The bells had scarcely stopped ringing in Everfree over the past several hours. First came the bells of alarm, the frantic tolling of brass echoing from the spires of Everfree Castle. Then came a haunting sound, almost like the bells themselves felt anguish. It came in slow, irregular strokes across the entirety of the city, like they had to work up the will to toll once before falling back into a quiet depression. Now, in the late morning sunlight, the carillons played solemn, mournful music, while the large brass bells occasionally added a grim and sad note.

Clover had found Star Swirl first, lying in a pool of his blood by the balcony, with his throat very clearly torn out. The body was cold, and there were no signs of the murderer to be found. While some legionaries had taken Clover out of the room and cleaned up the mess, rumors began to spread throughout the castle, and eventually into the city. The archmage of River Rock had been murdered by a creature with fangs.

Meanwhile, Star Swirl’s body had been interred in the castle’s chapel before cremation. There, mages from across Equestria traveled to pay their respects to the archmage as the Father of Transmutation, and arguably the greatest wizard who ever lived. For the remainder of the day, the doors were kept open for a public viewing, and many ponies ventured into the castle walls to see the fallen mage—all under the extremely intense scrutiny of Typhoon’s legionaries, who kept careful watch of everypony who entered the castle grounds.

It was in the chapel that Clover sat, her face sullen, eyes puffy and red, and looking all in all like a disheveled mess. At her side sat Diadem, the mare comforting her former mentor with calm words and warm hugs. At the moment, though, the need for words had passed, and now the two mares simply sat together, coats brushing up against each other, as they watched the slow line of ponies make their way past Star Swirl’s body.

Diadem noticed the shadows shifting by their side, and she craned her neck to see Celestia and Luna standing behind them. Both bore concern on their faces, but Diadem noticed a lack of sorrow. It might’ve just been buried under the Sisters’ regal masks, as would be expected of goddesses, but it also could’ve just been that they’d seen so many mortals die in their lives that they were simply desensitized. Diadem decided not to think about it.

“How is she?” Celestia asked in a quiet voice.

“She’s… it’s rough,” Diadem said, glancing at Clover. The archmage of Everfree simply stared into the distance, her eyes unfocused and unseeing. Diadem considered it a small improvement over the sobbing wreck she’d found earlier that day. “But we’re doing better now. Just taking it one step at a time.”

Celestia nodded, then sat down in the pew behind the two unicorns. Luna joined her, but remained wordless for the moment. “I know it’s hard losing family, Clover,” Celestia began. The only indication she got that Clover was listening were a few small twitches of her ears. “It hurts, especially to see them go like this. But we all know that he’s in the Summer Lands now. Instead of grieving over his death, we should remember the life he led. Not many ponies get to live until they’re over a hundred years old.”

Clover sniffled slightly, trying to regain her composure before responding, with only moderate success. She shifted in her seat for the first time in what felt like hours and dabbed a hoof against her moist cheeks. “I’ve been… I-I’ve been trying to p-prepare for this day… I knew it was coming soon, but…” She screwed up her face and fought down another wave of tears. Sniffling once again, she dabbed at her eyes. “Who would do such a thing?”

“Whoever it was, they had fangs,” Diadem said. At her side, Clover shuddered and hugged herself a little closer. “That doesn’t leave a whole lot of possibilities on the table.”

The shadows around the mage darkened, and Diadem looked over her shoulder to see Luna quietly fuming. “I would prefer ponies to stop suggesting that my thestrals are to blame,” the dark alicorn said. “Such independent action is beyond their power. And to insinuate that any such directives were issued from me is frankly disgusting. Star Swirl was a close friend. There will be few ponies more vindictive than I in rooting out his assassin.”

Diadem held up a placating hoof. “I never said that the Night Guard was to blame. Just that that’s what the ponies of Everfree think.”

Luna sneered. “The commoners are idiots.”

Celestia nudged Luna with a wing and shook her head. The darker alicorn huffed and looked away, abandoning the conversation to her sister. “Whoever it is, I’m sure Commander Typhoon can apprehend them,” Celestia assured the two mortal mares. The wooden pew creaked underneath her as she shifted her weight forward, and Clover’s ears twitched as Celestia gave her a comforting nuzzle. “Your grandfather will rest easy.”

