Celestia receives a letter. An old kind of letter. The kind of letter she could hold in her hooves. If only she had the heart to open it.
For hundreds of years, the post-scarcity world of Equestria has served as a launching point for the stars. Beyond their green earth, interstellar relays and starships power the colonization efforts of all species. And in just minutes, the digital messages of little ponies can cover distances once considered impossible.
It makes the arrival of a physical letter all the more meaningful.
Especially to the most isolated pony at the heart of the Equestrian Core Worlds.
An entry to the Science Fiction Contest II. No prior reading of Cypress Zero is required. But both stories are stronger together.
Princess Celestia rather preferred it just be ‘my office’.
She peered up now at the ceiling overhead. The vaults leading up to the rotund dome were painted in gold trim, leaving the walls of the room to soft hues of lavender and pinpricks of cornflower blue. The same could be said of the furniture down below, but those had nowhere near the permanence as the ceiling built into the rock of the mountain she resided in. At a moment’s notice, she could press a control on her desk to send the room running off. The ceiling moved about as much as she did.
Although she had a personal living space set just to the side of the chamber, for all intents and purposes, the Oracle—her office—was where she would continue to reside, likely through several more lifetimes.
The reason lay in the practically tiny hole at the center of the dome.
She looked at it with an intensive stare, as if expecting it to be gone. But while the option was there—once again in thanks to her over-engineered desk—she never sealed it; it was better that she not forget one of her last few purposes in this time.
The Age of Science and Magic was prosperous indeed, but magic needed time to seed in the distant colonies, while technology did not.
One day, technology would surpass magic in use.
She idly wondered if they might replace her then.
Celestia was seated gracefully on her modern throne: a simple, but plush, crimson cushion. It was easy to clean, and that was something she performed regularly with the vast swaths of magic that pooled in the interior of Canterlot Mountain. The cleaning was a necessity as well, for she’d done away with almost all interactions with her servants as the engineers had asked her to move further and further into the mountain. The walk was too great, and her needs not worth the exponential suffering.
In truth, she hadn’t had to move her office in forty years, and they hadn’t proposed any changes as of late. It appeared as though she was finally free.
She sipped at her tea to hide her frown. She knew better than that.
Today, the passing of time reinforced the weariness of her lifetimes with one more gesture. Perhaps cruel, but to many, a blessing of good health.
On cue, the desk buzzed. The furnishing was a blend of wood and steel, though it’d been given more form in the latter as the functions available increased.
She answered the buzz and green indicator light with a press of her gold-shoed hoof.
“Good morning, Your Highness. The Canterhorn guidance system has been primed for the realignment.”
“Thank you, my little pony.”
The young voiced stallion’s smile could be felt through the vibrant speakers of Celestia’s office. “And let me be the first to wish you happy birthday.”
She tittered politely, nodded as if the pony was there, and loosed the button. The speakers snapped off, and the pager’s light flicked back to darkness.
These days had long since lost their appeal.
Alone once more, Celestia’s hoof roamed to the next corner of the desk. She gently pried the protective cover off of the button, and pushed softly. The rubber fought back against her shoed hoof, but eventually relented: it depressed with a snappy click.
The room began to move.
Furniture bolted to platforms slid along the magnetic tracks well-buried into the carpet of the Oracle. The electric lamps along the walls recessed into their ports. The loose pieces of furniture were snagged in telekinetic runes to drag them away in perfect stasis. Out of the corner of her eye, Celestia spotted her lukewarm cup of tea tilted far enough to spill, but the magic kept it perfectly still.
Still seated calmly at her desk, Celestia watched it pull away from her, leaving just her, and her cushion.
Then, her ascent began.
The first ring of the massive dais reached nearly to the rooms edges. Sectioned off pieces of the circular carpet ‘split’ apart in their predefined patterns, stopping only when they’d reached several hooves off the ground. Ring after ring, Celestia grew higher and higher, until finally, she came to a stop.
She smiled at the blinking red button that had appeared beside the hole in the ceiling of the dome. She’d never backed out of the realignment process, and she intended on doing her part to serve Equestria. And to a greater extent, for all of ponykind.
Standing from her cushion, she had to duck to avoid scraping the dome with her horn. The edges of the dais were tight around her, but she maneuvered herself into position with nary a thought.
Her long horn slid right into the alignment mechanism.
Celestia closed her eyes, and loosed her wings. Her great white wingspan touched to the surface of the dome on either side. A slow warmth trickled down from above, though it was hardly hot yet.
