is hardly suitable even for setting up a small garden: look in, walk through with a hard broom, sweep out the trash that was left after a casual party, dream for a beat that maybe it's a good idea to at least draw a graffiti on the house’s external wall. 

Without any love for the backyard.

Because she could guess who lives in this backyard and to whom it really belongs.

Not to Gentle Touch, that's for sure.

Not to this Gentle Touch at least, but to one carefree, fun-loving and cruel filly. One who took upon herself the qualities that Gentle Touch herself could not afford to have — being a healer, mindful and kind.

Somepony who knows for sure how everything should be in the real world, and who has all the means to make it so. To steer everything in a more fun way; with no exceptions and no restraints.

Not that Gentle never listened to her advice and never noticed the copper shine of her mane out of the corner of her eye. She was never trying to completely block out that voice.

It was just that Blue Moon managed to convey what happens when you listen too closely to such voices, and in Violet Vision's laughter there were rather familiar overtones; so Gentle Touch drew conclusions.

Still, it simply was there. Silently present, the aspect of dreams, unnecessary and unwanted, remained in her and she could not help but look through this door.

Occasionally. With (not exactly) an utmost caution.

Still waiting? Well, good for you...

But now the exit from this backyard was locked — and Gentle Touch had no key. Time passed, slice by slice and cycle by cycle, and in the deserted Metropolis, Gentle Touch could not wake up, nor could she fall asleep.

This dream, with all its obvious unreality, with uselessly blinking identifier lights on the airways where no one flew, with empty cafes, where unfulfilling food appeared on the tables by itself once you were to think about ordering and look away, with the trains, beyond the doors of which there was nothing but steady orange light, with immovable shine of the Red askew from the zenith — forever at the same point of the dark sky webbed by pink veins — the dream readily admitted that it was, in fact, just a dream, in little things and minor points, and Gentle could easily change the color of the curtains in the hotel room or the model of the aviette she called to search for other ponies.

It refused to give in — or even be felt like a dream — in anything that mattered.

Other ponies? Other dreams? Send a few words for Blue Moon or maybe for Cursory Streak?

No. Not at all. Of course not, how could you even think of that.

The glasses persuaded her to wait a little, and reminded her that three or so cycles later something might change. There was a time when they started the countdown, and there was a time when the numbers of this countdown went into the negative. Later, the glasses refused to admit that something similar had ever been said, and Gentle had nothing to check their words against.

She regularly looked around, and each time she saw the faint web-like images of the other ponies; her sight was working in the scarlet. She chased them, on hooves, or on a train, or in an aviette, and saw the sparkle until the very last moment when, behind the last open door in the forgotten slums, or in the bend of a quiet river, or on the shore of the ocean, the emptiness met her.

The images blinked out of existence just as she was about to witness them with normal sight.

Once, in such a pursuit, she was quite sure that she saw a figure in a wide-brimmed Stetson hat — but only from behind and only as a silhouette in the dim light from the ajar door; then the door closed.

In the cycle when she first saw the copper strands of somepony else's (her own) mane, she first tried to kill herself. It seemed easy — the city, even empty once, left her with many nines of ways to choose from. Pain, due to her first aspect, was not a problem either.

It turned out to be more difficult to go through the anguish and fear of the passing life, without taking a step back. The dream she was trapped in allowed her to heal wounds and move herself contrary to the apparent skills of an imaginary body — by the end of the second round, according to the calendar notes, she mastered flight, and for several nines of cycles she was dimly pleased with the views from above and the freedom to float in the air like pegasus. But with the same ease it let her just stop dying, at any beat and despite any damage.

And every method, once tried, stopped working, no matter the ingenuity of her attempts to repeat it.

Time went on. She saw reflections of copper more and more often, until she finally saw that pony in a dark mirror inside an empty hotel.

So they had met, and suspicions were gradually replaced by curiosity, then cautious sympathy.

Sharp Cut, as she was called, taught her to not only suppress the pain but appreciate it, strolling on the edge of life, as with each next cycle Gentle Touch felt the world around more and more muffled; the pain was a way to feel at least something.

That, in turn, required her to distinguish glass from clay from steel.

She did not feed Gentle Touch’s false hopes, and Gentle Touch resigned herself to staying here forever knowing that even death would not be a way out, because Gentle's death meant that the Red could be defeated, which means that the Red will not allow it; plain and simple.

At least that's what Sharp said.

Among other conversations, Sharp described how exactly she said goodbye to her family and some friends to finally move here, beyond the mirror’s edge, and Gentle agreed that while the departure was possible otherwise, alternatives were just that much more dull; although after the first chapter of the story in the foyer of a quiet cinema, she was slightly nauseous.

The ‘slasher movie’ itself, which they were watching shortly after the talk, black and white, but with wild applications of red and scarlet streaks — deemed unacceptable in the real world which became somewhat blurred at the edges for Gentle Touch at that moment though — was weirdly appealing, and she confided in Sharp Cut that she does like it.

Sharp Cut admitted reluctantly that Gentle Touch’s family might be fine in the real world, for now. But she also said that the Red’s world beyond the mirror did not follow mundane causality, and that Gentle Touch’s presence here meant that the act had already happened.

Gentle Touch was troubled by this and tried to make sense of it, but failed. She asked bluntly if it was a prophecy, and got a clear “Yup!” in response.

She cried into Sharp Cut’s coat, which was absorbent enough to hide her tears.

The bone blade, short and dull orange to rhyme with her coat, not yet a knife but still sharpened with care, that Gentle received as a gift for the next anniversary, in any case, had nopony to apply it to. Around the same time, or a little earlier, the glasses finally fell silent.

In memory of Cursory Streak, she began to get involved in detective stories, then science fiction, then romance novels, then she returned to detective stories. In the romance novels’ phase Sharp Cut refused to have sex with her, saying that Gentle was not ready yet. It was a challenge, and she tried to master the appropriate techniques from the books, but Sharp did not even examine her, no matter how inviting and provoking Gentle Touch was. She just repeated, “It's too early for you. There may be a pony who loves you here, and it is not me.” That was too cryptic for Gentle Touch’s mind — it was well established that nopony ever exists here except them.

However, during this long time Gentle Touch had one opportunity to taste her nonetheless. She was copper in that way too; and that was enough.

In comparison, the art of patterns dyed on the coat as well as on the skin under it, and then deeper still, turned out to be almost a revelation — Sharp Cut was enthusing in approving her new notion, was glad for her and gave to Gentle Touch whole sequences of exercises that, according to her, were worth mastering. 

So they passed the time with drinks and foods, competitions and challenges, books and sightseeing, blood and scars; and many, many rounds later, the Blue Moon still stood in the nadir, and the Red slightly aside from the zenith.

Then she asked Sharp Cut to kill her. The companion was a little surprised, reminded that it still would not help, but fulfilled the request, not denying themselves the pleasure of stretching the process a bit. Gentle had no particular objections — Sharp Cut was, after all, helpful, and in a major way; she had found new and impressive routes to the death, sufficiently obscure to avoid the dream’s detection too.

The dream caught itself and brought her back to it from the shores of death three times nine beats after she reached them — thus actually escaping the dream if only for a short time.

Still, this delay was enough to write a letter, put it in a bottle and send it across the Last River.

They made it a habit of sorts, and after each following message the sluggish flow of time resumed for Gentle Touch (Sharp Cut), as it always did.
> Interlude 2: Vegetation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


(blank flank)


Yellow and green rays pierced the air like shallow water, and like in water, myriads of green dust particles were intertwined by the current into endless streams. The air bloomed, it smelled of spring, and leaves, and juice, and flowers, and the promise of hot and sudden happiness.

Grass and trees grew into this air, stretching out in the stream, wriggling upward in a spiral, turning yellow and vanishing then, like a yellow-green flame, leaving smoky clouds of pollen.

I also grew out of the earth. Moisture and black soil nourished my hooves, my bones rose above the soil being trees and branches, vines of veins and vessels were wrapped around them. I was covered with coat-foliage, and my coat, too, fell off and kept blooming forever.

The earth healed any wounds, but there was a burning scar on my soul.

Something felt my pain. Something has come. A light breath smelling like a living pony — the first sign of animal life.

Am I in a dream?

“Yes. And no.”

Who is here? 

“I do not understand,” I said.

“This place will cease to be a dream. Later on,” She replied.

She looked directly at me with Her honey eyes. I did not notice how She was woven from the pollen mist. Emerald alicorn, as if overgrown by the spring grass. I've heard about that. The case so rare that it is considered a legend. From time to time, once in many nines of rounds, for a seriously, terminally ill pony Blue Moon comes as Green. And that means life to them.

“Are you Blue?”, I asked.

“No. And yes.”

“Are you kidding me?!” I cried maybe too loud. But I was not in the mood for jokes.

She was silent. I was silent long enough for me to realize who I was yelling at. Perhaps throwing away my only chance. Currents of green air swayed behind Her. Stars shone through them.

“I'm not really Blue. I am now a part of Blue. But then... I will no longer be a part of Blue.”

...So, it's still a dream.

“You had a question for me,” She prompted.

...I had a question?

“The pain. Right here,” a turquoise hoof pointed to my side.

Ohh... ‘When Moon asks, tell Her everything.’

So I told Her. I told Her about a flash touch of a scarlet ray on my right side that was just a pulling numbness but in a matter of cycles went to its full size like a pulsing tree of pain. How friends came to console me. Then they stopped coming. I asked them to stop myself.

“Blue's Heralds are unable to help you.”

“I know! It's you! These are your Heralds!”

“Not mine. Blue Moon is not quite the one who can help you, I am the one who can,” She was unsure, and I heard it, but Her voice promised to try — try and maybe succeed, as life always does.

“If you can, I don't care. I want to live, you know?” I almost cried.

“To live,” She repeated.

This word sounded as if it was simultaneously uttered by a crowd of ponies numbering cubic nines of different voices, and each voice put their own, personal meaning and understanding. The green mist swirled in dark swirls like seaweed in the ocean. A gentle yellow flame tickled my side and disappeared.

“I helped you. You will live. There is a destiny for you to become my Herald, but you will have a few choices among the way. I hope you will remember it, in time” She spoke, quiet and powerful, as a sprout which knows where the sky is, and looks for it.

"I ... what, I— I am Herald? But I can't, I’m just too young… But if you say so…” I staggered in reply

“You are not yet my Herald. I am... you see... not yet. But one cycle... one cycle I will be.” 

She will be! Golden light came out of Her eyes again. It warmed the coat like the first cycle of an infinitely long gentle summer. She will be! And it will be a miracle.

“And then you will be my Herald, If you so choose,” She concluded.

I saw it. I forgot it.

“Wake up.”

Three cycles later, Blue Moon visited me for the first time.
> Chapter 21: Diplomacy
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


∿∿∿


So, they arrived at the conduit — one of many pocket universes seeded by Black Moon; the number had been far into the seventh power of nines when Solid Line went to sleep, and surely was much more now — Solid Line desired to know the exact number, but she knew that the universes were slowly replicating over time to account for new souls submerging in the system.

This one universe was distinct among all others due to being deliberately exposed to the Red. The conduit to contact it and hear it; to help it make a form while keeping safe the system as a whole. A part of the plan.

As far as Solid Line knew, even attempts of making a contact were pretty few, let alone successful ones. Still, that, too, was part of the plan.

Cursory Streak began to accelerate towards the scarlet dome, her first steps somewhat slow, but she definitely had identified her target, and that was bad on too many levels.

Solid Line, not yet whole after finishing the jaunt—


🦋🦋🦋


—stood in the city ​​square under the combined light of two Moons, countless nines gathered, as far as the eye can see, “Hello, everypony! I… I’m here, in front of you all b-because there’s nopony else. Everypony has the last things to do, Pinkie went out of reach, Twilight is busy, and, I-I'm afraid, she will be b-busy for a long time, sorry. We must leave you, but we will always be somewhere near, do you hear me? There’s nothing to be afraid of, I say it, this is a wonderful world and you can keep it yourself, even without us. Everypony has to fly away from their parents sometime... but now, we have nine more cycles ahead, and I… Frankly, I don't want to leave. I know you don’t want us to either, and I hope Pinkie comes back, if only for the feast. Record it and remember, please. Remember... if Twilight is right and there is something after death, then we will be there, and… i-if not, then here's what I wish: care for each other. All of you are the very best ponies, it's a pity that I never had time to get to know everypony... I'm just too afraid. And forgive me that I’m clumsy, others would have said it better, but there are no others... ", above all I want to fly away from this crowd, disappear, but soon I will do it anyway, and… "What, an autograph? Yes, of course, dear, what should I write?"—


∿∿∿


—tried to short-circuit the space to stop the pegasus — there was no way Cursory's action could lead to anything but a net loss at this moment —  but she had neither the power of the past-Solid, nor her Moon above the horizon.

She had Signal though. The cat clawed her side twice in a quick succession: intention to jaunt; Solid Line closed her eyes and after less than a third of a beat heard a sharp cry of a pegasus, still inappropriately and impeccably melodic. Solid Line couldn't help but replay it in her memory right afterwards, just once.

She opened up her eyes and saw Signal hanging on the left wing of Cursory Streak — and the yanks of the wing did not help either of them. Less than a beat later, in jump-and-fall with a twist to one side, Cursory Streak pressed the cat between her side and the ground. Signal let out a strangled cry...

"Enough," Solid Line said. She did not sense the tone with which she was speaking, nor did she dare to use ponykinesis against White Moon’s Herald in an ‘on duty’ state of mind, but the white pegasus looked at her, arching her neck, and muttered something.

“Do you mind removing the animal before I resolve the issue myself?”

Solid Line’s background processes recognized anger, albeit at an unsure 38% confidence, and, more reliably, a threat at 62%. But Solid could not risk it.

“Let’s avoid harm. She is not an animal; a reimplant. Dispersal field,” Solid Line tried to clear a misunderstanding.

The cat grunted hoarsely, but since Solid Line was looking directly at her, she couldn’t jaunt anymore — and Solid Line asked her eyes not to blink until further notice.

“Uh-huh. Who is it then?” Cursory asked.

“My aunt.”

“I thought she was your teacher,” Cursory showed her teeth; Solid Line identified this as an 82% smile, “I never saw where she came from. I have seen her in the bag a beat ago, and the distance... Only the aspects of the Black Moon were able to catch me off guard, and nopony else did it even once.”

The interweaving of background processes — curiosity, analysis of potential threats and management of social links — raised the  ‘investigation required’ flag, with a deadline of one cycle. Solid noted it, but more urgent tasks were at hoof.

“Teacher too,” she replied, “Not a friend. You are a friend. I don’t want to lose you, so please avoid touching the scarlet.”

Cursory replied instantly, “You seem to know a lot about Red. How, and why should I not?”

Voice analysis gave a near-threshold signal of possible distrust — unlikely, but potentially devastating.

“Past-Solid had a contact with the Red’s effector. It corrupts ponies when it doesn't kill them,” Solid Line replied.

“That’s in line with what I know,” Cursory nodded, “But even with no sensors I know that it’s mild here, I can try and burn it. I should; that’s a rule.”

“That's a hostile act, and you aren’t of the incinerating aspect — or are you? — so you’ll set the game at a start at a disadvantage. Let go of Signal and then we will wait. These negotiations are needed by the Red, not us. It will find a way to contact us,” Solid Line tried to call to reason.

Cursory Streak narrowed her eyes; not immediately, but she stood up on her hooves. Signal ran up to Solid... but reached her two beats later than she should have.

“You hurt her,” Solid said to Signal.

Both answered her, at the same time, “No, not even close | Mr-ay (if only a little)”

Solid Line allowed herself to blink. A few times in quick succession.

She always knew in general terms what Signal wanted to say... but the difference between "in general terms" and "exactly" was about the same as between writing in civilian language and the imaging sigils.

Solid Line was never against accuracy, but...

“Please repeat?” she asked quietly.

“H-rm (two or three feathers do not count as an injury)” Signal replied smugly.

Solid Line sat down.

It required some processing.


☄☄☄


Cursory came closer than three steps to the unicorn. She still looked like a statuette, and it was not possible to read her state — there was a golden mask in place of her face — and responded neither to the name, nor to calls to stand up, nor even to her cat at her side.

Two more steps, and...

The limited-admissibility technique of stepping on the tail didn’t work: the target shifted to the side, and neutrally reported, “Hey.”

The cat meowed loudly; Solid sharply put her ears to her head, but otherwise her expression did not change.

“Sorry,” Cursory said. “What happened? You said to wait, so I'm waiting, but it's scary and uneasy here, and you were always broken, but there is a line between broken and wasted.”

“We are waiting,” confirmed Solid Line, “We are waiting longer. When we made a jaunt, did you experience any unusual sensations or did you hear other ponies' voices?

Cursory nodded, “I was asked about the destination and who am I.”

"That's to be expected," Solid nodded again. “Anything beside that?”

Cursory Streak frowned.

...The forest is a dark canvas thrown over the world far below... three purple flares from below and from both her sides...

“I'm not sure. There was something, but I don't know how to describe it, and I hardly remember. And how would I even tell a picture? We aren’t at the mnemo station.”

“Thanks. In my own vision I performed in front of a wide audience, promised to return to them and signed autographs,” Solid Line fell silent.

Cursory Streak waited, and inquired more, “So, why is it important?”

“Because I didn't. I have never had a single public speech in my life.”

Cursory nodded.

“Fantasies. Once we find Gentle Touch, before anything else, we will check you up with our medics.”

Solid Line turned her head to her and looked straight into her eyes, “I need your permission to weave magic in your mind. In order to preserve all such memories. This is more important than you probably think. I have never encountered anything like this before, but I— I had a warning that this is possible. And this is a good sign. I have an aspect for that, so don’t you worry,” the unicorn’s voice became almost pleading.

Cursory didn't even think about it. “Of course not. Never touch my…”

“Hello, friends,” a third voice interrupted her. Cursory Streak turned her head sharply to the sound, and saw Gentle Touch.

Or maybe not.

This creature did not look like a double either; doubles were very precise in copying appearances, but here... instead of a white mane, Gentle’s was colorless, like an albino, with uneven splotches of red all over the place. Instead of a pale orange coat, it was at best pink, at worst red. Copper, for sure. And the styling of the mane consisted of long, heavy strands on the sides.

The voice... was not quite the same as Gentle’s, but not the usual distant and aloof voice of doubles either — no screeching or ringing of glass. No hatred or superiority in it, nor on Gentle Touch’s face. The pony seemed to expect that she would be impressive and unusual, but she was also afraid that she would be ridiculed — as a filly who for the first time made her own choices about what dress and make-up to wear, and is now showing the result to her family and friends.

And, Cursory did not deny it, she had a stronger appeal now. Although a few inner alarms went off and bulbs flickered orange-yellow.

The more Cursory looked at the newcomer with eyes wide, the less she saw a coherent picture — the pony projected mixed signals by her very existence.

There was one more test though. Cursory Streak said to Solid Line, not turning away from the stranger, in a professional and calm tone, “Would you like to shift aside, then see and describe her mark from your angle? I don't want to be distracted. If there is no mark, you have my permission to break it.”

Not-Gentle lifted her hoof a little, and from the stomach to the chest and neck of Cursory, a subtle wave of warmth passed, barely brushing the coat — softer than the blow of a hair dryer.

Then the newcomer asked, suavely and politely, expecting a refusal in advance, “We... can we skip this step? This will complicate our negotiations. As I promised, I will return to you… will be returned to you... if the negotiations suit my needs.”

Again, there was nothing to think about. Cursory Streak shook her head, glanced at Solid and nodded.

Solid Line, already having made a shift, narrowed her eyes, “The mark is three red circles with small stylized rays; the circles form a pyramid. Each of these circles has a wedge cut and raised, as in one of the pie chart views.”

Having heard the first sentence, Cursory exhaled and calmed down a bit.

Unfortunately, there was the second one.

Cursory Streak sighed, "Do we trust the Red? It’s lying, you said it yourself.”

Solid Line did not answer, and Cursory Streak made the decision herself. She turned to the double, gathering the power of the White Moon, accumulating charge with each word, 

“You can speak, but not a single step closer, and no magic at all, or you are over. As much as ‘you’ even are.”

The fake Gentle sighed, almost like a real pony. It nodded, ears down, “Okay. It’s just a few things, really…”
> Chapter 22: Division
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


☄☄☄


Cursory Streak did not push the newcomer to speak further despite the fake Gentle keeping the silence hanging for too long; the alien's head was lowered, it made a supposedly uncertain step in place, telegraphing embarrassment.

Solid Line's cat hissed briefly. The unicorn did not interfere, standing five steps away from Cursory.

The pink one broke the silence first, "Well, since there are no leading questions, and overall you don't want to speak with me," she pouted, and the grudge looked very real, "I will be blunt. You will walk me around your world as you are collecting souls anyway. I will tell you where I want to go, we will put together a route for us all, and... that's it.”

Solid Line raised her hoof, "Why should we agree?" 

"Because if you refuse, Gentle Touch will not return to you. Each of your Moons has too many of Their own ponies already, up to the tips of Their horns and more. The Red has only me. It can have Gentle and me. Don't you think it's rude to call a person 'it'? Your language is stupid," the pink one said, irritated.

Cursory Streak felt that there was an amount of twisted truth in it. Almost true, but not entirely, and it was dangerous to hearken it. As it always is with doubles.

White Moon calendars were made around infusions of the Red — ALRI meant ‘after the last infusion of the Red’, and each infusion led to cubic nines of deceased, with much more injured.

And yet the fake was almost saying that the Red actually deserves some kind of sympathy. She is right, in a sense, a thought surfaced for a beat, to be drowned again; the pegasus twitched her ear.

"What if we agree?" Solid went on.

"Then I will accompany you on your journey, I will help you in it, using all the knowledge I have — and I know everything that Gentle knew, don't you worry. I have no connection with Blue Moon as I am not Gentle Touch, but if you find my own light…" the pink one made a short pause.

"It's not difficult,” Solid Line confirmed, “Although if we destroy you, we'll find a way to get Gentle out without your help anyway. As well as to dismantle this minor sanctuary of the Red. This system belongs to me, and I could elevate access rights if need be. Don't think that being the Red's pony makes you invincible. Your master is not safe either, no matter how much you may think otherwise.

"But the game is on, and it's your turn, messenger."

What do you mean, not difficult?! What is 'the game' you're talking about? Where would you get the forbidden light? Cursory Streak wanted to ask Solid Line all three questions at once, and ended up asking none.

"I guess. But, again, I am not really your enemy here! I will help you find all the remaining souls..."

Cursory interrupted, "What do you really want?"

"To live. To rejoice. To enjoy. Two or three dates with you and Solid Line both. To see what you made there in the eons that I sat next to the Red and tried to console it. In general, to have fun. Gentle was a very boring pony. It will be nice to unwind in her memory."

That, by the count — if it was a normal double — was always the last one, third, question for which doubles were bound to answer truthfully, or not answer at all, except they tried to weave their way even then; all the following answers were always, with no exceptions, lies one way or the other.

Still, the next one mattered too much.

Cursory swallowed a lump in her throat, "What happened to her?"

The fake narrowed its eyes,  "Let's look to the past. You might have forgotten, but six rounds ago, one pony you knew sat in a bar every fifth cycle. At the beginning of the next phase, when she was still in bed, she convinced herself that this time going to the bar had definitely been the last. And then the time came again, as she still couldn't forget her failure and the ones whom she left and betrayed, so a bottle or a third was the absolution again. Do you remember that pony? She was there, right? After her there was yet another pony who inhaled ‘Guiding Starfall-TX’."

Cursory exhaled sharply, but did not look away. Now it was definitely clear that this was the enemy. A double, like all of them, and every word, although it sounds real, is no more than a gadfly. Let them sound, and they will settle under the skin, and they will itch. Now it will say...

"The third pony, who went in after those two, had to be supported and taken care of by almost the entire station. She had to be fed and looked after at all times. You yourself, the one who lives now, who are you after them? Seventh, fourteenth, twenty sixth? It is important that those Cursorys were. It’s the same about Gentle Touch; she was,” the fake finished, grinning.

Cursory took two steps back, tilted her head and muttered, “Don't remind me, or else...”

“No!” Solid Line wedged in, but Cursory replied only with a hard look; the unicorn added, “She didn’t mean to offend or hurt you.”

But Cursory finished the thought, “Or else, I'll burn you. At least in memory of... the second, third and fourth, as you call them,” Cursory grinned back, ”Because they did not protect themselves. You think you opened my eyes. Every third double of mine reminds me about this. Every third of ones who remind does that in details and colors, assuming the voices and faces of ones that I let down. You might guess how many of them manage to get away with it. You still can feel pain even as you never were anything more than abominable pieces of glass.”

Solid Line walked over and gently touched Cursory’s side with her horn, “Don't be angry, please”

“This creature has perverted my Gentle and acts as if we owe it something. It’s just a double, nothing out of ordinary on top of that. And I still have to not be angry?” Cursory spoke in a tone even and calm, but tongues of blue flame burned on the wing feathers of her half-open wings.

“I just answered your question. It's hard for me otherwise,” Gentle Touch said.

Cursory twitched her ear and swallowed hard again.

It was Gentle's voice. Exactly her own, due to a small delay on all sibilants, too open ‘o’ and too dull ‘r’.

“I don't wish for anything bad. It just happens, and Pink speaks for what she sees. If you have killed one of Moons' kin, how could it be otherwise? I killed ponies myself, you know?.. and maybe more,” Gentle spoke again.

“Are you in captivity there?” Cursory asked incredulously. The flame of her heart flickered, but the blue aura still hung on her wings for three beats more as she waited for an answer. Everything else said she chose to ignore like nonsense which it was.

The flame went out when Gentle, with a familiar quiet and choking laugh, replied, “No. I am ‘there’ of my own free will. And, by the way, if you want to try that accidental intimacy again, I don't mind and can do better now.”

Cursory snorted; the memory of wild lands, snow, fear and that one slice when her habit to act first and speak second had been truly lamentable was too clear.

I see. This is some kind of special double. More crafty, more deep. Better to remain silent.

Her ears and cheeks burned, but this time the White Moon aspect had nothing to do with it.

She could not be angry anymore. Gentle spoke the truth, and Cursory Streak had it heard.

“Are you a shapeshifter?” Solid asked.

“Why would you think so?” the fake responded in the same suave voice, dragging each vowel in an irritating manner.

“Two different accents. Even I can hear it.’ Solid Line provided in her usual neutral tone.

“Not a shifter. And not her jailer either, as reputable Cursory Streak thought. Gentle and I work together, on equal terms, and are friends. So you won't kill us now? Let's talk in more detail?", the fake asked.

Cursory noted that the fake wanted to avoid outright conflict, and was speaking without outright taunts, though there was a subtle tone of sneer in the questions; still, Cursory nodded reluctantly.

“That's good. For clarity, call me Pink Drop,” Pink winked at Cursory. 

“And by the way, Gentle really doesn't mind if you’d try again. But she likes Solid better.”
 
“Not at all! On both counts!” the voice of the Gentle chimed in through Pink’s mouth, somewhat frantic, and Cursory could not resist the facehoof.

Pink moved closer to her, and closer still. It looked up from the bottom and stretched out its hoof. Cursory lingered for six beats, then sighed and accepted it.

“And yet,” she asked, “I heard the voice of Gentle Touch. Real voice. She is alive. Can you get her back?”

Pink stared back at Cursory for a long time, then whispered just for her, “You really care about this minor issue. It's so funny, looking at you of all ponies, but you won’t get the joke, even if I try to explain. I will not.”

And louder, for everypony now, looking at each of them, even at Signal, “Maybe? And I will return your little pony if I'm happy with our little excursion. If she will be willing to. If at least somepony needs her. For now, I don't see the point of it.”

Solid Line intervened, “If you have captured somepony else’s soul, at least have the courage to admit that you did it. And set her free. At least sometimes.”

“And then where do I go?” Pink pouted.

All three of them looked at it, scowling, and Pink muttered, “Okay, okay. So be it.”

Cursory coughed and realized that only after these words she could take a full breath.
> Chapter 23: Acquaintanceship
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


⊛⊛⊛


Gentle Touch felt weird. Not as weird as in sector 12-S, where space itself was all but cracking, where she didn't even know where she was going, and where the shining stars wanted her not to be.

No, just a little weird. A little bit out of herself.

The two ponies on either side of her were completely real. Solid Line, dark yellow with a coral mane all the way down the back and a gray striped cat on that back; the face motionless, beautiful, golden. Even her huge green eyes, although they were alive, were ashamed of their life, and if she was looking at Gentle, she turned her whole head for it. Almost a foal’s height, but with a thin and long horn, as if taken from another, much taller unicorn, one just as great and majestic as in old pictures.
 
And Cursory — strict, tall, strong, with lips pursed in suppressed anger, a purple bob slightly disheveled, and subtle pearl flares on the tips of powerful white wings.

Compared to them, Gentle herself didn’t feel real. Yes, she saw the thin webs and knew where the Blue Moon was now — still below the horizon, but about to rise.

She could speak, too.

But all the main decisions for (her) their body were made by the pink one. Pink Drop, as they agreed to call their union. Sharp Cut, if one wants to be closer to the soul of the things. Gentle Touch decided the interplay of their names was actually nice. Pink agreed in her head. Sharp expressed a grumpy satisfaction that the moniker for the union suits herself on her own too.

There, in the dream, there were two of them, but here, in reality, they were together and they were one. And so they picked the mark and the appearance to go for in reality together. For the mark, many unsuccessful rituals had to be carried out and many hopes were buried, as even a Moon is unable to bestow a mark on a pony, whether at will or without it. 

The Red had a deep and sincere laugh when it heard about this, but did not interfere, only noted that it considers the idea hopeless.

As Gentle saw when Pink turned their head for a bit to look at (her) their mark, the Moon — the Red, Gentle Touch was still deeply uncomfortable to refer to the Red so — was wrong. It forgot about Gentle Touch’s glasses. They had to... well, a pony could say ‘sacrifice’ them, though it was not exactly what happened. But they got a mark as a result, so it worked.

This in itself was impossible. As well as the Red. As well as the whole dream universe and the long dream itself.

Like Pink herself.

But Gentle became a part of the merge voluntarily and deliberately, and, overall, did not regret it. It was just inconvenient, sometimes.

For example, she hardly realized before how important it is to turn and tilt her ears in order to hear exactly who you want to hear. Solid hummed an unintelligible song as they walked leisurely  — the unicorn said in passing that she recharges her jaunt by it, but not a word could be understood, and  then who even does spells as songs when you can just lend some power from your Moon? — (Sharp) Pink's attention was directed to the conversation with the pegasus. At least the vision was divided between both companions.

“...No, no blood is needed! You don’t trust me? I am repeating that for the third time. The third time already! No blood, no lymph, no other fluids, no…” Pink felt silent for a beat, “no meat either. I'll get it myself, if I will be in need of it, no worries here. I need just a mirror. You need just a mirror, as you asked for sweet Gentle to come back. A clean, unclouded mirror. It's that simple. Don’t you have one among the confiscated property at your station?” the pink one bounced irregularly in place, each time almost reaching for Cursory's nose and managing to keep up, although the pegasus had already switched to a trot. Solid Line turned her head to Gentle, winked, and accelerated as well. Gentle thought she must have imagined the wink.

“Firstly, I don’t. Secondly, watch less cheap movies. Thirdly, it is not stored with us, and above all that, I will not do robbery. But let it slip for now, why do you need to be with us, and who are you really? This is not the first time I have asked these questions either,” Cursory spoke with a hint of anger, and the same was seen in her web. But at the same time, she was somber and resigned in a sense: in the mood an adult might have after some time around a poorly educated foal, when an adult just has to endure a few tough slices.

Solid Line answered without addressing anypony or raising her voice, “I can make a mirror, just find me some silver, or at least tin and copper.”

Except for Gentle, nopony heard her. Solid did not repeat the offer, and Gentle clearly saw that she became sad.

Pink answered Cursory in a silky whisper — Gentle would never have sustained such a tone, and it often meant a knife is waiting its time, “There were times past, quite very past. Moons were still very young then, and They had a circle of trusted friends, agents of the court. Seven out of the six, lost souls, followed by you all...”

Cursory shook her head and muttered, “I still don’t get what is so important about these souls,” but nodded Pink to continue.

“Ones for which you and Gentle were sent out, they are still around, beyond and everside, in bits and so delicious pieces, and when gathered together, they could work mi-iracles,” the last word was drawn out much longer than necessary. 

Cursory didn't answer right away, but smiled, "So what? Everypony can work miracles. Some miracles I have to suppress.”

“No!” Pink jumped even higher, with her hooves almost reaching the level of Cursory’s face, and for a third of a beat she hung in the air. “Real ones, like that, not your aspects, tech and magic.”

“Let's say they could. So, what about them?” Cursory was clearly not impressed by this instant of a flight, but her wings fluttered anyway.

“What about them? Thirdly, everypony hopes for a miracle, and all-all Moons do, the Red too. Secondly, it will not come to pass,” Pink became stricken with sadness in a ninth of a beat, “or it will not come to pass for everypony. And first of all, I am also from the past, just like you. I know who we are looking for, and you don’t know, you will guess, and then you will find me anyway, and next time I will want, say, your feather. In that special sense.”

Cursory blinked, “No, wait, you just said that you need these souls too. Or the Red. That is, you need it anyway. What’s the fee you speak about?”

“Did I say something about the fee?” Pink giggled. "I'll just want a feather because it's funny. Or a half of your tail. The left half.”

Cursory did not answer, and after two beats Pink continued, “By the way, three Heralds walk into a bar…”

“Please, no!” Gentle cried out desperately, but they did not listen to her. They heard, but Cursory smiled - with a notable effort, but still smiled.

“No, let it be. Solid, do you mind?”

Solid Line shook her head.

“...and choose a table…”

Gentle, being the vocal minority, could not even sigh.

She was forced to hear this story for the seventh — and not the last — time.
> Chapter 24: Distrust
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


☄☄☄


A jaunt that Solid Line began was just as weird as before, but now Cursory knew what to expect, and the void itself was less hungry. Almost-place rather than non-place. 

This time, there was a surface under her hooves at least, and Cursory was not alone. On one side of her, Gentle Touch walked side by side with a strange new pony, as the newcomer’s bouncing jog was giving away. A little farther from their trio there was Solid Line. This was the formation in which they entered the void, though now they were different in number.

In the void, like the last time, there was no light or sound, so she did not see Gentle. But the warmth of Gentle's body was there for sure, just as it was back then, at the far Descent of the Blue Moon, in the wild lands.

There was no way to say anything about the cat with neither sight nor hearing — if she even was there at all. But before the jaunt she was on Solid Line's back, as usual.

Pink's high bounces were resonating through the floor every time she landed — and did not coincide with Gentle's cautious steps. Cursory did not think too deeply about this, just noted that the double had lied, and Gentle was the same as before, or at least close to it. The first was expected, the second was crystal joy.

The voice that asked their appointment this time addressed the entire team, and Cursory replied for everypony, We're coming home.

That was enough; and even the vanishing of words was softer, soft as a spiderweb strand in a forest, or the Forest.

When the world got its light back, and they came to the door behind which the outside world was waiting — again three ponies and four souls as they were — the unicorn took a few more steps forward and turned around to face them, blocking the door with her body.

“We need to talk,” Solid Line said.


∿∿∿ 


The ponies looked at her. Cursory Streak took three steps forward and one aside, stopping between Solid and the pink one.

"What'd you want?" Cursory asked. "Why now of all times? As we walked you weren't showing any issues. Not so vocal, I'd say." 

There was a smile along with the words but Solid Line didn't get its meaning.

"I had my jaunt to care about then. We, as a team, should not be going into Metropolis proper. It's unreasonable," Solid replied. "The art of the Red is with us. Even a passing sensor sweep would find it in my time; I assume it’s even easier with modern tools, as the Red is still an enemy. So only the tower and its immediate surroundings, for now, until we get our distrust sorted out."

Gentle Touch replied through Pink's mouth, "But aren't we on a mission for the Trinity? It's our choice to use any means necessary, isn't it?" 

Unsure, a context hint chimed in, but the number glitched, as well as any clarifications; Solid Line felt a jolt of pain in her temple.

Cursory intervened, not letting her finish, without turning to Pink, "By the way, Pink, how'd you know about the task, huh?"

"Well... Black Moon did not say that it was a secret," Gentle was notably less loud, “And your Moon said it outright that we should seek help from ponies around. And in the dream it was too lonely for us both to keep secrets from each other... especially those that had no clear label, y'know... is it bad?" Pink shook her head, looking at both, but the duo clearly left negotiations to Gentle.

"It's dangerous," Cursory replied, still not turning around. “If you trust the creations of the Red, this is your choice. But I remember that a luster ago, when we didn’t even get the quest, in 12-S, the doubles asked us to retreat and forfeit the quest. Don’t you think it’s strange that the Red’s side have made full turn around on their stance?"

Solid Line, approaching the terminal, paused while Gentle was still figuring out how to answer, "I propose a compromise."

One of the lesser branches of the plan activated, and the memory of past-Solid issued a key; Solid entered the line: 'Understanding_will_not_be_postponed_indefinitely'. The second factor was a mnemogram about an island too deserted under a light too bright. The third was the future consent of Black Moon, but it was not necessary to mention.

"We have six slices ahead and we can set up food and drink for organic bodies together here or in the vicinity. The double will stay here."

"Hey! I'm organic too! I can prove it!" Pink protested; Cursory turned and stared at her.

"How?" asked the pegasus, and the word was stretched. Solid’s background processes found it difficult to define an emotion. That was in fact disturbing; they were becoming less and less helpful.

"Gentle gave me her body! Best gift ever!" Pink exclaimed.

"Well, not exactly a gift…" Gentle Touch tried to correct.

"In a literal way. Other way, she tried too, but I think it's you who should do her," Pink giggled, "Not my cup of tea."

Cursory Streak blinked, “What? Are you provoking me? And, for all the stars above, why are you so interested in our own matters?” She sighed, “On the other hoof, whatever. Just, please, back a step off from… all this. From my feelings and all that, okay? Seriously, it’s as if you’re trying to get under my skin… and with success at that!” the pegasus huffed, clearly annoyed.

Pink smiled, and dropped a “Yes,” drawing a word out too long for its own good.

Solid frantically thought of next words as the conversation was going into unrelated territory. At least Signal was almost silent, only occasionally sharply snorting, informing her that there is no immediate danger.

How does it work? Signal certainly does not light the sigils, and there is no interference in the magic field, and yet...

"As I was saying. You have six slices to tell me exactly what you are hiding. Cursory, you could tell about the past and what happened between you and the Black Moon, and what worries you about her and about me. And you, Pink Drop, I'd like to hear about why you are not Red, not a double, and why letting you out is not going to cause another disaster, such as Lavender Blight, or worse. Also, tell me what you did to Gentle that she agreed to give you her body. Organic creatures generally consider it to be of maximum value," Solid Line finished, uninterrupted.

Cursory smiled, “I wouldn’t think you can speak in sentences this long. What will happen in six slices, and what is this lavender blight? Not a pony, I hope? That'd be an awful name for a pony."

"If I do not cancel my suggestion, the Black Moon will clarify the ambiguous expression about this place. The tower will be hidden at the everside. I will make sure the double stays in the displacement zone. Lavender Blight is... None of you have heard of it? And yes, not a pony."

Both looked at each other and shook their heads.

"It's very strange. Where were you educated to miss this?" that was not spoken aloud, "Let it remain among the three of us. Shortly before my parents' parents got married, Black Moon found a new way to guide future Heralds. She has woven a certain rhythm of shifting frequencies into Her spectrum. I know the formula by which it is written. Those who were ready for It, under this rhythm, walked the way easier. These Heralds were very convenient: they performed the necessary calculations with high speed and precision, they clearly saw the edges of space and were making ways around them with ease.

“But they were turning the others around them in their image, with no ill will, just by touch or being around other ponies, and it wasn't possible to stop the spread of blight without stopping their thinking, or immersing them in a deep sleep outside of space. Many of those who sleep here are lavender. I don’t want anything like this to happen because of Pink. We just don’t know how she works, there were no Heralds of the Red at all,” Solid paused, waiting for a reaction. She saw that they were listening to her.

Both of them kept silent, looked at each other for a bit, then turned back to Solid. She still couldn’t understand anything in their expressions, and the background processes were also silent.

"Not the worst thing I know," Gentle replied. Cursory didn't even answer, just chuckled.

"So, this is no big deal to you?” just in case, Solid tried to make sure.

What is the world like now if they have forgotten Lavender Blight and aren't even impressed upon being told about it?

“Not really, to be honest,” Cursory came closer to her, and looked straight into her eyes. "We know how to work with this. There are proven codes, protocols and processes, and once the danger is recognized it will be classified, contained and resolved. You yourself wrote this system, didn't you say so?"

"So, are you ready to release the Red into the world?" Solid Line asked incredulously.

"The Red, no. But look at this poor little mare for yourself," Cursory pointed at Pink with her wing

The 'poor little mare' jumped up indignantly and shouted, "Hey, I'm happy! You are gloomy and tense and worried here!"

Yes, definitely not Gentle, Solid thought. 88%, background processes agreed. It will be necessary to separate the Red’s double and the one whose body it possesses, and speak with them apart from each other. For that I need a library… inconvenient but acceptable… three charge crystals no less than type A-plus, better A-supreme… easy to moderate... and their honest agreement…  that's the hardest.

"Does she really strike you as the Red here? I mean, yes, she is likely a Herald or somesuch. And yes, she is annoying and rubs me the wrong way, but foalishly so. And yes, I’d withhold complete trust for now, but… nothing serious so far, and my companion is still here. Benefit of the doubt, and while I know that she might be sabotaging the task..." Cursory smiled, and added after a short pause, "I will not leave Gentle Touch behind."

“It may be an illusion...” Solid protested, already preparing to reluctantly agree with the course. Cursory Streak was the team leader, if only in spirit — but spirit was what mattered here. Those who were weaved into Cursory Streak's soul were a leader and a persuader from times long gone, and their combined presence was showing.

At least, now Solid Line could guess who they were. And, on top of that, she really did not want to escalate the conflict further. The pegasus's flame of passion was that much more charming when it slowly burned under the surface, not breaking outside; calmness and intense attention, a beauty to behold. Emotions too strong were disturbing and obscure, even for past-Solid.

"Maybe. Let's figure it out! But if it makes it easier for you, we will tell you. Will we tell, Pink? Just don't worry, I am by your side, and I am strong, and everything will be fine," Cursory maintained eye contact while speaking.

Pink quickly nodded, "In all the details and pieces."

Cursory nodded, “I’ll start. I assume that Black Moon requires you to understand what you are dealing with in my case."


☄☄☄


"So, nine and six rounds ago, back when I found the very notion of working at the station utterly disgusting..."
> Chapter 25: Detachment
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


☄☄☄



They came out onto a clover-covered hill, and the tower disappeared behind them. The tale about the past that Cursory had begun telling was postponed for a time, as the wind and sky got her attention. 

Her body was longing to fly, her mind was seeking something simple and clear. The steel string of anxiety and concentrated will that was Cursory's guide all this time while saving Gentle, now that the goal was achieved and the obstacle removed, has coiled into a loose twitching spiral in her heart. 

Cursory could no longer stay these countless black tables, silence and the void, which was always less than three steps away. She knew now that the void is there — somewhere, in a direction unknown and impossible, but never too far.

Her native sky and ghostly shine of White Moon at Her zenith awaited her. Yes, Solid Line warned that the countdown could not be stopped, and that it might not be worth wasting time on unnecessary flights. But it just meant that she should fly faster, and faster she was. Cursory barely had the patience to wait for Solid's shopping list drawn out of thin air, and the caution to ask her not to use neon greens in writing. She thought about inviting Pink to fly with her on her back, like Solid before, so as not to lose Gentle Touch again, and even turned to her to offer that. But the hairs of her coat that stood on end when Cursory met Pink's eyes hinted that it might not be the best idea.

She read this list once she took off to wings. Angular sharp letters with unexpected and incorrect connections and obvious mistakes, and if the mysterious 'black bar pi-e' likely meant ‘blackberry pie’, then why was the second word underlined as it is done when numbers are written to distinguish them from similar letters? Almost every sixth line remained simply incomprehensible: 'zhen', underlined and in a frame? Porcelain wall? But two-thirds of what was written was parseable.

She could return and ask Solid about that, but then time was of importance, and she wanted to fly. On top of that, it was the word puzzle to solve, and more interesting than crossword ones.

While the landscape beneath was sliding away to White Moon's Ascent, she enjoyed the view from above. Each and every one of the many unique winding trails between the hills, meandering shallow rivers, and small settlements of no more than nine buildings, was a sight for her eyes. This detached but alive part of Metropolis was an infinite times better than the insides of the tower.

It was alive, to put it simply; the tower was the domain of Death itself. Fitting for Black Moon, but still.

The remaining third of the list she finished off meticulously, line by line, like a crossword puzzle, while the body caught the willful air currents to ride — there was no time to glide and rest, so she poured her strength into wingbeats. At this limit, any random movement of a feather could add or subtract speed. She had no time to spare.

She just needed to get some air and feel like a living pony in a living world.

At full speed and full power the flight took a slice and a third. The same amount for purchases in the central stores of the sector. A part in bags, another part — to pay extra in silver for synthesis and urgent delivery on an aviette, the third part had to be dispensed with: either there were no synthesis formulas for it, or Cursory had nothing to cover for it. The incomprehensible lines turned out to be spices, outdated modifiers, and rare teas from the distant ascent of the White Moon — however, some have remained a mystery or ambiguity.

Returning, she was not too afraid of losing her ponies again, but still smiled to herself when she saw them — not quite where she left, but on a nearby hill, nine throws away from the invisible tower.

Around them were limestone columns, large enough to be seen from the air, in a regular hexagon, so Cursory, assuming magic, made a landing a little to the side. Solid Line went to her, stepping out of the contour, and Cursory eyed her warily: either it just seemed so, or the unicorn was skipping steps while walking, appearing ever closer without all the necessary movement. Solid Line’s cat remained on Pink’s shoulder.

“Well, how are you doing here?” Cursory spoke first, “I bought almost everything you asked me to, but it would be nice if you’d learn to write again.” While rude, it was true.

“No need for that,” Solid replied. “I write well enough. We talked with Pink, and I would really like to listen to you now in order to be cleansed. Your voice is similar to the voices from fairy tales, with which the protagonist of the tale is called to the forest. This is a qualified summary estimate of the net effect.”

Cursory blinked, “What? And what are these columns?

“I tested my non-lethal containment capabilities against Pink and found them laсking. Regarding the first question: I like to see and hear you. I want to participate in the placement and arrangement of the products you brought with you, as well as in their preparation, to make your work easier, and I am ready to hear your story further,” the unicorn said smiling, if only a little.

Cursory asked with caution and care, "I think your speech was more smooth and natural in the tower?"

“The scenario in the tower was mostly scripted in advance,” Solid Line replied. 

Cursory did not immediately realize that there would be no follow-up; she was looked upon, attentively and without emotion; Solid Line was waiting for a new input. Six beats later it dawned on her, “Oh, you want to help me! Sure, I agree to accept your help. Help me set the table.”

Pink joined them without a request and, fortunately, did not go out to meet the aviette that had arrived a slice later. Dividing the responsibilities three-way: the hearth and security on Solid, the fire on Cursory, and the cooking itself on Pink, focused and serious but rhyming verses one after another, they assembled a place for a snack. Then they sat in a regular triangle around a checkered tablecloth with warmed salads, sweets and hot tea.

Cursory continued from where she left off.

“Maybe in your times it was not so, but for us, the unbound age does not ask if you want it. It... it comes as a mark. It came to me like this: I woke up immortal and flew out of the house. I knew I could crash, but I didn't care. I did a triple dive from the very clouds to three steps from the ground, and it was... okay. As if I was tumbling on the floor, or rolling out of bed. Death was near, but it could not touch me. I knew that I had to say goodbye to my parents, but I barely got myself into a state to write a letter, and ended up with a single line. I was just not up to it. It's such a small thing. It didn’t matter,” Cursory realized she was blushing.

Solid Line nodded and commented, “You are describing the standard condition of an unbound, adjusted for their expectant following choice of a Moon. My emphasis was that others were utterly lacking in facilities to process my concepts and ideas and provide any meaningful reply, so I went silent. In my time the age had exactly this effect too. It was so for me, for my aunt and for my grandparents three times removed. If it's hard for you to speak about, you can skip this part.”

Cursory leaned forward, “Three times removed, you say? But not for your parents and grandparents? So, I hope I am right and you had your ways to skip it. Had you?

The unicorn nodded, “Correct, the options being: to skip it and to have it. No issues for me either way. What would you say, Pink?”

Pink turned her head to Solid Line, “What? Of course no probs! It's fun up to the stars in your stomach, nothing can make you afraid, and your whole boring life is thrown from head to hooves, and then back around! I, if anything, went through it twice! More tea?”

Twice? Cursory shook her head. She's lying again, as she should.

Solid Line nodded, “So you have no strong opinions about this topic either.”

Cursory bit a bun, then went after a clue, “Can you both then tell me how in your times you were skipping the unbound age? Now it is almost impossible, if only by a medical agreement. But the healers rarely agree. It’s a normal process. Normal, usual and expected, so doctors have the right to not interfere in it if they don’t want to. They could give a few advices on a patient's own direct request, but rarely more than that. I don't know what White Moon was thinking when She said it into the world…”

Solid got up on four legs and bowed her head, almost pointing at Cursory with a horn, “Am I parsing you correctly in that you can't miss it at all? It infers freedom of choice. Doesn’t it?”

Cursory didn't answer right away. The question was difficult, but she replied quietly, “That's why I'm asking. Gentle Touch knows, I think that unbound age should be put to rest by Moons’ silence. Probably the same as with those green sigils of yours... They compel too. They had me compelled, and I am not okay with it."

“This is completely different,” Solid shook her head.

“No, it's the same. It’s alike to what is between Gentle and me, too,” Pink admitted quietly.

Cursory opened her eyes wide. Is she on my side? And… “What’s going on between you two?”

Pink waved her hoof, “Later. Now it's your turn, not mine. Speak on. I bet there will be drama and tragedy and we will comfort you because you are a good pony and the past is in the past,” she grinned. 

Solid Line said in a neutral voice, “You don’t have to. If we exchange our songs, it will be just as good.”

Cursory pricked her ears, “What are you talking about? That song of yours…” Cursory moved her hoof in the air, “...for a jaunt, is that how you call it?”

“About this song too,”  Solid answered, “But I once had square nine and six songs, jaunting is but one of them, and your capacity is hardly less than that. You just don't know all your songs yet.”

"I have no magic songs, I'm sure!" Cursory tried to correct.

"But you do have," Solid Line stated, unconcerned.

“Well, that won't work,'' Pink wedged in again. “What about the party unity? It is a really important thing to be open, and give or take your hugs freely. If we are a team.”

Cursory withheld an angry reply, but could not resist a facehoof: the obscenity of the proposal itself was not helped at all by the scorn in Pink's voice. 

Having eaten two more buns, she continued, “So. In our sector there was a rally point for unbounds. In the old school, in the gym and surrounding facilities. I didn't go there. It would mean acting like a normal pony. I immediately went to the ocean which I wanted to visit then, nine ranges away. I was not in a hurry, you see. I had my destination. I have burned down the store on the way and signed up for the library.”

Pink asked innocently, "Not the other way around?" but Cursory squinted at her, making a silent warning, and a joke went incomplete. However, the pie had to be left for later.

“So, anyway, there were ponies who had found me. Less than a luster later there were four of us, and two lusters later I knew with whom I was then and with whom I wanted to stay forever. We were friends, as far as it is possible for unbounds. Through robberies, hospital stays, and erratic way to White Moon’s Descent, we moved on, towards the ocean. Forgive me that I withhold the details, I still don’t... when you’re an unbound, you know and don’t know that this is forever, but it will end soon. It’s an eternity, but you can’t recall much, but...” Cursory winced.

"Like a great feast or a life. The feast is near," Pink said quietly.

Cursory did not object, only twitched her ear, and continued, “The curators came to us. Then they weren’t yet forbidden by the word of the White Moon. One of them, small one... well, like Solid here, and with a rat-like face — a medium, of course, not the curator himself — he said that he knows how to keep us unbounds forever, but we will have to run errands for him for a lot of rounds, seven and then seven more. And then we'll be free. I still wouldn't be free now if I agreed then.”

“You still aren’t though,” Pink noted, and for once it was said without a hidden thorn. 

Cursory Streak nodded, “Maybe. Anyway… We made a meeting, quarreled, fought and made up, and then I told him that he could…” Cursory glanced at Pink and grinned, “There are foals around, so I can’t quote.”

“You are a foal compared to me!” but it seems that Pink was not offended.

“He said that I will pay for this denial, as everything has a credit that is due,” Cursory said.

Solid nodded, “Yes, we also have met the curators. That motto was different then, ‘everything is a trade’. Our leader agreed to their proposal.”

Cursory snorted, “Really stupid move, but to each their own.”

“It worked out in the end. Our curator treated us as a valuable resource, not to be pointlessly wasted. Nopony died and the contract was short but generous.”

“They always seem generous,” Cursory grumbled, but continued, “And then, no later than nine cycles since we declined the offer, Rapid Fire went to 7-S, and then he never returned.”

Gentle looked up for Cursory Streak eyes and gasped, “I feel for you... He was probably a friend, since you still recall the name, through both thresholds of unbound age?”

“Well, no issues. It's a long time ago,” Cursory smiled. “He was cute, but now I’m more into mares anyway, and... but that's another part of the story. Should I continue?”

Solid Line nodded, Signal flowed to the ground from Pink's back, clinging to her fur, and went to Cursory. She got up on her hind legs, and nuzzled her muzzle under the pegasus’ wing. Cursory helped her up.

“You haven’t even begun to tell what the Black Moon has to do with it,” Solid said. “So I ask you to continue.”

“Haven’t I?” Cursory raised an eyebrow. “But yes, it is uneasy to recall even now. Even after ‘Guiding Starfall-TX’. I was there…”
> Chapter 26: Intrusion
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


☄☄☄


Cursory Streak, an unbound, entered sector 7-S airspace. The warning veil around the sector was yellow, with occasional orange flashes. It did not cover the entire perimeter, but there was no reason to avoid registration, so Cursory did not fly around it.

Metropolis did not know how to speak, at least not in a civilian language. And yet, flying through the veil, Cursory felt a warm ringing touch on her head; now the city knew where the pegasus was, and took a note of that.

There was no mood in the great city’s signal, except perhaps a calm and wordless ‘good luck beyond the general limits.’ In any case, She certainly did not mind.

But the voice of future-Cursory in her thoughts remarked with a hint of irony: “Be careful, please. You could ruin your body, and where do you think I should live afterwards?" Cursory closed her eyes and saw this-herself. Large, unhurried, graceful, in a dark blue translucent dress, completely unsuitable for a flight, with a horn long and thin... The fantasy vanished, being impossible; the warning was also forgotten. 

Cursory Streak, an unbound, flew further under the stars’ icy light.

She did not know exactly where she was going, and not every sector had a site where ponies could request a search for the missing ones. More importantly, she had no intention to follow a slow and boring process.

Beaten paths were for adults.

The stars looked at her with attention and curiosity, but did not invite and did not show the way, and the magnetic sense was responding from all sides thrice per beat, making it hard to feel the real direction.

In order not to get lost and keep her way back, Cursory began to summon tracking fires. Each next one asked for more power, but she did not know how to give up.

All the buildings were unbearably high, and it was impossible to distinguish the main one among them, neither by the spires, nor by the color, nor by the place among other buildings. If you build so many floors, why don't you start on the clouds?

On the clock, which she managed to find, veering off the course, there were too few lines, and, by their appearance, they were counting only Black Moon’s slices.

So, having decided to not go deeper into the sector, she flew around one of the gray towers, found a slightly open window, and flew into it, blowing the frame inwards with a charge of hot air.

The room turned out to be a living one — a bed, a desk, several paintings on the walls, a plain pearl light from the ceiling, a half-open wardrobe with books and clothes, an earth pony sleeping peacefully — or rather, just was sleeping, Cursory thought — on the bed, in dark green coat and without a cutie mark.

Cursory waved her hoof at him and introduced herself, “I'm from... outside. I’m called Cursory. I am unbound, so don't annoy me. I need to find Rapid Fire. Nopony flies away from me without warning, and nopony takes from me what I own when I haven’t agreed to share — and I didn’t!”

The inhabitant of the room shook his head and replied, “Can you, uh, back off a bit, preferably out of my room? You're too bright. And you just woke me up,” He reached for the bedside table and picked up his glasses, adjusted them to his eyes. His gaze became attentive, focused, although the red mane, as Cursory noted, still left much to be desired.

“I can, but I won't. Are you shy?” she smirked.

He frowned, then smiled, “No. And then, apparently, you are welcome. Do not step on green tiles, or touch anything orange at all. I'll just inform a station that I have an issue, and meanwhile make breakfast. For us two. Do you know your biochem?”

Cursory automatically said it out — a line of nine numbers and letters that was asked in any restaurant or cafe, especially in a hospital — and only then she realized that it betrayed her real age. She decided on principle not to admit that it was important, and then there was a chance that the pony did not know how to extract it from the code. And yet, an excessive detail about herself.

“The second shelf from the bottom, starting from the window’s side. Large print, color pictures, adventures. I'm in the kitchen, don't get lost and don't get bored,” the pony got out of bed and walked to the door with an awkward limping gait.

Cursory blushed. First, he knew. Secondly, he made fun of Cursory being too young for an unbound, or, even worse, he simply did not believe her.

Well, I could find somepony else... With a sharp flap of her wings, she remembered fire, but could not awaken anything but pitiful hissing sparks. 

But the pony turned around, wide-eyed, “Hey! My books!”

Cursory sat down on the floor, “Forget your books! My friend went out there, and you dare to make fun of me!”

He turned and walked over to her, stopping at the accepted distance of five steps.

“So we'll find them,” he said confidently.

“I'll find him myself!” Cursory snapped. “I did not ask and do not ask for your help!”

He chuckled but said nothing.

Cursory did not immediately realize that there won’t be an answer, and she had to awkwardly finish, “I just need to find out where Rapid Fire is. This is another question!”

“Yes, of course,” he nodded, and the speech was calm, soothing, like when talking to a foal, and it made her even more angry. “You are completely exhausted, below zero of your power. I am Exam, by the way. Breakfast will be for two, anyway. Please try to restrain yourself and not get angry, or you will hurt yourself. And I'll send a report — the window still needs to be fixed, whether you’re an unbound or not. Mom will be angry.”

“As you wish,” said Cursory with a weak flash of anger, “Do what you want, moron, you won't even suit me as an accessory.”

He only sighed, and soon Cursory heard the smell of hot chamomile sandwiches with milk, and she herself did not understand how she ended up in the kitchen, and then fed and sleepy. Half asleep, she barely made out Exam’s words: “The unbound, Cursory, nine rounds in total, knocked out my window, is looking for a friend who flew in or came to us... yes, an unbound, I am sure, and yes, nine rounds old, and appears the same. For all the stars, I’m nine and four, and I’m not yet… but will you fix the window? Yes, she has a mark, blue star with a tail. A comet. And fire, did I say about fire? This is important, really! She reaches for it even without...”

When she woke up, she was in a spacious bed, not her own, carefully covered with a blanket. In the line of her sight there was a window with traces of repairs. The ceiling had a dark purple shine and familiar patterns of constellations, from the Staff to the Serpent. Beside her bed stood none other than Black Moon.

"Ouch..." whispered Cursory Streak, an unbound.
> Chapter 27: Slicing
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


☄☄☄


Cursory turned to face the alicorn and made a deep bow, stretching her front legs in front of her. She got up before being given permission, though.

“Glad to see you, Black Moon,” it was not entirely true, but certainly not a lie. “Will you help me? My friend has gone to you. This is a mistake and is d-dishonest... can you? If not you, then who can?..”

The alicorn lifted her up and laid her on Her back. Before, Cursory was about to burst into tears. But now, instead, surprise overrode all other emotions; at first Cursory thought she was still asleep, but the metallic coldness of the almost black skin of the alicorn, too clearly felt in the belly and chest, drove away the rest of her drowsiness in a few beats.

An earth pony — Exam, Cursory recalled — peered into his room from the outside, through the doorway. He did not dare to enter at first, but once did, he spoke to Cursory first, and began with a formal phrase, “I, Distant Exam, hold neither grudges nor liabilities nor levies towards you, Cursory Streak, and your paths are not to be intertwined with mine,” then he continued, already visibly relaxed, “In the hallway there is a gift. Don't be afraid of our Moon. She is kind, and She will definitely not harm foals.”

Cursory weakly nodded.

Exam then stepped closer and looked up to Black Moon, “Her flame... this is a sign of White Moon, but... at that age?...” He waved his hoof vaguely, looking at the alicorn with inquiry.

She nodded in response, “Fortunately, you are wrong. Cursory Streak has not made a choice yet. Thank you for your urgent call, Distant Exam. Now this is my business,” Then Black Moon asked, without turning around, "Cursory Streak, do you accept the gift?" 

Cursory Streak nodded, and only had time to understand that Black Moon didn’t see that, but not to answer aloud as She took a step. The room stretched out in length, whipped back, and was now behind them. In the spacious hallway Cursory saw a cloth bag, a stack of three books, and nine colored balls on an elastic thread. A Skyrow set! 

The balls themselves would be a trifle. But if it's a gift, then ...

"They are charged," Black Moon confirmed. “And you have wanted them for a long time. Don't count it as bribery, I am not going to take gifts from foals. But if you would talk to me first, I will play with you. Otherwise, I will take you to a meeting with a friend, and both of you to the border of the sector. Then you will not see me again.”

Cursory blinked, "Is this your gift, Electra?"

The alicorn turned around, staring at Cursory with Her violet eyes, “Part of it, yes. And I will not yield in our game. I don’t read your mind, but there’s almost no chance that you will turn down the chance to play such a game. You know that.”

Cursory frowned, “But you will return Rapid Fire anyway,” she tried not to ask.

Black Moon replied as if that was something obvious, and on top of that impolite to even suggest otherwise, “Nopony ever returns a pony. They return on their own as they do leave. This is their choice, Cursory Streak. This is no more in my power than it is in yours.”

“But… curators?” Cursory asked. She did not explain it further.

The alicorn walked unhurriedly, calmly, rhythmically, and with every third step of Hers, the place and time changed. A fountain in a marble park, where the paths were green and the trees were stone; a black lake framed by a sandy beach; the square where three students drew a map of Metropolis in front of the class. The magnetic sense still responded with noise, and the stars still did not collate to known constellations, so Cursory could not find a direction.

It made her angry, and she promised herself that she would definitely learn to cope with this, and would never be so struck and confused. Because — from the depths the image of an adult future-Cursory emerged again — magic and art have a pattern and structure. They can be seen, made clear and brought into order. She thought about the bag left in the hallway; the alicorn's horn flashed with dull green, and the bag showed up behind Cursory, with books inside, judging by the shape. 

Cursory Streak definitely did not have time to say anything about it before — and after that she simply did not.

With another step, they went into the sky, and the Black Moon offered to start the game. Cursory realized that the question about the curators had not been answered, but she did not remind Her of that. Instead, she asked, "Didn't you want to talk first?"

“Didn't you want to fly first?” Black Moon answered with a question, and it was hard to argue with that.

The game itself was simple: three warm colors were taken by Cursory, three cold ones by Black Moon; they arranged their colors along the borders of the field defined by these six balls as they saw fit, and began to throw the three remaining balls through the field, keeping the throws in it so that the other would catch them on the other side. The charged balls were defining the plane and borders of the field, and influenced the neutral ones correctly; the orange accelerated, the dark blue briefly hid the ball from view, the lavender refracted the direction like the surface of water in a glass.

Cursory did not consider herself experienced, but by the seventh set, after the third change of an arrangement, she was close to tie, from the losing side. Black Moon did not know how to fly at all, staying in the air with the grace of a turtle, assuming that the turtle had grown big and acquired giant dark wings.

Instead, the alicorn was always in the wrong place. Before the throw, Cursory checked where the opponent was, and still was sending the ball almost directly to Her wings, and the score of the game depended on the weird abilities the alicorn definitely brought into play, not on their conventional skills.

Black Moon’s own throws were somewhat weak, but always really far away from Cursory, pushing her speed and agility to the limit, forcing to reach the ball in the last possible moment — or not at all.

But neither the former nor the latter allowed shutting down the game early.

After the ninth set and the victory in the tie-breaker, Cursory knew for sure that she was given the victory, but... Moon said that she would not yield, and Moons do not lie. She rested on the alicorn's back, slowly breaking into a smile and a weariness. Time did not go, and in silence they were together, and there were no worries.

Black Moon broke the eternal silence first, “It saddens me that you will soon disappear.”

Cursory blinked. Hearing that from the Princess of the Dead was... creepy. The translucent shadow of anxiety tried to reach her and almost got it. “What’d you mean?..”

“Ah... no, no — you are a healthy pony, and if you do not die being a cute daredevil, you will have a long life then. I mean as an unbound. This is the state of you, the pony with which I am now. The pony you are now,” Black Moon said, weirdly sounding somewhat unsure. She then paused and went on, “I am tired of losing. I am seeing each and every pony eventually go away from me.”

Cursory snorted, “I’ll never die or disappear. Why would I? If you want me to be friends with you, why not.”

“Everypony says that. How and why, do you think, aren't you judged and punished for your crimes, hmm?” Black Moon asked then.

Cursory thought, as prompted, "Because we don't want anything bad?"

Moon's laugh was short, sad, and two beats after it, Cursory doubted it was.

“That too. But the main thing is that you are a segment. Before and after that, you hardly remember and know anything of real consequence. You are very interesting and I would like to know more about you... but you are fleeting. You are an imago before a butterfly.”

Cursory bit Black Moon's ear, “I’m telling you, I won’t go away. I will always be!”

Black Moon turned to her, “Are you sure? Say, if this requires a little of my magic, and my training, and then I assure you that you will definitely have everything that you live with now? That this whole life will be yours?”

Cursory shook her head, “The curator suggested so. Eternal unbounds, plus work for him. No. To the stars devouring he comes. Let it go as it goes, I'm a free pony.”

Black Moon answered almost immediately, “No, not like that. The age will end when it's due. I'll just make sure you have a memory. The only one of all ponies, except…”

“...doubles. And unfinished ones,” Cursory got it, ”So you want to make me unfinished? I’ll pass.”

“Oh, stars, no, of course!” feelings manifested in the dry voice of the Black Moon. Fear, awkwardness… 

Maybe that's how She was going... Cursory thought, but she didn't say anything out loud, just tilted her head, waiting for Black Moon to continue.

And She followed on, “Your physiology will not suffer. You will be able to create a family, be adult and strong — your potential for power and endurance is extremely rare in the population. I have no first line schematics that would ask for damage of such a gift. I will just help you keep your memory. On top of that I will teach you how to fly in my sectors and stay alive.”

“That is, you will take me as your Herald? I thought you don’t do that,” Cursory went wary.

“No. I am sorry, but you're hardly the right fit for this. And White Moon has already announced that She wants to see you.”

Cursory paused, trying to collect thoughts dissolving in pleasant fatigue, “What's the catch?”

The Black Moon answered instantly, “There are three catches. First, you stay here. I will teach you not to get lost in anisotropic space and distinguish between its types, and I will explain how to leave it depending on the type. But I cannot cross the S sector border, so you stay here. Until the end of the training, at least. Then you will decide for which of us you will go. Your talent is clearly for White, but you will have a choice.”

Cursory blinked, “What space?”

“Anisotropic... I will explain later. I have some exercises in mind to expand your vocabulary,” Black Moon smiled, with still a few more teeth than any pony has the right to have.

“Then I want to call out to my friends first. And a meeting with Fire, since he is somewhere here. If he is captive, or worse, a deal is no go.”

“Agreed, dear. The second catch is that I don't want this training to be wasted. You will find a job in this specialty, and you will try to be the best pony. Is it clear, and do you agree?” Black Moon went on.

Cursory nodded without even thinking. She was always the best pony!

“And the third. Since I help you to retain your memory, this memory transfers to my ownership, and I administer it. I don't want certain secrets to come out ahead of schedule. I will decide what exactly you will remember, and when exactly you will remember it. I promise that there will come a certain cycle when you remember everything, and I will not withdraw anything beyond the minimum necessary. Now my terms are out. Decide,” and alicorn went silent.

The pegasus frowned, “Um, what's the point? If you take away the same that you give…”

“I will accept for keeping what you will inevitably lose, dear. And I will definitely return to you everything you should remember,” Black Moon promised.

That sounded reasonable... and Moons don’t lie, Cursory reminded herself once more.

“Are we going to play again?” she asked.

“Yes. And with more than just me,” Black Moon smiled.

“Then I agree.”
> Chapter 28: Dissociation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


⊛⊛⊛


Gentle Touch carefully listened out their agreement — Cursory Streak had been changing her voice, still pleasant nonetheless, meeting even the tone and accent of Black Moon, with crystal clear diction and short pauses after click consonants, one of the common mistakes of a voice synthesizer — and waited for the story to reach its climax.

But Cursory was silent, smiling a little. Signal sat on her withers, as if on a perch; Solid Line leaned forward, peering into Cursory's face. Pink, too, was almost silent, singing a counting rhyme under her breath: “Eight, seven, six / climb to the stars’ sharp flicks / Five, four, three..."

Gentle Touch intervened, interrupting Pink — the pause was becoming too heavy, and even the whisper of the wind and the rustle of small animals in the grass did not dispel it, ”And? So what about Rapid Fire? This is clearly not a love story, at your age. Have you been deceived? Or forced to duel with other unbounds, or…” Gentle saw that Cursory was holding back a nervous laugh and made a rushed apology, “This is too stupid, right? There, behind the mirror, they show movies of the other sort.”

Cursory replied seriously, “Actually, it’s not too stupid. We met with him almost as soon as I rested. Black Moon did not want to postpone training, and I was not going to cancel the condition I set. He survived and was not injured. Once he felt weak, he immediately took cover below the surface, where he then was found among the delivery lines. The problems started later.”

Solid nodded, “Nothing which would make the story unacceptable for me yet. Mixed training is not unheard of, and not too rare. Mixed alignment is a different story — rare by itself, moreso stable enough to function reliably. But I don't see yet what your problem is with Black Moon or Her aspects.”

Cursory smiled, and Gentle could see the fear hiding behind the smile, “I insisted on regular dates with him and friends. Thrice a luster. The lessons were routine. We talked with Black Moon, flew out for sightseeing together, played — more than just skyrow — and I soon realized that I was drifting away from them. They became uninteresting, sluggish, predictable. I saw what they would say. I saw what Rapid Fire would say and what I could answer him. A network of options. And at the same time I was always wrong, do you get me? I was almost right in my perceptions, but only almost. The only thing that never let me down was that I felt that they were hiding something or the other. They hide the truth, trying to be too polite. Only with the Moon and her entourage I felt comfortable.”

Gentle Touch breathed out, "So you were becoming a Herald."

