> Sogno di Volare
>  by Sledge115
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Prologue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


Prologue





It wasn’t that Princess Celestia sought the fiery-maned filly’s attention in particular.

A good three, maybe four books had been read this afternoon, yet still it surprised her that, alone amongst the crowd of children, the little filly seemed to pay so little attention to her. How odd it was for someone of her age, Celestia quietly mused, to be so fixated upon a miniature airship. Other than young Prince Blueblood, that is to say.

In the hours that had passed for today’s reading session, down at the Canterlot Orphanage, there was one filly who doggedly remained in her own corner of the room. An angry, vivid red-and-orange both in mane and coat, her amaranth aura still wrapped around the toy airship, her cyan eyes fixed in a determined glare.

Up and down the silver airship went, higher and lower with every try. But the filly did not seem particularly happy. No, Celestia observed, that frown remained, her teeth gritted. Her horn grew brighter and dimmer in turn as the airship hovered, so stubborn was the child.

But Celestia could not dwell on the sight, not while her story was still being told, close to conclusion though it stood. So she returned her attention to the book in her own aura, reading aloud the long-familiar text which lent narrative to the pages’ lush water-colours.

“… And when the Sun returned in full,” Celestia continued, mentally strumming a tune to go with her well-practiced reading voice, “as the light gleamed off the crow’s darkened feathers, they saw that still it shimmered as a rainbow would. A thank-you from the Sun, for her loyalty, her friendship, and her song.”

As gently as possible, for she had now read this story more times than she could count, Celestia closed the old storybook. With a tranquil smile, she beheld the audience before her, their tiny eyes wide with anticipation, mouths hung open in awe.

“The End.”

And, just as always had in readings past, upon the utterance of those closing words, the gathered children of Equestria burst into cheers and  excited chatter, whether it be amongst themselves or  questions aimed her way.

“That was amazing!”

“Wow, I wish I could read…”

“Can you read us more? There’s gotta be more!”

She had seen this many times, every passing year. Yet, with the children’s joy always shining bright in their eyes, never did it turn rote for her.

“Um, Miss Princess Celestia?” asked a little blue colt. “Can you tell us what happens next?”

Celestia could only let out a fond laugh. “Oh, I’m afraid that’s it, really,” she said. “But I assure you, the Crow is alive and well. When you’re older, maybe you could visit her, how about that?”

“But I want to hear it now!” said the colt. “That’s gonna be a long time!”

“Yeah!” said a pegasus filly, wings fluttering. “Please? There’s gotta be more!”

One by one they spoke up, dismay and bewilderment and everything in-between evident. For surely, after the book had closed, more words would follow.

As the children continued their chorus, Celestia shot a pleading look at the matron, a kindly middle-aged mare, who stood near the door. Calm though she may have seemed, there was that tell-tale mischievous curl of the lips.

‘Looks as if Kibitz will have to reschedule,’ Celestia thought fleetingly, glancing at the clock.

The Palace majordomo had long insisted on maintaining a consistent timetable for Palace affairs. But the children’s eyes were wide and pleading, their voices innocently asking if she could stay for only a little longer.

And who was she to disappoint them?

‘Sorry, old friend,’ Celestia thought, as she reached into her saddlebag. ‘But I’ve a story to tell.’

She cleared her throat, quieting most of the gathered orphans.

“Okay, okay!” Celestia spoke at last above the children’s murmurs, raising her forehooves in mock-surrender. “Well, now… looks like I’ve still got time. Who wants to hear another story~?”

She needn’t have asked, for she knew the answer. Almost that very instant, a dozen hooves shot up, while another dozen voices chorused in unison.

“Me!”

“I wanna!”

“Yay!”

“Settle down, settle down, all,” Celestia said, amidst her own laughter. “Alright, how about something from a distant land?”

She withdrew a different book from her saddlebag, a large thick tome. Flipping through the pages, her eyes skimmed past titles in foreign tongues.

“Kirin, dragons… my, I’d forgotten they even had fairy-tales! Ah, let’s see… How about ‘The Endless Maze’? A Minotaur classic.”

“Yes!” the children cried in unison. They quickly huddled together yet again, all around her.

“Okay!” Celestia exclaimed, beaming. “Now, children, our next story takes us to the ancient Tauren Isles, where the great Minotaur Asterion reigned…”

While their chatter was quieted by her words as the story went on, Celestia caught a glimpse of the filly who sat apart, still levitating her airship. She could have sworn the filly had looked at her in askance when their peers had merely begged for more stories.

As she read the tale to her audience, Celestia wondered if the fiery child would land the airship at last and join them here, eventually.



> Act I ~ Chapter One ~ The Case of the Missing Princess
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


I
The Case of the Missing Princess





All things considered, Sunset Shimmer thought, there were worse places to be than the hallway outside the Headmistress’s office. Given enough time, she'd have finished counting all the tiles in the winding hall. Not that it was particularly preferable, for no matter how hard she tried to convince herself, that tiny part of her wondered if this had been a step too far. Perhaps she’d gotten herself into more trouble than was worth her while.

‘That doesn’t sound right,’ she told herself. ‘I did exactly what I was supposed to do, didn’t I?’

She hated second-guessing. She had felt so certain of her move then. The fire had burned bright, just as she willed it. And was that not the evident truth of her potential, when she’d earned her mark right as the inferno subsided?

A glance at her flank emboldened her. There she beheld a fiery Sun that burned crimson and amber, a mark of her worth.

Why, then, were they taking so long to decide? Sunset had only seen a few teachers enter the office, close to an hour ago. The crusty old Headmistress and her nebbish assistant – or was that the Deputy Headmaster –  had gone in first, followed by Sunset’s agitated supervisor, whose mane was only slightly scorched by now. None had spared her more than a second glance, which was fine by her. She didn’t need them anyway.

Neither had the Princess of All Equestria, who’d arrived soon after, taken one look at her, then entered the office with nary a word.

That left her here, alone with only her thoughts for company, in the empty silence of the School for Gifted Unicorns.

It was all rather silly, really. By any metric, she had passed the exam, more impressively than most.

And yet, what was that feeling in her gut, sinking and heavier by the second–

“Sunset Shimmer?”

She’d heard that velvet voice before, in the common room at the orphanage, yet never so close as it was now. Sunset looked up from the tiled floor, her gaze beholding the regal figure that again stood before her, a closed door at her back.

Impossibly tall and beautiful, her resplendent wings held tight against her body, Princess Celestia was a sight familiar to many a pony of Equestria. The golden crown she wore shimmered bright, her alabaster coat vibrant even in the dim light of the hallway.

It was her eyes that caught Sunset’s attention. Soft, kind, and maternal, yet with an underlying solemnity that belied all else in the magenta gaze. A look which few had seen up close.

And here they were, only the two of them.

“Hello,” said the Princess, still with that gentle voice. “I’m sorry, have I startled you?”

Sunset said nothing, at first. What else could she say? Encouraging as the Princess’s tone was, surely there was little she could do to convince the school staff otherwise.

Even as the Princess opened her mouth to speak, Sunset puffed up her chest and spoke first.

“It needed it, okay?”

So brash and sudden it was that, to Sunset’s own surprise, the Princess’s mouth hung open.

“What?” she asked.

“The fire,” Sunset said. “What else?”

She’d come this far, Sunset told herself. It was now or never, lest her voice be silenced for good by the old geezers waiting inside the Headmistress’s office.

“They asked me what I’d do to care for the stupid bird,” explained Sunset, taking a deep breath. “It looked all old and sick, and no-one else figured it out but me.”

“Is that why you set the classroom on fire?”

Her tone was still gentle, yet firm. For a moment, Sunset looked away, her mind racing. Of course this was what they’d told the Princess – that brash little Sunset Shimmer’s fire had burned hotter than it should and burnt the classroom to ash.

She held her ground, and looked at the Princess eye-to-eye.

“Yeah. Are you gonna kick me out for it?”

The Princess looked at her for the longest time, her gaze unreadable. Then, her ever-tranquil smile returned, and she let out a soft laugh.

“No, actually,” said the Princess. “That was quite the marvelous display, all things considered… Risky, and dangerous… yet beautiful, in some ways.”

Just as she trailed off, a great fiery bird appeared, flying down the hallway, turning the black-and-white tiles two different shades of orange with its incandescent glow. Sunset’s eyes widened to behold it, as this was a sight she’d seen only in textbooks.

A phoenix, in all its splendour.

The majestic bird landed, glancing at her with a curious tilt. Before Sunset could say anything, the bird gave her a nuzzle, then flew up to perch upon the Princess’s back. It chirped softly, a sound the Princess answered with an affectionate nuzzle.

“You can thank Philomena for her say, just as she thanks you,” said the Princess. “Colour me impressed, Sunset. Very few can recognise a dying phoenix, let alone give them what they need. You should be proud of that.”

Sunset looked at her, still feeling as lost as ever.

“Wh-what? But wait. What about… Aren’t you going to–what?”

A delicately-bound scroll appeared with a brilliant yellow flash, held in the Princess’s aura. “It was a unanimous decision,” she said simply. “Welcome to the School of Gifted Unicorns, Sunset Shimmer.”

Passing from the Princess’s aura to Sunset’s, the scroll slowly lowered before her eyes. There was no mistaking the seal – the very same golden star emblazoned above the school entrance, the sigil that greeted many anxious and eager children throughout the passing seasons.

Scholars, inventors, mages, and artists of all disciplines and trades, the greatest minds of their time. All of whom had trodden these halls, finding – no, earning their place amongst the very best. And she knew she could shine brighter than them all.

Just as quickly as her amaranth light shone, it dimmed ever so slightly, for even as Sunset held the delicate scroll within her aura, those old fears stirred and tugged at her. Whispers, where they thought they couldn’t hear her, uttered amongst all whose paths had ever crossed hers.

“...I’m not staying at the dorms, am I?”

It was more a statement than a question, for she knew the answer already.

“Oh, that is optional,” said the Princess. “Some do, others walk or travel, whichever they prefer. But no, you are not.”

For a single, shameful moment, Sunset felt her heart sink. Of course. They feared her, and nor could they ever trust her. Not when she’d done so much with so little. They’d be jealous, as they should be. Nevertheless, it didn’t make the thought of lonely days and silent nights any better.

But before Sunset could speak her thoughts aloud, the Princess was already looking at her with the kindest smile Sunset had seen on her face.

“You shall be staying at the Palace,” said the Princess. “It’s all been taken care of.”

She stretched out a wing, beckoning her to follow. From atop her back, the great phoenix spread her own wings and flew ahead.

“Come along, Sunset. There’s so much to talk about, once we’re at the Palace...”

Sunset’s eyes widened, a hundred thoughts racing through her mind, though she remained silent. After the longest minute of her life had passed, she reached for her saddlebags and hopped off her seat.

There was little else either of them said afterwards, as they went on their way to the orphanage, to collect her belongings and say her farewells to the first and only home she’d known all her life. But as the Sun rose further in the sky, so too did Sunset Shimmer hold her head up high.



One Spring morning, the Sun rose a minute late.

Sunset had noticed it, much as she had noticed other things amiss that morning, when her clock rang a minute early. A moment’s glance at the clock once she’d awoken, and she knew something was off, for she had never been wrong in setting her clock. Yet her mother, in all her years, could still miss a thing or two.

She’d spotted the other thing amiss when she emerged from her bedroom and saw the door to her mother’s room wide open,  not a feather to be seen.

So she went downstairs at a brisk pace, huffing all the way, and found the third thing amiss. This was something very important indeed. Breakfast. Or rather, a lack thereof.

Their dining table was tidy, true, with the tablecloth in place and all the utensils neatly arranged where they should be. But no food whatsoever. Not even a stray crumb of bread.

Now, this was quite unlike her mother. Much as it befuddled Sunset, her mother had always insisted on cooking breakfast, from pancakes to porridge to even the occasional hayfries. Sunset never much understood this, for the Palace had many servants running about. Surely, one of them had the time to spare.

‘State employees, dear Sunset,’ her mother had said then. ‘They only cook for special occasions.’

Grown-ups could be so weird. But no sooner had this thought formed that Sunset spotted the other two ponies in the room, deep in discussion. They hadn’t noticed her arrival, so caught up in their conversation that it took a rather conspicuous clearing of her throat to prompt their notice.

Their heads turned to look at her. Sunset had many questions to ask. Only one escaped her mouth, struck by her mother’s appearance opposite Kibitz’s perpetually-stuffy look.

“Uh, Mom? What are you wearing?”

It was as polite, or least-blunt, as Sunset could put it. She didn’t want to call her mother ridiculous, but how else could one describe the get-up that she was wearing, a garish ensemble that could hardly ever be called regal? No Princess that Sunset knew of would dare to wear such a colourful, red-shaded button-up, or sunglasses as tacky as the yellow ones her mother wore. And that was without mentioning the largest sun hat she had ever seen, too.

Not that any of this bothered her mother. She raised her sunglasses, her smile as cheery as ever.

“Oh, hello, Sunset!” Celestia greeted, waving. “Ah, I’m just getting ready for my trip. Kibitz’ll be in charge when I’m gone. Need anything for breakfast?”

The Palace majordomo nodded along, as he usually did, quiet and reliable and so very proper.

Sunset raised an eyebrow. “Trip?” she asked. “What trip? You didn’t tell me you were going anywhere.”

Her mother’s sunglasses did little to hide the crestfallen look that followed. Sunset knew her tells, no matter how hard she tried to conceal them.

“Just something that came up on short notice, Sunset,” her mother said, quieter than her enthusiastic tone had been moments earlier. “I…” She trailed off, her gaze falling upon the dining table. “Right. I forgot to cook breakfast. Forgive this silly old mare, Sunset. I know how much you love pancakes, with the little smiley faces and–”

“Mooom,” Sunset cut her off. “Stop it. It's fine.”

“It’s true, though!” Her mother pressed on, her nostalgic smile growing wider still. “Oh, when I come back, I’ll cook extra stacks! Maybe the ones with little red berries for noses–”

Feeling her cheeks heat up, Sunset rolled her eyes. “Okay, okay, I get it,” she said dismissively, though she hoped her mother wouldn’t forget it either. “It’s fine. I guess I’ll just cook for myself for now.” She paused again. “Where are you going anyway?”

“Oh, just across the sea,” said her mother. “I’ll be back in… two weeks, give or take.”

“Uh-huh,” said Sunset, hiding her apprehension. “And it’s taking that long, because…?”

“Well, I’ve a few things to do,” her mother answered. “I mean, we’ve only just arranged the sky-boat this morning.”