“Thanks,” Clover whispered, and she went back to leaning against Diadem’s side for support. Diadem responded by giving Clover a nuzzle of her own. Comforting her mentor was one of the ways she could keep her own sorrow down.

The line of ponies seeing Star Swirl continued to wind slowly around the chapel, and naught but their quiet whispers filled the room. As the crowd began to thin out around lunchtime, Clover surprised the four gathered by being the first to break the silence. “You’re an archmage now, Diadem.”

Diadem blinked, narrowed her eyes, then blinked again. “Uh… what?”

“Star Swirl’s title,” Clover said, not taking her eyes off of the coffin at the front of the chapel. “He was Archmage of River Rock. Now that he’s… gone, I inherited it. But an archmage… can’t be an archmage of two cities. So I’m giving you my title.” She managed a weak, fragile smile while Diadem simply sat there, dumbfounded. “It’d be a little more practical to be Archmage of Everfree and Court Mage of Equestria than River Rock, don’t you think?”

“I… I… I…” Diadem’s eyes crossed, and she violently shook her head to bring them back into alignment. “Clover, that’s…” Her voice trailed off, and she simply put a hoof to her horn. “T-Thank you. I don’t know what to say.”

Leaving her former apprentice speechless seemed to lift Clover’s spirits a little. “Don’t worry about it. This just means that you’ll have to do all my work now, and I can focus on other things.”

“Oh… Shit.”

“Well, congratulations,” Celestia offered, touching Diadem’s shoulder with a wing. “I’m sorry it had to come this way, but you have my support all the same.”

Luna, on the other hoof, took it a different direction. “If only Coil were here,” she mused, a small smirk on her muzzle. “I would give anything just to see the look on his face when he hears the news. I don’t believe his ego could take it.”

Diadem chuckled. “He’s just a kid. He’ll get over it sooner or later.” Her eyes darted to Celestia, and a mischievous smile adorned her muzzle. “Maybe I should make him my apprentice. I bet he’d love that.”

That even got a smile out of Clover.

“Why?”

That was a question asked all too frequently in Everfree that day. Only this time, the ponies asking it had a vested interest in the matter. Shaking her head, Typhoon rigidly marched back and forth across the stone floor of Twister’s office, her prosthetic hoof making sharp clicks with every fourth step. “Star Swirl was a hundred years old. His heart would’ve given out within the decade. Why would somepony murder him in cold blood?”

Twister sighed and shook her head, resting her temple in the frog of her left forehoof. “I don’t know,” she muttered, frowning at the report on her desk. Twister, now nearly sixty, had aged much more gently than her brother. While her long, black mane was shot through with gray, her face and curvy body had retained much of their fullness, and even on top of that, her skin was only lightly wrinkling. The worst thing time had stolen from her was her vision; a pair of spectacles rested on her nose to help her weakening eyes see, and she was constantly adjusting them with a hoof or a wing.

Typhoon only continued to pace, her metal hoof abusing the floor with her indignant fury. “I didn’t know what to think when my centurions told me that something had ripped his throat out,” she fumed. “I thought there had to be a mistake. But no. There wasn’t a weapon involved. I saw the body. Those were definitely fang marks.”

“Yes, that’s been made clear numerous times in the report you forwarded to me,” Twister said, tapping the folder with a hoof. “But I’d hesitate to jump to conclusions.”

Typhoon’s pacing came to a stop in front of Twister’s desk. “It’s less of a jump and more of a step, Aunt Twister,” Typhoon said, narrowing her eyes beneath her scarred visage. “What other things have fangs that could have a reason to kill the old stallion? Unless you want me to believe that Star Swirl carelessly summoned some demon from the underworld in his bedroom and was slain by it, there’s only one group I can think of that could’ve done it.” Her gaze hardened and she leaned across the desk. “It had to have been those damn monsters Lūn keeps with her at all times. They’ve only been growing in number over the years, and my city—our city—has paid the price in rising crime and a string of murders that look an awful lot like this one.”