Solid sharply objected, “It’s not how it works for Black Moon. No steps of ascent, no alternate worlds. It is impossible to become a Herald simply by communicating with Black Moon and without your own desire, especially without clear and conveyed steps on the road of knowledge.”

“What about your Lavender Blight?” Pink wedged in sarcastically.

“Not mine, and that’s why it’s impossible,” Solid replied evenly. She did not explain.

Cursory nodded with a sigh, “I thought about that too. I asked direct questions, and received answers that seemed to suit me, ‘I am not training you as a Herald,’ she said, ‘In this age, I do not make or summon Heralds,’ ‘This is a matter of minor importance. The choice will be yours,’ And each time, lying awake in the bed — I slept less and less — I realized that there was a void in every answer. Which could make it not so much a lie…”

Cursory took a deep breath. Solid commented, “This is not surprising. Doubt is Black Moon’s aspect. You probably knew this and took it into account, reputable Cursory Streak.”

She just nodded and went on, looking at the ground.

“I took a course. I went through it completely. And when the term came to an end, I no longer had trust in the Black Moon; any at all. And not only in Her. In nopony at all. I saw an omission in every word spoken. I was broken and fit only for Her, and only for Her ponies, who were transparent and pure to my eyes, and always meant exactly what they said. Everypony else — everypony outside, and many of the 7-S residents — were disgusting to me. I was happy defeating them — I was faster, stronger and smarter than all of them. Moon knew how to keep me motivated with competitions and duels. She picked rivals for me that made me grow above myself and become stronger. She did everything right and exactly the right way to leave me under Her wing. And therefore, out of a sense of contradiction, I chose the White Moon.”

Solid Line nodded, “Strange, but expected. Was your mentor offended?”

“I think so,” Cursory replied, “But even this I cannot say for sure. She portrayed something very similar to an offended look, but accepted my choice. And only then I was able to directly say what worried me; before that I was too afraid that Black Moon would throw me out and leave unfinished. And She… no, She never admitted that she was making another pony out of me. But She gave me ‘Guiding Starfall-TX’.

Gentle gasped, "I... it's practically a confession. Yes, Black Moon changed you. For everything else, such a remedy is overkill. I am sure. Speaking as a medic.”

Cursory sniffed and didn't answer right away, glancing at Pink— at Gentle. Pink commented, “Do you need a hug?”

Cursory stepped forward, looking down again.

“I didn't use it right away. I had three doses. Now I have one. These two uses are…”

Solid raised her head sharply and interrupted, “You have one?! Now?” the unicorn almost shouted those two questions, and Pink jumped in place, turning to her. Gentle noted that the beautiful and immovable golden mask had changed, became softer, more confused, with a share of hope — and anger. However, the web of her feelings was still almost the same as that of Black Moon — extra dense, shifting through green and purple ciphered waves, and, like with Black Moon, Gentle could not grasp its meaning.

“Hey, what happened? Did the blue mushroom bite you?” Pink asked.

Cursory tilted her head, “I have one. Not here, at home. What for?”

The unicorn let out a noisy breath, "The only non-magical way to separate Pink and Gentle. And you were hiding it!”

Cursory thought for exactly one beat, “I didn't know. And that means there are magical ones that you know?”

“There is one. But it’s dangerous — I might botch it. By comparison, ‘Guiding Starfall’ is relatively safe.”

“Yes, about as safe as you sharing your bed with three snakes. Totally out of the question, Solid Line.” Cursory replied with a tone lower, fluffing up and spreading her wings.

“I said relatively,” Solid Line said calmly.

Pink and Gentle tried to intervene, almost interrupting each other, "I say, find me a mirror and that’s it, everything is fine with your sweet Gentle!" and “You seem to have forgotten to ask me!”, but neither the miniature unicorn, nor the pegasus who was trying to seem even bigger than she already was, heard them.

Because at that beat a directed beam of pale bluish-white light fell on them from above, the soft rumble of the auxiliary engines of an aviette — it should be much louder, Gentle thought — filled the air.

A low voice from above, dispersed and projected to have no clear source, told them, “Ponies on the hill! Cursory Streak and an unidentified unicorn! Next to you is the object of the Red. Reasonable care is advised. The Neutralization Inspection Corps intends to take action. You have the right to make decisions and actions, and in order to avoid possible casualties you are advised to move three times nine steps away from the object of the Red that is due to inspection. You have nine beats to decide and act. Nine, eight, seven…”

Pink looked up, staring directly in the blue light. Cursory and Solid approached her, still breathing deeply and angrily; Signal continued to hold on to Cursory's back, and also looked up.

Cursory snorted, “Fat chance. I won't leave Gentle.”

“It’d be better if you do,” Pink snapped, “I can cope — and be better off without you. It's not hard.”

“I've already left behind enough ponies,” said Cursory, quiet but firm, and they kept looking at the sky under a bluish glow, only vaguely reminding of the kind and attentive Blue Moon’s light.

“Four, three, two…” Pink counted in a whisper, in sync with the voice from the sky.
> Chapter 29: Containment
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


∿∿∿


“Zero.”

Solid Line raised her kinetic shield over the party, waiting for the sleeping darts or grenades. The memory of past-Solid did not provide any other clues; this branch of events was in the plan, but there it was not resolved by force. The pegasus added her strength to the weaving, even though her Moon was near the horizon, and Solid took advantage of this by adding protection from heat anomalies too.

But neither one nor the other fell from above.

Instead, in the merciless blue light, a translucent egg-shaped capsule descended from the aviette and landed on the hill. A serpentine crack passed along the whitish surface of the capsule, the uneven parts parted to the sides—

 "It's alive!", Gentle breathed out in awe—

—and a pony in heavy armor in a helmet with a transparent faceplate rose from it. However, ‘armor’ may have been too soft a word — it resembled the safesuits for the first expeditions into near space, which were occasionally sent by the Black Moon.

The ‘pilot’ under the helmet was a greenish unicorn mare with a two-tone gray-white mane, almost as tall as Cursory. Solid Line tried to evaluate her physique and, therefore, her mobility, but failed; however, armor of this class was usually equipped with servos, so personal power mattered little. Also, this is a distant future, Solid Line reminded herself.

The pony’s mark was hidden by the body of the armor, but there was, apparently, a copy in the corresponding places; a recording of the sound spectrum, black on green. This is what the sound of thunder might look like, Solid thought; sharp and frequent high peaks, slowly converging into silence after three weaker rumblings.

Pink jumped to three of her own heights, Signal followed suit from Cursory’s back, in an intercepting course. In the direction of the alien — the inspector, Solid temporarily assigned such a qualifier to her, recalling the voice from the aviette — Pink threw several knives, or fragments of glass, as her background processes suggested with a mere 37% certainty. 

One of them silently went into the ground, deflected by Signal’s paw strike, the other two found a target, but did not pierce either the armor at the shoulder or the visor of the helmet; they stuck in the armor, and fell out when the inspector shook them off with a sharp shoulder thrust and took the first step towards the Trinity’s special team.

Pink screamed in a high, ear-cutting tone. And she kept screaming, louder and louder. She went on even as Solid's internal sensors sealed off to prevent hearing damage; a cry of pain and joy was filling the world, and the hill was seen as through the ocean’s waves or heavy rain; for a few beats Solid felt that the swaying world is about to burst and let in unspoken abominations from beyond.

But the inspector was approaching them. Slowly, heavily making one step after another, a silhouette of unnatural clarity among the wavy world; one out of four steps seemed a little slower than the others; but only seemed.

Solid Line tried to charge up a jaunt, but found a ringing noise in the place of this song, and all the other songs. The cornsilk magic field did not converge into patterns, and belatedly she realized that there were no shields above her for a long time.

Pink fell silent and froze, blinking — but did not take a step back. The Inspector walked the distance to her — all nine and seven steps from the shattered capsule — and stood in front of her, unacceptably close, less than one step away.

The silence continued. Gentle Touch squeaked, “Hello! We're really not what we seem! Do not get angry!”

The inspector tilted her head slowly, then nodded. There were no words; neither from her, nor from the aviette, nor in Solid's ringing head. Cursory tried to take off, and instead jumped awkwardly in place.

“Tell me,” said a voice distorted by the speaker; Solid noted that it comes from the side of the armor, not from the head.

“What to tell?” Gentle asked, surprised.

“Everything. Except for the Moons’ mission, I know that. In general, I agree with it. Moreover, you can expect my help; I live not to contradict the direct will of the Moons. Please don't be afraid too much,” the inspector said.

Pink cut in and shouted at the pilot, “How are you still alive?! You should have died from the first knife!”

Signal snorted briefly, “As if!” — Solid understood her. But the understanding went through a glass, darkly. The intention was logged under ‘urgent investigation required’; and Solid Line assumed that Cursory Streak’s sharp exhale meant that the pegasus did not expect the line too.

The green unicorn appeared unconcerned though, “Good question, an object of the Red. If I were the creation of the Trinity of Moons, your mistress, and you alongside, would have the right to take revenge on me and harm me,” the inspector tapped her hoof on the fluffy fur on Pink's chest, “I am Faraway Storm. Grade F outsourced affector. We are operating under the ‘Mirror, Torn’ scheme, and to your chagrin, I am not your enemy nor your abuser, in any of the metamagic perspectives.”

Her helmet cracked around the visor and, divided, slided back with soft hissing — an utterly still, unnatural cone of bright golden aura formed around the horn — and Storm looked them over with a cold gaze of deep violet eyes.

“I would rather not breathe your air for too long, but an open face is a sign of trust. And I am not afraid of you, the creation of Red, nor of your minions and puppets. Tell me. It's really not too hard for me to hold you still.”

Cursory Streak pushed Solid Line by the side. Solid turned around and read the inaudible ‘She's lying!’ on the pegasus lips’ quite clearly. Solid took this into account, and began to think. With no magic, no flight, no miracles and no plans, what else was there left for them? 

"Then... shall we talk?" Gentle asked. "Could you... take a step back? You are too close"

“Of course not,” Storm replied. “You will run away. Now everything suits me. And I want to hear the details. All the details. From this beat,” there was a dry click, “our conversation is being recorded. You are being processed at the level of a regional resolution center.”

Pink turned her head to Solid, and her voice broke through the ringing noise; there were not even words, just a general plea for help.

Something shifted and clicked in Solid Line's head, and for a third of the beat she saw the world full of edges and fractures, as past-Solid once did, and in that moment she saw Pink from inside, with all her bloodlust and pain inescapable; with a pony that once had been Pink too. One who loved fun and games and parties and meant no harm to anypony ever. One who deserved to be safe and taken care of no matter what.

”Poor thing,” Cursory Streak exhaled, and with these quiet words two shadows of the past joined the team — one of cerulean blue, one of soft pearly shine, with their own share of battles won.

They were beyond ponies of the present time, as shadows always are; clearly perceived by Solid Line but apparently unseen by the inspector. Still, she raised her head, looking around in the general direction of the shadows, eyes unfocused on the team, “Stop it!” she said, “Whatever is it you're doing, cease it!”

“How dare you!” the white shadow mare mouthed back, and Cursory Streak yelled in sync, with a look that was condescending, disapproving, demeaning. Cursory went on, following the shadow's cue to a precise duet, “We are on a task of the royalty, and don’t you step on the tails of the Kingdom’s valiant knights, you ruffian! Take your belongings and move away before I make a formal complaint to Lady Twilight!”

The inspector tilted her head — a blurred blue line of the second shadow darted to her and through her, immaterial — and took a step back, then another, confused for a beat. As if pushed away, Solid Line thought.

The numbing rumble in Solid Line’s head became less intrusive, only for a fraction of a beat. That was enough.

The songs were there. They were always there.

Solid Line reached out to Pink’s mind — (Pink+Gentle+Solid)’s mind, she corrected herself, as some things you just can’t explain, and need to do it yourself —

— the white ghost provided her with a bit of magic from outside, pure, and cold, and snowy with a tint of blue, as it happens in deep wild lands where there is no pony for many stages around, nothing except frost; enough to make a connection with Black Moon’s Void, and fuel Solid Line’s spell —

— so Pink’s side of the brackets took a step back, stepped on the fracture of the world, widened by her cry before, seen only by past-Solid’s eyes and open now by present-Solid and the white ghost beside her

Storm darted forward and thrust her hoof into Pink’s chest; Solid’s side canceled this movement

and, on a Pink side of herself, appeared two throws away from the team in the direction of Metropolis

Solid’s side found herself in a ponykinetic grip of shining gold 

and she ran away from the team, alone against all the world, farther from her friends

and angry purple eyes were too close up, measuring how to dismember her, and the brain behind the eyes decided whether it makes sense to do it now

Solid Line shook her head, and managed to put Pink and Gentle away from the brackets of her own ‘I’.

Faraway Storm made a decision; Solid was lowered to the ground, carefully placed on all four legs.

Signal meowed, and the meaning was still clear: "Well, take that!"

“Well then, you are not puppets. And not doubles,“ Storm whispered, staring at them, and the helmet assembled on her head again with a hiss, “Then we will follow the object. Let's go, not fly, Cursory Streak, I cannot allow your flight yet. On the way, you will tell me what it was. Should you choose to be silent,“ she smiled and wrinkles appeared around her eyes, ”I have more points in our argument to make you reconsider. But I am sure you won't like it if I will be forced to demonstrate them.”

“Wait, Faraway Storm... freedom of choice?” Cursory Streak's voice was quiet and she stuttered.

She laughed, “You weren’t paying attention much? I am not a creation of the Trinity of Moons. But I am not your enemy either. Moons’ wishes are my recommendations, not laws. You hoped that you would bring the avatar of the Red into the world, and the world will not find anything to reply? You should know better than anypony else that there is a procedure for every disaster.”

Cursory Streak weakly nodded and asked, “So you are not mad at us?”

Faraway Storm looked at Solid, apparently ignoring the question, “If it bothers you, formally I answer to Black Moon, as She is of paths, transitions and connections. And this operation is part of your entire expedition, on a larger scale. But were you allowed to bring in the Red? As far as I know, no, you were not.”

Cursory Streak replied, with much more confidence than before, “Well, no explicit allowance, but we have a rule to draw in help if we needed it. And Pink promised help.”

Faraway Storm took a long pause, looking straight at the pegasus’s eyes; Cursory looked back with her signature determination, and did not turn away even after a few beats.

The inspector lowered her gaze first, and, after a silence thet nopony dared to interfere with, started anew, in a calm, convincing and somewhat softer tone, “Well then. That means, once we solve the problem of the avatar that you for some foolish reason have summoned, I will leave your path to you. Promise. And I need to hear out these reasons from you.”

Solid Line swallowed and nodded. 
> Chapter 30: Contamination
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------




Faraway Storm's cutie mark



☳☳☳


Faraway Storm recorded and broadcast the dialogue — a monologue, to be honest. She asked careful questions to help ponies collate meaningful answers, trying not to look hostile, and the ponies answered her. All doubts and attempts to check the consistency of their story Storm left for later, listening to them as-is and trying to make a decent impression.

The regional center was also silent, and there was almost no sign that the recording was going on and was heard there, in between cells, except for three calm blue light bulbs in a small projection inside the helmet — no issues on acquiring, transmitting and receiving. Only once did the center ask for clarification — when Cursory Streak spoke about the tower. The data that Black Moon is actively using the everside, in itself, as Storm understood, was the reason for another operation; but, fortunately, not hers.

And yet, the rumble of excited and anticipating voices, even at a distance, delighted Storm — she found a job for somepony waiting, somepony whose profile was right for such a rarity.

So, everything was already not in vain.

A little later, when she heard about the countdown timer, she went against the opinions of the overseers as a field operator and returned to the tower along with her temporary trio. The phase dampener whistled from overload and tended to miss secondary frequencies to neutralize, it constantly had to be adjusted with personal input from Storm. When that was urgently required, the indicator switched from yellow to orange, then back to yellow, but never green, and blue was out of the question for ages. But in general the ancient tech was still holding together, somehow. Solid Line had explained that she doesn't need magic to turn off the timer. This simplified a lot. 

She looked with curiosity at the local terminal behind the threshold of the tower: first, too primitive and second, able to do something that technology, in principle, should never be allowed to do — it could read minds! The combination was worrying at best.

Then, once again asking if all urgent matters had been addressed, she again sent the trio towards more populated areas, and began to clarify.

Most of all, she was worried about the telepathy of Solid Line and Pink that allowed the latter to use teleportation of the former: although Solid did not call it telepathy, everything that she mentioned fit into this umbrella term; especially the capture of somepony else's body.

So Storm asked the center for more data regarding Solid Line, and for a module to keep the abilities of this spectrum in check, and for confirmation that Pink is, indeed, one out of the six, functional and bootable barring the Red's contamination. 

For Solid Line, the center did not have enough clearance, so she remained a mystery; Solid Line's cat, even more suspiciously, was blank as well — there was nothing on Signal Line at all in the database, but the second was found, and even in a format compatible with the phase dampener’ issue number. A minor issue was that to prevent it from choking, it was necessary to allow Cursory Streak's flight.

Third one was confirmed which severely limited Storm's options.

She didn’t explain the real reason, but did so with the short 'You passed the background check', which was also generally true. Cursory asked not to interfere with the flight anymore — this is too cruel and extreme a measure, she added, with blinking blue eyes, and while the obvious attempt to establish personal contact did not work, Storm was told that there was not enough processing power to stop the flight anyway, so she nodded to the request.

Because as a last resort, a promise can and should be broken.  Faraway Storm, the seventh out of the six, knew that for sure.

The mention of ‘Guiding Starfall-TX’ was not good news either. Not so much its direct threat — a suit was isolating her even from the moonlight, and all the more it could protect her from toxic chemical compounds — but as a sign of extremely high access levels. Definitely greater than my own, she noted for herself, worried that there may be more in the operation than she knows about.

"So, in fact, you left yourself only the ability to see through lies? Aside from survival measures for the S-sectors. To note, even I currently would be avoiding these. Was everything else not that important?" Storm clarified, incurring technical truth to see if she will be caught on that and thus deduce on limits of the ability. In a formal interrogation, such questions would have been unacceptable, but now they were in a different setting.

"Uh-huh. My honor, too. Oaths and treaties must be respected," Cursory Streak replied.

"Okay, that was the first time. What about the second one?" Faraway Storm inquired.

The young pegasus did not answer at once; she flapped her wings, but at least didn’t take off. “That's an impolite question,” she said reluctantly.

Storm went ahead of her, turned on the road into a more inhabited sector and continued to walk backwards, looking directly at Cursory, "And yet I am repeating it." 

"What for?" Cursory grunted.

“A pony who decided to use 'Starfall' on herself more than once, and not sell it for a status gain, is a very interesting pony,” Storm answered almost honestly.

"So what?" muttered Cursory, still with a tone closely guarded. She looked to the side, avoiding direct eye contact.

Storm thought about it and nodded, “Okay. I, too, would not share all the secrets. But I'll tell you this, and then you decide. I worked for a long time with those who used addictive drugs…"

"What?" Cursory stopped dead in her tracks with a sudden question.

Solid Line took a few steps toward her and stared at Storm as well. Solid Line, unlike her friend, for all the time under the light of the bright Blue Moon — the suit held up for now, and the influence remained well below the safety threshold — not once complained about the lack of magic. But now Solid also looked as if demanding an answer, and this answer had to be presented in any case, whether Storm liked it or not — a look all too familiar to Storm... but not from the moonlit ponies.

Storm felt baffled by this reaction. What exactly has she said wrong? Maybe something she thought? Maybe– she quickly checked up the phase dampener — telepathy remained neutralized, albeit the device was closing to its demise. 

Solid Line's green eyes glittered in the bluish darkness, like foreseeing stones, but unlike them, this look did not center the mind and did not give any clues. Strictly the opposite.

Even more puzzled, Storm asked back, stalling for time, “What do you mean? Drugs. Strongly addictive. Often transported through smuggling. Addictive means addictive. So there you get consumers who are willing to pay for the next shot because it is necessary for their brains…"

She paused, noting that — for the first time in this walk — they not only look at her, but also see her. Solid was still impenetrable, Cursory looked at her with pity and horror. The pegasus was not crying, but this bend of slightly open grayish-white wings, was not a sign of aggression or superiority — these wings trembled. 

"So. Everything else will wait for now,” Cursory said decisively, "While we are walking — we are still going to the city, right?.. Tell me about this place where you are from. After that we will shelter you and find you a place to sleep and a job for a start. Feel free to take a leave from this awful place too! I promise, I’ll be right there if you need me.”

Storm frantically rewinded the conversation to the point where it went astray. With nothing better, she latched to a keyword, “Tell me like I am four years old, what’s up with addictive drugs?”

“They don’t happen, period,” Cursory was first to answer there again, “Maybe in some forsaken holes where the moonlight never happens. Not among us. No substance can do that with a person. I mean– I hear the notion, I understand, but this can’t happen outside of penny dreadfuls. This,” she smiled, “was an exception of a separate Word. You’re miserable otherwise.”

“Oh, that’s not too bad. We have treatments, I can show you a photo of a few ponies who were there,” Storm smiled back, still a little tense but getting it now - just another of Moons’ peculiar decisions. Alright. 

She formed a query to the main database up above. She recalled the pony as she spoke the name: Minute Earnings, a life support engineer; indeed petite they had a dry sense of humor which hadn’t left them even in the throes of withdrawal.

The base sent back a few imprecise guesses but not one she asked for. Storm’s heart sank.

She sent another request, a frantic one, pointed she wants a living operator this time, "What's with the drugs here?! Addictives, not medicines!"

The answer did not come immediately.

"There is no such thing. Are you sure?" The local coordinator of the operation asked her in a polite and quiet voice.

"Get me Sapphire on the wire!" Storm snapped.

After a pause too long for an urgent answer and too short for times when everything is going well, the voice of Sapphire, the coordinator from her own cell said, "We have no data on addictive chemicals. Addictive sports, gaming, sure. Behaviour and habits, too. No chems or medicines. What's up?"

There was a chance that this was a simple army joke or a test, but Storm chose the worst option, "Sapphire, your reality is sorely lacking. For me, not only addictive chemicals do exist, they made me suffer. So, among you, in the center, is now a source of moonlight, and you have become moonlit, as are all the ponies here down below. Return to your cell immediately. I will continue the assignment. The decontamination team will arrive. And if worst comes to worst, I like you, for a long time now."

She cut the connection with the center that was now obviously contaminated by moonlight and, therefore, by Moons’ distorted reality, dialed the decons' call code — one of six memorized by heart — and returned her attention to Cursory and Solid, who in the meantime got closer. The cat, having calmed down, laid down on her back without returning to the owner, and this was troubling too.

Storm nodded to them, “Okay, I'll tell you. Just don't look like that. Nothing too bad is happening,” she pulled out another half-truth without visible reaction from Cursory Streak, "There are places where Moons' light does not reach…"
> Interlude 3: Designation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


🌐🌐🌐


If a pony would look at the world from outside and from above, they could see a ball painted with dark blue oceans and dark green and black spots of land. On one of the three continents — one that is elongated and slightly curved, like a thick tree branch — Metropolis lies, stretching half the continent’s length in an uneven oval spot.

At the end of the long axis, She loosely adheres to the Great Ocean, timidly entering it with open-air and submerged habitats, too small to be considered full-fledged sectors; from the opposite side, Metropolis gradually pushes into the heart of the icy wild lands, not capturing them, but offering Herself as a better choice to those few who are not yet accounted among Her inhabitants. 

It is impossible not to notice Her, as each sector, even the smallest one, is given its own albeit muted color, and by that color the combination of chosen Moons and the general purpose of the place is recognized; also, the damping Net is stretched no further than the borders of Metropolis.

On top of that, Metropolis is full of lights, since even under the appreciating gaze of three Moons the ponies of each phase need their own personal light. The city cannot sleep, as the end of one phase always coincides with the beginning of the second and the peak of activity of the third.

Only the Forest spoils the strict and loose purity of Metropolis, where each sector chooses for itself the size and sets of straight-bordered segments for its contours; as a fluffy dark green mold, it has grown almost in the center of the giant city, threw out long curly tendrils in all directions, and deliberately avoids any light, except for its own rotten glow; none of the ponies there will ever confuse the Forest with any of the many other, normal, forests.

Once, Purity did not consider herself one of those who are able to change the world. As a filly, like everypony around — her parents, grandmothers, teachers and mentors — she knew for sure: this was Moons’ business, and only Theirs. It is Moons’ right to decide what should be said into the world, and what should be hidden in Their silence, and if Moons for some reason do not cancel infusions of the Red and allow the misty pollen of the Forest to remain in the air of the sectors next to it, then Moons have Their own inscrutable reasons for this. She saw and knew that all the ponies around — each one in their place and to the extent of their talent and ability - follow Moons’ wishes and desires and implement Their plans.

But when she tried to talk to friends, family, classmates, not even arguing with how everything works, just trying to understand it, she never was getting a response as such. At best, she was offered to go to the cinema, or to the library, or to the ocean; at worst she got an explanation, like she was a little filly, that everything that she has just said is wrong, and everypony chooses for themself.

Of course, she was a little unicorn in those times long gone. But the ties and weaves — black, white, blue — Purity saw then even more clearly than now, when she was admitting the dark ball deep below her through the window.

It was only when she came out of her unbound age that Purity realized three features of her talent.

Firstly, nopony except her saw these threads of fate, and the color of the destination with the seal of the Trinity of Moons was anything other than gray for her only but not for her friends, and when they departed to the address indicated in the letter, only Purity saw the string along which, trembling with it, the pony's life was rolling.

Secondly, the ponies really did not believe they were following pre-set lines. 

And thirdly, she herself did not belong to any Moon.

Naturally, the first thing she did once the picture became clear was go to meet the Moons to try and fix at least the latter. All the alicorns listened to her more or less attentively; Black Moon was looking aside through all the conversation, Blue Moon hugged her and said that Purity surely is a healthy and strong pony who should just live and be happy, and that she is a good pony who will definitely find her place, White Moon... the talk with Her did not even touch the core of the problem and shift into a light-hearted feast with some good jokes, and nothing mattered too much next to White. And They all said that They saw absolutely nothing out of the ordinary in the white unicorn with dark orange eyes, as well as nothing that Purity was talking about. 

At her request, Moons tried to help her determine her aspect. It seemed promising at first. The hike in the mountains with White Moon was absolutely breathtaking as they were meeting a rare double moonrise together. After the kiss of the Blue Moon, Purity knew for sure that she would never experience anything like this again, no matter how she tried to repeat this moment in memory, in dreams and in reality. 

The problem of finding others like her, outlined by Black Moon along with some possible solutions has still remained the main issue in Purity's life — although now there was some success, she indulged in self-approval, floating out of the observation compartment into the study. But she still was not closer to any of the Apexes, and she could not choose her own among the offered gifts.

Not because they were bad or that she didn't like them — on the contrary, she liked everything too much, and choosing only one aspect out of nine and six meant depriving herself of everything else.

So Purity took lessons while they were given — cycle by cycle and round by round, occasionally returning home and finding aged parents, adult peers and ponies who once were her friends — and still could not choose, and could not really immerse herself in either one of the aspects and find true mastery in it. Even novice Heralds were stronger, more talented, more capable — and with her horn down, Purity stepped over to another Moon, then to the third, then again to the first, knowing and understanding more and more, but remaining weak, and powerless.

In comparison with any decent Blue Moon’s Heralds, she really did not get even poetry, moreso sex; however, she received one unique gift — immortality, although she suspected that she got it only because Moons considered her rather funny, sweet and sincere in her desire to find her destiny and her aspect.

And perhaps they also enjoyed tormenting her; this was all the more confirmed by the fact that none of Moons admitted that Purity owed her immortality to Them, and so the gifter remained anonymous.

The mark never came to Purity despite countless eras that flew over her head, past her, and did not touch her body, mind, or soul — although the Black once said in passing, and never repeated, that the unicorn had no soul.

She tried to break out of the Trinity, looked for the lesser powers of the world, and for a long time stayed in Melody’s domain, next to the one who was immortal too, outside of Metropolis and beyond the eternal blizzard, as with her they had, at last, a sort of common language. Melody saw the threads of fate too, but her mind clearly left much to be desired. Yes, the not-quite-pony’s companions — the ‘family’, as Melody called them, or a ‘hive’ as Purity would describe them, technically were there too, but all too soon she saw the uncanny unity through the veneer, and so it became unbearably lonely at the icy Descent of Blue. So this path led nowhere.

Another bright hope was given by Metropolis — sensing that consciousness and will were gradually awakening in the big city, for some time Purity thought that she had found her future mentor and commander. But She — then grown three times in comparison with the era when Purity's parents were still living — turned out to be too sleepy, and too slow, and all the small necessities of the city were one way or the other resolved without any significant need of the unicorn’s involvement.

The third way opened before her much, much later on, while she walked on the roads of search for knowledge that lies astray, in between of aspects already taken, and thus was gradually reaching some decent powers and abilities for herself at last. Unable to think of anything better, on that long journey all around the world, Purity began to peer into every pony she met to find those who were also outside the web of fate. 

This required a personal look, as neither projection, nor sound recording, nor photography could give the desired response. More often than she would have liked, Purity felt she was looking for a missing pile of sand on a river beach, an empty spot from a star in the sky, a skipped note in an aria.

Meteor Strike was the second one. He also pointed out to her the stellar iron; the debris of fallen stars. Having stumbled upon plates of flexible black metal, the shining threads of fate did not exactly dim out, they fogged and scattered, lost their way, and were trying to bypass the obstacle, never passing through.

It was a breakthrough, and it all made sense after that. Soon there were nine of them, because the third, Careful Incision, Carrie, offered to check what would happen if you let the pony breathe in some stardust, and this idea turned out to be more than brilliant. For Purity's purposes, anyway, although not everypony who was subjected to the experiment agreed to it, and not everypony agreed to live after that.

Then Moons reached out to her again, now as an equal; the unicorn could, and preferred to, then appear like an alicorn for all intents and purposes, except for the ability to issue royal decrees by speech and silence. That latest one remained strictly limited to true Moons, not ones who merely take an image. Her companions were already listening to her as if she was a Moon, then and now.

The return to former mentors was much shorter than the first attempts to find her aspect, and much more productive. After talking with the prisoners in the isolated Black Moon’s worlds, reading their notes and learning their songs, Purity began to see one more color of fate.

The Red.

It, too, was always there, as Purity now understood, it was just that earlier she did not allow herself to see these lines; and three captives, loyal to the Red, she helped and allowed to escape.

A few cycles later, the unicorn heard the Moons’ unexpected proposal. It did not touch the matter of the Red, but rather her attempts to make more ‘moonless’ ponies by stardust against their will. She was in not unclear terms made to understand that the specifics of her experiments are known to the Moons and are grounds for removal from the world of both herself and everypony whom she held dear. But then there was an alternative with some mutual benefits: Moons were getting, in the long term, some tentative contingencies against the Red, and Purity was meant at worst to keep her life, at best to get some new friends. 

Purity listened to them, and did not immediately agree. Only after she lost Carrie, and nopony could remember his name, and she herself only barely could recall his face and colors, she reluctantly called Black Moon back. Of course, there was a chance that the Moons would stop at the third victim, once They counted out all the founders; but there was also a chance that Their disfavor would not stop there.

That was an uneasy choice. That was a choice done.

The construction of the first space station for ‘Moonless’ as they were called by Moons, or for ‘Specters’, as Purity’s chosen name for her own then-small clique, took several nines of rounds, two-thirds of which was the collection of stars’ debris in the proper amount; a little less time, after the station went into space, it took for the information webs of Metropolis to be settled by one message of Black Moon, one surviving and multiplying, tenacious albeit almost invisible — the message about a special freedom outside the power of the Moons, which provided subtle clues to the first of many steps on a rough path.

On takeoff, Purity felt sick from harsh acceleration and because of it — so she thought — the threads of fate she saw no more; but then there was almost zero gravity, and the station's slowly spinning hoop only slightly indicated to the body exactly where the bottom was.

She took the first awkward step through the airlock, and screamed at the top of her lungs, as it was worse than a dislocation and fracture.

The last and first thing that she saw before and after she fainted from the icy numbing pain in both her flanks and in the head and swam away into the darkness with quiet rhythm of waves and the glitter of plankton, was her homeworld, to where she no longer had a way back — from the side and above, a dark toy ball surrounded by merciless shining stars.

The second was the worried look of Meteor's wide open golden eyes, his face less than a nose or a subsided breath away either from a kiss or from mouth-to-mouth.

The third was a miniature copy of the world on her hitherto flawlessly snowy flank, still, if she was to believe what her skin felt then, impaled by nines and nines of needles frozen in liquid nitrogen.

And it was rotating.
> Chapter 31: Candor
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


∿∿∿


Signal walked over to Solid Line and stood beside her. Storm was menacing, even more so were her last words, but at the same time Solid was intrigued.

Strictly speaking, ongoing events were not factored into past-Solid’s plan. A branch that could be used in this case existed and included refraining from application of force; but it did not even truly align with this particular situation; it was merely suitable, with a stretch; for that Solid made a conscious effort to omit a few significant details. 

Like a slightly fermented fruit juice; usually it goes to a friend, but could also be a treat for butterflies.

Solid smiled at the thought clearly born from the other — long gone — side of the world, and looked down at her cat. Signal gave out a series of quiet rumblings, and Solid again was able to understand the meaning — not without difficulty, through the fading noise, but still, “I told you, this time will come, and Moon will not help us. It was possible. It was always possible."

Cursory, after a proper pause, turned to Storm first, “That… that, we were able to understand. If you are not an enemy of the Red, as you said, then you are not a friend of the Moons. There is no other way. If there is ‘Guiding Starfall-TX’, then there must be other ways to sever the connection with the Moons. So... don't be offended. But I don't want to ask ‘how’, I want to ask ‘why.’ What did the Moons do to you that you shield yourself from Them? Why are you hiding from Them?”

“Rather, because,” Storm replied. But since her face was concealed, and even what came out of the loudspeakers was not a living voice, Solid Line could not even approximately estimate her mood. “Because once there was a pony who could not bind herself to any of the Moons. She found a way to make other ponies the same. To escape loneliness. To look together for a clean, undistorted world. And so she interfered with the plans and will of the Moons, or did not fit into them, or became a threat to them. I do not know.”

Solid Line clarified, “Is this a quote of the Moons’ own words, or your retelling?”

“Retelling, of course” Storm moved her head, “The direct words of the Moons are filthy. By the way, Cursory Streak, you just brought up that stardust cocktail once again, and I still have no answer on why you inhaled it twice. Even the first one, as far as I know, is rarely of use among moonlit ponies. It is disgusting how happy you are under their light.”

“Why?” Cursory asked with disbelief and wariness, “They gave us a lot of rights and open roads. I was wounded,"  she flinched her left wing, "and was cured, despite…”

Storm nodded. "We made inquiries about you, reputable Cursory Streak. Don't you think that this wound…” she fell silent, and resumed much later, while they were walking away from the tower, as Cursory reminded and pushed the pony to finish the line three times at least,  “...we will speak of this again, moonburnt pegasus, when I will be much less busy, but for now: all your wounds and all your troubles are caused by Moons. You could disagree with this fact as much as you like.”

Cursory slowed down, then stopped, and slowly replied,”That's right. But almost all the joys and successes and achievements are too. Nopony forced me to be a Herald. It's my choice. It’s a package deal, not a cupcake, from which you can pick out all the raisins. And I will stay faithful to my Moon,” she exhaled sharply, “especially since I could choose again.”

Solid Line, with the cat on her back, hurried after their unwelcomed leader, whose pace slowed a bit after that reply.

Storm answered without turning around, “I did not say anything about forfeiting your faith; these are your own thoughts. But wouldn't you like to become more powerful? In our domain, even the weakest can do a lot. And of course you could choose again — ‘Guiding Starfall-TX’ does exactly that. Or are you different?" There was a pause, then the mechanical voice went on, "For us above, it leads the user down the memory lane, letting them make another choice, visit what might have been, and return to us renewed. Apparently imaginary, but strong enough to clear out even your moon affliction, once they are made to see all the evil—”

Cursory with a flap of her wings darted forward, covering almost a throw so quickly that Solid Line double-checked if it was a jaunt, just in case. Fortunately, it was not. The pegasus stood in front of Storm and breathed out, "By way of this armor, or other tech that can break? By living in some hole where there is contraband and ...what on top of that do you have there, fearing even the slightest bit of light? By betraying my Moon? No,” she paused to make a slow exhale and spoke again, her tone a bit deeper, more calm, “Actually… actually, I think it’s a good thing that the product made by us and for us affects your kin in a pretty similar way. So you are not some aliens from outer space. Makes you that much more relatable.”

“Mind you, I'm not suggesting,” Storm said. “This is a freedom of choice too, which you all value so much. But now we're on a different path, and I'm not a hiring manager. By the way, the cocktail is not your invention. And, since you did inhale stardust, you did betray your Moon already.”

Cursory snorted, “I hate it when ponies try to slip out like this.”

But that was it from her. Time went on; sometimes Storm would tweak the course slightly. White Moon was below the horizon, Blue Moon was rising.

“Do you know where we are going?” Solid Line asked.

“Yes, for sure,” Storm replied, “There is a trail behind your pink one. Even you will see it if you look closely. By the way, I was wrong. It's not just an object of the Red, it's also one out of the six. And we will have to negotiate with it, as if 'pony' really means anything of note in what it— she is,” Storm paused for a while, "Is there a negotiator among you?”

Cursory raised her head, “This is my specialty! What do we need to achieve, reputable Faraway Storm?”

“According to our observations, no, you are not suitable for this task,” Storm replied, and the tone was chewed out by the synthesizer’s grumble again, “But I suppose we would be forced to use what we can. So, we ask that she returns to the place beyond mirrors, disarmed. And does not destroy the world. It is already fragile because of your Moons. We will call her later when needed. When we have six out of the six. She will be the last one for the ritual.”

Cursory shook her head, "Fragile? You probably don't know what you are talking about at all. Or...” she paused, “...or you are meaning some other world. Ours is stable, maybe too much. Here is Solid, she came to us from the distant past, and there is nothing that confuses her. She understands everything. Do you?” Cursory waved her hoof towards Solid.

Solid kept silent, because she did not want to lie, and because Storm was dangerously close to the truth, which she did not want to discuss all the more.

Fortunately, Cursory did not press the matter and moved on to another topic, “So, you are also looking for those lost souls?”

“Uh-huh,” Storm muttered, “And you are two of them, whether you like it or not.”

“For what? To revive Black Moon, huh?” the pegasus asked.

There was silence, and once again Storm appeared to be utterly deaf, moving on. Solid Line knew that she herself was prone to similar behaviour while thinking situations through, but she usually was somewhat responsive to external signals even then. This suited pony plainly was not. 

Storm followed on a third of a slice later, “Evacuate those whom we still can while we still can. Because, barring a miracle," the synthesizer made a minor noise and Storm was silent for a beat after that, "everything else that could be of hope in the world's circumstances depletes rapidly, and we see it as clearly as a forest fire.”

Signal tapped her back three times, meowed, and Solid Line understood it — this was becoming routine now, “Don't give in to her gloomy mood. You and I have our own, now third, goal. It is more important."

Solid did not pass these words to others, and they continued on their way along the invisible trail, trusting the stranger.

Because everything else, Solid decided, was less efficient.
> Chapter 32: Weakness
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


⊛⊛⊛


Pink ran away. More precisely, Gentle Touch did, as her mirror half was scared for almost the first time in her long life. Sharp Cut faded into the background of consciousness, which was now mostly Gentle. As brave as Sharp was, she could not hide her fear neither behind vague threats directed at ‘this snooty’, nor behind sincere promises of cherry pie when everything would be over.

Two halves were closer than ever, and Gentle was no longer afraid of her ‘shadow’ now that she understood that Sharp did not wish anypony any harm. She just got too carried away sometimes. Just like then…

”I didn't throw mirrors to miss,” Sharp reminded her gruffly.

Gentle did not hesitate to sweep the question aside, like a branch wet by the rain, “But surely you knew that you could not hurt her?”

“I guessed it,” Sharp muttered after a short pause, “She’s not from here. She is gray but not silver,” and on that she was silent.

For the next few slices, running away, again in her own body and in reality, Gentle heard from the other side only counting rhymes and memories of recipes and travels. 

It seems that in a past life Sharp managed to travel the entire main continent, and even stepped on the shores of the other two. She was on great waterfalls, went under the jungle’s moist cover, knew how mountains move in their dreams, and wherever she was, she always found friends; and these friends were not always ponies.

She saw mighty dragons, and kirins too, their unexpected and unloved children. She knew where and from which side one should not look to stay unnoticed and hear kelpies’ telltales. She followed frogs to where they chose their King. But these memories were not directed to Gentle. Gentle only touched the glittering marbles of her memory, letting Sharp to play with them in fearful peace while they were not yet lost.

Gentle was torn apart three-way by curiosity, Sharp’s rush to run as far as possible from the indifferent, oppressing, cruel figure in a suit, and her own desire to turn back, to speak out and explain everything. Yes, Storm never smiled, but Gentle could clearly see what her smile might have been. Sharp did not object, plunged into her past — but as with Storm, Gentle could easily imagine what the shadow's response would be: for Storm, they were a monster, an anomaly, an object to study, but definitely not a pony to talk to.

And yet, hope remained: slow, persistent and stubborn, like Blue Moon Herself, which was now near Her zenith. Where White invested in one effort and retreated if unable to get what She wanted, Blue Moon simply stood there and kept trying, and sooner or later the goal was achieved.

Gentle smiled, remembering that she herself had not immediately agreed to become Herald. There was an important reason, but which one? She thought about this, and for a long time tried to remember on the run through the bluish twilight, almost taking off over gentle slopes, but always returning to the safe ground.

Like many, in foalhood she secretly dreamed of becoming an alicorn — not knowing why, and not considering it especially important that there should be a ‘why’. She knew the most important thing — the world is obedient to the words of alicorns, which means that she will do so that there will never be any troubles, no diseases, no grief, and first and foremost, no Red.

Moons’ feebleness before the Red settled in her mind after the unbound age, quietly and gradually, without asking permission and without ever being directly stated until that meeting with Black Moon, like a spider in the corner of a home bedroom, creepy, but generally harmless.

Even later, she began considering herself flawless and worthy of power. She succumbed to this delusion for a short while towards the end of the first round of training, before becoming a full-fledged Herald and getting her blue uniform. On the exam, this delusion fell asleep as deep as Cyan Wire, her first and most memorable victim.

It left a searing glint in Gentle Touch’s soul, though. The longing for power, not even desire yet, just calling mixed from fear, envy and appeal. That same will-o'-the-wisp was, Blue Moon once said, known to a pegasus who looks — ahead and above — at their older friends a few cycles before their own first desperate and thriveless attempt to fly. Annoying, razzing, elusive.

To weaken it, along with her Moon, the Moon of Terrors, they looked into what would happen if Gentle Touch got the power according to her potential, with nopony around to watch over her and trusted enough to steer her path closer to common sense.

She was surpassing Violet Vision in that unrealìty. In the present, Violet was a scary but obscure name for those who were in the know. In the foreseeable, unrestrained future, Gentle Touch became an epithet, an expression for dream-Metropolis, a villain whose ways one should never repeat.

Gentle Touch was grateful for the lessons. These dreams, seamlessly flowing in sequence, and the conversation with Violet, and training drills in which Gentle was generally stronger and more useful than her teammates, temporarily protected her from this sadness, reminded her of the other side of power, and gave her confidence… and the shadow’s careless voice was silent for a while after them.

Only for a while.

They both were reaching, again and again, for this part of Gentle Touch’s identity, but still, over long subjective time spent in dreams' honeyed flows and on death's softly humming shores, Blue Moon retreated and admitted that Gentle is what she is, and she will be nopony else while the Moons’ eternal slow dance in the sky goes undisturbed. And, as Moons’ words are always true, by saying so Blue Moon hid the very memory of the shadow with all that had a chance to awaken it, be it by reason or by accident. 

Gentle was almost calm now, in the hills. She continued to flee, never remembering why she did not want to be a Herald. Away from an irresistible force, under the bright light of the Moon, alone, with no partners to harm, with no friends to offend, with no hopes to shatter. Everything was simpler than it seemed, and even simpler, and, beat after beat, the friends were farther and farther away, Solid Line, in her beautiful stillness, Cursory, who would not approve of these thoughts. Both probably bound and packed, sent to no pony knows where; there should be a place to which the Red’s contacts are sent, right? Also weak and also defenseless against an alien from the skies.

Gentle Touch shook her head. Sharp Cut stirred in her soul and said, “When we get to the city, we’ll break the first pony-sized glass we come across. Silver and mercury will help us, brass will guide us.”

Gentle nodded to herself, turned smoothly, without stopping running, only changing the vector, and headed in the opposite direction, closing in to Storm.

Sharp coughed delicately; once again. She laughed, but there was no joy in this laugh. She did not take over control of their common body, “Do you think you’ll give me over and they’ll give you a medal?”

Gentle Touch did not answer immediately or aloud, but then she did, “You see… if we run away… if I don’t at least try… if I let you take every decision for us from now on, as you are stronger… it will be too easy for me to convince myself that I wouldn’t change anything anyway. That I'm too weak,” She grinned and continued for herself and for the dark mirror inside, “And if we continue to run away, then it would be so. In fact, it will be so. I will never be strong. Why would I be living then?“ Now she spoke quickly, almost without pauses between words and thoughts, “And so... maybe at least somepony, as I can’t myself, will tell me that I am worthy and doing well. Maybe I'll do something useful. Do you understand?”

Sharp did not answer; Gentle Touch no longer felt her nearby.

This was enough to panic. Gentle paused, breathing heavily for several nines of beats, trying to recover. She remembered that Cursory Streak once managed to get an assignment from her Moon — at a distance — and tried to turn to Blue Moon herself as if She hears; to ask for advice and help.

She even caught an echo of the answer and strength, "Of course, you are very..." But the thread of connection with the Moon thinned, fluttered like a cobweb, and there were no more words from the sky.

Instead, Gentle clearly felt an indent on it, an emptiness, a lack, an opportunity, here, a bit aside from Feather...

She blinked and the non-vision passed.

Sharp Cut was still gone, and nothing tried to take control of her body.

Gentle tried to call her; in their mind, then in a whisper, then in a full voice.

Sharp responded just as Gentle had given up hope. Quiet and sad, barely audible, “Do as you like. I can't stop you from helping your friends.”
> Chapter 33: Introspection
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


 ⊛⊛⊛


Gentle Touch was returning to meet Storm and the team, with a slight detour on the way. The road was twisting between the hills, sometimes scattering along quiet paths to small local settlements. Gentle chose one of these sideways by the smell of pastries and strawberries.

She was treated to a pie among a family never met before, and for a while Gentle felt at home where she belonged. Not at past home at the edge of the Great Desert where she was born or at future home in the heart of Metropolis where she will likely be helping ponies for the rest of her life; Black Moon once said so, and the Moons never lie.

Gentle Touch said that she needed to speak herself out, and weaved a story of her life in a long dream behind the mirrors; two sibling foals who have not yet crossed into unbound age were listening to her most attentively, with incisive prompts, and then even asked Gentle to show them the way to the land she has spoken about.

Of course, she left out some important details: the Red, perfectly still in the unchanging sky, the specific assortment of movies, Sharp Cut's true nature. Sharp was mostly silent but once remarked in a sleepy daze that she in fact could have shown them the way, as the Red's nonexistent demesne lay just three steps away from reality.

Gentle had little doubt about that. Sharp offered to make a bet, but Gentle was unmoved. The younger ponies politely hid their disappointment, and Gentle did not say that she saw their feelings.

She didn’t need to introduce herself as a Herald — that would be hurtful for the mood. Heralds were respected, appreciated, but not loved.

Gentle had enough solitude even without that.

She tried to clarify whether a pay is required, and was told that the right to record, retell and transmit the story would be enough, and she would have "neither grudges nor liabilities nor levies."

The words "Our paths are not to be intertwined" meant they do not want and do not expect a new meeting. The words "and let the outer things bring you more joy" had a sense that the meeting brought not so much good memories as bitterness and resentment. 

These lines were both left unsaid.

In these ways the ritual farewell was built, coiling around the silence. So, getting all the major points across and folding her own reply in the same way, Gentle smiled and tried to remember this place so that one cycle she could return to the hearth and stay there, likely for a while if not more than that.

Leaving, Gentle could still let them know at the last moment that she was a Herald, and thus change everything.

Yet she didn’t.

She considered herself an honest pony, but not enough to refuse a subtle warmth in this endless cold. In more than five and a half slices spent on the run and two more at dinner, Gentle had barely moved, and the spires of Metropolis hadn't gotten any closer or farther. Mostly due to the fact that she turned around halfway; still, no progress made.

“We need to talk,” Sharp said with a fuss and urgency at the same time.

“Please do talk, as I can't block you out anyway,” Gentle suggested, not slowing down.

"Not here. Where we would be both equally real. On the verge of dreams," Sharp made an offer sounding like there was no possible catch.

“No,” Gentle saw that through, “You’ll trap me again… either you or the Red. You are that much stronger in dreams, and we both know that."

“Then listen here,” Sharp snorted, and continued, in an internal whisper that did little to nothing to distract from the running. “I am you. I am everything that you do not allow yourself to be, even in desires. In reality, it's you who wants power. You want not to blame yourself for the deaths of others. You want to be bolder in the end. By and large, I don't exist, or I didn't: that's why I was in the mirrors. I am locked and boarded up rooms of your house. And that's why you lived in peace, with me being quieter than sand devils beyond the farthest fields of your family. That was until you got the designation and fell into this story of lost souls. As since then,” Sharp said with a soft force in her whispering voice, "I have a chance to bolt. I can come to the table now, the one that you take for granted. I have my words, and the world will hear me."

Gentle smiled, "Well, you are with me and exist in our shared body, next to me, breathing the same air. Isn't that what you wanted? There is nothing to regret about that."

Sharp responded in the same beat, fast and tingly just like how a few rounds ago at her home so far away Dispassion whispered newly-minted stories in Gentle's ear, “Not really. Things are more complicated than that. In order for us to be compatible in our shared brain, we both had to change. Do you remember our long dream where we became friends? You didn't even notice that I tried to kill Storm. It didn't bother you, and it doesn't bother you now. And notice how at dinner you bypassed all the dangerous turns of conversation. And I… I know now that I’m… probably too hot-tempered. I am changing too, you see? I understand, and even can somewhat see that the ponies perhaps feel bad when I slice them. At this rate I will begin to sympathise and regret what I am doing in no time," Sharp laughed softly.

"Um... so what?" Gentle asked, blinking, "That's fine, I guess. You are growing, and you’d be better with some empathy."

"Fine? Not really. Not at all," Sharp's voice was now angry, almost annoyed. "It depends on who we speak about, dear. For me, not fine at all. Just listen to me, okay?"

Gentle nodded, “I’m listening, don’t you worry."

Sharp sobbed, but almost immediately her voice became mockingly playful in a familiar vein, “Your friends, especially this big white one, that one who still desires, will not be able to approve and love me. There is some chance if you'd actually go through to her and apply some knowledge of yours while making love with her, by the way. The chance is small, and there are more of your friends than just the pegasus. For them all, I am a malady that, once they'd known me a bit more," Sharp went sing-song here for three beats, "is an awful stain on your heart so beautiful and pure — and not only yours.” 

“You and I carry shards of past souls. We are more than just reflected in each other. We also have those who lived before us, the ancient ponies," now the whisper was serious, "They lived before, more than once. They sometimes return, checking how we fare, looking after us like adults do after foals before they come into unbound age."

Gentle didn’t interrupt — she knew that anyway, and Sharp knew that she knew, and Sharp went on, tracing the unknown. Gentle heard that Sharp was trying to sound confident, but was instead making perilous steps in the darkness of vague sensations and assumptions.

“Only occasionally do they all come together at one time," Sharp said, "Like now. Harvest is coming, and it will be a time to reap a miracle; a great feast is near and the traveler returns victorious. You and I are not as important as these souls. We are candles, they are fire that pass from one candle to another. They influence us, highlight some directions over others, maybe even help, and they are bearing a miracle. Not us, they. If necessary to unchain even one of the six, Solid Line, and especially her Moon, will sacrifice us, or anypony else for that matter, without batting an eye. And you and I carry not one, but two of those between us."

Gentle stopped abruptly and pressed a hoof to her mouth, then replied aloud, “This is too much, Sharp. They are not at all like that, and the Moons do not wish any evil," and saying so she believed herself.

Sharp answered, “Okay, not that important. What is important is that I think it works both ways. We change them too. Be you pure and have the Red no influence on you through me, that soul that you and I carry — I'm not talking about an orange shard, only about two pink ones who would make a whole — would be, in this birth, different: much softer, kinder and more fun, and so much more naive. That's how she should be according to the Moons' view. Without my rusty taint that makes the ancient aligned to the Red if only a little."

Gentle waited for the conclusion. There was none.

"So what?" Gentle prompted with caution.

"So they will try to fix you. And they will decide that there is no other way. Because what if, by chance, because of me, the miracle just won't work? I will twist the shard of the soul, which is square nine times more important to them than both of us put together, and everything will be spoiled. That's the cut of their thoughts.”

Sharp sniffed and was silent for a while.

Gentle Touch tried to hug the immaterial voice in her head, and somewhat succeeded despite how ridiculous it was once she gave a thought about it.

“They'll find a way to slip 'Guiding Starfall-TX' to you, severing our life together, our bond, driving me out. But you are not very important to them too," Sharp eventually said.

“Are you totally sure?” Gentle asked, her voice trembling.

"Yes, I am," Sharp said.

Gentle did not answer right away. She sat down under a low tree, took a sip of fruit soda straight from the bottle, then laid down on her side. Nopony bothered her out of her thoughts, Sharp included.

Then Gentle Touch asked first, "Is this soul necessary for the miracle?"

"Yes, she is."

"And if we will be corrected by ‘Guiding Starfall-TX’, then a miracle will happen but you will be no part of it?" Gentle Touch asked then.

“Yes, I will remain, with that much less agency, a mere shadow of your own mind. Then there won't be a miracle for the Red,” Sharp said sadly.

"And if you don't fix me I will stay broken and will be a monster among the ponies?" Gentle waited for an answer as this was the most awful part.

"Yes, we are both monsters now. To your team, and factually too,” Sharp whispered with a tingle of hope.

Gentle asked nothing more.

Finally, after some long time spent unmoving and some bitter tears shed, she raised her head, “I… I’m not ready to die. And to give away all my life… to another me, as you say. And I think that untainted pony takes precedence. I know that I should be horrified by you and your bloodlust and readiness to murder, and I am not, so I am the broken one. That is, I… I'll take ‘Starfall’ and let myself be healed.”

“As expected,” Sharp said dryly.

Gentle smiled, “Gotcha. I have three questions. Can we talk to this ancient soul ourselves, or where it is, we cannot exist? Are there vows she will never break? And can’t we just find you another body, one of your own? I would be glad to see you as my sister,” Gentle said softly, “Yes, both of me would be glad. The one that I am now, and the one that will be after ‘Starfall’. Once we do a miracle for you and the Red. It deserves a miracle too.”

She knew at once that Sharp was crying. She didn't believe it right away. And then she was not able to calm her down right away too but she heard “yes, yes, and yes, of course. Just don’t make fun of that, p-please… nopony should ever say that and be so mean to take those words back!”

So they started preparing for the ritual.

First, Gentle Touch learned the oath of the ancient pink. It sounded funny, and Gentle wanted to believe that a pony who listens to such words cannot be very bad.

After that, there were shards. They could not immediately see the fragments of past souls in themselves. Each of these shards were hiding from their direct sight, and only with the outside opinion of a friend could they be grasped and held. But, extracted — and still associated with Gentle and Sharp by life’s eternal continuity — they took on color and shape: pale pink, caramel in taste, slightly warm to the touch.

An orange shard, rough, astringent and sour, they did not extract for now, as Sharp was worried only about the pink ones, and as one shard does not yet make a soul.

After that, it was much easier to connect the shards; not so much a ritual as a call, in the way Gentle invited sprouts of her favorite tulips to look over the ground, and Dispassion healed misaligned clockworks. Although the calling took them to the edge of dreams and fantasies, it was also funny, and deep, like a vat full of warm water with an admixture of lemonade foam, and this did not require even a drop of blood.

In this ritual, Gentle realized that the name — Pink Drop — that they have chosen for their shared body at the end of her long dream, was chosen not only by chance, and not only by the two of them.

They were able to emerge from the calling without losing any memories or distinction between themselves, although both were secretly afraid to dissolve into Pink; and Pink was indeed there, with no trace of her shards anymore.

Pink was grateful to them. They sat side by side in a quiet, cozy bar with balloons on the ceiling, at a table with a snow-white tablecloth. Gentle knew there was no bar and she could see the grassy hillside if she paid attention and grasped for staying awake, but Pink thought it was appropriate for an adventure. The food was quite real, taken from Gentle's bags, but prepared and served in a way Gentle could never have. And, since they had just one real body for not exactly three minds, nopony was left hungry.

Pink sat opposite them, and curiously peeped out the door in search of pursuers, and wiped her glasses behind the counter. She made an oath to them both, under the Pink Promise, that she would get ‘Guiding Starfall-TX’ for Gentle as a gift, however big the price would be, and that she would make sure Gentle would get a way to not be a monster, Sharp her own body, and the Red its chance.

No matter how Gentle tried, she did not see the slightest sign of betrayal — only Pink's minor lack of attention; but because of it Gentle demanded that at the meeting with Storm she would be present as an equal among equals and will not be separated from the conversation. So she would make sure that Pink did not forget anything important and would not be too distracted.

At the end of dinner, Pink called her to the counter and held out a small sparkling bottle without a label, with a button in the middle of a tight-fitting lid and a straw coming out on the side. Full of cyan radiance to the brim. Weighing hardly three buttons. Costing three times nine luminiferous stones — and by surrendering it anypony could instantly get one third of a status grade.

Gentle knew what it was. She checked the bag in reality; it was there.

She looked at Pink, her eyes wide, fighting tears.

“I promised, didn't I? And you risked everything for me to be. And now I am,” Pink smiled. “Here’s a reason for me to bypass causality for you. Any price, yup? And don't you even be afraid. As I am now,“ Pink repeated happily and brightly, “I now have just too many friends waiting here to die again any time soon. And as I promised I shall get you the cure, no way I shall not, so help yourself now. One miracle on the house! Don’t worry, for this one I still have enough juice as you can see,” she added a bottle of strawberry juice appearing seemingly out of nowhere, in tune with her bubbly words.

Pink lowered her ears, but looked at Gentle with smiling, shining, pleading blue eyes. Gentle had never seen these sparks before, neither in the mirrors nor behind them.

Gentle sat down on the grass, or on the high chair in front of the counter, and could only nod and ask, “But… your alliance with the Red? Sharp said that you will change if I... ”

Pink shook her head, “No. Don’t you worry. The Red still needs us, and I will remain as I see fit. You called me first, before taking the cure, and that was the key. I carry on your marks yet unhealed, and nopony will bar me from friendship.”

Gentle Touch had one more question. She forgot which one.

The button slid soft and with no effort.

‘Guiding Starfall-TX’ was pepper and electricity and — as suggested by the name — the mint of frozen stars.
> Chapter 34: Colorlessness
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


🥧🥧🥧


Two groups of ponies met on a narrow overpass. On one side there were Faraway Storm, Solid Line and Cursory Streak, with the suited pony a few steps ahead. On the other there was Pink, yet she refused to count herself as just one. Two or three were not an exact answer either.

Once she gave it a bit more thought, the number that came up was not even natural.

Sharp was a little ahead in Pink’s being, not allowing herself a word or action until Gentle permitted it from behind. Pink was their overlap, and yet more than that.

The road, otherwise bending lazily around the landscape, rose in a wave here, as if allowing invisible ponies to pass underneath. It cut through the sloping wall of the hill, crudely attempting, with no success, to turn into a tunnel with a single gray-brown wall of lined clay. 

The giant steel doors of a vault, visible from afar due to sheer size and covered with pale blue cracked paint, were less than a throw away from each of the groups of ponies. They were coated with dust, obviously having not been open for a long time, whether from the outside or from the inside.

Now, as well, the doors were still and silent, and no direct ray of the Moons' light could reach beneath the clay canopy. The lights in the label ‘Infusion shelter, AA+ certification grade’ went out long ago. They were totally covered by moss. The only ones who might have known about them, let alone could catch the general meaning of the text or even read it outright, were Pink herself thanks to the Red, and, as Pink reluctantly admitted, possibly Solid Line with her link to ancient tech.

The duo could think of nine, if not more, explanations for why she sees the vault and knows what lies inside; it was not that important now.

She was somewhat upset that the option of running away through broken mirrors did not work as Gentle found her guts and forced them into being Pink, the synthesis, for the purpose of this meeting, as well as meeting itself. Traveling through mirrors they could, if not in a beat, get to another continent, befriend some of the local tribes, and wait for Storm to lose their trail, and then... planning was never Pink's forte; still, they would most likely be free from pursuit.

Instead of making convoluted plans, she trusted fate. Through her many long lives, even before going to the Red’s nonexistent kingdom, Pink learned how to befriend it, wander along common paths, look into secret nooks, enjoy the taste of life and go home with a pleasant fullness in her stomach, memory and heart, knowing that fate will make a few adjustments for her being such a nice pony. 

More than a few times Pink met those who could destroy the world, and she usually did not take her friends along then; friends forced her to behave in a certain, expected way, and this was not always convenient. A long walk, a conversation under the Moons, a set of cupcakes made with care, and everything somehow turned for the better by itself, because Pink knew where to look to see this ‘better’ and never lost her heart. 

Gloomy prophecies came true but only in a letter and as if a stern hermit in the Great Desert decided to put a cruel but funny joke on one specific page. The schemes to summon demons were, without changing a stroke, turning out to be innocent plans for a skyrow game. Deep buried foalhood traumas were becoming, in fact, relatively easy to work through, as Pink was just there for them.

So this meeting would have been nothing new to her, in a broad sense — had the ‘new acquaintance’ been anypony but Storm, the seventh out of the six.

All normal prophecies and expectations, once fulfilled, fell silent and ceased to demand anything of note, alike to hunger. Once a prophecy came true, ponies could forget about it and clear out consequent wreckage. 

This was not the case with Storm. 

The prophecies concerning the seventh of the six were told in seven colored editions and, when fulfilled, in any of their outcomes, they launched other prophecies in an eternal convoluted web. ‘Black Storm’ was usually a mystical ally, ‘White Storm’ could be relied upon in all circumstances, ‘Green Storm’ meant a tough but friendly barrier between Home and Adventure. Pink knew the set of Storms throughout, as a set of cards held dear to her heart, with all possible meanings for each one. The six were meeting the seventh much more than once, thread after thread and life after life, and each next meeting was inevitable, and only rarely did Storm signify outright doom to the six’s effort.

What Pink saw now she did not want to call silver. Technically, to somepony else's eyes, it probably could appear so. In fact, there was nothing but a gray of hopeless despair in the approaching figure. Not a quiet, timid, song of silver which could mean temporary relief and defensive support, but an exhalation too shy to actually become the last one; a coast of the freezing ocean; an envelope for which there is nopony to open.

This color of Storm prophecies did not speak about, or Pink did not know these words.

She sighed and stepped forward; an instant meeting of internal voices determined what and how to say, “Hi, friends... I... I must have been wrong in running away. Excuse me... Is there something... can I help you? If there is something to help with.”

She knew that she was breaking the written and unwritten rules of the world, that she was acting rude, but she did not know how else to stir this gray fog; and only after that she noticed that Cursory Streak was sleeping tall, and there was practically no life in Solid Line, apart from subtle currents; only the tabby cat on her back was looking at Pink with intent green-eyed stare.

The material body limited Pink, as before going into the mirrors, but the Red, as always and never, held a hint of rule over what could be happening.

In fact, Pink had not come closer yet, and at this distance they could neither hear each other, nor distinguish any facial features on each other's silhouettes. But the world curved for these three beats, and ‘it could have been so’ became ‘maybe, just maybe, it was so’, and for this moment — this moment only, and in their lasting memory of what didn’t came to pass — they were close, almost touching nose to suit’s faceplate.

In a few beats, the unfollowed possibility left nothing but memories in its wake. They stood as before, too far away to hear each other, at a distance of a square nine of steps, as if nothing happened. Because nothing did happen. 

And yet they remembered Pink's question that was never asked, as if it was.

And, likewise, Storm's reply was never given, “You can. We followed you for far too long and even your friends are tired now, as I suppose you see. My base is contaminated by moonlight, and now only after three cycles I will be taken up by the secondary base. That is your doing, isn't it?”

Curving obdurate and harsh reality to what-once-had-been-possible through that sticky gloom wasted too much energy, more than she had thought, as the Red, of course, was not in the sky; it never was allowed to be in the sky, so no power could come from it to one small pink pony; except unallowed and unhappened would be its strength, and in this paradox there was a leyline for Pink to make her own little inconsequential wonders, like this one.

With injected memory set and known, Storm and Pink walked slowly towards each other, Storm leaving a sleeper and non-sleeper behind, and stopped short of nine steps. This time nopony went for an attack nor a threat, and in the gray noise of the wind in the artificial crevasse of the hill there were — Pink heard it for sure — no hopes, no curses, no thoughts. 

And as any question, even an unasked one, invites an answer, Pink gave it, and tried to make it as if she had not seen the no color that enveloped the meeting place. Open and without fear she said, “Most likely not, and if mine, then this coil of me does not know anything about it.”

Storm nodded, “Nopony will let the Red's object into the vault. So, we shall speak here, on the threshold.”

"Nopony will," Pink agreed. She put her hoof to the door, and the blue-and-white slab buckled and tore open, with little to no sound split by a wide crack; thick steel gleamed with jagged edges. On the other side it was dark, motionless and full of no life; it smelled of plastic, dry chocolate chip cookies and imaginary monsters. Those who stayed here to become the last had no time to clean up their restless dreams on their way out.

“I am nopony without Gentle Touch and Sharp Cut, so I will let us in. Let me just clean it up and we'll talk,” Pink said, “But first, what — and why — did you do with your destiny, my friend of old?”

She waited for an answer. Storm turned her head to the now broken vault door and made a quiet raspy squeak, followed by “But… but… how?! It is rustless steel, you’d need a gun or elems to even have a chance to buck it! It is, by design, made to stand against the Red, protected by unaging! How?”

“We will talk about that too,” Pink smiled. She walked past Storm, then stood on her hindlegs and pushed the suit into the dark vault. A few beats later she stuck her head out of the crack and looked around. Then she pushed in Solid Line and Cursory Streak too, the former in deep trance, the latter in a slumber completely out of her phase, and soon nopony was left behind and uninvited for a party.

The cat went in much later and on her own.
> Chapter 35: Projecting
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


☳☳☳


The cat was the most worrying unknown for Storm. While they walked earlier, Solid Line managed to drop a few lines about her pet-slash-teacher, but much was still unclear. Once they entered the vault, Pink went on to work on stains left over by time and neglect. 'To cobble together a little something for the party' was, apparently, the secondary goal.

Storm settled on a couch in the sorting area, and Signal sat down next to her.

Storm tried to talk to the cat, and even received some meaningful answers back, but at first they were limited to "yes" or "no".

Longer series of sounds were beyond the suit's built-in translator, although it tried to find the meaning anyway.

After a few remarks, realizing that these attempts were unsuccessful and the translator was trying to guess by the context, Storm turned it off and made a convention with Signal about gestures that would mean "almost yes", "almost no" and "I don't know."

That made the conversation somewhat more efficient, especially since Signal did not wedge in its own questions: no, it does not sympathize with the Moons, except for Black Moon. No, it does not follow any of them, and prefers to be an independent agent.

Storm could check this with her own phase dampener, as the cat had no chance to know about it and adjust its answer. The dampener showed a weak alignment to the Black Moon. So Storm, for now, identified the companion as reserved but honest, and moved on to more important questions.

"Who is in charge of your pair?" The question was not rhetorical. Storm knew there were highly functional reimplants, although she had never seen them before. Before meeting Solid and her cat, that is. The cat chose both answers at the same time, and when the question was repeated, it settled on Solid. That was enough to get a rough idea of ​​the true answer.

“Is the current state of Solid Line threatening her? Is she sleeping like that? Is it a disease?" here the words had to be thread with caution.

The miniature yellow unicorn, although going where she was pushed or directed, was still not fully conscious. Cursory on the opposite couch was soundly asleep, as she should be in accordance to the cycle time. On the other hoof, Solid's open and empty gaze with pupils reacting only on the general brightness level began to bother Storm.

Still, she did not want to take any invasive measures before getting the picture. “Does not sleep. Result of damage but not a transmissible disease. Mostly harmless, the process of repairing," was what Storm wrote down on a small monochrome screen as a conclusion. 

After going through several synonyms and specifying the time, at least Storm found out that she would not have to wait very long — slices rather than cycles.

"Why did you protect me from Pink's attack?", this one appeared beyond their abilities. A sixth signal was invented indicating that the question was too complicated, and even after many exhausting lists and suggestions, Storm could not find the exact reason from the answers beyond Signal considering her to be a temporary ally. It was not exactly reassuring.

Storm used to rely on communication with the center, on support from above, but she also knew how to act on her own. Moreover, scenarios of interaction with any of the six were developed and memorised; and they were not excluding the Red’s intervention.

Except that Pink... her physical strength was definitely not on her personal card. Something was wrong, still not too much beyond the basic scenario of ‘Pinkie Pie infected with the Red.’ After all, it was Pinkie who was always considered the most vulnerable — madness to madness, color to color, chaos to chaos. 

When Pink returned, rolling a cart of soup, donuts and milk in front of her, Storm found no reason to refuse — according to all the main sensors, the shelter was sterile, and even Pink herself was almost colorless. Not in the ordinary sense, of course... and she had already taken off her helmet outdoors once...

Risky, but worth it, Storm decided, chewing on a donut — juicy, with six shades of sweetness, three of sourness, and with a hint of rancid in the aftertaste, but promising to fix everything if only Storm would give just one more chance to its fellow.

She did not forget to once again test the food on possible threats though — not only moonlight, but also biochemical based ones; the suit, albeit old, was still in the blue zone, and so all its readings were sufficiently reliable.

Except phase dampener. This device, now under much less stress, was still showing warnings of possible malfunction and needed to be tested at the station.

But this donut was the last one. Fortunately, the bitterness was gone soon. Milk was losing out to donuts by a crushing score, and its sweetness was metallic — but for this taste Storm was accustomed to.

Pink looked at her with eyes wide open, transparent blue lakes. As a foal, Storm loved to search and count them on a dark ball so far below. No mental influences, just waiting on approval whether everything was good and worthy of praise. So foalish and sincere, although from a certain point of view Pink was many times older than Storm, cubic nine of times at the very least. It was beyond any will not to thank her for the dinner, so Storm did thank indeed.

Then they gave some milk to Solid Line, still switched off, for which the jug with a long nose proved to be useful, and began a conversation.

