“…”

“…”

“…coming too…”

“…!”

“Typhoon!”

Typhoon groaned. Her entire body ached, and the stickiness underneath her wings told her she was drenched in sweat as well. The mare grimaced and touched a hoof to her brow, pressing on her temple in a vain attempt to counter the pressure building in her skull. If she didn’t, she worried that her head would split like a melon.

Magenta eyes opened to the bright morning light. It struck her face and seared her retinae, and she lifted a hoof to block the glare. The blond forelimb trembled and shook, and even her breathing felt harsh and ragged.

She coughed and felt a bitter copper taste slide down the back of her throat, making her wince and turn on her side. Everything tasted like blood, and her head swam with nausea. She coughed again, and she felt strings of bloody, coagulated saliva stretch from tooth to tooth, gums to tongue.

A hoof touched her shoulder and rolled her over. Her eyes took a minute to focus on the cautious pony hovering over her, but when they did, she made out the dark and worried face of her father. Rubbing her eyes with her fetlock, she blinked a few times. “Dad?”

She was answered by forelimbs wrapping around her shoulders and a warm neck entwining with hers. Hurricane simply engulfed his daughter with his love and shuddered. “I thought I lost you. Again.”

Typhoon wrapped her forelimbs around his midsection, and he helped her sit upright. Her head swam from the change in orientation, and she reached out with a hoof to stabilize herself, only for it to find nothing to support her weight against. She would’ve slipped and tumbled out of the bed had Hurricane not firmly held onto her and gently laid her back against the pillows lining the headboard. Even still, bright flashes of light and runny colors danced across her vision, leaving her dizzy and confused.

“Ugh… this is getting old,” Typhoon muttered, a lethargic smile on her face. She coughed into her hoof, and when she held it up to her face, it was stained with sticky brown and red streaks. Groaning, she leaned back against the headboard and squeezed her eyes shut. “How long was I out?”

“Six or seven hours,” Hurricane said. Typhoon cracked open an eye and noticed just how haggard her father looked. “When you started coughing up blood, Celestia put you in stasis so that you wouldn’t die. Then Luna entered your mind to try and take apart the curse that was… killing you.” He sighed and did his best to stifle a yawn, but it was a lost cause. Stretching his jaw, Hurricane shook his head. “She came back a short while after and told us that she was successful. I’ve been waiting ever since then for you to wake up.”

Typhoon sighed and shut her eyes as another wave of dizziness overtook her. At long last, her nightmare was finally over. “You really shouldn’t have,” she murmured, feeling her own exhaustion creeping over her. Even though she just woke up, she already wanted to go back to sleep. The vertigo plaguing her wasn’t helping either.

“Yes. He shouldn’t have,” came another voice, one Typhoon didn’t recognize. She opened her eyes to find a fanged pony staring down at her, slitted eyes narrowed into thin trenches through seas of crimson.

Typhoon was sure she felt her heart stop beating for just a second.

“Hmph.” Second Sister rolled her eyes and turned away. She seemed more amused by Typhoon’s reaction than anything. “At least you have your wits about you.”

“What are you?” Typhoon breathed.

Second cocked her head to the side. “What am I? You don’t remember fighting and killing one of my sisters?”

Typhoon frowned and wracked her memories. There were so many empty spots and gaps in her memory. She vaguely recalled encountering a creature similar to the mare before her, but she couldn’t focus on it. Like sand through feathers it slipped away, no matter how much she tried to hold onto the memory. “Vaguely. I think?” She shrugged, although she kept her forelegs between her and the thestral just in case. “Sorry…”

“She’s fine,” Second said, waving a leathery bat wing. “Three killing blows on a normal pony, perhaps, but it’s a lot harder to kill a thestral. Usually you have to cut off the head.” One of those crimson pools fixed Typhoon with a glare. “Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

The door behind Hurricane opened, and the three ponies in the room turned towards it. In stepped the slender figure of Celestia, mane slightly frazzled, but still as regal as ever. Her eyes darted from pony to pony before settling on Typhoon. “Ah, you’re awake.” She smiled, and Typhoon felt her heart begin to race. “I’ve been looking forward to an opportunity to meet Hurricane’s daughter, face to face. After all, I kept you alive last night.”

Typhoon’s breath caught in her throat. “Ce… Celeste?” The name barely squeaked out of her lips before she bowed her head, despite the dizziness it gave her. “Forgive me, my Lady, I wasn’t expecting… couldn’t have…”

Celestia gently laughed and shook her head. “Oh, that’s completely unnecessary, my little pony. Believe me when I say that I’m no goddess, as much influence on your religion as I might have.” She took a step closer and gestured with a wingtip. “Up. Lean back; I can tell you’re rather uncomfortable.”

Typhoon nodded and did as she was told. Even still, she didn’t allow her eyes to settle on Celestia’s form, preferring to keep them trained on the floor instead.

“Besides, I came to brought you somepony,” Celestia said. She stepped off to the side and nudged a small body by her side forward. “Go ahead, Tempest. It’s okay.”

Typhoon felt her breath catch in her throat as her son waddled out from behind Celestia’s legs. He nervously peeked into the room, cowing in fear from the bat-winged thestral standing in the middle of it. As soon as the colt saw his mother, however, all his anxiety vanished. With a cry of “Mommy!” and the thunder of little hooves, the little pegasus barreled into the room and launched himself onto Typhoon’s cot, little wings buzzing for extra lift. He slammed into Typhoon’s ribs, making her grunt, and wrapped his forelegs around her torso and nuzzled her downy chest.

“T-Tempest?” Typhoon gasped, holding her son in her hooves. Her vision blurred as tears welled up, and she wrapped her son in a warm embrace. “You’re safe! Thank the gods you’re safe!” Sniffling, she buried her muzzle in Tempest’s short mane and cried.

The other ponies in the room found themselves fighting the urge to join in as well. Even the cold, lifeless Second Sister felt something stir in her chest as mother and son reunited. They all stood in blissful silence as Typhoon wept into her son’s mane and smothered him with kisses.

“Mommyyyyyyy,” Tempest moaned, feebly fighting off the onslaught. “Stoooooooop.”

Typhoon’s response was to wrap her forelegs around her son’s chest and hold him under her chin. “Mommy’s never going to let go, my little soldier,” Typhoon said, giving him one last kiss behind the ears.

“He’s done quite well while you’ve been gone,” Hurricane said, nodding towards Tempest. “Twister, Diadem, and Celestia and Luna have all taken turns looking after him.”

Typhoon looked at Celestia again in disbelief. “And... how did you get not one but two Goddesses here in Everfree?”

Hurricane yawned and rubbed his brow. “It’s… a long story,” he said. “There’s plenty… plenty that we need to get you caught up on.”

“That can wait,” Second interjected with a protective growl. “Her brain is still reeling from the trauma Mistress inflicted on it when she removed the curse. She’ll need another day or two to settle back into things before she’s able to walk around without getting dizzy.” At Celestia’s nod, she shuffled her wings and stepped a little closer. “How is Mistress? She refused to let me see her after she left Typhoon’s mind.”