“The thestrals are supposed to be under Luna’s command,” Twister countered, crossing her forelegs. “I asked her how they worked once, because it’s my duty to know these things. She told me that they have to follow her orders, no matter what they are. They only have limited free will, and can’t do anything that contradicts her commands. There’s no way that they could have done something like this.”

The Commander Maximus pushed off of the desk and resumed her pacing. “The problem with logic like that is that any number of her commands could be circumvented via loopholes. If one of those fiends really wanted to kill Star Swirl, I’m sure they could’ve found a way that let them do the deed. And I know what they are too. They’re criminals, all of them. If they’ve killed before, they’ll kill again.” She paused in front of Twister’s golden sword, hanging above a fireplace, and scowled before turning around and continuing to pace. “Either that or the alicorn herself gave the command.”

“That’s absurd,” Twister protested, rising to her hooves and bracing herself against the desk. “Celestia and Luna only want what’s best for Equestria. That’s why they showed themselves to us when my brother—your father—found them. They would never do anything like that.”

Typhoon’s pacing took her to the end of the room opposite of the sword, where a massive oil painting of the first Equestrian Parliament hung. The artist had captured a session in action, and standing on the marble half circle between the original Triumvirate and the rings of benches was Twister herself, wings fully extended as she argued some point to the assembled ponies. To Twister, it must’ve been a point of pride, a grand epic depicting her in the prime of her career. To Typhoon, it was politics. Like her father, she detested them, as Parliament continuously tried to hamstring the deadly fighting machine she’d revolutionized, and also like her father, she avoided them as much as she could, relying on Platinum or Twister to do the talking for her.

“How do we know this isn’t just some game that they’re playing?” Typhoon said after a long pause. She stomped her hoof on the ground, causing ice to snake out from the skysteel prosthetic. “I don’t speak to Parliament all that much, so my keening wit isn’t as sharp as yours, but even you have to admit that these have been a strange seventeen years.”

Twister cocked her head. “How so?”

“A whole string of coincidences,” Typhoon said, frowning. “Doesn’t it seem too convenient that that one thestral led my father right to them? Or how when they showed up, the rebel problem went away almost immediately following the failed attack on the castle?”

“Luna’s thestrals killed the leader of the rebels,” Twister stated. “I’d imagine they’d fall apart quickly after that.”

“I knew Abaddon,” Typhoon insisted, her gaze hardening with pain and hatred. “My mind might have been a scrambled mess at the time, but I knew him all the same. He had something bigger going on. I know that the attack on the castle was suicide; I’m sure Abaddon knew as well, but none of us were in a position to argue. And he would’ve had backups in place to take command if he died. He wasn’t running a mob; they were organized and dangerous.”

“Alright,” Twister conceded, waving a hoof. “I suppose you’d know more about them than I do. So you think this was just some elaborate scheme orchestrated by the two sisters to ingratiate us to them and let them take the reins of Equestria?”

Typhoon shrugged and looked down at her skysteel hoof. “Frankly, I don’t know. I would like to believe that I’m just worrying too much… but Star Swirl died when I couldn’t protect him. What if this happens again?” She made a frustrated growl and angled herself away from Twister. “What if Star Swirl is just the first? What if it happens to our family? You or Dad or Tempest?” Her hoof stomped twice more on the ground in a sort of exasperated helplessness. “I just want to keep you guys safe. I’d never forgive myself if something awful happened to any of you.”

The groan of a chair against stone was the first indication that Twister had moved. The second was the warm wings wrapping around Typhoon’s trembling body. “You don’t have to worry about us,” Twister whispered into the mare’s ear. “You’ve done an absolutely fantastic job these past seventeen years. Even better than your father, if I might be so bold.” She smirked at Typhoon, a look the distraught mare didn’t return. Sighing, Twister pressed her forehead against her niece’s. “You don’t have to do this all on your own, you know. Your father made that mistake all the time. You have ponies you can turn to for help. Hell, I can pull some favors and get in contact with a few ponies who might know what’s going on. We’ll figure this out together. Okay?”