That was, Pink began, “You have no destiny. Had you had it, I’d have known what to expect from you and make a gift. I don’t, so say what you want, then I will tell you what I want and we will do it. I mean, the miracle. I want to make a gift for a friend!”

Storm couldn't avoid smiling, it was a good start for sure. Still, she took her time, and her contralto was not even close to Pink’s high-pitch bordering on outright squeaky.

“This world is being washed out. Every time your alicorns are threatened, they hardly try to negotiate. The first resistance, the first victims among the ponies, and the Moons intervene with their cancel—”

Pink interrupted, “No cancel! These are sent to another continent. Kelpies, griffins, imugis... They are quite happy without ponies.”

Storm brushed it off, “Firstly, it’s not that important. In effect, they are torn away from their lives, and in the wake of each major banishment a lot of related objects, creatures, places go away too, one way or the other. Secondly, according to our observations, they are still banished from reality. Thirdly, even if you’re right, the problem remains. Lesser things remain, and the void creeps in.”

Pink said thoughtfully, “I can’t disagree. There are rumors — you won’t believe — that Green Moon will be the one to take diplomacy and sane trade-offs under Her wing as Her aspects.”

Storm narrowed her eyes.

“She's less than a rumor herself. Or do you know more, Ancient One? Your mark is not what Pinkie Pie should have. You yourself are not behaving the way you should. In some ways you are pretty similar but…”

Pink did not answer, just winked.

Storm continued, without dragging out a pause, “As we can see, each essential withdrawn by the Moons pulls others along with it, and the speed of destruction is increasing. We ask for a miracle; we ask you to create a star bridge leading to us. No rockets, no missiles. So that every creature who makes trouble with the Moons can simply leave for us. So that the Moons had no powers over the bridge. And so that we have enough space for every entity, concept or species, a ring around the planet. I know this is not too much for you, you have done miracles comparable. The damping Net, for example, or the Labyrinth Fountain... then, once the void finally breaks in, we will have something to build a new world out of. And hurry up, there is less time remaining than it seems. One more word from the Trinity may be enough for the reaping."

Pink hugged her and touched her nose to nose; only then did Storm realize that she had forgotten to close her helmet.

“I know,” said the pink one.

Storm asked quietly, “You know, but don’t agree? I heard that a miracle should be asked for in a direct and honest way, with a future joy in a pony’s heart, but nopony gets exactly what they ask for... and I have to add one more personal, maybe insulting, issue. You yourself are destroying the world. The way you knocked down the door. It shouldn't be, and it can't be. The rules themselves are deteriorating at the seams. It is the very sign of the void. So can you... just leave for now?”

Storm tensed, but the vault was still clear, and the weak alignment to the Red was only the direction of a possible channel of power, not the channel itself.

Pink shook her head, “No, that's not what you think. Maybe not only that. I promised that we’ll talk about it too, but actually you have to see it with your own eyes. Otherwise you will interrupt me and storm away.”

Pink got up and pulled Storm further into the shelter, “My wish is simpler. I want the Red to return to the common sky and take the aspects taken away from it.”

Reflexes kicked in. A jump to the side and back, away from the straight line of attack of the earth pony, ready to make another one if need be, pattern recalled, subconsciously selected from a combat spells library, raw magic to ‘inhale’ through the horn, filling the pattern and booting it up both as an instruction and as a device, aiming the shining horn on Pink. Here she managed to stop through sheer will without resolving the pattern into Pink; her training kept requiring the final stroke of the sequence.

Storm left the canvas shining, and the external magic continued to flow on the golden fire of the horn, burning in it with neither sound nor a pattern active — for now. She did turn her head slightly to the side, leaving possible spells without a target.

“Then we have no common way,” Storm hissed, “None of us do. Too much harm and too much pain caused by the Red. Plus, the Red is cheating. We've already cleaned out its cults. Ponies who were in the Red's trace firmly believe that everything it did was worth it. Every monster created by its light, every pony wounded by its rays, everypony who never returned from under open sky when there were no vaults and no Net yet… followers of the Red think everything was worth it and one old grudge makes it somehow justified. And if you serve Red, I will destroy your current body and send your soul away to scrap for a new one with no power to inhabit living ponies. Ancient or not. I have the means. I am trained and prepared to clear its abominations. I swore that I would not be its enemy, but I said nothing of the sort to its blind servants and bloodthirsty fanatics!”

Pink shook her head, and her face was sad, “I don’t serve anypony, even myself. I just listen to everypony and try to bring some joy. By inclusion, I do not serve neither the Red nor its evil. I can hear it, but this is completely different. Let me show you? Please.”

Storm paused, assessing the situation. 

A direct conflict with the Ancient One was... still almost unacceptable. Said conflict, once breaking out, was robbing her city-state of the last chance. The arrival of the six — not one of them but all the Ancient Ones together — was happening once per three lives on average. This one was very likely the last one, as the world was about to fall outside the stability threshold. 

What the Ancient One said, in meaning, was usually enough to discharge the most suitable array of spells either disabling or destructive purpose, log the event, call in the decontamination team and initiate demnesis protocol. 

Unforgivable. Disgusting. And all the more unacceptable.

Still, there was a weak possibility that they misunderstood each other. That Pink's words had a completely different meaning. After all, this is Pinkie Pie, and nopony will ever understand her...

"I'm listening," Storm said grimly, her horn still a bit away from Pink, “Be laconic. And do not ask for leniency just because the Red was murdered. We have the story heard, thought over and judged. It does not justify the Red’s terror.”

Pink shook her head, “I said, I can’t. Do you really insist on it? I just can’t say it without me being shot down or you running away before I even go halfway through. There is hope, but you need to see it. Let's go in. Or don’t and let the ocean devour us. This is, I think, one of a few successful attempts to make contact with the Red, and it’s recorded, and this is why the vault is abandoned — the Red came in there in full force, in person, and nothing could be done to clear the lingering presence.”

Storm didn't give in, and Pink had to fetch the projector and crystals from the darkness of the far rooms of the vault. She never figured out how to turn on the device, and Storm did not help; they sulked at each other for a long time until the drama of the moment turned into irony; Pink giggled first, so Storm's pride was barely hurt.

Solid Line, once finally awake, was lost at first but managed to stay on board with the situation after more than a few questions; they covered Cursory, still sleeping, with a blanket, and placed Signal on top of it. 

Then they gave Solid a little time to deal with the old and fragile equipment, and the three of them, with the quiet buzzing of the projector and golden glow of Storm’s protecting magic, settled down and started looking at a life to never pass again other than in a tech-based reflection.
> Chapter 36: Intersection
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


∿∿∿


The camera was floating above the surface at a height of nine steps, or three talls — it was the latter, long ago deprecated height measure that was displayed in the upper right corner of the flickering screen. Solid did not know exactly in what era talls became obsolete. Background processes brought the hint into the left side of her field of vision, but Solid was not paying much attention — she was still trying to come to terms with her being effectively shut down for a time by unknown reasons.

It was not even one of past-Solid’s triggered minor memory or ability accesses; in that case she would be warned at least.

From her point of view — both herself and her programs, whose logs Solid scrutinized — the time that passed did not contain events.

The time itself was running, and the internal timers kept counting, and the result correlated with the opinion of other ponies; still, it was void.

But the perception of the void was two-sided, in more than one sense of the word. On the one hoof, not quite sapient background processes reported that nothing at all had been happening around. The world was absent, and they were required to maintain the vital activity of the body, which — and nothing beyond it — continued to exist. They issued alarms in a preset sequence, got no response from consciousness, and switched to supporting the body, waiting for the world to reappear.

Consciousness, on the other hoof... Solid Line could not find another description, even if she wanted to: she was floating in the ocean of endless stars, and the stars were around and inside her. There was ebb and flow and unhurried life from all sides. The sky differed from the ocean in nothing and everything, like the two sides of a window — mirrored glass, an alien voice intervened, interrupting Solid Line's thoughts — depending whether you were outside of it in the inescapable icy twilight; or inside, where ingenuity, art and courage strive for a better song.

She flew in space and drowned in water, gasping for the air that was not. She was aligned to the single direction of the voice that was not there, of the measured beat of her heart, of the flow of blood in her veins; she was pressing herself to fall asleep as it was required by the voice to finally get out, outside, into the darkness and cold, and meet the thing that awaits.

She never could, because the dream’s door was forever closed to her. Through dreams and mirrors, the Red seduces...

Solid Line did not finish this thought. The cat landed heavily on her withers, and Pink pushed her to the side, “Don't leave us... again. Okay? We were so hopeworry about you.”

A short beep from Signal meant about the same, but more with a tinge of ‘It is too early for you.’

Solid shook her head in an attempt to recover and tried to imitate a guilty smile — facial expressions were still for the most part beyond present-Solid. But for Pink, the intention was, obviously, more important than the deed — she broke out a smile, reciprocal and toothy, and held out a glass of orange juice coming from nowhere.

Solid took it with a question not asked, took a sip, and returned her attention to what was happening in the projection; Storm and Pink were already staring into it. 

The recording was low-contrast bordering on outright muddy; coloration was tinted to green, and occasional black spots were flashing here and there. But Solid’s programs took care of all these recording artifacts without so much as direct order — annoyance was enough. Thanks to that, Solid got a filtered but clear image, with the colors most likely correct.

There were four ponies in the laboratory.

Two unicorns, one noticeably older than the other. An earth pony opposite them and a bit to the side. A pegasus is in the air between them, on top of an irregular tetrahedron. By the rhythmic ebb of the camera, the shooter was also a pegasus, and one of those who preferred to keep afloat rather than stay true to the surface. 

Stands, markers, meters and books, laid out in a semblance of order, and rectangular traces of dust where the beds, now piled up in faraway corner, had recently stood, gave out that the room was not made as a laboratory in the first place but rather refurbished, and in a hurry. On the whitish uneven floor, face-to-face in a rectangle, stood clear and shiny mirrors; the camera watched them from the side and from above, peering into the space framed by them. 

This space was distorted — the surfaces of the mirrors themselves seemed to encircle the sphere, so that all the angles of the quadrilateral were obtuse.

Solid frowned. Past-Solid could have created a similar effect, but there was no practical use in it, it required constant fueling by magic and over time turned the space to the everside with the risk of a chain reaction. 

The tower where Solid slept was based on the same principle; but Black Moon drew the lines, placed the stones and spelled the words with at least ten times better precision, care and caution, if not raw power; and Black Moon clearly defined the terms, limits and fees for the everside, as well as means for unraveling the contract. Here... no matter how much Solid Line looked for it, she saw no hint of bounding lines. In theory, with sufficient initiating charge, this structure could consume the world.

Granted, the projection did not capture precise magic flows on the other side, which was a pity; only minor disruptions of light around and above the mirrors were giving away the immense power drawn in there.

There were less extreme ways to look at the everside. The easiest one was to ask the feline; they saw it always and with no tools. However, it in itself required a tool — an interpreter; or a good rapport with your own cat. Reasons or ways that would support scalable initiative for traveling or colonizing the everside were unknown to Solid Line. At best, a pony would plan a brief and perilous raid for a small adventuring team, or a run for an unlikely safe spot considerable only in most dire circumstances; nothing more lasting.

The sleeping users of Black Moon were considered absent for a reason. Free of traces, to be exact.

There was no life on the everside. Along the main axis of eternal flow, it was lying ‘upstream’, beyond the line where life first comes into being, strictly opposite to dreams and death in relation to reality. In general, everside was somewhat trying to remember this and keep its rare guests safe. Unfortunately, it was so very forgetful, and if a pony were to describe its mood the best word would be nasty.

For now another thing was more important.

"Pink, you said they summoned the Red here? But they go in the opposite direction. They should turn half a circle if they want to reach beyond the mirrors...” Solid Line asked, unsure.

Pink nodded, “Just listen.”

Solid nodded and did just that. The voice from the record said, “...in order to stay at a great distance from the Red so, while contacting the enemy, still remain out of its reach...”

She twitched her ear and turned to her programs; as expected, they had been recording from the very beginning, so Solid rewound the inner record to at least get the idea of what is going on, “This is our testing ground, and we perform the deed here on our own,” said a small, middle-aged, dark yellow unicorn, looking at the camera which was still hanging in the air although lower than it was, “We have an agreement necessary for our attempt: that all of the Moons would not interfere and even actively avert Their gaze from the land for this short and perilous time. We agreed that in case of failure, our descendants will reimburse Them for the damage and all losses which would happen, so it will be fair, and in case of success we will reach an understanding about the Red…”

Solid asked to stop the recording; Storm glanced at her with narrowed violet eyes and shook her head. Pink answered without waiting for an actual question, “These are their last notes. The project — in their main purpose — would have been closed anyway. They just use it, and power plants meant for sustaining cubic nines of ponies here, for their attempt. I myself negotiated with Engie here about this meeting,” Pink nodded at the screen.

“I promised on behalf of the Red that everything would go well. I didn’t make it so, in any of all the meetings. We have tried many, many times and more. We rewound time again and again, I came with different gifts and with different words, and still everything was running about the same course.”

Storm intervened, “Can you rewind time? If so, why didn't you actually do it? This is the ultimate weapon. You could, for example, step back, find another group of researchers, or for this one suggest something different, warn them that it will go wrong. I thought the Red would think of that,” Storm snorted; Solid assumed it was either irony or superiority.

Pink turned to Storm, “The Red has power only over what did not come to pass and only at home. In reality, and even more so at the everside, it is unable to undo and replay anything important. At best, to fix a small, inconsequential touch,” Pink sighed, “Once we saw the result, we tried and kept trying for a while. But the event has already happened, do you understand? If the Red could, then at least nopony would be hurt.”

Storm nodded curtly, “Uh-huh. I got it. Ontological protection. We harness it to clear moonlight and defend ourselves against magic. Anchor the state of important things, and they will stay so… unless Moons take combined focused effort, which they will not.”

“—while contacting the enemy, still remain out of its reach...” the unicorn in the projection said, again.

Solid listened to his plan and explanations in case of a disaster, for those who would find the recording. 

They were going to summon the Red to a conversation without touching reality. First, they were to reach the everside. Second, from there, to make the call through two fundamentally different boundaries. Third, to negotiate with the Red. In the worst case, all the consequences would remain only on the everside and nowhere else.

The space between the mirrors stretched and curved, as if a giant transparent ball had been thrown into it — a growing one — and in less than a beat, the expansion swallowed the shelvings, the leader of the group and the pony who kept recording, One more beat later the entire lab followed suit, turning into a huge hall with walls lost in the whitish bright fog immeasurably far from the ponies.

Personal protective fields responded with an emerald brilliance. Some books, unable to withstand the expansion of space, were torn by their stitched leaves, the mirrors dispersed on the four sides of the cross in the glowing distance, as the smallest gaps between them became long nines of steps.

Everside was anything but benevolent, and nothing could count on its mercy. Only on its insincere hospitality to intelligent life — squeamish curiosity, if one was to name a pegasus a flier. Or on the terms of the visit, meticulously worked through and agreed with. Or on their own wit and power.

However, Solid knew the necessary protective formulas. As the five on the projection likely did too, judging by the occasional greenish sparks of their fields.

They had to reach for each other, run and fly if not fall towards a meeting point. Solid leaned forward, peering. Yes, the everside for sure. Much larger than reality, much emptier than it. And the light. This white light from nowhere is a signature.

“Do you think it was a good idea to hurry so much? I didn’t even make a copy for key patterns to follow...” the unicorn from the recording asked; his companions replied in a hurry that they had nothing to do with it and not a single pony put magic in the transition to the everside. They were meant to give him time to finish the speech and provide patterns and instructions. He shook his head. Solid asked Pink, “Does he believe them or not?”

Pink said thoughtfully, “No, but he doesn't want to pressure them too much over this. He rather wants to let it slide.”

Storm commented, “Indeed, the fuss will not help them now. They have already arrived there, upstream. Business first, debriefing later.”

Signal countered with a firm and close touch to the cheek and exhalation into Solid’s ear, “Yes, he trusts them of course. They are his family. They went in together."

The team on the other side of the projection assembled and pushed all mirrors together to a straight line with no cracks in between, which in itself took their time. They tried to support each other, but the uncaring vastness of what had recently been a cozy room, and now rivaled in size of the White Moon’s main chambers, apparently was getting on their nerves, and the white glow from above highlighted them, lifeless, indifferent; from the shadows on the floor, Solid realized that the camerapony was indeed a pegasus.

Four drops of blood taken from each of the four — Solid noted that the fifth, the one who filmed, did not participate in the ritual — was enough for a scarlet dripping surface to spread over the mirrors and soak in greedily. Behind it, instead of reflections, the forest — the ocean; and yet the forest, Solid decided — was lying, deep and full of life, in shining yellow and consuming orange.

All four bent down and lowered their heads, as if an unbearable load had been laid on their backs; nopony else looked at their friends on the sides anymore — only forward, beyond the mirrors. The earth pony, unable to support the weight of her body any longer, sank to the white floor. She did not look away either.

Not a desert. Not a scorched battleground. Not a waste dump. Not any other place that has been described as the world of the Red in any and every foal horror book.

Everything looked familiar, albeit a little creepy, because nopony is ever calm when they enter a forest. Solid Line saw soft soil under the trees, from the branches of which heavy drops of recent rain fell, large multi-colored insects that were flashing in front of the camera, and for three beats Solid felt like her nose was tickled by sweetish rot.

The Red appeared at the border of the mirrors.

It wore neither the image of a monster, nor the color of red. Except for the mane; but even that was interspersed with narrow yellow stripes, reminiscent of a flame. Its main color was yellow too, and in the open and curious gaze of cyan eyes there was neither deceit, nor anger, nor desire for revenge. If not for one detail, Solid would not even have thought it was the Red. After all, a horn of this shape, pointed and overly long, was a family trait of many unicorns, and often spoke of great magical talent.

Except that one detail — the wings on the sides, very thin and weak, curved at an unnatural angle. That was the real sign. That was the signature.

“Hello?” the Red asked. “Didn’t you want to talk?”

A reddish-brown mildew covered its front leg, rising from the soil; slugs slid up from the mold, in a matter of beats they climbed on legs of the alicorn to the shoulders and neck, and disappeared on its nape. The Red looked at its leg, awkwardly stepped aside, stomped a few times, and managed to free itself from the invasive but considerate and loving touch of the mold. Again the alicorn turned its gaze to the border between the everside and its refuge of dreams most bitter and thirsty.

“Sorry,” it said. “They also want to talk to me, but for now I can take a shot at talking with descendants of cold-blooded killers, for sure. What do you need so gravely that you dared to cry for the damned one, and even made an offer of life in advance? And make no mistake — I promise nothing beyond the talk. After that, I still might feed you to my subjects,” it smiled.
> Chapter 37: Sacrifice
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


⚫⚫⚫


Stepping through the doors of the abandoned vault, they knew that they might not return: at least one of them would for sure not come back to the light of the Moons.

In fact, they were certain who exactly will be left behind, too. There was no need to rely on chance or fate, as Speck volunteered himself. 

In a not so distant foalhood he lived far from Metropolis, so far away that She remained beyond the horizon, no matter how high Speck soared. These seasons he dreamed of saving everypony, or of helping doing that, but only if he would avoid going to the city.

He loved his freedom too much to consider relocation: barely populated air space to all nine winds around, close to no ground settlements as the area was by rules and traditions dedicated exclusively to winged ones except tourists and visitors.

Then — the ocean shore and the ocean itself. 

Above all else he loved fishing in the plentiful season, when the wandering islands of dark ice shift the currents, and the Blue Moon, respecting their inhabitants, dims the light for that sixth of the round. 

This season was the most fulfilling in each passing round. His whole family was fed aplenty; Speck usually had more than a few stories to share with friends by the distant winds. Then there was his solitude in the ocean and a quiet voice from below.

At other times city ponies came with harpoons along the edge of the estuary. The coastal ones knew through generations that water is not so different from air, so they stunned fish in a dive with a shock wave.

When city ponies asked which of the Moons he aligned to, Speck answered with bright confidence, "Blue, of course!", without going into details. Only once he was caught lying, and only then the pony, stretched across his belly, insisted that she wanted to know the truth. When she found out, she was not frightened at all, and, being thankful for the company, care and experience, taught him how to recognize Blue Moon's followers without even asking.

He was avoiding them since — the real ones — along the ninth trail, and the rest politely did not inquire beyond his standard answer: in the end, everypony chooses for themself.

However, he was not violating the truth too much: in almost all aspects of Blue — from medicine to arts — Speck knew enough to appear as a talented dabbler, could maintain a conversation, and even weave a magic trick or three, even though he was a pegasus. This was enough for guided tours: he just had to take city ponies to a distant ridge, wait by the coast while they pick up local berries and admire the flowers of prey, and return them to the mainland, without engaging in conversation, but knowing that his money and status gains are deserved.

Nopony felt like going into the dark waves. Diving was even more beyond them; and those who know that the water is not as cold as it seems, kept the knowledge to themselves and met with Speck under other circumstances.

That was why, hovering behind the backs of his comrades and above them with a camera on his head linked to his attention and quiet voice commands, Speck was not frightened: he heard the voice of the Red before, not only alone in the boat but also when he and his relatives hid from the brilliance of the Moons in their full glory under the deceptively thin surface of the water. He had questions for the alicorn, but these questions interested only himself and did not belong to the outlined plan nor to his own place in this plan. Moreover, he never knew how to sound smart and be persuasive.

Engineer Fault, or Engie, was supposed to speak with the Red for everyone, which he did, “Greetings, lady. We came to you, with expectations and hopes.”

“I do not fulfill desires and do not lend my strength,” the Red answered instantly. “And my power does not come from your gratitude.”

The unicorn continued, “Even if, for example, you would return to the sky?”

The Red stepped forward, but the whitish air of the everside stopped it in its tracks. Nevertheless Speck clearly saw the surface of the mirrors bent outward, sparkling with iridescent spots; thankfully, the Red retreated, and the edge remained intact, albeit disturbed.

“I… do not need this,” the Red replied, proudly raising its head and fluttering its useless wings,  “Through the eyes of your doubles, the stains of your dreams, the imprints of your fears, I already see what is happening in the world, and I am not interested in it.”

Yet its voice cracked with the want eternal.

“Students? Followers, like for the other Moons,” the unicorn went on with caution.

The Red turned its head a bit, away from Speck.

“Do you offer yourself?” it asked nonchalantly, looking down at the soil again. A small whirlwind of wasps entwined in front of her face, descended on it; entangled in its coat, they did not sting, and Red did not seem to pay them any attention.

“Yes, and much more than that. Your own school. The way open and permitted for those who wish to align themselves to you, even though those will be few,” the unicorn made a tiny step forward.

“The Moons will never go for it. But I am interested, for now,” the Red's voice, however, remained dry and lifeless.

“Or maybe life?” Engie said, stressing the word out, “What will you choose, return to the skies, to a place that is yours by right... or live among the living, and then return to the flow of rebirth?”

The Red’s laugh was short and angry, and Engie stepped back, “I have long been among the living and will stay there. I am your eternal companion, your malady, your reflection. Did you think that I would not find even a single loophole for that?” it smiled, its cyan eyes sparkling.

Speck focused on Engie's face, the squint of green eyes, the light of a magical aura, the glitter of multi-layered protective fields, too weak to stop the Red, and yet sufficient for giving three extra beats to retreat from the everside to reality.

The unicorn continued, losing the initiative in the conversation, but not giving up yet, “So, the sky? Say, nine sequences of a few cycles per round, when you can stay in the sky?”

The Red seemed to consider the proposal, but a few beats later it winked at Engie and laughed again, “I will take the sky myself — in time. I don't need to rush — time is on my side. You came to me as supplicants. Everything suits me,” the wasps scattered to the sides, forming a pattern of hexagons, uneven and fickle, and Speck’s head ached after a passing glance at them, “You have nothing to offer me. Say what you need, and we will move to the feeding there.”

Engie sighed; took a few steps closer to the edge of the mirrors. Cyclone glided down to the completely exhausted Verdi, and stayed close, closer than it would have been polite, but exactly so as to share their warmth. The Red looked at them, whispered something that was beyond the camera's microphone or Speck's ears, and turned away again; termites crawled to its chest, forming a shield there.

“Black Moon would like to make peace with you. For reasons known to you, She feels more guilty than…” he started again, notably unsure.

“I don't care what she feels!” the Red snapped.

The unicorn coughed and continued, “She knows it's not the time yet. That you feel invulnerable and are controlled by anger. But later — later on, when other ponies will offer you what you would need — you will accept their gift and will not give up on their words due to the anger alone.”

“Are you done now?” the Red asked after a silence.

Engie did not answer, and Speck caught himself barely breathing in anticipation.

The Red sat down and started reciting, looking at them, in a rhythm unsteady but resurfacing, “I heard, memorized and even was impressed. No promises, as you will be the first to be offended when I break them. But here are my conditions. Whether to fulfill them is up to you. ‘Everypony chooses for themself,’ isn't it how it goes now?” it smiled, and the longing was there beyond its surety. “Neither do I owe you anything. Here are my words for your Moons; grasp them, accept them as they are and convey them to the best precision, because there will be no other words.”

Its words crawled out of the mirrors, weaving on the floor in a twisted likeness of the signs of the Black Moon; strokes were devouring each other and giving slimy birth in a growing yellowish-red mass from which Speck's eyes were capturing a mere impression, not the truth. Still it was so much more binding than any mortal pony's request: these were the alicorn's words, and by those the Red was demanding to acknowledge its superiority by a few clear and concise offerings.

“You will give me time in the sky, and thus the right to convey my light and my laws to those who want to hear them. You will not be able to give me equal time, and I am not talking about equality — but I will see and understand your will to yield to me.

“You will cripple the power of at least one of the Moons, and thus damage the balance of your Trinity. You will not be able to convey this to the ponies and correct your scriptures, and I am not talking about correcting your mistake — but I will see and understand your will to yield to me.

“You will give me space in the lands, and thus the place to look over and care for,” Now the words of Red rose nine steps above them, still vague, but piercing, like the cry of a bitten pony, "In reality, except for the vault itself, which I will not touch as it should stay safe for ponies, the lands for two-thirds of a range around, if not mine, then certainly not yours, and nopony settles on them to stay nor populate them. You will not be able to say that these are the Red’s tribute lands, and I am not talking about the tribute that I deserve — but I will see and understand your will to yield to me.

“And finally, I take the lives I can take — especially since your brave ponies made an offer. But I would have taken them anyway. Four of your messengers are mine, and the fifth will carry my words to you.

"These are my conditions. I do not promise anything in return, and this crafty workaround to reach me will no longer be enough, but if you fulfill these conditions, and then find my heiress among the living and offer her something that will be worthy of attention, then you will be treated as if you had not killed me, and I might decide then that you are in fact worthy to spare. Then we might follow up on that."

Engie, backing away from the slimy web of words, only managed to utter "Yes, but..." when the web lunged forward, disintegrating before their eyes.

A multi-colored motley mass — ants, spiders, wasps, slugs, centipedes and their curly and low buzzing impossible offspring splashed out from the net, hung over the ponies, collapsed and covered them to their heads. Above the pegasus and the earth pony a much less dense opening hung for two beats, as if the Red was wary or afraid to touch them. Speck saw that they were looking in each other’s eyes reaching out in crushing horror and deep love. Then the opening closed.

In the same beats Fractal stood against the wave, pressed himself to the floor, exposing only his head to the cloud; the unbearably bright neon blue of his aura in triangular patterns enveloped all four and lasted long enough to seem impenetrable; he cried for Engie's help to retreat and was denied with resolute "The Red has stated the price." Then the illusion's time was up and the light went out. From under the stirring multicolored chitin came Engie's cry "Fly away!"

The Red, apparently not interested anymore, turned around and disappeared among the intertwining shadows. Only then did Speck realize that Engie's last scream was for him.

Not thinking much, Speck took a few turns around to capture the lab; then waited to be eaten too. Then he darted to the mirrors and tried to follow Red, plunging into them at full speed, as in his foalhood into the ocean waves; but there was no longer any forest, nor reflections, only a colorless gray dusk, and a pungent sour stench from behind.

Until the everside spit the outsider down the stream into reality, he distracted himself with useless cleaning, and the camera, still turned on, recorded this too. By that time, he had already begun to petrify, but did not consider it particularly important; anyway, the process halted once he was no longer on the everside, and he lost only a half of each wing and lower parts of both forelegs.

A decontamination team found him on the doorstep of the laboratory. 

From then began the eighth epidemic of the era of Moderate Development by Blue Time: the third by victim tally, the largest by perceived threat and the last one that escaped the origin’s point quarantine measures — the last in Speck’s unnaturally long life that stretched over the next two eras, almost reaching into the third square nine of rounds, thus tripling over expected pegasi’s age, and doubling over the record one. 

He delivered the message to each of the Moons, more than once. He never forgot it. He never took off on his own wings again, either, as the stone, while receding and leaving him healthy at first sight, never truly went out of his body despite Heralds’ best efforts. 

He took it in stride, as he always knew that it was more than mere overexposure to the everside. Moons barely could remedy the Red's marks of affection. He never spoke about it with anypony, although Moons knew that nonetheless, of course. Eventually he got a few friends, acquaintances, students and two deeply loved ponies to look for the sky together.

There was one more thing he never shared with anypony other than in his bequest.

In his rare, vague and bitterly joyful dreams, it was the Red who wore his former wings.
> Chapter 38: Prioritizing
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


☄☄☄


Cursory Streak woke up in a gray gloom of an unfamiliar confined space. The last thing she remembered was that they, along with Storm, were following the trail of the pink pony. Cursory asked about life above. It turned out that these upper sky ponies never learned how to grow normal food and some materials still had to be delivered from below.

“Finding a replacement for the fire of life is not easy,” Storm said, and it was all the more surprising: why hide from the Moons if what They provide is so important and irreplaceable?

But then, the comparison with food — "it’s like you feel very hungry, but ordinary food just does not make it for you" — helped Cursory to see a glimpse of what it means to be addicted to the modifier.

And, once she did see, she was mortified. 

She then immediately wanted to actually do something about this because if modifiers were determinators of ponies’ wishes and aspirations — being, still, nothing but liquid or gaseous chemical compounds, not even self-aware ones as ‘Guiding Starfall-TX’ was; Faraway Storm, somewhat amused, confirmed this to her — then upper sky ponies definitely had an issue to fix, and do so urgently. It would be a high priority for Cursory Streak anyway, and she would be so very glad to help them… if they made a direct request. Without one she still could think and make plans and wish to ease the burden of these ponies, and nothing more. She had no right to intrude in the lives of other ponies. Everypony chooses for themself.

She could dream of impossible solutions, knowing that they really cannot be implemented, and that you can only save somepony who wants to be saved, and that all solutions of the sort are false, and that it’s silly to make any plans without even having a clue about how their society works. 

For example, first find ponies involved in the issue and explain what they are doing wrong, and how it harms others. If after that they would not listen still, refrain from communicating with them. Otherwise, help them return to their own path. And once this strategy failed — she was not so naÍve to think it would really work out — well, Cursory Streak in her Protecting aspect would find another way to help them.

In the middle of the conversation she fell asleep. Too much time has passed since the last good rest.

Too much time since she and Gentle Touch were sleeping at a hospital hotel, not next to each other but still together. Since Gentle Touch was still just Gentle Touch, young and shy of her own power, without this… Herald of the Red mess.

Cursory did not even try to fight the oncoming stream of sleep — knowing how to put it off for later, she also knew when a debt piled by stubbornness would become too big to pay.

Sleep was expected, awakening in a closed space was not — although clues from the magnetic sense suggested that they had not moved very far.

She looked around, already recognising this place being neither a well nor an underground containment cell — it couldn't be the latter anyway, as White Moon's presence was still there for her — but a room, and inhabited one, at least for now. She focused her ears on the sounds of quiet conversation, got out from under the covers and jumped off the couch. The cat snorted indignantly, stretched and followed her suit.

Unwilling to resist the impulse, Cursory brushed herself against Signal in a gesture of affection: she knew that the cat was a reimplant and a former pony, but her subconscious refused to believe it, and the yellowish flame of traditions and rules flickered dimly out of reach. Signal, apparently, did not mind.

Also, Cursory did not forget to ask for permission beforehoof.

They went to a table with her companions around it. Pink nodded to her and pushed a low, wide cup across the table in her direction. So we have found Pink after all, and nopony was hurt? Delightful! — and Storm raised her voice to the normal conversation level.

Solid, on the other hoof, was almost whispering, "...I might solve the Red's equation too... Solid-past, that is, maybe…”

“How’d you do that?” Storm asked, voice full of curiosity and taunt in equal measure.

“I’m not sure... I only know some of the boundary conditions. That's not sufficient for a solution. To get the rest we will need to summon...” Solid sank deeper in her chair.

"You saw the result of the summoning," Cursory heard disgust in Storm's lowered voice.

The foxberry jelly in the cup was thick, sour, and sweet. Cursory was only going to taste it, but each next spoon asked for another, and soon the cup was empty. The conversation subsided, the ponies were clearly waiting for Cursory to join, but did not want to rush her. And yet, they turned their chairs in her direction, and Solid put aside several sheets of paper with flowcharts and diagrams on it.

So, they were summoning the Red? And they didn't even wake me up for that? Cursory took note of a potential joke for later use at her station. Are they even still waiting for me, or am I already replaced by somepony younger and less rough already? Do they even remember me?

Pink beckoned her closer and smiled, “Hey, team leader,” she said while Storm shook her head but did not object, “Resolve our dispute. You are the only one from this time, one who is not an not an alien... a stranger... ally, maybe? Allianger. Gentle Touch maybe, but I'm biased towards her opinion, and she herself... Well, you know.”

Cursory shook her head, “First, what’s up with this summoning of the Red?”

“Nothing! Not a thing!” Pink answered cheerfully, “Well, actually, a little thingiesy, but it's not that important.”

Cursory tried to give the earth pony a stern look, but Pink neither budged nor begrudged, smiling and leaning and staring back. Cursory did not back down either. 

After a nine of beats Storm had to put an end to the battle of glares, “We just saw a recording. The Red was called here, and it ended very badly for the summoners. Pink says, basically, that we can repeat the call — if, and only if, we have something to say and offer to her.”

Pink nodded, “That's right. After that call… well, Solid says she can eliminate the Red, and I agree that she can indeed, for an unwieldy price. I want to bring it back to the skies, albeit I can’t — can’t yet. Storm wants to hold it accountable for all the damage, and I really doubt she is able to. What do you say?”

Cursory sat down next to her and paused. The question was too unexpected and too irrelevant. On the road of Moons you will perish, all three of you, a memory surfaced, clear, cold and glassy.

However, the answer was no less clear, as she had only to center herself and cut off the excess with a mental wingstrike, “I do say that we have a different task. We must collect the lost souls, as the Black Moon asked us to do, and then let Her decide what to do next and propose us options and possible payments to follow up. Which we then will accept or decline,” she replied.

The ponies looked at each other, and three heaps of coins floated off the table towards Storm; she smiled triumphantly, but said nothing.

“And yet, what about the Red? Imagine that here she is, what are you going to tell her?” Pink pressed on nonetheless.

“I’ll get scared... and then I’ll invite it to the table,” Cursory laughed to defuse the tension. “Although, you know, no. I will express everything I think about it, ask a few questions that I have in store, and prepare to die in six cycles or a little more, from delayed internal burns. Why do you ask?”

Pink looked at her, smiling, unblinking, “And if you are stronger than it is? If you can decide what to do with it?” The pink pony asked after a pause, slipping a pile of donuts towards Cursory.

There was no need to think here, only draw from experience; one special kind of issues were live ones. ‘Problematic individuals of greater impact’, to say it in that much more words and that much lesser precision. Those who were once, or still remained, ponies at heart. The faces that Cursory saw on the other side of the flickering screen, deemed too dangerous for close-up contact. Two or three nines cases per round, on average — whimsy,  rough, spoiled, suffering.

In next to no cases unreachable.

“If you really can just talk to it,” Cursory began slowly, Pink nodded in reply, and Cursory went on, “I would have listened to what it had to say, and then made a decision. By the way, why hasn't anypony talked to it before? I remember a few attempts at communication with severe issues arising after that, but, to think of it, I never heard of… just the talk. I need to check the system to be sure.”

“Because it requires sacrifices, apparently, and makes no deals and no promises, so no gain for a big loss,” explained Storm, and Solid added a short "hmm". 

Signal jumped on the back of the little unicorn's neck and rumbled to her ear. Storm added, “We saw a much more successful case of summoning here, by the way.”

Cursory remembered those who failed to escape the Red's rays. She paused and answered, “Even so, there must be a way to speak, if not by voice then by letter or mnemogram. And without hearing it out I will not decide on its own matters, that’s rude and may put it in danger. Let's go look for the remaining souls. This is more important for us, and this is what I agreed to do. Let the Moons deal with the Red, as They know more and understand better.”

The cat purred for three beats, and Solid turned quietly to Cursory, ”My aunt tells you to think the question through anyway. This is the right question, you have to answer it.”

Cursory swallowed the first reaction, thought, and chose words much softer, “I believe the question is correct. But I don’t believe that your three answers, although these are likely good answers, exhaust all possible options.”

They watched as if they expected Cursory Streak to continue, although Solid's face remained obscure, encrypted, hiding the true currents of thought and feeling amid the slow movements of a living golden mask. The first of its kind, the first so opaque of all who Cursory Streak has ever met, so impenetrable for her sight. Cursory could barely look at this face without a slight  rumble of pain in her head, and yet she tried on, stubborn as she was, hoping that eventually the riddle will be solved. 

Cursory shook her head, sighed, and concluded her points, “I’ll decide after I talk to it. And if I never do, then this is not my business. I believe it could be reached — in more than one sense of the word.”

The unicorn came closer. Now Solid Line was looking straight into her eyes, and Solid Line’s dark green eyes — darker than the pegasus remembered — were slowly filling most of Cursory’s world. Solid Line spelled out then, in a rhythm too slow and too steady for anything that lives, “Aunt is asking you, then: did you dream of the ocean these last few cycles?” A pause followed by, “Just in case, so as not to regret later — it is of utmost importance to me that I would have your...“

Solid began to draw a sigil of neon green with her horn in the air; Cursory jumped a few steps back, adding wings to the push; Solid promptly extinguished the unfinished image.

“Your... answer... I think,” Solid Line finished, with a long silence between each word.

Am I overthinking it, or did she change over what she actually was going to say? And could I be sure that the aunt was Signal, not some other aunt? Cursory wondered. She never asked it out loud, as that would be too awkward. The topic could wait until later. Besides, asking again might provoke another act of drawing a neon sigil; Cursory Streak shivered at the thought.
> Chapter 39: Reevaluation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


☄☄☄


All five of the team, Signal included, were around the table at their impromptu dinner, and now three of them remained there while Pink and Cursory were cleaning up: they moved off all the cups and saucers in small piles next to the sink faucet in an aside dark room. They never found how to light that room up, as Cursory’s candles and Pink’s glowworms were both dimming and sparking, giving out mere wisps of their former shine. Storm refused to help, and they decided against bothering Solid Line, as she buried herself head over hooves in her notes and did not look up since an unsuccessful attempt to ask Cursory about… Cursory still did not know about what exactly.

Cursory barely had time to make sure that the thick metal faucet was dutifully draining the water from the ancient reservoir, and there would be no need to collect rain, and was returning to the table for the third and last stack of dishes when the question was raised.

"Could you be the Red?" Solid Line asked, lifting her head from the sheets covered with diagrams and formulas in one quick movement and turning her whole body to Pink. 

Cursory froze on the doorstep of the room, her wings half spread. She, too, was interested in the answer, as it could change a lot... if it was true, that is.

Pink pointed this out with her not quite rhythmic patter, edging to a song or rhyme, "Even if I'm a double and the voice of the Red, well, so what? Then I won't tell the truth as three questions were asked and three truths have already been told. Be I glassy, you would've seen me right through. But assume I am, yes I am the queen of unbeing, how, pray tell, would I be inclined to open my heart up for you? So be kind and dismiss your inquiry, as the answer will not bring you any joy.”

Solid raised her tone, the shift subtle and small, “Just answer the question. Even if it is a lie, do speak and I will record your reply. It's up to you to decide, of course.”

Pink drooped and looked down. Then she answered quietly, “I’m a friend of the Red — even, maybe, the friend, and I am on its side. I can't hide anything important from it. It can't see through me directly, but I can't lie to it. It can, to me, I can’t at all, but Gentle and Sharp possibly could...”

Cursory hopped closer and asked, quiet but forceful, without waiting for Solid's reaction, which still would be obscured, “You mentioned Gentle Touch? Please return her to us. This is my condition and my asking, as we went to seek souls together. I need her, and I… I don't even know you.”

Pink looked around, haunted, her blue eyes, always so full of sparks, and depleted now, quickly darted aside, then again, as if in search of a way out, and changed shape and color; the grayish blue turned into a pale pink with Gentle Touch’s signature thinnest blue web thrown over irises, and Pink's wide-open gaze also gave way to Gentle Touch’s slight squint. She staggered, took an uncertain step towards Cursory, and stopped, almost falling.


The room became voiceless and empty — no more Pink, the one that gushed, the one who was appearing in two or three places at the same time, the one who did not know what silence even means, and was always ready to answer any question. Gentle Touch, now there in Pink's place, was trying to squeeze inward, curl up and cease to be. She shuddered, unable to take even a single step to anypony; this step, just one, was taken for her by Cursory.

Solid asked, “Why did you interrupt our conversation? I was onto very important data. If she was in fact associated with the Red, and there was a link to it, and she had had even a hint of agreement with us, we could end our trek and my predestination right here and now, and the Red would be truly denied the sky for three cubic nines of rounds, precisely.”

Storm intervened, and without the helmet the synthesizer could not hide her condescence, “Pink said as much. She agreed that you will likely succeed in your equation.”

Cursory turned to her. Signal, staying in its usual place on the back of Solid Line's neck, also stared directly at Storm and aimed her ears at her. 

Storm went on, “If you could, for example, attack my habitat center through my suit and destroy it, even notably damage it, I would also get rid of a suit... or attack you beforehoof. Pink all but outright confirmed she is the Red. So the fact that the Red has decided to leave is a good sign. It doesn't want to fight you.”

“Did you really assume that it had left?” Solid Line objected, pointing her hoof at Gentle, “All that we see is a change in appearance. This may be an illusion. The Red might still be looking through her eyes.”

Gentle walked closer to Cursory, slowly, bewildered, watching every step, and raised her head to look at Cursory. Tears trembled in her pink eyes, and the iris web was shifting, “No,” Gentle whispered so that only the pegasus could hear her, “I am not an illusion and not a spy. I am here. And I'm still against it. And we must find the ‘Guiding Starfall-TX’, I borrowed it from time and it must be returned so that the loop of events can be closed, otherwise I don’t know where and how I could exist.”

Cursory could not say that she does understand it all, but she saw this confusion and this  tremble of ears and lips, up close and more than three times, including, twice, in the mirror.

Still, doubts remained, so Cursory asked in the same whisper, "Against what?"

Gentle kissed her on the cheek.

This answer was enough.

Storm got up and again, with a slight hiss, assembled the helmet around her head, “Then you will help me,” said her voice synthesizer, “And I will return the honour. I need to get to the secondary base, where the transport will take me up, and this must be done in two cycles. You will be my voice and my cover on the way, for me to avoid any awkward situations and confrontations. And I... My next assignment will most likely have nothing to do with you, but if an object of the Red did remove itself, then there is no reason for me to stay under the Moons anymore, and my task is complete. And I can thank you for your help along the way. Within our capabilities.”

“I need a flask of ‘Guiding Starfall-TX’ for my friend," Cursory Streak said, and Gentle Touch nodded — that means, pushed Cursory’s foreleg with her head.

Solid asked, "Are your houses in heaven observable from below? I am surprised we don't know anything about you.”

With a barely noticeable pause, Storm answered, spelling out — as if reading from the screen, Cursory thought, “No. But if you are in doubt, then I can bring you up above with me. Please note that you are unlikely to still have any desire to return from the visit.”

“Why?” Solid Line asked.

“Because almost everything that you do, you do for the sake of your Moons, and we have no place for these lies. Those who have seen the light do not want to descend into darkness again.”

Is it a quote? Cursory wondered, replying, “Solid Line is part of our business, not yours! Isn’t that so?” the yellow unicorn nodded, and Cursory did not wait for an answer, as she went on, and for three beats that followed she felt that other voice was speaking through her, “She needs to find her friends and return home in no way less than you, ruffian, and I will not deviate from the path that I am laying for our thread, no matter how hard you try to hinder us!”

These words sounded in a way that Cursory herself could never have been able to. She always was the biggest in height and strength among all ponies there, even Storm with her suit. Still, something even greater was coming. Cold superiority, aloof whiteness, a crystal lake that accepts only true connoisseurs, that seemed new; except it was not, as Cursory recalled a few past encounters.

In these beats, she was taller, stronger, better than everypony around, not only by the body — although that was fitting! — but also by the right of long and ruthless work on herself, countless rounds and generations that have passed in honing all talents, skills and abilities, purity of thoughts and intentions. This was also completely out of Cursory's accustomed style — the kind of Cursory she thought she was from the birth, or from a birth looking at it from the other side. 

But the ice non-princess, in turn, was ready to see Cursory for who she was — to assess, to assign, to attest, and to stay next to Cursory to help her reach her best and achieve her goals.

And it went on. Cursory felt infallible ice inside, the ice in nothing but color alike to one of White Moon’s five flames, and utterly defying White Moon in all the other means; words, will and power of the entity that was not Cursory Streak except when she was were, for now, woven together to perform a true strike on a designated target, “You say our world is dying. You say we must save those who are worthy. You say you need our help. Why do you, a stitch on the fabric of the highest goal, give up so easily and succumb to difficulties and obstacles, and why are you so ready to weaken our glorious party? Everything that we do requires perfection in our hearts. We all invest everything we are capable of in the common cause, and hide not a shard of power in our aspirations. And you, with all your experience and strength, were going to leave — to leave when there was no more than one pony remaining to invoke the six you were looking for? What scares you, oh my friend and foe of many of our lives? The light of the Moons, the failure of your technology, the need to commute with strangers?”

Cursory exhaled sharply, but the voice inside, which was not Cursory and yet was always Cursory, was not yet done ruining Storm’s mental defenses, “I would say that I am disappointed, the seventh out of the six, and, should you leave, I will be — I assure you that I will be — not only disappointed but working on your miracle only reluctantly, as an artist making a commission without a spark of divine inspiration — but the time is not up yet, so I hope that you gather your will to stay on the way, give it everything that you can — as we will do ourselves, and as we had done so many times in the past, together!”

She coughed; ice non-queen was not there anymore, as if she never had been in the first place. The room became warmer, and on the floor under Cursory's hooves — she looked — there was definitely no skin of frost. Storm's helmet was turned towards her and through glares at the visor’s glass Cursory could see her wide, confused eyes.

The hanging silence was broken only by Gentle Touch’s quiet sobs, and Cursory did not know how she could help, but she could not turn away, or show any sign of weakness for that matter.

After a few beats, the helmet parted to the sides again, revealing Storm's face, and she said, with a deep serene sadness, “It is much worse than I thought. I have to change my mind. The six are there, and the traveler returns victorious.”

She stomped with her heavily armored leg, and a shudder went through the floor of the room; the remaining cups chimed.

“I'll go with you, to look for the last lost soul. I'll regret it, but all the other ways are… unleashing the six in an uncontrolled manner, I think,” Faraway Storm said, her newfound resolve tainted with despair.

It seemed that Cursory should have been satisfied, but instead she was trapped in an illusory cloud, to fight her way out only as all her friends were already gone. She was awarded a platinum medal for victory, but too easily, without truly deserving it, and with her name written on it with a typo. She had returned home; home with windows wide open to outlandish cold, and rooms chilled, and larvae crawling on the floor. It is a trap! her intuition screamed out loud, and Cursory was used to trusting it.

But first...

“So, I'm the leader of the team, I am allowed, temporarily and within reason, to choose for you, and you willingly and consciously grant this right to me, and it is established?” Cursory asked.

Storm nodded silently. Solid Line grunted in the affirmative. Gentle just came even closer, so that the distance became almost negative, and that was the answer too.

Well...

"Then we'll escort Storm to her base," Cursory said quietly but with confidence. “I think she’s right. We walked too long along the Moons’ road, not even thinking where it would lead us. Let's try to take off.”

And, after all, to understand how the ponies of the upper sky live, she thought. Then she directed all her inner fire at the ice non-empress from the other side, I — am — choosing for myself!

Nopony — and nothing else — replied.
> Chapter 40: Takeoff
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


☄☄☄


They were waiting for the aviette to a distant part of the city — almost to the point from where Metropolis once began Her growth. Solid Line hurriedly cast a disguise spell for Storm's suit. Storm refused to remove it, and it was dispersing magic patterns, thus forcing Solid first to create a support grid surrounding the suit without ever actually touching it, and then to weave the disguising pattern on a grid. 

Cursory Streak and Gentle Touch were listening to the light of their Moons, although only White Moon was above the horizon. They were silent about what they saw and what they made out of it. Were making, maybe, each one by her own, Cursory thought.

The flight to the extraction point was long, and the aviette was expecting three passengers rather than four even beside the cat. Cursory took the risk for everypony, and in flight tried to figure out what exactly Solid Line had in mind as a weapon against the Red. She elaborated, though that did not help much: some kind of message or knowledge, encrypted in Solid’s memory that destroys the connectivity of the damned one.

Gentle stayed close to Cursory, and together they made an agreement with Storm that up there the "Guiding Starfall-TX" vial will be given to Gentle as needed.

“Extraction is a drilled sequence,” Storm mentioned in passing, “Unless one of your unbounds had broken the shelter, I will know what to do.”

On arrival, the yellow light of street lamps enveloped them like an old blanket. These lamps were considered obsolete time and again. They were disdained for their inefficiency, and still did their job. Houses on the side of the streets were made of bricks burned on a living fire — old but with clean pargeting, placed with care and washed with love. They saw food in the windows, and could get it as a gift, should they desire so as a team of the Trinity.

They did, in fact, but not so much to rob ponies of their honest work, so Gentle Touch bought a few plates of cheese and vegetables; Storm refused but was clearly hungry, and they made an effort to give her enough time out of the team’s sight.

This part of the city had seen lives of much more than a few generations, and yet more still. It was alien in itself, out of time, and Solid Line commented on that. They did figure out that Solid does not like it there, and inquired further. So Cursory Streak got a picture: when Solid Line was alive in her past, there was a custom that sometimes sectors really do discuss which one of them is objectively better for living, and were contesting for a prize. They had found a terminal then, and Cursory did check it with her tech access codes as it was out of public sight; this custom was, indeed, technically alive but put on indefinite hold — or to eternal sleep — shortly after Solid Line went to her long slumber.

Solid Line took the news calmly, as usual, and noted that of course Metropolis has the right to be what She wants to be.

Ponies loved Metropolis, and the obsolete form of the pronoun 'She', which remained now only in application to the city and to the Moons, also meant 'The one that provides.'

She — Metropolis — breathed underhoof.

A tall, mint green unicorn, definitely not dressed in a heavy suit, not eager to touch anything, scanned her surroundings, trying without much diligence to hide her disgust.

Cursory trotted behind, passionately hoping for the motley ragtag team not to throw anything too much out of order. In her mind she was biting herself for naivety.

And yet they attracted the attention of the locals. Very discreet one, it was still there. The team’s striking appearance, connection with the Moons too bright, and — as they hoped — touch of the Red too faint to point it out for sure, but unaccountably disturbing.

They were a team of heroes, in a sense, Cursory Streak thought, and another part of her raised her relaxed attention to check things around.

The ancient Six as a whole did not strive to be remembered, and two of them would even like to stay forgotten. But four others remained, either neutral or looking for attention, and as a sum there was a trace behind them — Cursory got this explanation in so many words from the harsh and rude voice of the one who could rival her in speed had she been among the living.

The trace was an imprint in the air and in memory — expectations, impressions, hopes. The ponies were watching them — not even knowing why, not on purpose. At the same time they were not calling Heralds out, because they were in no need for the team’s help, really.

Gentle Touch, quiet and decent, cast desperate glances at Cursory when she thought no pony was looking at her. She was diligently not looked at back.

Solid Line sometimes raised her head, looked at Gentle, then at Cursory, and did not ask anything either.

Storm moved back in their line-up over time to not challenge Cursory's leadership.

They impersonated buckby fans. This prompted unwelcome invites to flirt or share drinks but removed all the questions save for one — why go to the old stadium, if there is no game and will not be until the next Conjunction?

A cool concrete shadow engulfed them.

While they were passing through the wide fan rostrum, Gentle Touch had disappeared. Cursory, quickly and in sequence, went through a bout of professionally hidden panic, an assessment of the consequences of the Red’s Herald being left unchecked in the area, the same but with an assumption of a full stadium here, choices to make when it will be found who exactly brought said Herald here. At this point she managed to derail herself from the line of thought; Gentle Touch will not deceive me! I will find her! A short search led her to a half-abandoned vending machine.

Gentle Touch was trying to buy a modifier. The roughest, crudest one: alcohol.

‘Three-quarter kicking turn’. Cursory had heard about it many rounds ago, as a foal. Everypony had heard about it, actually.

It was... not the right modifier for a filly, no matter how bad she felt. It was what adults drink, strong, heated by victory or defeat. Earth pony stallions; those who implicitly meant to message ‘I am ready to fight for my own and among my own, I understand and accept the traumatic consequences.’

The strength of this ‘drink’, as Cursory knew for sure, facilitated making incendiary bombs out of it. Some unbounds were actually doing that. Gentle has tried to acquire —  successfully — four triangular packages. The purchase was so inappropriate that the status was not enough, and she had to deposit money in addition. Four pyramids of processed sugar were stacked and bandaged on her back too.

Without even trying to take any of these away, Cursory exhaled and saw that the trouble had just begun.

It was not even about ethics, not about getting in without a prompt. It was the fact that Cursory knew the mood.

Stubbornly clenched jaw, suddenly cold — just a beat ago so kind — eyes, firmly stepping pale orange legs. This earth pony needs no help. She will go to the end, do whatever is necessary, and fall dead. Then she would wake up and go on all over again. Or not, if the death would be for real... It doesn't matter.

“Why do you need it?” Cursory asked then.

Gentle raised an eyebrow in confusion.

“In which way will being drunk help you along the way?” Cursory rephrased, hiding annoyance.

Gentle laughed — and it wasn't Pink's crazy laugh; Cursory yearned for that voice and for that smile, and for more, “Ah! You thought that... No, it won't work on me the way you think. But I need calories. Lots and lots of fast calories. There was not enough sugar, not even close, so...”

Cursory nodded and walked back. Gentle Touch was not lying, nor hiding much. A tiny bit of ‘something more left unsaid’ was in her face though. There was nopony else in the corridor except them. She did not hear words whispered from behind, “Once this is over, you will belong to— we will talk.”

Dealing with an issue, sometimes you shouldn't let either it or yourself know about the hint you just received from the station. Otherwise, negotiations could just fall apart. This was exactly the case.

“If we survive…” Cursory Streak whispered quietly hoping that nopony would hear her.

Futile hope. Gentle Touch had read me through before, more than once...

An inconspicuous corner ended with a door marked by an office building sign. Storm, squinting at the projection in a suit — a screen invisible to others beyond her disguise — slowly retreated five steps, darted and jumped through the wall. 

Solid stepped forward and tried to check up the wall, but painted concrete replied to magic scanning that it was only that — a painted concrete and nothing else. One more step in, Solid disappeared too. The ponies exchanged glances and followed her.

The connection with White Moon dimmed as it always does underground, and Cursory checked her inner fire; it still fluttered in her heart. Everything is fine...

Under the stadium, despite the muted White Moon, it was unusual and interesting.

Bright crystals on the walls of the mine were powerless to fill a huge space with their light; they seemed to be the stars of a small dark universe.

The huge bowl of the stadium, when viewed from below, was just a ceiling resting on colossal beams and ramparts. With their help, individual sections could move, rise, drive off to the sides, giving way to others and thus changing the rules of the game. Almost the same as what their squad was going to do.

It took a long time for the elevator to descend past the platforms of bulky old equipment, along huge pipes and cables. As they went deeper, the place began to come alive.

Lights flashed, illuminating the unpainted, sturdy walls. The equipment was awakening, filling the space with the measured hum of coolers.

Deep below the bottom a crystal reactor rumbled. What are they hiding here? It was already deprecated when my grandmothers weren’t yet born!

“This,” Storm explained, shouting over the equipment’s loud hum, “is an automatic teleport. It will ferry us to the landing site, located…” she looked askance and went on, “where launches do not attract attention. From there we will go to my home.”

The ponies looked around with quick, tenacious glances. The untold tangible impression was spread over the entire team, connecting them: in other ponies’ faces, Cursory saw the same as in herself, and so they were together.

Ancient tech could often be more powerful than modern tech, at the cost of size and energy consumption. It could be stronger, more robust and secure, as some devices turned to the everside for energy, feeding shields and anchoring shapes and structures for immutability, until it was no longer recommended. 

It could be more sophisticated, too. For those who chose a set of preferences similar to Cursory in resolving issues, stories about minds completely gone into their death-bed developments, enchantments or devices, usually ceased to be mere dreadfuls around their first square nine of solutions. Since not long ago Cursory did not celebrate her own square nines anymore.

But for all that, ancient technology, however much one would like to, could not be called caring or considerate. In addition, everything was changing over a sufficiently long time — even the seemingly immutable color codes of warnings, the meaning of sound signals, the control interface. Cursory recalled an example from the training course — a high priority issue of the ‘multiplying’ type which began with the fact that an unfortunate pony had found an ‘on’ button on an ancient kitchen machine, but the ‘off’ one turned out to be much less obvious. 

If something went wrong, they won't even have time to understand it.

But Storm knew what she was doing, and trusted her hardware.

“Stand in a circle,” Storm said.

A circle of lamps lit up on the concrete floor. Having finished her magic with the remote control, Storm hastily joined them. It became crowded, and after a beat very bright and full of pain.

The launch pad seemed to be built by some other ponies. Or not a pony, but maybe aliens after all. If one did not know this for sure, one might definitely suppose so.

Darkness, rough concrete and strong iron reigned beneath the stadium. Here, at the spaceport sheltered in the mountains, there were openwork structures, aluminum and plastic coloured white, smooth lines and minimalism in everything.

In the perfectly white room of the starting preparation, they were savages, Forest beasts taken to the laboratory for research, with a timid hope that they will be released later. Only Storm was at home here.

Before takeoff, it was necessary to wash themselves — outside and inside; to dry off; to get a few injections; weight themselves; donate blood and dress in white. Towards the end, Cursory moved through the motions as if through ritual dances that would not end well.

The elevator lifted them to the white capsule crowning the huge white column of the ship.

Knowing for sure that something is coming to an end and that the deed is irreversible, they occupied four cradles. The fifth went to Signal.

With a continuous crash and bright light from below, with a heavy load on their chests, the familiar world toppled down and stayed there. Pain visited Cursory’s body again, then subsided as they came into orbit and thus became weightless.

A pegasus doesn't need to be told about freefall — but Cursory Streak felt something more. A calling, perhaps. The lightness in and around Cursory was as far from usual freefall as blue color was from the bitter taste, and as both of these were from the delight of the first unfinished fall. Instinctively trying to reach White Moon, she felt not emptiness but space unlimited.

Her wings stretched wide, out into a shimmering six-color infinity. Here and now she was capable of anything she wanted. Any word she would say now could become the rule of the world. A twitch of her feather could bring a thunderstorm below.

Cursory Streak opened her eyes; she looked into space — while remaining part of the space herself. Now she realized: her world — a fragile ball under a thin veil of the atmosphere — does not know even a tiny share of the true power of the Moons.

She had been feeding on White's fire before. She was a dried twig in White's conflagration now, burning, struggling in vain to keep the mortal form.

She was so tempted to just give in, dive in space, inhale the power, and be the Moon from here on out. Nopony would ever stay unguarded before her weariless sight. Nopony would feel any threat anymore. Nopony would suffer, ever again.

It was her love, and the fact that the loved one was right here and was truly caring about her if not reciprocating the feeling, that helped Cursory Streak remain a mere pegasus — for a beat that made all the difference.

She cut off the power of White from herself with all her will and soul, and a crushing void came in its place. She curled up, floating in the air, crying in deepest despair and brightest desires which were flashing through her mind, changing each other thrice per beat. 

That was noted by ponies of her team moments later, and the team was there for her through this unending torture: worried, mindful, tender. In the dark about whatever was going on, they still were there. Shortly after, getting a hint of a picture, in curiosity, attention and care they were again and again saying — with more than just words — that Cursory Streak is a beautiful mare, that she is an interesting pony, and that the team effort will likely fall apart without her.

That helped, after a long time.
> Interlude 4: Evolution
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


(blank flank)


It could be interesting to step into an unknown door. A shiver of anticipation — you never know what might be there.

It was always interesting to go through this door. There could be anything.

Gentle Touch exhaled and pushed the scraped metal with her hoof. It opened, which was a good sign in itself.

Entering the den of unbounds, one should assess the situation first.

The looted things were piled up in the hallway. Apparently, her friends went out for a walk without her. Checking the pile, Gentle traced their creative path as if she was there in person: first, a sports-and-weapons store, with trophies already used — this, with no doubt, was Flame's initiative. Confectionery — in part melted by the heat, soiling heavy balls, chains and a BB gun underneath.  Well, it could have been anypony, even myself, if I were with them. Factory clothes and jewelry, also irreparably smeared with ice cream — unclear, but probably Broadstream. And… apparently they visited a robotic repairs store too, far away from the den. Yeah, so Dispassion is at home.

Three out of nine on the notability scale. So far so good.

Step two: take a look at the large and extremely durable — thick antimagic steel, Dispassion's masterpiece — phase clock on the wall. An ordinary piece of furniture for an adult pony with a degree of connections outside their own alignment. A matter of life and death for any unbound living with a company. That is, for any unbound barring a scarce minority.

Gentle preferred not to remember the loners she had met.

So, White on the descent, Blue on the rise, Black at Her zenith. Red is not there, with no chance to appear in the observed time frame.

It might be a good cycle. Maybe.

Listening to sobbing sounds, noticing the tremor of light from the neighboring rooms, Gentle went into the kitchen.

Something was wrong.

Somepony took Stroke's markers to paint the walls in the kitchen in small, tight letters. Right on top of Stroke's older paintings on the walls. When markers, pencils and felt-tip pens ran out, oil paints, crayons, charcoal and everything else were used. That would be a call for fierce fight if only Stroke would still be with them. They always kept enough painting material around since his accident; being in the mood, White's unbounds could open their veins and keep writing with their own blood as it was that much more powerful. They once thought this was a city legend.

Squinting, Gentle tried to read the closest paragraph. Somepony wrote down the rules of the bowling game.

A few fiery red feathers were glued to the ceiling, having melted the plastic.

I see.

Following the trace of the bowling rules from the first onwards, further on to the dining table, also painted through regardless of the leftover food, Gentle proceeded to what could once be called the living room.

Rules went into it, and stopped there.

Broadstream sat on the floor, hugging Dispassion who was sobbing. A pack of Dispassion’s ‘foals’ was scattered around the room. Flame was nowhere to be found.

"Where is Flame?" Gentle asked, carefully unloading the food from her back onto the floor.

This caused a new cascade of tears.

Broadstream looked around, shook her greenish wavy mane, and shot back an icy glare.

The answer was already in Gentle's mind. She just didn't want to believe it.

"She grew up," Broadstream said.

That’s it. Gentle felt her body turned into fragile glass, and that glass dropped onto the hard concrete floor. Not literally.

"At least she didn’t die, unlike… you know... and your cry will help nopony," Gentle Touch said, blinking down her own tears.

It was cruel to say that and she knew it. Growing up was inevitable. Those who passed through it together had to either stay apart, or… while there was another path which allowed friendship nonetheless, it demanded many other sacrifices, and only a select few followed it. Normally, a muddy mixture of fear, disgust, embarrassment and encroaching madness would push them away from each other forever. They couldn't even settle down closer than a few blocks away.

Pretending nothing had happened, Gentle opened the refrigerator and began to arrange her groceries, thanking herself that she did not forget to check the phase clock.

There will be a time to mourn Flame. Now was a time for more urgent matters.

First it was necessary to tidy up Dispassion. A robotics master during Black Moon at Her zenith, in a bad mood, when at least seven of her clicking ‘foals’ crawled around — she was extremely dangerous. At any beat Dispassion could give the order to ‘fix everything’. After that, even Moons might not know how robots will understand it. Beyond that the ‘fixing’ will likely be delayed until an ‘optimal’ time when resistance will be minimal; and that it will be performed with ingenuity inferred from the best engineer that Gentle knew — not like she knew a lot — and with impeccable thoroughness due to their mechanical nature. Without any respect for somepony else's life or property. Maybe somepony might integrate a set of rules for all mech to care for ponies, Gentle Touch thought.

With the bags done, Gentle stepped back and sat down on what was still a chair under the layers of dirt, paint, food, and tech glue. It was necessary to act with haste, while Blue was still on the rise. Broadstream, gradually aligning to Blue like Gentle herself, could only make things worse. The methods of ‘consolation’ offered by her aspect in this situation were not fitting to put it mildly.

Gentle closed her eyes and attentively peered into the bubbling wad of energies on the floor.

White hot vexation and throbbing blue lust was Broadstream. Let’s leave the annoyance out for now. It’s unpleasant but not dangerous. Now for lust — unlock the stream from orange sympathy, and lock it to irritation. It will turn to (us) me. First there will be a scene, some tears, and possibly a fight. Thanks Moons, she is not Flame, otherwise (we) I would be done for. After that... Gentle felt a tickle of desire within herself. After that will be later. The main thing is that Broadstream will not tick off Dispassion for now.

Moving to Dispassion. A powerful and swift golden stream of pure pain of loss, a red-brown mist of guilt. The guilt is growing with every beat, threatening to provoke action by itself. Not good at all. Also, reasons not clear, but we will also clarify this later.

Time went on.

What to do, what to do? Brute force cannot suppress it... Nopony to speak with in this state, either. A delicate push is needed. Let’s align her to the present, not the past.

Gentle Touch carefully combined the flow of loss with her own image as well as with Broadstream's image. The flow immediately changed, sorrow replaced by fear and love. Not ‘I lost a friend’ anymore but ‘I could have lost these friends too.’ Gentle Touch felt like a monster. Still, both living bombs were defused.

It seemed that this cycle will end in an orgy. Broadstream had this effect, usually.

It could have been worse. Now it was finally an opening to find out what was the matter.

“What happened?” Gentle Touch asked.

After a quick and angry fight unleashed in reply — the fight Gentle foresaw and was prepared to — a somewhat drained Broadstream began the story. Two surface frostbites from glancing rays were placed on Gentle during the fight, and a few more missed. Could be worse, she reminded herself once again.

It all started when they were hungry and not knowing when Gentle Touch would return with food, if at all. Flame, the recognized leader of the team, planned an attack on the confectionery store that had been reconnoitered a few cycles before.

The swift attack, of course, ended in total victory: food seized, a pastry chef seduced, too slow cash registers, leaking stoves, creaky doors, a loose chair and a broken, sparkling, sign at the door — all weary from time and neglect, waiting only for Dispassion to truly shine — were repaired. A ledger was checked for mistakes and corrected. A late visitor was fought with passion and then immediately kissed — with passion too.

Then the action moved to the sports store across the street. There was no time to misbehave much there: Flame went for a sparring with a strong elderly stallion who was choosing weights, Dispassion gloomily examined the design of a sports simulator, finding how to improve it, preferably right now, Broadstream composed a song about the conquest of the confectionery and was checking where to get a set of instruments, starting with a mandolin... Around then, Flame's gaze fell on the bowling ball.

So they went bowling.

At this point, Broadstream was crying too.

Sport and unbounds did not go well together. More precisely they were too good together. Like flame and gasoline.

They had a conflict because of the rules. Bowling was not an organized sport, it was a way to spend an evening together with mild stimulating modifiers — and who, by and large, cares about the outcome or the details of the rules?

Nopony, except Flame at White Moon’s zenith.

When they got out of the bowling alley, their hooves were leaving bloody prints; they barely avoided murder, as without Gentle Touch there was nopony to cool them down. Dispassion was slowing the team with her head down. For her to feel better, they went to an electronics store. They even honestly paid for what they took.

On the way back, Dispassion, prone to systematize, began to think out loud how to avoid further violence. All that was needed were new correct rules...

New correct rules. That’s what she said when they entered the den.

It was heard by Flame.

Growing up from an unbound is an inescapable, irreversible and painful process. It will come and go. It will cause a fit and release. Then it will turn an unbound inside out, and an adult in their place will not be the same pony.

For the next two slices, Flame Spark, an unbound, burned and wrote. She continued to write, pausing only for triumphant dances in the air. Uniform, clear, consistent rules that will henceforth be applied to bowling. Generations later, professional bowling that was given life this cycle by Flame Spark, will be held according to Flame’s code — probably with addendum or expansion from somepony else; still, the core rules were set as is from now and forever, with only Moons to say a significant word about it, should They even bother.

And then, having gone out in every sense and having photographed her notes with an anklet, Flame Spark, now an adult, quietly packed her things and went away forever. She will never become a Herald nor perform anything close to the feat ever again, as she exhausted her wellspring and damaged her channels in the act — and Gentle Touch didn’t want to think this awful destiny through.

“I see,” Gentle sighed.

At least Flame will live. How will we manage now without her? Blue-Blue-Black. Gentle remembered — not for the first time — a colt less than a block away. Not yet an unbound, no. Not even aligned to any Moon much. But how much does a foal need? A nudge. Soft, gentle touch, assisted with eyes that could see.

Taking the first steps towards Broadstream, Gentle turned her head back and for a little longer than a beat looked to where her own mark would appear once she would find her true talent.

It will come, don’t worry. Later. For now, we have an orgy.
> Chapter 41: Connection
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


⊛⊛⊛


Gentle avoided touching Cursory Streak's web not because she was not asked to — the situation strongly reminded her about unconscious patients' cases in her tutoring — but because of a bad feeling.

Touching a channeling Herald was always like playing with fire, even if it was necessary at times. In Cursory's case, ‘playing with fire’ was not a figure of speech. Cursory’s web glowed with dangerous heat at Gentle's first directed intent to reach for it, even before any actual touch. The petal of her inner flame blocked her line of contact, expanded and all but hissed ‘You are unallowed here’.

Gentle had seen a resistance like this before, a long time ago — long for her relatively short life, not including the unending dream of the Red, now mostly forgotten thanks to the 'Guiding Starfall-TX' that she got from Pink — and under very different circumstances. For example, a bulb of a new tulip hybrid found by her dad simply refused to grow with its neighbors, and after a few futile attempts her mom advised Gentle Touch not to rush, "Everything has its time under the sky, gecko." Then there were cases of working with pregnant mares, when the souls of the unborn were often interfering with Gentle the same way; too distant to see them well, still close enough to deny the touch.