There was an eerie hum from far above, but Celestia didn’t fret.
She lit her horn, and the sensations of the world numbed out.
Her mind began to drift. She tethered herself to Equestria before she could travel too far. In the gray world behind her eyes, and in the expanse beyond both the skies of Equestria and the greater planet, she imagined she could see the sun. The sun was a long-time friend, though they hadn’t always had the pleasure. But the sun was still a friend. And usually, the only friend she had on any given day of the year.
But today was slightly special, and they would have their time together.
With the lessons of her late student in mind, Celestia toiled with her magical might to push the sun to a fresher periapsis.
It had cost lifetimes from her little ponies, and dozens to hundreds of intertwining destinies to forge the Canterhorn into the tool of a star-befriending princess. And it cost her nothing.
But for another year, the beacon was relit, and Equestria’s reflection shone in the eyes of distant stars. Stars that fostered the planets that would each forge their own Equestria. The stars that were only just beginning to develop their own magic.
Celestia hoped they would not need her as Equestria’s sun needed her.
Celestia’s desk thrummed for the second time that day.
She looked up from her latest reports on recent activity in the ‘northernmost’ quadrants: the youngest colonies were doing well, and spirits seemed high after the recent resupply mission by her sister’s grand fleet.
In recent times, that fleet had turned armada, and while Celestia could not say she was happy about it, she was proud of her sister. She was out there traveling to the stars that were rightfully hers to see... and Celestia was safe and sound in the midst of Equestrian bureaucracy.
And so it worried her that Princess Luna—part-ruler, part-admiral, and all sister—would drop her duties in running the grand armada long enough to send an interstellar call to the heart of the Equestrian Core Worlds.
Celestia pressed her hoof to the paging button. The fidelity of the speakers was a crackly mess, hot with static. Then, as the system refocused, Luna’s voice rang through bright and clear.
“Happy birthday, dear sister.”
Celestia sighed softly. “Thank you, Luna. You never seem to forget, do you? You even get the timezone correct.”
“You do the same for me. In reciprocation, I intend on not failing you.”
The solar diarch laughed, then gave a little shake of her head. “How are your efforts in the Griffonian Conflict faring?”
“That’s not for your concern,” Luna dryly replied. “Have you yet to step outside and trot the castle halls?”
“Why? Should I have?”
“You don’t ever leave, sister.”
“But I do, Luna.”
“Not as much as you used to.”
What little joy Celestia had briefly enjoyed dissolved into her frown. It appeared that this was going to play out like every other birthday call...
“And you should have. I am aware of a package en route from a certain Haltermouth colony. You will need to leave your room to receive it.”
Celestia’s ears perked up, and she leaned forward on her cushion. “From the northern colonies?” Her alicorn biology kept her heart beating at the same perfect tempo, but her mind skipped to make up for its lack of imperfection.
“The Haltermouth Nebula,” Luna corrected. “I would highly recommend you seek it out. No ordering suspicious packages to your room, even after total analysis. Not until you’ve seen it first-hoof.”
“But Luna—”
“Good day, sister.”
The speakers crackled.
The connection terminated.
Celestia’s folded wings drooped.
Until she remembered those brief words.
“A package... From a colony.”
The third thrum of her desk barely—
Click.
“Good morning, captain.”
“Hoh—” She could feel the jump through the speakers. “Ah... Sorry, about that. Princess Celestia... how... prompt?”
“You have a package for me.”
“I-I uh, I do have a package, princess. But it’s... It’s currently being run through analysis, and you must’ve already seen the system message I... haven’t sent?”
“I’ll be right there. Analysis... that’s in the old garrison, isn’t it?”
“You’ll—yes and—wait, what?”
Silence.
“Princess? Are you there?”
The vault door to the Oracle squealed as it swung open.
“U-uh... happy birthday, Your Highness...”
The Princess was galloping.
In the empty halls of Canterlot Castle, the skeleton crew of a servant population—comprised of no more than a dozen ponies—stood together in clustered shock as she strode by.
Celestia paid them no mind. For once in her long-lived life, she had places to be.
Scuttling down a stairwell, she found herself diving into once-known territory. The castle had hardly changed since her sister’s return from the Moon all those years ago... and for Celestia, this may well have been her own return.