“But you’ve got wings,” Sunset pointed out. “Can’t it be just, I don’t know, a quick round-trip?”

“No, no no, it’s fine,” her mother insisted. “Really, it’s fine. I, um– I kind of might need the boat for a souvenir. Who knows?”

“Stars above, you’re really weird,” Sunset deadpanned, shaking her head.

“No, I’m your Mom,” her mother replied, still with that obnoxious smile. “That’s how it works, right?”

Sunset buried her face in a hoof. “Okay, you need to stop,” she replied. “Please.”

Her mother laughed. “Oh, come on,” she said. “Or maybe something a little bit more old-fashioned would do?”

“No–”

Her protests went unheard as her mother placed a forehoof against her chest in an exaggerated gesture, sticking her muzzle up in the air. “Hark!” she exclaimed. “Pray tell, daughter of mine, how may I entertain thee? Huzzah!”

She laughed, as melodious as she could be, while Sunset exchanged a glance with Kibitz. The laughter died down as suddenly as it appeared, Celestia’s bright smile fading away for something more solemn to take its place.

“Mom?”

“Ah, pardon this old mare,” Celestia said, shaking her head. “But I’ve had a lot on my mind recently, Sunset.” She shook her head, kneeling down before Sunset. She removed her sunglasses, revealing those familiar magenta eyes staring at Sunset’s own blue pair. “I’m going to Oleander. There’s a little filly waiting there and I’ve promised her I’ll come pick her up myself.”

… Ah.

Right then and there, it all came together. Sunset’s frown relaxed, but still she felt an odd apprehension tingling at the back of her neck.

Her mother had plenty of students. She knew this well. Few measured up to her, the Princess’s personal student, but the School was open to all. In their time together, her mother would occasionally speak of those that came before her. Radiant Hope of the Crystal Realm, or Professor Inkwell and Professor Spell Nexus who headed the School for Gifted Unicorns, here in Canterlot – all the best and brightest of their times.

“Ugh,” Sunset finally said aloud. “You could’ve just said you’ve got another student coming in…”

Her mother said nothing to that at first, merely brushing away part of her fiery mane. “You always were the cleverest, Sunset,” she said sweetly.

Yet Sunset was unmoved. “Yeah, and Oleander’s pretty far,” she stated matter-of-factly. Her geography was a little rusty, not that she’d admit it, but a whole two weeks there and back again was no short distance. Her mother’s smile was apologetic, and a touch sadder still.

“I’m sorry, it’s… all a bit of a rush,” she said. “I promise I have a lot of letters to send, and I know how much you like my drawings, and two weeks is a long time. I’ll send as many as I can.”

“... But you’re still going away,” Sunset said quietly. Her mother, soft and gentle as always, was nevertheless decisive in her actions, and little she could say could ever dissuade her. “Fine. Have a safe trip, I guess.”

Her mother nodded, then took a step forward, pulling her into a tight hug. She was a hugger, alright, and this one was almost bearable in its tightness. But a hug was a hug, and so Sunset returned it as best as she could.

“Just come back, okay?” she said. “I still gotta study, you know.”

“Of course,” her mother said, with a smile radiant as the Sun. She glanced at the dining-room’s grandfather clock, letting out a long, tired sigh. “I have to go,” she said. “Take care, Sunset. Watch over the Palace while I’m gone. And don’t forget Philomena’s treats. You know she likes getting them from you.”

“I won’t,” Sunset replied shortly. “Bye, Mom.”

With one last, motherly smile, Celestia was out the door, closing it behind her. That left only Kibitz, and, to Sunset’s unspoken horror, the majordomo withdrew a large scroll from within the confines of his coat.

“Right, Miss Shimmer,” said Kibitz, with all the stuffiness of her other teachers. The scroll, unbound, rolled upon the floor, on and on. “Her Royal Highness has left me in charge of your schedule, and–”

Before Kibitz could finish unfurling that scroll or finish his words, Sunset had disappeared in a pop and a flash of light.


* * * * *


So very strange. It was so unlike Princess Celestia to travel at short notice.

As befitting a Princess of All Equestria, her mother’s trips were usually meticulously planned and organised, Sunset thought, even if they were smaller than what she had imagined. Yet faraway Oleander – that earthpony realm famed for its flowers and a lyrical language as rustically graceful as its people – was a destination few would come unprepared for. And ‘hasty’ was the most generous descriptor she could call her mother’s trip. Despite having said her goodbyes, Sunset’s mind remained on fire, and she found she couldn’t let the matter rest.

She needed to know more than just what Celestia had told her about this trip.

Not long after she’d left Kibitz with his list, Sunset dragged the one pony in the whole Palace with meticulous sky-faring knowledge out of bed, all the way to the East Tower where she and her mother resided. Once there, she rested upon the windowsill, keeping her gaze narrow and true.

Before her lay a sight that had greeted her on the busiest of days and the loneliest of nights. Canterlot, Equestria’s crown jewel, with its polished buildings and pristine winding roads. Here she saw it all, a sight for a privileged few. Above the bustling, waking city, sky-boats, pleasure yachts, and even a few grand airships flew in and out of the city, guided by the wind.

More often than not, she’d dreamt of what it’d feel like to rise above the city, the wind embracing wings to call her own…

But this was no time to dwell. Wherever her mother’s chosen sky-boat was, it was surely getting further away, and soon would be out of sight.

“Well?” Sunset asked aloud, as her erstwhile companion kept his spyglass focused upon the departing sky-boat. “What do you think?”

The pale-white colt next to her, his blonde mane somehow neatly combed and coiffed already, tapped his chin.

“Mmh, Vanhooverite make. Sturdy, yet light frame. Built for pursuit. Definitely Trailblazers, Captain Green Fields’ unit. Auntie’s got the Guard with her, alright.”

“I know what the Trailblazers are,” Sunset remarked, rolling her eyes. “They seek what’s lost and return what they’ve found, or however that pledge goes.”

Astron Blueblood let out a short laugh. “Careful now, Sunny. Wouldn’t want Kibitz to know you’ve been slacking on your studies.”

“Oh, knock it off,” Sunset bit back, lightly hitting him with the nearest notebook she could find. “No one’s gonna get on my case for forgetting a guard pledge.”

“Hey, you never know–” Blueblood retorted, dodging a swipe of Sunset’s hooves. 

She stuck her tongue out at him, then sighed. “Ugh, why do I even bother…” Sunset lamented. “Three years I’ve known you and you’re still this insufferable.”

“But you still hang out with me,” Blueblood pointed out. Sunset couldn’t tell whether it was snark or sincerity he’d carried in that pompous voice.

For a Prince, he’d never been the most dutiful; Sunset knew well enough. But that lifelong obsession with ships was, she had to admit, useful enough from time to time. No filly nor colt in all of Canterlot had lived amongst them as long as he did. Not that she’d ever admit Blueblood might have expertise in an area which far exceeded her own.

Shaking her head, Sunset went back to looking out the window. The sky-boat was out there, amongst the many other ships flying about in the Canterlot skies. Soon, it would disappear into the clouds.

“What’s a bunch of guards doing escorting Mom, anyway?” Sunset remarked.

Blueblood shrugged. “Maybe she’s being careful? Gotta prepare for anything, ’specially if you’re a Princess.”

“No, you dolt,” said Sunset. “Mom raises the Sun. No one’s that dumb.”

“I dunno, someone could be,” replied Blueblood. “It happens!”

“Yeah, I can tell,” Sunset deadpanned. She massaged her temples, gears turning and nose scrunched up. “Does your Dad even know where she’s going?”

“Father’s busy,” Blueblood answered simply. “Navy business today, I think. I dunno, I woke up late, so I guess he’s off already. Oh, hey!” he exclaimed, lifting his spyglass again, aiming towards the docks below. “A Mareabian dhow! Don’t see that everyday. I wonder why’s it come here…”

Sunset nodded, but said nothing else as he went back to his ship-watching.

Azure Haven Blueblood – stars, what a mouthful – and his escapades were the talk of the town, from joyrides to ventures in the navy. Yet, she’d scarcely seen him around. Taking his son out on excursions had always been trivial, both for her and her mother. Sometimes, she wondered if Azure noticed his son’s frequent absences, if he noticed him much at all.

One look at Blueblood’s awestruck eyes and cheery smile, and Sunset decided she could ask him about his father another day.

“Eh, who knows,” Sunset answered at last. “Spices, maybe? I dunno. Anyways, Bluey, d’you think we can follow Mom?”

Before that moment, Sunset hadn’t actively been planning to pursue her mother’s trail, yet now the question seemed as natural to her as waking up that morning.

Her companion lowered his spyglass, brow furrowed in thought. “Well, Father’s still gonna be a little busy, so we can scratch that away. The Guard, hmm, maybe I can–”

“Forget about the Guard. Can’t you borrow your Dad’s airship?” Sunset pressed. “Or sky-boat. Whatever.” 

“Just the latest, you know, and I can!” Blueblood exclaimed. “And an airship is big, a vessel that can hold at least a hundred souls and many tons of shipment. Sky-boats are small,” he added pedantically. “I just don’t know where Auntie’s going.”

“She’s going to Oleander,” Sunset said as patiently as she could, even as her lips twitched. “Keep up, will ya?”

“Oh no, that’s the thing,” Blueblood retorted, waving a hoof. “I don’t know where in Oleander.”

“Then figure it out!” Sunset said, a touch annoyed. She poked his flank where his mark lay – a compass rose. “I thought you were the navigator in the family.”

“Well, yeah, I am! Latest, at least, but it’d be seven days to reach Oleander most of the time, and don’t suppose we’d bump into her, right? Sky’s a huge place and all.”

Sunset groaned, burying her face in her hooves. Yet she conceded his point, agonising as it was. All they could do at the moment was watch the Royal Guard’s sky-boat disappear into the clouds.

“Hey, uh…” Blueblood began. “You know, Kibitz can cook. Not as good as Auntie’s cooking, but then again, he does lots of things too. We’ll be okay.”

Sunset’s ears flicked, and she looked up from her hooves. Of course. How could she have been so blind?

“I’ll be back,” said Sunset. “You stay here and… I dunno, do whatever it is you do.”

“Okay!” Blueblood said. “I’ll be–”

Sunset hadn’t heard what he’d do, for she’d blinked and disappeared yet again.


* * * * *


Kibitz, like many of his ilk, was the sort of pony whose routines were easily guessed. So there was little surprise when Sunset found him exactly where she thought he’d be. 

The Chamber of the Ministers was the oldest in the castle, its pillars tall and its polished marble floor as old as the Palace itself. Far above, one could see the stars twinkle, so lifelike the ceiling had been painted. And true to its name, the massive roundtable that dominated the chamber usually seated all the members of the Cabinet, the Archmage, and the Prime Minister herself. 

And, of course, her mother would oversee them, seated at a chair grander than all.

But at this particular hour, and at the end of the week, there were no stuffy officials or stacks of paperwork, and each of the seats were empty. By the fireplace, beneath the painting of the Changeling Winter Treaty of 517, Sunset saw Kibitz. Seated at one of several identical-looking chairs with Philomena perched above him, he looked deep in thought, listening to the person seated opposite him. The barest hints of the visitor’s white feathers and coat gave her pause. She couldn’t have returned that quickly, right?

As Sunset approached, her rising hope disappeared. A foreleg tipped with a clawed appendage rose from the seat, and the speaker leaned forward.

A very pale, almost whiteish pink dominated this visitor’s features. A plume of purple-and-blue feathers adorned their head, their mouth was a beak, and though their eyes passed for her mother’s pair, they lacked the same warmth.

A hippogriff, then. Taller and lankier than griffons, with a more colourful plumage.

“...His encroachment on our ancestral lands can no longer be tolerated,” the hippogriff said, their voice majestic yet haughty. Their hand clenched. “His power must be broken at its source. Are you certain Equestria cannot aid in a pursuit?”

“I’m afraid so, Your Majesty,” Kibitz said, nodding. “The Storm King is beyond our… Miss Shimmer?”

The hippogriff poked their head out of their seat, taking in the sight of her with an uncomfortably griffon-like gaze.

“Ah, and who might you be?” they asked.

Sunset held her head higher still. “Sunset Shimmer, daughter and apprentice to Princess Celestia,” she recited primly. “And you’re–”

“Queen Novo, of Hippogriffia,” Kibitz interrupted, in the grandest voice he could muster. “Her Royal Majesty is an honoured guest, Miss Shimmer.”

That gave Sunset some pause. Hippogriffs were known to be nomadic, a people without a home. If her history lessons were correct – and she doubted they weren’t – only in recent times had they resettled the ancient mountain from whence they came with the support of Equestria. Based on what she cared to recall of her studies in contemporary politics, this was all part of a greater ideological current, gaining traction in recent decades, of co-operation between the equine peoples of the world. Pan-Equinism, that was the name.

None of this mattered much to her right now, however, for Queen Novo was not her mother, and her mother was not here.

“Right,” Sunset said, giving the Queen an acknowledging nod before turning to Kibitz. “Can we talk for a sec, Mister Kibitz?”

“Miss Shimmer, please,” said Kibitz. “I am tending to a very important meeting.” He gave a respectful nod towards Queen Novo. “Her Royal Majesty has been seeking an audience for some time, and it’s unfortunate that Princess Celestia’s newfound obligation this week has unexpectedly superseded it.”

This piqued Sunset’s curiosity. Her mother was not one to leave people hanging. Already Celestia’s personal departure to pick up a new student, arranged on the fly – as it were – was highly unusual of her. But to deem it of greater importance than a meeting with a fellow head of state, on the very day when their meeting had been planned?

The Hippogriff Queen inclined her head slightly, smiling serenely. Sunset gave her a once-over before scoffing.

“Well, if this meeting’s so important, where is she, then?” asked Sunset. “Where’s my mother?”

That regal smile fell. Kibitz paled more than Sunset thought he ever could.

“Pardon me, Your Majesty,” he said, before joining Sunset’s side. “I shan’t be long.”


* * * * *


“Alright, Miss Shimmer,” Kibitz began. Though he’d tried to hide it, Sunset could see his whiskers bristle with impatience. “What seems to be the problem?”

In a hurry, Kibitz had ushered Sunset away, and nothing more was spoken between her and the Hippogriff Queen save for a pointed exchange of glances.

Now they were in one of the ministerial offices. She sat where the Minister of Foreign Affairs would sort out the most recent crises. Kibitz stood by her side, looking at her with tired eyes.

“Where’s Mom going?” Sunset asked in return, directly, determined now to get to the bottom of this affair. “You know where she’s going, don’t you?”