That was nothing more than a minor bump on the road, as Gentle Touch was more than just her talent or magic.

She was good at listening and Cursory wanted to talk about her experience, especially with Gentle. After hearing the pegasus out, still remaining next to her — not only as bodies, since in a cramped spaceship they could not keep distance anyway, but in spirits too — she and Solid exchanged glances and tried to reach for their Moons.

They both heard almost no response, as if they were deep underground. The Moon was there, and that was it.

Storm watched them with a condescending smile. Cursory, her head still drooped, once again said that she is hearing White Moon’s call, too powerful to keep resisting it; that she does not know what triggered the call; and that she will not leave them while she has a voice in it, at least until they complete their search.

“Also, we need to recon about upper sky ponies, too,” Cursory added.

Gentle clearly saw that the call that Cursory still struggled against was coming from inside rather than outside. It was Cursory’s own fire demanding to be free. Gentle was at a loss about how to say this without being rude, imprecise, harmful.

Faraway Storm’s heavenly city appeared around them with neither warning nor any added gravity — white walls blocked the starry void visible through the porthole. Six locals — counting only those who had floated in the air before the window — helped them out. The decontamination that Storm had mentioned was likely deemed unnecessary, postponed or performed without them even knowing about it.

The team, following the invitation, reached the adjacent hall through a round door that slid to the side. Signal had to be rescued, hugged and kept close — in zero-gravity, her body believed that it was, indeed, constantly falling, and she was totally unable to move on her own. Even hanging in place was beyond the abilities of a cat.

A secretary wrote down their names. Gentle swam aside, looked around, half-heartedly checking on the secretary.

He was talking to Storm, expressing the overseers’ displeasure at the uninvited and unexpected guests — ones who were more than a grade above simply moonlit, too! ‘You could as well bring in a few unbounds, why wouldn't you?’

Storm was taking this in stride, reminding about her being a field operator and thus being able to pick invitees at her own discretion. He suggested that she is compromised and should be demnesied. He thought he was speaking quietly enough. 

Strictly speaking, Gentle Touch did not hear the sound and was not sure about the exact wording; she didn’t even look at them, as her eyes were closed for now, and her head was turned to them only by coincidence. It was totally impolite to eavesdrop. More than that, until now Gentle Touch never had been able to see conversations through webs — trembles of separate thoughts were too fine for her to see. 

The giant yellowish-white sphere was full of books, cameras, screens and projections hanging in the air, thick and thin wires stretched from door to door outlining rope walkways of sorts. The screens were mostly off, but Gentle had the feeling that she was being watched from all sides and with many eyes; that she is small, defenseless, and that she is not welcome here at all. Smells of ozone and ash tickled her nose, though she did not see open flame, compressors were rustling forced ventilation, ambient light slowly shifted along the spectrum similar to how Blue Moon always does it, except these colors were shifting around the yellow.

Signal nuzzled her. The cat, tightly clasped by her front legs, did not even try to get out of the embrace, but turned her head towards Solid, so Gentle swam — or flew — up to the unicorn. Gentle Touch was uncomfortable here too, she wanted solid ground under her hooves, but the climbways actually turned out to be reliable paths, elastic and stable — at least for zero-g.

Solid, with her dense green and purple web, was unreadable. 

Gentle decided to simply ask, "How are you?"

“Me? I'm calm,” Solid answered in a beat. She did not turn her head towards Gentle. Not that it was needed.

“So… it’s nice, I assume?” Gentle suggested hesitantly. It was very unusual to look and not see. Solid looked literally encrypted, deliberately hidden. Unusual, but nice. Solid’s face was itself a work of art — too bad she was hiding it now.

“Yes. My connection with the Moon is weak. I am a bad Herald. You're not the best one either. I believe that is why we are not affected by the influence from which Cursory Streak suffers. I am bad at being Herald — my past self was so much better, and I remember that, and it’s painful — and I am constantly required to be a Herald anyway. Here I don't need my alignment anymore. Neither internally nor externally.”

She abruptly stopped her speech. Gentle Touch thought that was all, and looked around before turning to Solid Line to say something warm, encouraging or accepting. In that beat, without even a subtle change of pose, Solid Line appeared much closer to her, touching Gentle’s fur by her tail, still hunched and looking away. 

The unicorn whispered dryly, “I am discarded. I am not called for. I am sad and I am free. Much more free than you could even imagine.”

With an effort, Gentle Touch managed to neither ask for a distance nor shift away herself. She is Black-aligned, after all... 

“Please don't go? You are welcome to me,” Solid added.



Gentle was not going to leave, but, surprised, she asked not what she was intending to ask before, “What’s with your mission against the Red then? How do you deal with it from here? And your Moon and Cursory and I need you, as one of the souls…”

“You don’t need me as myself!” Solid Line never raised the tone but her tempo went faster, “My past self didn't need me too. Just me to get the job done. To take revenge. To untangle the Red after it killed my mother. Past-Solid’s mother, as I don’t even remember her much. I believe that I do not want revenge anymore. I am a tool for it, sure, but I am not interested. I know I can do that, sure. I have already solved this problem, and it will work. Why should I run the program if I already know it will work? Think about it. Or feel it. And don't go,” Solid spoke even faster now — and not only did she not look Gentle in the eye but turned her back on Gentle; Solid’s words were utterly contradicting her body language.

Gentle whispered, “I'm listening to you.”

“I need something else now. I need no revenge, even as I am made as a tool for one. I need myself,” Solid Line said, either in response to these words, or into the air.

“Me too, gecko,” a third voice intervened from the side, hanging over Gentle’s ear.

Natural, smooth, lively voice, and only a barely noticeable, shortest pause after the click consonants gave out the speaker. And, of course, the tone itself was caring, a little condescending. In Gentle's life, only two ponies spoke to her like that. Also, Sharp Cut, but that barely counted.

Gentle turned sharply around and swam to the side, having lost the cable nearby.

The steel-silver unicorn looked at her with deep black eyes — black to absolute emptiness, without glares and reflections, without colourful irises, without a trace of life in them.

This time she was steel in a more literal sense. 

“Is there a place at your table that still remains, Gentle Touch? You will make a pie soon, and now I, and my creatures, want a piece of it. But be warned, your tricks no longer work on me,” Acute Dispassion said.


Gentle closed her eyes, looked — and did not see anypony at Dispassion’s supposed place.

It seems to be a rhetorical question...
> Chapter 42: Solution
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


⊛⊛⊛


“We are always happy to listen and share a pie, companion,” Gentle answered warily, “After all, you are aligned to Black Moon akin to my friend here?.. Or, I suppose, you were.”

Dispassion did not answer. 

Solid Line commented, “Alignment is complicated and incoherent here. Cursory Streak reports that she caught the fire. Since then I and Gentle both felt almost no link to our respective Moons even though we are Heralds too. I still feel this freedom. Never before have I felt clarity so thorough. I can solve everything, given time and space, and I need no Black Moon for that. As if I am aligned to somepony else, and don’t know to whom exactly.”

Dispassion waved her front hooves crosswise in the air, as if she was about to knock them against each other, but missed.

Gentle politely paused, but there was still no reply, so she continued, out of the corner of her eye noticing that Cursory Streak flew next to them; she did not risk to turn away from Dispassion even for a third of a beat, “When we band together the six as Black Moon asked us to do, we will have a chance to resurrect Her… I think. I believe She said so, and the Moons don't lie. This will help you too, won't it? But if you need something else, I am listening.”

“What do you remember from the time when we were unbounds?” Dispassion replied to a question with a question of her own. She directed her void-filled eyes at Gentle, and earth pony hesitated.

Cursory replied instead, “Nothing good. I am collecting stories to petition my Moon and revoke this age. It is useless and there are those who perish in it,” Cursory Streak winced, “And I feel that I need no petition. I can set the rule myself, if I just give in and dive into the White’s fire.”

Gentle, embarrassed, glanced at Cursory, and replied for herself, "Not much. We were together and were coming to the ocean. You had a constant desire to fix everything, and you often achieved it. We decided that we would not part even after we grew up. We found the dancing whirlwinds, we paid the due price and made our connection lifelong, and we were together ever after... until I was burned by the Red. After that, you were the first to stop visiting me in the hospital sector. I'm not offended!" Gentle added hastily.

She even managed not to turn and look at her right side; weak pressing pain resurfaced for a beat, and her coat there never since had been as it was before.

“It would be irrational to visit you. There was no way to meaningfully help you there at your bed. I needed to follow our oath in the most optimal way.” Dispassion said, "Once you were injured by the Red, I resorted to solve your issue from the very foundations instead, and I drew conclusions. The first conclusion: you suffered because you are alive, but this can be corrected by transferring you to a more robust form of being. The second conclusion: the Moons are destroying the world, but this can be corrected if we would find a way to erase Their words. The third conclusion: the Red is inevitable as long as there are Moons above us, but this can be corrected by destroying the Moons — not alicorns but the Moons as stellar bodies. And all the conclusions come together in a single solution that covers them all."

Solid Line did not even wait for Dispassion to finish, "The third conclusion is incorrect!"

Dispassion turned her metal head towards Solid Line, “If you want to convince me, you need to provide support for your claims. We can discuss; here and now. I have not forgotten the Black Moon's ways, little Herald. If you fail, I'll take your rig. It will serve a better purpose. I already knew that the other two conclusions were correct, but I am grateful for the independent confirmation."

Solid curled up and hid behind Cursory; the pegasus looked at her and raised her wing, protecting.

Gentle Touch felt dizzy. She didn't want to believe that these good, albeit a little strange, ponies were the enemies of the Moons. She knew not what to say, and did not even want to listen to any explanations — they could convince her mind, but she would still feel that the Moons are needed. Needed for herself, for Metropolis, all those who under Their light are never alone, and... she still needed to get the ‘Guiding Starfall-TX’. She clutched Signal, squeezed and meowing, and did not let go.

Cursory asked the question in Gentle's place, annoyed and weary but without malice, "So what can we do for you, since you, like the main character of a bad comic, knows how to save the world?"

Dispassion turned around in the air, her horn glowing with a ghostly blue methane fire.

“If you find it easier to process the data organised by images or icons, I can arrange them in that way too,” she said.

Cursory winced, Gentle smiled at her, trying to support her, ashamed by Dispassion’s jab. There was no Dispassion herself for Gentle's eyes, closed for a third of a beat, and for a moment too long she thought that real Dispassion is hidden somewhere far away and probably suffers.

There was her voice, though, “No? Then let me continue. One of my developments…” — a hidden shutter on her side moved inside, releasing a swarm of tiny metal spiders with crystals in place of heads; they tumbled and floated without the slightest will to move on their own, but under the gaze of Dispassion they gathered in a lilac sparkling ball. — “These creatures... according to lab tests they can erase and rewrite the words of the Moons on Their surface. Once again, I am not talking about alicorns. Or do you think the world just remembers everything They said?.. Then the world will assume optimal shape. It will no longer be under the pressure of the voices of many eras. The triangle is a very stable figure as long as it holds the load, and we could remove this load.”

“And what do we have to do with it?” Cursory hurried her up.

Dispassion did not answer immediately. She jerked as if from an electric shock, although why as if? Gentle thought. The metal unicorn then turned her head to the pegasus, “Ah! Yes, we were sending troops. We tried to erase these symbols from the soil of the Moons — one Moon in fact, the most hospitable one of three deadly and unwelcoming spheres. But they are themselves protected by a network of other words that bear this intention, and this, let’s say, ‘keyplate’ is hidden where we will not find it without knowing where to look.”

From behind the shutter on her other side, a small black notebook and a sparkling bottle floated up — Gentle recognized the latter.

“Give this notebook to the Black Moon. More precisely, in that future moment, to the Princess Twilight Sparkle. Neither Electra nor Starfall but Sparkle. When you call on the six for them to work the miracle, just make sure that Twilight opens it and reads it — or at the bare minimum, the first page — while she is still here. It explains why it is reasonable and necessary to remove this protection. If you agree, you receive your ‘Guiding Starfall-TX’ and your help is not needed anymore — for now. But then we have a new free and bright future before us!”

She took a short pause and switched to formal farewell, “I, Acute Dispassion, hold neither grudges nor levies towards you, Gentle Touch and your team, and your team’s paths are welcomingly anticipated to be intertwined with mine. We will act upon it, and nopony but us will do,” Dispassion smiled.

“And if we refuse?” Gentle asked warily.

“Then you won't get the medicine, companion,” Dispassion replied dryly.

Gentle turned to Cursory and caught her faint smile. 

The leader answered for her entire team, even though Storm was not there, “We need to think and look around first.”

“Please do think, then call me back with your decision,” Dispassion twitched her ear; Solid looked from behind Cursory's wing and pulled the notebook and the bottle to her.
> Chapter 43: Research
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


∿∿∿


Solid Line saw words around her, and the words were reaching out.

The three of them, not counting the cat — Storm never joined them, and that was worrying — flew along the wide passages. They were looking into private rooms with caution, consulting local ponies, and checking terminals for stray data. Solid Line was picking up terminal passwords and opening door locks with a touch of a hoof — the electricity inside listened to her and wanted to please, lining up as needed for her purpose.

Solid Line filled in dialog boxes and forms, barely touching keyboards and projections, because the access codes were always based on patterns, numbers and symbols, and drawing them wrong was as impossible as not taking a deep breath when one sees the ocean for the first time. This did not disturb the peace of security systems — after all, there is no reason for concern when the code is entered correctly and by mutual agreement.

It was by enthusiastic consent in fact — hidden words, drawings and images emerged from the darkness, reached out to her, asked to name them and received what they wanted. Yes, she often had to temporarily change her name, becoming Purity, Dispassion, or Wired Channel, and at the same time adopt their secondary features — typing speed, usual typos, timbre and height of voice — when such features were expected. The station was ready to support her and to forgive minor mistakes. Perhaps somepony on the opposite side would call it cheating, penetration, hacking.

There was no other side though as no one opposed the course of this step-dance game. There were countless words that longed to be read, there were those who should and must read them, and the sky station, leading Solid Line in joyful and unguarded turns of knowledge and understanding as an entity older and more adult, was happy to make turns for either side as necessary for the sake of a common goal. After all, most of the station bore Dispassion's imprint, and Dispassion was Gentle's friend, and, by transitive relation, she was Solid Line's friend too. And Solid Line answered this happiness with her own.

In passing, at Cursory’s request, she checked the health condition of the inhabitants of the station, and ascertained the team leader’s worst suspicions — the stellar iron, which they used as food supplement and for sheathing vital components, protecting themselves from the light of the Moons, was irreversibly deteriorating with time, assuming another allotropic form.

Only once in eight nines of rounds — roughly once in the memory of a generation — came a period when courageous collectors would go into the cosmic void and align their ships with a swarm of dead stars in order to become its temporary companions and return home with plentiful spoils. For the rest of the time their options were limited to extraction of sedimentary deposits on the planet’s surface — and these deposits drained  up, being used up faster than they could be replenished with the dust of the swarm. 

At the same time the power of the Moons unshielded by the air or the Net grew, slowly and steadily, and rare decreases were not breaking the trend. With it the rate of wear and the severity of the consequences for each defence failure grew too. The end of the balanced state was foreseen by the main station’s leaders square nine of generations ago, so they stockpiled stellar iron in advance. By doing so they were depleting the deposits on the surface and the great swarm at an increased rate. The reserves of the swarm that were appearing endless for the first generation to discover it, now were waning too. 

The balance was lost in the very round Solid Line was born, and, without a doubt, she nevertheless rechecked and froze for a split beat in a dance of symbols, graphs and words, paying tribute to the dark beauty of this coincidence.

The local ponies knew this, even if they did not speak about it out loud and did not actively seek salvation, and it became a weight on their souls, depriving them of their inner peace. Therefore, acting for the public good, Exquisite Prescription with a group of his students developed a secret project based on the ‘Pink Petals of the First Snow’ and the allegedly illegal supply chain of this modifier, slightly altered by another group that had never seen either Exquisite or those who saw him. After the change, in addition to notably strengthened long-term euphoria, it also began to induce mild but irresistible addiction.

In the long term — Purity, the false alicorn, her eternal husband Meteor, and their subordinates were forced to plan for much longer than mortals usually do — this decision and its consequences increased the stability of society and prevented most of the uprisings and resettlements; however, on two specific occasions Purity had to take care that nopony from renegade groups made it to the surface of the planet.

Solid Line was never able to grasp the meaning of the term ‘subordinates’. She spent as many as three beats of the external, slow time on considering this word, almost losing contact with the station, but was forced to drop the mystery. ‘Ponies who have indefinitely relegated the right to choose for themselves to another pony’ was the best — but imprecise — approximation. 

But everything else was clear, and having archived the observations and conclusions Solid Line delved into Dispassion’s black notebook and the data associated with it.

The need to get rid of the Moons — at least from the perspective of the ‘moonless’ — at this moment was clear and conclusive from collected data,  postulating the very existence of the ‘moonless’ group in their modern state as an absolute value. Solid Line, not sharing this value, saw multiple other options.

The notebook was another deal. Dispassion presented the world as a set of pseudo-endless future timelines, along which the lives of the ponies flowed ‘above’ the infinite void of non-existence. She cited exemplary incidents in which the Moons, by exhausting effort of all the Trinity's power combined during Conjunctions, were replacing the seemingly-inevitable future with other, neighboring futures, close but not entirely resultant from prior events, and thus directing the world as they desired it to be. Solid Line did not believe this part, but the cases were somewhat plausible.

She argued that the reality’s state in relation to the abyss of nonexistence is actually metastable, and that every word of the Moons — including the absence of a word, the volitional act of hiding in silence — impoverishes the set of timelines, tears it and removes entire possible areas of the future, thus diminishing the plateau of stability. And once there is no more plateau, the following life of the world would depend on constant corrections of reality, with next to no tolerance for errors.

Solid Line wanted to know what ‘metastability’ is and the desire was fulfilled by a note made by Dispassion.

‘A state of a dynamic system in which a small ‘push’ can initiate a disproportionate, self-sustaining, and usually very difficult to stop or reverse, decay (‘descent’) to a more stable state. In the context of reality states, the likely end state is extremely unlikely to be compatible with life as we know it.’

There was a sticker below, with a stain of unknown origin.

‘Proposition: find a way to adapt life to the new state of reality, and enact the adaptation in parallel with the process of decay. Proposition of higher priority: prevent the phase of equilibrilium’s rapid decay altogether, if it’s not too late already.’

Dispassion stated then that even the socially beneficial word of total cognitive decomposition of the Red — the word, efficiency of which Solid Line had verified by triply modeling it with the willing help of the station — will inevitably lead, counting only visible and predictable consequences, to the death of all green plants, since photosynthesis controlled by the White Moon was actually rooting deep in the Red, and there is already no room to correct for this side effect.

She also noted that the plateau is already very small, and prone to being easily diminished further. For example, the minor accident of absence of two Moons in the world for just a third of a beat would be enough for the world to deteriorate from metastability to, at best, an unstable equilibrium. The reasons for that absence could be anything: their exhaustion, a successful attack by the Red or decision to move out of the world. So, the Moons were literally holding the reality together, bound to it — and at the same time bringing closer the phase of rapid decay. 

The main problem was more about a number of barriers to breach until the end of the world rather than a hope to keep it existing indefinitely, as it was metastable even before the Moons; after that secondary problems of Dispassion’s thesis were about decreasing the probability of the fall, limiting impact of the factors of decay, of which the Moons were main ones, and dealing with the fall itself.

Dispassion verified the truth for each statement with a specter of proofs, valid for each of the corresponding branches of the world, including this one.

Solid Line scanned the summary page. On the whole page there was a single line in Dispassion’s even and small hornwriting, repeated below with a few neon green sigils of Black Moon’s Heralds’ imaging language that were the truth.

"The trinity must be destroyed"
"The trinity must be transformed"
"The trinity must (not) be"



She blinked and read it again, then again and again.

The line was single.

There were three lines. But they remained one line, which nevertheless was three.

All three lines were true.

They could not be true, at least together, and even more so they could not...

Solid Line realized the presence of the paradox and accepted it as it was, and understood its essence; but, for the same reason, in the same ninth part of a beat she could no longer be a station.

She found Cursory next to her, told her that she was not feeling well, and immediately went dark. Solid assumed that Gentle Touch would take care of her shell, and felt somewhat sorry for her, but Solid Line was not to blame herself: the understanding unpacked from the data remained too great even for her alone, more so for any conversations with others or any interactions with external reality. She just needed some time for herself, to process, and organise, and to hope that said reality with all its mysteries yet unsolved would not throw a critical error in the interim, depriving Solid Line an opportunity to observe and log it.

Her death of an ocean, among the background processes, was sparkling. Next to her, at the very edge of the flickering endless darkness, under the cold rain of greenish neon sigils, afraid herself, but accepting Solid Line’s fear without expectations or judgement, a quiet yellow pegasus sat.
> Interlude 5: Resurrection
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


⫴⫴⫴


Panting, Black Stripe dropped her bags at the front porch of an old brick building. She had no strength left to climb the porch despite Black Moon approaching Her zenith. And Stripe had to be at home in time, before true zenith. At any cost.

Half a round back, she would have jumped onto the porch without stopping, kicked open the door, and hugged Dusty Book in that beat, with bags still on her back, listening to Dusty’s grumbling about inappropriate behavior in the library. Not a serious nagging — Stripe was not one of those ponies to be angry at for long.

Half a round back it was a nice cycle. Even nicer than usual. She decided to skip her work and relax a little then, and brightened up the time with sensory modifiers and flirting. It was then that her life broke suddenly and forever. Returning home with the prey — a handsome colt, spotted long ago and now processed and prepared for use — she skipped a warning. Since that time, warnings were made a bit more intrusive, but then she felt only a strange deafness, as if the Moons dropped beyond the horizon all at once. She chalked it up to a modifier. She realized that something was wrong not before streams of red-brown fog creeped in. There was a grinding sound too, as if somepony grated a stone against uneven concrete. 

White’s aligned ponies do not want to admit this, but the Red grew wiser. When the ponies learned to hide from its rays, the rays began to turn matter into brown fog. Nopony knew what the gas would do to the body then. Nopony wanted to think about what would happen when the Red got to the point of creating viruses, bacteria or mold.

Stripe pushed bewildered Acute Angle into the shelter and shut the door behind her. But a small trickle of rusty mist managed to seep into her lungs.

The following time was delirious, clingy and painful. Do not get up. Don't try to breathe on your own. Do not leave the insulated box. Do not use direct communication: it was not yet known whether the agent was transmitted magically and whether the White's followers would have to burn part of the building. And whether they would need to burn it with Stripe in it, too.

She survived. She would like to add ‘to everypony's relief’. It would be a lie. She stopped every two throws to rest. She was advised not to appear in public places. She paid extra for sterilizing delivery drones. Sexual contacts for her were effectively not an option, though she did not admit that to herself until much later on.

A third of a round wasted in this new life later, Black Stripe, earth pony, a psychologist, petitioned her Moon, Black Moon, for euthanasia.

Black Moon, friend and teacher, answered the call. In the rarest moment of the true darkness when all the Moons were below the horizon, at the very edge of the round, at the end of its last slice, She manifested in Stripe's lonely apartment.

Black Moon could not undo what had happened. She refused to end Stripe's suffering. But...

It is not possible for me to cancel the will of the Red, but I can do the impossible and break the boundaries, Black Moon said. The rusty fog is not contagious, Black Moon said. Over time, the body will recover, Black Moon said. 

And it became so. Or, maybe, it always was so.

First, it was a thought. Then it was an idea. Then it was a plan, and finally a project. A party to throw.

Of course she needed friends’ help for it. They discussed the party. They made preparations in advance, chose the perfect time, and when the time came, friends, regardless of the phases of their Moons, rushed to her house in less than a slice.

The door opened and Angle's narrow face appeared beyond. He grabbed the bags with ponykinesis, and, supporting Stripe herself with gentle caution, led her inside.

Oh, all the Moons and the fourth one with Them, thought Stripe. In any case and for any price, he was worth it.

Everything was all but ready inside. Dusty checked the list. Quiet Melody was finishing decorating the room. Black Moon loved checklists — and that was also part of a plan.

Hang a humble sign ‘Sorry, we are closed for a cycle’ on the door of an old library: check.
Decorate the room: check.
Bandages: check.
Food and drinks: check.
A sacrificial knife of volcanic glass: check.
A game ‘pin the tail on the pony’, just in case: check.
An octagram: check.
Well-read and clever companions: check.
Black candles — Angle finished gutting Stripe’s last bag — yes, final check.

Everything was ready.

What they were up to was reckless. Even unbounds would not dare to follow up on it. In the worst case, it could end with reality forgetting about them all. But Stripe asked, "Are you with me?" and how could they say “No”?

Black Stripe suggested summoning Black Moon once more. To thank Her.

The blood ritual meant that Black Moon would not have to waste Her powers on manifesting. And that She can stay long enough to be at the party in Her honor.

Melody told them that ‘Electra’ or ‘Starfall’ would not be the best name for this call, and — in a befitting whisper, taking a promise to keep the secret — spelled the correct one and made sure that they spoke it right.

The candles were lit. The knife, in a firm Angle’s grip, slid down Melody's front leg, then Stripe’s, then Dusty’s, then his own; ruby ​​drops fell into the center of the octagram, where they immediately blazed with black fire.

“With our blood we call for you, Black Moon! Hear our call, Twilight Sparkle!”

The black flame shot up and took the form of a tall, dark alicorn.

She asked why they called Her. They sheepishly answered Her. For a long time She was silent in response.

“Okay,” She said.

Three of the five present here burst into joyful shouts, and fell silent, having caught the icy glare of the two librarians at once.

They drank the punch. They talked about literature. They drank some more. They danced to the music of Melody, specially written by her in accordance to Black Moon’s taste. They woke up side by side. In the company of a black alicorn who never thought of disappearing anywhere.

Stepping down from the porch, Stripe realized that something had changed. The Blue Grove sector has lost its elusive blue hue. All the colors were now equally present in it, and Stripe could separate each of them from the next. They shone with an inner light against a background of thick, inky darkness. 

Most importantly, the darkness itself has changed. Instead of empty, transparent, autumn blue coolness, thick, warm summer black reigned between the trees.

This sector no longer belonged to the Blue Moon. Nopony knew how this was possible.

Quiet hoofsteps were heard from behind. She was not quite the Moon anymore. She was shorter. She was more lilac. She was almost alive. She had a book to bear henceforth.

“I will stay here for a time,” still not quite Twilight Sparkle said.

She stayed with them — in the renamed sector 0-S, for Starfall or Sparkle — for nine nines of rounds, only occasionally going absent for the Conjunction or for a call from outside, while they were living happily ever after, ever together and proud of their own Moon living nearby — but not boastful over it. They were throwing other, less ritualistic, parties; they were working for themselves and for society; they were sometimes visiting their relatives and, eventually, making new families and giving birth to new foals.

They were normal, and accepted, and, above all else, healthy — just a bit different, affected by the darkness.

Over the rounds 0-S was slowly populated with new ponies that came drawn by curiosity or an inner call, or simply stepping in to, maybe, stay there; and it kept changing, assuming the new form of reality; they were changing along, their colors tasting of serene ash, exalted gold or fluent silver. Neon green of true knowledge touched their irises too but, being at once frugal and picky, took its full reign only in next generations, and in the most talented foals at that.

Much, much later on, old age and diseases became nagging on them — all of them except Melody — and Twilight Sparkle said that She would care about their souls in the afterlife. 

For each time one of them died, another small shining star appeared on Her breastplate. Having seen off Acute Angle, Black Moon finally left 0-S and took Quiet Melody — the last one of them, and still alive and young — with Her.

Over time, there were more stars.
> Chapter 44: Misunderstanding
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


⊛⊛⊛


Gentle Touch was not a stranger to the feeling of being helpless. That feeling was her unwanted companion, as for any medic there was a beat when you can't do a thing anymore. Due to her aspects, it was Gentle Touch herself to put the patient to final sleep in these cases, without shoving the task on anypony else, and that was why she did not consider herself strong.

Others, especially Cursory Streak, to call her weak, were another story.

Both shadows of her soul had not been leaders, except when destiny forced them to head a present party. They were on supporting roles, accompanying those more powerful and energized, more skillful and cunning, more attentive and sensitive, helping at the right time with appropriate advice, physical effort or strong will: always at the backstage for true stars of the show, even if one of said stars never even wanted to be in the limelight.

Without even conferring, only glancing at each other, these shadows intervened before Gentle Touch went from the initial diagnostic of Solid Line — frozen, silent, ash-beige Solid Line — to any desperate actions that would only harm the inscrutable patient.

There is a time for laughter, there is a time for a feast, and there is a time for panic — and it was panic that sounded in the voice of Gentle and her shadows, “My friend is dying! Somepony help her!"

Even the cat escaped from her embrace and swam through the air towards the glowing dome. 

Cursory was recoiled and confused for a beat, until she narrowed her eyes, twisting herself in the air and flying in an arc towards Solid's body. In that beat Cursory's wings shone with transparent pearly fire, there was river ice in her eyes, and Gentle felt how cold— how deadly and lonely is the frozen lake in the middle of—

—but three beats passed in the meantime, and Gentle never knew which spells were ready to be cast through Cursory, because then in the same moment of nearly frozen time—

—nine after nine of moonless ponies flocked to them from one side, and were flowing in still — confused, stern, ready to help — and everypony was here for their sake, answering Gentle Touch’s call for help. Nopony had a single ribbon of threat or fear, much less a weapon; Gentle did not know the language of orange scribbles on the yellowish-white surface of the giant room, and the rhythm did not coincide with the usual alarm signal, but she had heard “Enough!” from aside. 

Cursory turned her body towards the largest group and arched her mighty wings forward, as if preparing to let something come out from the heart and in between them. She looked at Solid Line, not even glancing at the moonless ones; a choking, hasty voice assured that the station is not the enemy of the Moons and their envoys, but if—

—Gentle turned around at the delicate request of her shadows, and the duo spoke with haste, one over another, looking into Cursory's frosty eyes, having placed Gentle's body between her and still unmoving Solid Line, ‘Stop, M’Lady of the Crystal! This ain’t the war! This here band of younglings ain’t our enemies, they had no leaf dropped over poor ‘Shy!— —and I really, really don’t want to spoil your hobby, Rares, you are so prettivolous in the zone, but this is not a battle fantasy! A completely different setting! The traveler hasn't yet returned victorious!"—

—Storm, strangely naked and bright in her green coat without her suit, wearing only a round black-green bracelet dug deep into her right front leg with many thin black filaments, appeared next to them, closing the rhombus — Cursory Streak and Solid Line on the long axis, Gentle Touch and Faraway Storm on the other — and spoke to the station residents, guarding her small group from them, “This is not an invasion! These are our friends, and they want to save the world as much as we do! Have you heard the legends about the Six? These are no longer legends, now it is the truth, they are here and we will not offend them. Okay?”

(“What happened?” Cursory asked, “Did I attack these ponies?” Cursory asked, “Am I not the Moon yet?” Cursory asked; Gentle Touch tried to whisper that everything seems to be okay for now without interfering with another conversation.)

“Nopony was going to offend them,” a voice from the speaker replied, irritated, “Gentle Touch, your invitee, called for help, so we…”

“You’re saying you didn't attack them?” Storm interrupted.

“No! But look at your pegasus! This is an active anomaly, decon team is on their way. We would all be thrown down onto the planet…”

“Recall decons! I will fix it now,” Faraway Storm shouted, then turned her whole body to Cursory Streak and simply said, “Stop it.”

Her mark, black on green, trembled; the black grew deeper, the green brighter; the bracelet whizzled.

“What?” Cursory asked again. 

Then she stopped. 

“Here,” Storm said affirmatively, “Well done.”

Oh, this is so funny! not quite Gentle thought, and Gentle almost laughed out loud, but stumbled upon a squint of violet eyes, “You, too, stop right there!”

Gentle felt a shift in her soul. She still barely kept herself from giggling... but not that way anymore. She was not crazy. It did not border on the wish to cut open some examples of pretty nice and wide smiles on the most suitable bleeding tissues. She swallowed and nodded to Storm, “I'm fine, really.”

Solid Line was next; “You too. Stop it!” Storm said, sternly looking at her.

Solid Line did not answer.

“Hmm?”

Solid still didn't answer.

“Looks like she really needs a doctor,” Storm said quietly. The bracelet on her leg fell apart into three unequal parts with a harsh clink.

“Where have you been before?” Gentle asked, looking up at the tall unicorn.

“This is my home,” Storm looked back and twitched her ear, “Here is my job, friends and love. You will not be offended that you were not my main priority after coming back from your moonburnt preserve, will you?” 

Gentle Touch nodded. 

Less than a slice later, they sat at an oval table, all fastened with elastic straps. Signal was lying right in the middle of the table, all her legs tucked up under her, with a personal strap on the rump. Moonless ponies recognized the shadows of the six, and all of them — five out of six, counting Solid Line’s one — were identified, registered and presented to themselves.

Purity herself, a false alicorn of untainted white — more white than White Moon — took her place at the head of the table not before she gazed into the eyes of each of them. Gentle saw calm despair in her, and yet not a grain of hostility.

Her husband, Meteor, through all the meeting was forcing his melting mind to appear like himself and behave like himself, to nod in the right places and agree with Purity in all she ever said; inside this shell there was only “Help me... take me out of here... Let me walk on the ground and finally fall asleep..." Gentle nodded to him. Before the start of the main meeting she found time to approach him and say that she heard him and felt for him.

She didn't know if she was heard in turn. She did not risk looking at him again.

Solid was not among them; she was in a protected hospital compartment for overloaded synth-ponies. Additional blocks were neatly connected to her, one at a time, but each next block promptly reached a full load with no sign of saturation, and Solid continued to carry out her unknown calculation, still pale and unmoving; still lost for the outside world all the same.

Still out for Gentle Touch’s final regrets.

Dispassion sat next to Gentle, metal shoulder touching her own coat. After the strange and alien rituals of general respect for Purity, in which Gentle and Cursory refused to participate, Dispassion gave a report on why the Moons should be destroyed, and later corrected herself — not necessarily destroyed but limited in their hold over reality.

The talk ended and there was silence.

Everypony was looking at Gentle Touch; and she saw that everypony was waiting for an answer.

An answer from her, not from Cursory, the chosen team leader, Gentle Touch realised. From her, a small and weak Gentle Touch, still hopelessly far from home, family and friends, except for Dispassion, but whether she could be considered a friend, Gentle did not know.

She turned to Cursory Streak, closed her eyes, caught the love and thirst of the pegasus, returned it, picked it up again in a familiar trick — in a feedback loop, reinforcing it, running it stronger in a matter of beats. Over and over again.

There was no cold in Cursory now. Not a single chip of that arrogant ice. Only the desire to hug Gentle Touch, hide her in her wings from any threat, and always be there for her. A love. Not an artificial love, and even if so, then only a little. Strong enough for the task.

Gentle still did not share these desires. Cursory Streak was still not her ideal. Gentle herself was still neither the hero nor the Moon.

But you have to work with what you have, Gentle thought.

Gentle Touch, an earth pony, unbuckled her seat belts and slowly flew over the table.

“I heard you. You have a right for a miracle too,” Gentle said.

“We'll get together. We will work a miracle,” Gentle said.

She paused, remembering the last — perhaps now truly the last — conversation with Solid Line. If even the very weapon designed to destroy the Red, once no longer under the Moons' influence, refused to execute the plan...

She glanced at Cursory.

...if White Moon’s Herald still held a hope for the Red, despite all her experience in issue-solving, despite having seen with her own eyes those who suffered from the Red’s infusions…

...and the one time she spoke about the hope out loud was when we were talking in the vault protected from Their light — technically, from the Red’s light, but—

It was hard to finish this thought. Something was obstructing the flow. It was forbidden to think that way.

She never broke the wall; “But before that, we'll talk with the Red about how to keep our world in such a way that we all — all of us, no exception — can be alive and have a chance to be happy. Everypony deserves to be happy,” Gentle said instead.

Following the rhythm of the verbal triangle, she had to stop at three lines, but when she heard the shadow of Pinkie Pie, she grinned and added, “We need to get to the last remaining pony. We are tired of wandering. We need a boat to the center of Metropolis, two-thirds of a range to Blue Moon’s Ascent.”

Only after finishing her demand, she realized that she still remained in the triangle, but of a different order; Pinkie Pie sighed.

Moonless ponies were in strong disagreement. There were shouts, there were appeals to reason and safety; precedents were found too — Gentle was not the first with this idea. They said, over and over again, that this is madness, and the few that survived communication with the Red did not return unchanged; that the changes were always designed to harm ponies around; that there is nothing in the Red but blind hate.

Had Gentle Touch been alone and with no allies, she would buckle and retreat under the pressure for sure. They were right, after all. It was madness, and Gentle knew it — probably better than the moonless; forever subtly out of color, her right side ached.

She had Cursory Streak at her side, and a plaintive and promising look was enough now to launch a counterattack by Cursory while retreating herself to the backlines, at the position known too well. 

In the forthcoming battle of shouts, conviction and endurance, surely enough, the pegasus emerged victorious protecting her love’s proposal — especially as Purity made it clear that she abstains.

Their request was fulfilled. The vial of ‘Guiding Starfall-TX’, still sparkling, was there for Gentle Touch too, in her bag; Solid Line apparently never parted with it. Now Gentle Touch waited only for a proper time and place to offer it to Pink and close the loop. The boat was spacious, and its mechanisms were silent; a medical pod, covered with translucent glass, containing Solid Line and monitors of her vital functions, stood inside no louder. 

The planet under the boat was slowly becoming flat; Metropolis lay down below, the Forest remained a dark-green splotch on Her body; whispering engines were deorbiting the craft in a stable deceleration. Signal was sitting atop of the glass, looking at them, impervious; probably waiting.

This was when Gentle Touch kissed Cursory. 
> Chapter 45: Anticipation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


☄☄☄


Cursory Streak was lost in reverie about the future and did not even try to hold back a smile.

She herself knew how to make love in flight — or slow fall, to be more precise. But in order to enjoy it, both needed to be so skilled, and it would be strange to expect that from an earth pony. She could teach Gentle — in a hurry, on the go, choosing awkward words when actions should be prevalent, without an airspace and a suitable landing pad nearby… No. If she had enough time though, if they were at her station, with a safety cloud below, they might have coped — even with Gentle Touch as a partner.

No ‘might have’, she corrected herself. We will make it, in time. They had a common destiny now, real for certain — and perhaps this was the most important thing.

In the meantime, they were forced to stop every time freefall set in. For two short periods of deceleration, each much less than a slice, they could not go beyond preludes and promises; not while keeping themselves out of Cursory’s frantic lust which — once in a time that did not come to pass — crippled their intimacy for too long.

Of course the shuttle was asking them to stay put with belts fastened, but they had the right to choose for themselves; still, the more white and somewhat more orderly half of them followed the message.

To Cursory's quiet happiness, the promise to follow on and, moreover, to keep going after that was no less straight and certain than short lines of incisions on her front legs, chest and neck, covered now with a transparent bluish medical glue; ones given by Gentle Touch. The lines that led Cursory from ‘Why not’ and further on nonstop through ‘Are you sure we should do this’ and ‘Curious and unusual’. 

The next stop, as her body clearly communicated to all its inhabitants — one to three mares depending on the point of view — was ‘I want more and I'm ready to beg,’ and that was when Cursory pressed the emergency button— that is, told Gentle to stop for now.

By this time Cursory had received seven cuts. Nopony ever does anything four or eight times — especially in matters involving blood or sex or rituals, which was the case. The ninth cut could shred the last remnants of Cursory's composure. Her nose had already been filled by a scent of unripe apples.

Nopony ever loved Cursory that way before, she had not imagined this as pleasure, and overall... She did not want to think about it too much either.

She didn't even want to get the crossword puzzle, and the first question that was not directly related to Gentle's initiative, did not spoil the mood either, “Tell me please, do you really think that it's worth talking to the Red, and getting in touch with it in general?” Gentle asked.

Cursory turned her head towards her, without getting up from the lodgement, and smiled a little wider and a little more quizzically, “Um? Yes, how could it be otherwise? I don’t say what I’m not sure about. I already said that to Pink. By the way, I wonder, have you heard our conversation, hmm?”

Gentle smiled, chuckled in confirmation, and with a hoof gesture and a nod invited Cursory to finish the thought, which she did, “Anyway… I don’t remember anypony talking to her, so we’ll be the first. Well, not really... I mean, I remember that recording, but in our generation we’d be the first for sure. Isn't that in itself a reason? Otherwise, such a meeting would be in the newspapers, in rumors, in the distant winds…” with each next word starting from the second third of the answer, Cursory spoke a tiny bit slower, because...

Why has nopony tried a meeting with the Red before? she asked herself, then, in her mind, turned to where there were shadows, to that impossible side of imagination. There was nopony there either, only a corridor with a stained white carpet, closed compartment doors and a couple of mirrors on the walls.

“Did you think like this before? Before we met, for example,” Gentle asked, quiet and mindful.

Cursory took a deep breath, was about to answer — then she exhaled.

She did not know. "No" — and that would go against the key part of what Cursory as a person ever valued. "Yes" — and then why did it never come up even in the chatter over milkshakes?

Poking into each of the impossibilities, she walked along the narrow corridor between them, “The thought was always there, I just— I just had no reason to consider it. You know, when you fly— that is, when you run, you don't think about each leg separately. But if somepony asked, then I would have answered the same.”

Gentle nodded and walked closer to her; for now gravity from engines once again allowed them to walk, not float in the air, “Don't worry. I feel about the same, except I am hurt by the Red, and I want to call it out for that, and I have a purpose for the meeting, and I will not heed to its wishes until it says that nopony would be hurt by it, anymore ever, unless I make it cry… but the meeting itself is, and always had been, a… hidden option, buried deep inside. Sometimes I wanted it, especially in a hospital…” Gentle sniffed, then went on, “At first I thought that the Moons denied us the idea in order to save lives, but then parts did not come together. Everypony chooses for themselves, and this block would be totally out of Their style. Breaking the Prime Word, even.”

Cursory Streak sharply nodded, “In the worst of cases, They limit supplies and make sure that a project is unadvised, sometimes along with the creator. They don’t stop it outright. It causes secondary issues, more often than I would like...”

Gentle Touch intently looked at her, then slowly and sadly shook her head, “I’d like to agree, but, to be honest, I can’t. In a way, for your Moon, I think you’re right. But I would rather not talk about Desire’s approach for those who repeatedly denied Her polite requests to consider steering off their chosen way. It appears mild, at first, but it is gradual and inevitable.”

Cursory Streak opened her eyes wide, gulped and shook her head, her ears drooped, “I refuse to believe, my dear, until I see it with my own eyes.”

Gentle Touch nodded, “Of course... Well, so I was saying... Black Moon did not say directly that she does want to reconcile with the Red, and I could not read Her real feelings, but… Black Moon spoke about it with sadness. And in any case, She told me, "Maybe we could talk to it eventually."

“That means, we aren’t going against the will of all the Moons yet?” Cursory inquired. The corridor between understandable relief and inexplicable disappointment narrowed again.

“Maybe we’re not,” Gentle almost whispered, hugging her again; words were louder than a quiet sigh into her ear, but not by much. “Or, if we are, then not directly. I think... please don't be afraid... that we are Their lapsus. That we were spoken without desire, without will, without intention. That we are a word that slipped out, a word They all but caught on Their lips before it was too late, but still we are the Word. We can try to reconcile with the Red, because the Moons themselves cannot. They would like to, but they cannot — after all this endless conflict— impasse, how can They give in before the enemy? Do you see?"

Yes, Cursory saw an idea there. Talking to ponies who have brought their lives to the point that they were classified as issues in the system, meant finding out what really worried them; worried so much that they could not even think, moreso talk about it. She rarely performed this task beyond the first careful conversation — she just lacked the patience and calm needed — and passed these issues on to more specialized experts. But the thought itself was clear.

“Then we have to do it,” she replied seriously, looking Gentle straight in the eye; another short kiss reminded of an unsatisfied thirst, and almost knocked her off the conversation, but the look of Signal behind the earth pony’s back, and even more so the thing on which Signal was sitting, brought her back to more pressing questions, “So, nevertheless, what’s with Solid Line?” Cursory asked, “What did they say? You promised to tell later, and if this is not later—”

“Ah! I have not forgotten,” Gentle smiled disarmingly, “Just… procedures should be performed in order of urgency. And no, everything is not as bad as it seemed at first,“ a smile became embarrassed, “otherwise I would not— well— the issue is not caused by the calculations. Therefore, they did not give us a single auxiliary computational block. I correct myself: not by calculations that electronics can perform in a reasonable time. There were three options, all three were equally probable. Either she got into a deadlock, and we need other ponies to connect to her... preferably other synths to add specialized organic matter, ones that have other sets of base rules and thus could lead her out of the deadlock—”

“Why didn't they do that?!” Cursory was indignant, furious in an instant.
 
“They did! But Solid Line rejected the connection from her side. There are two options left: either this is not a calculation at all but a contradiction in the base rules, and then she needs those whom she trusts, not merely the first synths she comes across…” Gentle sped up, trying to move away from the sensitive topic as soon as possible; Cursory noticed this and understood the unspoken hint, “or she needs the Moon. But Solid's life is not in danger as long as her bodily needs are satisfied. I will take it upon myself. I just need to read a manual for this model, but in general these capsules are known to me. I myself have visited a similar one. I need no help with this.”

Cursory found herself at a loss for words. After a pause, she resorted to being frank, “So what, you can somehow add such an interface? If it is possible, then... I don't even know if I can reach it within my status. Never looked it up before, didn’t even know they existed…”

Gentle looked away for a third of a beat, then looked straight back again, "So you are ready, for real? I like it. Solid Line can truly rely on you, so I can too. But no. This is not an option either. It's not even about the surgery — the neural reconfiguration will take nine cycles at best, is next to irreversible, and the surgery, with the following rehab, can only be performed by rare and precious equipment, or…” she rubbed her temple “...or, assume we want to really speed up your implantation and rehab process. Then we need a wonder, basically. For that, we could petition Electra and Desire to team up and train their joint Herald for this surgery specifically, and make it at speed, and a suitable candidate then needs to be found first... or... well, it’s ridiculous. Either too long or requires too much from ponies unrelated to our mission. So, all this works only as a last resort. Thus I think that as soon as we return to the light of the Moons, Solid Line will recover.”

Cursory nodded, not hiding her relief. She asked, out of curiosity. “Are there any benefits from these implants, besides unlocking hang-up synths?”

Gentle smiled, “Yes, we will discuss it later... or we will discuss it right away in case of that last resort. For now, don't even worry.”

Cursory followed the advice and slowly drifted away, happy and floating in the fuzzy time where past, present and future were intertwined.

At one moment their shuttle, finally having chosen a landing trajectory according to the copy of the map obtained long ago from Black Moon in sector 12-S, fell into the atmosphere. Unusually rigid triangular wings protruded from the sides, the level hum of the engines almost died down and the shuttle went into glider mode. In any case, that was what the inscription on the dim projection in front of the lodgement said.

When they just boarded, the screens and projections of the shuttle were dotted with incomprehensible orange scribbles, but as soon as she and Gentle spoke to each other before takeoff, the shuttle switched to their native language, bright and clear — maybe too clear; they were offered a common language in a dialect and fonts for dyslexic ponies, and the words were accompanied by a lot of pictograms. Naturally, Cursory was outraged and asked to use a standard common language; Gentle, visibly ashamed, explained to her that this is, most likely, not meant as an offence. The shuttle understood Cursory, and that was a main reason why she was inclined to follow the polite request to fasten seat belts that appeared a bit later on.

A step further down the memory lane: before leaving, Gentle was in panic that she had lost the map, and Cursory took a long time in assuring her beloved mare that one way or another they would manage, even if they had to summon Pink again.

Over time, though, having calmed down and distracted herself from the issue a little, Gentle was able to reproduce the map not just in general terms, but with perfect accuracy as it was once stored in the glasses and now in Gentle’s united memory.

Then, sniffling, she confessed that she felt very stupid. Cursory did not giggle in response, and simply said instead, "It happens to everypony, that's why I am here."

Left unsaid for now, as the time for it had not come yet, but still heard, judging by Gentle’s timid smile, was “From now on I will be forever in your reach until you cast me out and release this promise to all nine winds; I will never fly so far away that, seeking out for me, you would not find me; I will never step so close in that, seeking beyond me, you would lose sight of all the other uncounted wonders. Together from now on, we will find everything that we have lost. This I promise."

Gentle asked another question, and it brought the pegasus back from her sweetish-sour memories, lifting her euphoric veil, “Cursory, are you no longer... becoming a Moon? It's just that the fire in you is still burning, I can see it…”

Cursory did a quick check-up on herself, as if before the flight, for any issues. No, she was here, in her body, with its needs partly contradicting each other. For example, she was thirsty, and to reach the bottles of water or fruit juice she didn't even have to get up, just turn her head to the left. But it was prudent to abstain — and for a good reason, as the shuttle either did not provide certain equipment, or forgot to explain to them where it was.

“No,“ she answered honestly, “How about you?”

It was supposed to be a joke, but genuine concern seeped into the question.

"Neither I, for now," Gentle said slowly. “But while I was at the station... Now I understand that I was stronger there. I was reading minds, honestly. I overheard conversations. I almost, almost, understood how Solid works. And Solid also said that she was there... more free than ever, if my memory serves. And now I'm normal again. I want to ask... have you ever flown over the Net? Is it alike?

Cursory blinked, “No? That is, maybe a little, huh? When I did, I did only under White, and not in Her full glory. The light over the Net, it is like a flame, you have to restrain yourself to not burn out in it. To keep yourself from becoming Changed. You are invited to follow the trail of Her magic, like a newcomer to the academy on first missions behind the leader... and I’d say it also looks a little like you when you were…” Cursory looked at an incision on her leg and pressed her ears that gained color; she did not finish, “Over the Net you risk becoming the flare of the Moon, its smallest ray. Lose your will, part with yourself. At the station... There I myself would be a Moon. This is a bit like what you are saying, but different. Overall… yes, in a sense. It offers unusual power, that’s a given.”

Gentle nodded, politely skipping the awkward compliment, but by that moment it was too late: Cursory noticed the tip of Gentle’s tongue stuck out in a beat of desire.

Gentle coughed, "Don't worry, there is no wrong answer, this is not an exam. I'm just wondering... How strong was the Moons’ rule over us at the station? We flew there, expecting that the Moons would not be there. This is a logical assumption! The ponies there took refuge, and Storm doesn't like Them at all. But as it turned out… you saw what happened. We became more powerful instead. So I have an idea... if we are in fact something like Their incautious words... then it seems reasonable that They suppress us. That under an ordinary sky we are not in full strength, you see?”

Cursory shook her head, “Not really. Tell me, in a short and concise way, what do you want me to do? I will do it.”

Gentle sighed and looked a little to the side, then again turned her direct gaze to the pegasus, “When we were at 12-S, you sheltered me from the stars. Can you, at least for the first slice after our landing, shelter us from the Moons? Not reach Their power but do the contrary?”

Cursory looked at her inner fire; it still burned in her heart, confident, unwavering. Yes, it was quite willing to comply with this request.

Cursory nodded, responding with a direct look in Gentle's eyes, “If you say it’s necessary, I'll do it. But, my dear, do you remember that we still have Black Moon’s mission? That we divert from it only because you asked for the side quest.”

Gentle Touch nodded, silent.
> Chapter 46: Waiting
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


🍮🍮🍮 


Things don't always go as planned.

But if you don't get confused and keep finding a bright side in what is happening — it's even better!

Plum Jam, a completely ordinary earth pony, believed that with all her heart. 

“Knock Knock!” she commented along with an actual knock.

Cautious shuffling steps were heard, the door opened and Blacklight's eyes appeared in the opening behind the blinking slim-frame glasses, the pony herself almost invisible against the background of a completely dark room. A terminal gleamed ghostly in the depths. Clearly she was reading again instead of sleeping.

Plum was not the pony to judge her friend — not by what the friend loves. You can't change a pony, you either accept them as is, or... Plum did not get any "or''. Just accept, and you are good.

So, no sooner had the black unicorn winced at the light flowing into the door than they were already brewing coffee and at the same time Plum Jam was pouring her down with a dense stream of information, “...and Dartline said, how can we even go for a picnic if…”

“Plum, listen...”

“...and I tell her that…”

“Plum, this is important!”

“...so in the end, we…”

“Plum, COFFEE!”

“Ouch!”

The escaping coffee was then caught by ponykinesis and returned to the stove.

“What?” After a delay of nine beats Blacklight connected the dots, “A picnic? What picnic? O-oh… Out of the rhythm, you say?”

Then the unicorn facehoofed.



↯↯↯


Dartline did not like aviettes. A scarce few of pegasi liked them. Yes, the pegasi’s tendency to optimize efforts — one could call it that way diplomatically — should have helped to get used to aviettes, in theory. After all, you can fly and sleep at the same time!

In fact, no. It has not. Because you don't feel the wind on the coat. Because of the landscape passing beyond the windows. Objectively, yes, it rushes by faster than you can ever fly, but still for some reason it feels like you are a motorised tortoise. Because with every machine maneuver you know that you can do better.

But when an aviette takes you to a picnic with friends, the ride could be worth it after all. On top of that, due to the picnic she had a really good excuse to separate herself from Metropolis, at least in part and for a time.

Plum settled in the vicinity quite recently. Nopony could recall when exactly: it was like she had been a part of the landscape since the beginning of time. There are such ponies: when they come in they become local in an instant, from the first joke, from the first burger in the cafe. They remember all the names, all the dates of coming of age, the most intimate habits of all the locals, ones who live nearby and farther away.

Probably their secret is that they always work with what is, not what may be, without choosing.

This picnic was not even the first one.

When three Moons come together, not necessarily in a Conjunction, but at least a few diameters above the horizon, the unwritten rule is to stop all you are busy with and call your friends. Because, really, when else?

This one was unpredicted really, as the Moons changed Their speed out of order. Thanks should be going to Plum Jam, as she noticed a notification in the news and was quick enough to warn her friends.

The aviette landed in a clearing of a large, diligently wild-looking park. As wild as a park can be where Metropolis reluctantly agreed to accept that this is no longer Her center. At a befitting distance the lights of the vacationing companies flickered, next to invisible for an eye until the viewer is aligned to the specific Blue Moon’s aspect, and even then one saw mere sparks of laughter or curiosity.

With the passenger out, the aviette took to the air with a soft whistle, its smooth sides glistened in the moonlight and it disappeared. The park was large enough to hide skyscrapers’ lights behind the line of trees. There was only foliage and wind between them and the sky.

Dartline was spreading and stretching her stiff wings with thorough pleasure, Plum unpacked food. Blacklight listened to the silence.

Plum’s incessant stream of consciousness did not annoy Dartline. It was something like the rustle of leaves or the hum of a familiar household appliance. This noise meant the world works as it should.


💡💡💡


Blacklight felt a quiet wind that began to wash away her fatigue and irritation. During these times, a bit more relaxed than usual, she was often releasing control, casting koanic spells or talking about strange matters to the listeners’ bewilderment.

“Have you ever dreamed of an adventure?” she asked.

Her friends clearly did not understand what she was talking about.

“I have adventures,” Dartline shrugged.

Dartline did not have a specific occupation. She somehow ended up where she was needed the most, and did exactly what the pony needed in that beat. Bandaging a wound, changing a tire, breaking up a fight, driving foals into a shelter from a sudden infusion of the Red. That also happened. But much more often she was there to give the right wrench to the mechanic, to remind the forgetful mother of many foals about the burning cake through the window, or even suggest the right word in the essay, which for some reason did not come through, no matter how much the pony wanted to write a line. This was how Blacklight met her for the first time. 

Only Metropolis and Her especially entrusted ponies knew how and where Dartline was gaining status and money through all this labor. A non-standard way, for sure. After all, her tasks were way too small for the global issue management system to deal with. Well, maybe some of those who have asked Dartline herself could be in the know too, although she occasionally changed her answers.

This was pretty much exactly taken from Dartline's own mouth, up to and including the part of "my answers have to change, friend." She said so in response to Blacklight's persistent curiosity in a private comfort of the bar, her tongue slightly tangling after two glasses of hard cider. Not the most reliable evidence. But Blacklight wanted to believe. Dartline never allowed the topic to even surface in the chatter after that.

“I'm not bored anyway,” Plum replied. “There are so many different ponies around, and each one has something going on.”

Plum seemed to take on any job as long as it involved communication. She nursed foals, walked dogs, and sometimes was hired to work in shops. Especially when there were really a lot of buyers — during festivals and big sales.

Blacklight paused. She was misunderstood. Again. Distant thunder came in and went on over their heads; treetops rustled. Dartline raised her head for the sound and frowned, with an uncertain question written all over her face. For a few beats she stared into the horizon, then shook her head and said nothing.

“I'm not talking about such an adventure. I mean... As a foal, I imagined Black Moon coming to me and saying what the Moons often say in such legends: that I am the chosen, that I had to go far away, save ponies, solve riddles, that terrible dangers await me…”

“We all have dreamed about that,” Dartline said, calm.

“And then?”

“And then we were unbounds, then adults. Those who survived.”

“But you have met the Moon,” Plum said, waving her hoof in the direction of Blacklight. “A long time ago.”

Yes, it was true. Black Moon, a powerful otherworldly legendary hero, once called to her and spoke with her for a very long time. She summoned copies of all the printed material from Blacklight's room, without an effort, without even rising from the cool tiled masonry at the floor deep inside of 6-S, the nearest of S-sectors: all the book piles to the very last brochure, all the unfinished scrolls with all the blots and misspellings, and they also became a topic of conversation. She said She has a designation for Blacklight. This sheet sealed by the Trinity of Moons was still on the wall over the unicorn's table. At parting, Black Moon kissed Blacklight’s forehead. The kiss was dry and cold, and floated at the top of her memory for long after.

The designation had been: to live at home, not relocating anywhere, and to write books. The kiss was still there in her cool oily dreams.
 
Specifically, books on the history of the Six. Almost forgotten, almost gone even from fairy tales and legends, and yet — still — sometimes surfacing in sayings and omens. It was nine rounds ago.

So Blacklight wrote. She brought together official sources — as well as unofficial, unadvised and leading to issues, written and oral legends and sayings. Almost nothing has survived about the last years of their life. Then, nothing at all about what happened to them in the end. Everypony knew the Black Moon. But there were no sources on how the Moon came to know the remaining ponies of the Six and befriend them. The Moon was silent. Perhaps She just did not know it; or could not remember; or kept it as a mystery.

But surviving sources painted an amazing picture: they were ordinary ponies. They had hobbies and weaknesses, families and children — there were at least a cubic nine of direct descendants able to trace their ancestor, mainly for Applejack.

Nopony knew about real, non-fictional magical exploits more than Blacklight. Nopony had fewer of them in her life.

Luster after luster she tried to understand if the designation was a matter of genuine concern or a subtle mockery.

Luster after luster something grew in her. Something that made her read books about adventures she wouldn’t have and feel ashamed of that. Something that was whispering to her by such questions; making her dream that one day a mysterious old sorceress would step on her threshold, a strange letter with ciphered coordinates would come, a mysterious alien ship would fall before her, a portal from a parallel universe where the Six might still be alive would open in her living room.

How many such heroes are waiting — “Come for us! We will drop everything, assets, families, life itself and follow you” — and nopony comes for them? Only the Moons know this for sure.

“The times must be wrong,” Dartline said in a level tone.

Good for her. For her, the times are always right, Blacklight thought.

Plum, sensing a longing in the unicorn, jumped up with a wide smile, clearly intending to offer something. Then, her jaw dropped, she stared at the sky.

With a terrible roar, blowing off the tablecloth out of the glade even from six throws away, breaking trees and burning the grass with exhaust, an alien ship of impossible, unprecedented outlines descended from the sky.

The hatch drove to the side with a whine of servos, and the face of a whitish pony appeared in it. Blacklight squinted at the shape but didn't see much in the twilight. Only Dartline could see more from this distance — she was especially sharp-sighted even among pegasi…  Well, more like Blacklight herself was much challenged for the matter, the unicorn begrudgingly admitted.

The disheveled newcomer rushed towards them as a burst of living white flame, in less than two beats standing up at close range; flickering neon blue trail was glowing behind her, and the gust of wind pushed ponies back for a step—

“...It's an aura!” Blacklight breathed out in admiration and surprise.

—she looked around the company with slightly zonked blue eyes and, finding Blacklight, poked her hoof at the unicorn.

“You there!”

The ponies were shocked and silent.

“We need you,” the invader solemnly declared — a huge, adult mare, accustomed to being in the lead. Her wings had a distinct pearly shine.

A Herald! Blacklight thought, at least not out loud this time.

There was a faint smell of a long journey and possibly sex. Blacklight sneezed. Noticing this, the pegasus blushed slightly and lowered her voice by a third of a tone, “You will help us summon the Six. But before that — we are going to speak with the Red!..”

And then the pegasus’s gaze fell on Dartline. On Plum. Again to the pegasus, and again to the earth pony she glanced. She blinked and stopped dead in her tracks, examining them in turn with wide eyes — neither a word nor a sound.

A blurred orange spot appeared in the hatchway. Blacklight squinted through her glasses. It did not become clearer, one way or another. 

The gray-white pegasus spoke aside, without raising her voice, but Blacklight still wanted to cover her ears or to be in the library, where it is simply out of the customs to speak that way, “Gentle, dear, would you mind coming here? Tell me please, do you feel the same as me? Disregard that, wait, nowhere without me!” and just as before, in less than two beats, she returned to the ship.

“Yay!” Plum Jam exclaimed, the only pony in a trio not to be lost, “Well, and you were afraid that they would not come…”

Dartline went up to Blacklight and gloomily said, “Let them have no thought that I will let you go somewhere alone.”

“Come here,” Plum Jam waved her hoof, “Regardless of how many of you there are, it doesn't matter, there will be enough sandwiches for everypony!”
> Interlude 6: Offering
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


🌊🌊🌊


Old sagged boards  croaked under hooves, dark stagnant water splashed into the cracks. The gray-maned captain glanced sideways at Orange, snorted, and pulled a short, bronze-lidded smoking pipe from his mouth, “You're late, wet hooves!"

Orange Tide knew the captain was both lying and aware that she saw him through. But there must be discipline, "Sorry, Uncle Breeze."

The captain did not answer. He was gloomy — the business of the company got worse every round. Modern food synthesizers, ugh! Fuel oil should be poured into tanks, not eaten. Reimplants, too — a Metropolian fad, for sure. In White Holly, his home settlement, everypony got a reimplant pet in just a few rounds. Infrequent Metropolian tourists were saying this is an old and respectable scientific advancement. Breeze remained unconvinced. He knew that sometimes things or even ponies that, supposedly, were there for a really long time, in fact were not. In truth, they somehow hijacked the place to settle in and should have no actual right to be.

Instead of a fishing flotilla, the last decrepit scow went out into Pearl Scattering Bay dotted with small islets. Others, with gutted engines, had long found a resting place in the snowed sand by the pier. If something happened, there was nopony to help. Instead of three skillful earth ponies in his crew, a single niece. A unicorn, to add insult to injury. Who goes out to sea like that?

And her name — it was like she had chosen it to be the worst possible thing she could. Well, that was a stretch but not too far.

The patched-up engine, ancient like himself, snorted loudly, stirred up the muck from the bay's floor and purred. Breeze's mood slowly rose from the bottom too. The machine worked, and everything will be fine, one way or another. And if not... then it won't.

White Moon, Her glory waning, glittered the waves of the bay in Her five colors everchanging. Best, if not only, time for the silver fish.

At the tip of the cape, they bumped right into a huge school of fish. The fish, fed and grown up during the season, poured out of the net like their namesake metal, molten — except fish was alive of course. There was no need to go further, the heavily laden boat could be turned back to the Metropolis.

One last time, Sharp Breeze thought, and I retire. There will be no more fishing fleets in the bay. And maybe Orange Tide will finally find herself a good job. He had thought that many times already.

Then the waves changed color to the sixth one.

Getting under it on land is bad news already. At sea it means certain death.

“Down, quick!” Breeze shouted.

Orange stared bewildered at him, her freeze spell still directed at fish boxes — nopony will take it now, all the fish is now worse than garbage!

“The Red!”

The unicorn looked at the boxes, the fish, perplexed, but followed suit.

The captain, having shoved as many fish as he could overboard, along with the boxes and the net, we will deal with the remains later, turned on the autopilot, the emergency signal, went downstairs and closed the door behind him. Nine beats for all that.

The hold was noisy and smelly — no matter how you clean it up, the smell clinged.

Now all they could do was to wait. If the infusion is not too strong... Maybe they will go home. Maybe they will even remain themselves.

The engine was running.

The light in the window was bloodshot. Special glass was supposed to hold back its rays — but it was inadvisable to look at them too much.

Half of a slice later, the knocks and rustle, the grinding of small claws were heard from above. Outside, the remaining fish changed. Five... Nine, then more... Too many, and large ones.

The unicorn, finally remembering what she had trained for, took an old crystal emitter branded ‘Grill’ from the closet and checked the preloaded spell. The captain nodded grimly, checking the navaja mount on his hoof.

A navaja and a cremator were supposed to finish off the altered fish remaining on the deck.

Sometimes not only fish. At such moments, the captain recalled why the ponies still did not give up on farmed and synthetic fish. The natural one was too expensive.

The light behind the glass turned white. Now he had to hurry.

What their catch had become had to be destroyed before the ship touched dry land. By blowing up the engine, if necessary.

A massive steel door opened silently, and they were greeted by a silence filled only with motor humming.

Then, with a disgusting squeal, six creatures with scaly spider legs rushed towards them, opening huge toothy fish jaws.

Orange’s emitter hummed in a deep bass and four of the six creatures went down, bursted. A burning smell filled the air, as if someone had forgotten a fish in a frying pan. A very sick, rotten, dead fish. The fifth met with uncle Sharp's navaja. And the sixth—

The sixth jumped up and punctured his neck.

Without even thinking what she was doing, Orange tore off the last fish spider and stomped it with her hooves, smearing slime on the deck. If the fried creatures smelled disgusting, then the crushed ones— “Oh, Moons!” She rushed to the side.

Freed of late breakfast, she turned to the captain.

Uncle was reeling. On the neck, along the vessels, green-violet spots spread.

The Red, probably, could create a non-toxic life. In reality, it never bothered to.

“Take... a knife,” uncle Breeze whispered.

“No! One more half of a slice, and we will be in the hospital, I will make a spell…”

Not the right time to choose words.

“In half of a slice it will not be me anymore. It will be like them,” Sharp nodded weakly in the direction of the former fish, “Only bigger. It will find victims to transmit the infection and—”

Whole textbooks were filled with records of how events like these ended. He thought he talked her into what needs to be done.

But Orange had no intention of playing these games, as an unknown power was boiling below her hooves, waiting.

“Listen…” she slowly looked up. A strange expression gleamed in her eyes, “I'm only one shade away from that color…”

“No!” Sharp Breeze shouted with the last of his strength, and the strength left him that beat, “Don’t! Don’t you dare!”

They have not called for the Drowned One in the bay for many, many rounds. He thought that the memory of the family shame would die with him.

She went up to her uncle and took the navaja. She went up to the board from the side where the damned color still gleamed beyond the horizon, and began a monotonous chant.

            In possession of my flowing blood,
In possession of my fertile loins,
To You, buried in the ocean, I allot my own life,
To You, left bleeding to death, I allot my own blood,
To You, twice reflected in the ocean and in heaven,
I swear to float by Your currents from now on and forever,
If You, the reshaping and the unforgiving, lend me your power!

She cried out the last one line, slashing her leg with the navaja and pouring her blood — the blood of a virgin unicorn mare — into the cold water of the bay; the dark patch spread wide, much wider than it should have, enveloping the ship from all directions.

It began to climb the sides; slowly and viscously poured into the boat.

Almost anypony who saw this slow, uneven movement of the clot of life would say that it is the product of the Red. Anypony; but those who saw the Red and its light with their own eyes might feel a touch of doubt.

One that would have neither reason nor foundation. One in which they would be right.


---


Former captain Sharp Breeze watched the last ship of the Pearl Fishing Flotilla burn out in shallow water. Orange claimed that there was no infection on the ship — nor in the body of the captain.

She knew that for sure. She gave up dry land for this knowledge, forever, to step on it only as an unwanted guest, through severe pain, when time is right and Moons are aligned in a befitting way.

Yet the tradition is the tradition. He did not want to explain the local customs to those of the Metropolis. Especially about the one custom according to which once in a generation they choose a mare of special colors as a sea witch.

Then, his tail turned to the sea, his uncertain future now enlightened by three Moons in the sky, Sharp Breeze left his past and his niece behind.
> Chapter 47: Transgression
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


💡💡💡


They were putting the miracle off as best as they could, savouring each beat of anticipation. Over tea, pancakes and sandwiches, telling each other stories and rejoicing at the long-awaited meeting. Blacklight joyfully pretended to faint when she was told that in her friends and herself the few remaining pieces of the legendary Six were hidden all along, but for a third of a slice she smiled wide, occasionally straightening her glasses. Less flashy, she gathered from Gentle Touch's quiet comments. Less outstanding, so even Black Moon had to have an effort to account for them. Smaller, was left unsaid but clear.

She saw Dartline frowned at that; Plum Jam aside of her giggled a few times, in that small way she sometimes did when a joke she just thought up was too complicated or obscure to share it. Yet, next to Heralds they did all appear-- like some little ponies, Blacklight admitted with an inner sigh.

She never gave it out. A beat later, Gentle Touch looked at her and smiled warmly, and the frigid ravel of jealousy in Blacklight's chest dissolved without a trace.

They kept waiting.

It could be anything: a signal from the sky, a ray of light or a circle of Rainboom. The moons, embracing the horizon in a triangle, also seemed to stand still in anticipation. Storm, who later emerged from the shuttle’s cockpit in silence and invited the cat to her back with a slight bow, sometimes grinned through the visor of the helmet, but did not rush them. Her appearance caused a few questions from the Messengers, but “Everypony chooses for themself” said in tongue-in-cheek tone, served as a sufficient answer, although Cursory snorted.

Cursory told them colourful and detailed stories about her work at her station, about how she and her colleagues tracked down a foal in a half-flooded underground labyrinth but were late and had found an unbound instead; how this lead, in turn, to a romance with a backwater street artist; a few cycles full of heated anticipation for each next meeting until there just was no such meetings anymore in a quiet settlement near the ocean at the very edge of the Net. And why, because of this, Cursory had to step down from the Art Recognition and Testing for Subsequent Evaluation Commission. 

Dartline was quite successful in pretending that she was not interested, but the twitching tail still betrayed her. Blacklight took notes. Plum Jam occasionally poured a cup of fizzy coffee drink for Cursory. The pegasus was content, smiling at the sincere delight of the audience, and her pearly radiance, subsiding for times, never was extinguished.