“She’s resting,” Celestia said, “in that trance she does every so often. She assured me that her favoring her foreleg was purely psychological trauma from her encounters in Typhoon’s mind.” She frowned and looked at her own forelimb. “I keep telling her that she needs actual sleep, but she refuses to listen to me.”

“Mistress doesn’t need actual sleep,” Second said, frowning. “Her restorative trance confers all the benefits she needs and allows her to remain awake longer, no matter what psychological horrors she may subject herself to.”

Typhoon winced and looked away, and Celestia gently touched Hurricane’s shoulder. “Speaking of rest, you need to get some,” she said. “If you won’t listen to me, then listen to the doctor.”

Second took the opportunity to begin shooing Hurricane away. “Yes. You need sleep. You’ve been up all night, and insomnia is rough on old guy metabolism.”

Hurricane sighed and stood up. He walked over to Typhoon and kissed her forehead, then brushed stroked Tempest’s mane. The young colt was already drifting off to sleep in his mother’s embrace. “I’ll see you when you’re feeling better,” he said, rubbing her shoulder.

Typhoon smiled and closed her eyes. “Looking forward to it.”

Father and daughter parted again, and Hurricane slowly trotted back towards Celestia. The white alicorn wrapped a wing around his shoulders and guided him toward the door, sparing a nod for Second. The thestral blew cold air through her nostrils and wordlessly turned away. When the door shut behind her, her predatory eyes scanned the room. Typhoon was already asleep, but her newest patients, the guards and legionaries wounded in the attack, were beginning to moan softly.

Summer pressed a hoof to her temple and groaned. Not even the dead got any rest, it seemed.

“I can and I will! I am a queen; step aside!”

The stable colt squeaked and dove away as Queen Jade and her surviving contingent of soldiers marched into the stables. Ten glistening crystal chariots sparkled in the morning sunlight shining through the gaps in the roof. They all stood neatly polished, ready for the journey back to the Union; a journey that Jade was keen on making as soon as possible.

As one, her soldiers began to hitch themselves up to their carriages. Jade’s bloodshot eyes glanced at them for a moment, then returned to the pony carried by her side. Smart Cookie, head bandaged and coat still stained with blood, breathed softly, but his eyes stared forward, unseeing. He hadn’t awoken from his coma, not in the few hours he’d been in the infirmary before Jade had roughly dragged him out with the help of her guards.

Jade sneered. There was no way she was going to trust his care to the fanged demons the heretical Equestrians had in their infirmary.

“Ma’am, we’re short on hooves for four carriages,” one of her soldiers reported. “We’ll have to leave them behind.”

“Don’t,” Jade growled. She watched her soldiers gently load Smart Cookie’s comatose body into her carriage. “Drag them out into the courtyard and burn them. We don’t leave anything for these monsters.” She looked around again and noted the absence of a particular unicorn. “And somepony find me my Artist-damned Archmagus!”

The soldier saluted and galloped off, shouting orders to the Union soldiers assembling in the stable. Together, they began to drag four of the carriages away, while the rest of the soldiers set up a protective perimeter around the building. Satisfied, Jade stomped over to her carriage and scrambled in.

She instinctively tried to shut the door with her magic, but the pain surging through the fractured tip of her horn put an end to that. Her vision turned red and she slumped against the side of the carriage, feeling like somepony had taken a chisel to her forehead. Pure mana dripped down the cracks in her crystalline horn before it evaporated away, leaving an icy feeling in her skull. Seething, she fumbled for the door handle and slammed it shut.

Once secluded from the outside world, Jade groaned and slumped back. The last of the sharp pain in her horn finally subsided after several seconds of tense breathing, and she opened her eyes. For the first time since the Cirrans uncovered her, Jade took the time to look herself over. Her skin was cracked and glistened along hundreds of hairline fractures, and her body ached everywhere. After a moment to muster her resolve, she took a nervous, tentative glance to her left side. A thick mass of bandages, many already beginning to turn crimson and brown, pressed flat against her side.

Jade’s throat bobbed. Grimacing, she worked a hoof under the mass of bandages and began to gently peel them back.

Nothing.

The alicorn couldn’t turn her eyes away from the nothing held against her flank. Where beautiful crystalline feathers once peeked above her flank, now only an amputated stub remained. The nub twitched back and forth as she tried to move it, to convince herself that it wasn’t real. But no matter how she tried, she couldn’t make her gorgeous feathers reappear.

Jade managed to find the strength to look away from the oozing remains of her wing. She directed her attention to the window, but all she could see outside of the stable was the castle walls and the blue sky high above them. She felt her throat clench up as she tried to fight back tears. She’d lost the sky and the sensation of flight. She’d all but lost her magic. Artist, she’d lost so much.

But she’d gladly give her horn and remaining wing to bring back the fire of her world.

The alicorn slid forward and knelt beside Smart Cookie. The amber earth pony breathed gently, but made no other motion. Half-lidded eyes stared up at the ceiling of the carriage, and they didn’t move when Jade tried to choke back her sobs.

The Union’s queen sniffled and ran a hoof down Smart Cookie’s jawline. Even though his flesh was warm, Jade felt cold. They had promised they could find some way to save him, but Jade had had enough of them. She didn’t trust them, not anymore. Not after they’d nearly gotten her killed.

They said it was rebels, but Jade doubted that. Rebels shouldn’t be able to get that deep into a castle under the cover of darkness. It seemed more like an assassination attempt to her, albeit a strange one. Then again, poisoning her meal during the feast would’ve been too suspicious. This plan at least had novelty on its side.

But plan or not, it’d failed, albeit at a costly price. Jade was still alive, and that meant her Union was still strong. Whatever it took, she was going to resist Equestria’s underhoofed scheming to gobble up more of her country’s land and valuable shoreline. Even if it meant war, she’d defy them to the last.

A hoof knocked on the quartz pane of her carriage. Frowning, Jade unhinged the pane and lowered it enough to stick her head out. She only gave the Union soldier a deadpan glare as any indication that he should speak.

“We’re ready to move whenever you are,” the soldier said. “Just give us the command.”

“And Wintershimmer?” Jade asked.

“He’s in the courtyard. We’ll pick him up before crossing the bridge.”

Jade narrowed her eyes. “Go. I can’t stand this city even a second longer.”

The soldier saluted and trotted to the front of the carriage, and Jade shut the window. Carefully massaging her temples, the alicorn queen slouched into her seat and blew a terse breath. A second later, the carriage lurched as the soldiers at the front began to pull it along.

Jade shut her eyes and tried to welcome the embrace of sleep, yet its comforting oblivion eluded her. She wanted nothing more than to drift into unconsciousness and forget all about her troubles, but she knew that’d be impossible. There was simply too much on her mind, and she doubted she’d be able to get a good night’s sleep ever again.

The carriage came to a rocky halt, shaking Jade out of her contemplative thoughts. Narrowing her eyes, she opened the window and stuck her head out. “Why have we stopped?”

“Legion,” came the lead pony’s hoarse reply.