Kibitz let out a long, weary sigh. “I cannot say for sure,” he said – lied, more likely. “She’s been rather… mum about things.”

Sunset stomped a hoof, huffing. “Ugh, you’re no help either! Then I guess I’ll go find her myself.”

“Miss Shimmer, please,” Kibitz said, not unkindly, and Sunset was surprised that characteristic weariness when it came to her didn’t show at all. “I’m certain all will be explained in time.”

“But when? You said you don’t even know where exactly she‘s going!”

“Her Royal Highness herself is uncertain how long it shall be,” Kibitz replied, undeterred. “Beyond the two-week estimate, I don’t know all the details for certain–”

His words were interrupted by an agitated cry. Sunset sunk to the floor with another groan.

No answers, no direction, nowhere near finding her mother again. A dead end. Some protegée she was, to rely on others so very greatly…

Then, a calming touch on her shoulder prompted her to look up. The frustration she recognised in Kibitz beneath his unflappable surface had long melted away, with nothing except for concern left in his aging eyes as he knelt down to meet her gaze.

“Miss Shimmer,” said Kibitz. His voice grew gentler still. “I know how… difficult this all is. But I assure you, she’ll return in time. And you know she promised letters.”

“But it’s not the same.”

“It isn’t. But it’s the best she can manage for now. I’m sorry.”

He rose up, dusting himself off.

“I shall have to return to the meeting soon,” he said, wiping his glasses. “Please, Miss Shimmer, know that all will be explained.”

For an eternity, Sunset ruminated on this, biting her lips. Her mother, who seemed so open, could be inscrutable when she chose to be. Sunset had no doubt that all the letters and kind words she’d receive while Celestia was away would tell her no more, either. But there was nothing left to be done. Not here, as much as she hated it.

She sighed.

“Oh, fine,” said Sunset. “But I’m hungry. And I want pancakes.”

Kibitz tapped his chin. “Well, it’s getting a bit late in the morn, but I suppose I can arrange that…” With a loud pop, one of his perennial scrolls appeared in his aura. After a moment’s scribbling, it vanished just as suddenly. “The kitchen ought to be available most times, breakfast and dinner. You need only ask them, just as I did. Now, your pancakes should be ready quite soon.”

Sunset beamed at that, but it faltered ever so slightly when she caught sight of Kibitz’s smile.

“Wait,” Sunset said. “Which one did you ask them to make?”

“The one with red berries for noses, of course.”

“Wh–Kibitz!”

“I’m afraid I am needed elsewhere, Miss Shimmer,” Kibitz said, louder than he ought to be, quickly moving towards the door. “Have a good breakfast!”

Before Sunset could let out so much as an indignant cry, he’d already shut the door on her.


* * * * *


The pancakes were, Sunset begrudgingly had to admit, fine enough. But they weren’t her mother’s, and, at the end of the day they were yet another reminder of how far away Princess Celestia had gone. 

Next came the wait. An agonising, painfully slow, two-week wait. Day after day, the Sun rose and set, as it always did. Letters arrived all the same, written in that regal cursive only a Princess could ever do, telling stories of whimsical encounters and enchanting vistas, from meetings with intrepid Kirin and wandering griffons, to turbulent skies and the familiar beaches of Monacolt.

Even in the long stretches of nothing, her mother still found the time to write of the various antics of the Guard on board with her. How laid-back Captain Green Fields had been, how riveting their tales of monster-fighting were. And always, always, the image of the skies followed. Most of these were accompanied with a water-colour most lush, some of which Sunset deemed worthy of the place upon her desk. But even then, it did not help much in curing her longing, for little else had been of her interest.
 
Parliament had been boring. Utterly so, with long, fruitless debates that she couldn’t bother listening to in great detail. Her only source of amusement came when a group of journalists approached her the first day she’d come there, peppering her with questions about herself and her mother. Before she could answer any of them, Prime Minister Stormy Flare herself came over and ushered Sunset away, frantically asking what she’d been doing alone in the building.

And even the dashing ex-Wonderbolt of a Prime Minister had grown increasingly bothered, Sunset could tell, by the proposals Sunset had brought up over the passing days. Among others, that the Princess of All Equestria ought to take charge more often than not, that healthcare should rely more on the kindness and charity of the people, that the voting age ought to be lowered so she herself could vote. Most of which, to Sunset’s chagrin, was received with lukewarm stares, patient rebuttals, and utter confusion. She swore the opposition leader, Sky Trot, nearly burst out laughing when she’d proposed immunity from taxation.

It did come as a surprise to her that, of all things, orphanage subsidies were the one suggestion they were most interested in.

As for school, to call it less boring would be a fair statement, but it hadn’t occurred to Sunset until the second day that much of the fun had been with her mother. The teachers at the School for Gifted Unicorns had been far more interested in results than the flourishes of her spellcraft. Not that her talents were ever in any doubt, since she’d passed every assignment just as well as preceding her mother’s absence, but there were more critical comments concerning her stance in spellcasting, her work with her classmates, even the quality of her cursive.

Of course, that dolt Neighsay had denied it when Sunset had asked about the nitpicks, but he clearly had it out for her. Sure, she could have helped out little Lyra Heartstrings with a tricky teleportation spell, lest that accident with the beaker in the pre-entrance exam could be avoided, but juniors were always such a hassle to deal with, and it had never been her responsibility to ensure others would make it in.

Above all, the crushing, empty, agonising loneliness wore her down day and night. Not Kibitz, not Astron or Philomena, not even that little flower-shop down the main road – where she could speak away her greatest worries aloud without a care – could have cured it. Not even a peek at Kibitz’s agenda, nor a letter from her mother informing her the very day she would return, gave Sunset much in the way of comfort.

So every evening of every day, Sunset would return to her room, hoping to catch a glimpse of Celestia above, with wings as beautiful as the Sun she raised, amongst the clouds and stars.

All for naught. Nothing for her to see, for her mother was away, so very far away, and there was little else Sunset could do but look out towards the skies, her dreams carrying her to join the great aviators, feeling the winds embrace her as if she belonged there…

Then, on a particularly bright, cloudless afternoon, Sunset caught sight of a sky-boat fast-descending upon the city.


* * * * *


Down, down the winding steps of Canterlot Palace, Sunset galloped. Past ancient tapestries and confused staff, a sleepy Blueblood and a startled Kibitz with a stack of papers, all the way down until she came to a screeching halt at the Entrance Hall.

Panting, her breathing heavy and shallow, chest feeling tight, Sunset cursed her carelessness. So excited was she that she’d forgotten to cast a spell or teleport. All passing regrets, though. She waited before the Hall’s doors, firm as a statue.

So many questions to ask. Where had her mother gone off to? Who had she met, spoken to?

Above all else, why in Equestria had she left?

All of which Sunset was dying to know, as the seconds went by and grew longer still with each beat of her heart.

Not too long after she’d arrived, the doors to the Entrance Hall swung wide open. Sunset first saw Captain Green Fields – as lush green as his name implied, yet hardly inexperienced – leading the way as befitting a Trailblazer.

Next, Sunset saw her–looking as tall and beautiful and kindly as ever. Gone was that garish outfit – besides the sunglasses – as Princess Celestia looked for all the world as regal as she should.

But who Sunset saw by her mother’s side gave her some pause. She had never seen anyone so cheery before. A very bright and warm pink coat assaulted Sunset’s eyes, coupled with a three-tone mane of regal purple and pink and faded yellow, crowned by a long, spindly horn.

Above all, those purple eyes, with curiosity and anxiety both, yet warmth all the same in them. Eyes that widened upon sighting her, as she raised a hoof in a greeting.

“Oh, hello, signorita! My name is–”

The filly began to speak in thickly accented, almost-musical Equish, but Sunset paid her little heed, as she stomped ahead.

Her mother lifted her sunglasses, her gaze falling upon her.

“Hello, Sunset,” she said, smiling brightly. “I’ve missed you.”

Sunset said nothing, furrowing her brow and scrunching her nose. A quick apology from Kibitz, galloping in and ushering away the other filly as fast as he had appeared, went unheard.

Not another word was spoken as Sunset closed the distance between them with haughty stomps to give her mother the tightest hug she could ever muster.


* * * * *


It had taken all of Sunset’s strength not to bombard her mother with every question she could think of. Not right away, at least. She kept mum all the way, not even speaking when Philomena joined them with a curious chirp. No word came from her as she guided her mother up the East Tower. 

Only when they’d arrived at her room, across from her mother’s, and those dumb sunglasses were off her mother’s eyes, did she finally speak.

“Where were you all this time?! Do you have any idea how insufferable things get? I had to deal with Kibitz and Bluey! Ugh! Everything is just, so, so slow! Every time I want to do something, Kibitz shows up and just goes, blah, you can’t do this, blah, you can’t do that!”

Her mother let out a gentle chuckle. “Come now, I know you don’t really mind them much, do you?”

Sunset, undeterred and feeling her cheeks heat up, stomped a hoof. “Not both of them at the same time! Bluey doesn’t seem to care about anything other than the dumb title his dad gave him! Or will give him, whatever! Airship this, princely that, argh!”

Her mother, ever so inscrutable and distant, yet warm all at once, said nothing to that at first. Sunset looked away, grumbling, cheeks burning. She went over to the windowsill, looking out towards the sight of Canterlot.

"You told me about… about all these amazing places you got to visit and see from up above,” said Sunset, watching the city stir in the light of the Sun. A hoof reached out to follow an airship, as it descended to join others in the city’s port. “And I'm stuck here, like I always will be."

Still she kept her eyes away from her mother, for surely the wetness in them wasn’t something her mother needed to see.

“Why did you have to go?” Sunset asked, “Couldn’t I have come with you? See all these sights and places you got to see? Do you not trust me at all?”

Every syllable was harder than the last. Sunset cursed herself for allowing some softness to creep in through her bitter voice.

All of that melted when she felt a familiar nuzzle, for Philomena had joined her on the windowsill with that melodious phoenix song of hers. As Sunset gave her a pat, her mother laid a wing on her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have left so hastily. I’ll explain, Sunset. I promise.” A pause. “You can come with me to Monacolt for two weeks next time. What do you think about that?”

Sunset had to roll her eyes. “Ugh, fine,” she said. She poked her mother’s chest. “Just don’t ever do that again, okay?”

Her mother let out that dumb, stupid, endearing laugh of hers, and pulled her into a hug. “I know how much you miss my cooking, so, how about an extra portion this evening? How’s that sound?”

“Okaaay, Mom, you don’t have to lay it on so thick. Also, you owe Philomena an apology, too,” Sunset said. “I took good care of her, alright, but you know how fussy they get, phoenixes. You’re lucky she didn’t molt.”

“And for that, I am grateful, Sunset.” Her mother beckoned Philomena to approach, lifting a welcoming forehoof. When the great phoenix came to perch upon it, she gave her a nuzzle. “I’m sorry too, Philomena. Seems it’s been a hectic fortnight for you too, hasn’t it?”

The phoenix chirped, poking the Princess of All Equestria’s snout with her beak. And what could her mother do but let out another melodious laugh. One that, as it went on and filled the air, Sunset couldn’t help but join in with a smile and chuckle, for she too was pulled for a tight hug.

But the laughter died down, and as Sunset’s mind cleared, one last question remained.

“Mom?” she asked at last. “Who’d you bring with you?”


* * * * *


In the deepest, darkest days of the past Winter, Cadenza had seen a garden. 

It was a garden not of Oleander, nor of any realm under the Sun. Who else could have dreamt of a garden such as what she had seen? A garden lit by twinkling stardust?

An endless expanse under the eternal night. At the heart of it, when she’d walked a great distance, there Cadenza came across a clearing with flowers of so many scents and colours. All of which she could not name, arranged in pots and planted upon the rich soil. Yet none came to join her there, no matter how long she’d waited under the silver Moon.

There was little else she could recall when she woke up in the freezing cold of her village, beset by an enchantress. But she could always remember the warmth and calm it had brought to her, in all its tranquil beauty.

When the Sun Princess came, bringing stories of family and heirs and a lost legacy for her to bear, Cadenza knew in her heart where the garden would be.

But here, standing in the Canterlot Palace, across the sea and so far away from her village home of Florentina, she found that she did not recognise the garden at all.

‘Yet I mustn’t be unkind,’ Cadenza thought, listening along to the gardener, Mister Greenhooves, as he recited fondly how everything had been arranged just as requested by the Palace. 

“... And that’s about the last time we’ll let possums in ‘ere,” Greenhooves finished his recount, most of which had gone unheard by Cadenza. The hardy earthpony tapped his shovel. “Well, whaddaya think, Miss?”

Cadenza blinked twice, focusing her eyes on Greenhooves, all hopeful and cheery. She mustered a gentle smile.

“I think you do a fine job, Mister Greenhooves,” said Cadenza, wincing at her Equish. Though Aunt Celestia had taught her the bare basics of the alicorns’ Gift of Tongues, their capacity to understand the many languages of the world, she still felt her native Oleandrite accent creep in. “Pardon me, I’m still not familiar with Equish. Ahem. Sorry.”

“Shucks, I’d reckon you’re better than most o’ my family as is,” said Greenhooves, chuckling heartily. He tipped his hat. “You’re mighty kind, Miss.”

Cadenza could only nod to that. It was as kind as she could put it, even as her heart still ached.

For where she saw lush, unwieldy beauty in that dream-garden of stardust, here she only saw a neatly arranged, well-ordered, soulless facade. This was no garden of Oleander’s, of her village’s. Perhaps it was the way things were here.

She steeled herself as Greenhooves returned to tend to the garden. She’d made her choice. She’d joined the Sun Princess’s side. And here was a new realm to see…

So distracted was Cadenza that she’d almost missed the short, polite cough behind her. She turned ‘round and saw Kibitz standing beneath the garden’s gates. 

His glasses prim, his gray mane proper, his moustache impossible to miss, Aunt Celestia had mentioned him as the Palace majordomo. He’d ushered her away from the fiery, incandescent-looking filly, brought her here at her request while he departed to finish an errand. An errand that, evidently, he’d finished.

“Mister Kibitz,” said Cadenza, giving a little curtsy, or what she hoped might pass as one. “Is something the matter?”

“We’re a bit overdue for the next item on your schedule,” said Kibitz, glancing over at the scroll he’d brought. “Dinner ought to be ready in the next half-hour.” With a tap of his horn, the scroll rolled up back into his coat. “You’re due a meeting with Her Royal Highness. Still a few things to arrange, I believe…”

He looked at her, frowning a little. For a moment, Cadenza was worried he’d picked up on her weariness, surely unbecoming of a Canterlot denizen.