Typhoon’s throat bobbed as she swallowed, and she gave Twister a shaky nod. “Okay,” she said, recollecting herself. One long, deep breath, and the stern and stoic mare that commanded all of Equestria’s legions returned. “See what you can find. The sooner we apprehend this monster—” She practically spat the word, “—the sooner we can all sleep easy knowing that this won’t happen again.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Twister said, and she began to move back to her desk.

The blond mare nodded, and without any further words, marched to the door. As she placed her hoof on the latch, however, she hesitated. Looking back over her shoulder, she narrowed her eyes at Twister. “Aunt Twister?”

“Hmm?”

“If you don’t think the thestrals are responsible… and you don’t think it was Luna…” She turned around and tilted her head to the side. “Then who?”

Twister sat down behind her desk and tapped her hooves together. “I have one idea,” she mused. Her left hoof made its way up the base of her neck until it stopped at an old scar, where hair refused to grow. “Thestrals aren’t the only things with fangs that I’ve seen before.”

Typhoon knew the wound, and her curiosity turned into a reproachful frown. “Aunt, when you brought your story of that… strange bug creature to Parliament, you were laughed off of the speaker’s floor. Literally. And in the years since, I’ve had patrols keeping an eye out for this ‘bug-pony’, but we’ve never found anything. Not a single trace of it, or any more like it. I love you, but even I’ve long since doubted what you saw… or what you claim you saw.”

The brown mare only pointed again to the scar on her body. “I know what I saw, and what I felt. That monster is real, and it’s still out there, somewhere. It already tried to kill me once before, and it did kill the Mayor, even if everypony immediately assumed that it had to have been the thestrals… much like now.”

“Hmph.” Typhoon sucked on the inside of her cheek, then shook her head. “If you can find some proof, then maybe I’ll have reason to believe you. But, bug-pony or thestral, we need to get to the bottom of this. The specifics aren’t all that important if we can’t catch the monster in the first place.”

Her hoof depressed the latch on the door, and she swung it open in one motion. After trotting into the doorway, she fully extended her wings and stood tall and straight in a Cirran salute. “Legatus.” And with a swish of her tail, Typhoon was gone, the haunting metal click of her prosthetic the only indicator of her presence, until finally that too faded away into nothing.

Ponies wasted no time locking themselves into their homes that night. The streets emptied so fast that it wouldn’t have taken much imagination to believe that the citizens of Everfree had simply disappeared. Even before the last dying colors of the sunset had disappeared from the western horizon, the town seemed empty, cold, dead.

It wasn’t entirely dead, though. Typhoon’s legionaries still marched the streets, soared the skies, and lined the rooftops. It might have been an illusion created by the empty streets and dark windows, or it simply might have been the result of some issued missive, but following Star Swirl’s death, it seemed like Everfree was practically bristling with soldiers.

Which made it hard for Tempest to stay unnoticed. Currently, the pale blue stallion was wedged into the crook of an arch, with a pair of legs pressed against each column as he hid as deep in the shadows of the structure as he could. Underneath him, a pair of soldiers had stopped to chat, and Tempest’s legs were starting to grow tired.

He’d been there for ten minutes.

Just as the fire in his torso felt like it was going to burn him alive from the inside out, the pair of legionaries trotted away from the arch, taking the lanterns hooked to their armor with them. Tempest waited as long as he could for their hoofsteps to disappear, then simply let his muscles relax for the first time in what felt like forever. Sure, he fell ten feet to land in a painful heap of armor and feathers on the cold cobblestone streets below, but the relief it brought to his legs and core was worth it.

Almost five minutes later, Tempest finally stood up, and after flexing his legs, set off again. With a flutter of his wings, he propelled himself onto a nearby rooftop, and after checking for patrolling sentries, he trotted over to a nearby chimney. There, he ran his hooves over the surface as he examined it, coming to a stop about halfway up the bricks. There, drawn in chalk, was a small white dot, with an angled line running beneath it. Tempest frowned and mentally placed a clock face over the markings, so that the dot was at the twelve and the line pointed from the center of the clock towards the four. Pivoting a hundred and twenty degrees to his right, Tempest spread his wings and flew in a straight line to a tall rooftop, keeping an eye out for patrols all the while.