Gentle was silent. Gradually, all the ponies gathered around her and next to her — Gentle’s muted orange color did not dispel the darkness, unlike Cursory's flame, but it was there, modest and nourishing, like a well-groomed apple orchard that will be there providing food and air for many generations of ponies. Next to Gentle, Blacklight felt that nothing bad could happen, and fear was simply not invited to this meeting. Less fabulous than Cursory, Gentle Touch was also a Herald, and thus Blacklight was jealous of her too, even if to a lesser degree. They did not interfere with Plum, who was constantly wedging into the conversation; they were hearing her out, smiling at her responsive tellings — not even stories but mere impressions of how beautiful the world is.

Then the sandwiches ran out, the White Moon went down the horizon, and Plum neatly rolled up the tablecloth.

No miracle happened. It did not happen even when they entered the strange ship, warding each other as they awkwardly climbed these steps; Dartline flew in among the last, making sure no pony fell. When all six of them, along with Storm, stood above the capsule with a yellowish-gray sleeping unicorn inside, the miracle still was not there. Even when, by Blacklight’s advice, they put their front legs on the capsule lid, touching them for three beats in a communion gesture; no discharge, no magic, no insight flashed. An awkward silence, shrouded in indifferent white electric light, in which the flame of Cursory's heart was diluted.

Blacklight tried calling the shadows by name, but she was as far from Twilight as a scrap of a rough draft was from a published book; she knew and felt this, and she did hear nothing back, not even a silence. Heralds, having a whisper between each other, reluctantly admitted that they had not heard or felt anything from their shadows since leaving the sky station.

Gentle Touch added that it is not that the shadows have left for good, but through blurry hoofsteps and barely audible echoes of not quite their own feelings it’s like the Six walked through soul doors that Heralds are unable to see, being not worthy enough. They do not want to talk with the Red, but neither do they want to refuse directly.

On leaving the ship, Gentle Touch briefly panicked that somepony had apparently snatched the vial of ‘Guiding Starfall-TX’, but Plum Jam, booping her nose with the tip of her hoof, just said that everything was fine and in order. For about nine beats Gentle was at a total loss, not even knowing what to say, although she did try; after that she quickly shook her head and quietly snorted, “I won't even think about it.”

“That’s how you do with Pinkie Pie,” Blacklight said in response.

They did not really know what to do next. Dartline asked how they even came to the idea of summoning the Red in the first place, addressing the pegasus, and Cursory began to speak, but instead of her, Gentle answered in a slightly apologetic, low voice, “Do you mind if I answer? The idea is mine so the answer should be mine too.”

Dartline glanced disapprovingly, but did not object.

Gentle began her reply after a pause, obviously choosing her words, “It's inside me, in two ways, if not more. Ever since I was injured by the Red, I wanted to know what the hay. Why it hates me so much, and what I did to deserve this hatred. Not only know but feel for the Red, understand it and accept it.” Gentle paused again, “In long dreams in the hospital sector, I ran after the Red, and then I lost sight of it, and there was no pony around — neither the Red nor any other ponies, except— but then the dreams were forgotten. And I would not remember them ever again, but recently my beloved pony said that she would not refuse to talk to the Red. Because for the Red there is some way to heal, some hope. I am a healer, you see… Cursory, my pilot in the sea of doubts, do I retell your words right?”

The grayish-white pegasus nodded slowly, but did not say a word.

“I think it’s pain,” Gentle continued, “Ponies do a lot of stupid and weird things because of the pain. If that is the case, I might ease it, or at least try to do that. If not — at least I'll ask why. And it seems to me that the Moons at the same time want us to do this, and are unable to ask this from us in a direct way. While we were under Their light, we— I think that in general we did not mind meeting the Red face to face but Cursory directly spoke about it not before she was in the vault, without a Moon in reach. Then Solid Line plainly refused to be a weapon against the Red, so I'm pretty sure she would also be on our side. And if it was only this, we would go to the ritual by us two or us three, but... we have shadows of the Six, and this should also matter. They met and defeated many monsters in their lives, and not always by force of weapons and magic, am I right, Blacklight?

The black unicorn nodded, “On average, seven cases out of nine, they solved issues through negotiations and compromises.”

Gentle smiled awkwardly. “So… I see a door that I couldn’t walk through before, in rounds past, and I don’t want to miss it this time. And I will be grateful if you — everypony, except maybe Dartline and Plum Jam — would follow me.”

Dartline snorted nonchalantly and muttered, “Well, thanks for the answer. I’ll be frank, not a very convincing one, but I will not leave Blackie.”

When Blacklight suggested summoning the Red as soon as possible, the gloomy silence seemed to deepen even further. Several voices asked her to repeat, and she repeated. She was asked to state the idea in more detail, and she stated, “You are going to call her in any case, even though it is suicide, right? You have no backup plan, no escape scheme, no defense. You do not intend to defeat it, and you have nothing to defeat it with. You just want to offer it the peace like the Six would. If so, we have no need to postpone the plan for the future, as no future will change a thing. You will not be either more careful or equipped for the task. It doesn't matter if Fluttershy is with us or not. Also, I have a mirror. Maybe the only thing that will wake Fluttershy is the Red. Yes, we can try and wake her ourselves before that, but I have a mirror now. So... let's do it. Please.”

On that they generally agreed with her, Blacklight understood in a beat. The polishing of technical details and transport issues took up more than a slice.

Storm insisted that the ritual take place away from habitat sectors, preferably in a vault. This was the first of two significant amendments. The second was that Storm will observe the ritual site from afar “to document your corpses. And because I am the seventh out of the six, and these times never hold a place for me," Gentle and Plum pouted together, which affected her enough to add "and, perhaps, to save you later."

They paved the runway for the alien ship with group effort. Rough processing of the relief, selection of materials for coating, firing and leveling of the surface ended faster than they had been prepared in words, especially since the runway had to withstand only one takeoff. Dartline, who after a few sideways glances managed to overcome her inner sloth, went up and drove in a refreshing wind, and nopony would ask more from her. She was quite impressed with the tools of Storm and the power of her magic, like many other guests of the park, who watched the process in delight and awe. Blacklight was displacing debris while Gentle was taking care of many living things in the soil; Plum Jam was humming an uplifting song, and that, too, was important, teaming them up from a rattle of barely acquainted ponies.

There was one accessory to pick up before takeoff. Blacklight walked to her one-room apartment alone, having asked ponies not to accompany her. The accessory was a clear mirror, which at one time got a license only through a significant reluctance. Blacklight had to make a written and signed promissory note that the mirror was really necessary for her research, and attach a copy of her designation too. She was questioned about it only once and without leaving her own room, thankfully.

The unicorn did not take the mirror out of the room in a beat: for that it was too heavy and large. She almost dropped it from her back, as it barely fitted in a door frame. In fact, she could use some help, especially since it was too big to grasp its entirety in ponykinesis. Despite  that, she definitely did not want to show outsiders the mess, dust, and heaps of not exactly trash in the corners.

Storm was waiting for her outside, and the mirror disappeared, without a sound, into the bag on the back of her suit; the green unicorn did not even bat an eye on the load, and the bag took a mirror inside much like a cup of tea takes a sugar cube.

On the way back, Blacklight tried to ask if Storm approved their venture, and got that in response, “No, but I will do everything I can for you to succeed. We are not at enmity with the Red, but if you succeed, it’s great, and if not, we will know how not to approach it,”  Storm paused, then added with a hint of apology,  “In fact, I relate to you and I will feel sorry for you, but I'm tired. The Six must have been exhausted too. If you succeed, you will ease the burden of the world. If not, then your death will free the shards for the next rebirth, speed it up, and we will try again if there will be a time. And I will remember you.”

The flight to the vault took almost no time compared to this walk, although Blacklight lost her breath by the acceleration on takeoff. As the unicorn realized, listening to the ship, for her this flight was akin to a standing jump: fast, powerful and very short. 

Heralds were at first divided on Dartline’s and Plum’s entry. But, for one, Gentle Touch reaffirmed that these two have sparks of the Six too. Then Blacklight, holding back tears, with a foalish anger stated over and over again that Plum is more Pinkie Pie than Gentle herself. And, most importantly, both Dartline and Plum said that they are in this together and leaving Blacklight alone is out of options. Still so very young, they have not only come to unbound age but passed it too. The first threshold would be enough; the second one made their right to choose for themselves absolute.

Cursory Streak tried to discourage them for almost a slice, to no avail, reminding that this is dangerous and — more than that — likely fatal, as nopony returns from the Red unchanged. She did not succeed, and so it was settled.

Also, left unsaid as comfortless, formal and known to everypony, there was a reason for their participation: eight as well as four were the numbers of the Red. They had no power to reach the ever side, so the only option was to perform the ritual as is, from reality, potentially breaching the world’s borders to the Red. Storm remarked that for these cases ‘regional resolution center’ has its own protocols in place, tested and used in practice more than once, all the more rational given the fact that the sector for performing the ritual is mostly uninhabited anyway.

That was why everypony gave blood for the ritual, even Storm and Signal.
 
Gentle whispered and Plum strayed a bit, caught up and followed on.

“From times untraced / From places unborn / Come to us
With a chipped goblet / That was once so red / Invite us
To dance on broken glass / With entourage abuzz / Lead us
For your home that is not / Meet us at the threshold / And drink us.”

A film of their blood spread over the mirror, the surface went wavy, and nothing changed, except a ghostly feebleness that made Blacklight acutely aware of her body’s weight. The reflections stared at them with intent and a touch of fright, as did the ponies themselves. Solid Line’s capsule inside the mirror was as quiet and indifferent as it was in front of it.

And yet, something was wrong. Listening and looking closely, Blacklight understood.

None of the reflections had a mark.

In the starry sky — which, of course, could not be in the vault — not a single Moon.

And — in the distance, beyond them and behind them — the ocean waves rustled in a constant rhythm.

Blacklight lit a small ball of silvery-white light at the tip of her horn so she could see better. She came closer to Cursory Streak, met her eyes looking up and got a nod back. The reflections repeated her magic, her step and her gaze, but with a slight delay, and the color of Blacklight's magic on the other side of the mirror was a little bit wrong, slightly darker blue than it should have been.

After waiting and making sure that the Red had no intention to go out to them, the ponies lined up in two columns, without saying a word, leaving Blacklight and Cursory at the head. There was no place for the third one in the row after all, by the mirror’s width.

The Red did not come to them. Instead, it was inviting them to come in.

Blacklight shivered and was about to change her mind; but Cursory Streak, covering her with a wing, led her to the mirror with quiet and cautious force.

Closer in. One more step. And inward.
> Chapter 48: Resistance
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


☄☄☄


Cursory Streak and Blacklight were the first to touch the mirror in an improvised two-ponies-wide column. The surface of the mirror was gelatinous, fleshy by touch. It enveloped them with a sticky, dangerous coat of cold blood. Step by step, pushing through the endless edge, they walked forward, seeing nothing but orange brilliance. Blacklight kept close, near Cursory's forelegs, and Cursory was unable to support her.

Then Cursory felt cold.

It was quiet behind the mirror. She saw a black starry sky above the black ocean; diffuse light without a clear singular source — after all, there were no visible Moons — small snowflakes melting in the water, the lazy rustle of a wave running on a snow-covered beach. They saw neither mirror behind, nor doubles ahead; the Red was not there either. 

The tops of buildings could be seen above the horizon. So it was Metropolis. They were on the fishing beach — or in the memory of it. After a time, which here was just as stagnant and stringy as the mirror was, they looked at each other and went towards the city.

Long exhausting walk later, they eventually reached it, with no ponies met at the road.

The city was abandoned. Snow covered the streets, flew through the broken windows, bumped over the wreckage of carriages and aviettes. The houses were fortifications, improvised and hopeless — the windows were boarded up, and at the entrances, under the snow, there were barricades of furniture, the cracks were plugged by random stuff. This did not save the ponies inside; in the snow-covered rooms, under inconspicuous heaps, there were piles of bones.

But the winner did not want to live here. Or, maybe, they did, but could not.

An elusive orange light streaked along the quiet streets devoid of electricity and magic. They went there.

A thunderous thought swept silently across the sky. Anger: powerless, bitter anger of a victim who suffered betrayal and denial from those whom she once trusted blindly; the victim who does not expect anything better from the witnesses creeping in — if they do not want to laugh at the victim themselves, why did they not intervene before it was too late?

What do you want? Get away from me!

Blacklight wanted to say something, but Cursory Streak, an experienced mare who had dealt with similar issues, stopped her with a decisive flap of her wing. A short and sharp swing forward, ‘keep going; silence preferred.’

Have you come to save me? Too late, I'm dead! To comfort me? To apologize, maybe? You are not them!

Yes, Cursory thought, and said nothing. They kept walking, leaving round hoofprints in the fluffy snow. 

A strange thing hung over a mountain of rubble from a high-rise building, illuminating it with a faint orange light. As if an explosion of gas had been frozen in time, a ball of boiling fire, warming the coat with its rays.

Not realizing the danger, as in a dream, they went to it. The orange rays did not melt the snow, but warmed them. In this light, there was no nasty feeling of illness.

Walking slowly, they ascended to the ball of living fire.

They were three steps away from reach when the ball exploded and incinerated them.


☄☄☄ 


The world was an abyss of deep water; one where there is no longer a spark of light from the surface, only swarms of predatory shadows, black on darker black, and malevolent laughter.

The ball of the protective field closed around. If not for a visit beyond the edge of the sky, they would be no more at the same beat. Cursory was powerful now. Gripping her forelegs tightly, she hugged Blacklight to her, and with a white whirlwind covered them from the darkness.

It was useless to shout platitudes. The Red heard each and all pleas for mercy the world invented. It probably remembered them by heart.

It's useless, it thought with obvious pleasure, My ocean will crush you sooner or later. You are not the first ones to come here.

It lied. Cursory understood that. Here the will, right and confidence, that Cursory had in spades,  were power too and over the unquenchable hatred of the Red she threw her cards.

...Blacklight in her hooves... “I will not give it up. Drown my flesh, dissolve my magic, dispatch me into oblivion. I am the one that will not give her away. This is what will always remain of me. And you cannot erase it, you cannot drown it with all your rage.”

...and Gentle Touch outside... “I'll go back to her. I will break through all your worlds, through time and other lives. And you won't hold me. The Moons will not hold me too.”

...plus a trump card — an agreement with Black Moon to collect lost souls for a miracle to revive the Moon. “We were coming for a common goal to fulfill it. Now I understand: a promise to pay us up with status was only a push for our first step. We are going to save the Moon, we are united for the purpose and this is our goal. Do you have a goal?”

In cycles past, Cursory Streak and her shadows were sometimes pushing each other for being a foremost one; in a few cases Rarity was taking control to deliver a fervent speech, or Rainbow Dash was there for her to induce bravery. It required a metaphor — a train, or a hotel with doors closed and a hall with a round table to discuss matters between the three sometimes.

Now there was neither time nor place for this playground going forward; what Cursory Streak said was the truth, and she was in dire need of all the power that was in her soul to defend it. That much all three of them knew, and the shadows did the single thing that would matter.

They broke the metaphor, and it shattered.

Shadows did not respond to her call. There was nothing to respond to, and no reason to call. For either there were not any shadows to call, or the shadows were already where they were most needed. There was no fragile balance between the three for the right to manifest and speak in reality anymore.

The unity — Cursory Streak — was before the Red by herself, of her own free will, and it was so.

The ocean boiled with countless white needles, faster and stronger, until they merged and became an ice crust full of quietude.

They could hang like this forever. They were going to, and the Red understood this.

But it did not concede.


💡💡💡


Blacklight was in the mind of the Red; in the middle of the ocean in a protective sphere of ice. Death looked in her face, just like it did in many stories about the Six. Cursory was frozen and silent like a cold marble statue. The Red was silent too, mournfully and irreconcilably. They had no words left that they could say to each other to change anything.

The game was over. Life was over. Blacklight’s story itself has come to an end. 

She waited a while, not knowing how long. Maybe a beat. Maybe three lusters. Nothing has changed; then she began to listen.

...One aspect of Black Moon is the void. To find out something, you do not always have to look at what is happening. Sometimes you have to know what did not come to pass. More often than it seems, the null hypothesis is correct. Untold words speak of intentions too.

Blacklight listened to the silence from beyond the shell. There was no Black Moon here to appeal to Her power, but there was time, so much time, and there was Her kiss in memory, and the words of Heralds that she, too, was the chosen one.

The Red was silent about what it did not fulfill. About what it did not get. This was expected. But here was the weird thing — apparently it was not as unhappy as one might think. It was mostly satisfied with the state of affairs. Blacklight had to understand why. Something comforted her, something reconciled her with the role of the most hated creature in the world which proudly remembered its primordial name — Equestria.

...Another aspect of Black Moon is language, knowledge and doubt. What is known, what is spoken out loud or written down, and what is not necessarily how it appears at first.

What would Twilight Starfall do?

“Shall we talk?”

A contented thought flashed from the depths of the Red, So I'll break you open all the same!

What do you, little one, want to talk about?

How useful Cursory's vast memory would be now! But Cursory was like a stone statue right now. Still Blacklight knew something. For all her reclusiveness, she heard rumors, broadcasted sector warnings, brochures with basic advice in the event of an infusion.

They talked about effects, or gifts, as the Red called them. About cancerous tumors, about insects hatching from still living ponies, about instant and delayed poisons, about madness, transformations and suffocation.

Here it was! The Red, telling what it did, and what else it would perform over the world later on... was nonchalant about this. This was a hypothesis, even a theory, but it could not be confirmed for certain. And yet only truly indifferent ponies can do these things with such insidiousness, and keep doing, for eras uncounted.

Contrary to popular belief, the Red never enjoyed pain as such. Only moral satisfaction from revenge. This option was dropped from the list.

“And to what end?”

In the end there will be a truly united kingdom under the singular rule beyond the Moons, who will be banished forever and expelled from the world. The power designated and acknowledged, three cycles of calm triumph over the frozen land, and the true end of unlife. Thus it would then leave the world that betrayed it empty and cold.

So it is revenge. Not against us personally, but against the Moons and the world.

Cautiously insomuch as caution had meaningful definition in the circumstances, Blacklight turned the conversation to the Moons.


💡💡💡


Blacklight talked and the Red could not shut itself out from her words, even if it pretended not to listen, about Black Moon and Its aspects. About darkness where everything is possible, where any obstacle is mutually equivalent to a question. About how there is more space than it seems, and there are more ways and times than other eyes can see. The fact that Black Moon actually has Her own color and Her own radiance — a little further than violet. In passing, she touched on technology and electricity — something that the Red had no knowledge about at all, and thus was very curious; and the Red moved closer, listening intently, full of envy and a barely perceptible desire to cooperate. What if we create fungi that can feed on electromagnetic fields?

The aspects were mostly safe to talk about. The Red was responding, and time passed in a normal way, if not too fast, similar to how it goes when talking with a new — future — friend. The silence left out without a word, and the conversation came in. The Red had not yet emerged from the ocean, but the icy sphere with Blacklight and Cursory inside was filled with an aspect of Black Moon — and the Red was fine with that. Moreso as Moons’ aspects could never defeat it or damage it.

This aspect could be mine, you know?

But Black Moon Herself, unlike Her aspects or the other two Moons... She was not a topic. She was pain.

Blacklight felt the excitement, as if leading a big fish on a line from the dark water. It was not good to think so, moreso about a living pony, even if the one is very bad and not exactly living.

They went on, slowly, stopping, retreating and returning. Touching the pain, accepting it for a beat in order to step away, cry it out even if each of the two pretended not to cry and come to it again. It boiled down to being about envy. Envy of the one who turned out to be a little more successful; a little happier.

“Black Moon personally gave an award for the best school project to my acquaintance…” Blacklight said about her,  probing some more and starting a new story. One of many stories that were told.

Nopony will reward me. I am no more. I can’t do your projects, the Red replied. It still was not a pony. It did not pretend to be one. But it spoke with words, and sentences were coherent, and much less blind hate was squeezing the sphere from all sides.

”Then they went to Her...”

You mean — summoned Her or called for Her?

“No, they went to sector 12-S where Black Moon lives… She can live in any S-sector, you know.”

She is doing what? What did you just say? Anger of the Red receded, for a moment. It was utterly surprised. Black Moon should be dead, I ensured as much! You said yourself that you were going to revive Her!

“Yes, She is dead. But you see, such is the nature of S-sectors that there She can live. So there She lives. She sleeps, eats, and reads books. She works in Her lab too—”

They were no longer in a world of thoughts. The world shattered into pieces, and Cursory's crystal shield cracked under dazzling anger of the Red. Cracked, but held up.

No insidious voice around, either; they were alone.

They stood in the sand, under an ice dome; they broke through it with no effort — a touch was enough for the ice to crumble around. The ocean rustled lazily behind them.

“May I hug you?” asked the barely familiar, ringing, broken Cursory's voice.

Blacklight blinked, "What? Yes, I guess…”

Despite the question, or because it was exactly that question, she was not hugged.

One silence later, Cursory sighed, “I… I thought I had been strong enough to win over everything. Even the Red. That was the only reason why I survived. Rarity and Rainbow Dash, my former shards, were the strongest of the Six, you know? Standing against the Red, I finally became one with them… and they were so generous to keep me as the forward personality. Maybe because I have a pony to live for...”

Blacklight nodded, not understanding why Cursory was crying. She was afraid to say anything. What if an accidental word would offend somepony? Cursory or the Red, or both.

Cursory continued, “But if it wasn't for you, sooner or later…”, and sniffed, “Thank you, Twilight.”

Blacklight nodded again. “You… Thank you. You bought time for the Red and me to…”

She had to say something else, but Blacklight just did not know what. Even though she reasoned and guessed for what exactly Cursory was grateful, this knowledge did not become a feeling, and could not please. There was really nothing special about the conversation in the ocean’s depths.

Blacklight blinked and turned away, picking at the sand with her hoof, almost in tears too.

Then she was hugged, after all.
> Chapter 49: Repentance
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


⊛⊛⊛


Gentle Touch together with Plum Jam were next to step over the edge. The mirror was full of shimmering lights. Plum lingered among them, jumping, kicking and pushing away living orange sparks — the largest of them were the size of her head, the smallest no larger than her namesake fruit. The lights rang iridescently and whispered in response, ricocheting from the invisible floor or walls aside or scattering into small sparks. Plum caught one of them with her head and bounced it for a while along her steps — up and down, up and down. Then she nudged her fireball towards Gentle, and it would be simply impolite to miss the pass. Sparkles got into her nose and over her tongue, Gentle sneezed and laughed, but did not let herself forget their purpose and direction.

They kept going more or less along the course, farther from the vault, closer to something else, pushing lights aside, coming up with rules for new games as they went to pass the time and the road of unknown length — games that nopony would ever know about — and diverting from them just as freely. By herself, Gentle Touch would rather not indulge in that, but Plum’s joy was infectious.

If not for Gentle, the younger pony could have stayed here for a very long time — even with an older companion she still sometimes stopped, her ear tilted towards a particularly large spark, listening to its voice. Gentle, not forgetting about the game, still tried to lead her smallest team approximately forward. For several times Gentle closed her eyes, trying to find anypony living, and saw not threads but scales of feelings in each of these sparks. Barely outlined experiences, impressions, the door outside where cold and darkness lie, but my mom is already waiting for me on the street... high swing for the skies, heart skips a beat... an instant of confusion, where is the door... oh, I'm visiting... 

The sparks were glad to see them here. Gentle began trying to pay attention to each one; she tried to hear, understand, accept every spark — but there were too many of them, and, responding to attention, they were rolling ever closer to Gentle. Sparks covered her legs like a pile of well-washed fruit, rose to her stomach, and the memory coalesced to a few semi-coherent parts.

I'm a bad pony when I can't be the winner...

First a dance space, then a teleport —  starting with the uniform, as that one mistake was enough, then another teleport, change clothes, and to the dueling range...

...In a bad mood to swim? What do you mean, bad mood? Will you tell your drowning sister that you are not in the mood, young lady? Well, I know she can swim, I mean this in a general sense, as an example! What's so funny, dear? No, you tell me what's funny right now, and look me in the eye!

Gentle shook her head, and they moved on with less distraction. There was a pony behind the sparks, or maybe a few of them, but most likely one — and Gentle was afraid to drown in her orange. The personal willpower to fight with any competitor and inevitably win — to get attention and success — was there. Even in this dissipated state, the energy was there. Who knew what this soul would do if given actual strength?

Plum was balancing another large orange sphere on her back, the light’s color noticeably brighter than the shade of Gentle's coat. For three beats or a little more, Gentle envied this brightness for some reason; likely because the spark was quite accustomed to being envied.

Soon the sparks were left behind — so slowly that it was impossible to say 'This is the last one' and to experience the fear of the deepening darkness. Anyway, the fluffy orange sphere on Plum's back continued to shine with quiet confidence, knowing its strength. 

Of course, if Gentle could judge, disapprove or condemn; if Gentle were older; if Gentle could decide who would be admitted to a school; if Gentle would distribute diplomas and certificates; if Gently would hold keys to the closed wing of the castle library; if Gentle would be hiding a special prize for the best student in a quest cache somewhere in the city, then it could be different.

But there was nothing that Gentle Touch could actually do and the spark was content.

They stepped from the limbo into the plains leading to a cold ocean nearby; so far away that it could be barely seen but clearly heard. 

The sky was full of dark clouds; Plum jumped in place and sent the last spark flying. It flew up and forward in an arc, slowed down, stopped, and did not fall. Looking around in the unfamiliar orange light, both direct and reflected from the clouds, Gentle saw rows of counters, slightly uneven, spreading out to cover long tables between them. The light accentuated every crack, every dimple in the rough wood, right down to the chips on the plates. The paint was gone from the cutlery, and a trail of ants wandered over the fruits as a living blood.

Not a single pony was around, and the smells were muffled — even fruits and spices, from apples to mangoes, from cinnamon to garlic, were barely felt in the air, mixed waves touching her nose along with a light tickling breeze. The land, partially covered with boards, but fertile — Gentle felt its depth and seeds in the soil — was waiting only for care and for the light of White Moon to grow. It was trembling underhoof, as from a distant quake.

Plum sobbed and sat down, looking at Gentle with blue eyes wet and wide open.

“What happened?” Gentle asked, turning to her and sitting down too.

Plum did not speak immediately.


🍯🍯🍯


When the lands of the Jam family joined the Metropolis, the future Plum Jam grandmothers just had graduated from the school, and the eldest of her future great-grandmothers, Honey Jam, was definitely not going to admit that from now on her ancestral fields, reaching to the horizon from six sides and to the ocean from the three remaining ones, are part of the city, have a serial number and a place on the map, and— she could not say what exactly 'and'. She just had a gut feeling that it would not end well.

Some outsider pony would likely be saying that nothing has changed even three nines of rounds later. The Net, almost invisible from below, stretched over the fields, making it possible to leave the house and meet with neighbors without checking the strength of the Moons by the phase clock, and for the first time in generations of Jam, ever, nopony became either Changed or a Herald. All good, nothing bad.

Honey Jam knew better. The grass in the fields was conspiring with the city, the apples and leaves were getting smaller, the buyers had to be asked to repeat what they just said because of their accent, with an attitude as if it was she who was illiterate. From the side of the city — from all sides, because the Metropolis was now everywhere she looked — new settlers entered her lands, even if they followed the rules of grandmother Honey.

But it was completely different, not like before, and alien colors were waking Honey Jam from her light sleep more and more often — the even, dead shine of demarcation lamps on rare posts and along irrigation canals. ‘Here you are, dear, and here are your reputable guests, and please avoid troubles.’

There was a time before she finally understood how status works, and a time before she learned to use its gifts. When the standard carriage did not suit her at all, the polite clerk offered her another, air one, with a small surcharge. She doubted, consulted with her foals who despite being well in middle age were ‘forever little’ to her, and tried to convince them that there was no need for that.

She asked the land if it does not mind a carriage around. It did not object to transport as long as it was not driven by wheels, and the long trade trip for seeds and saplings throughout the big country was worth it. After it, for a few rounds after, Honey Jam wrote to her new distant friends and partners, boasting unrestrained of how especially strong her new trees were, how quickly they grew and started to bear fruit much earlier than her old apple trees.

And yet, appreciating the joy and being grateful for it, Honey Jam suspected all her life throughout to her death that she had been deceived in some clever way.

Death did not take her in a beat, but neither was he especially late: if a pony steps far beyond the square nine of rounds, then, in general, they should know that time is near. Death crunched his bony legs on the rug at the entrance, and landmare Honey’s walk became cautious. He looked from the threshold with empty eye sockets, and great-grandmother Honey realized that she sees little now. He stepped into the living room and sipped from the offered cup, and old mare's tea tasted like ash.

She knew what was in Death’s further plans about her, and was not going to be a burden and delay leaving the house side by side with the unwelcome guest, but all the same she did not want to leave her relatives stunned and without a worthy farewell.

It would be possible to time the last meeting of the family to be in turn with the coming of the Red — ponies in current times learned to predict them quite accurately, and Honey herself could smell them in the air a few slices in advance. But in order to be polite to Metropolis, who in general — Honey sensed the truth where the truth was — did not cause Honey any real harm, the great-grandmother decided to come to Her and visit one of Her hospital sectors to die there; she chose the place to make an appointment with one of her own kin. 

Thus she would be making a peace treaty with the city.

The body, and — as she hoped — the soul after that had to return back to the lands of the clan, to their own soil, to her loved ones. Great-grandmother Honey took care of this return, in order not to remain in an unnamed cemetery in an unknown sector of the Metropolis among the strangers and impolite dead in any possible case.

But before the trip to the city, she wanted to arrange a feast, gathering guests both winged and horned, relatives and friends and just good ponies from all nine sides of the country to feed them, listen to them, and make sure that life still goes on.


🍮🍮🍮 


Tears were over, as they always eventually are; not right away. Gentle sat opposite, at an appropriate distance of five steps, but was all ears and all wide pinkish eyes. The faint blue mesh on her irises pulsed in a smooth, comforting rhythm, but Gentle herself was silent. Neither "let's get to the point," nor "it happens to everypony," nor "I have a similar story." She was there, and that was more important than anything Gentle could say.

“I never got to her. Great-grandmother invited me by name as she did for everypony else. I saw these lines in the letter myself, I already knew how to read back then, if very slowly, so not all the letter but my part in the end. And my mom said that it is not necessary. That I should remember my grandmother healthy and strong — and by that slip I knew for sure Honey is dying. Then dad said that he would take me along... if I finish a study trimester with all nines— and I passed— and t-then it turned out that... it was too late, and even when he had told me that, it was too late. I did not read the full letter, you know, and… well, I looked for it to be sure, I found it, hidden at the far wall of the case—”

Plum froze, hiding her head between her front legs. Gentle exhaled, and continued to be silent, warm and sympathetic. Plum looked at her, and went on, her voice dry and calm, “They cut off that part of the letter where Honey called for me, you know? It was in the last lines anyway. And they told me that they didn't cut anything, I just misremembered. I am a foal, I have no right to choose for myself, they know better, and I need to study well and not upset my elders. Then they showed me a photo from the gathering, and-- since that, as if there was nothing. No grandmother, no gathering, no me. Let's turn over a new leaf, forget about that… even as they managed to visit the gathering — without me! I wished to become unbound that cycle; the wish was not granted. It does not work like that.”


⊛⊛⊛


Gentle nodded, not knowing what to say. Cursory would find good words, the thought appeared, lingered, went into the void.

“Do you need to be reassured? I probably can…” Gentle asked, her tongue as dry as the resulting words.

Plum shook her head desperately, “No! But if we are here now, maybe... maybe this mirrorland wants to tell us something? Isn't there a reason that we are here, where I got the memory? And... Could you lead me so that I don't get lost?”

Gentle nodded and led her along the tables, row by row. Looking around and closing her eyes, she looked for somepony alive, to no avail. Plum was picking cherries and oranges from the tables along the way, and Gentle also ventured to try them — tasty, even juicy, but not quite alive. Nevertheless, Gentle decided to be polite, and put all the seeds in bowls and sometimes said ‘thank you’ into the air, confused and awkward.

There was no hunger or thirst, but fatigue was rising, and with each turn it was a little more difficult to move her legs, and the turns did not end; still did not; and forever. Plum at first held on to her tail, then she was by her side and maybe higher than Gentle herself, and then definitely higher and helping Gentle move on.

Gentle Touch did not stop. No matter how silly, no matter how obvious the emptiness around was... maybe I can still fix something.

As a Herald, Gentle Touch knew how to keep silent. As a pony, Gentle Touch was not very good at speaking.

“Oh, I saw her” or even “You know, it looks like we’re relatives” would not help here. Especially considering the reason for Gentle's meeting with grandmother Honey and the brevity of the date.

Gritting her teeth and closing her eyes, Gentle Touch continued to lead Plum through the pale shadow of a long past family reunion. She had long held on through stubbornness alone. Then it began to fail her too.

Time stopped.

Then with a jingle it rushed on, again. Plum darted forward as a living rocket, knocking down a tall, stately, old pony of bright yellow coat and a two-tone mane out of a chair. “Grandmother!”

“Not really,” the Red said in a soft and smooth tone that crawled in the dirt. “I’d say I am very flattered. You came to my heart, dear, and share it with me now. Honey Jam tried to remember you. She knew she had forgotten somepony. She did not remember whom until it was too late.”

Gentle's legs gave way, and she sank to the dark ground. A sharp pain shot through the joints, and the Red became a barely noticeable silhouette in the dull, feeble darkness; the orange above became nothing more than a blurry spot.

“I was... deceived too. They did not ask me either. They did not ask if I wanted to be a Moon or not. They knew better what was best for me,” the Red said. 


🍮🍮🍮


Perhaps the Red wanted to break Plum. It wanted that for sure, even.

Plum knew that everypony deserves friendship and care. No exceptions.

Plum also knew how to leave her own troubles aside for a time, if others felt bad around her.

She helped the Red stand up, hugged it and looked straight into its eyes. 

“I understand. It’s very disappointing,” Plum said. “Do you want to speak about it?”

“Not yet,” the Red shook its head, and quietly laughed as if for an unspoken joke.

Plum went along with the laugh, not turning away from swampish cyan eyes. She pressed her ears, and tried to smile, “I will stay nearby. Until you are ready to tell, or until you send us away.”

The Red twitched its ear, pulled its head back, examined Plum from a distance, “You mean I can choose now? Foolish, weak, mortal ponies. Well, then I chose. I will let you go if you promise me that you will take revenge on your parents. It will be fair and just, and it will please me and serve me. In the end, they deceived and betrayed you, and violated your and Honey's freedom of choice. Are we in agreement?” it moved to the table, saying that.

Plum did not even think, “Of course not. They are good ponies.”

“But why?” the Red raised its voice a little, “You were hurt as they exerted their power over you. This is what happened.”

Plum shook her head, “I don’t know. I don’t want to know. Just no.”

The Red cut a piece of apple pie with a hornbeam of the namesake’s color; the stench of rot filled the air. 

“Then you shall stay with me,” the Red decided. “Until you change your mind. By the way, Gentle Touch, don’t you want to return to the world where you have not killed anypony?”


⊛⊛⊛


Gentle Touch reached the chair on the other side of the Red, leaned on it, pulled herself up, and with an effort climbed onto the chair. Her head was spinning, empty air was rustling in her chest, and her front legs trembled weakly.

She replied, looking straight to the damned one’s face, “I’d rather not. What I do, shapes me. Any such change will… erase me, I think. I have love now. Love that I forced over, but I will not surrender my future wife. And knowing you, she could very well be the price.”

Plum looked at her and then at the Red, full of concern; also, utterly fearless.

At first the three of them drank sour but passable pomegranate juice in silence, listening to the ocean-tasting wind.

Then the Red spoke to its guests.
> Chapter 50: Desolation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


↯↯↯


Dartline walked over to the mirror, holding out a hoof, and never touched it. Her wings a bit ruffled, the dark blue pegasus turned to Solid Line’s capsule, walked along it and touched the cat lying on it with her nose — the cat did not react much, only opened its bright green eyes.

Wonder what color Solid’s eyes are... Dartline thought idly and began to push the capsule with her forehead towards the mirror. Soon she saw that it’s not working and her hooves are sliding on the smooth floor, while the capsule does not even move.

The pegasus grumbled, retreated to the corner of the dimly lit room, where Storm’s observation device worked silently, leaned over to the camera's peephole and calmly said, “Reputable one? I don’t exactly remember your name, but I can’t push your sleeping princess alone here, so either you come here or whatever.”

Then she curled up on the floor, covered herself with a wing, and in a few beats fell asleep. The light of Blue Moon shone through the hole in the closed and locked door of the vault.

The door shifted open pretty soon — slowly, heavily letting in the light. Dartline, once poked by an armored hoof, woke up and moved a little faster.

Before leaving, she and Storm had a cup of hot coffee with dried gingerbread.

There was no more reason to postpone, and, once again yawning profoundly, Dartline fell over the mirror’s edge without a sound, lying on the capsule, the cat under her wing.

The fall was short — reflexes kicked in, the body bent slightly, wings caught air and Dartline landed on the soft, loose slope of wet black soil.

At least she landed, and did not fall like a stone.

There was no city; in the magnetic sense the lines were sometimes disturbed only by lightning above. Foliage rustled high overhead; thunder rolled, never truly going silent; long pinkish-white flashes glittered in the overlying clouds — the flashes were like the ones at the distant descent-of-Blue. There was no rain, but judging by the weather, it could pour at any beat.

Dartline looked around. This is not reality, do not get carried away, she reminded herself sternly, Blackie and Plum are the first to find, the rest will follow. 

There was neither capsule, nor cat, nor mirror nearby. There was the Forest, and its whispers evoked long and viscous dreams. Dartline took a few steps, spotted a comfortable place among the thick roots, yawned and shook her head sharply.

Taking off in one strong swing, she hovered high in the sky, between tree tops and low clouds. The dark blue pegasus stayed in place without any effort under the chaotic but not so harsh gusts of wind. The weather was all fury and darkness, or rather painted an image of that, but did not particularly try to show that it was doing it in earnest.

“I'm not the sleepyhead you think I am,” Dartline muttered under her breath. According to the experience of communication with Metropolis, this was enough — in those cases when  Metropolis was deigned to even listen to Dartline’s opinion. This means that the Red will likely hear too.

She could wait until the Red grows irate and changes the scene, or live on the stage offered. The latter option was simpler, and soon Dartline, aligned for ascent-of-Blue by magnetic sense, flew towards the direction. There was no Blue Moon to be found, but the pegasus was not particularly worried about that. The Forest was a dark rag

...three purple flares from below and from both her sides...

spread below; Dartline shook her head to wave off the spark of alien memory. For a time she flew around a downpouring cloudfront and returned to course, mostly forgetting about it by then.

Then the Forest ended. More precisely, it changed its appearance on the edge of the enormous crater and began to descend into it cautiously, bending down, in rare low pines among sloping and cracked stone slabs, covered with green and purple moss. Now Dartline knew where she was — the place was one of the few notable points of the Forest, a landmark.

Except the crater was different. The rim still curved to the horizon, but the slope was much sharper, deeper, more abrupt. The Forest did not completely cover it, as it should in Dartline’s reality, and closer to the center, on black basalt, it quickly faded away, and then completely disappeared, unable to step onto the glass edge of what was once sand.

Dartline raised an eyebrow and flew on. Dead glass glistened below until it ended too. Dartline hovered in the air, looking down and trying to figure out what she was seeing.

Glass edge had been cut in a circle too precise to be natural. As if a powerful unicorn had created a protective hemisphere and prevented the fire from coming in... the sphere, Dartline corrected herself. If the rocky base melted here...

Inside the circle — a wide meadow, once a lawn; clover, dandelions, cornflowers living together with no care at all, limited by the glass.

The ruins of a castle in the middle — broken off spires with conical roofs lay on the grass, the upper floors dismantled by the onslaught of time, only buttressed walls remained of them. The central line once divided the castle equally into obsidian and marble halves.

And — points for ordinary eyes, figures and faces for Dartline — three ponies were beside the ruins. Two unicorns and a pegasus, all in shades of yellow and pink, all sitting in a tight circle. Solid Line, and?..

Dartline dived towards them; maybe faster than she should.

“Which one of you is the Red?” she asked bluntly, “Who should I talk to? Did you see Blackline or Plum?”

“We thought it was you who is the Red…” the pegasus said, and even out loud she made an ellipsis impression. “I'm Fluttershy, there is Solid Line — my former and future caretaker — and this is Signal Line, her aunt. We haven't seen anypony but you.”

Signal Line adjusted her glasses and looked sternly at Dartline, “We have an acquaintance already. I am the reimplant.”

“You're prettier as a pony,” Dartline said honestly. The other two chuckled for some reason, Dartline glared at them, and they waved their hooves away in a ‘you won't understand’ sense.

Well, okay, no explanation needed, thought Dartline. Three beats passed.

“Well, what are we waiting for and where is the Red?” the blue pegasus asked and yawned again.

Fluttershy hesitated, “We think it is in the castle, and we aren’t welcome there,” she said finally.

To prove that, Fluttershy approached the break in the wall in the ruins, took a step, and stopped at the threshold, as if stuck by an invisible barrier.

She came closer to Dartline, “We tried to enter in different ways and in all combinations. Then we talked. Solid Line believes that the correct solution is to propose the Red to become the Moon. The real Moon, the fourth of three. Otherwise, the world will die sooner or later. The Trinity can not keep the world truly stable.”

Dartline pressed her ears and with a huge effort did not express her opinion on this matter.

“Well, do propose, for all the stars devouring,” she exhaled and flattened herself in the meadow, soon snoring quietly. Then, without opening her eyes, she added, “If something changes, wake me up. If you find any way to get to Blackie and Plum, wake me up too. I have nothing to add. You are the smart mares here.”

Then she began to snore for real.

Dartline’s dream was deep and calm. Blood was barely audible in her ears, and the Red was somewhere nearby. And Dartline began to feel it and understand it.

More precisely, the Red was everywhere. But somewhere there was more of it; so Dartline would have tried to describe it in a letter, had she the mood to deviate from the once made and still holding request of Metropolis to refrain from any means of disclosure.

Once the Red was a pony. Therefore, unlike Metropolis, it could not be completely everywhere.

In each of the doubles, in the traveler who still had been returning victorious, in anypony who visited the demesne of the Red alive, in the sore wounds left by its rays, there was enough of the Red to hear...

...but not enough to be.

A scattered presence wherever its symbols, guides and pathways were, but only one point where it could appear like a pony, or before ponies, if it wanted to convey something to the world or to its guests.

And not everywhere these signs and conduits of power were enough to shift this single point to them, to provide it with some kind of actual appearance and allow for something more than a passing thought or a vision.

Metropolis, in comparison, was present perfectly and evenly everywhere within Her continent-spanning body. But Her origin was not from a living pony.

However, there was enough resemblance to—

"May I, please?" Dartline asked without waking up.


🔴🔴🔴 


It was not a shame. It was not an actual curiosity. The Red knew enough about bacteria and viruses to open an isolated entrance for such a case. An entrance that will not affect the Red in any way.

The only feeling was subdued interest. In the three-dimensional local time, only seven times — before? Or after that? Aside from that? — the Red had been asked — will be asked? Could be, probably, asked? — for such a contact.

Among the multitude of sensations, this had not yet become meaningless.

But the Red removed this feeling too. No external information, words, feelings and emotions. Nothing that could harm it in an unknown way.

It did not feel when Dartline integrated with it.


↯↯↯


Being of the Red was unimaginably huge and crushingly empty. Disease-causing life, its main art, was unable to think on its own, and among the innumerable spaces that could become worlds, true worlds were relatively representable and finite in numbers.

A memory lane that turns into dreams of the future and back, eaten away at the edges by the salt of time. Several test sites. Then, one world per everypony that came to it — will come? Have a chance to come?

There were, of course, many such spaces too, incredibly many, from the pony's point of view.

For Dartline they were notably fewer in number than lit, cozy and waiting windows in Metropolis.

Small enough number to check them all. To find Blacklight by a hot fire on the shores of a dark ocean, and Plum Jam — tall, strong, still restlessly alive in her middle age, at a festive table covered and decorated with candles, spinning around to look at one or the other old mare next to her.

She remembered these particles of bitter and thirsty infinity, as well as the lines of flight to them from the world where the sleeping biological body of Dartline lay, the one arbitrarily labelled as the ‘main’ one.

She lingered at Plum Jam’s one because the Red was there; and — not without surprise — accompanied it to the very ruined castle. Into the main world.

Dartline woke up, as always, remembering little from a time of integration with a higher-dimension entity. Almost nothing but bitterness on the tongue, emptiness in the stomach and a few key images, knowledge, directions. Exactly as many as she — an ordinary pony — will not forget while they still mean something.

“Now it will let us in. The keeper of the castle had been busy; it is not anymore,” Dartline said to ponies. She waited for them to get it. She repeated it one more time, in spite of the coming fatigue. Integrations were always exhausting.

Then she, the first of the four, stepped through the arch of the entrance.

The smell of rot filled the calm air here. Not the harsh stench of putrid flesh, but of cool, soft, comfortable decay. Leaves that have fallen many seasons ago, yellow grass that will never turn green. A wet wood with no one to whitewash it.

Dartline looked around. The once white polished stone had its edges conquered by green plant slime. The bindweed lashes hanging from above had dried up long ago, turned black and brittle.

The Red met them a throw or two further in — a tall figure in a black blanket with yellow-orange embroidery, a deep hood. Even the long and thin horn was all but hidden under it, a faint yellowish hint.

Nothing threatening in its posture or words — there were no words from it anyway. Solid Line said she did not want to attack, and the Red nodded silently. Fluttershy added quietly that she didn't want to either, but... what was after that, nopony heard. Signal, standing between Fluttershy and Solid, stepped forward, and without a word it was clear that an adult unicorn is posturing to defend foals — even if they bore only the likeliness of ones.

The vast semicircle of the marble wall has once been the border of the garden. Under the dry, blackened foliage, among tree trunks and other debris, paths and benches were still noticeable. Closer to them stood a bowl of a marble fountain filled with rotten leaves.

The Red silently moved, walked over to a particularly large pile of rubbish. It appeared to Dartline that a head was sticking out of the garbage; why yes, of course, it was a head. Dartline carefully uncovered it all from the trash.

The graceful snow-white statue once depicted an alicorn. Now it was lying on its side. Judging by the broken legs — they were still nearby — it was swept from the pedestal by an unknown force, with no care or attention, like a foal’s toy, broken and not loved anymore by the now-adult.

Dartline wanted to go further, but Signal stopped her with a movement of her hoof. Something was wrong here.

Each sculptor could depict any of the Moons to all their heart’s content... but there were only so many confluences and interweaving of possible aspects, except cases where artists were working in teams. Attentive eyes could make a grid consisting of about square nine… not exactly art schools but established canonical images and messages. "Searing Fury", "Mother of Fertility", "Justice in Sorrow"... art historians have argued for many eras about complete and definitive lists, and such lists were for the most part done. 

Dartline did not memorize them, unlike her friend — she only had a keen eye and really weak alignment for Blue Moon. And yet, she was sure that such an image was definitely not used in Metropolis before.

Tall, long neck and legs, muscles and veins, ready to break into a joyful run in a beat. A lively face full of good-natured cunning, The alicorn seemed to be about to wink. Large, strong, but lithe body and croup — proportional, but emphatically convex. In principle, the sculpture could resemble those that are placed on secluded lawns, if ponies want to align the place itself to White Moon, but that was only the closest option, not an exact answer.

The statue still seemed alive. Whoever made it, the sculptor knew the alicorn well — in body and in soul.

Looking around, they entered an unlit passage, and the Red walked among them as a shadow, as if it were originally part of the team. It was not trying to lead or give directions.

They climbed a twisted staircase lightly littered with debris into what had once been private rooms.

By an unknown whim of nature, this part has been best preserved. If it were not for the dust lying on everything — on the remains of a carpet, furniture, on a large made bed — one would think that ponies still live here. Even the dusty light shining through the tattered curtains was warmer. There was nopony in the room.

The ponies looked at Red, sometimes stopping. In these cases the Red stopped too without a word; Fluttershy came back to it and asked, “Are we going right?”

The Red nodded.

They gave up on counting time, moving from one empty room to another and breathing the air long ago abandoned even by sadness itself. The throne room, naked and not at all majestic, just an echoing stone space with two cracked thrones between broken windows; useless fragments of stained glass under jambs. Another garden, now with a black statue, tumbled down with no care too... by the same artist, Dartline noted to herself. Armory with rust in place of weapons, a kitchen with no fire in ovens, pantries where only dust was kept.

They walked around the royal section of the palace. Guest rooms were deeper in, through another single passage in the lobby room.

There they first met a door that did not give in to them. After a little hesitation, Solid cut out the doorway with a neat beam. Debris poured down to their hooves, dust began to swirl.

“Wow!” Dartline exhaled at the sight of the library. Or rather of no library. This room seemed thoroughly trashed a long time ago. The secret hope to profit from something unique died without being born. 

Every shelf, every page, even every tile on the floor has been meticulously and violently destroyed. A layer of debris three steps high in the middle of the bare walls was all that remained, and a hole with melted, curved, edges was in place of the ceiling.

They did not go inside, and returned to the lobby to rest.

Then the Red spoke up, and there was no threat in its voice. Fluttershy turned to it, lay down in front of the Red, lifting her head to it. Small yellow wings were slightly open, symmetrically and gracefully, as if the pegasus itself was also a statue, and the border between the Red and the team. Solid Line and Signal summoned a protective field together, but listened too. Two lines of ants and slugs entwined the Red's legs, and climbed up to its chest.

“Do you see anything of mine here?” asked the Red, and did not wait for an answer, “No. This is the Castle of the Two Sisters, I never dared even raise my voice in their presence.” 

Solid Line stepped forward, holding the shield, “No, we saw nothing of you here. Are you saying that the Moons erased all memory of you? But this is your world, you can build it up with your statues all you want.”

The Red stepped forward, but Fluttershy spread her wings wider, and the step was interrupted in its first third.

“No.” the Red said quietly. “I gave everything to them.”

Solid Line winced at the — once again — deliberately informal pronoun usage for the Moons, but other than Dartline, nopony seemed to notice.

“They are higher beings, the world rests on them. I developed new ways of processing insects into flour, and even the shadow of hunger left Equestria. I created new protective enchantments, new weapons, fabrics that themselves exuded magic, in which the ponies simply could not freeze or overheat. And everything that I did, I gave them, foolishly and recklessly. I was mortal, my time would be running out while theirs will not. They accepted my gifts, and I studied, trained and fought for the sisters. I was the best one, invincible and incomparable — I was there for them and for their sake. There was nopony who would challenge my right to be the first at the closest step to the two thrones! All challengers were at least nine steps down, that’s how much more powerful I had been!”

Solid Line interrupted, “No. I do not believe you. Nopony can get all aspects. Attention and care for others, working together... a well-coordinated trio is always stronger and more useful than a loner.”

The blanket of an alicorn burned right on its body, and a dangerous yellow-orange heat enveloped the damned one in a spiky aura. Cyan eyes shone with inner fire, “Believe it or not, but it was so! I was unsurpassed, merciless, and prepared to do anything for their sake, with my body and my soul, and life itself, and just the way they want — and they both were using me as a worthy tool, not excluding sexual purpose! You can’t get it, your mind is cut short, and I say it as is — you do not know what true servitude is!”

Solid shook her head, “I don’t mean to offend you, but it sounds disgusting. This kind of life is not good for ponies.”

The Red took another step, raised her leg to step on Fluttershy's head, but stumbled over the oncoming gaze, and instead flew over her, falling awkwardly on its side. The fire of her rage ignited the dust on the floor, and the party was forced to retreat, dropping to the ground and squinting; Dartline frowned and tried to summon the cold of Blue Moon to extinguish the flames, but it flared even brighter.

“Please calm down,” was said quietly and indisputably. Fluttershy stood behind Red and looked at her and the squad with a sad, disapproving and ‘I expected better from you’  look on her face.

The Red did not stop burning. Its flame became barely tickling with warmth; not searing hot anymore. Three beats later, she sighed, “I didn't ask for awards. I didn't need any. I did everything only for them to be happy. And what do you think I got in the end?”

Dartline shook her head, “I don’t know, and it’s not that important. You hurt, kill and torture ponies. No mistakes of the past can justify this.”

The Red laughed, and its answer in deceptive whisper cracked the floor beneath them, sending them tumbling in the darkness, “They murdered me. Thrice.”

In the fall, Dartline managed to grab and hold Signal, but Solid was less fortunate: she slipped out of Fluttershy's grip and fell heavily on her back, hooves up.

Dartline looked around. 

They were in a cave, on the banks of an underground pool lined with gray stone. Its far end was lost in the darkness. At the near end, under a torch, an old but sturdy boat was tied.

Having gathered around Solid, who was bruised but relatively fine, and having given her first aid, they went to look for exits. Then a dull rumble shook the cave. The boat danced on the waves. Above them, as Dartline flew up, nothing but a cold stone — the ceiling closed up as a trap. Along the edges of the pool were the walls of the cave.

Does it want to drown us? A dumb way to die, for sure...

They rowed for a long time. The torchlight faded behind. The silence of the underground hall was broken only by the splash of oars on the water.

A ghostly blue light loomed ahead. A third of a slice later, the boat struck the rock bottom and came to a stop. Dartline and Fluttershy were able to soar but unicorns had to climb into the icy water; then the low ceiling forced pegasi to dive as well. Fortunately, the icy underwater tunnel was short.

The ghostly fire turned out to be a bonfire, but the steady blue crown exuded only cold. A light wind blew in their faces. They were no longer in the cave. A bonfire burned on a sandbank by the ocean.

The Red was sitting by the fire.

“Greetings again—” it began, but Dartline interrupted it.

“Later, our friend feels bad.”

First, they massaged Solid thoroughly. Then, unceremoniously pulling several logs of driftwood from the shore, they lit a fire — real fire, hot and yellow. After making sure that Solid was not going to freeze after all, and covering her with both wings — lying above, to heat Solid up with her own body, Dartline remembered that yes, they were in the lair of the Red. And — where was it?

“Don’t be alarmed, they will help your friend to regain her strength. I have a story of what did not exactly happen, and I’d like for you all to hear it,” a voice said.

Eight ants crawled in a line into Solid Line's open mouth.
> Chapter 51: Betrayal
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


☀️☀️☀️


Once upon a time, in a magical land of Equestria...

To be precise, at half past five in the morning, Sunset Shimmer, the first ever student of both Princesses, for the first time in her short life understood that she had lost. It was a new and very unusual feeling. More than unpleasant, too.

Especially knowing what was at stake.

She had previously made mistakes, even though she was reluctant to admit it. Due to incorrect initial data, lack of knowledge, imperfect tools. Because of the stubborn, obstinate ponies.

At such occasions she was furious, smashing tools against a wall, vowing to leave and never return. Then she would get more books, more accurate instruments, and the best assistants. She rarely repeated the same mistake twice.

Before today Sunset has never failed a project. She had seen others fail, but If she herself would not succeed, the world would collapse around her. It was the gut feeling, beyond any rational thinking.

Apparently it was not a feeling anymore.

Half a year has passed since the day Celestia commissioned her to investigate anomalous solar activity. Princesses, possessing immeasurable magical power and a direct connection with the luminaries for this very reason were useless as researchers — their attention by itself was affecting Sun or Moon.

But there was Sunset. Faithful, reliable, invincible Sunset, to whom, in strict secrecy, they explained what would happen if the sun went out — or, rather, when it would go out.

The princesses will have a few days to live. Both of them because the Moon is a reflection of the Sun; only a few awful days. First, their magic will dry out in a matter of hours. And then their age will quickly catch up.

Six months have passed. Twelve hours ago, the sun went down for the last time.

Sunset had no solution.

She spent the first night planning. She launched several projects at once, demanding that the ‘least stupid’ ponies of Canterlot University be at her disposal, whether they wanted it or not.

The up-and-coming social engineer, utterly cynical Starlight Glimmer was tasked with preparing a plan for a refuge outside Equestria — in deep space or in parallel worlds. This plan failed. Equestria was permeated by the magical field of a planet-size creature, which was Equestria itself. Everypony knew this from foalhood. After all, even the foals knew about the Tree of Harmony. They did not know another detail — parted from it, the ponies could not exist for prolonged time. At first they would fade — emotionally and physically. Then they would lose their Marks; and finally their sapience and speech, becoming nothing more than creepy animals with a spark too dim to be seen. 

After reading this, Sunset shuddered and was about to ask how it was first found out and who were test subjects but changed her mind. 

Even if they would find another ‘Equestria-like’ entity, there was the most important thing — ponies were a complementary part of the eternal magic-processing cycle and without them Equestria would perish too. This way led to leaving their world to die. It was not worth it.

The project of a massive hollow planetoid was rejected too. For it to inhabit Equestria, the required building material would cannibalize Equestria in the first place. Improved on the same idea was an ‘eggshell’ approach, to shield the planet with another layer of matter reinforced by magic that would keep heat, magic and life inside. It really could work, except the risk of losing balance and damaging Equestria beyond sustainable state was above great — an edge to keep the dance going on would be more sharp and fragile than an actual broken eggshell.

The project of not an underground vault, but a whole new world of natural and excavated caves, illuminated and heated by magma, could work. It was something to consider. This would save a fifth of the ponies and enough non-sapient animal and plant species for Equestria to keep living, even if gravely wounded. No rescue was planned for the Princesses. Sapient animals and all other sapient races were out of the question from the beginning. 

Having read the project to this point with Sunset at her side, Celestia confided that she wants to turn the author into stone and launched project ‘Xenophilia’ instead. According to it, the underworld to come would be inhabited by the common offspring species of ponies, diamond dogs, griffins, dragons and chimeras. Starlight was urged to work on this project.

Twilight Sparkle, whom Sunset reluctantly recognized as her equal in magical theory, was tasked with creating a new sun for them. This project could be considered successful to some extent. The alchemical reaction that heated it required less magic the more massive the reactor was. In theory, as Sparkle argued, a sufficiently massive sun could shine without any outside help at all, which raised interesting questions about the structure of distant worlds... and there was no time to research this.

There was a nuance. Reactors smaller than the current sun, capable of illuminating and heating the planet's surface, required a lot of magic to trigger the cycle; and it would not be self-sustaining. For each infusion the need was much more than living unicorns can provide — even as a collective, at the theoretical limit of efficiency for magical circles which was estimated around a few thousand of unicorns. 

A breakpoint existed, though.

It required a consecutive sacrifice of all participants of the most powerful circle, performed without a single misstep in a refined and fragile order that Sparkle theoretically devised herself and Sunset verified and confirmed, with unicorns preferably the most young and most talented, in a week-long ritual. 

For this plan, Equestria would have to drastically revise its demographic policy as the approach, in laypony terms, required throwing foals in the furnace.

To this Celestia said nothing, but shared a mysterious glance with her sister. Undoubtedly, she also had some ideas of her own.

Twilight was advised to try and optimize the reactors as much as possible, to lower the frequency of the ritual from ‘once per year’ to at least an order of magnitude.

Finally, there was the main project that Sunset could entrust only to herself. To save the sun. But first, to figure out why it goes dark.

Twilight's calculations showed that there should have been enough material fuel in it for an unimaginable number of years. The problem was magic.

Thus Sunset found out that there was not too little magic but rather too much of it. Each and every day — spells, magic lamps, magic carts — all this had been creating noise.

The noise that was drowning out, extinguishing, smearing the spell of light as ponies were drawing more and more magic from Equestria.

If ponies would drop the use of magic to the absolute limit, destroy all household magic items, reduce the number of magical creatures to a minimum and ask other races to do the same without starting a war, then the Sun will pass through the lowest point of dimness and flare up again.

The final calculation was ready today. To prevent the brightness of the Sun from falling below the collapse threshold, this had to be done two hundred years ago.

The princesses were doomed.

For the first time, Sunset had no plan. She dropped her head on the pile of reports and stared blankly out the window, waiting for dawn.

There will be no dawn.

Sunset watched the candle burn out. There were no thoughts.

The candle flame quivered. She knew what that meant, but she didn't turn around. It was time to give them a report.

She got up and took a deep breath, as if preparing to jump into icy water. She was hoping to keep remnants of dignity so that her voice would not tremble.

“No need to tell, Sunset. We know.”

Sunset exhaled.

The princesses knew how to speak in different ways — in a melodious, forever young voice that was their ordinary speech, and directly invading a pony’s mind. When they did that, ponies could not lie and could not disobey. Whatever they asked for, could only be fulfilled — no hesitation and no regret, and a pony would like to do it no matter what the ‘request’ was. They did not abuse this power. Sunset, in secret, loved to be used that way.

Celestia spoke in her normal voice now. This could mean one of two things: either they were going to talk about minor things, like choosing cakes for tea — or Sunset will be offered to do something of her own free will. Something that should not be ordered.

For Sunset, there was no difference between a request and an order. Everypony knew it, even Sunset herself.

“We have a solution,” Celestia said, and Luna wanted to object, but said nothing.

Even through her adoration, Sunset felt a pang of anger, They have it, while I don’t! They were withholding information from me when..., but she put her anger in a pan, covered it with a top and sat down on a said pan, looking into Celestia's face as a faithful student.

“We thoroughly followed Twilight's calculations—”

I will kill her! No, I will marry her! I will marry her then I will kill her! There was not a muscle that moved on Sunset's face. If the Princesses read her, they didn't show it.

“And your calculations—”

Yes! Yes-yes-yes-oh-yes!

“We will split and share the sun.” Celestia finished

“...What?” Sunset blinked.

Luna entered the conversation, “According to our solution, if we divide the solar mass into three or four parts, we can keep the flame in them.”

“But the power for the spell—”

Luna stopped Sunset with a gesture. She looked back at her sister and continued in a voice a bit lower, “Yes, if the spell comes from the surface. But if four alicorns are to be constantly on... I don't know yet what we will call it, then we can feed the reaction constantly and keep Equestria illuminated and warm. We have to give up the physical form though.”

"But there are only two alicorns, as far as I know?" Sunset was at a loss for now.

The princesses looked at each other again, “You, Sunset Shimmer, will share the heavens with us.”

“When? How?”

She was not against the offer, but neither had there been an actual offer in the first place, nor time to consider what had been said, as the princesses did not answer and the joint ice and flame of their magic destroyed the body of Sunset Shimmer, all but dispersing her very soul — but the unicorn was not going to die, even after such an abrupt change, especially when so much depended on her.

Sunset Shimmer felt as if she was falling apart, losing memories, reasons, aspirations. 

She had no time to prepare, and, frankly, nothing except Celestia’s and Luna’s love and care could make her ready for that, and each next lane on the track of Ascension forced her to leave something of herself behind, in a miserable puddle of frozen ash on the floor.

She gripped at the most important parts of what she was before she was killed. She will win, as she always does. This desire to win became the core of the Red, as it, maybe, always had been.

So they took off and the wind of space blew away remaining matter from what they truly were. No more alicorns, but instead, three living fires stretched out in speed: white, blue and fiery red. There was neither Equestia nor the starry void around — only the hum of space.

Leaving the shackles of matter behind, for the sake of their own power that they will give for the good of Equestria, they have woven into themselves other, close, perhaps once rejected colors. Deep night darkness and ghostly evening blue haze intertwined with the bright blue ray of Luna, not suppressing the main color, but emphasizing it; Celestia's white flame began to slowly shift through five shades — from orange to ash.

A strange dawn rose over Equestria, casting triple colored shadows.

White, hot light ascended directly to the zenith, promising, “Everything will be fine, everything will be right. We will forever care about you and strive to improve our ruling." And the flowers raised their heads for White Moon.

Blue fire was catching up, proclaiming, "The world will not run out of beauty, magic and love." And animals, big and small, were looking for Blue Moon.

Red fire rose at the horizon and it was utterly silent. Something was off with the Red, as in Her rays there was no good and ponies shielded their eyes against them.

Only Moons heard Sunset Shimmer’s voice and even They could not read the yellow pony’s face anymore as there was no pony to look at, “I understand that I am an equal to you now. That I will have no body and no life from now on. I think it is fine, by itself. Apparently, you were in a hurry, as you did not even tell me what exactly you wanted to do… that you wanted to kill me, for the sake of Equestria. You thought, I will agree. So no need to even ask.”

“Yes, We knew that,” White Moon said, calm. “There were no exceptions before, our love.”

“And, knowing that I will, for sure, agree, you were still afraid that I might still… just not. That I will not follow you into the unknown.” Red Moon followed on, still in monotone.

“That is true too,” Blue Moon confirmed, “We felt there was a minuscule chance that you would refuse, despite all Our past together. But what is done, is done. We can’t accept Your servitude anymore, our love. Your voice is just as important as ours for our ponies and our land.”

The Red did not wait until these words would stop echoing through the heavens. She reached for a few stars, sparkling and icy cold and stars followed Her gesture, if slowly; a new constellation was born at that second, “Still, I will provide you with one last service that you have asked of me. I will be an equal to you. For being equal, I will be the first above you. I will be just as assertive as you. As you cast me out of service thus betraying me I will define terms of fulfilling your last — and I do mean last — order above me, as I see fit.

“You will learn to fear my name.”

“What are you… saying?” Blue Moon asked.

White Moon replied, and Her voice trembled, “I see… You do not know how to love, and live, without servitude. You are lost, Sunset, but… it can be helped! Please wait it out, and we will be there for You.”

The Red turned to Her former teachers and She was not even angry — just calm, collected, and ready for action. The sky was full of power. Unimaginable, enormous power that can be used for anything.

She started, and went on, with already claimed sources to make a point.

“You will be there for me, yes — as my prey.”

The power over reproduction and growth — and the Moons barely had time to keep a few bits of the aspect. Most of it was swallowed by the former Sunset Shimmer.

Life and living things in general — Blue Moon was ready and the Red bit off only the liminal parts of these possessions.

A luck that accompanies those who work hard and honest — White Moon utterly lost this third of the overall luck and more than that.

Sleep, dreams and phantasies — the aspect has split in a jagged crack, contested by two Moons at the same time and many dreams have become a road with no return.

“Stop it! Calm down and let’s speak! As equals, if you say so!” the Moons called for Sunset.

“If you can, stop me!” the Red replied, laughing.

“Then it is a war.”

Time passed. The Red did not even wage a war — She played, clumsily tearing off one or another aspect of power, and bleeding lacerations were to be found in place of what She felt useful, or necessary, or just pleasant and shiny enough to toy around with, sometimes losing back a piece or two, as two other Moons were trying to catch up with Her.

Down in Equestria, the ponies stopped, gazed at the battle-engulfed skies — until they were caught in a ray of the Red, who playfully changed the composition of their blood. The beam could linger, to make a fresh corpse move. But soon She got bored and the Red looked at another part of the planet below her, and many monsters were born from Her ‘that would be fun to test.’

This did not last long. Less than a day after the Ascension, the Red did not see the traitor that came to aid Her former teachers. She did not see the traitor in the most literal sense — black on black, the new Moon was invisible.

Less than a minute later times changed forever, because then, for the first time, the Trinity of Moons had been formed; then, for the first time, the Trinity unleashed Their ultimate power; and then, for the first time, Sunset Shimmer had been truly defeated.

Because then Time heeded to Their call and came to the battlefield of heavens.
> Chapter 52: Reintegration
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


↯↯↯ 


The ponies were silent. The Red spoke with bouts of passion, but not much thought or coherence. It was often distracted and sometimes just fell silent. Then Solid Line or Fluttershy reminded it of the last words, and ever so slowly the story came to an end.

“I have a few questions,” Solid Line broke the silence, “I believe it overall but some clarifications are in order.”

Dartline interrupted, "By the way, I have a question for you. How did you wake up? Who helped you? Was it really the Red, as Blackie hoped?”

“Yes,” Solid said without even trying to smile. The smile could be frightening.

Dartline glanced at the Red, and it answered the unasked question, “I did not interfere with Solid Line’s use of my time. Time is plentiful here. I watch all the doubles of the world. For each beat that passes on the other side of the mirrors, here I have as much time as I need, and more.”

Fluttershy came closer to her, “Maybe it's not just that?..” And with these words, standing next to Red, the pegasus winked at Solid, clearly having no such skill.

The unicorn nodded, “Okay, I will tell my story too. If your question was more than the cue to keep the conversation alive... It may be useful as we consider what to do next. When I tried to resolve Dispassion’s paradox around the fact that the Trinity needs to be remaining, destroyed and changed, it was much less of a calculation, and more of a conversation with my shadow,” she nodded to Fluttershy, “Turned out she knows a few more pieces of the global picture, and after a while we started to figure this out… Here is how it, roughly, was.”


∿∿∿


“Do you want to fight the Red?” Fluttershy asked. These were not her first words, but the first question — until then she just listened to Solid Line’s outline of the problem.

This is an easy question.

“No.”

“But it does,” Fluttershy replied.

Solid got it after a beat, “Does it want to fight us, or itself?”

The pegasus made a little nod, without a word.

They walked along the paths of the Forest. The steady sound of the ocean accompanied them, never subsiding to silence. Solid Line was worried that the Red could put her to sleep, despite all her protection from dreams, and everything that happens is in fact nothing more than a long dream, one of those inside which it tortures ponies. Maybe that's why there had been no Signal nearby.

Solid shared this concern with Fluttershy, who shook her head.

“You aren’t asleep and have no dreams, in a common sense. The Red has no power over you. You won't come to yourself until you find an answer. It’s just... you and Dispassion don't know enough to solve your problem... and you are in a deadlock to solve it anyway… as in hibernation of sorts?” Fluttershy said.

“You know the answer, but you want me to guess myself?” Solid clarified, aligning her steps on an uneven path of fir-needles.

Fluttershy shook her head. The narrow paths have all but disappeared among the dark trees that come together and hang over them. The cold, lumpy branches intertwined so that they almost had to crawl one after another along a narrow dark arch, almost a tunnel, pressing to the ground.

Solid got out first, dusted herself off, and helped Fluttershy crawl out, which was more difficult for her because of wings. The resin stuck to the fur.

“This is probably a metaphor for how difficult the task before me is?” Solid asked. She wanted to joke, but Fluttershy's look was serious and sad. The pegasus again slowly shook her head. 

Heavy raindrops of recent downpour fell from above and, when Solid was looking closely, the world around was still composed of green neon symbols. 

This did not prevent her from feeling the body and being a living pony. Background processes, as if in ‘do not disturb’ mode, did not reflect the likelihood that Fluttershy was offended, and did not even show the temperature and humidity of the air. Solid Line already knew that it was pretty chill around there — enough to envy the pegasus with her cold and moisture resistant coat. And, in general, she could see that there was no resentment in Fluttershy.

They helped each other clean their coats, and it was sensory too. Not so much pain — Fluttershy was very careful — but a viscous aftertaste of resin where it was, in fact, gone. In response, Solid also attempted to superimpose her magic pattern neatly, and chose neither fire nor air but precise touches of void, in order to separate what was striving to be whole.

“Why are you a weapon against the Red?” Fluttershy asked.

Solid Line replied, not losing the rhythm of her magic, “I wanted to avenge my mother. Also, I did it for Black Moon.”