“Right,” he said, softening. “We did take care of your luggage, Miss Amore, but I don’t suppose you’re looking forward to a tour of the room?”

Was that jest she heard – a playful tone behind that prim look and voice? Cadenza couldn’t tell just yet. But Kibitz had stepped aside, beckoning her to follow.

“Gladly, Mister,” said Cadenza, smiling. “Lead the way.”

As she waved goodbye to Mister Greenhooves and joined Kibitz, the two of them walking through the historic palace, Mi Amore Cadenza wondered if she’d see the garden wreathed in stardust again.



> Act I ~ Chapter Two ~ A Child of Crystal
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


II
A Child of Crystal




The walk up the East Tower took an eternity. How could it not, when Princess Celestia had mentioned it was the tallest of the Palace towers? But Sunset took on the challenge, just as she always had, as she kept pace with the alicorn by her side. It bewildered her that Celestia had insisted on carrying her luggage. There were only two cases, true, but she could handle them well enough on her own.

It was a humble little task no Princess should do, yet she’d only chuckled and smiled kindly, telling her that she needed not fret about it.

So Sunset let the matter pass, and the rest of their walk went in silence.

“And here we are,” Celestia said. With flourish such as only she could manage, she unlocked the beautiful purple door before them and opened it up.

Before Sunset’s eyes lay the largest bedroom she’d ever stood in. Two windows dominated, one towards the East and the other the West. The dying rays of the Sun shone through the glass, illuminating the room in a warm yellow light. Up above, a crystalline chandelier hung, set against a mural of the Sun that dominated the ceiling.

The furniture, too, drew her eyes. A wooden desk, beautifully carved for study. A lush poster-bed against the blue walls, its sheets plain yet comfortable-looking.

Finally – and Sunset knew not how she’d missed this initially – a fruit bowl at the centre, sitting atop a little circular table. Taking ginger steps inside, she took a whiff of its scent.

Fresh, and alluring. When was the last time she’d eaten…

“What do you think?” Celestia’s velvet voice interrupted her hungry thoughts.

Sunset scrunched her brow. “I guess it looks nice,” she replied, feeling a tad unsure.

Was this a test? Celestia looked so expectant, so hopeful. Whatever sort of game she was playing, perhaps it was best to play along. But a question passed her mind just as she pondered how comfortable the bed would be.

“So, whose room was this?” Sunset asked. “Was this your sister’s?”

Even as the words left her mouth, it felt so strange to think that Celestia would ever stand to share the same space with the upstart sister who’d sought to overthrow her so long ago.

Celestia’s look was contemplative and wistful. “I see someone’s done her homework,” she replied. “But no, no. Luna got her own tower and room to go with it when she came of age. Sisters, you know how they… well, assert themselves…” 

Her voice trailed off, gaze drifting off towards the window. But then she returned it to Sunset, smiling brightly.

“Starswirl had this room made for a future consort,” said Celestia. “He insisted, even after I’d told him I’ve no interest in partners, romantic or otherwise, and I’d have preferred this as a particularly large lounge. I suppose it didn’t help my argument much.” 

She shook her head, laughing fondly as if it was some unheard joke. “Ah, Starswirl, how I miss him. I’ve had it as a guest room since, and now it belongs to you.”

“Oh,” Sunset said. “Uh… I see. It’s mine?”

“Of course, Sunset,” said Celestia. “It does need your touch, though. What do you need?”

She had to be careful, now. Who knew how Celestia would react should she ask for more than she deserved.

Finally, Sunset puffed up her chest a little, looking firmly at the alicorn before her.

“Can I repaint the room some time? Blue’s not really my colour.”

The audacity of her. But Celestia did not seem to mind, simply nodding along.

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. I’ll ask Kibitz if anyone’s available to paint this week,” she said, with nothing that resembled hesitation. “Will that be all?”

“Yeah. I guess so, Your Highness.”

“Please, Sunset,” said Celestia. Was that a flush of colour on her porcelain cheeks? “You may call me Celestia. Titles and honourifics are fancy and all, but they do get so stifling.”

“I don’t know,” Sunset said, brow furrowed. “It sounds weird.”

“Only if you’re comfortable, of course,” said Celestia lightly. “Well, I’ll be in my room if you need anything else,” she continued, pointing with a wing towards the door across the hall. “Dinner is in an hour or so, and my, wasn’t that a long day. Have a good rest, Sunset.”

“Yes, Your High–Celestia,” said Sunset. Still the word felt foreign to her, as it did to discard the title the alicorn princess had carried for so long. But Celestia smiled brighter still, and the warmth it gave did not leave Sunset, even as she closed the door behind her.

Now she was alone, all alone, in her own room.

Her own room. Such a strange thought. Sunset had never had a room all to herself before, although, on occasion, her memory conjured the briefest flashes of a crib. A glance at her flank, then at the mural of the Sun above, did much to reassure her. With a happy little skip in her steps and an apple in the grip of her aura, she approached the nearest window.

Before her eyes lay the city. She had never been this high above Canterlot, amongst the clouds and possessing a view many would envy. Birds flew all around, freely. The city’s weather team darted around, dutifully carrying out their work. The crown jewel of Equestria, the heart of a nation many had coveted, yet few had dared to trespass and none had successfully held. An ivory city, to this day, enchanting all who laid eyes upon it and walked its streets.

Then, Sunset saw them. Airships, of many a make and model, carrying flags as far as Neighpon and Saddle Mareabia. So many flew above the city, and here she stood taller than them. With a flick of her horn, she lifted her little model airship above her head, presenting it for all Canterlot.

As Sunset watched in awe of a great airship parting the clouds, she found all was right.


* * * * *


‘Grandiose.’

The word echoed in Cadenza’s mind. It was the best she could use to describe the room presented before her.

It’d been a decently long walk through the Palace halls, past paintings and stained windows and other such fanciful things so foreign to her village, before they’d reached the sprawling room. With Kibitz inspecting her luggage, lined near the door, Cadenza took a ginger few steps inside. Beneath her hooves, where she’d expected wooden boards, there was only polished marble that reflected her vibrant pink coat upon it. From a glance at one corner to the other, illuminated by dim lamps, she saw that the room could perhaps even fit the entirety of her old caretaker’s greenhouse.

‘If you could see me now, Nonna…’

Yet, where there was lush greenery in the greenhouse, and funny little wooden trinkets that old Nonna Espina had kept around her room alongside her humble little bed and chair, here there were neither. The room of marble was white on all sides, a grayish tint to its fancy walls, lamps hanging all around it. A desk of heavy wood and a mirror set upon the wall drew her eyes, making Cadenza wonder who could ever have that much to keep around. Even she, who’d never lacked in the village’s love, carried only two cases filled with personal effects and mementos. Books the Mayor had donated, toys she’d shared with her playmate Benna, even gardening tools Nonna Espina had given her.

A bowl of fruits – apples and oranges and a few bananas – was set upon the low table before her. It was the only true splash of colour here, and for all Cadenza knew these might as well have been the most vibrant fruits ever, so striking to her eyes against the dull marble.

“Mister Kibitz?” Cadenza asked, turning to him. “May I ask, um, whose room this belonged to?”

“Oh, this? Simply a guest suite, Miss Amore,” Kibitz said primly. “But the Princess has arranged for it to be your room.” He offered a comforting smile. “Not to worry, Miss. It’s not quite the busiest season, but when the Summer Sun Celebration comes, plenty of delegates from far and wide will come here. Let me tell you, Miss, they have a lot of stories to tell from faraway lands. I’m sure they’ll be good company.”

That gave Cadenza some pause. She hadn’t even been to Belladonna, Oleander’s lovely capital, let alone mingled amongst its people, with their fancy ways and thoughts alien to her little village. And here Kibitz had spoken so easily of foreign delegates, surely each as formal as the other. Some would be patient. Others would not. And though she’d welcome them with a smile, Cadenza wondered if their hearts would have room for her at all.

But another striking thought passed her by – that of the sight that had greeted her upon entering the Palace. A fiery orange-and-red. A harsh blue glare. An amber coat vibrant and raw. Kibitz had ushered her away soon after she’d spotted these, but the impression remained all too clear.

“The filly I saw,” Cadenza began. “Was that Sunset? Aunt Celestia told me about her. She said she was brilliant.”

Kibitz, for his part, sighed. “Yes, that was indeed Miss Sunset Shimmer. The Princess had refrained from taking her along and… Well, you’ve seen her.”

Cadenza nodded along. “She didn’t look too happy,” she said. “I guess we’ll be having dinner with everyone soon, then?”

She must have let out more of her worry than she’d wanted, as Kibitz raised an eyebrow. “Aye, Miss. Her Royal Highness, Miss Shimmer, and Master Blueblood,” Kibitz recited. “But if Miss Shimmer discomforts you so–”

“Oh, no-no-no,” Cadenza added. “I was actually wondering, could you take me to the dining room right away? I can unpack my luggage myself. But, um… right. Could you teach me how they… eat, in Canterlot?”

The look of surprise on Kibitz’s face brought immediate shame and ridicule to Cadenza. How could it not? She’d kept dragging him around, and now she demanded more with so little time to consider it. But when he spoke, there wasn’t condescension in his voice, merely reassurance.

“Of course, Miss. Proper manners are to be expected, but everyone’s got their first time. What kind of tutor am I, if I cannot teach you something so simple as table manners? It seems we’ll just be getting to that sooner than I’d planned. Well, come along, come along, dinner should be ready in a few hours. Best not to rest on an empty stomach, you see…”

As Cadenza followed, feeling the weight of the grandeur and stuffy decoration of the room, she wondered, empty stomach or no, if she’d be able to sleep at all.


* * * * *


Impossible, Sunset concluded, was the only word. No other word could have described what she was hearing over the past hour, two hours, perhaps even an eternity.

An alicorn ascended in a tiny village so far from all that she knew. A filly who’d achieved the impossible. Most of all, a stranger had found her way in their home. The moment repeated itself over and over in her mind, her thoughts racing to find anything that’d make sense of it all.

But it was the undeniable truth. How had she missed it? How could she have missed it? How obvious it was now, that the pink filly her mother called Mi Amore Cadenza had a pair of wings to go with her horn. 

“Sunset?”

Her mother’s voice was eternally calm, placating, yet it felt like a sudden splash of ice-cold water. Sunset shook her head, affecting a cool tone as she tore her gaze away from the window. “Yeah?”

“Are you alright?” her mother asked, growing worried. “You’ve been quiet.”

“I guess. I’m just… thinking about this,” Sunset said. She found little reason to lie. Her mother would know, as she always did. “I mean, hey! It’s not like every day your mom comes in and, and brings some other kid over, right?” She hopped onto her bed, going to sit upon the edge. “Doesn’t that sound weird to you?”

She paused, recalling her mother’s oldest stories. Her mother had always been an alicorn. None had seen another alicorn for a thousand years, and save for obscure myths and legends lost to the fog of ages, there was no such thing as an alicorn other than the Sun and Moon.

“You saw it, didn’t you?” Sunset said, tearing her gaze away, finding the latest model of a Kreme-Brulee airship on her desk far more interesting at the moment. “The ascension.”

Her mother nodded. “With my own eyes,” she said, almost a whisper. “I saw her tread the starry path of the in-between, this child I had never seen. But I saw her, and she saw me, and, at that moment, I knew that she was real, that she was meant to be there… That… she was meant for it.”

Sunset opened her mouth to retort, to snark back, but found nothing that came to her. Her mother’s voice had quivered with each syllable, dripping with wistful longing. Still, doubt rose in her chest, her thoughts turning away from the great aviators of the realm and latest breakthroughs on the field that she’d read in the morning papers.

What sort of student was she to lose to some country filly whose name she’d never heard of, whether it be through her achievements or idle chatter amongst the gentry?

“I thought I was meant to ascend,” Sunset said at last, blankly. 

“You are, Sunset, and you will,” said her mother. She’d joined her on the bed, nudging her with an elegant wing. “Have I ever had another student more brilliant and clever? You’ll catch up to her in no time, I’m sure…”

Sweet and kind and always so generous with words, her mother was. But all Sunset answered her with was a roll of her eyes.

“Fine, okay, stop,” Sunset said, pushing the wing away. “I mean I am, but now you’re just laying it on thick, Mom. Exam’s not even going to be for the next few months.”

“Then you’ve plenty of time to study, right?” her mother retorted, laughing. “Oh dear, we’re some lessons short. I owe you a few, don’t I?”

“Now you remember,” Sunset deadpanned. “Come on, Mom. We still have time this week.”

Her mother looked for all the world like someone caught with her hoof in a cookie jar. “Ah… well… Next week, dear.”

“But–my schedule? Mom, we haven’t even finished that transfiguration session yet! Wha–”

The answer came to her just as suddenly as her confusion. Only the second time she’d overlooked this. How could she have forgotten what they’d discussed only two weeks ago…

“I’ll be helping Mi Amore settle in first,” said her mother, biting her lower lip right after, which confirmed all of Sunset’s worst fears. 

“She’s staying, isn’t she?” came Sunset’s whispered reply, more a statement than a retort.

“Yes,” her mother answered anyway. “It’s all been arranged, Sunset. Mi Amore’s village isn’t so large and it will take time for her to truly adjust. Kibitz will take charge, but… Well, there are no other alicorns around.”

‘Yet,’ Sunset finished, yet she spoke no further as her mother rose from the bed.

“I’ll be going to Mi Amore’s room soon. I’m sure you’ll like her, she’s just the loveliest,” her mother said, horn glowing bright with her yellow aura. “Just because she’s ahead, doesn’t mean you can’t ask her a few things. Come, Sunset, you’ll miss dinner.”

Many a question passed, many a barbed answer unspoken. Her mother – she’d brought a stranger here, spoken of allowing her to tread where she’d walked and live among them. To hear her own mother speak so freely, so freely of…

“I’m not hungry,” Sunset replied. “Just… I need to think. And study.”

“But Sunset, you know our saying in this house. You can’t think on an empty stomach, can you?” her mother persisted. “These past few weeks have been tense for you, I know it. So won’t you have some pancakes with us?”

Her mother, always so clever, with all the right words. The thought of pancakes was overwhelming. Perhaps it was her growing hunger, too. Sunset could just picture herself, with Celestia and Blueblood and the newcomer, feasting on the best pancakes of the realm, for surely no other pony could cook as well as the Princess of All Equestria.