Almost as soon as he landed, a figure slithered away from the shadows cast by a nearby bell tower between the rooftop and the moon. Gold, slitted eyes were the first things Tempest saw, followed by a dark coated body, complete with a sharp, curved horn. “Late,” the figure said, in a snide masculine voice that made Tempest shake his head. “What took you?”

“Chatty legionaries,” Tempest said, sitting down against a chimney on the rooftop and stretching his legs out. Merely letting them stretch and relax sent a blissful chill running through his body. “Two old friends were catching up on the latest gossip right beneath where I was hiding. Did you know Centurion Candlelight got a mare under his command pregnant? Think of the scandal!”

“I can’t possibly imagine,” the thestral said, sitting down across from Tempest. “Thankfully for him their ranks weren’t reversed. Isn’t impregnating your commanding officer grounds for execution?”

“Only if she didn’t order you to.” Tempest chuckled. “Even if it was consensual. And then it’s a flagrant abuse of power on her part.” He shrugged his wings. “Candlelight’s probably going to get court martialed. Mom’s very rigid on keeping her Legion disciplined—and not pregnant.”

“Mares don’t fight that well when they’re carrying a foal,” the thestral remarked, shrugging. “From what I’ve heard, the last six months your mother was carrying you were rough on her. They don’t make armor in that size.”

“Man, now you’re just getting nasty.”

“It’s my job,” the thestral said, smirking. “What kind of dad would I be if I didn’t make awful jokes? I’ve got to keep you from thinking with your second head all the time, right?”

Tempest held up a hoof. “I have never, ever, ever gotten a mare pregnant, and that’s the honest truth,” the scout-centurion said. He scratched his scruffy chin with a hoof and shook his head. “Besides, I’m pretty sure Mom would literally cut my dick off. ‘Not until marriage’ and all that crap. Ugh.”

“She’s a good mare,” Jewel said. “She just doesn’t want you to fuck up what you’ve got. Speaking of which…” He narrowed his eyes and leaned forward. “How’s the job going? It’s not easy to stay caught up on everything when we talk only once a month.”

“More foalsitting for the terrible twosome,” Tempest grumbled, shaking his head. “I just caught them trying to sneak away again yesterday.”

“How far did they get?” Jewel asked, angling his head.

“Just across the river. No further than the commercial district.” The pegasus smirked and crossed his hooves behind his neck. “Didn’t even make it to the city limits.”

Jewel nodded his approval. “Good, good. You’re getting better. How long were you hunting?”

Tempest’s muzzle screwed up as he thought. “About… fifteen, twenty minutes?” He shrugged. “Better than anypony else in the Legion.”

“Pathfinder could do it in four,” Jewel remarked. “You’ve got a ways to go yet.”

“Pathfinder’s got a compass on his ass,” Tempest said, rolling his eyes. “I’ve got a hurricane and some feathers. I can’t beat him at his special talent. At least, not until the arthritis sets in,” he added with a smirk.

Fangs briefly revealed themselves as Jewel snickered. “You might be waiting a while. He’s still in his fifties.” He shook his head, then nodded at Tempest. “Get it under fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” Jewel took a moment to look around the neighboring rooftops and check the skies for any legionaries. When he saw none, he continued. “So… new filly or the same one?”

“Same,” Tempest said. The corners of his lips turned up just a little when he saw something resembling surprise in his father’s eyes.

“Same, hmm? You know, I think that’s the first time you’ve ever said ‘same’ four times in a row.” He held up a hoof to easily block the weak kick Tempest sent his way and chuckled. “Well, that’s good. Maybe you’re finally settling down now?”

“Yeah, and maybe you’re not dead.” Tempest grunted as he shifted his posture to sit up straighter. “Wallflower’s nice. Like, real nice. She’s quiet and kind, and maybe a little unsure about herself, but she’s got a big heart.” A dumb smile affixed itself to Tempest’s muzzle, and he tilted his head back to look at the stars. “And she’s beautiful. Stunning and gorgeous. She makes me happy. Plus, Mom actually likes her, although I guess that has more to do with Wallflower’s dad and Grandpa actually being good friends than anything.” He stopped, then added, “Though I’m pretty sure the gelding thing still stands if I knock her up now.”