Guards in blue and gold armor—a contrast from the modern polyethylene-strapped Concord enforcer—jumped as a result of their entirely-ceremonial training. Nopony expected a princess of Equestria to come barreling down the stairs in a mad dash for a restricted zone.
Thankfully, one very important guard was quick enough to react to the princess’ rush: the one attending the security kiosk.
With a startled yelp, they unlocked the turnstile and hunkered down.
Celestia went right through, sending the entrance-way tumbling as she descended into the deeper parts of the castle.
Standing beside her Captain of the Royal Guard, Celestia stared out into the analysis bay.
The glass window was incredibly clear, but Celestia knew that it was hardly representative of its true strength: this glass was strong. Even if she put her full might into breaking it, it would be a useless effort.
Unless she exerted magical means. A typical magic user would still struggle to break the magic interwoven into the high-density composites that made up the window and frame of the observation wall, but Celestia knew how to unbind these things on an atomic level.
Twilight had shown her how to do that.
Celestia had shown the sun how to do that.
And the sun had shown them how to harness atomic forces for their own needs.
Friendship, too, was a wonderfully complex series of reactions.
“Princess, you may want to stay away from the glass. They’re wearing those suits for a reason.”
She pursed her lips for a brief moment, then relaxed and turned to relay her age to the captain.
“...Captain.” Inwardly, she winced. She hardly remembered the names of her own castle garrison these days. “I can assure you, I have endured far worse from the sun above us today.”
He blinked. “Radiation?”
Celestia tempered him with a quiet giggle. The stallion deflated.
The city of Canterlot and the subsequent Canterlot Castle had seen their share of the rise of new policing elements in the modern era. Concord was one of the last developments implemented into the founding tenets of the space-capable Equestrian bureacracy, and as such, it had a great deal of redundant systems. A robust degree of replacements could be found for the heads of the peacekeeping organization: a civilized polity could have anything from a simple head of security for a small outpost, to commanders overseeing the operations of sprawling cities, to hegemons that ensured peace was kept in stellar quadrants.
But Canterlot had returned to its Captain of the Royal Guard. And for as just-wet this captain’s ears appeared, he performed his duties to an admirable and desirable degree.
She was still going to dote on him like the youngling he was, however.
“What have they discovered so far, dear?”
“Aside from the miniature Sparkle Drive they crammed into that thing to act as a reactor? Carbon, princess.”
Reactor? “Carbon?”
“Within the contents of the container. External scans make it seem like... paper. Carbon. With lots of magic sticking around. Non-Equestrian to boot.”
Celestia paused. “Is that so?”
“Yes, Your Highness.” He idly rolled his neck while he continued. “It’s an entirely different signature. Which matches with the manifest marking it as a delivery from the Farrieway Habitat, which in itself is—”
“A colony in the Haltermouth Nebula.”
They both went quiet.
“You’re correct,” the captain eventually relented.
Celestia’s withers moved in an invisible motion. “I apologize for my nature at present, captain.” She breathed. “I believe... I would like to see it for myself.”
Truth be told, she hadn’t been this excited in a long time.
Celestia frowned at it, then looked to the nearby analysis team with concern. “Are your counters in the shop, my little ponies?”
Only one of the chemsuit-wearing ponies managed to speak up. “U-um, no, Your Highness?”
“It’s quite clear that there’s no risk of radiation from the device. And it’s nowhere near toxic levels of magic.”
The object of their inspection glowed a radioactive-looking blue, but that was as menacing as it got.
The package was placed atop a pedestal at the center of the analysis chamber. It was no more than a few hooves wide, and shaped with two cylinders atop one another. They almost seemed welded together, but it wasn’t so obvious: by the appearance of the gray material, it appeared quite flexible. Celestia wagered that if she spread it apart, it would certainly unfurl like that of a spool of ribbon. But it was just metal. Metal pressed far-too thin. It was fragile, over-engineered, and all-too exciting for Celestia’s eyes.
“The captain said you detected carbon?”
The unicorn among the team nodded. “It’s likely to be paper, but there’s a good deal of components inside... which is why we were hesitant to let you in, Your Highness.”
“Do you know what these components are?”
The unicorn nodded again. “Yes, actually. There are several indications that there is more than just carbon inside. You may have noticed the complete schematic sketched out in the observation room, but there’s a few obvious bits, like some components capable of causing vibrations, but it also looks like there’s a device set to a trigger. Not that there’s any potentially dangerous elements in this to warrant any kind of worry, but still, there’s enough to be pretty suspicious about...”