The six carriages stopped before the bridge, where a contingent of Legion soldiers had massed. Each pony wore heavy armor and carried half-shields on each wing, which they interlocked when the carriages drew too close. In the courtyard behind them, four crystal carriages burned, spewing thick black smoke into the sky. Several Legion pegasi had begun gathering rainclouds to put out the blaze, but they’d stashed them off to the side of the courtyard, possibly for fear of drenching the two unicorns standing next to the inferno.

“But can you blame her?” Wintershimmer retorted, calmly tucking a scroll or several into the confines of his jacket and away from the sparks swirling through the air. “I would’ve sent the carriages careening into the castle. You should be happy that Queen Jade hasn’t resorted to more violent measures.”

Star Swirl frowned. The frayed edges of his beard danced in the rising air the fires whipped up around them, and the orange light reflected in his eyes only made his anger that much more potent. “This isn’t the way!” he exclaimed, taking a step forward. “I understand she’s angry, I understand she’s heartbroken, but she needs to listen to reason!”

Wintershimmer scoffed and strode forward to meet Star Swirl. “And give Equestria another chance to take her out? I think she’s making the logical decision here.”

Star Swirl’s eyes narrowed and he looked up at the slightly taller archmage. “You know we weren’t the ones who tried to kill her.”

“You know I don’t care,” Wintershimmer spat back.

The two archmagi stood in frustrated silence as the carriages crackled and snapped in the fires nearby. Eventually, it was Star Swirl who broke the silence. “Equestria will win any war with the Union.”

“Do you think I want a war, Star Swirl?” Wintershimmer asked. “Even I know what a foolish endeavor that would be. Everything favors the Legion, even down to the math. They can move in three dimensions. Union soldiers can only move in two. How can any army compete with that?”

“I know you stand to gain something from this,” Star Swirl muttered through clenched teeth. “That’s the only reason why you do anything.”

“I have better things to do with my time than playing at siege magic. Most especially now that Jade will likely be leaning on me to assist her in her time of grief.”

“You're going to use this for political power?” Nopony could miss the surprise on Star Swirl’s face. Wintershimmer certainly didn’t.

“Would you rather I left Jade to her own devices? You know she’ll be screaming for blood as soon as she’s back on her throne. Tell yourself whatever it is you wish to hear so you can sleep at night, but now you need me—and even if you never say it out loud, that means you know I've won. I will be ruling the Crystal Ponies while you sit behind the winged barbarian and Lapis' foal.”

Wintershimmer only smiled and took a step back. “I hope you manage to deal with your little rebel problem before somepony important dies. It’d be a shame if you fall to your knees before you get to see my greatest work.”

Star Swirl evenly met Wintershimmer’s gaze. “You act as if we’re both not old, Wintershimmer. You know we each have only ten years or so left.”

The Union’s archmage stopped and leered at Star Swirl. “Are you trying to say something? If so, say it straight. You’re not selling yourself any higher than what you’re worth, and your philosophical tongue doesn’t earn you any favors.”

The olive stallion looked away and smirked. “For all you’ve tried to prove you’re better than me—”

“I am better than you,” Wintershimmer snarled.

“—you haven’t put much thought in the future, haven’t you?” Star Swirl finished. At Wintershimmer’s blank look, he turned back to the castle. “What value is a mage’s work if there’s nopony after him to practice it?”

For once, Wintershimmer was at a loss for words.

“That’s why we take on apprentices, Wintershimmer. Nopony remembers magic left to rot in a tome on a bookshelf. Magic is meant to be shared, not hoarded for personal fame.” A beat. “And that’s why I am and always will be the better mage. Not necessarily the better caster—but the better mage.”

With that, Equestria’s archmage disappeared through the smoke surrounding the carriages.

Wintershimmer remained in the courtyard, nostrils flaring with each punctuated breath he took. A vein visibly throbbed against his temple, and his jaw worked side to side, sliding yellowed teeth against each other in silent rage. Only when the burn of the smoke and noxious fumes began to make him cough did he turn around and hobble back towards Jade’s carriages, spinal walking staff in tow.

Jade saw him as he approached the carriage, walking staff cracking angrily against the ground. She didn’t say a word as he all but tore open the carriage door and began to climb inside. He hesitated at the frame long enough to catch the eye of the lead carriage team. “Drive.”

“But the Legion—”

“They’ll move,” Wintershimmer insisted. “Drive.”

He clambered into the carriage and shut the door behind him. Immediately after, the carriage began to move, and Wintershimmer watched the legionaries gathered on the bridge step aside. The pegasi watched the carriages pass with unreadable faces and began to disperse shortly thereafter. Blowing a terse breath from his nose, Wintershimmer sighed and sat back in his chair.

After a few minutes, he gave Jade a sidelong glance, but the mare’s thoughts were elsewhere. Her eyes were pointed in Smart Cookie’s direction, but Wintershimmer doubted that she even saw the comatose stallion. With a grunt, the withered, old stallion went back to looking out the quartz glass.

It was going to be a long ride home.

Twister arrived at the castle just as the last of the fires were put out. She took a quick detour from her flight to her office to take a closer look at the smashed, smoldering remains of the four crystal carriages sitting in the courtyard. She turned around and looked towards the north, where she caught a glimpse of several bright splashes of light slowly moving along the dusty roads to the Union. Sighing, the mare pressed her hoof to her brow. This was the last thing she needed.

Rather than deal with the hectic environment of the castle interior, Twister decided to fly around the face until she could get to her office. The window was still smashed open from the night before, and one pane rattled back and forth against the stone frame as the wind toyed with it. With extra care not to cut herself on any of the jagged glass, Twister flared her wings and perched on the windowsill.

Her office was an absolute disaster. From the splintered remains of the door covering the floor to the overturned desk, everything inside had been ransacked and searched. Papers and documents covered the floor, and many bore tell-tale signs of hoofprints amongst their margins. The rebels had even gone so far as to slice open the stuffing of her furniture and search them for any hidden papers.

The Cirran Legatus sighed and hopped off her perch. Her hooves clopped across the floor, only slightly muffled by the papers underneath. She approached her desk to see that most of the locks on the classified documents she kept with her had been melted off or broken in two. Some of those scrolls and sheets of paper were strewn about the desk. Others were missing entirely.

Twister stared at all of this for a good while before shaking her head and absentmindedly trudging over to her torn-up lounge chair. She’d need to get this all cleaned up, but she didn’t know where to begin. The more she looked at the mess, the more she wanted to fly back to Cloudsdale and get another good rutting from Echo. Unfortunately, that wouldn’t get anything accomplished, and she knew Hurricane was going to need her a lot in these next few days.

She plopped down on her chaise and reclined, closing her eyes to the frustrations of her job. Cleaning up her office was going to take the better part of the day, but she also had to see her brother and make sure he was alright. There were also rumors that her niece was back in the castle; Twister planned on taking a look around as soon as she could. She also needed to find out where Tempest was, although if Typhoon certainly was back in Everfree, then her son wouldn’t be too far away.