“Do you remember her?” There was a strange hope in Fluttershy's soft voice.

Solid Line reached out for memories, and where there used to be familiar clinging darkness—

—now was everything. Smell was the wormwood scent of Igni’s perfume, sometimes with an admixture of blood. Sight was a golden, huge, warm wing over Solid Line’s back. Hearing was a low voice, always with a hint of grumpiness. Movement was a race for two along a wide, free lane, with no chance of winning, only hoping to catch the wind in which Igni Line lived forever, if only for a few beats. Taste was blackberry ice cream split for two and eaten nose to nose, the dessert sharing color with mom's close-up eyes. Touch was the warmth next to Solid right after dream terrors that are forgotten while mom stays at her side.

Apprehensive waiting — constant, nagging, clawing at heart, as Igni always either was not there, or was going to leave soon again. She felt neither abandoned nor neglected, and Igni Line did care about her filly all the time when she was actually around. Still, too often ‘not there’ became a single possible answer for a ‘where is your mom, little one?’

On top of that Solid Line knew that among many, many quiet waitings for mom’s return there will be one when she will just not come back.

Then a time came for an undeniable, icy knowledge that, indeed, mom will not fly in, never again.

Because the Red murdered Igni Line, and Solid was too weak and knew too little to protect her.

The memory was lasting, curling up in multi-colored loops; there was too little and too much of it, and Solid Line could not and did not want to turn away.

She exhaled; the reply was curt and precise, “Yes, I remember.”

This was a small fraction of the truth. The one Solid could say without gasping for breath.

Fluttershy let out a barely audible sigh.

“It's okay. Will you be okay by yourself?”

“Yes, I will,” Solid Line nodded.

She was not quite okay and soon most trees around her were either cut by her blasts or eroded through their cores by black void of her longing. The latter was her magic too but fueled by raw emotion rather than calculated patterns. She dodged the falling giants by intuitive teleportation, at the same time tracking if Fluttershy would get inside the projected impact area, in these cases arranging a secondary teleport wormhole right beside the pegasus, allowing her to step in.

Fluttershy did not interfere. She was diving into these side-steps without much commentary, and never attempted to fly. With each charge released from Solid’s horn the pegasus frowned and mouthed ‘ouch’, and often called for patience or offered a hug if needed. She did not get too close; and Solid Line needed no hugs either.

Then it didn't hurt so much, and Fluttershy asked, her voice guilty; Solid Line noted that she does in fact hear this guilt without a prompt, "Can we... talk about the Red?"

Solid chuckled vaguely.

“Did Black Moon say that She wants to destroy it, or that you should do it?” Fluttershy asked.

Solid looked up through the records of all conversations with Black Moon by keywords, and replied, “Good question... I thought so, but in fact, it seems, no. It was I who wanted to kill the Red, I came up with the idea of ​​a weapon, and Black Moon only helped me finalize the plan, but She never said that She approves it. Or that She wishes me luck. Or that She will support me along the way. She only confirmed that the weapon, encrypted in my memory, is effective.”

Fluttershy nodded, “There is no death for immortals.”

Solid raised her head sharply, “You mean my effort is futile?”

Fluttershy hugged her, “No! Not at all. Do not despair, please.”

Solid teleported away from the embrace, and the pegasus looked sad, "Sorry," was almost inaudible, and after that, “I— I was wrong to start this way. Please excuse me,” Fluttershy said. “You might succeed. Nopony used a weapon of word and truth against the Moons before. Nopony knows what will happen next. Maybe Time will decide that the game is to be paused until the Red is able to play again. Or it will sum up the results and appoint the winners. But most likely the cube will be disassembled to its original position and hidden in the closet, along with all of us. The Red came to play another game... Are you following me?..”

Solid nodded. She really listened, but did not understand a thing yet, “What game are you talking about?”

“About history and aspects. This is similar to the game you've probably seen. Where stones are placed on the field. And here, too, you can remove your stones,” Fluttershy paused and waited for Solid's nod.

“Yes, I know, and I played it. Three-dimensional version of Weiqi, yes? In flat one there is no self-removal...”

The pegasus smiled awkwardly and went on, “You can step back, against the flow of time and fix something. But every change— with every restart, something becomes inevitable. The very first thing, if I remember White's words, She wanted to understand and hear Her sister. Whatever that means... And then, every next change must keep everything that became inevitable before, you see? With this game you can wage war. The Moons are at war, that much we all see— but before the Red came, the game was not a war at all! White and Blue were growing the world in peace, learning Their aspects, getting used to them... and after the Red, it became a war for control over the field. In your head is a weapon for this war.”

Solid nodded, “So, in short, you want me to ask the Red to stop fighting. Plain and simple task.”

Fluttershy nodded, “Yes. Give up war, explore the universe. Remove its stones. Accept its defeat. Make an agreement with rivals, set common goals... This is not exactly the board that you might have seen in stores, even if the field looks like it! This is the universe, each cell an eternity in itself. Time would not mind that They no longer bother it with rewrites... Maybe this will solve your problem — the world will get more liberty, as a few rules can be canceled.”

Solid nodded, “So it’s not a metaphor. You mean there is actually some kind of game that is played by the rules.”

“There is, and Time oversees it and complies with its turns. And the moves of the game change the world, or vice-versa,” Fluttershy nodded, “That's right.”

Solid shook her head, “Sounds crazy. But if so, then we need to stop the war... so that the Moons can cancel the turns, and the Red would not immediately occupy free zones that would appear. Now I understand. Even if your picture is wrong, we came here to end the war anyway. But how can we persuade the Red?”

“Maybe... give up your weapon first?” it was a question, and at the same time a petition, or even a plea.

Solid shook her head, “I can't. Black Moon and I have already outlined the sigil. Thus, while not yet in its entirety, this Word will not disappear ever again even without me. What was inscribed will be embodied. It is inevitable. Even if I forget it. Especially if I forget it.”

Fluttershy stared at her, long and intently.

“Could you promise not to say it? And... can you forget it? If you remember who you were before. You have already begun to remember—”

“Then I will forget it,” Solid Line nodded, “And the Word will be unleashed from the crypt of my memory, and will find its target sooner rather than later.”

Fluttershy sighed, “Then I'm sorry... I shouldn't have bothered you, then ”

Solid Line stepped towards the pegasus and tried to correct herself, “No, no, Flutters, everything is fine! I do not want and do not intend to say the Word, I will say so to the Red. I will try to abstain from my revenge. If death of the Red could lead to the world really coming to a halt, then— mom would definitely not want that. She was a kind pony, for all the fight that lived in her,” Solid took a deep breath and continued, “And I will ask the Red to stop the war. If you are telling the truth, then it actually resolves the paradox.

“And I will offer it my life if the Red would decide that it is possible to eliminate the threat this way... that is, if the Red still does not believe that my death will only unchain the Word, not destroy it. You gave me insight, and— next time you would help me, warn me in advance, please. I am not annoyed, it was just a tad impolite. My new memory is there by your effort, right? And I did not explicitly ask you for it.”

Fluttershy nodded, without a word.

“I think we can afford some more memories,” Solid Line suggested, “If I start to lose my Word, I will warn you and we will stop, okay?”

Fluttershy sniffed and soon they moved on. From the Forest to the melon field that was stretched to the horizon, then to the house in it; to the primary school; next to the treadmill. Not a single pony anywhere to be found; neither Dotted Line nor his wife, but Solid Line never really needed them. She was breathing in subtle scents, was sometimes touching the walls while they were in an empty cottage; she felt the smooth floor and soft ground beneath her hooves, and the reality of her memory was true because nopony ever truly forgets anything.

She was not, and never will be, the same pony that once was in these places — or could once be — but, for now, she could remember past-Solid, smile, and imagine that she was standing or walking next to that ghost, reclaiming her memories one piece at a time.

She was no longer angry either with past-Solid or with herself.

As the Word of Disentanglement began to blur in her mind, she told Fluttershy about it and they, unhurried, returned to the Forest. The answer for the paradox was clear; they would offer the Red a place in the Trinity -- or, rather, Unity of Moons.


↯↯↯ 


“So, this is what you came up with and it is a serious offer, not a joke?” the Red asked, its tone notably curious.

Dartline commented, “I am still pretty sure this is a very bad idea but whatever.”

Fluttershy whispered, “Please.”

“I have a different solution but it is important only if you will not agree on the one proposed,” Signal Line finished.
> Chapter 53: Inevitability
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


∿∿∿


“You are not the ones I should talk about that though,” the Red added after a pause; equal shares of mockery, sympathy, and satisfaction were squirming in its voice, “The Moons would be more fitting.”

“But you told your story to us, not to the Moons,” Signal objected, and her glasses gleamed in the mixed yellow-blue light of the bonfires.

The Red walked beside them in an open circle and smiled; its teeth were sharper than they should have been, “Not only to you, but also to the shadows who are accompanying you. ‘Is a world that is founded on betrayal worthy of being saved?’ That is the question I would ask. Before killing them, of course. Not because I am doubting the answer. In regards to your offer, I do not need the heavens anymore.”

Dartline grumbled without looking up, “Everypony says so, for the most part those who have never been able to fly. I have nothing against unicorns in general or Sunset Shimmer in particular. But she might be thankful for the new powers and abilities, given out for free, instead of raging for no sensible reason.”

The Red approached her, slowly, “It’s especially funny to hear that from you. As if you don't regret your choice sometimes— but then at least you had a choice.”

Dartline raised her head, her chest fluffed up, “Yes, but I work, not sit somewhere in the Moons-forlorn swamp crying! Where is this place anyway?”

“Behind the mirrors, in the Is-Not, in the midst of dreams,” the Red said, “This is what I got from the only fair deal with the Moons, my final refuge.”

Signal spoke thoughtfully, “That is, you and Them are making deals after all. But it makes all the more reasons why you should talk directly to the Moons. They would surely like to end this war.”

The Red turned to her, and in this beat Solid Line — and not only she, judging by the team’s common backing away — saw not an old fragile mare with wings broken and curved but a mighty alicorn in full glory, with the Moon above the tip of Her horn copper-scarlet and undeniable.

Then the vision faded and only the Red stood before them — nothing more than the mangled shadow, cast from Sunset Shimmer into the future far away; certainly not a Moon.

“The three of them are playing against me,” the Red said with a touch of burnt out anger. “When they had an exchange or other to offer, I did agree, and this always led to my loss. In one of the past histories, I was in the sky every cycle. They offered a turn that would make a history where I could appear out of my phase, and they did not lie. But which slices of a cycle are mine now? Which phase is mine, could you tell?”

“None. Your phase has never been and there is no reason why it should be. You do nothing but hurt ponies," Dartline nodded, "So why even bother?”

The Red stood above them on straightened thin legs, and dry anger was resounding in its voice, “This is how they change history.  Turn one, and the Royal Sisters, ones to become the Moons, from the very beginning of time were three rather than two. Turn two, and there is no Sunset Shimmer in history, so I have nowhere to even come from. I have no plausible cause to exist. Turn three comes, and there have never been dragons.. Those skeletons on the ocean’s shore, where from these creatures came, nopony knows. Anything I could get a hold on is—”

Solid Line raised her hoof, “There is no need to call for pity. If what Fluttershy said is true, then without your reciprocal turns Moons could not continue the game. And how is it that through all the changes in your history, the world is still recognizable? Shouldn't the smallest changes in the distant past lead to a future too alien for us? Well, yes, two Princesses, these strange races, a university that I have not even heard of, but the same lands and the same ponies and the same Princesses sitting on the mostly same thrones? Therefore, I think you are mistaken. Too much time has passed, too confused your memory becomes…”

The Red made a short laugh, “Here is an inevitability for you. At each turn what has been established— what is made into a newly-forged truth of a given turn, becomes inevitable, and cannot be undone, and will — must — thus take place one way or another in all subsequent turns. I didn’t get into the game from the very beginning, so these inevitabilities persisted before me. A pity. It would be easier for me to work with a divided Equestria. These weak shires probably would have not even kept the name...”

Fluttershy went up to Solid and breathed out in a half-whisper, “I told you about this... Probably had not been very clear, sorry.”

Solid sighed. It was hard to find words without speaking out the Word — it felt the target nearby, “Well. You don't trust the Moons, neither do you trust us. What can we do to fix something— to make a trade offer, not as the Moons but as ponies who came to talk with you and make something better for us all?”

Signal raised her hoof on that, but went silent; others looked at her expecting something to be said, to no avail.

“You could die by giving me your blood, maybe?” suggested the Red, and snorted only after a really long pause. Solid noticed that none of the four were really shocked by the proposal, “I would even give you time to write farewell notes. And I will not speak to either the Moons or you. But here's my wish.”

Signal got up and went up to the Red. She looked up, “The same as mine?”

“Close enough,” the Red did not even get distracted by the adult unicorn. “When Sunset Shimmer was forced to Ascend, a part of her could not reach the heavens and was left behind. Like myself, she is immortal and inevitable. I tried to use her to return to the world and regain my flesh, but the Moons cast her in the ocean, chained and tied, first by charms, spells and ropes, then in following turns by the boundaries of inevitability.”

Solid took a deep breath, and the Red turned to her, as if inviting her to speak out. Solid did not find the words, and after a pause, the Red went on, “I can not reach her. Below the edge of the soil or water, the Moons' authority quickly wanes. Find her and return her to me. This is mine by right. My missing piece.” With that the Red stamped its hoof and the sand of the shallow stirred, went in waves, as if something huge was sliding under it unseen, a multitude of elongated bodies.

Signal smiled, “Then you will come to the world renewed and much more powerful. I see.”

“Maybe I will!” the Red snapped, “Or I will not but you will correct one of the many ignobilities of the Moons. I do not promise to retreat or surrender or forgive, but you will do one good deed before you die. Isn't that enough for the heroes you claim to be?”

Solid went up to her aunt and stood beside her, looking straight at the Red, “We are not heroes but I can promise that we will take the task up. If you bring our friends back.”

“No need to ask for that,” Dartline muttered without opening her eyes, “I know how to fly there.”

The Red laughed, this time sincerely, “Well, yes, of course. A well-coordinated team where everypony stays side by side, keeps no foul secrets from their comrades and never deviates from the common path. Without even a trace of distrust between good ponies. Trio is always stronger than a loner, heh. It is not my habit to let the prey go, but it is going to be fun. So you agree to go looking for the missing part of the Red?”

Solid nodded, “As soon as we reunite with our friends.”

“Then it shall come to be,” the Red said with a sense of finality, “I shall make a few touches to discourage your team from deceiving me and straying far from our deal. I have no power over you or Fluttershy— ” it hesitated for a beat, “But everypony else is now part of my game. Follow me and I will lead you to your friends.”

When Solid looked around to count her small team once more, Dartline was no longer in the shallows.
> Chapter 54: Hoping
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


☄☄☄


There was only snow and a black ocean, and nopony bothered Cursory and Blacklight. Yet their reality was not a dream, and words they trampled on the snow-powdered sand to test that lay unchanged even while they were not looking.

When thirst and hunger visited them, Cursory jokingly suggested if the unicorn could conjure some spiced alfalfa, and cider while she was at it. Of course, Blacklight could not — this spell would be utilizing a different Moon’s aspect, even before accounting for the fact that the Moons here stood motionless around nadir.

But the recursive search spell, directed towards the city and aimed at clean water and non-perishable food, was quite within Black Moon’s field, even if in practice it required several awkward, confusing and exhausting corrections. The city was sparse, but a few bottles of clean water and a cereal shop could still be found nearby; the spell also indicated that some of the corpses were edible too; Blacklight, blushing, did not comment on this.

The ball of orange flame over the ruins continued to burn, and Cursory aimed to light a fire from it so as not to return to the shore. Blacklight objected: if the Red decides to return to them, then it is better for them to stay roughly around the same place.

“But isn't this the world of the Red?” Cursory made a sweeping gesture over the frozen city.

“That’s why it is worth being polite. It is not as bad as it looks,” Blacklight replied, wiping her glasses.

Yet, at Cursory’s insistence, they first returned to the point of entry into this reality and looked for a way out there; in her experience of anisotropic space, this was the answer — not always, but relatively often. Indeed, after some directed effort, a mirror was found, and it even retained its shape, colors, frame material, proportions, but not the size. The Herald examined it closely and asked the unicorn to cut a few strands from Cursory’s tail for an improvised pendant’s thread.

“Maybe we'd better find a rope nearby?” Blacklight asked, surprised.

“Uh-huh, then we won't find the mirror. I think you should wear it as it is yours,” Cursory grinned.

Blacklight muttered under her breath that “I could cut my own tail too,” to which Cursory remarked that she had seen the results of a manecut made on one’s own and did not want to see any more of such atrocities, and that the tail will grow back in no time.

But the main thing, unsaid and yet understood by both of them, was that, in Cursory's eyes, Blacklight's new pendant was complimenting her style, a small piece of glitter over her dark coat. In the normal world clean mirrors could not be accessories pretty much at all; thus Cursory did not miss the chance while she could get the look to admire. 

Blacklight noted that this tail cut had been rather symbolic but did not elaborate.

For a long time on the shore nopony had been coming to them, not even a thought of the Red, angry or otherwise. While the phases of the frozen Moons were affecting their bodies, they did so in less than full force — instead of a deep and healthy sleep, there was subtle inaction, lack of much will to move, act or think. Cursory lazily solved crosswords, Blacklight planned how they would live if they were to stay here for a really long time, starting with a warm shelter. Cursory grudgingly remarked that not much sense was there in getting carried away with this train of thought — pretty soon she would not be able to stand it and would fly away to look for Gentle or to find the Red and convey to it her requests.

Then Dartline, disheveled and oily, found them and, sparing no beat, asked to clean her wings, which turned out to be much more difficult than it seemed at first — the sticky rubbish, spotted in rainbow-tinted black and purple, was stretching for too long without tearing up. It was clinging below feathers and coat. It was still possible to shake it off, but the puddles crawled to the nearest pony, slowly but surely. After a few tests Blacklight guessed that the substance’s attractions were warmth and smell. So, with a protective circle of bonfires, they managed to get rid of it; the tack did not like too much heat.

Dartline told them the story of the Red as well as its proposal, making Cursory smile upon hearing it.

“So they will come for us soon. Is Gentle Touch alive and alright?” the pegasus did not hide how important it was.

She melted away when she heard "Yes, quite. I checked on your friend and Plum first." in reply.

After a quick meal Dartline added “I know where the exit to our reality is and I can point you towards it.”

“Fine. But can you take me to Gentle?” Cursory asked urgently.

Dartline shook her wings in disgust — the tack was no longer there, but attempts to get rid of it took more than one slice, “Only if you really need to. The direct path is blocked, detour can be attempted, I believe. But I'm not the Red, I don't know all the routes. There are a lot of directions here—”

“Then take us to the exit, please, and there we'll be waiting.” Cursory asked. “Better to have a way out at hoof.”

Dartline silently raised her hoof towards the ocean and in the very same beat was flying; Cursory blinked, paused a little to ask if the unicorn did not object to being carried, and soon all three were flying over the ocean, two on their wings, one on the pegasus pony’s back. Dartline was annoyingly slow — even with a load on her back Cursory could fly two-thirds faster and still not be stressed. But the living warmth was a joy in itself and, concentrating on the flight, Cursory did not worry.

Time passed and, under the shimmering curtain of the aurora, surrounded by calm and attentive stars — not devouring, as an old saying goes, and not wanting Cursory to cease her existence, as in 12-S once was, just observing — they arrived at the ring islands, when Cursory realized where they are — outside the continent at the Descent of White. In their known reality, local residents exported live exotic fish and rare plants to the Metropolis, and many parts of these exports were then used for modifiers; here the ground was covered with snow in the same vein as it was on the edge of the ocean, and only empty fishing boats lay on atolls shores — natives left this place too, if they even were there at all.

It was not difficult to spot the Red, with its posture, colors and height, although Cursory felt a pang of envy when she realized that Dartline adjusted course for it — and, therefore, saw it — before Cursory herself.

But Gentle Touch, standing next to her, was not immediately recognized. She was an adult, all but outright old — with wrinkles around her eyes, with pale fur; nevertheless, looking straight into the Red's face, whole body turned towards it, Gentle was silently expressing that there was no more fear, if there ever had been. Plum was also nearby, and also much older than she had been before entering the mirror — a mare in the prime of her physical and magical powers. Solid Line, as well as an unknown unicorn and pegasus in yellow-orange tones similar to Solid’s own ones, looked at the pair of flyers in their own tight group from aside, not interfering. Obviously not much time had passed for Solid Line.

The pegasi dived to the ground next to the Red, Blacklight rolled from her carrier’s back, resiliently standing on all fours, and Cursory realized that she did not know what to say next. Gentle Touch was, as always, the mare she needed in her life, as necessary as flight itself,  and life without her would be a torture, and she knew that the mission had been all but suicidal in the first place—

Cursory stopped thinking, made a step forward, and spoke frankly to the Red, allowing her to be angry as the sight deserved, “You! Are you completely out of your mind? You think I’ll even move a feather for you without Gentle, eh? Be it on my own, you would sit here until the end of time, with all your stinky jokes!”

The Red looked at her, not even moving its ear, with unblinking swamp-cyan eyes. Gentle hugged Cursory, and the scent — still apple, albeit a different shade — calmed her in less than a beat; the pegasus realized that she was smiling.

“It's… not a punishment, nor even a game,” Gentle told her. “This is our reason to hurry up — not rush, just hurry up. We will all die, for various reasons, and pretty soon if we fail the task or deviate from it for too long. But if we manage, we will live happily ever after.”

“And what kind of task is it, in short?” Cursory asked, still annoyed, “I stand corrected, take your time. I want to make sure you live.”

She knew it sounded stupid. But, stupid or not, that was honest.

Blacklight approached Plum, the unicorn’s head raised slightly to look at her friend. Blue rulers flashed in the air on three sides of the earth pony, Blacklight chuckled and extinguished the magic.

“How much?” Plum asked curiously.

"A lot," Blacklight replied dryly. They paused, looking at each other, then laughed almost simultaneously.

“What about weight then?” Plum chuckled.

This triggered another measurement, now in the form of a ghostly platform beneath Plum's hooves, and another burst of quiet laughter.

Cursory couldn't share this joke. She kissed Gentle on dry lips and listened to the details, “We need to get to the underwater part of the Red and pull Sunset Shimmer’s remnants to the surface. She should be somewhere nearby, approximately in this place but in our reality and deep under water. In ancient times, the cultists had already released her once. That was when the Red as we know it appeared in the sky. Therefore, they are unlikely to help us — since then, only complete madponies have been trying to call for her again, and Purity and her extermination teams have worked to clean up any barely organized cults.”

“If we manage, the Red will return your youth, or, at least, will not kill you, am I getting you right?” Cursory clarified.

"At least it said so," Gentle nodded, and Cursory heard the Red laughing softly, but did not honour it even by a turn of her head. “We know it is often lying.”

Cursory smiled, "And we are here to start searching immediately?"

“Yes. I'll be back at my age, at first, but then my clock will run noticeably faster.”

Cursory kissed her again, “Then I request transport to a certain location. Sector 26-W, eighth habitat, exactly cubic nine apartment number. For all of us. As close as the Red is able.”

She smiled, enjoying the amazement in Gentle's wide pinkish eyes; then how one beat later it gave way to confusion and "I definitely was not ready for this."

“No…” Gentle whispered.

“Yes,” Cursory nodded affirmatively. “I'll introduce you to mom if that will be the last thing that I will ever do.”

“You are one of those who did return home after the unbound age, aren’t you?” Gentle Touch asked, pale.

Cursory laughed, softly and happily.


⊛⊛⊛☄☄☄


After the transition, they found themselves at the wall of a barely lit warehouse, among boxes and containers, more or less neatly stacked on pallets to the ceiling; the mirror stood behind a curtain colored along to the wall, in a deep niche. They asked Metropolis to show them the way out, and soon a mechanical blue-green butterfly fluttered in front of them — a shade brighter than Red's eyes.

Following it, they got out into a half-dark alley, then further on to the avenue, and Cursory recognized the surroundings after that. A short walk in the rain, with Gentle under the wing of her pegasus, was the simplest, most clear and comfortable thing for the two of them in a long, long time; only once they deviated from the route, as construction work was going on inside the orange light contour.

Cursory looked at the sky and thought that there, at great heights, moonless stations were still rolling around; she silently promised to nopony in particular that they, too, will get their way to happiness, mortals and immortals alike.

On the way, Plum and Dartline acquired some dough, toppings for future pies, and coffee, and Plum added firecrackers and an assortment of lettered balloons to spell out the name of Cursory's mom — Tender Streak. The herd of ponies in the small apartment was noisy and sudden, but not burdensome, and Tender did not ask them to leave.

Cursory told her mother a lot, but not everything — in particular she was silent about the Red, only mentioning that from the next cycle they had to hit the road again. She politely looked at mom’s photos taken in the mountains and honestly promised that the issue with the foals would be resolved one way or another. At first, Solid was silent on the corner of the table, but rather quickly she noticed the assortment of tabletops in the closet, and after the table was freed from most food, the ponies gathered next to her and played several tournaments for minor money bets; in a quiet but stubborn struggle, Tender emerged victorious, leaving Solid at a honorable second place.

In the midst of all this, Tender Strick found time to take her daughter into the kitchen and say that “I don’t mind this choice. She is quite a reliable filly in my opinion, but when you settle down, send me the address.”

Cursory did not even know how important it was, and spread on the floor, smiling wide; Tender laughed and patted her mane.

For the entire team in the parental home of Cursory — everypony, not counting Fluttershy, who once again modestly took her place inside Solid Line, and conditionally counting Signal, who returned to a much more compact form — there were not enough beds for sleeping and resting, even after accounting for the phases. Still, Cursory Strick and Gentle Touch were on the floor but together, and drifted to sleep not immediately.

Their shared dream of an ocean was sparkling.
> Interlude 7: Tenacity
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


🏆🏆🏆


Resounding blows and rapid shots of rubble broke the silence of Underrock Mountain's huge cave. Dust coiled up, dancing in the beam of the headlamp. A tall white unicorn with a bluish-black mane that shone purple in the reflected light came down to the floor. Her steps were careful. The others followed her, also in miners' helmets and with backpacks.

After examining the ceiling and making sure the cave was stable, teacher Carnelian advised the students to set up camp.

They set up a cold and bright light. They warmed food on a fireproof stove. They decided to go deeper with the next rise of Black Moon.

There were no fires, no music. No water dripped. Even the ponies' sensitive ears picked up only  sounds made by themselves. The light was lost in the ceiling columns.

Whenever else would be a better time to tell some legends?

“Many generations ago, there was a unicorn. She had a special gift to find things. Not the talent that can be obtained along with Black Moon's aspect, but a much more fine and sensitive one. If somepony had lost keys or a platinum bracelet in this cave she would find it no matter what. They say that she could even find what the ponies themselves do not remember having lost. The foal was lost too.”

The cave shook slightly, dust fell from the ceiling. Nothing unusual or wrong was about that. They were not afraid. Not even a little.

“They were on a picnic in the mountains and got hit by the Red. They took refuge in a cave, as we did, and the foal was lost. They searched everything, launched microdrones into all corners, unicorns probed the walls for disturbed rock. They found nothing. The hoofprints went into the depths, and there, on the hard stone, they were gone. But the last throws of the track went straight, as if the foal knew where he was going. As if he was shown the way."

There was a sound, dull, extremely low and quiet.

“She followed the foal. She took food, water, and a lantern. She disappeared forever, as it seemed then. Ones sent for her found nothing but a crushed helmet. When, according to all calculations, she was believed to be dead, the cave was declared closed, and they wanted to blow it up. Then she came out to meet them. With a foal. She was declared a hero, and everypony was happy. She refused to say what happened. And then Black Moon came to her and talked to her for a long time.

"Nopony knows what it was about. The Moon said, ‘No explosions shall happen there’. Please note that a full line was much longer and more precise. I can find it for you later, for now please think thrice before testing it. Underrock Mountain is now in the list of locations unadvised to visit. The Moon makes no comments on the matter.

“And she left again, forever this time. But they say that—”

Carnelian did not have time to finish. The lamps toppled over and shattered, in their dancing light the far wall of the cave began to fall off in huge chunks.

Without hesitation, she jumped up, charting an escape route with a spell, and began to prepare a spell that would melt the rock into a monolith. It was very effective at ensuring a safe escape for everypony… except herself.

The students were probably already in the safe zone. The last lamp went out. A deafening, bestial roar came from the swirling darkness.

"Why did you tell me this, Electra?" she thought before the darkness grabbed her.

Nine and nine more times the Moons rose and fell. Thrice, time and time again passing tests of charms unwelcoming and grumpy, the students descended to the place of the blockage. They took apart the talus to the last stone, to the undisturbed ancient rock — and found only twisted metal. Not a drop of blood, nothing.

A luster later, she appeared in the classroom, walked like a ghost through the corridors, where the students were still ashamed to look each other in the eyes, and locked herself in the office.

Black Moon was waiting for her there. Mysterious, as always. Curious always, unless She spoke otherwise.

She stood, not looking into the eyes of the Moon. How could she feel any other way, if Black's paths once again led to doubt? If she was entrusted with the most incredible secret of this world, given an amazing and beautiful destiny? It was leaving her without much choice. She could not refuse and stay true to herself. She was too needed there, underground.

“He asked me to tell you that the self-sustaining nuclear fusion project is progressing successfully. In a generation, we will be ready to test the third prototype,” Carnelian said.

Black Moon nodded, without an answer.

“I quote, ‘I am immensely grateful to you, but please stop doing this! This is improper!’ He meant that. I need to be the last one, in his opinion.”

Black Moon was silent, for a beat. Then She spoke, for the first time in their meeting, “That’s it?”

Carnelian nodded. Then they hugged each other, saying goodbye forever.

Like a pale ghost, the snow-white unicorn with a black and purple mane, with a rare talent for searching spells, with a kind and generous heart, walked along the corridors, not answering the students' calls. She headed for the mountains. Nopony followed her.

The legend, which Dr. Carnelian did not have time to tell her disciples, ended thus:

"They say she became the wife of the mountain king and the queen of dragons."

Silly fairy tale. There is no such thing as dragons.
> Chapter 55: Realignment
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


∿∿∿


Solid Line held Signal before her on a low aspen table. Nopony was checking on the translucent map of Metropolis anymore. Nonetheless, Solid had been keeping the image, as nopony told her that it could be shut down, and a static picture required only a trace amount of concentration anyway.

Plum brought Solid Line a cookie jar with sour sauce and smiled, “Black-aligned often like that taste. Do you feel left out? I have been to several weddings, and if you are not organizing, or not among close friends of the pair... it may seem that you have been invited for no real reason. For me, you are a wonderful pony and I'm glad to see you!"

“Thank you for the compliment, and this is not a wedding yet,” Solid smiled. The fact that Cursory has chosen Gentle instead of herself hurt a little but she said nothing about it. Solid’s previous state did not allow her to speak about these matters anyway, and now it was too late.

This was also a part of life. 

Signal quietly snorted, and, being Fluttershy, Solid Line understood her, "We won't leave you alone either."

Plum stood for a bit beside her, and Solid asked, “Tell me please, have you ever lived here?" she highlighted one of the marks on the map — a colorless outline of an earth pony on the very shore of the ocean. Points of assistance, or lost shards, or both, quoting Gentle Touch. 

Plum peered and nodded, “Not for long. Here I stepped out of unbound age. Good ponies live there. They never doubted that I don't want to even write home, and helped me on my run further…"

Solid nodded, "When was that? By the way, as far as you heard while you were there— is there really something like— you know, a dead alicorn below the waves, something like that?"

"A little more than a luster ago? Less than two,” Plum smiled in response, unsure, "Whether she is or she is not" Plum looked at Solid, her eyes full of darkness for a beat, "Well, it depends on how you look and whom you ask."

“You mean, not even a third of a round since you became an adult? How have you even befriended these two already? Have you stepped beyond the mirror for that too?” Solid tried to joke, and PlumJam smiled back. Come to think of it, Plum Jam was now considerably more aged than her friends, being late young — but that could be a mirror's mark.

Plum Jam nodded, “Yes. That was recent. Dartline helped me in my first cycles, and then I learned where she resides and moved along.”

Solid Line looked up at the sky, overlaid by a tangle of maple branches. Black Moon’s ultraviolet outline was clearly visible at Her zenith, growing in glory. 

"So you were there about the same time Gentle was given this map," Solid said to herself. She lit a blinking arrow above the center of the table, waited for the ponies to turn around, and quietly addressed the team, “We don't have to worry whether the Moons object to our campaign or not. Black Moon watched Plum Jam — not her habitat, but the pony herself — to the precise point of her being. I mean, she lived here by the ocean when she got out of her unbound age — but unbounds usually move, so she was not there before, or at least it is unlikely she was staying there as an unbound. And then she moved after Dartline, so she was gone after that too, you see?  It seems that it was not too hard to find who does carry shadows. It was necessary that we would find each other ourselves and by our own free will, having the intention to make a team. We were free to make our own choice. I have no doubt that Black Moon is still looking at us. If She were against our campaign, we would have learned that by now."

Gentle shook her head. “Maybe She is looking at you, but the Red has shrouded us."

Solid looked at her, startled, "What do you mean?"

"What I have said," Gentle shrugged. "From the Moons' point of view, we are several clusters of life, not ponies, and not even higher beasts, just something that moves. The Red believed that the Moons would be against our new mission, so it took care of this."

Solid Line chuckled; Signal jabbed her with a paw and meowed briefly, “Don't worry, I can hide you from Their sight too,” Solid realized, and whispered back “No.”

"And you didn't say it earlier? None of you—" just in case, Solid Line asked. It was logical for the Red, but it broke the whole sequence of reasoning, and… I matter so little that they withheld the truth from me? How can I calculate your situations when you are so—

She did not have time to think it through. Dartline was the first to mumble "Sorry," Gentle was the second; and it helped. Solid found herself able to think about things of higher priority yet again.

“I think we need to open up to the Moons,” Solid continued after a pause and a spoonful of raspberry jam, "The Red is lying, and we don't even know if it is forced to lie or if it does that on its own volition. Cursory, tell me why you called us to your house? Not just to hug Gentle in front of us?"

The pegasus blushed, the ponies looked at each other, and Solid noted that she understood this emotion well — they were embarrassed by her rudeness. She was still alive, and her heart was beating fast. Life remained a thing she was completely unaccustomed to, mostly pleasant but frightening. Blacklight threw an apple in her direction, and Solid caught it with magic on the fly.

Gentle commented, "These last words would be better left unsaid, it turned out rather rude, companion. I'm not offended, but in the future, mind your distance."

Cursory replied, still blushing, and she was attracting no less attention than at first sight in Black Moon's tower, "First of all, yes, I wanted to make a statement about us as a pair — we could very well have no time for this later, and I would regret it. We can visit your home too! I'm not the only one here who has a friend to visit before leaving, am I?” She looked around the table. Gentle Touch nodded slightly in response but was deeply frowned “Then, to know you all better in the meantime. Third, I wanted to get off the hook. Even if we spend a little extra time, we are not doing what the Red planned right now, and even threatened by it, I will not—”

“That’s my life you’re playing with!—” Gentle Touch exclaimed, quiet and angry.

Solid Line interrupted them both in that beat before shout-out could have a chance to be born “That is, we do not trust the Red recklessly. And what it demands will affect our Moons — nopony wants to argue with that?”

She waited for an answer. Plum added, her smile open and with no trace of strain, “Maybe it’ll work for the better!”

Formally, she was right. Nevertheless...

“Even in this case, we must warn Them in advance! The Moons believed that— what they did to Sunset was for the best. Let us not ‘believe’, but ‘know’ we did the best. We can't trust our message to the mail — but I have an idea. If it works, we will bring the message to Storm too — as it is, we just abandoned her. For all we know, she might be still waiting for us at the vault.”

Dartline replied, “I’m out. I'll be back when you're done” and two beats later, she was no longer in the maple gazebo. The ponies watched her fly away.

There were no more objections. Solid Line rewrote the message many times, achieving a precise sigil, which, upon perception, will unfold into a sufficiently suitable chain of symbols cognizable for anypony who has a language that in turn tells about the whole story — mirrors, unreal worlds, love and betrayal, a lost fragment, the mission of those who were looking for understanding, but found an opportunity instead, help, hope and distrust—

Cursory, frightened and disheveled, became a test perceiver: she confirmed, rejected and often asked to remove the unnecessary parts of the story but, for all her fear, she was exactly the pony that was up to the task; when options reached the third nine, and Solid Line was still not ready to call the sign done, Cursory was about to give up, but found more inner strength and did not back down, despite each new sigil leaving a new mark in her mind and memory. Gentle did not intervene, only suggested that all requests for assessment or advice be removed from the sign. Blacklight watched with great curiosity, but she clearly lacked the knowledge to make her opinion useful.

Then they ascended high into the sky — Solid Line on Cursory's back - and at the top of the ascent, just below the Net, having warned Cursory about the plan, Solid performed a jaunt even higher and added a square nine of throws directly up from there. In the hazy starry darkness there was practically nothing that remained for her lungs to be filled, and gravity caught her body in the same beat but in the void there were no unwanted eyes that could see and distinguish the symbol; ‘unwanted’ were, in this case, everypony except the Moons.

She reached for her Moon, and sent the newly born sigil flying, along with a request to pass it on to others.

She had enough stamina for seven repetitions of the symbol before she had to breathe — and suffocate. She fell long enough — including the fall through distorted space and time stretched and doubled over as far as she could — so that Cursory had time to align with her and help with a soft landing.

Spent and panting, she lay on fallen leaves, and waited for an answer — anger or blessing — from the vastness of the starry skies, as, according to their stories, her friends had recently waited too.

Like them, Solid Line got no sign in return to her sigil.

Plum approached her and said softly, “The fact that we met — we, all together, when you fell exactly where we gathered for a picnic — it is already a miracle. Then, our gathering because the Moons changed their course to appear — all of them — three of them above the horizon. So don't worry. We're not doing anything unacceptable, sweetie. Trust me. Maybe we’re doing something unadvised, but then we have our right to choose for ourselves. Don't be nervous and don't be afraid, okay? Please. I feel uncomfortable when you are afraid.”

Solid nodded, and Gentle, coming up from the other side, added, “Yes, something like that. For the same reason we will not wait for the Moons to say that we are good ponies who would not be hurt. Black Moon once promised: we can perish on the way, and it is impolite to ask for Her to take that back.”

They got to a store and stocked up on supplies for the long journey to the ocean — even on the fastest aviette, it would still take more than two cycles — when a store worker approached them, “Reputable Cursory Streak, a Herald? You've got a message. This is probably some kind of joke, but— I will lead you to the point. Please, this is important.”

They followed him; Gentle said in a whisper, “He is afraid and believes neither us nor himself, but thinks that the alternative would be even worse.”

The projection panel gleamed green and silver among the distant shelving; the air was dry and lifelessly sour. From the projection, Purity, a false alicorn, more white than White Moon Herself, was staring at the squad.

“We received your message and were able to analyze it, change its form and forget it. Of all Moons' weapons, this one is the most annoying. I had a hard time clearing our operators' minds of this message. You are going against inevitability.” Purity said.

Cursory nodded, "And we'll find a workaround," she said, “Or we will break through the inevitability.”

"It serves our purpose," Purity nodded. “We will provide underwater transport and specialists in working with the ontological shield, which will protect you for a sufficient time from the wrath of the Moons when the Moons decide to undo your deeds — and even you. Enough for you to dive again. Then we will take you to our place and provide you with work in accordance with your talents and skills.”

“But why?” Gentle asked. "Storm mentioned that your troops were cleaning out the cults of Red. Why did you decide to help the Red this time? And why would the Moons destroy us?”

Purity did not answer immediately, narrowing her dark orange eyes; the store worker tried to quietly disappear, but Cursory asked him to stay and remember.

“Under current circumstances, this temporary union is beneficial to us. Each mission to clean up the spawns of the Red carries a mounting risk of personnel loss, or loss of irreproducible equipment, or, worse, accidental transferring of this equipment to wrong ponies. In addition, the Moons need you only as bearers of a miracle — while on your way you will exhaust this miracle. You will become useless. If you continue to live after that, it is only out of Their kindness. Do you accept the offer?” Purity asked.

Cursory examined the team — Plum shook her head quickly and desperately, but lowered her gaze when Cursory looked at her for a beat longer. Solid realized that she didn’t know how to answer, and whether it was worth answering.

“Gentle? Is she generally positive?” Solid Line asked in a whisper.

Meanwhile Signal meowed in her ear, “Be careful. Be extremely careful. Everything is very bad with this proposal, but we can win if we do not lose our own track."

Gentle replied a little irritated, “I don’t know, I can’t see through the screen… and even if I did, she is an alicorn in all ways but one!”

“We are in doubt,” Cursory said to the projection. “How do we know that you yourself will not betray us?”

“My ponies will go without defenses or weapons.“ Purity’s eyes did not stray away.

“And one of them will be Storm,” Cursory replied.

Purity nodded, “Good. Move your Black-aligned forward and receive coordinates.”
> Chapter 56: Submersion
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


☄☄☄


The flight over the land had been uneventful. Technically, an aviette that Cursory rented using an option provided by her status  was a six-seater, but for a full compartment of six ponies it was still too tight in there — and too disturbing to look at Gentle this up close, so Cursory chose to fly outside. Over the past two cycles Gentle Touch's age has become noticeable — she became a bit hollow-cheeked, her neck thinner than before. Gentle still had about nine rounds or so— or two more cycles at this rate, Cursory thought, to catch up with her. But judging by what she saw on the atoll beyond the mirror, aging had just begun.

Cursory flew on her own wings much faster than the aviette, even with sleep breaks — so she side-tracked to her own home to get ‘Guiding Starfall-TX’ from a secret compartment of her wall cabinet.

The flight of the aviette, according to the order, was slow but continuous, with three pilots included in the rent working in shifts and keeping the transport afly. After each long break Cursory waited for it on major nexuses, and then for a time kept her speed equal, allowing herself to rest at this leisure pace, until making a rush forward again right before her sleep.

During the third cycle she had to ask for a place in the cabin as the muscles under her left wing,, began aching, drawing too much of her attention to just keeping the rhythm and fly straight. Gentle Touch sat close, caressing her wing, where she got poisoned by Blue Moon more than a luster ago, and continued to do so for the entire remaining cycle of flight, distracted only by sleep and other needs of their bodies. It made the pain go away, but at the cost of Gentle becoming more focused and quiet over time.

When they landed on a snow-covered hilly shore — only once did the whitish winged predators pursue the aviette, but even so, they did not attack it — Cursory took Gentle and Plum Jam aside and asked them straight, “Do you need Starfall? Gentle, you said you needed it as you borrowed it from the time flow, and then you,” Cursory turned to Plum at that, “seemed to take what we got, and didn't even ask us about that. Are you sure it will get to the right pony?”

Plum nodded, “You won't find it anymore. It is already in Pink's hooves, and there had been a time for Pink to give it away. This debt is repaid, don't worry about it.”

Cursory sighed and led them on to the submarine’s dock. Like the point of departure into space, it was completely invisible from the outside, if one did not know the exact coordinates. Until the last beat, Cursory low-key expected there to be nothing of note. After all they were only five throws away from a loose bunch of one-story houses. Still, a mnemogram receiver in black and green colors, the traditional colors of Black Moon, was in the indicated place. It did not respond to them. They had to wait for Solid Line, as she had the keys.

Before accessing the submarine, Solid Line asked everypony to once again look for the Moons and tell Them where and why the team was going, “so that nopony would tell us that we had not warned Them in advance. Does not matter if They are above the horizon or not, do try anyway.”

They stood in a circle and, as far as each of them could, reached for the Moons together. Cursory did not ask for help, approval, or disagreement. Nothing more than "We are here, and this is what we are going to do."

Well, her Moon was here too, and Cursory had been heard — she saw a faint ray falling on her, and felt a connection, a rapport. But do the Moons agree with their plan? This was unclear. She asked Gentle and Solid, and the answers were more or less the same — the Moons did respond to them, but only confirming that connection had been enabled and stable, without saying anything in response. They were truly free to choose for themselves.

Solid Line entered several mnemograms, the receiver confirmed that the messages were acceptable, and gave authorisation to control the local installation's ontological shield.

A few lines appeared on a receiver in a dim yellow font, "Status Blue: no imminent disturbances on the timeline sensors; minor background disturbances within acceptable levels; batteries at 74 cubic kairos squared / maximum safe long-term charge. The charge is estimated to suffice for protecting the whole volume of the installation from up to two full rearrangements, plus or minus any adjustments for additional or reduced volume coverage. Estimated time until depletion from minor background disturbances: 820 cycles. Recommended battery replacement in: 543 cycles."

The first thing Solid did was go through full diagnostics.

"Do you want to perform a full test involving shield activation? Warning: shield activation should only be performed when all personnel have been warned in advance due to possible side effects."

Only after this statement did she leave the controls alone.

Cursory hugged Gentle and whispered to her pony, “If we die and we have at least a few beats before that, we'll share this bottle of ‘Starfall’ for us two, okay? I want to spend my life with you, even if that one would be alternate; even if we come back”

She did not want to and could not explain the notion in more detail — Gentle Touch nodded.

No submarine surfaced though. They decided to wait for Storm and went towards the nearby village, keeping each other in sight. Plum gathered the local ponies for a momentous celebration and, although no word was said about the Red-below-the-waves, it was Plum and Gentle who were the main attraction of the event. Ponies of the village looked at them first and foremost, anticipating and expecting. "Hungry," as Gentle Touch noted in passing. 

"It's like they're waiting for something and we are the ones to provide it," Gentle said.

Cursory herself has several times heard that "the traveler returns victorious", as if it were a password and a hint in the same vague phrase. Cursory noted that it was customary to keep pet animals here, from lizards to cats and snow ferrets — unusual for far-away settlements but not unheard of, so Signal was lost in their background. Solid Line mentioned that pretty much all the pets of the village were reimplants.

Nevertheless, none of the guests were left to be bored or hungry, and the locals asked not so much about the merits or life of Metropolis, but about themselves — less about Heralds, them being 'unhealthy', more about Plum and Blacklight. Gentle Touch had been, strangely, left out of conversations, even as ponies were constantly checking up on her. Dartline made an effort to separate and disappear.

Then Storm found Cursory, and the pegasus did not even recognize her right away without a suit. Storm hugged her without permission, and it was so indecent that Cursory did not even find appropriate words — she just freed herself, pushed Storm away and looked at her with a frown.

“We're making a dive as soon as you're ready,” Storm said. “She is down there, and she is powerful enough to crush us — but the sub's shield will hold out for a while. I would like to stay at a distance and control the shield at your request, but this post will be occupied by Sapphire, while I will seek the anomalies from the submarine.”

“Have you already tried talking to her, the one under the water? I mean, in the past, your moonless ponies,” Gentle asked.

“Yes, many times,” Storm replied as if it was the most usual thing to do.

“Does she answer?” Cursory asked, raising an eyebrow. They stood not far from the tables with a meeting still going on, and Cursory did not want to be the one who would tell her friends and fellow travelers that they should stop the moment of joy. The dead pony in the ocean waited for many rounds, so she will wait for another slice, while for them this feast may be the last. “By the way, how do you feel under moonlight without your protection?”

“There are remedies,” Storm said, wiggling her ear. “If I return home, I will have to undergo decontamination. Also, yes, she does answer. Among moonlit ponies there are those who consider her a Moon.”

“You lied,” said Cursory, “Not about the underwater Moon, a little earlier.” She heard it — a short pause for ‘if’, then too quick and even words after a hesitation.

Storm did not deny, “Yes, you’re right, I will not be able to return the same. Only as one of the moonburnt ones, like you. The mission was deemed important enough—”

Cursory waited for the rest of the sentence. There was none. She invited Storm closer to the tables, found a place for her and treated her to local fruits, small, wrinkled, sweet and sour. Only belatedly did she realize that this could be offensive. But Storm took the treat without question or visible thought, more like a machine. Following her gaze, Cursory found Sapphire — the metallic blue unicorn had been here for a long time, but before that he appeared to them a resident of the coast.

“So what do you know about the drowned part?” Cursory asked. The team ponies approached her, greeted Storm, and even Dartline emerged from the darkness.

Storm replied to everypony, “Not much. One of many fairly strong immortals. Weaker than Moons, stronger than Melody, comparable to the Oracle of Oak Leaf. Is a part of several prophecies to come.”

“How do we find her?” Blacklight asked curiously, “Is there a customary place for your meetings?”

“Wherever there is a community of those nearby who…” Storm moved her hoof in the air,  “...might follow her if their life turned out to be different. Like here. We clean out active and growing cults, while those that could have been are the actual points of her power. Look at the fields around, at the holly on the hills — under normal circumstances they couldn't even grow under the snow. Fertility is one of her hallmarks. For health treatment, whether they know the reason or not, ponies also come to this place when Blue Moon fails.”

“Then why didn't you drag her to the surface before?” Cursory asked, annoyed that an outsider, apparently, is informed more about her world than she is, “Since you know everything so well and are friends with her.”

“Why would we?” Storm answered a question with a question. “Prior to the latest protocol updates, it was not in our best interest to empower Moons and other immortals. And this is not as easy as it seems — all the basic means of getting her from there are impossible in practice. You cannot even approach these solutions. For example, we tried a variant with a phylactery that would accept her soul. The submarine actually went down but never resurfaced. I have no doubt that she would have found a way — but she has no desire to look for it. She, too, is satisfied with her half-life, her own domain and the way it works.”

“What is she like in appearance and behavior?” Blacklight cut in again; she wrote down the entire course of the conversation in a notebook with a purple cover.

“An ordinary pony, not even an alicorn. She often provides gifts and souvenirs, sometimes asks that guests stay with her, and tries to fulfill her wishes, if they are within her limits. Sometimes she won't let go of the expedition, but it's really rare,” Storm answered dryly, but a spark of a hidden smile flashed in her eyes. “Still, we come in protected.”

“And what after the latest updates? Are you now ready to help us get her out because something has changed? I remember that you were strongly against even the one Herald of the Red, calling her an existential threat,” Cursory glanced at Gentle, and she waved her hoof in the spirit of "what is done is done", but leaned towards Storm — she was also interested.

Storm replied, looking straight into Cursory’s eyes, “The decision of the superiors. The Moons’ endless war is killing the world. And we... even in the worst case scenario, our stations will withstand the change. And your Moons don't seem to be against your plan either. The starting position looks promising.”

Cursory realized that she didn’t know what to ask or add, and jumped a little on the spot, hearing Plum Jam's quiet and confident voice, “Then we are ready. What should we take as a gift for her?”

“The last few times, donated blood has been accepted with gratitude,” Storm smiled, and Cursory winced. “But she also loves citrus fruits.”


∿∿∿ 


The submarine was even narrower than the aviette and much louder. Solid Line expected to see the actual shield device but, as Storm clarified, it was sealed between  the hulls, running throughout the sub, from the tail to the head. 

According to the terminal, the local battery was topped off at cubic nine of kairos. Even with the sub's compact frame, withstanding a full rearrangement would consume about seven square nines, after all adjustments. After that they would be on their own — the best bet would be to try contacting other survivors of the ontoclysm among the denizens of the new world.

Solid requested an elaboration on these adjustments. Turned out, the presence of the moonburnt ones aboard had a detrimental effect on the field’s integrity. Storm’s presence, on the other hoof, had a stabilising effect.

"That is why I’m here without my armor,” clarified Storm. “But don’t worry — against a less drastic disturbance, nine cubes are plenty. Enough to weather the immortal''s assault as long as it takes to  to a safe depth.”

"But why didn’t you wear it before getting aboard, then?" Solid Line asked.

"We are to work together," Storm shrugged. "You requested to be safe, so safe you are. The suit serves as a weapon too, after all. I am not saying that I am comfortable like this."

Soon the water rose behind the windows of the small capsule — more precisely, a sealed chain of joined spheres. Storm kept counting the depth in steps, not rounding up to throws, and after the third double nine, when the water turned black and blue and the faint reflections of bioluminescent fish and drifting animals were seen, she leveled the submarine to be more horizontal. An imperceptible fall became a controlled descent, Blacklight stuck to the window, all but piercing it with her horn, Plum laid out bright shiny fruits on a small table in a semicircle, Signal was habitually sitting on Solid Line's back.

They did not know what the contact would look like, and Storm said "Different every time." Blacklight suggested calling Sunset Shimmer by her real name — plain and simple, out loud. Storm, without a word, pointed to the multifunctional transmitter with a microphone, and each of them asked Sunset to come. In response, there was a whisper of marine life — apparently, the fish knew how to speak, and their voice had been inviting.

Blacklight was the first to turn around, noticing the reflection in the dark glass.

“Why were you calling?” Sunset Shimmer, a light orange unicorn with a two-tone red and yellow mane, asked with a quiet smile. She did not occupy the volume — even the projections appeared more real than this ghost — so from Cursory's side she was a barely noticeable spark in the middle of the cramped cabin. Solid poked her with a hoof, and the hoof went right through.

Cursory walked around Sunset in an arc, accidentally touching her too while doing so. 

“It seems that you are called by your older sister — the one beyond the mirrors and sometimes in heavens too. She misses you,” Cursory said with a smile.
> Chapter 57: Balancing
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


⊛⊛⊛


“What, sister? Well, no!” the transparent unicorn flickered twice, and Gentle heard that the voice was not coming from Sunset — Gentle decided to call the projection that name until she decided to introduce herself any other way — but from all sides, echoing in a cramped room.

“No? Okay, okay, I'm sorry,” Cursory said in a soothing tone, “I thought you’d be glad to be remembered, to have those who care for you. That you have relatives. You have had no contact with the Red, haven’t you? I get that you are divided. Sorry.”

“Can we at least talk about it?” Gentle asked. “If you don’t mind. My life is hanging by a thread right now, and not only mine. We are all in danger. Everypony here, those who came to visit you. And ... didn't you call for us? We have all dreamed about the ocean — about your domain — it just can’t be a mere coincidence.”

There was no answer but silence, long enough for the team to gather together along the circular wall of the compartment, opposite to Sunset. Sunset looked confused, slightly angry, deep in thought, and Gentle closed her eyes and tried to see her true feelings.

But Gentle saw neither the rainbow web like those of ordinary ponies, nor the extremely dense weaving of the Moons, nor the absence of Dispassion — only an all-over membrane, shimmering with worry and concern but hiding a lot more behind it.

Also — Gentle had little doubt about it — in fact, the membrane was here only for her eyes. A show; a mask holding the truth against a known observer.

Gentle frowned and, attempting to copy her future wife's tone, hurried Sunset up, “If you really have objections, we can leave. It’s your choice. But please, at least say it out loud — then we will know that we did our best and you chose to deny us. We are willing to behave as you prefer — we are at your home after all.”

Sunset blinked, in both senses, twice and thrice, and disappeared entirely. Gentle looked back at Cursory, confused, "Did I say something wrong? I do not see her... that is, not in the common sense…”

Cursory smiled, getting Gentle’s stammering, “Do not worry, my dear. Even though you didn’t go into details, and didn’t talk to me about your abilities as you should, it’s your eyes that betray you. I know what they mean, I understand, and I'm not afraid.”

Gentle took a step back, “What do you mean?

“The blue web over your irises,” Cursory said slowly, carefully, “You may have not known about it yourself, and scarce few ponies will get what it means, as it is still a rare feature... but I know. I had to... resolve issues of the sort, you know what I mean, so I have ponies to compare you with, you know? And if I do compare— if I do, then you are, at least, fit to live by yourself, not at somepony else's expense. When I invited you to stay with me, you refused, and that was a really good sign. Others of your lot could just ride on me, use me up, then unhook and jump to another pony to use them. That’s how issues of the sort often enter the system.”

Gentle blushed, "So... everypony else knows too? Have you all always known?” She looked around the team. Solid Line nodded; the rest politely glanced away, clearly not getting it. Plum, prancing on the spot, chimed in, “I know a lot: the recipe for pancakes with cherries, how to fall from heights and keep standing, how to be near you when you need it or away when I would be a nuisance. What are you talking about now, I don’t even have a clue.”

"It’s not terribly important," Cursory smiled at her, “An open secret of the family.”

Gentle, still embarrassed, reminded, “If we’re done with personal secrets… What did I say wrong to Sunset? Well, this pony…”

“I have no idea, my dear,” Cursory twitched her ear, “But you definitely found her spot. Let’s wait, then. How much air do we have, Storm?”

“For three more slices. We can wait for one slice, then one is for the rise, and one reserved for unforeseen circumstances,” she responded.

“No need to turn on the shield?” Cursory asked. Meanwhile, Blacklight walked over to the terminal and began digging through it; nopony minded her.

Storm narrowed her eyes and replied, condescending, “Well, how do you picture communications from under the shield? We close ourselves off from external reality. We do not even exist for it anymore. She could attack alright, but at that point no further negotiation would be physically possible. We can call her again once the battle subsides, though.”

Blacklight smiled, “At least this is a genuine adventure. Dartline, could you take a picture of us as a keepsake? While the sensors are silent.”

“Maybe say that we don’t want to offend her?” Plum suggested.

Blacklight nodded and said into the microphone, “Sunset, please come back? We still have a lot to say to each other. We—”

She had no time to finish: the previously dark sector of colored light bulbs on the terminal’s panel blinked blue and green, and Sapphire’s face appeared on the terminal’s small screen, “The Moons are here!” the metallic blue unicorn blurted out.

“Who? Where exactly?“ Storm rushed to the terminal, pushed Blacklight away from it, stood next to her, intently staring at the screen.

“All three. They got to the shore through our base, armed, in primordial armor. Yes, in physical bodies, I see Them on all frequencies,” Sapphire replied.

“Suggestions, conditions, requirements?” Storm spoke in a burst.

“None heard. While we are talking, They have crossed through our base and are moving on,” Sapphire was still pale, “The shield will not hold up against their concentrated strike, you know. The sub’s even less so.”

“Keep the channel open, I heard you, and will make my suggestion in a moment!” Storm fell silent for two beats, biting her lip, then spoke again at the same fast pace, “Prime the shield for automatic activation, with the trigger calibrated to the disturbances’ increase beyond one ninth above current threshold. Raise the sweep rate of the sensors to the maximum. Contact Black Moon on a reserved channel, open it for an answer, relay it to us. Make a note for the station.”

“Roger,” Sapphire nodded, and the view on the screen changed. Now it showed the coast of the ocean from a typical height of a pegasus’ flight — the camera swayed and vibrated, looking around, then found the small figures of three alicorns and zoomed in without flying closer — but the camera was good enough to clearly see Their faces.

Leading was White Moon, in solid armor of alabaster void — no contours, no decorations, no bulges or recesses, only the purest whiteness, where, it seemed, one could step in and wander forever under the all-embracing light. A five-color disc in evasively flowing hues — the same as in the sky — floated in the air right in front of Her chest. She was carrying a long white lance on one side, its tip needle-sharp and a gilded shield on the other. Serene content was on Her face, and pace was relatively slow.

A few steps back and three to the side of the leader was Blue Moon. She was wearing a silver breastplate and black hoof armor, which comprised the material part of the vestment; besides them, twinkling stars and nebulae were draped over Her entire body, covering the sides, back and legs with a deceptive ghostly mist. A bow on Her side, at the front legs; a translucent hunting net — according to legends it could stretch across the sky or contract down  to a pony's head size — where bags are usually worn, on the other side, with a short spear next to it. Before Her chest, at a short distance, there was a blue sphere, and nopony would be certain about its exact shade of blue, or about its brightness, as it floated and flickered like swamp lights or an elusive disturbing dream. Her appearance was undoubtedly worried, all but frightened, and even Her steps were hasty.

Black Moon was on the other side of White and even further back, in black armor with neon-green streaks, which, according to rumors, meant all the answers of the past and future; the weapon of the Moon, if She had one with Her, stood hidden in tightly closed bags on the sides; bags moved and trembled, as if something was trying to get out of them. The symbol of the Moon was not in front of Her chest, unlike other Apexes; instead, fields and ribbons of gray shadows swirled around, reminding Gentle of her visit to 12-S and obscuring the contours of the alicorn. She probably took Her very reality along, Gentle Touch thought and peered at Black Moon’s face; She was curious, anticipating, purposeful.

They moved towards the shore, keeping this uneven formation with Blue Moon gradually coming forward, and the camera followed the Trinity. Finally, Sapphire's voice was heard, “Reputable ones… You crossed our borders, twice now. Under the terms of the contract, this is—”

“Permissible in order to correct potential existential threats that require cooperation with your faction,” Black Moon answered dryly, “Had your property been damaged in any way?”

“No, but— you could just say it. Our base is not even on the way to shore — you could manifest anywhere, this is your world!” Sapphire shouted.

“Unrequired. By our action, We conveyed exactly what We wanted to say, and you understood Us perfectly, even if you still refuse to believe,” The Moons did not lose Their pace, and Blue almost caught up with White; Black Moon flashed forward, still out of the leading line.

“You could have called off the expedition in advance if it is a threat!” Sapphire took a pause for that.

“If it were only a threat, it would be so,” now Black Moon slowed, then turned a bit to look straight at the camera, which was hovering at a throw distance from the Moons.

The ball of fire, slowly thrown from the tip of White Moon’s horn, melted the snow and the soil under it with equal ease, leaving nothing behind, and the hemispherical notch-bowl appeared where the fireball was just a beat ago, deep enough for the alicorn to come in and still stay below the surface, exuded a pale orange glow — until Blue Moon cooled it down, covering it with transparent ice.

“In fact, the situation is no less a threat,” Black Moon continued, without looking away, “than it is the opening. You know that this war will lead to our defeat and the destruction of the world. We need to make a move, as otherwise the Red wins once time expires.”

Gentle intervened, not knowing if they would hear her or not, “We are willing to give them a chance! The underwater one is much kinder and more lively, and even for the Red in heavens, not all is lost yet! We can correct your mistake!”

“The Moons do not make mistakes. Your opinion has been heard and taken into account before,” Black Moon replied in a beat, “There is no need to repeat what you have already conveyed to Us. It is ironic that the outcome and the decision depends on you, and it is up to you to decide. We have no power under water. But when the two parts of Sunset Shimmer's existence move towards each other, then there will be an opening.”

Three heaps of big stones — white, black and iridescent — lined the perimeter of the crater on the shore. The remaining Moons stood near the crater, not interfering with the conversation.

“So everything is pointless?” Blacklight asked, “You will attack her on takeoff?

“It is possible,” Black Moon nodded, “This move will lead to victory too. But I am against it. Infallibility requires reaching a consensus among all the Moons — or surrendering the initiative to the Red; and to you, as it befits its Heralds. The former option is infinitely far from the realm of possibility, so the latter remains.”

Heralds' protesting voices, overlapping each other, rang out behind Gentle; Cursory had been a little louder “I don’t want to be the Herald of the Red!”, and Solid Line answered her “Me too! Is it at all possible?"

Gentle herself knew that she too should be indignant, but instead felt a strange satisfaction. Everything went as it should have been.

"I did not say that you are the Heralds of Red," Black Moon grinned, "But your functions overlap on this segment of reality. Go on and attempt to do your best. Know that We are on Our guard. I am ready to give the Red a chance if it is ready to end the war and rebuild the world with Us."

"I object!" White Moon instantly appeared next to Black, also looking directly into the camera lens; She was clearly angry, "Too many victims, too many lives spent in torment, and constant fear among our ponies. Approached with good intentions the Red distorts them and turns evil. Remember what happened when We gave it mirrors in exchange for the reproduction and growth? It cannot be forgiven.”

Black Moon nodded back to her, “I remember,” and not a word more.

White Moon continued, without much distraction, “I am to close the loophole it will be using for release, and to make the next — the last — history with the Word of Disentanglement weaved in from the very beginning. It is unlikely that the Red will find something to counter it, and We will live the final move in proper peace, like all the ponies. What would you say, Blue?”

Blue Moon slowly approached them, and Her first words were stifled and bitter, on the verge of tears, “I understand both your voices and agree with them, as well as with the opinion of those below. Somepony willing to abstain from Their opinion and let another Apex take priority in the question?”

White and Black Moons shook Their heads slowly.

“Then we vote,” Blue Moon said, “White stones for destruction of the Red and ending the game on the following turn, multicolored go for... synthesis and acceptance of the renewed Red, if I follow you right, Black?”

Black Moon nodded silently.

“Then black stones go for the status quo and the expectation of a new chance this turn, without an actual new turn.” Blue Moon finished.

White Moon laughed bitterly, “Then We will make You choose anyway. Voice against voice leads to tie, which then We need to break.”

“So be it,” Blue Moon nodded.

Gentle looked at them with wide eyes, afraid even to exhale. Plum walked over to her and began to massage her back. Sunset still has not shown up.

White Moon lowered three white stones into the bowl, and slowly moved  away from it.

Black Moon gave a curt nod to Blue Moon, inviting Her to vote first.

Blue Moon, going up to the bowl, lowered a rainbow stone into it, then  another one— 

There was no third rainbow one. Instead, held by the magic of Her horn, a  white stone hung over the bowl.

Black Moon, with a barely noticeable smile, silently approached the  bowl, and exactly repeated the latter choice; two rainbow stones added  into the bowl, one white suspended above it. White Moon, frowning, clarified, “Hmm... will you stay like that?”

“Why not?” Black Moon asked in a completely neutral tone. “Their weight is negligible, and we have enough patience. Until we decide to drop them.”

Two white stones floated above the bowl, enveloped in magic auras, blue and neon green.

“Those underwater. In accordance with the current decision you may proceed, for now.” Black Moon said, and two other Apexes echoed her.

Sunset's voice sounded quiet and frightened; she did not even play a ghost, just appeared in the comms channel between the submarine and the surface, “Do you understand... that I can not promise anything? The whole will not be me, and it will not even be our sum, and even if I do not want anything bad, there is still... that one in the heavens.”

“We lay our hope on exactly this,” Black Moon said, “What you said, is true both ways. The very first history that made a foundation for all the others to follow had two Moons per each of the colors, sharing their bodies. Alicorns were divided, separated inside. Not the best way to live.”

Sunset appeared, sitting on the terminal panel — translucent and imperceptible, she occupied the same place as Blacklight's hooves, and a little higher — the head of Gentle peering into the screen. There was not even a tickle, but Gentle jumped to the side anyway.

“Then I need more details,” Sunset said firmly, “Why should I give up my ocean which I myself made a place for suitable existence, and my life with it, to be not even me anymore but some Moon?”
> Chapter 58: Invitation
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


∿∿∿


Solid Line stepped forward.

"Listen... I have to operate on the assumption that in the future, there will be circumstances under which you will eventually agree to this request. Not because I know what you will decide, but because if you decide differently until the very end, then all of this was for naught. So I might as well bet on the events that at least have a chance of solving our issue.

"And so, on the assumption that such a future is possible, I would like to ask: to the best of your understanding right now, what conditions and information would be needed, upon being presented with which you would agree? Because if such a thing is possible, it is best to do it now, and not when the world shifts to the brink of being undone. And even without that, the Red made us fragile. Our team, except me, is cursed to die in the very near future unless we call for you."

Sunset interrupted her, narrowing her bright cyan eyes and looking straight at her, “This by itself could be a valid reason to deny your request, isn't it? It is not yours, after all; it belongs to… the thing, it’s not a matter I have been wrestling with the damned one for a very long time, trying to fix what it is doing. But to the point of your elaborate and polite question, for a start, it would really help if you were alive and had freedom of thought. I talked with the Red before… Let me check something first.” Sunset tilted her head, pointing her horn at Solid Line, and she reflexively raised her magic shield against a suspected attack. Sunset’s horn dimly gleamed with dark blue hue, all but fading to black; Solid read the pattern for the spell in weaving and dropped the shield and resistance. She felt a touch of a simple, harmless, scanning charm, performed in an incredibly ancient manner but nevertheless, fulfilling its function, and nothing else.

Solid allowed herself to be examined in more detail. The Word of Disentanglement in her head thought Sunset was a good target, but it was not too eager for release; the Red above was a much closer match for the matrix of properties.

The spell faded, and Solid politely clarified, "You tried to talk, and?.."

“It is not listening. It calls for union, says that I am a lost part and I need to return to my place. It has no arguments to convince me, and does not even try for it! I, as a pony with my own opinion, am as good as not even there! It does not matter what I would say — it keeps going on and on even if I say not a word in reply! Sometimes the dead come too...

Cursory twitched her ear, “I'm sorry, what? I must’ve misheard this.”

“The dead. Everypony who has died in my domain comes to me, and sometimes the Red manages to worm into their brains. Then I have to listen, once again, about how it thirsts for me. Nothing more.”

“Yes, I know how it feels!” Blacklight chimed in cheerfully, “Thirst and hate, it wanted to destroy us. And it was jealous of my Moon. Still, I think we have changed something. It spoke to us after all. It told us the story of its origin, showed what the world would be like after its victory—”

“No. You have changed next to nothing,” White Moon’s voice from the terminal could not be denied, and Blacklight cringed, drooping her ears and crouched down for a beat, “Immortals do not change. Time shapes them, and the shape becomes more and more rigid. Hatred cannot be healed with just one conversation, and a vengeful spirit will not stop burning just because you agreed to help it and sacrifice yourself. But after the synthesis—”

“—to which I do not agree!” Sunset interrupted, “It is much more powerful than me, and who do you think will fight it after it consumes me? You will? I have heard how very successful you are in this endeavour!”

“Maybe it wields more brute power than you,” Blue Moon said, Her voice flowing as a cosmic mist of Her mane, and clicks consonants added around a rephrased part of Sunset’s words, excessive in modern speech outside of an utterly formal style, were setting a rhythm for a song yet unborn; the stone that She held in Her magic field swayed along with it, “But you are more complex and graceful. You, a decent captive of your immortality, have much more than one sight ahead of you. Should you have the will for that, up to five aspects could very well be in your mastery; it seems likely that you inherited Sunset Shimmer’s ingenuity. The Red is hardly able to achieve mastery even over two aspects, even as it grabbed for herself that much more. Thus, I hope, and I will do everything possible for the sake of this coming to pass, that in the synthesis your personality will be the leading one. Your will and its power, in sum, is what a living Sunset could become, if—”

“But now it never will,” Black Moon intervened dryly, “The past cannot be repeated. The past cannot be resurrected in the present, the past failures cannot be undone, unless we make a new turn. We can work with the present and the future. Sunset, please listen — We do not know and cannot promise how the synthesis will unfold. We are products of synthesis, and We turned out to be much better for the world than your current split state. I do not know whether you will succeed. But if nothing is changed, the world will perish; right now seven ninths of the probabilities of the future are occupied by the war with the Red and the prevention of its victories, and Our inevitable defeat at the end of everything. This percentage is non-decreasing. If we change this, We can destroy the world a little faster. Or save it.”

Solid Line replied ahead of Sunset, who silently closed her open mouth, “Then, I think we will need another negotiator. The Red itself. Because right now You are repeating the past. You are too sure of the answer that it will give. You decide its fate. It does not matter whether your prediction is true or not. It does matter that You do not account for a possible mistake. and that nopony wants to ask the Red itself directly, and hear out its opinion on a synthesis. You see no futures except the ones that You make — and nopony but You. Please step back for a beat.”