Then she thought of the filly joining them at the table. The stranger. The alicorn. She who had beaten her to her right, who’d achieved what she and her mother thought was only a dream… Yet what sort of dream walked amongst the living, as real as any pony could be?

‘What exactly are you hiding…’ Sunset thought fleetingly, her mind racing.

Outside her window, the Moon rose in full as the Sun finally disappeared beneath the horizon, the gaze of the Mare in the Moon slowly falling upon the realm as it had for centuries past. Framed by the silver moonlight, Sunset thought she’d never seen her mother look still so lovely, but at the same time, so secretly old.

She had but one answer to give.

“Okay.”


* * * * *


Canterlot dinners were quiet.

Cadenza had never been to such a quiet dinner before. There were, of course, times when few had found stories to share around the campfire or in the village hall, even during their momentous occasions. But never complete and utter silence, such as what she was witnessing. For not a single word was spoken there, between all four of them.

She couldn’t blame them, though. She’d been quiet, too. It was all very new to her.

Her chair was large, larger than even the mayor’s. Even with her new form, she still felt so small in this grand and monumental chamber, larger than the village hall as it was. The ceilings were set very high up above her head, a chandelier hanging down to illuminate the whole dining room with candlelight.

Though it was large, here there were less than half the number of ponies who’d usually attend her village’s nightly feasts. There weren’t even any servants, which surprised Cadenza. Only the four of them, seated around a large, rectangular table covered in a dark red tablecloth.

She recognised Aunt Celestia right away, whom she’d met halfway from her new quarters and who’d escorted her to the dining room. The Princess sat opposite her, idly nibbling on a piece of chocolate cake, neglecting her main course of what looked to be flatbread wrapped around vegetables. The great bird that accompanied her – Philomena, she was called – was perched on her chair, fast asleep.

Right after she finished her slice of cake, Aunt Celestia looked at her, smiling encouragingly. “Go on, Mi Amore. There’s a lot to go around.”

Cadenza answered with a crooked smile. She returned her gaze to the table, where a feast was presented for them. How else to describe it?

There were foods of all kinds there, both familiar and alien, with even those she recognised having an Equestrian flourish to their preparation and presentation. She knew not where to begin outside of her bowl. There were breads, salads, soups, even pasta, but these were the only ones she’d recognised at once. Alongside them were colourful fruits and flowers, white rice, and cassava, among others she couldn’t even name.

She glanced at the blond, white unicorn colt munching on a large sandwich held aloft in his aura. A rather sprightly colt, from the brief moment Cadenza had met him in the hallway. Astron Blueblood was his name, she was told, but he’d insisted on being called Blueblood. Cadenza wondered why when his father had been there as well, and, surely like all gentry, they shared a family name. But then the colt’s father had left to deal with other matters, although Cadenza couldn’t fathom his reasons for skipping dinner with his son.

Not that Prince Astron, or Blueblood, seemed to mind, outside of a quick downcast look Cadenza had spotted for a moment. He went for another bite, loudly, and the thought of his absent father gradually faded from Cadenza’s mind, even if she never quite stopped wondering how a son could know his father and be so far apart from him when she – without parents – had been raised in the care of a village.

Finally, Cadenza’s gaze fell upon the filly to her left.

The filly’s orange-and-red mane remained distinct even under the candlelight. She looked mildly annoyed, her brilliant blue eyes seemingly fixed in a glare, but Cadenza concluded this was simply how she looked most of the time. Her horn was aglow, with the colour of amaranth wrapped around a pair of chopsticks. Sunset had requested a bowl of rice and seaweed when Aunt Celestia offered her pancakes. A confused look from Aunt Celestia told Cadenza this was unusual, but the matter passed, and dinner began as usual.

It awed Cadenza, naturally, to see a pony so elegant with the way she wielded her aura. The chopsticks she held moved smoothly, picking up large clumps of rice just as easily as an earthpony carried lumber. On occasion, Sunset looked to savour even tiny pieces of rice held between them, and from the quick glances she threw her way at times, Cadenza concluded she wished to impress.

‘Well, colour me impressed,’ Cadenza conceded. But that was enough distraction. She had her own food to dine on, and dine she would.

She looked down at her bowl. Of all the food presented, this one was the most familiar – a simple bowl of soup. On tiresome days, whether it was after playtime with Benna or gardening with Nonna Espina, she often welcomed a nice stew of acquacotta, a humble dish of stale bread cooked into a warm broth. But before her was no dish of stale bread and olive oil. It was a thick-looking orange soup of carrots and what Aunt Celestia called lentil.

‘Here goes nothing,’ Cadenza began. With both hooves, she lifted the bowl and took a sip.

It was, to her delight, refreshing. Spicy, with the taste of ground pepper and chilli blending, but nothing she couldn’t handle. The carrot taste was all-too-welcome.

Setting the bowl down after the sip, though, Cadenza saw Sunset staring at her with raised eyebrows and a narrowed glare. She licked her lips a little, feeling some leftovers on them.

‘Oh, silly me…’ she thought, reaching for a napkin and wiping her lips.

Still Sunset’s glare remained, but then she went back to eating her rice, her aura shining all the brighter around her chopsticks.

Ah. There was an idea.

Aunt Celestia had only taught her the bare basics during that week-long boat trip. It was a little confusing at first. But then Aunt Celestia had noted her wings – once stunted, now as healthy as they could ever be – and told her to think of her newfound horn as such. Simply an extension and part of herself.

So she had. And long did they marvel at the first book she’d levitated, enclosed in her blue aura.

A spoon was a different matter. It would require maneuverability. Cadenza furrowed her brow, biting her lip, mustering the drive needed. Aunt Celestia had described a unicorn’s aura as a limb unto itself. Perhaps that was the simplest way to describe it, Cadenza thought, but it was apt enough.

Her horn glowed, her blue aura closing around the spoon. But what Aunt Celestia described was easier to say than it was to actually do, for where her hoof was firm and real, her aura was changing and formless.

The spoon fell to the floor with a loud clatter.

“Sorry,” Cadenza blurted out. She ignored the pointed glances and concerned looks given by the others. Her horn glowed yet again, the aura shimmering brighter, firmer.

‘Okay, okay… You can do this, let’s see…’

Slowly, the spoon levitated. It wobbled, and Cadenza had to hold her wing tight, but it was levitating. Very gently, she took a spoonful of soup, watching the colours stir with it in a spiral. And, finally, very, very slowly, she moved it to her lips and took a long, satisfied sip.

When all was said and done, she gently set the spoon within the bowl. A loud munch from Blueblood told her he’d gone back to his meal. But both Aunt Celestia and Sunset’s gazes remained on her. Cadenza had only a sheepish smile to offer in return.

“Sorry, it’s… new to me. All this.”

That did not seem to concern Aunt Celestia, her tranquil smile growing wider.  “Enjoying dinner, Mi Amore?”

But before Cadenza could answer, she caught something. A little tug at her lips. The barest hints of movement at the corner of her eyes, with a hint of wetness threatening to spill.

Cadenza noticed this, just as she had noticed it all the other times Aunt Celestia spoke her name. A very old name, she was told, shared with someone her aunt thought of very fondly…

“I am, yes,” answered Cadenza. “And… It's um, Cadenza.”

Aunt Celestia’s eyes widened. Sunset narrowed her glare. Even Blueblood stopped his meal.

“I… thought it seemed… fitting. Again, it’s all so new to me and…”

She lifted a wing, awkwardly smiling.

“Well. It’s a new me, too.”

Aunt Celestia’s laugh was infectious. “Alright, then,” she said. “Cadenza, wasn’t it? It’s good to meet you, Cadenza.”

Yet whatever reply Cadenza wanted to say vanished in her throat when Sunset stood up from her seat, the wooden chair loudly grinding against the floor.

“I’m done,” Sunset said, huffing. “I’ll be in my room.”

Before anything else could be said, she’d turned around and left, her food half-finished. The door swung shut louder than it ought to have done.

Aunt Celestia stood up, but Cadenza was faster than she. 

“It’s okay,”  said Cadenza, offering what she’d hoped was a comforting smile. “I’ll go talk to her.”


* * * * *


For a unicorn, Sunset was fast. But Cadenza was faster still. This old Palace was a far cry from the wilderness surrounding her village. Outside the dining room, she called out, right as the other filly was about to descend the staircase.

“Sunset?”

The other filly turned around just as Cadenza’s short gallop came to a halt. She looked up at her from further down the stairs, and suddenly Cadenza felt all too conscious of just how tall she’d become after ascension.

“Hey, um,” Cadenza began, trying her best not to wilt under Sunset’s fiery glare. “Are you okay? You seemed pretty worked up.”

Sunset raised an eyebrow. “I’m fine,” she said, her husky voice even more evident. “Why?”

“Nothing, nothing,” Cadenza replied, feeling her wings ruffle. Sunset glanced at them for a moment. “It’s just that… I feel like we… haven’t been introduced yet.”

“... You just told me your name,” Sunset deadpanned. “At dinner. Not three minutes ago.”

“I know, it’s just… Goodness, everything’s happening so fast, right?”

Silence. Sunset was unwavering. So was she. Before Sunset could say anything, Cadenza raised a hoof.

“Hello. I’m Mi Amore Cadenza. Just Cadenza, for short,” she said, smiling. Sunset looked at her, then at her hoof, then back at her.

Slowly, very slowly, Sunset lifted her own hoof and touched hers. “Sunset Shimmer.”

Both their hooves returned to the stairs. “Right… so, I guess we’re off to… a start. I’m sorry, about earlier. Was it something I said?”

Sunset glared at her again. “No,” she said, though Cadenza swore she could hear some grinding teeth. “I’m just tired.”

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry. I should just… leave you to it.” She paused. “So… are we… cousins?”

That got Sunset’s eyes to widen. “What?”

“Cousins. I mean, I know Celestia said I could call her ‘Aunt’ and… and I heard you call her ‘Mom’. But… I don’t know. Maybe cousins are what we are. Or what we’re supposed to be. I’m not sure. What do you think?”

The look of confusion on Sunset’s face stayed there for a while longer. But eventually, it vanished, replaced by something unreadable.

“Look, Cadenza, I’m tired, okay? It’s been the longest two weeks ever and I really don’t want anyone bothering me.”

“Oh, are you–”

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” the other filly said, huffing. She turned away. “Just go finish your dinner. It’s rude not to.”

“But you haven’t finished yours, either.”

Sunset’s glance was, at once, cold and fiery. “Do I look like I care? Just go, work on your magic or whatever.”

Cadenza had scarcely begun to open her mouth when the filly before her disappeared with a loud, stinging pop that echoed in the empty hall.


* * * * *


Figuring out which room was Cadenza’s had been tedious, but not much of a hassle for Sunset. She knew the guest suites were mostly unoccupied at this time of year. Entering it had been trivial, for the Palace clearly hadn’t been prepared for anyone who could teleport at will and so frequently.

After all, who’d believe them if they spotted the Princess’s faithful student in their room for a half-second?

However, annoyingly, Cadenza’s room was more difficult than expected to find. It was only when Sunset was almost fully spent, feeling a growing headache, that she spotted what could only have been Cadenza’s simple luggage lined against the wall in one of the suites normally occupied by foreign diplomats.

Taking a deep breath, Sunset lit her horn, illuminating the room in her amaranth glow. She took in the sight of the room, and found it… lacking.

Of course, it was to be expected. Cadenza’s luggage was still there, unopened. But therein lay the issue. Unopened. Cadenza hadn’t even spent longer than perhaps a minute within the room.

‘Maybe it just isn’t good enough for her…’ Sunset thought, scoffing. She glanced at the luggage – there were four, maybe five saddlebags in total, all of which looked modest. Fewer in number than she’d have estimated. And smaller.

She rolled her eyes. Of course they were unopened. That silly filly couldn’t even manage to hold her spoon right. With an almost contemptuous flick of her own horn, Sunset opened the one nearest to her.

Gently, she held it afloat, taking great care not to spill its contents. Not that she was avoiding Cadenza’s wrath or whatever, but the fewer questions asked, the better.

‘Books… books, music-box, more books…’

Another suitcase opened, and more books greeted her eyes. Fair enough. Books that looked older than Kibitz, it seemed. No doubt that Cadenza had taken them from the village library, or what passed for one. Some were in Modern Equish. Most were in Oleandrite.

Cadenza had only brought a few books unrelated to learning, perhaps two or three novels. A biography of one of Oleander’s most famous leaders was filed away under mathematics – goodness, the organisation was frightfully lacking. A familiar book on Equestrian aviators, though – that got Sunset to raise an eyebrow.

‘Pioneers of the Wind and Sky…’ Sunset silently read.

On its cover, matching her edition from ten years ago, was an elegant illustration depicting Commander Hurricane. The Commander was flanked by Vice-Admiral Gale Glider, first leader of Equestria’s Coast Guard, and Hallow Mount, the first earthpony to take to the skies with her famed sky-boat. All three were looking towards the skies, dreaming, longing…

It was a well-read book, too. Fewer bookmarks than her copy, but Sunset could tell from a glance that Cadenza had bookmarked the great explorer Air Heart and the stunted inventor Barrel Roll.

But then, she froze. She’d looked at the suitcase again, catching sight of another book. She’d recognise that obnoxiously coloured cover anywhere.

Now, she’d feared what she was seeing was a trick of the eye. An aberration. A mistake. But here, Sunset came to a conclusion she found most disconcerting. She took a deep, deep breath.

“... Seriously?”


* * * * *


"I can't believe this. I can’t believe her. I can’t believe… argh!”

In the palace gardens, Sunset Shimmer planted her face into the ground. A peck on her neck by Philomena got her to lift her head. The phoenix tilted her head, letting out a little chirp.

Blueblood, on the other hoof, did little, for he was unmoving from his usual spot against the old willow tree. Sunset remained undeterred, standing up straight with one of her huffs.

“She barely keeps anything around, and did you see her eating like an earthpony, Bluey? She couldn’t even levitate that dumb spoon right. Something just isn't right with her."

That, of all things, got Blueblood to open his mouth.

“But I thought you don’t mind earthponies? I mean, she is from Oleander. Besides, you go to that flower-shop just–”

“I don’t mind them! It’s just– that’s not what I’m saying. But… argh. What even is she, then? How is she like this? Who even reads Magic for Fillies?”

The book had been a blight for her in her early months. So many instructors insisted on her following the exact guidelines when she knew she’d long understood what meaning lay behind the instructions. She loathed the yellow colour and cheery faces adorning it.

Stupid book.

“...Fillies?” Blueblood replied.