And then there was Greenleaf…

Twister adjusted herself on her chaise and heard the crinkling of paper beneath her. Grunting, the mare stood up and eyed the squashed scrap of paper she’d been sitting on. Its wax seal hadn’t been broken, and it still bore the sign of Greenleaf’s office. Twister snatched it up with a wing and broke open the seal. If only Greenleaf had hung around to lend a horn with cleaning up her office.

Unfolding the letter betwixt her wingtips, Twister lazily scanned it over. ‘Cathedral. 2200,’ was all it said. Twister flipped the letter over for anything more, some hidden message in Greenleaf’s flowing script that would clarify, but found only blank paper. Frowning, Twister crunched the message up and tossed it toward her waste bin, only for it to bounce off the rim.

The Legatus rolled her eyes and flopped back onto her chaise. She already hated where this day was going.

At least Greenleaf’s message wasn’t too hard to figure out. The burnt-out cathedral on the edge of town was a popular spot for ponies wishing to conduct business in private, and the proximity of a guard outpost scared off muggers and other criminals. Plus, the legends surrounding the ill-fated building kept most curious wanderers away. Everfree’s first major fire started in that small church three years ago, and it’d been left empty as a memorial. If Twister hadn’t grown fond of using the church herself, she would have been more concerned with such a meeting ground. And ‘2200’ was ten at night, after the sun had finally set on the long summer day.

Even still, she was not looking forward to her meeting with Greenleaf tonight.

Chancellor Puddinghead hummed some new tune to himself as he trotted down the halls of Everfree Castle. By now, the midday sun shot rays of light through the castle windows at steep angles, all but obliterating the shadows that clung to the seam of floor and wall. The last pockets of soldiers began to filter out of the castle, hauling buckets and tarps along with them. In their wake, they left clean floors and bare walls, devoid of the bodies lying in heaps or the blood splattered against stone that had decorated the halls hours ago.

Yet Puddinghead hardly seemed affected by what had happened last night. In fact, he’d slept right through it. He’d only woken up an hour ago, and was now on his way to the castle’s banquet hall for some much-needed breakfast. Lunch? …Brunch. Some much-needed brunch. Sleeping was exhausting business, and a food coma sounded nice right about now.

But instead of the bustling feast he’d been expecting, Puddinghead opened the massive banquet hall doors only to find a single mare sitting at the long table. It took him a second to recognize the ivory coat and royal purple mane of the mare. Her usually finely coiled mane was a mess, and she sat at the table with cheek on her foreleg and jaw against the wood. Whatever attempt she’d made at looking her usual regal self was ruined by the makeup running down her cheeks and the empty wine bottles scattered across the table.

Puddinghead’s first instincts told him ‘Party!’, and he nearly began to bounce over to the mare. The broken look in Platinum’s half-lidded eyes, however, held him back. Restraining himself with a deep breath, Puddinghead casually trotted over to the table and sat by Platinum’s side.

Equestria’s queen didn’t notice him at first; she was too preoccupied with biting down on her own tongue to stop the whirling dizziness from toppling her out of her seat. She squeezed her eyes shut as nausea threatened to steal back the alcohol she’d drank, and only when she opened them did she notice the brown earth pony sitting next to her. Groaning, she buried her forehead in the crook of her forelimb. “What… do you… want?”

Puddinghead shrugged and looked at the bottles strewn in front of Platinum. “Oh, I was just hungry, so I came down for some brunch. It’s not too late for brunch, is it?” He squinted out the nearest window and tried to measure the sun’s position in the sky. Ultimately, though, he simply shrugged and tried to wave over a servant. “Eh, who am I kidding? It’s never too late for brunch!”

A scrawny colt galloped over to Puddinghead’s side. “Yes, Mister Chancellor, sir, what can I get you? Erm… sir.”

“Whatever the chef’s got cooking back there! I’m starving!” Puddinghead exclaimed, shooing the colt back. “And a big glass of milk and honey! That makes anything go down!”

“Of course, Chancellor! One… thing, coming right up!” And with that, the colt turned tail and fled into the kitchen.

Puddinghead shook his head. “Kids these days, am I right?” He turned around to find Platinum feebly reaching for another bottle of wine with a clumsy hoof. He bit his lip and tapped his hooves together. “Uh… Platty? Are you sure you should be drinking another bottle? You’ve already had…” His eyes darted between the bottles lying on the table. “…five? Holy shmoly doly, how are you even alive?!”

Platinum groaned and let the wine bottle she was reaching for fall over and roll away from her. “Not on… the inside…”

The Chancellor whistled and watched the wine bottle veer away from the edge of the table at the last possible moment, coming to a rest with the cork hovering over the seat. “Are you sure you don’t have earth pony somewhere in your family lineage?”

“No,” Platinum growled. “My ling… line… No earth pony. No… pegasus.” She scoffed and found a more comfortable position for her pounding head in the curves of her forelimb. “One hundred… even two hundred… percent noble unicorn.”

“Well geez, no need to make it sound so racist,” Puddinghead mumbled. He snatched one of the empty wine bottles and brought it to his face. “What’s the big party for anyway? And how come I wasn’t invited?!”

Platinum groaned and lifted her muzzle out of her forelimb enough to lay it flat against the table. “No party… only sadness.”

Puddinghead frowned and scooted a little closer to Platinum. “Sadness? Why so down and dumpy, Platty-watty?”

“Sun and stars… don’t you… start,” the mare warned, spearing Puddinghead with an unfocused glare. When Puddinghead backed off, hooves raised in a placating manner, Platinum swallowed a burp and gritted her teeth. “How did things get so… so wrong?”

“Wrong?” Puddinghead shrugged. “They seem just fine and dandy to me.”

“Hmph… easy for you to say.” Platinum made a feeble attempt to raise her head, ultimately resorting to using her hooves to do so. “This madness… this… shit,” she hissed, literally spitting the word out, “what sort of… result… record? What am I writing in my history books?”

Puddinghead’s lip twitched as he fought the urge to smirk. “Things, I would presume.”

Platinum pulled her lips back like she’d tasted something foul. “I will take this fork… and jam it through your eye,” she threatened, her pale blue magic warping around one of the pewter forks left sitting on the banquet table. As she pointed the utensil at Puddinghead’s face, the cheery Chancellor noted that even her magic seemed drunk.

After letting it tremble for a moment, Platinum lost her focus on her telekinesis, and the fork clanged loudly on the floor. She slumped forward and rested her head on the table. “What a failure,” she muttered. “The first queen of Equestria… lost her daughter to the Scourge… broke the horn and… shattered the wing of her peer… let her country fall to ru… ru… pieces by rebel filth. All in five years.”

Her sapphiric eyes once again found their way to the full wine bottle hanging off the edge of the table. An ivory hoof snaked out and reached for it, but it was still a few inches too far away. “Grnngh,” she groaned, slapping her hoof loudly against the table. “Get… get that one… I need it.”

Puddinghead bit his lip, eyes darting between Platinum and the bottle. Ultimately, he rolled it over with a hoof, making Platinum’s eyes light up with anticipation. But instead of placing it in front of her, he firmly set it on his opposite side. “Platty, I really think you don’t need any more.”