The other ponies mumbled, forcing the unicorn to speak a little louder. “Despite the lack of a spell matrix, there’s too much magic. Enough to bind the thaumatons together, but not enough to do anything active. A harmonic loop, and a device of untold abilities.”
For a moment, the princess and her ponies watched the gray scroll rhythmically pulse. The captain’s use of the ‘Sparkle Drive’ had been more of an exaggeration than anything: the source of the blue lightshow was hardly the same kind of device that could take ponies across the stars. Aside from being a self-contained power unit, its only similarity was that of its use of magic as an energy source.
But her little pony was right: there were no spells, here. A passive stream of magic flowed through the gray ‘scroll’, fed into the power supply, and came back out. It was magic in a constant state, a notoriously difficult display of harmonic forces at play.
“What would you like us to do with it, Your Highness?”
Celestia looked to the side of the analysis chamber, her eyes landing on the observation wall. There, she met the gaze of her captain.
They shared a nod.
When she returned to the team, she could see the troubled looks painted across their muzzles.
As expected.
“Take your time with it. Once you’re satisfied with the results, please have the captain arrange for it to be sent to my chamber. I’d like to see it before the day’s end.”
The unicorn’s ears were hidden below their suit, but their pleasure was evident. “T-thank you, princess.” With their own glance around their companions, the group’s vigor was restored. “We’ll certainly do our best.”
“Of course, dear.” She smiled warmly. “Thank you for your time, my little ponies.”
“There was an overlooked piece of the delivery. The Ponyville Spaceport’s officers processed it as a manifest without looking.
It is much more.
It contains the same latent magic as its sister object, and it matches the carbon content.
You have two scrolls, Princess.
I hope you’ll share what they say: we’d love to hear from the ponies behind the creation of this canister.”
Celestia reread the scientists’ thank you one more time, then gently set it aside.
In an afternoon’s time, it appeared all of her excitement had trickled down to her little ponies. Perhaps that was for the best...
With her anxiety rekindled, she shuffled her wings.
Having journeyed to the empty flat of her desk, the gray letter sat in waiting. And pinched perfectly shut, a protective foil bag joined it. Were it a few hours later, she might have been tempted to tear right into them both, but the reality of the situation had finally set in.
Inching her folded wings back and forth yet again, Celestia looked to one particular side of the room for help. The gilded cage of Philomena remained empty. Her mind went out in search of her long-lived phoenix companion, but it was a muted attempt.
Philomena would return when she was ready to, while Celestia had yet to ever leave.
She stared again at the metallic spools of magitech that contained a letter within. Her ponies had soared to the stars on artificial wings, but they had not foregone their roots. Even with hundreds of light-years between them, they had remembered their princess, and even been thoughtful enough to send her a letter.
Whatever messages laid within the scrolls, Celestia was sure it was better in the hooves of the princess who truly guided the stars. Celestia was but one small speck in the still vastly unexplored galaxy, and little more than a historical note written in the margins. Even now, her hold on the Equestrian bureaucracy was light; Twilight Sparkle had ensured Equestria’s ponies could expand without her.
Celestia thought now of how foolish she'd been while her student lived. She wondered at just how she could have possibly seen her and her sister retiring.
And at the same time, she felt as if she’d been forced to.
What meaning did keeping Equestria’s ‘activity light’ green even mean? When ponies overseeing their colonies and stations looked at their reports and starmaps, they saw the beacon of their homeworld, eternally lit by the work of her and her most loyal subjects. But surely it couldn’t have meant so much?
Celestia stared at the foil bag, now. Yes, she’d been considered enough by her ponies to have been sent not one, but two letters. And no simple messages sent via relay: these were ordinary letters from a simpler time, made extraordinary by the technology wound around them to ensure their passage. It was easy to see that they’d required hundreds of hours of work to facilitate the transport alone.
This was a treatment befitting a better princess. The arrival of these letters was meant for Luna: the Princess of the Night, the Keeper of Polaris, the Princess of Starflight. She was the one who kept the spirit of ponykind alive. This was meant for her sister.
No, these letters of the modern age did not belong the lonesome Princess of the Sun, even if their physical arrival was a practice that hailed from the history of their ancestral homeworld. The homeworld that Celestia would continue to maintain, for that was her everlasting purpose.
Yes, she still had a purpose. But what she had been content with was what she deserved.
Celestia’s desk hummed again. At first, she did not move. But she relented: she would not let her sister be ignored again. She would not make this mistake twice in another thousand years. Not ever. Never again.