“That’s not my point,” Sunset hissed. “How’d she manage this? How did she become an alicorn?”

To her endless frustration, Blueblood merely shrugged it off.

“I dunno,” he said. “Funny how a pegasus got it, though.”

Sunset’s ears flicked. “What?”

“Yeah, I think she used to be a pegasus?” Blueblood added. “You said she had a book on flight and that sort of stuff. I wouldn’t count out her being an earthpony, seeing as she’s from Oleander. Hey, do you think she’d read about Blueblood the Challenger? Maybe I gotta ask her, heh-heh…”

Sunset had stopped listening by then, her eyes wide as saucers. How could she have been so blind? The lack of finesse or control, the little nervous tugs at her wings, and so few books on magical theory and practices…

‘A pegasus… but how?’ she wondered, almost whispering it out as a dismayed question. ‘How–’

“I don’t get it”, Sunset said. “If she’s a pegasus, then… Oleander? Oleander’s a nation of earthponies. Where did she come from?”

“Beats me,” Blueblood said, shrugging again, “but you could ask Auntie, right? Honestly, Sunny, I think that you’re getting a bit too worked up over this. Just relax, you’re in the garden, what else is there to do here?”

“Yeah, as if Mom’s gonna answer…”

The question remained, a constant irritation. How did a filly from the countryside, born a pegasus, raised amongst earthponies, achieve what many a unicorn mage, zebra witch-doctor, or great horse sorcerer of Saddle Mareabia had long sought so fruitlessly? 

Whatever it had been, a mean thought crept in. Cadenza was discomforted by merely a day in Canterlot. Who was to say that she wouldn’t leave on her own soon enough?

“No, you’re right,” Sunset said, relaxing, giving Philomena an affectionate pat. “I’m spending too much time, too much energy on this.”

She glanced up at the diplomatic quarters, second window to the right, where she knew Cadenza would be staying.

“I’ll just ignore her.”



> Act I ~ Chapter Three ~ The Garden
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


III
The Garden




“So, how did school go today, Sunset?”

No sooner had Sunset stepped into the study than Princess Celestia asked the last question she wanted to answer. One week of living here in the Palace, and never had she met anypony more astute or observant.

“It went well,” Sunset lied, shrugging. She hopped onto the nearest seat, swiveling it around to take in the sight.

Celestia’s study was somewhere near the guest wing, she knew that much. Not significantly larger than Celestia’s room, from what glimpses she’d caught, but it held a certain grandeur, with its tall ceiling and aged wooden floor. Most of the walls were covered in bookshelves surrounding the central desk and chair, and a large orrery hung from the ceiling.

One feature that drew Sunset’s eyes, though, was the great canvas that dominated one corner of it, left barren and featureless. Painting supplies at the ready, yet untouched.

“Hm,” said Celestia. “You’re here early. Is something wrong? I’m still busy at the moment, but–”

“It’s fine,” Sunset cut her off, wincing. “It’s nothing. Let’s just get our stuff done. You said you’d teach me something about teleporting today.”

It was too late. Celestia’s characteristic tranquility was broken by a frown.

“Sunset,” she began. “Please. You know you can be honest with me.”

“It’s nothing,” answered Sunset. “Those jerks talked about me behind my back when I turned the mirror into sand faster than anypony else. And… and I said it was a trick you taught me. Focus on the compo– composition of the mirror. And I followed everything you said. It’s just that…”

She trailed off. What was the point? She had little business wasting Celestia’s precious time.

“Hm,” said Celestia. “It doesn’t sound like nothing to me.”

“No. It’s… I just said that I meant to say it was you and–” Sunset said, waving a hoof in dismissal.  But inside, her heart was pumping. “And it didn’t come out just– I mean, I meant to say you did… And I just said Mom…”

She shut up almost immediately. Too late to retract, she knew, from the way Celestia raised an eyebrow.

“Breathe, Sunset,” Celestia said calmly. “Once more, you can be honest with me, as comfortable as you can be.”

“… I called you Mom,” Sunset let out, almost spitefully. “Then they told me I didn’t have one.”

At that moment, the Princess set her quill down. She didn’t look at Sunset, no, but Sunset swore she saw her brow furrow.

“And what did you say?”

“I told them to shut up. I got pretty loud,” Sunset said, listless. She hadn’t mentioned the angry spark out of her horn, one that got the nearest teacher to cry out in alarm and drag her outside the room for a stern talking-to.

“Well, I say,” the Princess said sternly. “It seems I have a visit to make. Neighsay should really know better by now.”

What had she done? Why did she tell her?

“No–” Sunset began, ignoring her own voice cracking. “I can handle it.”

The Princess waved a wing. “Sunset. It is no sign of weakness to ask for help. What the others said to you was cruel, and uncalled for.” She sniffed. “And it is my responsibility to see that every one of my students are taken care of.”

“It’s fine, it’s just… it’s whatever,” Sunset said, but she knew she had to concede. Something drew her eye, though, and what better distraction than whatever Celestia was working on?

“…You’re not looking at our grades, are you?”

“You have very keen eyes, Sunset, but no, I’m not,” said the Princess, her tone of defeat rather unconvincing. “I’m writing my next book.”

Sunset frowned. “I didn’t know you wrote.”

“Few ever do. So, keep it a little hush now, would you, Sunset?”

“Okay, Mo– Princess.”

There she went again. How dare she? Who was she to speak so irreverently of  the Princess, who’d been so generous and kind, who’d recognised the talent she and only she could ever wield.

 Yet this did not seem to bother Celestia, who returned to look at her book.

Curiosity got the best of Sunset, and she leaned forward for a closer look. It was a half-finished water-colour drawing of a midnight-blue mare with a starry mane. There was a text of beautiful cursive written on the still-white space. She couldn’t make out what it said, yet it dawned on her–

“You’re writing… a children’s book,” Sunset said, marveling at it, though she couldn’t help but let a little disappointment slip in. “I thought it was a novel or something.”

“Oh, no,” said Celestia. “I like drawing, and reading. And children like both. So why not?”

Sunset shook her head. “I don’t get it. Why are you telling me this?"

“Hm. Is that not what families do, share secrets? You did ask what you should call me. Would you like to call me Mom?”

A furious blush burned on her cheeks. Sunset could just feel it. “I– I just– the others…”

“You’re worried they’re not going to believe you,” Celestia finished for her. “That settles it. I’ll go tell them myself.”

“No wait, you don’t have to Mo– Princess.”

Idiot! Why did she say that? But Celestia’s laugh was melodious and cheery and her gaze was as kind as it was lively. Goodness knew how she found humour here.

“Sunset, dear child,” said Celestia. “I would be deeply honoured if I could call you my daughter.”

The words hit Sunset like that splash of ice-water – the feeling she’d left behind at the orphanage.

For the longest time, Sunset found she had little else to say. No words came to her mind as Celestia’s pronouncement hung in the air. It didn’t make sense to her – at first. In what short time they had, what had she done to earn it?

Then came the wetness in her eyes, and tightness in her chest, and Sunset tore her gaze away. Celestia didn’t need to see it. She shouldn’t trouble the Princess. Yet her mind was in a spiral now, a flurry of images and–

A pale white crib. The feeling of cold raindrops. Vague whispers that she could never discern.

The orphanage doors. The incessant crying and whining that filled the lonely nights. The view of the stars and night-time skies from the damp attic.

Then, above all, Celestia.

Her smile when she came upon the orphanage. The airship in her magical grip. The hope that the Princess would come notice her.

And now…

Sunset choked out a tiny gasp. Her breathing grew faster. Her eyes brimmed with unspilt tears.

Then, she felt it. A wing on her back, warm, comforting. She dared not look at its owner, not when her walls came tumbling down.

“Sorry I’m just… sleepy,” Sunset lied, wiping away at her eyes. “Long day.”

“Oh, you can sleep here if you want,” said Celestia. “It’s a long walk to your room.”

“I guess just for tonight,” Sunset said, hiccuping a little. She glanced up, meeting her mother eye to eye. “I still have school tomorrow… Mom.”

A great weight was lifted off her chest. She felt a quiver. Celestia’s smile was warm and sweet. “Okay, Sunset. Rest well.”


* * * * *


In the days that followed, Sunset Shimmer saw little of Cadenza.

She’d planned it, of course. She had little business talking to her, and the same went the other way. As far as Sunset was concerned, it was a win-win solution. Only a polite greeting here and there, and nothing else to say or think about. She’d have her studies, and Cadenza would have whatever it was she did.

It was just that, mind. A plan. Sunset hadn’t anticipated that Cadenza would be such a nag.

The first irritation came upon her the very next day after dinner. No sooner than Sunset had touched the dining room’s doors that Cadenza walked up to her, eyes full of worry, and said… 

“I read about teleportation. You can’t get a license yet until you’re sixteen, I hear. Sorry, I’m just worried you’d get caught–”

Sunset heard nothing else, having pushed ahead to attend breakfast. But the damage was done, and no more teleportation was to be had afterwards. Sunset worried that she’d tell on her, and that wouldn’t do at all.

Another came when Cadenza popped in after school and asked if she’d done her homework, because Kibitz gave her plenty and she’d been concerned if Sunset was keeping up as well with her own workload.

Sunset didn’t care much for that, but she did look into her own homework, and found so much more she could do, all the possible testing and tinkering with every spell in her books. Every day, every hour whenever she could, Sunset stole little moments to read inbetween those private lessons and classes that all blended into the same stale lecture. Firmer grasps with her aura, better flourish with her stances in casting, all tiny details her books told her. And of course, fire – her fire that burnt better than any of her peers could ever manage.

Her mother had plenty of kind words to say, but Sunset knew there was always more. Above all, her tried-and-true teleportation, flawless as it had ever been. It tired her so, teleporting back and forth between her room and her mother’s study, avoiding glances. A little push and she’d have fallen over on her legs by the end of the week. Yet she craved the feeling of flowing with the air in each fleeting moment, as the wonders of flight remained outside her grasp.

For the time being, she reminded herself. Her mother had told her how no alicorn had risen in so many centuries since Luna and herself had been born millennia past. But her mother had her own theories, of the stardust and its interactions with the mortal plane, that anyone could become an alicorn,  and that hope was enough for Sunset.

All she wanted to know for certain, at the end of it all, was if she could surpass Cadenza.

But it was when Sunset had come home from a particularly strenuous test on alchemy, the day before all Canterlot would finally see Mi Amore Cadenza in full, that she saw someone had broken into her mother’s garden.


* * * * *


Princess Celestia was no gardener. Sunset knew this, because the amount of times her mother visited the Palace Gardens – or at least, the ones that she knew about – could be counted on hardly more than four hooves. She usually left care of it to Mister Greenhooves, and that was how it had always been.

Above all, though, it was still her mother’s garden. So when Sunset noticed a stray pot lying on its side out in the open, where it once had always been so tidy and well-maintained, it stuck out more than a Reindeer’s nose.

Her suspicions were furthered when, as she carefully approached the pot, she heard the telltale hum of a magical aura and the singing of a melodious voice.

It all added to quite the surprise when she turned ‘round the corner and saw Cadenza by herself. Cadenza, surrounded by shears and pots and bulbs, her hooves and wings stained with dirt. She stood at the centre of the garden, humming a whimsical melody to herself as her horn lit up and raised her shears ever so slightly, ready to cut a rose.

“What– what do you think you’re doing?”

The words came out more strangled than Sunset had intended. At once, Cadenza dropped the pair of shears, which landed with a muffled thud upon the grass. She turned around, meeting Sunset eye-to-eye. She was holding a rose in her mouth, one that she abashedly spat upon the ground after a moment.

“Oh, uh–” she stammered out. “Hello, Sunset, I’m just– making myself busy, oh, dear…”

Her eyes drifted from Cadenza to the rose that lay on the grassy ground, then to more roses that Cadenza had brought with her in little bushes – vile little flowers, roses, Sunset had never liked them much – to the garden around them.

How to describe the garden? A catastrophe. A calamity. A righteous mess. She found herself at a loss of words to describe the atrocity Cadenza had inflicted upon the whole darn place.

There were flowers out of place, pots of tiny lavender bulbs that mingled with shrubs. Flowers whose names escaped Sunset, mixed with those Mister Greenhooves had surely planted with great care. All the colours in disarray, purple and pink and white and who knows what else. And… were those vines Cadenza had planted near the pillars, and tiny bamboo shoots too? They’d surely grow wild with abandon, strangling the delicate beauty her mother had ensured would be in place.

With a shaking forehoof, Sunset pointed at a pot of lavender. “These shouldn’t go there,” she said, her voice lowering. “Mom said so. I know they don’t.” 

Cadenza looked at them. “Oh I… felt they’d be perfect here. I just–”

Sunset silenced her with a fierce glare, her jaws clenched tight. The intruder had come to this sanctuary at last, her mother’s garden and retreat from worldly woes, and just waltzed right in, stepping upon it, tarnishing it with her touch like it was nothing at all.

“Stop,” Sunset hissed out. “Just stop it.”

“…I thought it’d be nice,” Cadenza replied. Her voice quivered, her aura flickering and fading. “I was just– trying– I didn’t know…”

Sunset took a step forward. Cadenza stood taller than she, yet still the other filly seemed to wither under her gaze.

“Then why did you do that?” Sunset asked, her voice rising with each syllable. “Why did you touch Mom’s garden? Why did you have to ruin it?”

“Sunset–”

But Sunset had turned away, huffing. Whatever Cadenza had meant to say, she hardly needed to know. She returned from whence she came, hooves crushing a stray rose on her way out of the silent garden.


* * * * *


The afternoon Sun shone warmly this fine Spring day, yet Sunset cared little for it. Not today, not after the atrocity she’d seen in the gardens. She hadn’t even bothered teleporting out, for she could hardly find the concentration she needed.

All she knew was to leave as quickly as possible, out of the Palace, out into the streets of Canterlot. With her fortress breached, her options were scarce. Only one remained, and Sunset knew she had to get there before Cadenza could catch a whiff of where she was headed.

Escaping the grounds was easy enough. The usual journalists posted outside the Palace were busy with the afternoon agenda in Parliament, and, if needed, she could always call upon the Guards patrolling the streets to aid her.

Not that she needed any help. Not when her destination was the safest place outside of the Palace.

She’d visited it often after school. A little flower-shop down the road, almost halfway between the Palace and the School for Gifted Unicorns. When she arrived there, it looked just as welcoming as it’d been in all the times she’d visited. A humble facade of wood and stone, pots hanging outside and upon racks. Fairly popular, from what she could recall, but it was quiet, and the quiet was what she’d really like right about now.