The Queen opened her mouth to protest but almost immediately slapped a hoof over her muzzle and doubled over as she tried to fight her retching stomach. Puddinghead threw his hooves into the air and slid several feet away while Platinum gasped and dry-heaved. “Guh… mmmfmmfuungh…” she moaned, and laid her cheek flat against the table. “Feh. I guess you’re right…”

“Besides, you’re not a complete failure!” Puddinghead said with a cheery smile on his face, although that deflated almost immediately when Platinum shot him a deadpan glare. “Eh heh… that came out wrong…”

Platinum groaned and looked the other way. Tapping his hooves together, Puddinghead fidgeted in his seat. “Uh, well, what I was trying to say is… what I meant to say is…” He desperately searched the room for some help or salvation from his dead end, but all he saw were ponies talking or milling about the tables. Ponies of all different sizes, colors, races, working together…

“We need you,” Puddinghead blurted, with a desperate sincerity that surprised himself. “There wouldn’t be an Equestria without you. I mean, there might be, but it’d be super-duper lame and stuff. Do you think Ricky knows how to run a multi-ethnicatorialramic nation like this? I sure don’t!”

He smiled in Platinum’s direction, hooves still held in midair from his animated diatribe, and he watched the mare for any hint of a reaction. Platinum still kept her body facing away from Puddinghead—in fact, she hadn’t moved in the slightest—and the Chancellor began to falter. But then he noticed Platinum’s ear twitch in his direction.

Puddinghead took a deep breath, wasting no time. “I mean, Ricky’s really awesome with military stuff, but we both know he’s not the best politician in the world. And me? I was elected because my dad was a super awesome politician and he all but told the Board of Representatives to throw their support behind me before he died! Let me tell you, I’m good with a party and raising everypony’s spirits, but I don’t know riddly-diddly about running a country like this!”

His brown hoof alighted on Platinum’s shoulder, and the Chancellor leaned in closer. “But you? Platty, you’re like the best at doing the politics show and dance and all that! You’re royalty and regal and pretty and stuff; ponies love you! They listen to you! More than they ever do to Ricky and I combined! We’re not the brains behind Equestria; those sit right inside that shiny little noggin of yours.”

“But what about… what about everything… I’ve done wrong?” Platinum mumbled after several seconds of stillness. She rolled her head to rest on the opposite cheek, and Puddinghead was taken aback by the glistening tears hanging from her long eyelashes. “How can anypony love a queen… who’s—mmf!—failed them so much. Even the sun and stars… even they’ve cursed me… my daughter, my lineage… it all ends with me.” She sniffled and brought up a hoof to shield her face. “How can anypony love a queen like me?”

Puddinghead bit back the snarky answer and instead gingerly rubbed Platinum’s shoulder. “But think of all the things you’ve done right. You created a government that works! I mean, it’s kinda clunky and that jazz, but look at Equestria! It’s this totally awesome friendly thing where, for the first time ever, three races of ponies are led by a tri-virile-thingy with equal power! Like, who’s ever done anything like that before, huh? And we wouldn’t have been able to do it without you! You’re the one who’s been studying for this all your life, right?”

“So what?” Platinum sighed and managed to lift her head from the table. She looked Puddinghead in the eyes with an unfocused stare while she swayed back and forth. “I was groomed… to lead a kingdom… of unicorns. Not pegasi. Not… ponies. Unicorns.” She grimaced and pressed her forehead to her hooves. “I don’t know how to rule pegasi… they all… only listen to Hurricane. They… don’t respect a pony like me. And there’s already enough bad blood between our races.”

“Platty, you can’t let this one thing keep you down,” Puddinghead insisted. “You don’t have to look hard to see that ponies love you! I mean, I’m stoned half… two-thirds of the time and I can see it!”

Platinum raised an eyebrow. “Stoned?”

“Meh, that’s what I call it when I smoke that herb.”

Platinum rolled her eyes, but giggled—quietly. “You’re such an idiot,” she mumbled.

“Hmmm… something like that. But at least I’m not blind!”

The Queen sighed. “I… I guess not…” With some focus, she managed to sit up straight. “Thanks… for that. It helped… helped clear a few things.”

The Chancellor’s smirk turned into a blinding smile. “Of course! That’s what friends are for, right?”

Platinum scrunched her muzzle like she’d tasted something foul again. “Eeeeaaaugh… don’t push it.”

Tiny hoofsteps stole their attention, and the kitchen colt slid a large platter of food off of his back and set it before Puddinghead. “Here you go, sir! It’s got eggs and mushrooms and spinach and—”

At precisely that moment, Platinum’s stomach decided it was a good idea to empty four of the five bottles of wine she’d consumed that morning directly onto Puddinghead’s brunch, covering the meal in a purplish slurry. Groaning, Platinum pressed her forehead back against the table and used her fetlock to wipe the vomit from her lips. “Now… I really feel better…”

The colt cringed and tried to shake some of Platinum’s vomit off of his legs. Swallowing his own nausea, he looked up at Puddinghead. “Um… sir? Would you… would you like me to get a new platter?”

Puddinghead’s eye twitched as he stared at his ruined meal. Without a word, he stood up, stepped away from the bench, and adjusted his hat with sticky, smelling forehooves. “Yes,” came his stunned reply. “Yes. Please do. I… I’m going to wash up. If you could bring it to my room, that’d be super.”

The colt nodded. “Right away, sir,” he said, then turned back to the platter. He opened his mouth to pick up the platter, but immediately thought better of it and took a few steps away. With no wings or horn, he desperately searched for somepony else to take it away for him. “Uh… I’ll be right back, your Excellency, your Highness,” he said to Puddinghead and Platinum in turn. He scampered a short distance away before remembering something and turning back. “Oh, and, uh, I’ll get some cloths for the mess, your Highness. Sorry…”

Platinum groaned and waved her hoof. “Ungh… please do… and a bucket… that’d be fantastic.”

The day wore on, and eventually, normalcy returned to Everfree. The citizens buzzed about what had happened in the seat of Equestria’s power overnight, but they all had jobs to do, and gossip was secondary to bits. Stores reopened, bread was baked, and farmers tilled their soil. The castle, freshly cleaned and emptied of all the bodies, returned to business as usual, with political figures and servants alike entering and exiting at will. Only the heightened presence of legionaries on every street corner, in every government building, or perched on rooftops gave any indication that something had changed.

Diadem was content to lose herself in this simplicity and boredom after the wild night before. Even though the hands on the tolling clock in the castle’s library were rapidly approaching six, she still felt exhausted. Then again, it wasn’t like she got much sleep last night, even before the rebels showed up and tried to kill her. The young mare was already considering an early retirement to bed, if the contents of the remarkedly unexciting tome in front of her didn’t put her to sleep.