Jewel rubbed a hoof to his brow and gave the smallest shake of his head. “Oh, knowing your mom, I wouldn’t doubt it.” Then he sighed and laid on his back, joining his son in counting the stars. “But that’s good. So long as you make each other happy.”

Tempest hummed, and the two ponies took a break from their conversation to just admire the night sky. The sounds of the nearby forest made their way to them, along with the occasional clopping of hooves down a cobblestone street as soldiers on patrol took off after somepony or something. An owl overhead hooted, and Tempest’s trained eyes quickly found its dark silhouette and followed it across the sky. “Everypony thinks the Night Guard killed Star Swirl,” he said, catching Jewel off guard with the sudden statement. Magenta eyes slid over to meet golden slits. “That true?”

The unicorn thestral thought it over for a moment, but shook his head. “No,” he said, frowning. “I would’ve smelled the blood. Nopony at the roost had the stench on them last night or today.”

“Could they have washed it off?” Tempest asked. “Or masked the smell with something?”

“Perhaps,” Jewel said, shrugging. “But then the question becomes how one of us managed to get around the Mistress’ orders.”

Tempest extended his wings and looked them over. They’d need a preening soon, but he was saving that for Wallflower. Maybe he’d catch her later that night if her window wasn’t locked. “I’m assuming Luna has some kind of standing ‘thou shalt not kill’ command in place at all times?”

“Something like that, yeah,” Jewel said. “She’s got a basic list of commandments that all of us thestrals cannot break. Killing or injuring anypony she deems a friend or an ally, or who is considered a friend or ally of those ponies is forbidden. We have to ‘protect the innocent’ from harm if we see it, although what exactly ‘innocent’ is leaves much to the imagination. We have to preserve ourselves from undue injury and harm, and to seek her immediately if we’ve taken a wound that our bodies can’t magically repair. If she places us under somepony else’s jurisdiction, we have to obey their orders as if they were issued by the Mistress herself.” He frowned, then shook his head. “We have to refer to the Mistress as the Mistress at all times,” he said, earning a chuckle from Tempest. “Yes, she’s got an ego, as if that much wasn’t readily apparent. That’s why she and that Mortal Coil wizard get along so great.”

“Right, right,” Tempest said. “Those seem like pretty general statements, though. Isn’t there a lot of gray room for interpretation?”

“Yeah, but the basics usually keep everypony in line,” Jewel said. “Listing out hundreds and thousands of individual commands and rules would be a waste of her time, not to mention absolutely enslaving. The Mistress tries to keep things loose so that we have some measure of free will. She wants soldiers and ponies, not tools and machines.”

“So wouldn’t it be possible for somepony to find a loophole to kill Star Swirl?”

Jewel shrugged. “If they could find some line of reasoning that would let them frame the archmage as an enemy of the state, or that killing him was doing the most good for him, then maybe. The spell works by reading your intentions and deciding if they contradict a given command. If the spell thought this hypothetical thestral’s intentions were for the greater good, then it might have permitted it.” He sat up and glanced at Tempest. “But you can’t lie to the spell. You can try to convince yourself that what you’re doing is right, but the spell works deeper than that. It reads the intentions of the soul, not the intentions of the mind.”

“So… what you’re saying is that it’s possible.”

“In a sentence, yes.”

Tempest groaned and flopped onto his side. “Great. Mom’s going to have me running scouting missions for the next month.”

“I’ll keep an eye out and see if I find anything,” Jewel said, standing up. “I’ll come find you if I do.”

“Cool. Thanks,” Tempest said, forcing himself off of the tiled roof. He sighed and looked around, his eyes locking onto a flying wedge of lanterns beginning to slowly approach from the south. He too stood up and nodded to Jewel. “Guess we better call it. Patrol’s coming.”

“So I saw.” The thestral extended a cold, dead hoof, which Tempest quickly tapped. “See you in a month.”

Without another word, Tempest turned around and galloped off the edge of the roof. His body disappeared from sight for two seconds, before the moonlight glinted off of his armor several blocks away. Jewel watched him go until he disappeared, and after channeling an aura of powerful magic, disappeared in a dark flash, leaving gently smoking roof tiles in his wake.

Author's Notes:

April Fool's 2016