Still, when she answered the call with a firm press of her hoof, she did not speak.
Luna, mercifully, was the one to bridge the light-years of silence between them. “Sister?”
“Hello, Luna.”
“...You do not sound well, Celestia.”
The sun princess wrinkled over. “I’m fine.”
“Fine? That is not what we were hoping to hear.”
“What were you expecting instead, Luna?”
The speakers crackled with a forlorn sigh. Lightly in the background, Celestia could hear voices. Faint voices of intermittent chatter, and tinny orders being barked.
Instead of her chambers, Luna had reached out to Celestia from the bridge of her illustrious capital ship. A capital ship no doubt in the middle of guiding its flock.
“We expected you to have been most pleased with the arrival of your gift.” Celestia leaned back, and squinted at the still-glowing ‘gift’.
“I can’t accept this.”
“What?”
The voices in the background fell silent.
“It’s... too kind.”
“Sister, it is justly so, crafted for a princess of Equestria by her loyal subjects.”
“You know that speaks to both of us.”
“But you are Equestria, dear sister. You are who a pony believes in when they dream of a better world.”
“It’s not fair to you.”
“I have my own purpose, sister. You know this. We rule our separate realms, and someday soon, we may see them intertwined.”
“But until then, we are not the same.”
“Celestia. Dearest sister. Please do not contest me on this hill.”
Celestia’s fight instantly fled.
“Your subjects have created a most precious gift. For you. It is yours. Everything is earned, and you have earned this.” A pause. “And it is your birthday.”
In the background, there were a few half-called cheers of ‘happy birthday’.
On top of her sister’s reassurances, it made Celestia’s heart swell. But enough of the ache remained to thwart any warm words.
“You had something to do this with this, didn’t you?”
“I will not lie to you. In our brief anchorage in the systems of the Haltermouth Nebula, we did finalize the transport of a message pure of spirit.”
“Finalize?”
Luna carried on. “You have letters, Celestia. Scrolls. Are you not the least tempted to tear their binds asunder, and to read them as if they were of Twilight’s own?”
Celestia’s perfect heartbeat jumped, and pain surged through her. She closed her eyes.
“I played no further part in this beyond funding the vessel in which your ponies’ work is contained. I can assure you, the letters ascribed to you are from ponies who well and truly believe in you. And that cannot be taken away by any neigh-say spat from your aching heart.”
Celestia could hear Luna’s wings ruffling, almost as if her sister was reaching out to her to hug. And in a way, she was.
“Read, and be healed by the words your ponies offer their princess.”
Before Celestia could be allowed another word, the speakers cracked, then faded into silence.
Celestia stared at the foil bag, and the scroll’s ‘vessel’. An envelope of metal.
She breathed unsteadily, her throat hitching as she inhaled.
And as she let loose, her horn ignited in a flare of yellow.
She reached out with her magic, and the foil bag tore silently along the folded seam. The telekinesis smoothed it over, and wordlessly, she dove in, wrapping her ethereal grip around the interior, feeling it out for the contents within.
The first scroll emerged, and the days of Equestrias past filled the room: the sweet cereal fibers smelled fresh, and Celestia suddenly longed for a quill and ink.
As more of the lightly-tannish paper emerged, its imperfections began to show. The pulp was not entirely smooth, and the more granular sides of the paper dominated the edge. But where text had been printed in precise, even strokes, the texture of the paper flattened out. The message strewn across the uneven and quite lengthy sheet was legible, and that was what mattered most.
She gently set the precious paper across the desk, and bled her magic to the open air. Leaning forward, Celestia slid her hooves from their gold shoes, and smoothed the paper out flat.
She breathed again, and her eyes watered.
Celestia licked her lips, teetered further forward, and began to read.
Dear Princess Celestia,
I truly hope this scroll finds you in good health. It took a great deal of effort to not cry and ruin the work that went into creating this fond artifact. An artifact such precious little ponies have brought back to life.
My name is Skylark Twinkle. I am the Headmare of the Farrieway Schoolhouse, and I am writing to you on the wonderful creation from our first ever class of students.
I am a mare fond of history, and as one of the few ponies in Farrieway officially recognized as a suitable instructor, I interact with the students on a level some ponies in this day and age might find untenable. However, I am a mare also sound in the ways of science, and I was able to conjoin these facets into assigning a project that I dearly hope you will enjoy as much as the students did.