Her magic gingerly took hold of the next sheet of ancient papyrus and carefully flipped it over, and her eyes scanned over the archaic symbols several times before their meaning finally sunk in. Yawning, Diadem leaned back in her chair and stretched her lethargic muscles, getting a fresh supply of blood to her stiff limbs. How long had she been at this? She wasn’t sure, but she wanted to get this spell perfect. After considering the notes in the tome in front of her, she made a few quick modifications to her spell and reached a hoof out behind her.

“Hmmm…” she murmured aloud. “Almost…”

A quiet knock at the door drew her out of her focus. “Who is it?” she asked, not bothering to take her eyes off of the book.

She heard the door creak open, followed by hooves galloping towards her. She didn’t even have time to turn around before she felt a warm body tackle her in an enveloping hug. “Sun and Stars, you’re okay!” Clover exclaimed. She buried her muzzle in Diadem’s mane and squeezed, all but strangling the young mare with her hug. “When I heard what happened…”

Diadem managed to worm her way free of the crushing embrace and collapse on the table, wheezing for breath. Clover immediately gasped and helped Diadem sit up straight. “Oh! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt you, I just—!”

“Clover,” Diadem coughed. She placed a hoof on Clover’s green chest and gently nudged her back. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about it.”

Clover let out a sigh of relief and sat down by Diadem’s side. “Sorry. I’d just… heard everything that happened last night. And I know you were probably up late working on your research and that sort of thing. I was afraid something might’ve happened to you.”

Diadem shook her head. “Nah, I was fine. I mean, things did get a little hairy for a while…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes focused on some memory, but she scattered those thoughts with a shake of her head. “But I’m fine. Nothing I couldn’t handle.”

Clover couldn’t help but smile. She tousled her apprentice’s mane, making the young mare giggle, and calmly looked around the room. “You make me proud, every single day,” Clover said, feeling maternal pride well up within her. “I should’ve known you’d be fine. You survived Onyx Ridge, what’s a little scuffle like last night to a filly like you?”

“I’m not a filly, Clover,” Diadem droned. “I’m fifteen, and soon enough I’ll be a fully trained mage.”

“Yes, well,” Clover said, eyes wandering over the notes Diadem had scattered over her table, “You may be my apprentice, but you’re already better than any other court mage in Equestria.”

“Yeah, but I’m not going to settle for that,” Diadem scoffed. “One day, I will be the greatest living mage in the entire world. And I’m not going to get there just by slacking off,” she added, pointing to a tome Clover now recognized as the Grimoire. “I’m studying and studying, and I’ll write in that book one day. I’ll show Wintershimmer who the real mage is.”

Clover bit her lip. “Diadem, don’t worry about Wintershimmer. I know he rubbed you the wrong way, but he’s just a jealous old stallion who’s still sore he lost his chance to become Archmage of River Rock to Star Swirl.”

“Oh, I’m not worrying about Wintershimmer,” Diadem said, with a confident smirk that surprised Clover. “I already told him off last night, during the fighting and such. Honestly, I haven’t felt that good in a while.” She flipped through the pages of the Grimoire again and paused at a section on warding. “Now I just want to back up my words.”

“Well, you’ll have to wait on that, I’m afraid,” Clover said, taking Diadem’s notes with her magic and perusing them for a moment before setting them neatly aside. “He left this morning, with Queen Jade and the rest of the envoy.”

Diadem blinked. “Really?” she asked, a disappointed edge creeping into her voice. Frowning at her notes, she stuck her tongue out and shut the Grimoire. “Aww. I wanted to show off the new spell I’ve been working on.”

“I’m sure there’ll be another chance,” Clover said. She pressed on Diadem’s shoulder and looked at the clock. “It’s getting close to dinner time, anyway. We should get something to eat.” Turning around she began to trot towards the door. “Besides, you can tell me all about your sp—oof!”

Clover recoiled as if she hit something hard behind Diadem and fell onto her flank. She rubbed her nose with one hoof and reached forward with the other. Eventually, it contacted something firm yet invisible in the air before her. “What in Celestis’ name…?”

Behind her, Diadem beamed. “Pretty neat, huh?” she said, hopping off of her chair and tapping on the invisible barrier with a hoof. “I think I’ll call it ‘Diadem’s Dimensionless Door’. It’s a security ward, but it’s one-way, unless you know the leyline’s frequency to pass through it from the other side.” While Clover stood up, she nonchalantly rubbed her hoof against her chest. “Last night’s attacks got me thinking that we needed some good security to keep the bad ponies out… or in, depending on where you put one of these.”

Clover rubbed her chin and began tapping around on the invisible barrier. “Huh… impressive,” she said. If she concentrated, she could sense the faintest trace of mana in the air, but it intensified whenever her hoof approached the barrier so it could repel it. “We’ll have to show Star Swirl this. I’m sure he’ll be very proud; I know I am.”

“Thanks,” Diadem said, stopping by Clover’s side so she could admire her handiwork with her.

“So, what’s the frequency to get through it?” Clover asked, her horn experimentally lighting up a few times as she tried and failed to put her hoof through the barrier.

Diadem’s smile faltered. “I… uh… I haven’t actually… figured that out…” she said, her voice trailing off into a nervous murmur. At Clover’s worried look, she raised her hooves. “But I’m sure we can figure it out, now that you’re here, right?”

Clover sighed and pressed her hoof to her brow. “On second thought, it needs a little work,” she teased. She glanced at her apprentice. “You do have a failsafe, right?”

Diadem nodded. “Whenever the spell runs out of mana the barrier goes away. I only gave it a limited supply to work with for now.”

“Oh, good!” Clover said, wiping her forehead. “Phew! When will it run out?”

Diadem squirmed. “Uh… maybe a day or two? A week, at the most!”

Clover’s hoof made an audible slap across her skull. “Ugh… you and your limitless mana…” She shook her head. “Come on, let’s figure this out.”

“Hey, I’m just as hungry as you are!”

“Don’t remind me.”

Hurricane woke from his extended nap just as the skies outside began to turn yellow and orange. He groaned and rolled in his bed, rubbing at his eyes, before finally managing to muster the strength to sit up. Yawning, he cracked his neck, stretched his forelimbs, gingerly grabbed his relocated wings in his teeth, and tugged across his body to loosen them up. Pressing his hooves into his eyes to push away the exhaustion that still plagued him, the Commander Maximus of Equestria looked across the room.

Through the open balcony opposite the bed, Hurricane could see the onset of night approaching from the east. The farthest horizon had been painted in blues and purples, which quickly transitioned to sky blue before bleeding over into the fiery remains of the setting sun. Fat, heavy clouds slowly began to descend on the city, threatening rain shortly after dark. The pegasus commander slid out of his sheets without a word, arched his back, and began to walk towards the balcony and the warm summer air outside.

“Oh, you’re awake,” came a soft voice by Hurricane’s side, and the Cirran flinched before his sluggish thoughts could place a name to the voice. Sitting in the corner of the room, underneath the portrait of Hurricane’s family, was Celestia herself. Untangling her lengthy limbs, Celestia stood up to her full glory and began to stroll over to Hurricane.

Hurricane blinked once, then bowed his head. “My Lady… how long have you been here?”