A shadow passed over White Moon’s face; Black Moon, impassive as ever, nodded slightly; and Blue Moon, her ears down, was sad, almost crying, but did not object.

Then White Moon whispered, “Do not make Us guilty over Our decision of the past. You know nothing but bits and pieces that were chosen and supplied to direct your opinion on the matter.”

Sunset objected, “I do know the answer of the Red. I have heard this answer over and over again, and nothing but this answer.”

“Are you sure that what the Red said is exactly what you have heard?” Solid asked, trying to keep her mettle, and Black Moon nodded her approval again.

Sunset opened her lips to answer, but said nothing. Once again she tried to find the words; Solid took a step back and turned her head away to stop seeding doubt into Sunset’s mind. Sometimes this aspect of the Black Moon came into effect on its own, and Fluttershy, stirring in her soul, suggested that it was better to step back.

Finally, Sunset muttered, “Okay. It won't do any good, but... okay.”

There was a silence, and even the Moons did not interrupt it, the three of Them gathered at the edge of the crater whispering between themselves, with the voting stones still hung over the crater.

The silence continued; then Sunset asked, both mocking and anxious, "Now what?"; she looked at Gentle Touch at that, and smiled.

“What?” Gentle asked, “I will not summon the Red again.”

Plum smiled at her, “Me too. I know the recipe, but it won't work. We already called the Red for the conversation, and this conversation has already taken place. The option has expired.”

“I won't let you,” Storm grinned. “Not a chance. To summon the Red inside the shield, where it can figure out the principle? Just no.”

Everypony turned to the terminal, where Moons were listening intently.

“We cannot do what you ask for. We cannot even allow her to appear in the mirrors while We are nearby,” White Moon answered for the Trinity, “I still do not consider the Red a necessary negotiating party. I suggest the sane Sunset Shimmer to make a choice for herself on her own terms, and not to listen to the madness.”

Sunset repeated "On my own terms..." in a very quiet whisper. She flickered again, about to disappear, but Gentle turned to her and whispered at the same volume, “Please stay with us, do not repeat my mistakes. This is perhaps the most important choice in our history.”

She snorted but nodded; the flickering has stopped, “Passing the choice to you,” Sunset said with a grin.

“What do you mean?” Gentle asked warily.


“I mean, I can open the entrance for the Red — the another Red, not me — but you will become the entrance. Only you have its imprint on you, and only your blood has its traces,” Sunset pointed to Gentle's slightly discolored right side where the ray of the Red once touched her, “And only your color is close enough. Please, decide.”

Gentle looked around in dismay; Cursory immediately covered her with a wing and firmly said, “I go where you go! And, hear my voice — I am against, very, very against this idea, but if you go for it, then I am going with you.”

Gentle looked at Sunset, at Cursory; snuggled up to the pegasus. Nopony knew if she would refuse or not, until Plum, in three short jumps, appeared by her side, one step closer to Sunset, “You are messing up the laws of a tale. I am pink, don’t you see? And if you need to make a sacrifice, it should not be a couple in love. Somepony younger and not the most important for the plot should play a victim instead,“ Plum chirped, sipping orange juice from a glass with a straw, “Would you?” She offered a glass to Sunset, who reflexively stretched for it by her hoof and magic, and the glass did not fall to the floor; moreover, the sipped juice did not spill either, “What should I do for the sacrifice?”

Sunset laughed, “Well, you just ruined my plan: this pony would refuse, and I would say that you don’t need to summon the Red because you actually don’t want to. She knows that the Red will not return what it once claimed, and it definitely will not give up on a young and passionate living body.” Sunset winked at Gentle, and Gentle blushed.

“I would destroy any avatar entity as long as it is made by sacrifice,” the White Moon said in the same confident and powerful tone, “No negotiations should start with such an evil act.”

“And I wouldn’t let you go,” Dartline said quietly, without addressing anypony in particular, as this was already too rough a line. “You have had enough stupid risk already, and now discussing an actual sacrifice.”

Ignoring her, Plum Jam turned her body towards the terminal, “White Moon, Blue Moon, and Black Moon! You guard, comfort and direct us, so I am not asking you to do the impossible, but maybe before you dispose of the avatar, you will give the Red... well, for example, three times nine beats? So it will have a chance to say what it thinks about all this? Just a tiny delay. Is it possible?”

White Moon nodded, gravely, reluctantly, “I am at a loss what you want to achieve with this short time but I can grant you that, little pony.”

Plum rushed to Dartline and hugged her, "I'll be back! If not in this body so in another one, we will find each other, this is for sure. You will find everything and more than that, and I am not the most obscure pony!” And immediately to Sunset, “So what should I do?”

“It's simple,” Sunset smiled, “If you are willing and ready, when you come on dry land, put a clear mirror so that it reflects your own freely flowing blood. Make sure that it neither stops nor clots up. You need no words, just try to be conscious until the Red responds. It will respond; its thirst will overcome its resistance, and I don’t think there will be resistance to begin with. You will feel it. Next, let the flowing blood spill onto the mirror itself; note that for this phase the stream should be constant — open up your wounds if necessary. It will take your body, and I have no idea what will happen to your soul. When you are done talking, and if you want my afterlife, let your friends drown your remains — should your soul survive the infusion somehow, I will accept you there, as I have accepted many ponies before. Did I make myself clear?”

Plum smiled and nodded.

"But why are you giving us these... instructions?" Cursory asked, shuddering. "I thought you don't want to even hear about the Red, let alone summon it?"

Sunset was silent for a few beats, then replied, her voice full of quiet sadness, "My feelings aside, it seems you are going to great lengths to make the voice of the Red heard. I agree that everypony should have their word when their lives are at stake, even if it is the last one. So, I can't deny your goal is magnanimous, after all. It is up to you now to decide for yourself whether you are ready to follow up on it and pay the price."
> Chapter 59: Potentiality
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


🍮🍮🍮


Heralds were heroes by definition. Plum Jam was not. More than that, she just could not be one in any circumstances ever, unlike Blacklight and Dartline.

She knew that even heroes are usually wary of death, and she had a few worries herself. But anypony who has passed both thresholds of unbound age has died already at least twice, and has been on the brink several times on top of that. Not that they were actually dying, but the experience of waking up in a different place, with a loss of memory, without any connection with the past... afterlife could very well look like this. Only a selected few, like Cursory, maintained an emotional connection with their families after that.

And the Moons are unlikely to let me go to the Forest, she thought.

Other ponies would certainly have feared the Red, but Plum Jam and Gentle Touch had spent more than enough time with it at a table of memories most bitter.

Elsewhen, the Red spoke about its friends, and Plum was all ears.

In every generation, eight ponies are born around the world who can actually talk and make friends with the Red; who can understand, predict and even restrain its destructive impulses.

Nopony had been getting special powers or aspects over this, except an unusually long life — there was very little of a pony left within the Red to share anything it considered worthy, so these eight friends might not be called Heralds. On the contrary, in their lives they always faced an unusual loss, and often more than one. There was no kinship between them — eight friends of the Red could be scattered by all nine winds wandering through Metropolis, or settle on opposite ends of the continent and never meet face to face except through yearning dreams and reflections at the bottom of the glass.

Still, the Red remembered their names and took care of them in a way. Having heard each new story about its care and gifts given without expectations and hopes for any reciprocity, Plum felt a slight shiver; often it was fear, and always it was disgust, then more than simply that. Her reaction could be distilled to This one quirk could be corrected. This one I might just live with. This one is worth knowing more about, and she never refused any story outright, however unsettling it was. So, closer to the end of the long non-feast for three, even as neither Plum nor Gentle were among the eight, the Red spoke to Plum, and she heard that, “We are much closer than you think. We can be friends, though there is no place for you in this generation anymore.”

Along these thoughts, still avidly yearning to leave this generation, time and place, and move on — that was an influence chosen by the Red for her — Plum did not believe that the Red would kill her and leave nothing of her soul spared to regrow and was determined to find a way back to life, somehow.

They split up. Heralds stood aboard the submarine to keep a channel of contact with Sunset alive, while Plum, helped by her friends, reached the shore, lashed many times with sparkling and icy waves of the high tide. At least she avoided swimming in these waters; the unicorn and the pegasus worked together and kept her body above the surface.

Her friends did not withhold further help; Blacklight's pendant, the only clear mirror nearby, was too small to hold it tightly by herself under the sharp gusts of salty wind and chase the escaping reflection while losing blood. Dartline found a short knife in her bag.

So Blacklight held the pendant in a bluish magical aura while Dartline watched them both from three steps away; at the ready, she just stood there, attentive and unappreciative. The pegasus grumbled quietly, but through quiet ringing in Plum's ears words did not reach her, only a mood — displeased, protective, caring.

The presence of the Red nearby was certain for Plum, and she was about to move on to the second phase of the ritual, but she was too tired and too sleepy, and the mirror pendant around Blacklight's neck swayed from side to side, slowly, rhythmically, with a barely audible glass ringing. 

Then Black Moon intervened. A blurry black and green silhouette appeared right in front of her nose, obscuring the face of a friend, and a dim light of the heavens and the ocean. What a nerve, She is not even my Moon!, Plum thought with a weak indignation. She likely only imagined speaking it out loud, because Blacklight, surprised, asked her a question — and Plum got no sense, no words from it at all besides, once again, a mood.

An elongated many-legged metal thing clung to a deep wound on her leg, stopping the blood; she felt a few cold pricks. Then Plum Jam's vision cleared and her weakness receded.

Next to her, gleaming with dark metal, stood a metal frame, vaguely resembling the body of a pony — with very small disproportionate wings and a short horn. It was not even close to an alicorn's height though. It had neither ears nor facial features nor even eyes, but swayed slightly in the gusts of wind  confidently maintaining its balance. A compartment was opened up by a standard slider panel; inside the compartment metal larvae, like the one hanging from Plum's leg, swarmed, crawling over each other with a barely audible grinding.

Blue Moon stood on the other side of it, barely touching the larva with Her field of magic. She was immobile and utterly unreadable, and Plum asked "Why?"; she did not get a response. Blue Moon stepped close to Plum and whispered, "Poor mare… Electra chose to circumvent your sacrifice. It is— She said ‘We had more than enough already. We lose an important potential by letting you forfeit your body now.’”

The frame began to sing a borderline indecent barsong "Desire came down to take Her fill / Electra hid without / The Moon drank down a pot of swill / Then cast Her eye about..." with perfect shifts of tone in multitude of voices, emulating a cast of sailors over an unhealthy dose of relaxant modifiers. Plum tried to suppress laughter, especially to the face of White Moon a few steps away. She definitlely flashed a smile.

"Enough. The voice system is functioning within required parameters," Black Moon said either to the frame or to Plum Jam; the live pony was trying hard to stay silent, but a giggle still erupted, “We realized that you really are intending to follow this through; not only you but also your friends. Your decision can be traced back to the influence of the Red, but Dartline is, by Our consensus, mostly free of that, and yet she is in it together with you."

Dartline nodded glumly at that, "I had my own plans to do after that. I have my own options and sources, too."

Black Moon smiled, "Indeed you have. This sacrifice, and the summon, would be going horribly wrong now, because of you. I would be seeing your move, reputable Dartline, and what might not happen now had been truly worth the effort to look up and sidestep. Nevertheless, I cannot deny such displays of trust and friendship." She hugged Plum Jam, and Her scent was lavender flowers and heated plastic mixed, "But We will not start the conversation with a sacrifice. Not because We pity you, and not only because We lose an important option in the future, and not even only because of your friends — both your friends — but because the Red, once it would take over the living body of a gifted pony, is designated as a natural disaster of a regional scale, many times more threatening than any infusion. I have prepared an interim for such a case, from another history. In this one they did not do—"

Blacklight lowered her head, as if the pendant had become incredibly heavy; from it into the frame next to Plum a beam of forbidden light struck with a hum and a distinct stench of rotten roses; at the same beat clouds gathered over the shore, and they started to snow: sour, acrid, grape-colored snow, corroding the earth. In the same beat, the Moons raised magic shields over the coast, the village and the invisible base, but the snow slowly ate through them leaving scalloped patterns.

Then the blizzard ended just as quickly as it began. The metal pony turned gracefully on the spot, and the voice of the Red, mocking and menacing, swept over the coast in a squall of crosswind, "So, you lured me to a body that was once sufficiently alive, but definitely not alive in the foreseeable history. This is to make me powerless, I presume? Trapped in this piece of art of yours? It is brilliant, for a traitor. But it still has enough connections with the world to—"

"Solid, please be ready to utter the Word of Disentanglement at any beat, without waiting for other reasons, but not now," Black Moon said curtly, and a simple neon green sigil consisting of straight lines and sharp angles broke free of Her horn, then another, and another; they joined edges into a single image in which Plum Jam did not understand anything except the distraction of being lost, hazy half-light and the flow of noise in her head; and, even as she turned away from the sigil, she was getting lost more and more inside of what she once had been and never again will—

She came to her senses from Dartline's wingslap, and for a long, long time she did not see anything beyond Blacklight's magic gleaming a soft blue. Her head stopped spinning rather quickly but a clot of fog in the back of the head settled there for, she thought, a long time if not forever.

But she heard the conversation, in scraps and pieces.

"If you keep killing ponies—" White Moon said.

"By all means! Let's finish this here and now—" the Red, hissing.

"This is a demo version, built on different principles. If Solid Line says her Word at you, you will not just disappear as we have already tried it — you will keep disappearing forever—" Black Moon, confident and harsh.

"Your other part, perhaps, is ready for synthesis—" Blue Moon, in a sing-song voice.

"So let it come to me here and now!"

Sapphire’s aircraft, so alien in its sharp contour compared to a dragonfly-like smoothness of aviettes' wings, creation of yet unknown friends, hummed from above with a pair of coaxial propellers. While not clad in solid armor as the temporary carrier of the Red, it descended closer. Sapphire’s voice announced from the loudspeaker: “Transmitting a message from the underwater entity. I think this is very important."

“I’m ready to initiate the synthesis. The Heralds made a number of really good points, and helped me arrive at acceptable terms and conditions,” Sunset's soft, slightly apologetic voice sounded from the aircraft, "But I will be the one to dictate these terms." She paused while others went silent, hearing out the part of Sunset who never waged war of eternities, “Your role will not be leading, sister. And the Moons will also have to accept that not everything will go the way they want. I know what I truly want, now, and I know how to achieve it."
> Chapter 60: Collision
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


💡💡💡


“Refrain from gestures too grand and decisions too influencing,” Sapphire added to nopony in particular, “You are talking on our channel: if the sensors detect excessive activity, there will be no time for me to react and prevent the shield from coming up, and you will lose the connection. Also, the entire conversation is being relayed to Purity. The unending one might also have a few wishes of her own, to be granted as payment for our help.”

“This possibility is already accounted for,” Black Moon replied calmly. "Purity, in turn, should know that she is not the only immortal. Her rights cannot be above those of others like her."

“But along with Sunset, they are the only ones exiled from the world,” Sapphire said. "Exiled and limited in their influence."

"Your statement is false,” Black Moon said curtly, and Sapphire exhaled on that but said nothing; Black Moon continued, "Nevertheless, We will acknowledge Purity's words and your participation. Now, what do you prefer to be called? Hardly ‘a shard of the Red'," Black Moon smiled.

“I am Sunset Shimmer,” she replied, and even without an image, a smile was heard in her voice, "I have never lost either myself or this name, Twilight Starfall… or should I go even deeper and call you Twilight Sparkle instead?"

"Sorry that I can't provide a video stream. You came here without warning," Sapphire spoke again.

Blue Moon replied soothingly, "It is okay, it's not the most important thing, and for things that are truly important you had no chance to help with in the first place, even if you would know in advance. Still, it is good that you are present. Thanks, and do not be afraid to speak out."

White Moon, the only one who remained near the crater, although all the stones above it were still hanging in the magical aura of the alicorns, hurried Sunset, "We are listening. What do you want, Sunset Shimmer?"

"Power, maybe?" Sunset paused briefly and laughed. In response, there was neither objection, nor indignation nor answer; laughter fell into the void, "Actually, no. I just want a share of influence on the world equal to each of the Moons. Not only in my domain but around the world. I want to be the one who really does matter, or at least no less than Moons do. This is the only way I can ensure the safety of my domain."

“It will come true,” said the Trinity of Moons, and there was no echo, no flash, just Blacklight’s heart skipped a beat, and it became so.

"Be careful!" Sapphire exclaimed.

White Moon answered him, "We know what we are doing. It was inevitable." and without a pause she addressed Sunset, "But many aspects will be locked up until Green Moon's rise, and inaccessible to you before She makes Her first pick."

"Who? Does Green Moon really exist? Tell me more!" Blacklight squeaked, because if there was a mystery in the world that she wanted to deal with besides her designation, then it was Green Moon. All traces, all prophecies, all — very few in number — ponies who were saying that they saw Her with their own eyes, and never repeated the testimony even thrice, and all the evidence of Her non-existence, always with some incorrectible flaw—

Black Moon stepped towards her and tilted Her head, almost touching Blacklight's ear, "Not quite yet. There shall be a cycle when She will rise without a doubt, but so far the circumstances do not allow it. This is a secret in itself. I hope you will treat it with appropriate care. Do you copy?"

Blacklight nodded, stunned; three beats later, catching her breath, she realized that she was worried. Then she got the reason for that and asked, “Are Heralds in the sub okay, Sunset? Are they even alive? I can’t hear them at all, even Storm had no word since—"

"We are approaching the surface. They are alive, and I didn’t touch Storm at all." Sunset said.

Confirmation followed in a beat, by Storm’s voice "Yes, everypony is fine, there is enough air, just don’t tarry..."

Then Sunset went on, “My next condition is related to them. You expect the Six to come together and do a miracle — that miracle shall be mine.”

Black Moon stretched her neck and shook her head; her answer was delayed and measured, “No, Sunset. I understand your train of thought, but no. It is impossible to ‘own’ a miracle, or even hope you get what you ask for, verbatim or not. This is not a wishmaster. It cannot be approached like a vending machine that sells cookies. It cannot even be expected to work in a predictable way, and it is shrouded even from the Trinity. It will either want to happen approximately as you ask, or not. Or it will choose quite a different path.”

White Moon spoke then, all but interrupting, “The best thing you can do is speak to the bearers of the miracle. Ask them, explain to them what you would like, and if they share this volition, then you will have a chance.”

Sunset was silent for too long. Sapphire coughed and said that the channel remains active, just the other side silent. Plum drew faces of her friends with a stick on the snowy sand. Time passed, and after a third of a slice, instead of Sunset, Cursory replied, “She's shy,” Cursory chuckled, “For real. I will say it, then. She wants not a synthesis, but a family. To be part of a binary Moon, where neither of the two loses themselves and tries to defeat the other. How do you like it?”

“Which of us will take the lead?” the Red asked simply, and Blacklight turned her head to look at the motionless, dark metal silhouette.

“I will,” Sunset whispered, “if there is a miracle for us. But not so much that you find yourself completely devoid of presence and voice in our actions. Otherwise, it would be my victory, and I— in laypony’s terms, I have already given up on that. I can confirm again that I forfeit the winning. Thanks to the Heralds. So... please agree. It's better than everything you have now, even if it's less than you would like. And I still need a miracle for us to succeed.”

Black Moon bowed her head and smiled; Her horn flashed with ghostly green, and Her voice had a timbre of sadness, “This state is unstable on the scale of eternity. You are too close not to be eventually united into a singular entity, just as all of Us did in first histories — if there are no other obstacles, which there are not. Generations will be born and dead before that, but for all times to come after that—”

“I shall remain,” the Red smiled in response.

“Or perhaps I,” Sunset added 

“What if We disagree?” White Moon remarked sternly and dryly. “It may turn out that your alliance would become stronger than any of the Moons, and you are still enemies to Us. It’s possible for the rearrangement to merely strengthen you without changing anything else for us.”

“Isn't that why You are still against it?” Sunset objected. “Nothing changed for the matter. After the full synthesis, to which you agreed, we too might remain Your enemies, and You would try to shoot us down on our first rise.”

White Moon shook her head slowly, “In that case there would be a different person instead of you. She could become a worthy and honest partner in Our game. Neither you nor the Red strike me as such partners. I stand by this assessment, and thus am against this union.”

Blue Moon objected, “Intimacy with others changes the shape of the soul over time, even for the immortals. This is a good chance, it is in the spirit of My aspects and is truly beautiful. I feel this and thus, on the contrary, am in favor of it.”

Black Moon stepped forward, “For this solution, in the near future, complications are utterly inevitable; but time will pass, and we can improve Our position a lot, or lose, depending on other factors. I know this, and I delegate the decision to the bearers of the miracle. Blacklight? Please.”

Time passed, and Blacklight realized that everypony was looking at her and waiting for something. She adjusted her glasses, cleared her throat — the cold was ripping through, nopony warned that she would have to speak on this, and she did not even prepare her flashcards! But, sniffling, she said, “As I understand it, we will be able to actually speak with the Red? With Sunset. Will it— she have her own predictable time in the cycle? Will she stop killing and poisoning ponies? Then it will be better. Anything would be better than how things are now. I have nothing more to say.”

Plum and Dartline stood in line with her, a befitting five steps away. Dartline said, “We're far from the Metropolis. But She will be against it, I know for sure. She will have to rebuild Herself — too much and too painfully. I am against it. Let's go home, Blackie, please. You say that nothing could be worse — what if the Red would never leave the sky, for example? What if we’d have to hide in the vaults forever?”

Blacklight shook her head with a sidelong glance.

Plum smiled, “Even if this tale ends in disaster, we will survive to tell more — or we would become a tale ourselves. ‘Hear the story of Blacklight, a unicorn whose coat was black as the darkness itself, and her glorious friends who plunged the world into the abyss of great evil!’ And if we leave, what will remain after us? So I am saying, go for it!”

Gentle Touch and Cursory Streak shared their answer between them, without interrupting each other, with the pegasus warning that she will speak for both, “We think— we believe that you all have played the game for too long. Planning and scheming to defeat your enemies, you forget about the ponies, or consider them as no more than expendables. We have to— what we do is solve the issues that you created in the first place, even though we love our work.” Cursory took a deep breath and went on, “We know that this is not entirely true, but... you see, for all the past eras that Sunset spent expanding her domain, she did not try to capture the entire ocean, even if nothing was stopping her. She cares about her ponies, not the area of ​​the property on the map, and we haven’t even heard about her before recently, unlike all of you! So, please, take a step back and take a breather in your search for the ultimate victory. See what comes out of it. Please.”

Solid Line was next, and all three Moons frowned at her words, “Let's say we refuse. Then Sunset will still find a way to give advice and signals to the Red — and you probably don't want that. Consider that Sunset got the brains after the split.” 

The Moons nodded, clearly concerned, and Black Moon agreed, “While We can deny the very possibility of communication between the ocean and the sky at a fundamental level, We will severely degrade Our civilization and technology at that. She is right.”

“I'm not stupid!” the Red exclaimed indignantly, and entirely too late; Plum smiled at Blacklight, but held back a laugh.

"Is that all you want, Sunset?" White Moon raised Her leg.

“No. I need an actual exit to the surface, if you don’t mind. Plum Jam, if it is not too much to ask, please dive into the water, with your wound still open. It won't hurt, and it will happen only if you are going in with full agreement to be a vessel for me—”

Sapphire interrupted her, alarmed and surprised, “We have a problem! Purity has gone dark. All this time I called Purity so that she would pay attention and say at least something by herself, and received only "Access denied" in response to all priorities. Ultimately I used the one-time emergency short-term camera access code to check up on her. And the place is empty. Throughout all of our stations, she is no more! And her husband too. And, it seems, they left quite recently, less than a slice ago!”

“Oh,” Black Moon breathed, looking up at the sky. “Then we have to hurry.”
> Chapter 61: Presence
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


☀️☀️☀️


Sunset Shimmer glanced around. What she saw was somewhat familiar, as at their cores all the ponies were mostly the same. Yet Plum Jam's soul was very special.

Plum's inner being was cozy, filled with a dim pink glow, the smell of baked goods, distant violin notes, and the feeling of coming home after an inappropriately overlong journey. Each of Sunset’s steps was rearranging the landscape: the pink sky mottled by milky stains gave way to glittering chandeliers of a giant ballroom; the room’s ceiling, in turn, morphed to a disorder of leafy branches and crowns only vaguely reminiscent of the Forest. Around her many calendars marked with dates from both past and future — including three main ones as well as some long forgotten on the surface — were windows and doors to a new joy.

That was a major difference from other ponies. Plum just… just didn't end. Wherever Sunset's gaze fell, there was only more Plum Jam and joy and life. Joy, together with the pony herself, burst out of Plum's body and flowed through bodies of other ponies far away; in ocean ships and laboratories, highrises of Metropoly and rural shores, or at self-chosen scenes of street performances in front of kind, attentive and easily amused listeners. Each of these ponies shared their main color and readiness to paint life with a spark of happiness; to be there as needed. They were different in souls and personal experiences. Still, inner joy and resolute aspiration to give a smile and get a smile was united over all of them; it spread far and wide over the land. 

Here and now, however, Plum was next to Sunset, in the gazebo, under the low dome of the roof, and they could speak in private — assuming that Sunset would gather enough willpower to stop minding pink infinity around with all its innumerable celebrations. 

They could speak; but Sunset continued to stare, ears tipped and eyes squinting. Now Sunset realized how strong her own presence was from the perspective of ponies who had a chance to see her full  being — immense delight, awe and confusion.

Plum pushed a glass of sparkling pomegranate wine to her, drank from her own glass first, having taken them from her mane. She was sitting by Sunset’s side, right next to her, sharing the lively warmth — in a way the surface ponies have not even forgotten, but have not ever known for many generations.

Sunset was actually grateful for that.

"So you are an alien. You are the traveler who returns victorious,” Sunset pronounced, and it clearly wasn’t a question.

However, Plum Jam smiled and replied anyway, “No, Sunny. The traveler from the prophecy is, maybe, you after all. I— you're around now, and I'm Pinkie Pie, or maybe Plum Jam, a piece of the joy. You will leave, I will forget all that once again, but… it would be too much to remember anyway! Plum Jam will once again be just a pony, and you are more than just a pony, you are my guest, so next to you I  — Pinkie Pie — can be big too. It's only polite! So, if there is such a traveler, it is you and me both. Tell me, do you like it?" Plum swept her hoof wide. The purple vortex in the sky changed its direction, nudged a bit, and in the outside world a rainbow without rain grew over the village at the very edge of the Great Desert; a cycle later, two denizens of the village, poets-to-be, future friends and rivals in a long time yet to come, will both write their first awkward rhythmic lines.

Sunset saw this, understood and felt how it will flow from now on: Pinkie Pie showed up her possessions, sincerely and openly. She feared neither envy nor resentment, nor a sneaky strike. This in itself was a lesson of a friendship unfulfilled.

Sunset nodded, "So you're always in the real world?"

"More or less, I never leave," Plum laughed like a whirlwind of golden sparkles, and her age was showing only in her appearance, but neither in tone nor mood. Plum's voice could belong to both a foal and an old nag, "When Twily said that it was time for us to leave, I listened — followed, too! — but without me it all went dark and empty. So, you should be among us too! I need you in the world — you are the most belated and most long-awaited. I miss your colors!"

"Oh?" Sunset asked warily. “Don't the ponies dream of getting rid of the Red?

Plum's smile waned a bit, “Strife, blind rage, reckless passion and irresistible yearning are needed too in the palette. Of course, we have Black's doubt, Blue's temptations and White's righteous anger... but that's not it. All that is Pinkie Pie does believe that over time ponies will find feelings and love for both of you, the Red and you too — they will adore you, but for now… we need to move it, move it! You were frozen for too long," She tilted her glass slightly towards Sunset, "For you to succeed. So that you become a binary Moon and good sisters!”

Sunset sipped from her glass with a smile, and after a moment sweet dizziness came over her; Sunset rose slowly into the air — no wings, no magic — and floated into the sky towards the misty disc of the Red.


⊛⊛⊛


If ever she wanted to, Gentle Touch had no chance to tell how many ponies were on the shore nearby when shadows of the Six stirred in the souls of Heralds and of younger ponies, and went away from their bearers.

This number was definitely not an integer. For example, Black Moon stood next to Plum Jam — wet, shivering, hopeful Plum Jam. But at the same time, there was Blacklight, and a few steps away Twilight Starfall, or Sparkle, as she asked them to address her; slightly translucent, sparkling in the same way as Plum's wet fur, but throughout the body. They three were, in Gentle's eyes, one; their web had been, obviously, shared between them. With Sparkle around Black Moon's outward appearance changed; She was distinctly younger and shorter, and compared with Sparkle, She did not seem to be a superior being, rather an older sister. 

Twilight went deep into reading Dispassion’s black notebook that Solid Line kept close as Dispassion once asked to, and the white stones of destruction gently sank into the snow, far away from the crater, without a sound. Gentle noted when the Moons made their final decision; still They said nothing about that.

Other ponies lost their singularity too. Not far from Gentle, an orange pony in a wide-brimmed Stetson hat stood up. There was not even a trace of pain when she left Gentle’s body as a cloud of dense multi-colored vapor. She exhaled, chewing on an impossibly bright green blade of grass, “Every time Ah return here, y’all dug yourself deeper in like a scared mole rat. Let’s get the business done, share a glass or two and let your worries be out, ya hear?”

There were no fireworks, no heartfelt speeches other than that. The shadows spread along the shore, not straying far from the living. A silvery path of ghostly light stretched into the sky — from Plum Jam's chest to the disc of the Red, — and Twilight returned the notebook to Solid Line with a curt nod, "Those are good remarks, I'll think about it."

But in this peace and quietude, under the even sound of the tide, Gentle understood more and more clearly what they were doing.

They were helping those banished from the heavens to return there.

And with each beat, the same question arose more and more clearly in her head, no matter how many times Gentle replied Yes, and Yes again.

Is this what you want, for sure?

A beat of quiet uncertainty that came every time Gentle had been asked about what was actually beyond her knowledge or feelings; this time it was recurrent, returning again and again. Once again, her side, tinted subtly off where the ray of the Red once touched her coat, had been pressed by a weak pain. She closed her eyes, glancing at Cursory, the one without any shadows, and realized that the pegasus, too, is being asked, and that she too neither has an answer nor is at all prepared for such questioning. Moons were, as always, inscrutable.

She thought about ‘Guiding Starfall-TX’ and asked Cursory for it; Gentle Touch was given the bottle without being asked any question. Only eye contact and a nod that meant "It's good that you took this decision upon yourself."

The Red was getting clearer in the sky, Sunset climbed higher and higher up the ghostly silver stairs. The ‘Starfall’ tasted like a mint of frozen stars as it does in all the histories, and Gentle sat under a sprawling oak with leaves piercing green and told her foal, Good Intention, a story of a turning point in her life. A story about how many, many rounds ago they stopped on the ocean and did not dive; how the Black Moon helped them weave a false memory — a memory in which Sunset Shimmer allegedly refused to even speak to them. About how the Red, full of rage and anger, nevertheless agreed to remove the curse in its whimsy — but only from a quarter of the team while the rest died anyway over a course of a few lusters. How she was in mourning for Cursory Streak for a full round straight, and how she is sure now that she did the right thing. “Otherwise you would not have been born. You are the most precious remnant that I have now after your father also left. "

She did not tell her son about a recent strange letter from Faraway Storm, the second survivor, “Don't blame yourself. In any case, had you tried to do things her way, the Departed would have terminated the Moons already."

"Terminated the Moons already.” and that's it, not a word more, just a signature. Of course it didn't make any sense — how could Moons be terminated?

She began to comb the mane of her dark blue-eyed foal, once again remembered Cursory with a twitch of ingrained sadness, and woke up with a head heavy and spinning; snowed sandy soil tried to rear up under her hooves, and the anxious look of Cursory Streak, beloved and loving, was accompanied by words the sense of which she could not catch up to, and she did not know which of the two non-matching sets of her memories she wanted to choose, because both were true, but it was necessary to decide right there which is the lie that never actually happened; either here and now, or—

The memory was not an instant. The memory was her life that now went away dissolving in Is-Not. Trips to the fair, accidental and non-accidental love interests, foalbirth thrice attempted for, neither of those ending well, patients saved and patients lost, the inescapable care of Blue Moon, who visited her at least thrice a round, the gradual return of her old age and the habit of living with it, a stallion who loved her in spite of—
 
She remembered the last beats of the vision and dropped the bottle. It shattered with a sharp ring of glass.

“The Moons… they will…”

There was no time to fiddle with a disobedient tongue.

Gentle Touch closed her eyes and imprinted all her feelings, as a whole picture without any sorting but not missing a single thread, right into Cursory Streak. Fear — for Moons, for themselves, for the team. An unknown threat, something nameless that lurks close by ready to strike; a doubt about Storm; a longing for the future, a guilt of betrayal and weakness.

Cursory staggered, but got her bearings in three beats and shouted out what Gentle didn't have the strength to do, “Electra, Desire, Flame — stop! Storm and her team are likely the threat!”

Black Moon turned around and asked, “What?.. I see no moves from immortals.”

But Her shield was already raised, despite the obvious disbelief in Her voice; after Black Moon, a dim glow enveloped the other two Apexes; Gentle tried to find Storm with her sight, through the fog in her eyes and confusion, and saw her dragging Plum Jam into a submarine moored off the coast, and with Blacklight and Dartline hurrying after them; if they were saying anything, Gentle could not hear or understand a word.

Cursory exhaled, smiled, and began to explain, “Gentle Touch drank ‘Guiding Starfall’, she saw another future and—”

—the endless darkness fell from the heavens onto the ocean shore, and the light of the Moons flickered and went out.
> Chapter 62: Revolution
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


⊛⊛⊛


Gentle backed away a little, came back forward, tried to raise her voice - nopony replied and her weak cry was lost to the darkness. She raised her leg in front of herself, blinking a few times — to no avail, there was nothing to see at all. Try as she might, she could not even discern her own hoof. 

With eyes closed, though, she could still see the fading hints of the Moons — two of Them, as Black Moon’s green shroud was nowhere to be found. Then Cursory’s much brighter web shone nearby; white pegasus was still alive, but sleeping too deeply, her soul on a shore from which ponies leave the sand of dreams and enter the flows of death.

Straining her eyes and looking around, peering into the utter black, she made out webs of two more living creatures — Solid Line with her cat; nopony else, and even Solid was barely sparkling in the darkness. Still, at least they weren’t asleep.

Her ears drooped, she walked closer to Cursory so that— she had no idea what then. She knew that she was making a choice, leaving behind Blue Moon, her mentor and friend. Waves of memories, of events that did not happen in this reality, were still rolling over her mind, receding for a time and leaving her lost in the darkness. There was no ‘Starfall-TX’ anymore to fulfill Cursory’s wish of an imagined ‘happily ever after’—

Hey, chin up, sugarcube! she thought to herself in a sympathetic voice — two of them, actually — nothin’ bad happened yet! Don’t tell us you’re ‘fraid of the dark. It will end, I just know it! And if needed, we will carry everypony out on our backs, or push them.

When she got very close to Cursory, the darkness receded around them, still covering the edge of the ocean and the village.

The familiar starry sky opened up above though. Bowl, Butterfly, Feather, and further on all nine main belt’s constellations, all the way to the horizon, almost like they were at home, in foalhood, on the edge of the Great Desert, when Gentle and Dispassion admired the sky and studied it, lying together side to side.

Oily blades of darkness were stretching from the surrounding curtain of blackness into the sky. The curtain was growing, threatening to close over Gentle again, and above the curtain, an impossible Moon steadily rose higher.

Steel-silver, deadly shiny, speckled with dark tumor-like spots, and there was no magic at all in its light, or if there was, then it was so alien that Gentle could feel nothing emanating from a Moon at all from it no matter how hard she tried.

And not a glimpse of the Trinity of Moons in the sky; where alicorns stood before, now only two pale pearls shone weakly on the snowed sand..

Gentle managed to not break into a cry of dreadful horror. Stepping back, she hugged the warm sleeping Cursory Streak and stared at the sky, her ears wide, reflecting the atrocity.

This is not what we wanted, she thought over and over again; she wanted to close her eyes and fall into a dream, into that other future, where Moons were still alive. Gentle did so, but the merciless silver pierced even through her closed eyelids.

She turned away, and simply lay down, having lost track of time, as a black dome grew over her, slowly devouring the sky. The empty stare of a strange Moon was burning out her strength, magic, and the very desire to live. Of the impenetrable sparkling shrouds that used to be the familiar Moons, only pearls in the darkness remained... but no matter how hard the darkness tried, it could not extinguish them and Gentle felt a faint hope.

If it would turn out that only you can save the world— the unfinished question slipped through her mind. Was that Sharp Cut? Or Pink? The orange shadow from the Six, or all of them together? They didn't finish the sentence.

Because out of the solid wall of darkness, Black Moon stepped out, still in the same primordial armor, Her bags were torn to pieces, barely holding together, and what once had been there, was there no more. Solid Line and Signal sat side to side on Her back, and Black Moon’s hoofsteps were soundless and light — none of the riders ever moved as their carrier walked into the center of the circle, each step measured.

“I cannot be hurt by darkness and void, o reputable adversary,” Black Moon said, looking up at the sky. “I have forgotten much more about these aspects than You will ever know. But answer, for the sake of other Apexes,” Black Moon slowly stepped aside, as a sparkling silvery spear hit the snow where She had just been, “What do You want, and can we speak instead of fighting? I hope you are more reasonable than the Red.”

Gentle saw a deep ugly crack that went across the chest plate of Black Moon's armor, ruining neon-green sigils or pushing them away, and fur underneath was smeared with dark blood. But the question nevertheless sounded utterly calm. Other charges of silvery black energy fell from the sky to the shore, aiming to where Black Moon had not been for a third of a beat at least.

“You had your singular opportunity hiding in the shadow of an immortal. You squeezed everything out of it. This had not been enough. Now, immersed in the stolen Ascension, you are immortal and I see you. What now?” Black Moon said then, dry curiosity in Her voice, not a hint of anger or confusion.

Again, there was no answer. From the sky, as before, a silvery-black rain of spells kept falling — ribbons, circles, spirals, continuous streams. They did not touch Black Moon. When there was a place to evade, Black Moon was always there, and when there was not, She disappeared for several beats under a continuous wave of dead light or raised a dark purple shield, firmly standing below. It was like a dance, a game or a test, but if Black Moon could attack in return, She did not. Solid Line, sitting on the back of the Moon and holding the cat in her forelegs, meanwhile weaved complex spells and gradually the angular web of her yellowish magic hung over the entire battlefield — unreliable, tearing under the silver assaults, but over time nevertheless becoming denser and brighter.

Time passed, then more time, in a silent one-sided duel — only occasionally a charge of hot air was reaching Gentle's coat, or a hiss of discharge touched her ears; and even when a shot from heaven was supposed to hit Gentle, it did not, leaving careful notches along the contour of her body.

Gentle was afraid to speak — she had an almost impossible, stupid thought that she did not want to think through to the end. Not even a thought — a wish, a hope for a possibility to come true. She wanted to cry it out loud, but was afraid to distract Black Moon.

Black Moon sent a sigil of shining neon green in her direction, which meant nothing but "Do tell Me what you know about ponies of the upper space."

So Gentle did, whispering under her breath — as much as she could bear and remember from a short visit to the station — about collected and affable ponies, their weapons, their looks down towards the lost home; about transparent longing in Purity's eyes, and Meteor, who wished nothing more than to die back on the planet’s surface; about Dispassion, who transferred herself into a metal body in order to survive the death of the world, and, it seemed, died anyway, as in that body, behind the black void of her eyes, there was not a trace of a living soul, there was no Dispasson, there was nopony—

Gentle knew that she was heard with attention and thought, even as the silvery dance went on. As soon as she would stop, she could almost hear the dryish but encouraging prompt of Hmm, and then?, so she continued to speak out until she dried up, coughing, with a throat dry and a tongue swollen. Cursory still slept in her hug. The pegasus never would have allowed Gentle to hold her that way with any witnesses around; and yet, even knowing that it would be worth respecting her supposed opinion, Gentle could not break herself away from her pegasus.

The Black Moon gave her no time to feel sorry for herself.

Do you agree to your own Ascension? Black Moon asked, Her voice settled in Gentle's thoughts as a guest, polite but weary. Now I see that I cannot defeat the synthesis of Dispassion and Purity, but it is impossible for Me to cooperate with Her either. I will attempt to save other Apexes instead. Please, accept the new history of the world and keep it. Then maybe something will change and We might yet return then.

How? Gentle asked with a similar thought. I do agree, if it’s necessary! she added after a short silence.

You're not the only one with Pinkie Pie's shadow... and you alone will not be enough. But without you, it won't be enough either. Now wait, think it through, and if you are not ready, do not hesitate to refuse — there are other ways to resolve the issue. You still have time while Solid Line prepares to unleash the Word… A blink of silence, The Red will also be a part of your Moon. Another stumble later, It has already agreed, on its own terms and under its authority. You will have to put up with it — otherwise it will interfere with you and then the outcome will be much worse. The price for the help of the Red has been set, and two-thirds of the price has already been paid. But individually, you have no chance of holding the history against this monster. I made a decision to seal Sunset once more while she was still weak, for her participation would destabilise the synthesis. So, do think and decide.

How do we get started? Gentle asked. The question about Sunset was too difficult to ask.

Those who also have a trace of Pinkie Pie will come to you. Don't be intimidated and try not to reject them. They will be closer than you can imagine. Yes, Sharp Cut is invited too.

Gentle did not immediately understand what that meant. Streams, touches of other ponies’ thoughts, names and personal images came flooding from what was neither inside nor outside. Curly Stanza, a pink young filly, white mane, singer, married in a trinity, two children; Bow-Tied Lancet, a middle-aged orange stallion, a pink mane, a practicing surgeon, recently crashed on alpine skis, looking for a pair, and more after them. At first they were almost invisible, then interesting, then there was nothing left but them.

She was accepted. They knew her. They understood her too, with all her fears, with the bloody brilliance of Sharp Cut deep in her— their— souls. Because all the pink ponies of the world shared this spark between themselves, even though only a select few among them gave the copper-maned knife-wielder more than a passing thought or two through all their lives, and even fewer ponies than that were close to actually learning her name. 

In the last beats before becoming part of the single Pinkie Pie who was unexpectedly and urgently required in the sky, Gentle Touch escaped from the benevolent crowd of close and dear ponies—

—recalled her home, her mom and dad, ones who were real and waiting for more letters—

—and kissed Cursory Streak. She saw the flutter of her eyelashes. She looked at Cursory, eyes first open then closed, imprinting the image, absorbing each and every little detail, and silently vowed to never forget.

I'm ready, Gentle thought to nopony in particular.

Three beats later, Gentle Touch, Herald of the Blue Moon, with all her fears, anxiety, suppressed dreams of being cruel and carefree, a good pony who denied her immense power in order to evade any responsibility, dissolved.


🎈🎈🎈


Rising into the sky, Rose Moon knew that it was a bad omen to look back.

Yet She had to. She called Her ponies, one by one, and when you call — you have to face them, to look in their eyes!

She saw the world beneath Her and Her place in heaven that was always on the other side of the planet, always away from the merciless silver. She took care of selected aspects of power — Life, Joy, Warmth and Light — everything that Pinkie Pie considered important; and did not forget to keep an eye on how things were going with the Red.

She gratefully accepted the cover of secrecy from the last surviving Moon of the Trinity — so that Gray would not try to destroy her on takeoff. She saw Solid Line completing the blood ritual, and how Signal weaves into it unnamed thoughts of other times, while Black Moon, with a well-designed movement, allows Herself to be wounded by another ray of dead light, so that the adversary would not decide to look aside at the most unnecessary moment.

She felt the Red as a strong push to the side — if a Moon could have a side; the thought sounded funny and Rose Moon giggled.

Naturally, with a new and very powerful guest, She slightly changed Her color and aspirations, then picked one more aspect just to feel Herself whole.

The change was small. Imperceptible even. So She decided to stay Rose. The public image matters, doesn't it?

Then Rose Moon was convinced that She would not change anymore, and, reaching for the eternal cube, made a turn for a new history. The one where She, of course, always had been and always will be. The one where She will make everything delightfully messed up, where nopony else will stop Her from being the way She wants, where some jokes will be mixed with blood, and excessive sadness will not be recommended to anypony ever.


☄☄☄


At first there was silence and void, then an acrid and rough smell of hot plastic in her throat. Then blue and green flashes came through her eyes, still closed, and with them the magnetic sense came alive.

A steel shell, high-frequency alternating currents everywhere — even not knowing her name yet, the pegasus knew that she had already been here, and that she was a pegasus. Then — with a memory — Faraway Storm's  face faded in, and from there in an all-encompassing wave the rest of the memory had been awoken. Along with her memory, the one that was not quite her own and not quite a memory stirred too. The viscous Maybe we are doing something wrong as Sunset went into the sky, then taking care of Gentle's body while the mind of her beloved wandered in visions of ‘Guiding Starfall-TX’. The anxiety that came from Gentle and for that reason was beyond any doubt. A shout to all Moons at once, as she did when she had to solve problems in a team.

Darkness without images and voices, just a little slower than a flash of light. Cursory Streak managed to call for her inner fire; then she was gone.

“Wake up!” — now she was called by Storm and one of the younger ponies, she could not remember who. 

She resisted — there was no point in returning to where there was no Gentle, and Gentle was not there, she was nowhere, not a trace of apple scent in the air—

“Wake up, you fool! Time is running out!” A prick in her thigh spread through the body in an icy wave, her muscles shivered in large tremors, she took a deep breath, coughed and woke up.

“We're underwater,” Blacklight looked into her eyes, “and we need a miracle again. We need you.”

I know, Cursory wanted to say, but she had no breath, so only a thought remained, and only blue and green lights on the sides prevented the absolute darkness from closing in on her once again. 

Inhale, exhale… slowly.

“Where is... Gentle Touch?” she whispered

“Above,” Storm replied, and Cursory looked at her. She was disheveled and twitchy, which was… mostly unlike her, but Cursory had no energy left to wonder over that, “Everything went wrong… and I'm sorry, but Gentle is now, well… she is a Moon. Sunset said as much and more. So decide, and quickly: if it suits you, I take off the shield and you float out.”

“Not only Gentle. Plum and Dartline, they… I don’t know where they are. If they are,” the black unicorn intervened, almost crying, “Please pull yourself together, and let's fix it!”

"Doesn't suit," Cursory whispered, “Let me sleep? Then we'll talk…”

"Be this any other situation, we would let you get some much needed rest. But history has changed fairly recently, so aftershocks keep happening. On one hoof, Sunset shelters us from them. On the other—”

"I got it," Cursory interrupted. "Even I would first check the current glory of the Moons before leaving the Net. She is too bright for your tech, isn't she?"

“Yes. Her aura can keep us safe from aftershocks indefinitely. Unfortunately, by the time aftershocks stop being a threat, that same aura will erode our protections from the new timeline's more insidious influence. We have a third of a slice left,” Storm said, a bit annoyed.

Cursory got to her hooves; her head was still spinning. Blacklight flipped the toggle switch and turned on the dim yellowish three-sided light. Now Cursory could at least see faces.

“What's happened?” she asked, still struggling.

“In that history we had a coup, thanks to you,” Storm’s smile was crooked, “You slipped a little piece of data Dispassion was lacking before. If the Red was able to injure other Moons during its Ascension, then Moons can be injured during Ascension. She didn't know for sure, but she played all or nothing and won. It was absolutely against Purity's will, and the unending one put up a fight, but Dispassion managed to ally with her husband by promising him freedom, and it turned out that almost every fifth of the stations’ personnel was a Departed, even though — unlike Dispassion — none of them got rid of their flesh yet, and all computer systems were owned by the Departed too. By Dispassion first and foremost. But what is most important, Purity did not expect betrayal, and neither did she expect their forced Ascension.”

“What about the Trinity? I warned them…” Cursory looked at Storm directly, waiting for her to say that it was a joke. Storm, still too naked without her suit, did not look away.

“The history of the world has completely changed. The Moons desperately tried to do something, thanks to you. In the new history, there are special units that capture those who are trying to awaken the Trinity — any of the Apexes. Of course, according to them, they exist to apprehend ponies looking for ‘ancient evil’ and perform ‘disincentivizing measures’. That is how it is called now. Instead of the Trinity, there are two fake Moons in the sky, one very hot and pinkish — a gestalt of,” she stumbled for the smallest fraction of a beat in her otherwise rapid-firing reply, “your Gentle and her Plum Jam, and many other ponies went into it. The second is ice-cold, silver on one side, dark on the other. The latter is— elseonce had been Purity and Dispassion.”

Cursory blinked, “That is, your fake Moon achieved what she wanted and became real. Good for her. What is it in here that you don’t like, what do you want from me? And what about our Moons?”

“The unending one never wanted to be a Moon! Let's skip details? Time is running out, just wish for anything to end this terror, and that’s it! And did I ever say that I used to be on the side of the Departed? Purity's strike would be transparency and brilliance as an ice crystal, not darkness, okay?” Storm cried out, and for the first time Cursory saw the mask of her arrogant confidence and superiority crack open.

Storm’s words were more than just passion and willpower; they left an impression of a ramming charge. Cursory was willing to do anything to avoid seeing the anger in her shining purple eyes, she ached to follow the request — but this desire did not belong to her, and there was a crack in Storm’s resolve, so she took a step towards Storm, tilted her head and whispered, “No, it's not okay. If what you say is true, I've already lost everything. I don't want to lose more. Tell me everything that's wrong now. All that needs to be fixed.”

Storm looked confused for a beat, “Lose more than everything? Are you okay?”

“No, I’m not,” Cursory smiled.

Blacklight added pleadingly, “Hurry up. I don’t want to be alone anymore. I will never find new friends in this world.”

Cursory nodded to her, trying to cheer her up a bit — if it comes to that, she herself would not have left Blacklight wanting, not until picking up a decent replacement for her severed ties… but it seems that the unicorn did not follow.

Storm narrowed her eyes. “For a start, alignment there means a side in the long war. Isn't that enough?” Cursory blinked and Storm quickly followed on, “These are completely different ponies, both in appearance and, in fact, their customs are incompatible, their languages aren’t even close to each other, they cannot even have common foals! Below the sky of Purity, ponies of Rose Moon are sleeping, and vice versa. Gray ponies take advantage of this, striking at entire sectors of the city. They have already made a truce many times, but—”

"Hold on," interrupted Cursory. "Do they kill ponies?"

“If only,” Storm replied, “They do worse. Dispassion has always believed that salvation from the future destruction of the world lay outside of life. More precisely, in unlife. They take souls, pervert them and bring them under their banner—”

“Banner?” Cursory was at a loss again, but the question somehow managed to put Storm off-balance too. Blacklight took out her notebook and prepared to write it down.

“A piece of fabric sewn in a certain way, signifying the unity of goals, preferences, choices— I wasn’t speaking literally. Doesn’t matter. The stolen pony souls are among the supporters of the Gray, they receive new bodies from a mixture of electricity and mechanics but cease to be alive. If you destroy these bodies, they no longer go anywhere, neither to the Forest nor to the sky— they just— simply no longer exist, and—

“Enough,” Cursory sighed, “What needs to be done? Even if Gentle doesn't come back, it sounds awful.”

“Oh, and it’s probably not even worth mentioning that they have almost no magic?” with feigned relief Storm asked, and Blacklight, clearly indignant, took a breath, but could not find words; Cursory felt for her. ”Good. Work one more miracle. Let the Trinity return, allow Purity to come down and let her rest at the surface. Let Gentle, too, come back to you. To answer your question, you have two out of the Six, there is no chance without you. With you we can try.”

“Even if it could be fixed with a miracle… you can’t order it in precise details, remember? And I feel like a third of myself… We have neither Gentle nor Dartline nor Plum and I do not know where Solid Line is— you have no clue, haven’t you? We lost half of the Six already,” Cursory objected, but the inner flame was kindling in response. When you see trouble, when a pony is in pain, you have to be in the open, so that you can be called. Storm called her — that was enough.

“We have me. I'm ready to enter the circle of Six,” Storm snapped. “And then there is Sunset—”

“I have nothing to do with this,” answered a dry, indifferent voice, “You deceived me. You lured me out, only to destroy me. And you got what you wanted. I am wounded.”

“Then why are you protecting us?” Blacklight asked warmly and sincerely, “You could have just left us!”

“Only for your sake. Not for Storm and her band of traitors. You hurt me, but at least you did not know what you were doing. So…” Sunset answered evenly, calmly, and yet a little hesitantly; there was a pause — a prompting one.

Cursory thought for a moment and said, pleading, “Then do it for us. For Blacklight's sake, at least. She did not even begin to live—” 

“Hey!” indignantly interrupted the unicorn.

“—and now what, she will be killed by the ponies of another false Moon?” Cursory ended anyway.

“I don’t know. It doesn't matter,” Sunset replied, with a touch of annoyance, but also a hint of uncertainty.

Cursory stepped over and looked at Storm again. “How much time do we have?

“Four nines of kairos on the shield. Time left… the ninth of a slice. Maybe a seventh, but don’t bet on it,” she replied.

...so square nine of beats, Cursory did the simple math. Enough to make three points, without a rush.

“What would Plum say?” No, better avoid that line. Too much for their unsteady rapport.

Instead… “I know that you do not strive for power and victories, but… apparently, there is much more suffering and pain in this world than there was before,” Cursory said quietly. “You've always looked after your ponies. Isn't that enough to try and fix something?”

“They are not my ponies,” Sunset snorted. The doubt was not gone from her voice, but she did not sound any more sympathetic than a few beats before either.

“And… you heard Storm. What she says — does she speak like a traitor? For me, this is more despair rather than—” Cursory went on.

Sunset exploded with a shout, “Shut it! None of you know what true despair is!”

At this point their uneasy cooperation was under threat of complete collapse. But instead of playing it safe and seeking to redress her misstep, Cursory went into attack. "If you surrender, if you let them keep you submerged, sealed in this 'special spector', then despair will be all you have. They will be right, from now and to eternities both future and past.

"You will be proven to be neither reliable enough to be called upon ever again by allegedly your ponies, nor powerful enough to even make a difference. Not just in the face of the Trinity, but even the fake ones. This is the end Sunset Shimmer is choosing for herself: unwilling, unworthy, unacknowledged."

Cursory did not drop the pace, but shifted to a higher tone, "Or, instead, you can extend a hoof to those who know you, and are willing to be friends with you anyway. So you would become real and alive again. Those who are entrusting you with everything, and are hoping to work a miracle together. And maybe, just maybe, to help one of them get her love back too."

She expected Sunset to either cut her off early, or to be won over and burst into joint action. That was an oversight on her part. Instead, Shimmer stared at her silently and calmly, until the beeping of the kairometer reminded everypony that a decision needs to be made now.

"Be careful, little one, for I might yet take all your words at face value."

“I have not granted you the right to choose for me, reputable Cursory Streak, and even if I did, beware that you are nearing the edge of reason… in my opinion,” Blacklight noted, wary and strictly formal.
> Chapter 63: Impugnment
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


☄☄☄


A suit felt more like a shell than clothing. Cursory Streak felt no need to enter it at first — after all, armor’s mass would only hinder her flight. Storm remarked, “Alien Moons, remember?”, and that was enough.

It turned out to be a rather comfortable and responsive shell — extremely responsive one. Cursory didn’t even feel like there was any armor, because for all the seeming clumsiness it followed every movement by itself, all but predicting it.

“It seems to read my mind. Should it?” Cursory asked.

Storm quickly shook her head, “No, tech can’t read your mind and does not mess with it! By the way, if there is an orange flash on any of the right-side indicators, relax.”

Cursory blinked, confused. Blacklight, also busy with a suit, and thus for a few beats distracted from her grief—

—“Plum Jam was the very first one Storm dragged into the sub! But then Plum said she needed to go outside. I checked for active magic just in case, as there technically are ways to circumvent the Prime Word, but it looks like Plum really did want to leave, and then new Moon, pink and fluffy one, took her, right before my eyes. I tried to catch Plum with my magic and pull her back to, I don't know, delay the ascend but—"

—giggled, "You know, their tech is something alright! Here, you will not believe it, the suit stores its own spell archive, and it is huge, and the search is even more intuitive than in my sector central library!”

Cursory took off, flew a circle over the submarine and the ocean, and was actually disappointed — wingfairings still did not interfere with movement on the inside and carried the subtle steering tilt of the feathers and bends of wings — but these attempts were decent at best. She could keep herself in the air, turn slowly, fly in a straight line, and that’s it. Metropolis was not visible from there, as She was not… before? Elseonce, as Storm had put it?

On return, Cursory cast a glance at Storm, and got an explanation, “If there’s another aftershock wave, we’ll most likely disappear. Or we will change — the new history will reshape us according to its own standards. Maybe Sunset will cover us, but I wouldn't rely on that — especially since Sunset got her own Moon-like glory."

"How do we protect ourselves?" Cursory tilted her head.

"We don’t. Please hurry up and work a miracle,” Storm said, “As they— you— have always done it. Or just say you can't and let's move on to a backup plan."

Cursory nodded but did not answer. She never had a chance to say goodbye to Metropolis, and whatever She became now, She was definitely not the same beloved city.

This thought alone made her wings ache. She wanted to rush towards this aftershock, whatever it was, hoping maybe it would somehow lead her home, or at least to somewhere that would feel like home. Where Gentle Touch is nearby, so Cursory could smell her quietude, feel their well deserved peace and listen to a quiet voice with ‘o’ too open and ‘r’ too muffled — an accent indicating how far from the central Metropolis Gentle Touch’s roots are—


She shook her head and smiled sadly. Visions so bright and inviting that a single step would suffice to get lost in them — these were the burden carried by approximately one out of three ponies who inhaled ‘Guiding Starfall-TX’, and they tended to become more frequent with the progress of age. Cursory inhaled it twice, so sooner or later it had to happen for the first time.

Too bad this first time happened right now, when it hurts the most.

And hurt it did. It was too hard to breathe, her heart was beating out of rhythm. Tears came and stopped, but they did not make the grief any easier to bear, and there was no Moon in the sky, and no napkin under the helmet. Blacklight looked at her — direct, open, from a customary distance. If you need me, I'm here; I see you, Blacklight did not say.

Sunset, still ghostly translucent in the salty wind, the only one without armor, approached them and stood opposite, closing the uneven rectangle with a side of roughly seven steps. To free her, they had to, like Plum did, let Sunset into their blood, and release it already on the surface; the ritual, mostly painless, went smoothly except leaving them all weakened; still, bouts of dizziness were somewhat manageable as they shared Sunset between all three of them. For that second time, contrary to Plum’s first attempt, it was not about proving the readiness to die for the purpose — simply to open the way for Sunset. By accident or on purpose, Black Moon never closed this loophole.

Other Moons didn’t either, Cursory thought. 

She sighed, “I don’t want to give up, but… we really can’t do a thing. Even the miracle that we began to work, it was not the answer. It was a question. ‘Is this what I want, for sure?’, it asked me. We got out, and Sunset got out too, so it's a miracle that the old move worked. Is there any vault where we can wait and think it through without a hurry?”

“I still have a place where I can shelter you until the end of time,” Sunset suggested with not a grain but a full spoon of salt. Blacklight raised her hoof but said nothing, just shook her head.

Storm answered for her, “No, for both of you. We didn't have many shelters and surface bases in the first place. What was here elseonce in this story, had not even been built—”

“Was your place here not supposed to survive the… the thing?..” Cursory did not find words and pointed her hoof towards the sky.

Storm nodded, “It was supposed to. It would’ve. Had the switch-on of the shield not been deliberately blocked.”

Blacklight nodded as if she got what was said; Cursory made a note to herself to ask more on that later on.

Storm continued, “And we will not reach other vaults or bases in time, even those that remain. I can call for an evac shuttle — we, as an organization, have already gone through several shifts of history — but those who land are unlikely to be happy to see us. Dispassion was not the only Departed, just the first of the Departed. So if a miracle is impossible, just say so and I will move on to a backup plan.”

Sunset and Blacklight glanced at each other and stepped closer to Cursory together. Blacklight nodded, clearly unsure “Yes, I wouldn't want to fly or run anywhere either. I don’t want to get used to this world, you know? I have an intrusive thought that if we stay too long, we will become a part of all this, and then not even attempt to fix...”

Maybe we are already beyond repair, Cursory thought, and Storm replied, “It is more than just a thought. This is the case with operatives who have neglected protection. Then they cannot even be identified among moonburnt ponies, if they survive at all — which is a question by itself,” Storm shook her head and looked at them through the semi-reflecting glass of her faceplate, “I am distracted because I am scared. My backup plan is this: if everypony still chooses for themself and nopony can be deprived of a choice— it would be easier if we knew the exact words that the Moons uttered at the beginning of that first history when it appeared for the very first time. The Prime Word that states everypony should have a right to choose, one that eventually becomes ‘everypony chooses for themself’, how exactly did it sound? I can’t say directly how it would help, we might be observed and our conversation heard, but, please—”

She fell silent, and Blacklight intervened in a whisper, “Maybe that's why they left a loophole for Sunset.”

The one named turned around, frowning, “Maybe. Hmm..."

Cursory asked, "Are you bored with your freedom already?" Would it be better if we couldn't even swim out of the ocean?"

"Of course, not better, it would have to... Wait, are you making a joke at my expense?" Sunset snorted angrily. She waved her hoof in the direction of Cursory and after a beat stretched out into a plane of orange light, became a ray that outstretched inland.

Storm turned her head, sighed, "Well, another one gone—" but she did not even have time to finish, as Sunset returned from the ocean side; three beats had not passed yet.

“I must admit, I’m free now,” Sunset was clearly holding back her joy, keeping herself from prancing around, "Neither one of the two usurpers consider me an enemy. As Black Moon said. No more barriers for me!"

"Have you spoken with Black Moon?" Cursory's ears were up, "Why didn’t you tell us until now?! Maybe there is something important that we should know?"

“Oh, she didn't tell me either,” Storm's smile was strained, “She had enough time to tell me about the new history. She pushed it through my eyes and ears, scared me down in my suit, explained that everything is now ruined and it’s all my fault, and I should take full responsibility. Only then did she give anything actually useful. Priorities!"

Sunset was embarrassed, if only a little, but her reply was calm,

“Had the Moons truly betrayed me, like it happened the first time, I would treat you with something much stronger than guilt or fear. I was very annoyed anyway, and I will not take back a thing I said. Now that I have calmed down, I can say that it was not a betrayal, technically. But, you see, that was how I got to be sealed underwater for one more whole history..."


☀️☀️☀️


“In the new history, if we want to keep a glimmer of hope, we will have to contain the invader by any— I mean, by almost any cost. Except for those ways that suit Dispassion. We need aspects that are exactly the opposite of this monster. Pinkie Pie is an almost perfect counterbalance, but the situation will require a certain amount of brutality. This one — Gray one — will not be shy about means. Alone, Pinkie Pie will be doomed. I have known Purity long enough to say so.”

The world deprived of light seemed unmoving and unchanging, and yet there was almost no time left for a conversation with the Moon. Sunset was barely conscious after the strike of darkness sapped most of her strength; she fell into the ocean, and Black Moon was near, invisible, except for a dull green shine in the darkness — the brilliance of knowledge, comprehension, possibilities. There was no time to speak out loud, so Black Moon expressed Her opinion in three sigils, which contained both the conclusions and the chain of reasoning. That was what they carried over...

Sunset tried to portray them in front of her with a glow of dark blue magic, but Cursory immediately interrupted her "No, no, don't do that, speak with our usual words!"

“If you complete the synthesis with Red, that would be acceptable. Then the outcome will depend on the yet unknown result of your synthesis, and on whether there will be a conflict between your synthesis and Pinkie Pie. I cannot discern even the basic details of this future, but if you want, we can execute this option. At least the defeat isn’t inevitable in such a timeline, which is better than some other options.

“If you and/or the Red complete your Ascension, but without synthesis, that would not be acceptable. Possible outcomes: the Red attacks you, then loses to the monster; or it loses before an attack; or you lose to the monster, caught in the beat of lost vigilance and weakened by an unexpected strike. If Pinkie was somepony else and more experienced, she could make a gambit. Give you as a bait to the monster and seize the moment to attack while the monster is briefly busy with you. But Pinkie Pie will not do that.

“If you go for a three-way synthesis, that would also be unacceptable. Outcome: you immediately lose from either internal conflicts or lack of aspects necessary to fight the enemy, unless you have a few events to change your personality first. You will have no time to even make friends.”

Sunset smiled: in this part of Her thought, Black Moon not only omitted indication of who to be friends with; She emphasized the lack of such indication.

“If you go for synthesis with Pinkie, you will have to sacrifice two of your three aspects and make room for the necessary aspects of Pinkie. Your following of this option will please me, and you can get a much stronger position with it, although the Red can still get in your way. I understand how difficult it is to lose aspects, and, in this case, I sympathize with you in advance. It will be much worse than bodily wounds for mortals, but you can do it.

“And finally, if the Red goes to fuse with Pinkie, the chance of their success in containing the Gray is maximum. Unless you side with the monster, which you will not do. The Red will demand that the Trinity give up its influence on the world — more precisely, it will demand Our banishment. That is… acceptable. It is a price I am willing to pay, and as for the other Apexes, as you can see, there is no need to ask their permission.

“From the initial five, I have discarded two options. Please, make your choice out of the three remaining, Sunset Shimmer.”

Sunset tried to shake off her aspect of caution and foresight, jerk it aside. She could not. It was not the body that hurt, which she did not have anyway. Her essence ached; without this aspect, Sunset would not have been herself. The aspect of selfless caring for her own ponies, followed by the aspect of the one who saved drowned ones, also refused to leave.

She asked Black Moon to help with this; “No, it is inappropriate,” Black Moon replied, and that was also not a word but a sigil.

Then Sunset Shimmer made a choice and spoke it out loud; until the very end, plunging back into the dark depths of her own ocean, she never knew if the choice was her own or if Black Moon used what She knew about her to make Sunset Shimmer move like a token on the board.


💡💡💡


“So our Moons are gone?” Blacklight asked, not particularly addressing anypony. She did not like to go underground, even out of necessity, as the light of the Moons dried up there too quickly and it was too irritating to be lacking a direction for the ultraviolet disc. There was no such spark from beyond the armor either, but after Sunset's story, the unicorn began to feel, and not only understand—

—that even with armor removed, Electra will not be there. If she calls Her, She will not respond. Blacklight could write a letter with a request for an urgent meeting, and there will be neither acceptance nor refusal, nor even a change in the number of incoming messages in Black Moon’s inbox. And is her quiet and comfortable one-room apartment still there? At best it is housing alien ponies; at worst it was never built.

Blacklight nodded slowly; nopony answered her question, but she got sympathetic and sad looks. Sunset winked, though.

“Then we will have to live for Them. Because there is nopony else left to do that,” Blacklight breathed, a heavy lump in her throat. “Act in accordance with the Moons’ ideals and approval, even though They… No, because They will never know.”

Storm and Sunset looked at each other in confusion, Sunset tilted her head and began, her voice sincerely surprised, “Actually, you can’t destroy or kill—”

She neither followed on this, nor gave in to Blackligh’s pleading look; a few beats passed before Sunset snapped, “Disregard that!”

Cursory nodded, “If you keep your feelings alive for a time, you have a good chance to endure loss and come stronger out of it. So, Faraway Storm, you never told us your backup plan. Are we in it?”

“Perhaps,” Storm nodded, “If nopony can be deprived of a choice and forced to make a specific outcome of a choice, and if Moons themselves are true to these words, then... were there times when the Moons were wrong, mistaken or lying?”

Blacklight exchanged glances with Cursory and looked down, uncertain; however, she knew the answer, “Wrong — yes. They can be mistaken, yes. They can’t lie though. They are able to frame answers so that you have a certain opinion after that but if the lie is spoken by a Moon, it changes the world so that it becomes the truth. If the world cannot change in this way, then the Moon will not be able to tell this lie.”

“Great,” Storm nodded, “Approximately as we thought. Now the most important thing, this... the first word about the freedom of choice, does it concern Moons Themselves? Does Prime Word affect Them? Do you know?”

Blacklight shook her head. She really wanted to say yes. The Moons always behaved as if they were following the Prime Word, but to know the answer, it was necessary, at the very least, to have read the question written...

She had never come across such a book or brochure in her life; it was a question too fundamental.

“So, we will follow on as if yes, Moons are affected by this Prime Word,“ Storm’s smile was weak, and she did not actually wait for an answer; it was not like that Blacklight was going to answer, “Because if not, then there is no hope anyway, and at least our attempt won’t make things worse.”


☳☳☳


The plan was desperate. It was based on unverified premises. But in all the past histories of the Moons, many rules have been pronounced — too many, according to Dispassion — and therefore They had limits.

It was not even possible to speak of the plan in detail; they could be seen and heard from the sky. If during the Ascension the Moons retain the personalities and habits of the ponies They once were, then ‘could be’ might as well read ‘must be’.

Storm, the seventh out of the six, also did not want to lay much hope on miracles and fate — they were most literally not about her. Elseonce Purity, in her own words, ‘severed the connection’ between Storm and fate. Storm's dreams of past lives were too dreary, confusing and annoying, and Storm was infinitely grateful for being rid of them.

This gratitude, as well as quiet delight not unlike the one that a foal could feel before their wise and kind teacher, were forcing Storm to keep going against all odds. She just could not leave it like that. Anything but this. She could not even say what it was beyond ‘this’, but she knew that more than anything Purity wanted to return home.

I'll walk her home, or I'll die trying, Faraway Storm promised herself.

Then she asked three ponies in front of her aloud and clearly, so that the indifferent dark sky could hear her too, “If it is necessary to defeat Dispassion, which of you is ready to go through Ascension? I know it's impossible, but are you ready or not? Go with your heart, don’t be afraid!”

Three hooves rose, Blacklight being the last of the three. Sunset narrowed her eyes and stuck out her tongue, without a word; still, her hoof rose too.

“Can I assume that everypony is ready for real, so that I can rely on your answer; when I say you will go for it, even if there is not even a beat to return home,” she slightly intoned these two last words, looking at Sunset, “to think and change your mind?”

She had no time to hear or see the answer, for the sky and the air were immediately hidden by inky darkness... but this time there was a flame in it, and the very darkness felt much weaker, less total. Maybe even unsure. Three pure, albeit weak, lights, were visible, burning live in it — white from Cursory, dark blue from Blacklight, blue with orange flashes from Sunset.

Storm knew that there was no flame in herself; it was not required. She only had time to think with a bout of anger, “Well, I told her to go under the water!” when the darkness spoke. No words, but metal shine of future visions opened wide for Storm. Incredibly huge, black, angular spaceships, in an exact formation approaching multi-colored planets; a swarm of black stinging wasps, ready to lay eggs of the only sure future in them; reproduction, growth, new ships, takeoff and search for a target. That was the way, and nothing else could be, because everything that we ourselves did not have time to destroy will sooner or later destroy us. 