For our opening year and class, I opted to establish a project so that the little ones might learn to find comfort in each other, and learn through the lessons found in the trails our ancestors blazed across the stars. A project about the science behind the pioneering that has fueled ponykind for centuries, and the magic of friendship.
These trails all lead back to one place you know well.
We were lucky enough to have a number of pioneering families settle the Farrieway Habitat, and neatly balanced between the tribes. As you may be aware, we are one of several colonies in the Haltermouth Nebula who are attempting a planetside colonization, with the hopes of one day pursuing terraforming in the vein of the colonies established within the realm of the Equestrian Core Worlds. To this effect, several bio-domes have been erected to facilitate Equestria-like conditions. It is in our agri-dome that the story of our little ones begins.
In a section of the community garden, we planted the seeds of our year-long journey. The earth pony members of our class were given the goal of nurturing various cereal crops. The fledgling fliers of our pegasus class were assigned the task of assisting with low-scale weather manipulation. And the unicorns—as well as some very helpful atmospheric technicians—ensured the plants enjoyed a fair climate.
While there were many complications due to the nature of our colony’s still-seeding magic, the students’ rye plants exhibited tremendous growth. When the time came, the students ventured out with tools in hoof, and worked with great fervor.
The unicorns, who had been previously lamented by the others for their lack of ‘real work’, were praised by all when the results of the rye pulp produced such sturdy pieces.
It was just as profound to Princess Luna upon her arrival.
I must admit, I felt bold in speaking with the princess. I very dearly wished to be her friend, as the word she spread among the pioneers was truly inspiring. She was so keenly interested in our bio-domes, and especially interested in the conditions the students had managed in order to produce what many parents referred to as ‘obsolete things from centuries past’.
Princess Luna did not see it that way. The moment she was introduced to our project, her infatuation knew no bounds.
The princess offered the students and their families a day upon the Tantabus. While there were many worries over ‘wartime demonstrations’, these were easily proved unfounded.
The royal magicians and technicians were all too happy to share their facilities, and the wonders of the universe, with the foals of Farrieway.
The vessel—as the princess calls it—contains a data-bank. The exact specifications and properties of the vessel have been highly detailed by the magicians and technicians behind its creation, but I think one aspect is worth noting at present: the seamless loop of harmonic magic that enables the stasis of the students’ work. Without it, you might feel fearful to expose the gift to the world. The work will remain eternally preserved in both its digital and physical forms.
The princess assures me that you are able to add the data-bank to your personal archives. Alongside the vessel’s designs, it contains a scanned copy of both scrolls’ contents, as you may find it difficult to preserve this second and much-less important scroll.
In addition, it contains the files associated with the third message, and the talented writers behind each respective line.
Please, press the button on the vessel anterior whenever you need to add a little more sunshine to your day.
Sorry, I couldn’t resist! Thank you for you and your sister’s kindness!
Your faithful subject, Skylark Twinkle
Celestia slid the scroll back into the analysis team’s protective foil.
She looked intently at the gray vessel, half-expecting it to open for her.
Carefully, she placed one hoof on both of the cylinders, then pulled.
The back of the vessel did not arch as she separated the cylinders: the magnetic forces holding it shut shattered easily under her coaxing movement. The spine of the vessel was rigid, and the whole unit stretched until it clicked into place.
Placed flat against the gray space within, the scroll peered up at her. Celestia cast her eyes away from the scroll, not daring to read it until she’d found the third message.
The blue button was smaller than she expected.
Placed below the ethereal frame of magic, it was surprisingly cool. The tactile button, soft underhoof, went as far as she pressed, until it soundlessly stopped at its furthest point.
Celestia leaned back with bated breath, watching the field of magic idly shimmer. Beyond it, the backlit scroll appeared dark against the room’s lavender sky. But that was merely a trick of the light.
The vessel hummed against the table, and like the speakers against the Oracle’s walls, and it too, crackled.
The giggles that faded quietly into the room were crisp around the edges. A quiet voice hushed the assembled crowd, and the vessel creaked like a skipping record.
Suddenly, the fidelity sharply increased, and the crunch of noise gave way.
Celestia’s ears pricked high as the silence broke into tangible sound.
Her heart jumped again. This time, there was no pain; she allowed a soft smile to light her visage. Tears brimmed against the corners of her eyes.
The distant star’s foals rose up in choir.
And their words invoked the healing their princess so desperately needed.