“I was only worried for you, Hurricane,” Celestia said, stopping by the pegasus’ side. “You’ve had a busy, emotional night…”

“So you’ve… been sitting there the whole time?”

Celestia rubbed her hoof over her opposite forelimb. “I wanted to make sure that you got your rest.”

Hurricane quietly laughed and shook his head. He wordlessly approached the balustrade on the wide balcony in front of him and rested his forelimbs across the stone railing. Leaning forward, he simply closed his eyes and tasted the wonderful, fresh air.

Celestia followed him and took her place in the obvious vacancy next to him. Her eyes went up and down Hurricane’s body, noting how relaxed and loose his muscles are. Smiling, she sat down behind the balustrade, her impressive size still more than enough to allow her to easily watch over the city below. “I think this is the most relaxed I’ve seen you since I got here.”

“My daughter’s back, my family is safe, the Choke’s gone; we can finally start putting this rebellion business behind us,” Hurricane said. He kept his eyes closed as he slowly turned his cheek into the wind and let it blow through his short, cropped mane. He inhaled, holding the air in his lungs for a long time, then slowly exhaled through his mouth. Smiling, he opened his eyes. “It feels good to live again.”

Simply seeing the stalwart military pony smile like a normal stallion sent a warm feeling surging through Celestia’s veins. Her finely tuned magic didn’t pick up any Empatha radiating off of the pegasus like she’d grown used to when sitting nearby. She realized that Hurricane was simply experiencing his emotions rather than bleeding them off or bottling them up to be used later.

“I’m glad she’s back home, alive and well,” Celestia said, staring down at the roads below and the colorful ponies moving up and down them. “I really do want to get to know her better. From what you’ve said about her, she seems like a wonderful pony.”

“And the best daughter in the world,” Hurricane murmured. He felt moisture begin to prick at his eyes, and he bowed his head. “I regret not spending time with her when she was younger… I can’t believe it took nearly losing her a second time for me to really understand it.”

Celestia reached out with a wing and held the pegasus close. “Sometimes we don’t see what’s right in front of us,” she said, shrugging. “You’ve been busy trying to hold everypony else afloat for so long. You haven’t had time to realize what you’ve been missing.”

“But is that really an excuse?” Hurricane asked, looking up at the mare towering over him. “There’s more to life than work and duty. I didn’t learn that until recently.” He quietly laughed and looked away. “Even when I was just a simple farmer. Before the war, before the Legion. I was so obsessed with doing my part and taking care of my family and ailing father that I never stopped to smell the roses. There was just… nothing, and then the Legion became my life.”

Sighing, Hurricane slid out from under Celestia’s wing and began to walk back towards his bed. Celestia looked over her shoulder as the soldier stopped before his bed and looked up at the portrait of his family on the wall. “‘Ante Legionem nihil erat, et nihil erit post Legionem.’ You know what that means, right?”

“‘Before the Legion there was nothing, and after the Legion there will be nothing,’” Celestia quoted with a single nod. “I’ve heard it many times from many Cirrans I’ve passed judgment on. It’s hard to walk through the castle without seeing it engraved somewhere as well.”

“I never really understood what it meant when I was just a milite,” Hurricane said, keeping his eyes fixed on the portrait. “Back then, it was just a bunch of words. Something we had to say whenever we were prompted. As I grew older, it became a symbol of Cirra’s strength; our unity, our loyalty to each other. Now…” He sighed and turned away from the portrait with sad eyes. “Now I know what it means. When you give yourself to the Legion, you don’t simply give your time. You give your life. Anything you did before you joined the Legion… it’s not important anymore. Anything you’ll do after you leave the Legion? What does it matter? It’s nothing.”

He turned back towards Celestia, bitterness and sad acceptance written on his face. “Whatever you do after the Legion really is nothing, because there is no ‘after the Legion.’ When you join the Legion, you’re a part of it until the day you die. You can leave its ranks and try to go back to your old life, but the Legion will never leave you. It is you. And when you try to do things that aren’t the Legion—like raise a family—you can’t. Because the Legion is still there, and it still controls you, and they’re nothing.

“I have a reputation for being a terrible father,” Hurricane continued, sitting at the foot of his bed. “The senators whisper it behind my back like they think I won’t find out. Or maybe they just don’t care. Regardless, I know how the rest of Cirra views me. A war hero, yes, and one of our greatest leaders—but a failure of a father. What they don’t understand is that I was never my daughter’s father. I was never my son’s father. The Legion was. And it ruined their lives.”

Hurricane stared at his hooves while Celestia stood motionless on the balcony, simply watching in quiet shock. “I’m tired, Celestia,” he admitted, with a rare use of the alicorn’s name. “I’m tired of the fighting. I’m tired of seeing ponies I know and love suffer. I’m tired of being the Legion. I… don’t want to be it anymore. And now, after everything that’s happened over these past few weeks…”

Shuddering, Hurricane stood up and approached his armor. The enchanted onyx stood resolute in the corner, polished and brilliant in the waning light. With one unsteady hoof, Hurricane unlatched his sword from the armor’s side. His reflection practically glowed in the gold decorating the scabbard, and it painted a picture of the weary stallion he was. With a deep breath of finality, he took the sword in his teeth and carried it back to Celestia. The mare’s wings widened imperceptibly as Hurricane approached, unsure of his intentions, until he gently laid the weapon down at her hooves and backed away.

“I’m done being Commander Hurricane,” the stallion finished, looking Celestia in the eye. “It’s time to put the legend to rest. I may not be able to leave the Legion, not while I draw breath… but I can cease to serve it.”

Celestia’s heart stopped, and she almost doubled over in shock. Almost. A single breath was all it took to steady the immortal alicorn’s words. “Is this what you want?” she asked. “To pass off your title? Now?”

Hurricane closed his eyes and drew a long, slow breath. “Yes,” he murmured. “Yes,” he said again, this time nodding for emphasis. “It’s time I step aside. I’m forty-six; I’ll die in ten, fifteen years. Maybe twenty if I’m lucky; pegasi don’t live nearly as long as unicorns or earth ponies. But Typhoon is young and strong. She’s stronger than me; she’s a better fighter than me, and she knows how to lead. It’s her time now. She’s the pony Cirra really needs to lead it. Not me. Not anymore.”

Celestia looked forlornly at the sword, then back at its owner. “Hurricane…”

“Please,” Hurricane whispered. “I can’t.”

The alicorn sat silent. Her nostrils flared, and her thoughts occluded her vision. She stared down at Hurricane’s sword, and the pegasus sat across from her, eyes closed. After nearly a minute of silence, Celestia stood up.

“Okay,” she breathed. “I understand. I’ll… I’ll give Typhoon my blessing when she’s better. But you have to tell her, and everypony else.”

“I will,” Hurricane said, opening his eyes. Grunting, he stood up on aching joints, looking several years older and many years younger at the same time. He shuffled over on cracked and weathered hooves, and to Celestia’s surprise, leaned against her pearly coat. “Thank you,” he said, burying his muzzle in her coat. “Thank you for being there for me. Through all of this.”