At the head of the process was a reasoned mind — not even remorseless or merciless; in order to be called these words, one must know what remorse and mercy are and at least at times be guided by them. In the future — the inevitable, predetermined future that set out to happen eons ago and went on through Storm the only meaning of existence was the very existence in the flawless and unmistakable shell of metals and electronics. Being unconditionally protected from everything irrational — from magic, friendship, love and other emotions; and from life in general.

Storm could agree. The vision of the future was preset with a number of necessary changes in Storm's psyche, which would provide the shortest and most direct path to a dark future, and she was ready to take the first step, to pull the first tile out from the base of her personality. Technically, is there a difference in whom to follow as long as you are needed?

She had no mouth in that vision; she did not say “No.”

After an imperceptible moment, Faraway Storm was left alone, small, weak and devoid of a universe-spanning purpose, in the midst of oppressive darkness. She looked around, saw the dying lights of her friends.

She almost forgot her own little plan. Almost.

Then she smiled and said aloud, loudly and clearly, turning on all the external speakers, “Suppose I can ask a question. Suppose it could be phrased like this: “A reputable synthesis of what was once a pony named Dispassion and what was once a pony named Purity — clearly you are no longer a pony. But are you a Moon?"

She froze in anticipation. These beats were ones that decided everything; her heart was pounding, she could not even breathe; but three beats later, Faraway Storm was still alive, and realized that the first stage of the plan had worked.

Dispassion, too, knew how to calculate the options of the future. At this point, Storm knew that Dispassion had already figured out exactly why she cannot avoid a critical loss now. It remains to explain to their ponies, so that they know what to do in case of—

Storm continued, smiling, “For now, you can refrain from answering, as, for sure, you did your whole history. But if I do not hear at least some answer in the next third of a slice, the fact that every creature that pretends to be a Moon should explicitly make a choice to name or not name themself so will be inscribed into reality by another Moon,” Storm nodded towards Sunset.

She responded, “Uh-huh. It's a shame, of course— I never wanted to be the Moon. It's such a tough, limited way of being. I would say I sympathize with you, but I would lie,” Sunset grinned. “But I saw now what you have done with our world, and Black Moon specifically said that I can become a full-fledged Moon, if only by synthesis, for a price. This choice, should it be made a law, will eradicate my freedom, my being, everything that I value most, and it will cripple you too — and frankly? The result is totally worth the price. 

And no, you will not stop me should I commit to the act. You bound yourself with celestial mechanics when you opted for Ascension. But me? I am still free, at least for now, and can make a beeline for the Red on the other side of the planet in the blink of an eye. Yes, the Red, whom the whole Trinity could barely keep contained; do you really want to test what we can do once reunited?”

Storm nodded to Sunset and went on, “And no, this will not violate the Prime Word, because a coercion that is present will not be forcing you to a single, predefined branch of choice. So, the freedom of choice, technically, will be preserved, and to be sure it works, none of the answers lead to you losing anything of consequence… directly.”

Sunset smiled, “And if you are to decree anything and disarm the trap, you do confirm that you are a Moon anyway. Have no doubt, I will turn it on you that very beat. I am tired of being secluded by an ancient misjudgement, and those who held me contained are now gone.” 

Storm paused, afraid of saying something wrong; her head was spinning, “So, say ‘Yes’, and I demand from you to grant the freedom of choice, in accordance with the Prime Word. Specifically grant freedom to one pony. Purity, the unending one, leader of the Moonless. Say ‘No’ and you will be banished eventually, as you would thus renounce the Moon-like direct control over the world that you currently possess by uncertainty. 

“Postpone the choice for a while, even by killing us, and Sunset Shimmer will return, as immortals cannot be destroyed, only weakened or banished. Or Blacklight and Cursory Streak will return, those in which the shadows of the Six dwell. They have already begun to work the miracle that will bring Sunset back to heaven, and the fact that you interrupted it does not mean that you canceled it. What had started will come to completion, as the traveler still returns victorious. Do we believe that Sunset Shimmer is worthy and can be a Moon? Yes, we do,” and flames around her went brighter.

The darkness was silent. The darkness was waiting, inviting her to speak further.

Storm was silent too, as the time given for the answer had just begun.

Sunset approached her, stood side to side, as a ghostly orange silhouette could not go inside the armor, but could be close; then Sunset said, looking into the darkness, “Get out of our world.”

There was no answer. Space itself has shifted by the length of a hoof along an impossible axis — neither the usual three ones, nor the arrow of time, and, against all Storm’s expectations, nor even the one that pierces both the everside and dreamscape. She saw the black thing that was hollow and full of stars; the thing saw her too; then she was at the submarine’s top metallic surface, and visions of outside were no more.

There was no more darkness, too. Gray one was not in the sky before; now it simply was not.

Sunset was hovering nearby, gently bobbing up and down. "We... won. Better than that. We won without casualties, without a fight. I didn't even need to sacrifice anything."

Storm's head drooped a little, and then she glanced away, pressing her neck against her forelimbs. One by one, in rapid succession, various plates began parting, some outright detaching from the suit and dropping onto the deck, seemingly prioritising speed over reversibility.

"Uh, Storm, it's not safe yet," objected Blacklight.

At that moment Storm glanced back. Not at Blacklight, but at Sunset. The oscillogram on her flank inverted colors, shining green against the black, and so did the bracelet now clearly visible on her foreleg. 

Faraway Storm, the seventh of the six, did not have anything against magic, at least not intrinsically nor indiscriminately, as some other Moonless did. Even though she did dislike the magic of the Moons, the reasons were different — she was conscious when it came to sources of power. It’s one thing to rely on something that is always with you, and totally different to rely on something given from above, something that can be taken away from you at any moment. Something you can only rely on as a last resort, when the very word ‘rely’ is a misnomer.

According to one of many theories, all supernatural phenomena were akin to songs. Not normal sound-based songs, of course, for they needed neither air nor other material medium, but songs made of waves. Waves that, even as the world changed, self-perpetuated, self-corrected, and changed the world too.

And this theory also postulated that all counter-resonators, phase suppressors, and the like, all relied on an irreproducible component — a piece of a pony’s soul. Not every soul was fitting — only those rare who felt the silence behind all those songs. The device would generate counterphases, and adjust them based on the living operator’s feedback — ‘this part of the curve right there; of the generated options, this one makes it quieter; yes, now I can hear nothing but calm’.

Now Storm had no such device. Only herself, her special talent, reinforced with her bracelet, and a commendable target to unleash this talent on.

It was impossible. Utterly futile, as Sunset was, in Storm's vision, an enormous wall of orange-blue fire, reaching all the way to the sky, while Faraway Storm remained just a pony. Neither destiny's tool, nor a spark of a Moon-in-becoming, nor a brilliant prodigy. These were others; she was nothing like that.

She did not prepare nor estimate the outcome. She just did what she could. With all that Faraway Storm ever was, she countered Sunset's orange flame with her own dark-green despair and loss.

She had no chance, even as that was not a duel, and Sunset did not expect a stab in her soul. Very soon, Storm dried out; she saw a dent in Sunset's great song, and reality wavered. But not enough. Not enough.

From outside, there were a few beats of utter silence — no whistling of wind, no crashing waves. For that short time, Sunset's graceful hovering faltered. But only that, and no more. "Huh. Not to overstate the capabilities of your trinkets, but I actually felt that. You can actually do that?"

Storm glared at her, "Oh, I can do more than that. And I'm willing to do it. Anything that would lessen the chance of having to tolerate your presence for one more beat. How could you even suggest for them to leave? You were given the best opportunity we could hope for, the best possible substitute for a miracle... and instead of using it to defeat the monster, you nudged her to escape with everything, including the only one who was not willing to follow her."

Sunset sighed. "Don't want to tolerate my presence, little one? Fine. I did say I'll take your words at face value."

With that, she turned into a flash of orange, and shot beyond the horizon like an arching beam of light.

Storm closed her eyes and began to say goodbye to her mentor, lost forever, remembering and recalling all the good and all the bad, every smile and every bout of unfair anger, every cup of tea and every training awakening outside the regime.

Cursory took a step towards Storm. "We can grieve later. Right now… we have a problem, and I'm not sure of what kind. There was this big orange indicator on the right that you mentioned. With a countdown. And now it shattered into many smaller dots, weak and flickering... but the countdown cut almost in half when that happened. Do you know what that means?”

Storm laid herself down once again. "Probably the last of the aftershocks. Or something similar. What you describe, frankly, makes no sense to me. These sensors could do that but waves never occur in multitudes. Don't know, don't care. I'm going native."

"...what?"

Storm sighed weakly. "She's gone to where not even the Moons would follow. You all got more or less what you asked for. If I can't have what I truly want, then at least let me have the peace of being at home. Surely I deserve at least that much after all I've been through. Do you know that every time one of us kills a pony, the murderer gets selective demnestic treatment? These memories are not truly gone. Small glimpses remain." She sniffed. "I have my share of that. I think friends and family will be sad about me for a short while up there but they likely either are Departed already or mostly fine beyond the station’s walls. Departed are… confused or shut down right now, or some such. Whatever."

There was a silence, and for a few beats, it seemed, it would last, keeping Storm at illusion of peace. Then the annoying voice of the pegasus went on, "You can choose that, but consider: we can get through this. We can think of something, just like we always did. We can take shelter if we dive fast enough, and then work a miracle like you kept asking for. But… it would be better with you. You know how to operate the shield systems."

Storm barely lifted her head. "Don't suddenly go manipulative on me at a moment like this. If you don't want to hang around, at least let our last talk be a dignified one. And don't worry about the shield. It's still primed to activate automatically upon detection of an approaching wave. Or maybe you're seeing things my way too, but are not as upfront with yourself about it, so you waste time talking to me while merely pretending to want to reject the new world. You too have reasons to want a new home."

Upon hearing that, Cursory Streak spread her still-armored wings. "On the contrary. I have been tempted to give up, but I cannot allow myself such a luxury. If I let go of the unwritten history, nopony will remember Gentle Touch as I know her."

Blacklight went closer, to at best three steps of distance. She spoke haltingly to Cursory, “Also, now that we saw a trick, we might borrow it, I think. Don’t want to go into details now, but that’s how it goes in stories — in older times, when you did something good for a Moon, you might expect something in return. So don’t give up on Gentle just yet, okay? We all have lost our friends here, but you both still have hope.”

Cursory Streak stepped closer. Her helmet cracked and slided back, opening up her face. She touched Storm’s shoulder with an armored hoof, and just kept standing there, never breaking the touch; while that was off-track for moonburnt society, Storm’s could not say that she did not like it. After all, that gesture clearly was not an attack, and Cursory was not an unicorn, for whom an unsuited head might signify a threat. Magic powerful enough to breach armor would be obvious; soft flame, yellow like a baked milk, flickering from inside of Cursory’s suit, was barely more than some external flares to begin with, and died down completely a few beats later, before Storm formed a question.

Storm did not react to that, or to Blacklight’s prompt. Her thoughts returned to her flashbacks, to wishing that her memory would stay in a place where Purity the unending, the one that was always deserving Storm’s quiet appreciation, will never return to. But of course that could not last. The promised peace could not coexist with the very thing that was the cause of her sorrow.

She turned her eyes towards the detached plates lying nearby, with the emergency-release pistons burnt and connectors disheveled at best and irreparably damaged at worst. She jumped up, letting the remains of the armour fall overboard. "Once more, prepare to dive."
> Chapter [out of bounds]: Emergence
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


💡💡💡


Soon after the submersion, Storm became disheartened once again, if not to a total apathy. There was still not enough energy even to raise the shield, which meant they were defenseless against anything noteworthy. As they went deeper, forecasted impact weakened, and eventually they stopped to avoid needing decompression in a case of emergency resurfacing. While Storm explained how to read the data, it was Blacklight who pinpointed a target value for these risks; in the end, the ripples — not even waves then — were notably above the level of full glory for any of the Moons but still not extreme.

Cursory Streak asked for Storm's help with undressing and took a step closer, her wings glowing with a soft, quiet, pearly shine. "It is the same as above the Net. We are all adults here. We have been hardened already. We bathed in moonlight, even if you didn't," she smiled, looking at Storm. "I hereby decree that my protection will matter," Cursory Streak laughed softly, "Not too imposing, is it?"

It really was not, and soon what was left of the team huddled together, their focus aimed not outward, but inward, as it is recommended to do under a Moon too bright. Blacklight wished she had a knack for inspiring speeches as Twilight supposedly had in eras long gone. She was silent, reassessing her library of spells, seeking her own integrity in the knowledge. There were a few emergency tricks, all of them even more dangerous than the ripples could be; still, she had them, and that was comforting enough. To be prepared, she opened up her helmet and placed it down, nearby: after all, being ready to cast required dropping her protection, as the suit was shielding her both ways. That, too, was a balance of risks.

This was how they met the arrival of the change and the dimming of the submarine’s lights. This was how they stayed for too many beats afterwards, until an extremely prolonged cascade of ripples, most of which did not even belong to any of known Moons and scarce few that did were attributed to the Red, finally abated. Then Blacklight slowly opened her eyes to check if they still are in a sub rather than in a ruin of ancient civilization. She had no idea how waves like that could work on objects but she heard stories about Changed and could extrapolate from that. At first glance, yes, they were still in a dark tin can — at least it was not groaning under ripples’ assault.

She jumped and yelped as an unknown round object quickly scuttled towards her from a corner of the section, gripped her leg with nines of tiny claws, and continued upward.

“Help me get it off!” yelled Blacklight, buckling around until whatever was holding onto her was thrown off, hit the wall with a soft crack, and fell to the floor.

“What is this?” asked Storm with an equal measure of melancholy and alertness, but then immediately picked up the pace, switching to a rehearsed tone, “Suits compromised! Consider interior compromised! We're out, now! We’re just a quarter of a throw deep, it will be okay!”

Blacklight ran towards the nearest hatch through the darkness. There were no metal footsteps. She shot a magic blast at the hatch — more precisely, a wide pipe with a shutter leading into a cramped closet. Blacklight radiated a spherical force field reaching for all the walls at once; an expensive but reliable method to press every button and push every switch. Water poured into the closet, and Blacklight heard a clang as the outer hatch opened. opened with a slurping sound. Helmet once again down on her head, she held her breath just in case and dived into the water, then swam sideways from the sub to go around its edge and up.. She was worried the suit would make the swim harder, but it felt lighter than before.

Compromised, she recalled, and took in the first breath on the surface. The sky was unlit, but not black. She started wriggling out of the carapace, and it seemed even more compliant than usual. When she finally freed her hindlegs, she was sure she touched something diaphanous. When she tried to look back underwater, she only saw a blurry sinking silhouette with something dark inside. The entity was vaguely pony-shaped, but with articulation around the joints that seemed different from how she remembered. It was at least ninefold bigger than a pony, too.

“I remember! I still remember the differences,” she whispered, relieved.


💡💡💡


They reached the shore with relative ease. After seeing that everypony is all right, Storm threw away that chitinous, centipede-like bracelet of hers. It slithered into the sand and hid underneath.

Cursory Streak looked deeper inland, and summoned a small wisp of light. She took a few steps, then sighed in relief. Blacklight rushed after her, wanting to see what she saw.

Noticing her companion, Cursory sent the wisp further inland. It illuminated a field of tulips, blooming here despite the unsuitable soil. She turned around, smiling. “I think, maybe, everything is going to be alright.”

Storm warily approached the duo, staying slightly behind, “For you, maybe.”

“Hey, don’t you ponies get enough light when the Moon is in the sky?” asked an unfamiliar voice in a strange, barely comprehensible dialect, “I’m trying to get a nap here, and you decide to put that flying piece of round fire right above me.”

“Sorry,” Blacklight reacted immediately. She was unsure whether to gesture for Streak to move away the light, or to use the opportunity to get a better look at whoever was speaking from among the flowers. Her curiosity was soon sated when a sleepy-looking rat walked out of the growth. It was looking completely ordinary, just unusually big — and still, apparently, talking. For a few beats Blacklight was visibly confused but then smiled wide and giggled, “Solid Line’s shadow would be so happy to see that! You are so strange and otherworldly when you speak! You say ‘the Moon’. You mean ‘a’ Moon? And you imply that there is a time when neither is in the sky?”

The creature stared at her blankly with its little eyes. “What do you mean?” it pondered a little, then took a step back, wary. “Are you… are you one of those Trinitarians? And of course we do speak, we follow the Seven-Tailed-Seven-Headed King! So I’d ask you to be decently respectful!”

Blacklight did her best to try to look harmless. “Oh, no, no. I’m sorry for confusing you. This may sound strange, but… is there a war going on? I promise I’m not part of any belligerent group, but I need to know if there are any conflicts happening right now that… I should be aware of.”

“What? Oh, no, nothing like that around here. Can’t speak for faraway lands, but here it’s been reasonably peaceful. It’s just that, look, I don’t really understand your schisms and precepts, and I would rather not get involved in those if I can help it. I’ll ask for advice and follow agreements when I need to cross lands belonging to ponies — it is often necessary, you can’t travel between different immortals’ domains without going deep into and through ponyland — but otherwise I would rather not be a nuisance at your steps.”

Blacklight shook her head. “Oh, don’t worry about annoying us. If anything, we are the ones who are guests here, and rather uninformed ones at that. So we would actually be rather thankful if you could answer a few questions. Some of which may sound silly to you. Such as, you mentioned other ponies. Do they look just like us?”

The rat seemed to relax a bit, or at least it was more puzzled and curious than tense now. “Well, it’s not like I’m good with distinguishing pony looks. They do have big bodies, and blunt teeth like you, and wide-set eyes, and tough hooves and all.”

Blacklight pondered the answer. The description certainly was consistent with her memory. Still, she had this nagging feeling that these memories might be themselves corrupted.

“The Moon. Do you know how She looks? In a more grounded form, I mean. Can you describe Her?”

The rat scratched its head. “Describing her would be hard, but there are three likenesses that she prefers; they’re engraved on this book of yours that I consult when I need to cross your lands. Pony lands. If you really haven’t seen her, give me a bit of time and I’ll show you.”

The rat swiftly returned with a thin book labelled in a completely unfamiliar script. Intertwined on it were three portraits that resembled the Red of the sky, Sunset Shimmer, and Pinkie Pie. Having seen the book, Cursory grabbed a sharp stone and started drawing a picture in the sand. “What about her, have you ever seen her?”

Blacklight soon recognised Touch’s semblance.

“Ah, the deceptively gentle one. Yes, I have seen her, in dreams and in mirrors, and whenever someone needs to make an agreement with the Moon, she always accompanies her. But always as a silent companion.”

“The gentle one? Is she… still good? This is important to me. I love her.”

The rat smiled knowingly, “All of us do. Even though she rarely does anything directly to deserve that, and, frankly, I am not sure if she is good or not. Though some say that she is that which keeps the Moon calmer than in forgotten times. I don’t know, maybe that’s just a legend. But at least there are no stories involving her doing outright harm. Of the few stories of direct requests, it is said that she can discern when no amount of medicine will save an ill one, and helps those depart with dignity instead. I didn’t see that myself, just heard a few tales that go around the folk.”

Blacklight took a step forward. “We have so many other questions, but I understand we may be inconveniencing you. You mentioned agreements. Are there reasonable conditions of agreement under which you’d be willing to indulge us with more answers?”

The rat sighed. “Well, you’re interesting sorts, and I guess you make as good companions on the road as any. Or at least no worse. Right now I would enjoy some peace and quiet. After that we can continue the journey together. You help me carry my backpack, I tell you what you want and try not to laugh. Be ready to get up with the Moon.”

Storm snapped to attention. “The Moon. The Red. We’re going to be travelling under direct moonlight?!”

The rat stared at her deadpan. “Go weave your own hat if you don’t have one, there’s plenty of grass and straw around.”


☄☄☄


Born-in-the-Warm-Rain waved to them, taking the road in the fork that led away from Metropolis.

Blacklight voiced the question that has been hanging in the air, unspoken, for the last few dawns. “Do we already have an idea what we’re doing next?”

Cursory raised her head slightly, letting herself see a tiny sliver of the Moon from behind her straw hat’s brim. “I’m not sure there’s much of a ‘we’ left anymore. The agreement that I followed on, one with Black Moon… it has no target, no bounds anymore. It is not completed but neither is it failed, you see? It is there, for me, and beyond that I still need to know what happened to Solid Line. She was under my protection too, and I will not pass it down. Not now,” Cursory exhaled sharply, “There was another goal that you, reputable Storm, made ours for a short time, and it seems to be resolved, for good or ill.”

She looked at ponies nearby, and Storm nodded, “It had been resolved”.

Cursory went on, “Now what’s left for each of us is to figure out how to live with the aftermath. We’re not of this world, and have no place in it. We did not choose it to be exactly that, but we followed the storm through and came out alive… I’d say we should still be in check for each other, and maybe write some books.”

Blacklight shook her head. “Oh, we may have a place here yet. The mentions of ponies talking of ‘closing tickets’ relating to this or that sound reasonably like solving issues, so the system might still be operational, even if changed.”

“Perhaps, but I’m not sure if my rather narrowly focused skills would really fit into the new picture of the world. But it’s still worth trying. Introductions will probably be awkward,” Cursory frowned, “Well, anyway, I can say that I drank some kind of bright green modifier which was glowing from the inside, and now my memory is lacking. We have had similar cases — surely they do happen here.”

“I have an impression that unbounds have an even bigger presence in the new world than in the old one, so I think at worst you may need to adjust to an adjacent field of work. And speaking of the system, if the system is still operational, then probably so are some of Black Moon’s contingencies.

“With some biblioarchaeology I should be able to get some answers. Such as, do these ‘Trinitarians’ view the new Moon as consisting of three Moons, or do they actually remember the Trinity? It wasn’t clear from the rat’s retelling, and if it’s the latter, it’s likely the ponies holding onto the memories of past iterations would try to keep them hidden. But I think I can uncover the truth.

“And, of course, I’ll do what I can to find out what happened, if anything, to Dartline. Is she all right? Did she die? Did she never exist anymore?”

Storm interrupted, “I don’t think you’ll be able to distinguish her from the locals. She might not even have the same name or anything. Even if she held onto the old reality during the initial waves, as we managed to do, the changes may have caught up with her gradually by the time of you finding her. The only ones I expect to remember the old times are the denizens of sectors below the surface. They really sound like something the Moonless would build upon returning to the planet. So that’s where I want to take my chances. It’s a pity that we parted ways with Born-in-the-Warm-Rain, I could run for him too for that.”

Blacklight nodded. “Plausible. So, each of us has the next goal. Is this where we part ways?”

Cursory Streak turned her head to face the gust of warm wind, closing her eyes. “We still need to reach Metropolis first. And decide on how to stay in touch. But otherwise… yes.”

A few more things needed saying. Foolish things, perhaps, given that they contradicted what she said before. She avoided turning to either of her companions, because that would’ve required making a choice.

“But only for now. No matter where you end up, always remember that we are a team, which,” she sighed, “suffered casualties. Hopefully temporary. And in time, the team will regroup and start pursuing a new goal. All right?”

She was afraid to open her eyes, and Blacklight illuminated her with a dim blue wisp. Cursory turned away, shook her head, and couldn’t resist looking around.

Blacklight was smiling at her from the polite distance of five steps. So was Storm. The latter was the first one to answer with a nod. Then Storm added, “By the way, you’re glowing.”
> Epilogue: Discontent
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


☄☄☄


There was a time when Cursory hoped she could get used to the rewritten history and fit into the new world; get used to the abundance of sweetness and spices, smells and colors; to the crowded streets on which every third creature did not even pretend to look like a pony, proudly wearing feathers or scales anywhere or everywhere on one’s body. No, she never had a fear of snakes or insects. Well, maybe a little. Once she even answered the offer of an awkward soft-speaking stranger to spend some quality time together, but he turned out to be too cold, in every sense of the word, even though she was quite open to experiments. Then she still thought that such affairs would help her to forget the loss.

At that time, she had already been aiming to eventually get Gentle back — if even ratfolk knew about her, then Gentle, in one form or another, survived the change and was present in the world. She still did not know how to distinguish those who looked like monsters from those who really were ones; more than that, she was naive about said monsters' very existence. At that time, as well as now, she did not know much in the new world that would be truly worth living for. Besides her promise to Storm; her unfinished agreement; and maybe the chance of Gentle's return. But she put off this specific dream for later — for when she would be less likely to be misheard or misunderstood or mistaken.

Each word addressed to the Moon in a request to return a loved one should be flawless. She picked her words in her free time, tasted them like sour currants, and put them off for later.

Back then, no more than nine cycles since the exile of Gray and since the moment when ‘night’ first came to Metropolis,, the longing for Gentle was not yet her main issue of accustomization. Three mere cycles ago she parted ways with Blacklight and Storm at the crossroads. Her status was recognized, including two grades elseonce promised by Black Moon at the start of their quest for the Six. Cursory would have refused this status gain — after all, they never met the set condition — but nopony ever can lower the status or cancel its accrual. On top of that, her tech access codes for terminals were working, although  letters to her station and her mother were returned with “Addressee not found” as the stated reason. Attempts to call them through projections were similarly unsuccessful, and pegasi on distant winds had never heard of Cursory.

In that cycle she lay on the spacious porch in the two-story house, far from the city noise — quite in line with her updated status — and was reading a newly-printed detective story. The main character, who knew how to take the guise of other creatures, was to investigate a serial murder in a village inhabited by bird-like ponies. They did not consider themselves pegasi because, according to the author, they knew how to turn into fish. Both appearances had their own societies with separate rituals and traditions, and they followed different refractions of Rose Moon. But realigning to another refraction was, as far as Cursory understood, not very difficult.

The bracelet was on her front leg, configured to pick up and announce the system’s messages — despite the book, Cursory was quite prepared to fly out on an assignment at a moment's notice, especially since it was 'night', and at 'nights' she felt no threat of dissolving into the new world even in the open air.

What she received though was not a normal notification of the system, not even according to the standards of the new world. Instead of a yellowish stylized slip with a smiley face in the upper left corner and a wing, horn and hoof on the underside, the sender's mark was three contiguous circles with a gear in the central area. It bore only a weak resemblance to the sign of the Trinity which Cursory remembered, and meant one thing: the Moon was in touch. 

Most importantly, it was the Moon, not one of many minor immortals, who at that time were not yet bombing Cursory with barrages of their suggestions and proposals to relocate into their lands, but had already begun to indicate their interest while the Moon remained silent — until this call right now.

She opened the letter. Behind the symbol, which rose up like a curtain, there was the Red on the small screen, and her smile, too toothy as usual, was accompanied by a touch of unpleasant smell. Cursory grimaced and sneezed; only then she realized that smells should neither be transmitted through television screens (as the one imparted in a bracelet) nor projection panels (which were not included in this model anyway).

“I’ll explain to you the conditions for the return of Gentle Touch,” the Red began without prelude.

"Maybe you'd like to lift the curse from all of us, for starters? The promised death that you drew closer?" Cursory interrupted, her voice perhaps too high. 

Even in the new world, she could not forgive the Red in her heart.

"Done already," the Red said dismissively, "Note, I didn't really want this, but none of you have my curses on."

"I'm all ears then. By the way, you're speaking alike to—"

"Hear my voice and listen," the Red did not skip a beat, "For the steady steps on the way to my aspirations, for the fact that my goals are achieved, you have the right to ask for a reward, and I give you a reward — Gentle Touch, without going beyond limits of the possible and expecting that you will not demand anything more: there is only one reward for each truly notable assistance. Do you accept this gift?"

“You don't sound like the Moon,” Cursory said warily. “All I see here is you, no Sunset, no Pinkie Pie, and your pronouns are wrong. I won't talk to you — this is fishy. I am cautious, you see, when it comes to Gentle."

The alicorn behind the screen bared her fangs— and smoothly changed color, hairstyle and physique. There was no magic, just now on the surface of the Moon was Sunset Shimmer: a calm light orange hue of the coat, slightly ashamed facial expression. She appeared shorter than she had been — or maybe that was the impression caused by her front legs being bent a bit. 

Cursory tilted her head, surprised, "Are you afraid of me? At the very least, you are wary. Please take it easy—”

She didn’t have time to finish; Sunset crept through the screen and looked at Cursory. The pegasus dropped from the couch, took a step aside and spoke a little faster than she would have liked, “It could still be a mask. Don’t think that I am so easily deceived.”

“But you can’t tell if it’s a mask or not, so what’s the difference?” Sunset spoke softly, looking away, “Everything that the Red said is true. But She's not the best negotiator. What I'm offering you is not a treaty. It is a gift, though not gratuitous.” Sunset paused and chuckled.  “I guess, both of us don’t know how to give without a trade.”

“Why not Pinkie Pie then?” Cursory asked, relaxing a little. A mask or not, Sunset at least was not inspiring the instinctive awe of prey in front of a predator, “She really knows how to give, as I have heard.”

“Oh, sure. Pinkie would give you everything you want. Doesn't ‘Guiding Starfall-TX’ do the same? If you’re ready to keep an umbrella with you through all your life, as it is the singular protection from accidental chocolate rains, and never — that is, absolutely never — break your promises, and, on top of all that, welcome guests at random intervals even when you don’t really want to — I can give Her a front seat.”

Sunset glanced sideways. As far as Cursory Streak could tell by her non-verbal cues and tone of voice, this joke was far less a joke than it wanted to appear. Sunset was ready to step away, and she really considered the meeting important, but she had been leaving the decision to Cursory as the hostess of the house while Sunset was a mere guest.

"You can stay," Cursory decided, “It will be less pressure for me this way. And what price are you asking for this ‘gift’?” She could not contain the irony in her voice. Gifts are not paid for, and yet the Moon made it clear that the price would be set. Something was wrong and Cursory was on guard, “You obviously know more than you want to show, since you mentioned "Starfall" which, accidentally, hinted at my own issues—”

“It was not a hint!” Sunset raised her voice, “And not quite the price. More like conditions that will leave all parties mostly satisfied.”

One long silence later Cursory made a prompt, “These conditions are?..”

Sunset's eyes widened in surprise, "Wouldn’t you like to outline them first? I remember you bolder than that.”

Cursory fluttered her wings and stood silent, expecting an answer. 

Quietly, looking into her eyes, Sunset said, “The only immutable condition is that we are all satisfied with the way Gentle is in your life from now on. We do not demand more, we do not try to change the state of affairs. This is the foundation of our agreement, everything else about it is changeable. The time of the Trinity and triplicate forms has passed and detailed contracts are unbecoming to our very essence. We can make agreements in spirit, not in letters."

Cursory nodded, “I can understand that. What else? I would have preferred exact conditions, but as you are the Moon, it’s up to you to decide.”

Sunset winked, “That is, you do agree that a significant part of conditions and nuances will become known to you only long after we finish this conversation, and part of it will never be named directly but outlined in your conversations with Gentle Touch. Is that okay?”

Cursory nodded again, “If these conversations are a thing to happen… I'm interested already.”

Sunset took a step closer, narrowed her eyes, “They are. Here's what I can and want to say... Gentle keeps being in touch with the Moon. At its deepest level, she is still the core of the Moon, and when you talk to her, you talk to all of us. You speak with the Moon. You should not expect privacy, nor entrust her with secrets that you would not tell to the Moon... you should not weave conspiracies and plot secret plans. We will hear and we will find out. And yet — since we are related — since you enter into a binding relationship with the Moon — we will count on your conscientious help. In certain matters. Much like...” Sunset reached out and touched Cursory's bracelet. “With these ones. We are expecting to be on the terms of relatives, or a little more. Aren’t you the one of those for whom ‘family’ is a meaningful word?

“I can deny your requests,” Cursory clarified. “More precisely… you can choose either a reasonable deadline until which I can delegate to you my right to choose for myself. Or a long-term, even lifelong, relationship, but then I consider each case separately.”

“The latter one,” Sunset decided, after giving it a thought, “Moving on. Your meetings will be rather rare and short-lived. Let's say one night for every one or two nines of cycles. If you have a justified need to extend a meeting or reschedule it to an earlier time, then you can guess how it's done — by mirrors and blood. These aspects still belong to the Moon. Well, do you agree with these terms, without the Moon being even a little more specific?”

Cursory nodded, “For now, if you don’t want to offer anything better. Could we reconsider it later? For now, I think, I am lost and missing something important, not only Gentle, and you’re leveraging that against me. But okay. Let it be.”

“We could, yes. Some significant time later,” Sunset sighed, avoiding everything that was not, strictly speaking, a question.

They shared a raspberry pie brought by the guest; Sunset did not leave any time soon. She stood by Cursory’s side until dawn. Only then she disappeared: while on a flight right next to Cursory, approaching a nearby river, where the pegasus made her new custom of morning workouts, in the middle of a conversation, without waiting for an answer to her question, "By the way, Cursory, are you content with your life in general?"

Cursory did not find any faults in Gentle, who softly knocked on the first floor door two cycles later.

None at all, in voice, gait and look, then even in smell and taste and feelings of quiet intimacy. Until the earth pony, distracted a bit, passed right through the door, without even moving the glass; then, a little later on, Gentle Touch politely asked permission for a coat-piercing bite.

By that time, it was no longer an issue. If it ever had been one.


🔴🔴🔴☀️☀️☀️🎈🎈🎈


The number of red spectrum alicorns playing three-dimensional Weiqi on the banks of the Last River was, as always, undetermined. Three remained most close to the truth among precise ones, but Pinkie would soon break the rules of the game. Therefore, temporarily and for the sake of mutual convenience, there were two of them: Sunset Shimmer and the Red — in this context, she preferred to be called the same as in the previous history.

Sunset, as always from the very beginning of training, won every game; the Red, as always, was getting a little better in each game than the one before. Their play did not change history, because their moves were made on an exact copy of the true cube. They saw the true cube, standing on a pedestal on dry grass, but there was no one near it. No one — that is, no minor immortals, no contenders for becoming one; and there could be no other Moons.

Still, training was important. Sunset was not expecting to be with the Red forever. After all, who knows who will be guarding the heavens when the traveler finally returns victorious?

“Well, are you content?” Sunset asked the one who was all but ‘the other half’ of herself. Calling Red the other half was a burn, and actually wrong, considering Pinkie... but Sunset did not want to think of her in any other way. Other than as of the eccentric, touchy, younger twin.

Conjoined twin.

“With you, with our history, or with the game?” the Red grinned. “In general, yes. You communicate with me, they love and appreciate me like they never did before, I can create freely and not think about the war. The living and moving are more interesting than the dead. The Trinity does not interfere at all, especially that traitor. I have nothing more to wish for — only to study. Thank you for helping with this. All debts have been repaid, and more than that. For example, I had not been obliged to lift my curses from them. They should be grateful to us!”

Sunset smiled, noting the sudden bout of passion in these last words, “Or should we be grateful to them instead?” She suggested, capturing the group with a red stone and removing a number of other red stones. If somepony from outside happened to be next to them, they would not notice the difference in colors. Because there was not one.

“Or we to them,” the Red nodded, “But on that field, too, everything is fair. They got what they wanted, and I had a good time with them. If they are unhappy at the same time, well, then so it is.”

“You are not the Moon of happiness and comfort,” Sunset nodded. “Me neither. Still, try not to get too carried away — we risk falling into the same trap that the Gray fell into. Even if now you are content with life in general, this peace cannot last forever. Even if — and this is a big ‘if’ — we never make the next move, the traveler still returns victorious, and don't forget about Gentle.”

There was a silence, and the Red sighed deeply and angrily, made a reciprocal move, then replied, her voice deceptively calm, “We hinted quite clearly to Cursory that she shouldn't even think about anything more substantial with Gentle.”

“And yet, you also follow the Prime Word. We both follow it. A hint is just a hint,” Sunset pressed on, “Don't underestimate her.”

“In the end, I can kill Cursory,” Red smiled back. “She can hardly compete with even a minor immortal.”

Sunset conceded defeat on the third lower board, and moved up; copy phase, change phase. They knew the drill.

“The Trinity had been similarly underestimating you… us. That pony who became us… By the way, do you remember that we must return the world to the Trinity in the next history? What are you going to do about it?”

“What are you going to do?” the Red returned the question, serene at the surface, “Not kill, okay, but we can exile her. Not that important. Cursory is still nothing more than a petal of flame.”

Sunset took a sip of bitter tea and considered her reply before answering; she leaned over the cube closer to the Red, “Gentle Touch, too, had been at first nothing more than a Herald. She turned out to be… what she is, thanks to Pinkie. Then they, together, made us reconsider our stance about minor immortals, and these ones, in turn… just look around. The world is as it is because of them no less than because of us. I don't even want to argue with you, there is no win in this quarrel.”

The Red nodded, “Don’t think I am not content with your agreement, but I think you still surrendered too much.”

Sunset smiled, “I mean, don’t underestimate Cursory Streak, please. You're mad that we almost gave Gentle Touch away, but, for your information, we did that not only for the sake of not surrendering her outright and in full... but to get Cursory closer to us, too.”

The Red frowned, “Thanks that you have said it now. I wonder why you hid it from me until now.”

Sunset smiled, “I have my plans. It’s better to keep her at our side. Remember, Cursory still has the right to ask for more. She is not the only issue. I think that the time will come for us to fulfill the promise, no matter how hard we try to drag out our move, because otherwise it will be an attempt to deceive fate and Time... but it will be better for us if the Trinity itself renounces the supreme power. Will it be better for the world? We need to find that out.”

“They’ve given up on power anyway, haven’t they?” the Red narrowed her eyes. “I don’t see any movement from Their side.”

“But from the side of the Trinity’s Heralds, those that remained, there is movement.”

“Where?!” the Red was no longer calm.

“Look... here. And here. And also here. The same group that drove out Gray.”

“Hmm, now I see. By the way, do you think this monster will return?”

“Let's hope that it won’t. And prepare for the future in which it will.”


☄☄☄


The creature in the cockpit was definitely not a pony and, first things first, asked not to consider them "somepony, to avoid disappointment." The multicolored chitinous coating and huge black bulging faceted eyes were enough for the pilot to look like an accidental creation of the Changed, if not one of the Changed themself, and Cursory could not guess the pilot’s gender either.

Then there were thin transparent wings, and a horn, short, curved and spiked. These details were strongly reminiscent of the Red — the Red beyond the mirrors, the Red of times that never were. This similarity was not accidental.

But the pilot knew what they were doing, and the aviette carried Cursory exactly to where the pegasus, the only real passenger — or, in any case, Cursory wanted to believe that of the two passengers she was the only real one — was going.

They were due to arrive in the near future.

Unreal Gentle was lying side by side with Cursory, one section of a seat away, and there were no differences whatsoever to distinguish her from the real one. Not that Cursory could compare them anymore, but... nevertheless, it was convenient, correct and consistent with the facts and desires of Gentle to consider her — or, at least, this instance of Gentle — unreal.

It was ‘night’ outside the window. Even after a few lusters that have passed, the new word was unusual, scraping the tip of her tongue and making her stop in writing for a blink. It meant time without the Moon. Now, in pretty much all contexts, you were not to specify which Moon you were talking about. She either was in the sky, with all Her pinkness and annoying blurriness of Her outline, or not, and decent citizens sit quietly at home, gaining strength for the future ‘day’ or, no less quietly, doing things that could upset the Moon.

The word ‘day’, for example, was upsetting. The Moon did not ask to avoid it — She was speaking very, very little in general — but “I am not the one that brings the day” was always, in all editions of the Book of Sayings, on the Book’s first page. It was strange to call these pathetic six pages a Book, especially with a capital letter. But then, ‘pathetic’ in this context, was a dangerous word.

Cursory Streak remembered well the time in which there was neither ‘night’, nor ‘day’, nor anything even similar to such books. It was not necessary — or it had been not necessary.

She moved over to the unreal Gentle in their shared, triple seat, and asked bluntly, "You shouldn't be here at all, should you? If not by our agreement. By everything I've been told, you are part of the new moon, the triple one.”

Gentle nodded.

“Maybe — but then, you shouldn’t be here too. In any case, I don’t want to be among those to whom ponies align.”

“You don’t want to be, or you can’t be? If I am barring you from greatness...”

“Both,” smiled Gentle, “The Red is a dark shadow for those who stray too far from the path of the Book, Sunset is a sign that the world will justly appreciate, shelter and protect those who follow the Book. Pinkie is joy, warmth and hugs for those who are tired of Their sternness and threats. I am nothing compared to them. There is no fire in me to follow... nor from which to run. Even you are brighter than me. This is obvious. Look: you don’t wear armor, don’t drink prescribed herbs, you leave your house not only at night… By now, you should have forgotten me a long time ago, and yet you are somehow holding on—”

Balance and magnetic senses gave a coordinated signal and Cursory instinctively took off to the ceiling, because the aviette plunged sharply down and away from the hazy blue-green shape outside the window. It looked like how a sea predator would appear if it suddenly grew wings and decided to master new hunting grounds — an elongated body, a long spear-shaped head, a toothy mouth with fangs protruding outward. Cursory had never met such beasts in the past — apart from one memory of frozen wild lands, she corrected herself — and did not even know who the beast took the aviette for — prey or a sexual partner.

Under the new Moon there were creatures both similar and different, extremely diverse, but in next to all cases predatory. There were too many of them and they were appearing far too often. In fact, there shouldn't be any such creatures under the Net, not a single one. She could not blame wild lands, because... well, that's why they are wild lands, the name says it all. But under the Net? Being recommended to carry a weapon with you? To use not only wings, but also magic, and not even to protect others, but simply to survive on your own, and in every encounter feel creeping fear of the inner fire finally going out, overworked? 

Something is wrong with that, Cursory thought as she watched the pilot lean out the window and fire several shots from their horn into the inky darkness; the creature did not appear again.

But that means that the Moon needs these monsters, and Gentle also needs them, Cursory reminded herself, and replied, “I just don't want to forget. I promised Storm that we can still fix something, as long as I hold on. Are you implying that the fire keeps me going? Perhaps it does. Yes, it is there, it doesn’t go out, it doesn’t need fuel, it just is in me. I don’t know if it helps me or not. And I feel good with you. Even though you are not real. Who are you in fact?”

As always, except the very first time, Gentle — or whatever looked like her — did not answer that question. 

Their very first real meeting differed from all ones that followed later in one small detail; then Gentle warned — for the first and the last time, but frankly and honestly — that she was not quite Gentle but a fragment of the Moon; she did not elaborate anything further, and only asked to give her a chance.

That was why it was a good sign that she did not answer. Otherwise, it would mean nothing more than another flashside vision of ‘Guiding Starfall-TX’, even though Cursory has inhaled it only twice — but for this modifier even one encounter could be too much in the long run, and two are too much for sure. She knew it then, and she made her choice, for which there were now consequences: visions warm and happy, coming more and more often, and leaving Cursory lost and broken, full of sadness wherever she was a few beats before the vision. 

They could happen mid-flight, at home for lunch, in the library behind the terminal, when Cursory was composing another request to the Moon which would never be sent — the visions of ‘Starfall’ were not asking whether they were appropriate or not, and at any time, anywhere, Cursory would suddenly wake up from the nightmare this new pink world was, and — as it should be in a normal world — was calmly taking notes in the issue management system or listening to visitors; and the direction to the White Moon was still quite obvious. She could always just call Her and make an appointment. And Gentle was waiting for her at home, or she was on a short business trip, or was sitting nearby — one quick glance aside to make sure. Cursory knew for a fact — Gentle would never go too far from her, and she would be Gentle, not the Moon who pretends to be her out of the best intentions.

These reawakenings did not last long. Just enough to believe them and soon fall asleep again. They were, for now, quite rare.

Now, though, Cursory really flew in a brightly lit aviette through the dense pinkish night, and the Gentle, albeit unreal, was there.

“We're not that different from each other,” Gentle said thoughtfully, “Your memory prevents you from settling in a new place. My own — from getting away from you.”

“Do you want to leave? If so, I'll probably get used to it pretty quickly,” Cursory lied, and the lie tasted sour.

Gentle closed her eyes for a moment — a thin blue net gleamed on pinkish irises — smiled sadly and kissed Cursory.

The due — short — time passed, which Cursory decided to not keep track of, focusing instead on more important feelings and movements, and the aviette landed at Cursory's designated area: where she elseonce took lost foals for admittance and listened to personal, most delicate but not most threatening issues. Where she met with friends and co-workers once tired of flying alone in waiting for a signal from the system. More precisely, on that piece of land where the station was located in the erased history of the Trinity of Moons.

Cursory did not immediately realize that they had landed; the pilot hissed "We are in place," and only then, rolling over from under Gentle, she saw the pilot looming over both of them, insect wings spread and mouth wide open with a forked pink tongue stuck far out of it. She saw attacks that started much less innocently than this one.

Without thinking, Cursory remembered the flame. It was completely invisible, because otherwise it would become ineffective, and could kill the pilot if at the last blink Cursory did not force herself to redesignate the pilot from monsters to sapients — the creature was too much like a monster, and yet the charge went ascance, through the door, and into the control panel of the aviette, melting it. No matter how many times she felt a smell of burning plastic, she could not get used to it; black smoke filled the cabin and she blindly charged through the window headfirst, then came back and pulled out Gentle.

They were in the thick air of a dark jungle, where hoof-sized butterflies and gnats pestered their eyes; vines too mobile had time to braid the outer doors of the aviette, and Gentle asked them to retreat for a while. They looked out the door, where the pilot, full of anguish and sadness, hung with their whole body over a completely useless heap of burnt plastic.

“Are you okay?” Gentle asked.

The pilot turned their head to her and answered, “Me? All right. You could have killed this drone,” but Cursory could not believe these words; the hunched, drooping posture was at odds with them.

Gentle chuckled, and Cursory asked a much more important question, “Why did you attack us?”

She, too, got an answer, “We feed on emotions. You were... too tasty, the whole trip, and at the end it became unbearable. But the drone would not touch your body.”

Cursory blushed and shuddered at the same time, “But would hurt my mind or my soul, right?”

“A bit and in a reversible manner,” the pilot admitted. “This is how we are. This is how we eat and this is how we recharge. Maybe then you would feel weak for a while. You have exactly that at your side, if not worse. I don’t get why you have rejected the drone.”

Cursory glanced at Gentle and snorted, “She’s different. Then I won’t apologize. I have the right to defend my couple, and if you really were so hungry, you could at least ask for it.”

The creature behind the burned heap of plastic chuckled and muttered something like "If there was someone to ask..." but Cursory could not hear these last words in detail.

She glanced at the hushed and confused Gentle Touch, and smiled. With each movement, with each other nine of beats that passed in the darkness too lively and too flickering, Cursory was more and more strangely happy.

At least it wasn't the luscious sweetness of her visions.

“Let's go. If we do not find anything from the past reality... then I will at least tell you how it was,” suggested Cursory, and laughed loudly and openly.

Gentle nodded, and Cursory led them roughly to where her favorite system terminal had never been.

The thick grass did not interfere with walking. It moved — and not only under the wind; the grass touched her sides, stomach and chest, tickling too intimately.

But it did not hurt. Along with the Trinity, the Red whose creatures and rays were murderous had been no more. Most of the shelters were abandoned and empty, only a few of them were cleaned and kept in order by individual enthusiasts. The victory was worth it, wasn't it? Cursory thought to herself.

You have killed eight monsters in the last season alone, and two in your entire past life. Of all the new species in the world, with about a third of the new species, you don't even know how to talk, nor whether they have a language at all. Don't you think we traded sour jam for moldy cheese? an inner voice answered her with a touch of irony.

“Hey, blue cheese has its own flavor, if you give it a chance!” Cursory said defensively; Gentle stared at her and blinked.

"Cheese? I really hope this is not my new nickname... is it? Well, that is, of course, they say the Moon is made of cheese…”

Cursory giggled nervously, “No, just silly me thinking out loud. Imagine: there is a park here. Bushes are planted along the walking paths. In the center, there, a large free space,“ Cursory circled the pinkish overgrown twilight with her hoof. Not far off, water quietly murmured, and the pegasus smiled, “With a clear lake inside. Not a pond, a real lake. There were fish and you could swim in it. Or play in the air above it, taking the shores as boundaries of the playing field. On the sides, low ladders connected the working shelves. The floor on each shelf is almost opaque, but multi-colored, and the light of the lamps from above breaks through, painting each floor in its own tones. I especially loved the orange shelf. Fourth from the top.”

“What for? What were you doing here?” Gentle asked; she came close, and Cursory heard the rhythm of her breathing, deep, excited, in unison with the floating rumble of large insects.

“We... You see, it is not necessary to be at the station all the time. I usually didn’t go there, at least I didn’t do it very often. I mean, the message from the system will still come if you are at home, if you remain somewhere nearby— you really don't know how it works? The real Gentle might not have known— I never had time to show her—”

Gentle frowned. She shook her head and did not answer right away, “I'm interested. I like your voice,“ a step closer, the wet movement of the tongue along Cursory's neck, “Please continue.”

Cursory did not step back, nodded slightly, “Here, at the station, I was among my own. Those who live not too far away and like to solve problems. We had similar interests — not always matching but close enough. Because of the neighbors there, I watched movies and read books that I would not have known about otherwise, and often I liked it. We could walk and fly together, talk nonsense. I could tell them that I refused to follow Black Moon, and they would not even be surprised. If the system suggested that the problem was better solved by three ponies, two more for the team could be found right there, on the spot. Everypony knew where my favorite shelf and my favorite terminal were, configured just right for me. My second home, a spare home, and I knew that I would lose it for you— for Gentle. But it was worth it; or it seemed to me that it was worth it.”

She did not cry. She was not even close to that. Just her eyes and throat dried out in these few beats.

“Have you tried to view it as a relocation?” Gentle asked softly, “Pegasi then and now change their sectors much more often than other subspecies and suffer much less. Not at all like you. And I would like you to be content with your life.”

“Maybe over time,” Cursory shook her head and was licked on her chin again. “There is no Metropolis for me yet. There is a big city, there is a Net above it, everything seems to be in order, except for thickets like this one or citadels left after the Gray… I can still see borders of sectors, free-laid as before. Everything is as before, but once you look deeper... sectors are in fact too much the same pink, and the Metropolis Herself is not there. I can’t hear Her voice, and She does not hear me.”

Gentle nodded. “I understand. You say, the fourth shelf from the top, orange? My color and my number... but then you will go alone from there. I didn’t… push you to come here, but it was clear that sooner or later you would come, perhaps with me. In this case—”

“What?..” Cursory exhaled, anxious.

“There is something you'd likely benefit from seeing,” Gentle Touch whispered, “Not a conspiracy, the Moon knows about it. There is a choice up there which is more between you and me rather than it is between you and the Moon. The condition is… please do not tell me what you will experience there. I know it is hard to keep secrets in our relationship but the other side asked for privacy, with the Moon agreeing.”

Cursory narrowed her eyes. “It does sound awfully roundabout, doesn't it?”

“It does. It is about the line of separation between our previous history when I had been a Herald, and this one when I am a part of the Moon. That much I know. Anything further in is covered by a privacy request.”

Cursory stared at Gentle, unsure whether to object. The pale orange mare closed her eyes, turned her head away from the direction the couple was moving in, and stepped into a nearby overgrown wall.

The pegasus had nothing better to do than to fly up above, going around dense layers of overgrowth that were, with a stretch of imagination, somewhat similar to floors of a building. 

Having reached the fourth, she walked around on a somewhat smooth tangle of leafed branches, resinous but reliably secure under her weight. Ready for an emergency hover, she looked around — and for just a blink, something moved near the edge of an obsidian slab overgrown with vines.

She raised her head to check, but there was nothing there. The slab was not even obsidian, just grey concrete. She slumped back, only to this time notice the color shift back to black. She froze. A small bright vertical rectangle showed up in the corner of the slab. And disappeared. And blinked again and again slowly.

She began to make short steps sideways, turning her head one way or the other, but almost any change in viewing angle broke — or perhaps, on the contrary, conjured — the illusion.

She saw something like that before, in one less pleasant sequence of memories, one where there was nothing but unending space and unblinking white shine cut straight out from the everside. As she did then, there too she found an approach that did not break the illusion. A rather awkward one, requiring her to crawl along the leaf-carpeted floor.

Still, she managed to get close enough to be absolutely sure: the slab looked like a piece of a monitor. Without the frame, without wires, just the screen. The blinking rectangle was indeed a cursor. The strange adjacent tablet semi-concealed by vines was surely an old keyboard. She tried pressing onto the side of the tablet’s surface that she had no way of observing from her position. Symbols flashed on the screen.

This was surreal, and extremely awkward. But soon she was trying the usual commands.

>>> User account ‘Cursory Streak’ not found.

>>> User list classified; login to access user list.

>>> Guest accounts are not permitted to contact support without naming specific support user.

>>> Guest accounts are not permitted to report a bug without assigning a specific maintainer.

She did not give up despite growing annoyance, and resorted to repeating the attempts, substituting different maintainers of the station from the times that never were anymore. Then she did something she was reluctant to try at first, not wanting to be disappointed too early. She typed in Solid Line’s user id: 677821.

“Well finally. I was worried somepony just stumbled upon this accidentally,” replied the terminal.

“Solid? You’re alive?” typed Cursory as fast as the posture permitted.

“Depends on your perspective.”

“What are my options?”

“Due to limitations of geometry, right now the only option in terms of perspectives is the one corresponding to where the hooves normally are.”

Cursory groaned and raised from the floor, but immediately fell back as the screen went stone-grey for a fraction of a beat. “Solid Line, now is not the time to make practical jokes.”

“Hey, the limitations are real. There’s no practical element in the joke. But verbal? I grab what entertainment I can get. I’m not getting enough of it lately.”

“So, are you really you? I mean, are you the same you as in the previous iteration of history? Without the mighty Red?”

“It is complicated.”

“What happened to you?”

“It is complicated.”

“After all that happened, do you have something more specific to write than ‘complicated’? How about where your cat is?”

“Right here with me.”

“Where?”

“It’s… all right, let’s say in Metropolis. Metropolis the emergent entity, not the mere collection of buildings.”

“Can I go there?”

“Not at the moment. It is not quite a place in this history. What actually is a place is well below underground. It communicates with the above through a few layers that are at best as real as the image on this terminal. It needs to be utterly, without any risks possible, shielded from the Red whilst still having an uplink itself. I am in this intermediate layer, functioning as a wetware and medium between Metropolis and surface. This may eventually change. Depending on factors in the not-quite-foreseeable future.”

“So your Black Moon – does she also exist in this non-place?”

“She certainly does exist. Exile is not obliteration. I exist thanks to Her. The exile is supposed to apply only in this one iteration. In subsequent iteration numbers it does not apply.”

“So is it possible for us to call the Trinity back from exile?”

“Is it an existing possibility when accounting for actions in this iteration or changes achievable by incrementing the iteration number? Yes, definitely. Is it something the Trinity would want? There is no evidence to support such a conclusion.”

Cursory unintentionally started hitting the keys harder. “But I do want it. I am right here. You have evidence of me wanting that. Does that suffice for you?”

“A necessary but not sufficient reason for pursuing such a major goal. Why do you want that? Just because that is how you remember things being in the iteration with an index two less than the current one?”

At this point Cursory understood that she doesn’t have a good answer. It was clear that Solid wanted a rational motivation. But all the reasons that came to her mind did not fit that criterion. Friends, job, love – all of these things she wanted to name, but all of them she was already quickly regaining even in the short time she spent in the new world. With caveats, sure, but none of them was a dealbreaker. Her grief for the world that has never ever been was fuelled not by external choices, but by her own internal decision, her own refusal to let herself fully fit in.

“I want to get rid of my visions and nightmares.”

“There are methods of achieving that which are easier, more efficient, more reliable, and have fewer risks and potential side effects for both you and the others. So why do you want to do it?”

“I want to go back home.”

“What is home?”

“A place of safety and happiness and my loved ones.”

“You can have all that much easier in the current iteration.”

“Including safety? The world is probably safer with the Trinity than with the Red.”

“There are still better ways. Minor immortals are ready, able, and willing to make very good contributions to world stability. Oracle of Oak Leaf, Quiet Melody, Return Vector, and at least seven nines of others. Melody is certainly in a good position: she’s always been powerful, but now she no longer needs to dedicate her focus to the enmity with and hiding from the Red.”

“Maybe the Trinity would still offer the Red--”

Cursory backtracked, “the Rose a more favourable position?”

“I cannot process the likely risks and outcomes of such a course of action, as it involves predicting the decisions of four Moons. For the same reason, it is best that you do not bet on it.”

“What if I reduce that number to just three?” pleaded Cursory Streak. “I’ll ask Them to return. Give Them their free choice. They have the right to refuse.”

There was a notable, if short, pause in Solid Line’s reply.

“You can try. But beware that the Moon will request a high price for letting that happen. You are about to ask a lot from an entity you have almost nothing to offer to. Except perhaps your service. Which you seem to be already giving away rather willingly in exchange for benefits in this iteration that you allegedly want to get out of. This is not judgement; your exchange is a reasonable one. I think you don’t really know what you want. That’s acceptable. But my attention is required elsewhere. Don’t worry, nothing I cannot manage on my own. Please try to decide what you want in life before contacting me again. Failing that, I’ll still have things to discuss — the matter of other shards of the Six, for example — but please try your best.”

Other shards? She hurried on, “What’s with Dartline?”

"Her contribution remains irreplaceable. Logging off."

The screen was once again stone.

Cursory dived back, slowly, and soon was met by Gentle Touch, who hugged her and asked, in a rapid anxious sequence. “Have you found what you were looking for? Did it help? Could it make you more content?”

Cursory smiled weakly as she returned the hug, "Right here? Unlikely. But now I seem to see more options, darling. What I can say — it was useful, and not at all like wasted time. I hope it didn't break your weird request for secrecy ... Let's talk about something else for now? After all, at least I told you what I didn't have time to— there and then. This is perhaps even more important than the meeting on the fourth floor."

They went deeper into the forest, picking and tasting berries and planning what they would do next; Gentle wanted to visit the warmer sea, which was now at the descent-of-Moon, and it was necessary to adjust the time of the next date so that Cursory would already be in place for that future ‘night’.

Closer to the exit from the forest, as it should be at the end of each meeting, Cursory lay down, hugging Gentle Touch, relaxed and took a deep and almost painless bite on the neck.

She was warm, comfortable and then a little sleepy. Then Gentle was not there.

Until next time.


☳☳☳


The massive blast door sealed behind her. Outside was left the world of excess: of joy, celebration, insanity, procreation and metamorphoses done for reasons both grave and whimsical. It was tiring to live among all that from moonrise to moonfall; it was also tiring to keep wearing that trusty suit.

Is this what being old feels like?

No, thought Storm. This is what being a victor feels like. A scary thing. You face impossible odds, do the unimaginable, give it your all, and bring about a new world. And it thanks you — sometimes. You get some privileges, the Moon personally asks you whether you are content with your lot in life... but then you notice that despite all that, the world you helped build has no place for you. Oh sure, the ponies are polite, even reverent towards you — for past achievements. But your services are no longer needed. Can you name a purpose for which your presence here is necessary? No, you can't.

Even being given whole sectors for accommodations did not help with the feeling of fitting in. Oh, they were for sure more spacious than the orbital habitats. But they were still a ghetto. Limited. Isolated. Sealed. Oh, someone like Purity would jump with joy at such an outcome. Her spouse certainly looked happy, with no buts or ifs.

Hot spicy wine did not give a buzz, but did gradually knock you out dreamless. Which was exactly what it needed to do. In front of a fake fireplace that was incapable of giving a sense of warmth. Not because of some deficiency in terms of temperature. Nor because of some nerve-affecting disease. But because nopony could feel cosy when constantly troubled by an inexplicable sense of creeping dread.

It was curious how rare the color black became. Even the night sky tended to be rosy-violet, or, more rarely, orange. The buildings she remembered being black became — no, now have always been — multicolored. Black became a color of bygone past, of unhistory.

And of the rare dream eluding the winy oblivion.

She soared through the sky once more — the familiar black sky. She did have wings. And so much power that the edge between wishes and deeds was erased entirely. But she had no wishes of her own. She had a sequence of objectives that needed achieving — find, survey, defeat in case of opposition, extract, repeat. No boredom, no pain, no doubt. And only in such dreams could she admit to herself: this seemed to be what happiness felt like. Peace. Purpose. Order. Control.

After that she always woke up in cold sweat, with her heart beating fast. Blamed bad dreams on falling asleep in a bad posture. Checked that she didn't disturb anyone through the double-layered soundproof walls, and that there was nobody in the room to be disturbed. Looked at her legs for no reason whatsoever, and not to check whether they had turned into metal.

This was always scary, and that in a way was reassuring, because that meant she's still Storm and not a unit of a dark swarm with a serial number.

All this was enough to become utterly convinced: sooner or later, but inevitably, there will be a cycle when the darkness returns; and that means she needs to be prepared for it; that everypony around needs to be prepared for it.

But there was something scarier than that: a question Faraway Storm, grade A+ outsourced affector, did not know the answer to.

Might the darkness creep in again through none other than me?

She stood up from the bed and reactivated the now-cold kettle. The time of the next trip outside was nearing, but for now... for now Storm had a bit more time for lone contemplation.
Are you content with life in general? she recalled the Moon's question once again.

"Definitely not."

That was an answer she could speak out loud.


🌑🌑🌑


The implosion that turned the space inside out and returned it back was extremely unpleasant even for artificial sensors. Then it became dark and quiet.

The library of metaphors suggested a comparison: now everything around was like an outdated, silent, black and white movie — no color, no sound at all, harsh shadows of rocks and hills.

And her own body. She had a body again. This is how one of the backup protocols worked, in the event of communication failure with the main clusters.

Dispassion turned sharply, all sensors searching for the enemy. But there were no moons in the sky. A huge, impossibly close star hung over the horizon. Its light was throwing shadows.

Dust and ash drifted under her hooves. Nothing but ashes, wherever the glance reached.

No signals from anywhere, neither magical nor electronic. Not the slightest sign of Moons in the endless starry sky.

Not needing air, food or water, capable of feeding on relic radiation and other forms of ray energy, her body could wait as long as she wanted.

She was waiting for a slice, then for nine slices.

Nothing has changed. The stars were still spinning slowly overhead. Not the slightest trace of alien magic. Complete silence on the radio, except for the tidal rumble of a nearby star on long waves.

Something clearly went wrong.

Although she continued to function, and this was an undoubted success, being alone on a scorched surface was not part of her plans. It was suboptimal. Leaving little room for maneuver. This place needed to be explored.

Leaving clear hoofprints on the dry dust, she set off. It turned out to be a long way. On the road, she tried to assess the damage to the world.

It looked like Black Moon’s departure left the stars in complete disarray. Dispassion was able to detect the Ursa Major and Ursa Minor, but the zodiacal constellations... Apparently, the cataclysm hit them hardest.

This was suboptimal too. This meant that there might not be a pony in the world at all.

Dispassion was ready for this. She had been taking apart living things, figuring out how they worked, putting them back together, and sometimes they even started working again. She has long been ready to recreate life from scratch. An optimal life, devoid of atavisms, not marked by death from the very beginning. All that she needed were tools and materials.

When a star rose, she made her body dull black, absorbing every quantum of energy. Once it went below the horizon again, she turned silver and continued to run as long as the charge allowed.

Several square nines of cycles later, a speck of blue mist appeared over the horizon.

She saw fog, with a distinct shade of oxygen, and water, too, as far as her sensors could detect.

Dispassion suppressed a dangerous impulse to burn off emergency energy in order to achieve... what?

As she approached, the fog rose higher and higher. Another stage ran — not even a third of a slice had passed — and the edge of the planet appeared.

This explained a lot, including where the air went.

She never returned from the Moon.

She was still on the moon, but was no longer a part of it. This planetoid, devoid of life, consciousness, and magic, is the moon. Now not some kind of moon. Just the moon — lower case.

Had she possessed a real bucket, like the ones sold by peddlers that travelled through the edge of the Great Desert, she could've spent the rest of eternity building sand castles here, filling her existence with small joy.

Of course, somepony as skilled as Dispassion in such a perfect body could make castles without a bucket. She could make a lot of things without it. Except joy. So there was no point in building those castles.

Dispassion carefully, avoiding the deep shadows in the craters, ran forward — far enough to see the entire planet. She improvised a bench from stones. Then she sat down, looking at the world that continued to live without her. That was all she had left.

A few cubic nines of times the nameless star rose and set above the horizon. Plasma storms rumbled, sparks of thunderstorms crackled over the planet.

The internal clock, designed to be adjusted every few generations, counted up to its maximum value, reset, and started over, again and again.

By that time, she already knew that this was not her world and not her planet. It became obvious that the planet was inhabited.

A cubic nine of times white changed places with green on the planet's hemispheres when a modulated radio signal reached her sensors.

The language was unfamiliar to her at first. It was painfully pointless to correlate primitive modulations with spots on the surface. She only succeeded in learning the names of large cities by comparing the daily time with repeating combinations.

After a few nines of seasons, the planet learned to modulate the video signal. After that, language learning sped up.

Two nines of seasons later, the spaceship was shown on TV.

Around the same time, equipment appeared on Earth that was sensitive enough to hear the quiet voice of the Moon.

Is it difficult, being just a voice on the radio, to create a secret society from scratch, accumulate incredible technological power, build a spaceport and create a ship that can carry her weight to the planet? It is, maybe.

Unless you have been doing exactly this your entire past life.

One of her concerns was nuclear weaponry. This power could not — until the time — be wasted. Not before she goes down below. Not before she bestows immortal cybernetic bodies to her loyal followers. Not before she will be dubbed below the Moon Nightmare. Then she will find a way to return home. 

And, likely, bring some gifts with her.


🌠🌠🌠


High in the sky above the sleeping Metropolis, in which ponies and other creatures continued to live, far from the nine constellations of the ecliptic but slowly approaching them, the yet invisible traveler was still returning victorious. 

As always, she gazed intently at the house she once left behind, and the stars, fed and content for the first time in all histories, were pointers and lanterns in her path. Previously, the traveler had many worries small and big, although they were not enough to lead her astray from the path leading her home. Now the sight of the only remaining moon gave her real content. 

The path shall come to an end and a great feast shall come with the traveler.
> Postscriptum: Petition
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


✨✨✨


Dear Princess Celestia,

This title is not a mistake. For me, you are always a Princess.

Thank you for the opportunity to learn a lot of new and interesting things, even after two decades of my undivided rule. Not that we are talking about phenomena of a cosmological scale and no less danger.

The spell you sent me is working. In principle, any prepared unicorn can cast it, although it seems that it will be much easier for alicorns. At first I thought it was a teleportation spell to an unknown place. There was a sandy shore, a river, an artifact in dry grass. But this place doesn't behave like decent places should. For example, I cannot move the artifact even a bit. I tried to cross the river, and almost went too deep into the lands of the dead.

Still, I understand that you gave me the spell so that I would look at the artifact and draw conclusions. Another test, right? I don't mind, as even now, after all these years, I still have a lot to learn. 

Well, here is my report, since you requested the report.

The artifact is perfectly cubic. It looks like a stack of kirin Weiqi boards made from a material unknown to me. It is fireproof, like all valuables of kirin origin.

When I understood how it works, for a while I tried to damage it. In fact, it is not an artifact. It is not even a material thing. This place, and this object, is rather a way and method of seeing reality. A certain angle of view, and your spell just helps one find that method. Wherever I cast a spell, I still end up there and then, looking at the cube from a specific point in a specific direction, and there is not even a speck from the sun in the dim cloudy sky. The intersection of all four layers of being: reality, dreams, death and everside.

This is the first reason why I was late with the letter. The second reason is my fear.

I am a brave pony and you know that. I know that myself. Harmony gives me the strength to write on.

Like kirin Weiqi, this illusion is in a sense, with a certain stretch, entertaining. Kirins have their own ideas about games.

In a standard kirin Weiqi, you can choose two modes of the game. The normal one has a few basic rules that evolve in a near-infinite number of complex patterns; the extended one adds a way to establish a significant relation between each move and a kirin, an event or a situation.

Extended rules then expand again and again, reaching in their final form about a thousand sheets of ceramic fiber. Actually, kirins were using asbestos but, no matter where and by whom the full rules are written, they tend to spontaneously combust. Thus, the game begins with the reality we know and then goes into "what if?"

In normal play, each move is a new layer of the 3D board. They are removed from the bottom and placed on top. There, on the bank of the Last River, it happens by itself. Transparent incorporeal layers descend from above, others move downward.

To read an extended game, you have to be a kirin or think like a kirin. Here you can be any creature. The game itself will draw the resulting situation for you as if it was real. In general, it is both interesting and useful. A wonderful game that would be nice to teach our students. I'll introduce them to it, eventually.

I got distracted again. It's too scary and unpleasant.

Certain moves cannot be made on this board. Not because knowledge of the rules is somehow woven into it but as if such a move could not happen at all.

Also, I wrote "as if it was real"? I will not cross it out. I would instead say that “full immersion” would be more honest.

With such a toy you can become lost in phantasies for years. You see, looking at the options for a possible future, and looking for the best among them, is very exciting and it takes the more time the deeper you try to look. I think if you look too deep, then pretty soon you will start playing slower than real time.

It remembers past games and all the players of it. I would never have found this feature without my share of magical artifacts researched. That should have served as a warning to me.

In addition, if you enter the game with sufficient magical power, then make an alignment that meets the reality you know, agree with partners on what to do next and fulfill a number of additional simple conditions and restrictions, then you can change the reality of the original world.

I think this is a very, very dangerous thing.

I conclude the report here.

Now for what you probably would like to hide. Something that I would not mention in other circumstances, but I am obliged to do it in my status as the ruler of Equestria.

I found the party you have set with Luna. I know what you want to do. 

Are you sure that reconciliation with Luna— well, more than just reconciliation— Changing the history in accordance with "We never had a fight between ourselves"—

Is it worth it?

I understand why the idea can be attractive and I promise to support you if you really do want to follow up on it. You have the right to make such a decision. This promise I list not only as a pony, not only as your former student, but also as a Princess.

Still, please take your time. In just a day, I found six probable and close ends of the world. I attach a list of them in the addendum.

I am glad that you wrote to me. I hope it’s more than just a hope for new data or an alternate opinion from me. I hope that I got the letter not only because you were too afraid to speak with me about it in a direct and personal way. No riddle is worth trust, you know?

In the end, it was an interesting riddle to solve.

But if my opinion is actually important, it is simple: Don't do it. Don't risk it. Please.

If you are to follow a play you likely desire instead, then you should know that I agree, or I would have agreed, even if in the new history I will no longer be. I agree with that move... and with all subsequent ones that the game will require of us.

This is not the first draft I have written, and choosing my words I have already delayed this letter for almost a day. Only with the past sunrise— I swear I will never look at the Sun as an ordinary light source again. We usually do not appreciate enough of something mundane until we lose it.

Please, do not do that.

After writing this letter I will go and hug my friends and students. Everypony I find.

We are very lucky to have a beautiful, almost optimal world. We are one step away from really pushing this luck.

Don’t make such a step.

Your faithful student ██████████ Twilight Sparkle.

P.S. I shall always be by your side.