Normally, she’d have teleported right in. The owners never minded. They’d always welcomed her. All her frustrations, her worries and stress. Everything accepted with a nod and a friendly ear.

Today would be no different, she was sure.

With clenched teeth, Sunset slammed the door open and let out the loudest yell she could muster above the sound of rattled doors, a falling pot, and a feeble yelp.

“Gah! I’m done. I’m tired. I’m sick of… gah, just, ughhh.”

With heavy stomps, she went to her usual corner, past the towering flower racks, taking care not to step upon any pieces of the shattered pot. She lay down on her stomach, taking deep, calming breaths. It wouldn’t help much, though. Nothing had changed, and she was still very tired.

It didn’t take long for the shopkeeper to join her side at last with a gentle pitter-patter of tiny hooves.

‘Shopkeeper’ was perhaps too generous. The little green filly before her merely helped her parents around. What else could a nine-year old do? But she was no stranger. Sunset spared her a fleeting glance. Her usual hat was still there, drooping ever so slightly, so oversized it was.

Very slowly, Wallflower Blush put down the gardening hat, looking at her with those innocent brown eyes.

“Hey, um, you okay?” she asked, with a voice so soft that it was curious how she could ever hope to be heard during the store’s busier hours. “You seemed pretty upset there, Sunset.”

Of course. So prescient in her silence. Sunset wondered how she did it.

“No, I’m not,” Sunset replied. No use lying. In her own way, Wallflower would catch on. “Not okay. Won’t be. Not if she’s still there.”

Wallflower tilted her head.

“Who’s there?”

“Her!”

“…Princess Celestia?”

“What– no!” Sunset exclaimed, glaring at Wallflower. “Why would I call Mom– no, darn it,” she continued, rubbing her temple. “Cadenza. I’m talking about Cadenza.”

“Cadenza?”

“Read the news!” Sunset retorted. Stars above, Wallflower was young, alright. She paused, taking in a sharp breath. “No, actually, wait, it’s gonna be tomorrow. Whatever. See if I care. I don’t get what the big deal is. I don’t get why she’s staying. I mean, I’m here already.”

Messy, sloppy, and above all uncontrolled diction. Kibitz would be appalled. But by now, what care could she give, Sunset thought, that would change it all?

“...Sunset?” Wallflower asked again, slower and more deliberately. “Are you getting a new sister?”

So unthinkable and absurd was Wallflower’s question that Sunset had to bite down a humourless laugh.

“Very funny,” Sunset snarked. “Very, very funny.”

‘Keep it calm. Okay, keep it cool, keep it cool…’

“No. Cadenza’s just some… some… provincial girl Celestia took in from Oleander.”

“I– It wasn't a joke,” Wallflower said, and incredibly, her voice seemed even quieter this time. “Um. Oleander’s really far. Maybe, maybe she’s special. Like you.”

Almost instantaneously, Sunset felt her eye twitch. The audacity.

“Special now, is she?” Sunset echoed. She tapped a hoof impatiently. “It’s not like she’s good at anything. She’s just the, the, the worst. She’s nosey, she smells like roses, and she has wings and a horn! The way she carries those around, it’s like she doesn’t know how good she’s gotten it.”

Wallflower tilted her head. “Oh. She’s like, she’s just like your Mom, then.”

“Yes, pay attention,” Sunset chided. “Why does she get to be a princess? What’d she ever do? She doesn’t– she wasn’t even born with that stupid pink horn of hers. I just don’t get it! And now Mom wants to show her off on the balcony in front of everyone, and I have to be there because it’ll be nice and I just– Argh!”

She buried her face in her hooves. Everything had gone all so wrong, there was little doubt about that. All the sweet words her mother had to say. None of it mattered now.

What else was there left to do, after all, when Cadenza had gotten everything right, and nothing she’d done had amounted to anything?

“Sunset, um, even if Cadenza has wings,” said Wallflower, voice ever so slightly firmer. “I think you’re still cool. You can do all the things you showed me, and, and maybe Cadenza can’t. And that makes you cooler.”

Cool. How flattering. Yet she couldn’t deny the warmth that blossomed in her heart. Sunset, sighing, looked up from her hooves. 

“You think so?”

The younger filly nodded vigorously. “Y-yeah, you are.”

Sunset let out a chuckle. “Guess I am,” she affirmed. Still, her frown remained. The thought of Cadenza was so… clingy. “But I can’t even teleport here anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Cadenza said I haven’t got my license yet. How in Equestria she knows about that. And I– and I don’t want her to tell Mom. Or whatever. I don’t know. She said she’s worried about me getting caught, but come on.”

“That’s too bad,” said Wallflower, sounding all the sadder. “But teleport or no teleport, you’re still really cool, Sunset. And um, if it’ll cheer you up, I’ll be there. In the crowd, I mean. Is that okay with you?”

Sunset waved a forehoof. “Yeah, sure, whatever,” she said. She doubted she’d be able to even see the shrinking violet that was Wallflower. “But just because Mom told me, doesn’t mean I have to smile, right?”

“Maybe not,” answered Wallflower. “And I mean, with what you told me, Cadenza sounds just awful.”

There it was. Victory. She wasn’t alone after all.

“She is!” exclaimed Sunset. “Finally, someone gets it–” She cleared her throat. “I mean, yes, she really is. I haven’t even mentioned all the questions she asked, like, seriously… So many questions, you have no idea, no idea at all.”

Wallflower nodded, and Sunset understood to keep going. So she did.

All the little things Cadenza did, all her little quirks. Her inability to levitate more than a few items at once. Her less-than-elegant table manners. Her incessant, unending questions. It pleased Sunset knowing Wallflower was here, knowing that, even though everyone else in the Palace had seen little issue and was all but smitten with that upstart, there remained someone who understood.

Then came the matter of the garden, and what Cadenza had done to it.

“What am I supposed to do, darn it,” Sunset lamented. “She isn’t going anytime soon and… Mom’s garden’s not gonna survive any longer at this rate. Got anything to suggest?”

“I don’t really know, Sunset,” said Wallflower. She gave a quick glance to the side, towards the back door. “Our garden isn’t very big.”

Sunset rolled her eyes. “Bah, guess it’s a lost cause.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know how I can help,” said Wallflower. “It’s awful mean of her to ruin the Princ– your Mom’s garden. But you could always just tell her to knock it off, maybe?”

Sunset groaned. “Yeah. Just tell her. That’d be easy. It isn’t like she wouldn’t shut up. What makes you think she’ll listen to what I’d say? Oh, that dumb accent of hers…”

She paused, sitting up straight.

Her accent. That Provincial Oleandrite, thick as syrup. All the Oleandrite words she’d sprinkled in her speech and tried so desperately to hide.

“...I have to go,” she said breathlessly. “I’ve got an idea.”

Sunset stood up, heading straight for the door. Just before she exited, she looked back at Wallflower, sitting there at their spot with a curious stare. Something had to be said. The little filly had helped, after all.

“See you at the ceremony tomorrow, then,” said Sunset.

She didn’t wait to hear Wallflower’s answer as she closed the door behind her and marched right back towards the Palace.


* * * * *


Canterlot was already basking in the light of the late afternoon Sun by the time Sunset returned to the Palace. Activities had wound down, and Sunset saw no more than a few Guards and staff mulling about, mostly the night-shift workers. She knew exactly what she had to do. But first she needed to find Cadenza, wherever she was. And that, to her dismay, was much less certain.

First Sunset went to the kitchen, fleetingly hoping for a sign Cadenza had snuck off for a snack. Then the library, presuming that she might be holed up in a personal bookfort. Finally, the garden, still bearing signs of her uninvited meddling.

None held Cadenza, not a single feather. No one had seen her, either, not even Kibitz or Blueblood, who by chance Sunset had come across in her relentless search.

Only just as Sunset was on the verge of giving up, her eyes starting to tire and her mind a little fuzzy, the Sun having disappeared below the horizon and the moonlight beginning to shine through the windows, did she find her.

So slightly was the door cracked that Sunset, on her way to her own bedroom, might have missed it. But she caught the faintest of lights emanating from within her mother’s private study, and so she pushed the door open in full.

There the alicorn was, fast asleep, head resting on her mother’s desk. 

‘Of course,’ Sunset thought, feeling her anger rise. ‘One second my eyes are off you, and you go ahead and do what you always do.’

With her teeth clenched and hooves trembling, Sunset went over to the desk and shook Cadenza. Her eyes shot open in an instant.

“Oh-wh-what, what time is it?” Cadenza said, eyes darting left and right. Then, her eyes widened. “Oh. Hello, Sunset.”

Sunset rolled her eyes. “Hrmf, funny place to sleep in.”

Cadenza’s laugh was sheepish. “I guess so.” She let out a long yawn. “Oh, sorry about that, I’m just… tired.”

“Yeah, I can tell.”

“Mhm.” A pause. “Um, Sunset? Listen, about the garden–”

“It’s whatever,” Sunset lied. She still needed to be careful with her tone, though. Best not let Cadenza piece things together first. “It happens.”

“Um, alright…” Cadenza said. Perhaps there was a fleeting uncertainty from her, but Sunset paid it no heed. “So. I guess I got distracted and all. Still am, honestly. Sorry, sorry, I’m all over the place right now.”

Sunset was about to retort when she followed Cadenza’s stare all the way to the great painting her mother had worked on for years.

Princess Luna was the most prominent figure drawn in the centre, her light-blue coat contrasted with Celestia’s pale alabaster. In the years that had gone by since she’d first seen the canvas, her mother had added more onto it, starting with her own self-portrait. Strange choice to give herself a pink mane, but then again Celestia did have a fondness for hair dye that Sunset could not make heads nor tails of.

Beside Sunset’s mother stood a purple mare – not much older than herself or Cadenza – with a mane of almost the same shade of blue as Aunt Luna’s. A tall, pale mare stood next to Luna, and were it not for the lack of wings and her brilliant, gradient red mane, she might have passed for another sister of Celestia’s.

Radiant Hope and Princess Amore, Sunset recalled their names. Daughter and mother. Two of the lost Crystal Realm’s royal family members. To her understanding, they had been Luna’s descendants, their family line broken when it disappeared almost a thousand years ago. Radiant in particular drew her eyes, for she had been the Sun Princess’s previous prized pupil.

A glance at Cadenza, how her vivid colours were much like Radiant’s, with those same awestruck eyes, and Sunset’s thoughts darkened.

“She’s talented,” Cadenza said, breaking the erstwhile silence. “Auntie Celestia, I mean. They look like a happy family here.”

“Yeah, why’s that?” Sunset muttered. Her mother had drawn even gloomy Aunt Luna with airs of grace and tranquility, their immortalised smiles ethereal in their quality.

“Oh, I don’t know. I-it’s not much, just…” Cadenza replied, trailing off. She looked up at the painting, so blissfully unaware.

Sunset lit her horn, heart beating fast, thoughts racing with the spell she’d prepared. “Here, let me give you some light,” she said, feeling another twitch on her lips.

“Oh, thank you, that’s very kind of you,” said Cadenza, that accent of her all the more evident now, her gaze still fixed upon the painting. Idiot. All the better. “Goodness, it’s a bit silly but, looking at all the colours, I can almost feel the warmth between them, like she’s painted with more love than colour, like they’re here with us…” She reached up to rub the back of her head. “And I, well…”

Sunset had stopped listening. All she had to do now was finish the spell and strike Cadenza while her back was turned.

It was a simple spell, truly. The grown-ups had a fancier word for it, but children called it the tongue-twister. Not that this name did it justice. For many unicorn parents, the spell aided in the development of foals, allowing them to better understand languages in the most critical of times. Most unicorns knew little of what else it could do with some minor adjustments.

Sunset wasn’t like most unicorns. Where they were held back by their own marks, her shimmering sun opened the gates for so much more.

“It isn’t really about the painting, though,” Cadenza continued. “I confess that um, I– I’ve been wanting– wishing to have something that I’ve– I never could have.”

Sunset felt her eye twitch, her jaws clench tighter. Her eyes darted from the painting, then back at Cadenza, her wings held tightly against her body, her horn glowing with her own light blue aura. It shone only faintly against the brilliant, crackling amaranth.

‘You stuck-up, ungrateful little brat.’

No retort Sunset could muster would live up to the burning feeling she’d only just held back.

Perhaps there were risks. Her mother had always cautioned it, how emotions could often leak into and taint, even outright alter spells as they were cast. But Sunset didn’t care. Why should she, when she was so, so very close? Her horn shone brighter and brighter, illuminating the back of Cadenza’s head with amaranth so vibrant it seemed to crackle, framing her against the visage of the Two Sisters before her.

Just one spell, right here, and Cadenza’s wretched, pathetic weakness would be dragged out in the limelight.

Yes, that was it. Everyone would see it. Everyone would hear it, a rambling mess speaking in a language few would understand in a land full of strangers. An upstart exposed for the talentless, undeserving, imperfect wretch that she truly was–

“I just… I wish I knew my family.”

Sunset’s heart dropped like a stone.

“...Your family?”

“Yes– I’m sorry,” Cadenza said softly. “I don’t think I can call them my real family, not when Nonna and the rest of Florentina took me in, when I couldn’t even look out my bundle, you know? Sure, sure, whoever left me there said to take care of me, but… ”

She looked away from the painting, turning back to face her. Beneath Sunset’s light, Cadenza was smiling, but it was uncharacteristic to see her so forlorn.

“No one ever came to pick me up… I guess I’m fine where I am. But I still get curious.” She sighed, shaking her head. “Sorry. That was a lot, wasn’t it?”

The amaranth light dimmed, and Cadenza’s light shone in the darkened room.

“No,” said Sunset. What else could she say when her heart had sunk deep into a pit she thought she’d buried years past? “It’s fine. Just– why were you in Mom’s study…?”

“I got tired. I had to drag all of these around and, well, I guess I was really tired…” Cadenza pointed towards a stack of suitcases lining the wall.

“And how did you–”

Cadenza’s horn brightened. “I tried,” she said. “Goodness me, they’re heavier than I thought. Maybe it’s just me, though.” She chuckled. “What I’d do for a better room, huh?”

“But you could have just asked for help,” Sunset chided.

Cadenza let out an awkward little laugh. “I was going to!” she answered. “But I couldn’t find you anywhere, and I didn’t feel like bothering you after the, um… the garden…”

Cadenza bit her lips and looked away. Sunset’s heart sank further. 