Celestia was taken aback at first, but she soon wrapped her wings around the stallion, holding him close. She pressed her nose to what little mane he possessed and inhaled. “I’d never leave you to suffer alone,” she said, softly. “And no matter what you do, you will have my support. I know this isn’t easy for you… but I will stand behind you, no matter what.”

Hurricane didn’t say anything. Celestia didn’t say anything. The two ponies simply lingered in their embrace, with a burden lifted now shared between them, as the sun slowly set behind them, bringing forth the twilight of the day… and a legacy.

The skies opened up shortly after dark, drenching the city with enough rain to drown it. Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed as the very heavens themselves roiled, sending sheets of rain to the ground at a shallow angle. Shutters slammed open and closed and windowpanes shuddered under the onslaught of the storm, and any pony unlucky enough to be caught on the streets was immediately soaked to the bone, no matter how many layers they wore.

Twister found herself in the undesirable position of being one such pony. Darting from one corner to the next, the mare sought whatever shelter she could find behind buildings and between alleys just to avoid getting blown away. She’d already given up on staying dry; her heavy cloak was laden with twenty pounds of water, and her mane was plastered to her face. With a small overhang to rest under, she threw back her hood and wrung her limp mane out as best she could.

“Damn storms,” she muttered, turning her eyes skyward. She couldn’t see the rainbows through the clouds that usually fell from Cloudsdale’s canals to the north east; she figured the senators had ordered the city be relocated before the storm hit. How she wished she was up there where it was high and dry, instead of trawling through the mud and soaked through her coat. But she had a meeting with the Mayor, and even if she despised him, she wasn’t going to snub him over a matter of national security.

The sounds of raindrops slamming into gutters lessened for a moment—or at least that’s what Twister liked to believe—so she threw her hood back up and galloped back into the storm. The wind tried to sweep her off her hooves, but she lowered her head and charged through it. There were no stone pavers this far from the city center, so all she had to gallop on was mud and gravel—mud and gravel keen to slide from under her hooves and send her spilling to the ground. Growling after one such fall that plastered the entire right side of her body with mud and grime, Twister settled for stomping through the muck for traction instead of galloping across the surface.

It took her a lot longer than she would’ve liked, but she eventually arrived before the burnt-out church. Cold, wet, and shivering, she galloped up the stone stairs and slid between the rotting wood doors, happily putting the worst of the storm behind her. Rain still fell in large swaths within the church through the holes in the roof, but if she stuck along the side, she could avoid getting any wetter. Throwing back her hood, she looked around the church for Greenleaf, but couldn’t pick him out near the entrance.

“Greenleaf?” she asked, wincing as she heard her voice echo in the empty building between claps of thunder. She began to walk down the left side of the empty church, hopping over broken columns and crushed pews. There was no sign of the mayor. Maybe she was early? She didn’t have any way to tell time, so she couldn’t be sure, but she hoped that was it. Otherwise…

Just as the hair on her neck began to stand on end, she spotted the silhouette of a pony sitting in front of the altar. Breathing a sigh of relief, she wiped some accumulating rainwater from her brow and trotted forward. “There you are. Seriously, are you deaf or something?”

When she didn’t get a reply, she frowned. “Thanks for making me get all soaked in the storm,” she grumbled. “Seriously, couldn’t have picked a better night to have this little talk.”

Still no response from the unicorn, and Twister slowed her pace. Now that she was closer to the front of the chamber, she could see the tipped-over lantern resting on the floor in front of the altar, surrounded by shattered glass from one of its panes. Something discolored the tiles between the dirt, rain, and ash, and the light shone by the lantern gave it a ruddy coloration. Gritting her teeth, Twister swallowed hard and nervously approached the unicorn sitting in the front pew.

“Mayor?” she asked, gently nudging the green unicorn’s shoulder. It was enough to tip him over, and Twister screamed as Greenleaf’s head flopped loosely around its severed spine and torn-open neck. Blood covered the unicorn’s clothes and the pew in which he sat, but judging by the blood splatter on the floor, it wasn’t where he died—

Twister gasped and jumped backwards seconds before she felt something slam into her from above. She caught sight of shiny black limbs and viciously white fangs lunging for her neck. Somehow, she managed to twist to the side, but even that wasn’t enough to get her out of the way. Searing pain erupted just below her left shoulder blade and inches away from her throat as terrifyingly strong jaws pierced her heavy cloak and gouged her flesh. The sheer force of the blow launched Twister off of her hooves and through the back of the pew behind her. She cried out in agony from the blow, and immediately her hoof flew up to the deep wound beside her neck, trying to stem the flow of blood.

A hiss and a flittering sound was all the warning she had before her assailant pounced again. This time, she was able to raise her hind legs and buck the… thing away before it could beset her with ravenous jaws. The creature hissed and slammed into the altar, but scrambled to its hooves in a few seconds. It fixed glowing blue-green orbs on Twister and hissed again, buzzing transparent wings by its sides.

But Twister had already earned the time she needed. While the creature had struggled to right itself, she’d managed to dig a pilfered gladius out of her cloak and stand again. Now, legs spread and wings extended, she clutched the weapon between her teeth and faced the monstrosity down.

“I don’t know what the hell you are,” Twister growled around the handle of the sword, “but Mobius help me, I will end you.”

The creature screeched and dove forward, looking to impale Twister on its sharp horn. The mare backpedaled wildly and swung her sword, and even though it failed to connect, the flurry of blows forced the creature to swerve aside. It tried again to lunge at her, this time from her flank, but Twister whirled in place and swung her weapon upwards. The end of the blade managed to strike the creature in its carapace and sound it flying backwards with a pained shriek. It slammed into the ground and flailed in place like an insect struggling to right itself for several seconds while Twister only watched, horrified.

When the battered creature finally returned to her hooves, green blood dripping from the crack in its carapace, it hissed at her and backed away. Again, Twister got a good look at its twisted muzzle, its sinewy legs, its chitinous body. It looked like some demented monstrosity, some evil combination of pony and insect. But before she could study it further, it screeched and flew away on filigree wings through one of the openings in the ceiling.

Twister waited several seconds just to be sure that it wasn’t going to double back on her; when nothing moved except the rain and the winds, she finally dropped her sword and collapsed. Her back ached and her upper chest continued to pour blood into her rags. Gasping, she pressed down on her cloak to staunch the flow, and simply leaned back against a charred pew.

She’d come within inches of death yet again. She couldn’t tell if she was the luckiest mare in the world or the unluckiest. All she knew that she was alive… but Greenleaf wasn’t. Whatever he’d wanted to say to her, she’d never know, because of that thing that ambushed her. Now she regretted not simply letting him tell her the night before. She may have hated him, but she didn’t want her rival to die.

The mare let her eyes wander to the hole in the ceiling where the insectoid creature had disappeared. She didn’t know what it was, or where it’d come from. She didn’t know why it’d killed Greenleaf, and why it’d tried to kill her. But she knew one thing for certain.

This wasn’t the last time Equestria was going to see it.

Author's Notes:

The first act is over... see you all next year!