“Listen, Cadenza,” Sunset began, feeling the barest hints of a quiver in her tone. “I’m sorry. For yelling at you. And before. All of it.” She took a deep breath. “I wasn’t fair to you. It’s just th-that, before, it was just me and Mom… And Blueblood too, I guess. All of this is pretty new to me and I wasn’t sure what to think, and…”

She could just see her mother now: smiling kindly, her hug warm and all-encompassing like the Sun she raised every passing day. A mare who’d reached out to her and helped her climb out of the pit she’d lived her life in.

A mare who’d done the same for another, without hesitation.

“...I guess I’ve never had a sister before.”

And then Sunset felt it.

Guilt. Crushing, suffocating guilt. So terrible that she could find no words to continue, her breath caught in short, tiny gasps.

Then Cadenza smiled.

“It’s okay. I’ve never had one either,” said Cadenza. “I never meant to get between you and Auntie. All of this is new to me, too. And, I don’t know, I’m just– I try so hard not to, to–”

“–stumble?” Sunset finished, to which Cadenza nodded. “Look, you’ll be fine. You’ve seen Bluey, that colt does it all the time, and he’s doing fine.”

“Come on,” Cadenza said, yet she held back a giggle. “That’s a bit mean.”

“Bah, he’s used to it. You should see him at Hearthswarming. He’d trip over his own hooves trying to see what gifts Sint Erklass brought him.”

“Sint Erklass?” asked Cadenza, tilting her head.

“Big, jolly Reindeer,” Sunset said, thinking back to nights past, lonely nights at the orphanage, warmer nights at the Palace. “Mom calls him Grandfather. He comes over every Hearthswarming with gifts. He always seems to know. Kind of weird if you ask me, but if it makes Mom happy, then I guess it’s fine.”

“Oh! Like Aurora Befana?”

“Aurora Befana?”

“Mhm! Or Freccia Azzurra, if you’re from Northern Oleander. Every year, the grown-ups say she’d come over, trailing golden dust all over the skies with gifts for all the children. Every end of the year, we’d find presents in the village hall.”

“Hm, doesn’t ring a bell, but I guess Sint has a bunch of helpers,” Sunset summarised. “Learn a new thing every day…”

And to her wonder, Sunset felt it was true. This was a new thing she’d learned, one she wouldn’t have found in all her study books.

“Oh yes, yes, there’s so much to learn,” said Cadenza. “Aunt Celestia’s told me already about Hearthswarming, and– it’s strange, so much warmth in Winter’s coldest days. That it could thaw even a frozen heart…”

She trailed off there, eyes looking out towards the distance.

“Uh, Cadenza?”

“Aurora Befana didn’t come last Winter,” said Cadenza, gaze forlorn once more. “The grown-ups got… tired and sad. It’s a long story, but– what matters is that everyone back home is okay now. But I’m away, and I just get worried.”

Sunset moved closer to her, reaching out to give her a quick pat. Cadenza’s wings ruffled a little.
“Hey… Okay, I guess Mom’s better with this,” she said. “But you’re here now. It’s a jump, and you made it across. Or whatever, metaphors are tricky. Look, the point is, you wouldn’t be here if they weren’t, right?”

“I think so.”

“Good,” said Sunset. “We got off on the wrong hoof. Do you want to start over?”

“Maybe. But this is fine,” said Cadenza. “You don’t need to pretend or whatever. We can just– continue! That’s right. We could always just continue from here, si?”

‘Stars above,’ Sunset mused. ‘Her accent gets thicker by the hour.’

“Suit yourself.” She yawned. “Right. I could use a nap right about now.”

Cadenza glanced at the nearby clock. “Goodness, you’re right. I should too…”

Her horn shone brightly once more. But before she’d lifted her cases, Sunset’s aura had already wrapped around them.

“No, I’ll help,” Sunset said, firmly. “You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

“Oh, thank you,” Cadenza said. Yet her horn still remained lit. “Then allow me…”

The door swung open with a quick flash of light blue. Sunset looked at Cadenza, whose smile was bright and sweet, and above all earnest. She hesitated a moment, her mind briefly at war with itself. How should she respond now to this? Strangely, Sunset thought she felt just the slightest tug at the corner of her lips. It went no further than that. Perhaps it was too soon. But the luggage she held, for the first time in weeks, felt just as weightless as her heart.

Giving Cadenza a grateful nod, side by side, they walked out the open door.


* * * * *


“How many do you see down there?”

Sunset glanced back at Cadenza, eyebrows raised. Here they stood behind the curtain, currently hidden yet no less high above the masses that had gathered below the balcony, many of whom had been waiting there since the earliest hours of the day. 

Cadenza, for her part, bit at her lips; the poor filly’s nervousness was all too apparent.

“A lot,” Sunset remarked, pulling her head back. “They tend to gather whenever Mom does… Well, anything.”

“I can tell,” Cadenza replied, shivering. “Do I look nice?”

“Cadenza, there’s like five, eight storeys between us and the crowd. They’re not going to notice if you haven’t slept for days.”

“Oh, I know, I just want to look my best.”

“Like you needed to try!” Blueblood chimed in cheerfully, popping in seemingly out of nowhere. “C’mon, Candy, you got this in the bag.”

“Yes, thank you for the support, Bluey,” said Sunset, rolling her eyes.

Astron’s father had shown up to attend the unveiling, and it was no coincidence the younger Blueblood seemed cheerful today. An airship was moored near the docks, for Azure Haven Blueblood had come in force to take them on a joyride once this affair was all wrapped up.

‘Or, he’s looking for a quick escape,’ Sunset thought, spying the Duke of Canterlot, who’d gartered himself in the Sky-Navy’s signature uniform, talking with her mother.

Sharply dressed, he looked for all the world an older Astron, down to the last few strands of his mane. Only the marks on their flanks were substantially different, with three golden crowns as opposed to his son’s compass rose.

“Alright, children,” Kibitz spoke up, poking his head in from the curtain. He’d been standing at the balcony for what must have been hours, Sunset mused. “The Princess has spoken to Oleander’s ambassador, we’ll be visiting their embassy after this.”

He checked his pocket-watch, shaking his head.

“We’re running late as is,” Kibitz remarked. “Now, off you go to your positions. We ought to have this done soon.”

Before anyone could reply, he disappeared, back to his position.

“Is everypony ready?”

Sunset turned her head. Her mother and Azure had arrived side-by-side. Philomena sat on her favourite perch – her mother’s hoof.

Blueblood was the first to answer, bouncing up and down. “Ready!”

“I think I am…” said Cadenza. 

“Yeah, let’s just get this over with,” finished Sunset.

“Okay,” said her mother. She glanced at Azure, sharing a nod. She gave Philomena a quick nuzzle. “It’s showtime.”

The phoenix chirped in reply. She looked at Sunset, tilting her head.

“Go ahead,” said Sunset simply, measuredly. The phoenix obliged. She spread her beautiful wings, then flew right out the window.

A mighty screech drowned out the droning noises of the crowd. Sunset heard Kibitz clear his throat.

“By the power vested in me,” he spoke aloud, “I humbly welcome Her Majesty, Celestia, Princess of All Equestria, Stewardess of the Sun.”

Sunset and her mother shared one last glance, that serene smile melting what little doubt Sunset had left. Or stage-fright, anyway. Showing up before crowds was not exactly the same as the jury in an exam room, vast spaces or no.

The curtain lifted, and Princess Celestia stepped forth. She gave a wave to the adoring masses, who’d bowed the moment she emerged.

A moment passed. Kibitz cleared his throat. “His Royal Highness, Prince Azure Haven Blueblood, Duke of Canterlot, and his son, Prince Astron.”

Azure gave none of them, save for Cadenza, any acknowledging glances. He walked ahead, his son practically jumping at the opportunity to stand by him, preening at the crowd all the while.

“Miss Sunset Shimmer, Royal Apprentice to Princess Celestia,” Kibitz continued.

A round of applause followed. Sunset held her head up as she took a step forward, keeping her expression as calm as she could, even as her heart pounded and her desire to flee to the airship grew stronger.

“And at last,” said Kibitz amidst the dying applause, “it is my great honour to present Her Royal Highness, Princess Mi Amore Cadenza.”

There were no cheers at first. Only a growing, buzzing murmur among the crowd, spreading throughout. Even this was quieted when Sunset and all others at the balcony stepped aside, allowing Cadenza to move forth with a steady look.

Then Cadenza spread her wings, and the crowd burst into a collective gasp. So loud did the crowd’s whispers grow that it was almost deafening, until her mother raised both of her own wings and silenced it with a single sentence.

“Citizens of Canterlot, people of Equestria,” said she in the Royal Canterlot Voice, while Cadenza retracted her wings against her body. Celestia kept her voice calm, yet there was palpable joy in it. “Long have these years passed us by, with loss and triumph both. May we mourn those who strove to build the Equestria we know and cherish.”

She glanced at Sunset, smiling wondrously.

“Now, my little ponies, rejoice. Here we all are, blessed with the finest minds and hearts to have ever graced our humble land. I am honoured to know that we have with us my finest student and beloved daughter, as well as a new Princess of our own…”

Sunset had already walked back into the shade the moment the cheering subsided, and her mother’s speech went on.

There was little reason for her to stay. Not even Wallflower could possibly have distinguished her in the shade, not when Cadenza stood there so brilliantly, so vibrantly.

Before she could withdraw, she caught sight of Cadenza’s glance. What else could she do then, if not give a nod and a thin smile, answered by Cadenza’s shy grin of her own. When the other filly looked away, Sunset glanced up at the cloudless skies above, feeling the tension within begin to unwind.

For Sunset held it close to her heart that, one day, she’d stand where Cadance stood, with a pair of magnificent wings to call her own.


* * * * *


The rest of the day went by in a haze for Mi Amore Cadenza. All she could recall was that they’d gone on an airship tour ’round the city, gave a few statements to the gathered press once they had landed, and exchanged polite words with the Prime Minister and a select few members of Parliament. Whether it was in that order or not, Cadenza couldn’t tell. She remembered Prince Azure hurrying off immediately after to meet with the Guard, then a goodbye each with Aunt Celestia, Blueblood, and Sunset, in that order.

She was tired. So tired, in fact, that if it weren’t for Kibitz, she might have gotten herself lost in the Palace. Not even a quick rinse at the nearest washroom could defeat her growing weariness.

“And… here we are,” said Kibitz, sounding a little unsure as he pushed the door open. “If you need anything, I suppose you could… call or, hm, it’s an awfully long walk.”

“It is, isn’t it?” said Cadenza, smiling despite her fatigue, suppressing a yawn. “I’ll get used to it, I guess…”

Kibitz gave a stiff nod. “Are you sure you wish to stay? You could always move back.”

“Oh no, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Cadenza replied. “I’ll be fine here.”

“Very well,” said Kibitz. “Good night, Your Highness.”

“Good night, Mister Kibitz.”

The door swung shut. Cadenza released a sigh. With each step heavier than the last, she walked right over to her single-pony bed, taking care to take off her shoes. It was a far cry from the large poster-bed she’d been presented with before, the room’s wardrobe simple and the candle dimmer than the chandeliers she was becoming accustomed to.

But when Cadenza caught sight of it – a spare room at the Palace staff quarters – she knew where she would belong.

Though the wooden boards creaked with each of her steps, the old wood reminded her well of Nonna Espina’s cottage. The desk was not much larger than her bed in Florentina. And, above all, she could see the Palace Gardens just outside her window, within reach of her personal door.

It was small, old, and perhaps a little dingy. But it was home, or as close as it could be.

With the fresh scent of grass and fragrant flowers faint in the air, Cadenza blew out the candle and flopped onto the bed.


* * * * *


The Palace Gardens had never looked so beautiful, but Cadenza knew it was a lie. She was fast asleep, this was certain, and no image she could conjure could have possibly lived up to what she saw past the window and out her room.

Captivated as she was by the endless vista that welcomed her again, Cadenza pushed open the door, leaving behind her newfound room, and went on her way, past rolling green hills and fields of flowers and trees that reached further than the tallest buildings in all the land beneath the stars.

On and on and on Cadenza went, leaving a trail of golden dust. Whispers all around welcomed her, the hopes and dreams of a hundred million souls in the infinite expanse. Some familiar, others strange. Was that Sunset she saw, with Blueblood by her side, atop a mighty airship conquering the stars? Cadenza couldn’t be sure, so she gave a little wave, one returned in kind twofold, and ventured on.

Tempting as it all was, none of it ensnared her. Not even a door marked by the Sun, the laughter of children like a melodious chorus sounding from within. What power did dreams have to one that walked amongst them? Cadenza continued in her trek, parting mountains and oceans and the very skies.

She stopped only when she reached a garden at last, descending from the clouds. But this was not the Palace Gardens, nor was it the garden she’d first dreamt of in lonely nights during her journey to Canterlot.

Giant fungi that glowed in the moonlight dominated the landscape, mingling with luminescent flowers larger than any flower could ever be. A waterfall parted the mountains, its stream leading to an island surrounded by water that shimmered blue under the light of the Moon.

It was a tiny island, one that could only fit one pony. It rose high above the waters of this cove, its surface covered in grass. There was little else, Cadenza saw, even as she arrived there and looked around. Her heart ached and twisted upon a closer look. 

Dead, dying, dried and cracked flowers. From chrysanthemum to snowdrops to lotuses, even the mighty sunflower that must have once stood tall. All crushed and trampled underhoof, though Cadenza did her best to avoid them.

Only a single lavender bulb grew tall, though lonely and forlorn in Cadenza’s eyes, for lavender was not meant to stand alone.

Then, Cadenza looked at the Moon, and let out a short gasp.


* * * * *


Cadenza stood in a garden. Down the winding path she must have gone, stepping upon cracked, mossy stone slabs. Looking back, there’d been an overgrown hedge and hanging vines.

A rightful pity struck her heart when she looked around her. It was very old indeed, she was certain of it. Perhaps Mister Greenhooves had taken care of it. But only just.

Vines climbed the trees, unruly and untamed. Weeds grew wild and unchecked, strangling the undergrowth. A great stone table left alone at the corner was cracked, its seats overturned or on their sides.

Even here, the scent of flowers was faint in the night-time air, most of all the soothing scent of lavender.

High above, Cadenza’s gaze fell upon the Mare in the Moon, forever imprinted, watching over Equestria below. Yet now, for the first time, she found her frozen gaze a lonely one.

She remembered then what Aunt Celestia had told her when they had first met in the Plane of Images, the realm she’d found herself in after the enchantress Prismia took off the amulet she wore and lifted the spell cast over Florentina.

‘I will come for you. This will begin to make things right.’


* * * * *



End of Act One