They followed Celestia into the courtyard, tensions refreshed. There was no more waiting around and talking; now began the spellcasting. As soon as they crossed over, Rarity looked up at the ceiling, just a uniform slab of unbroken dirt and roots, off which the sourceless moonlight reflected just the same as it did the walls. The grass was cool and alive, and she momentarily reveled in the feeling, relief from the packed, pebbly soil in the anteroom. The structures on the yard’s side were only very vaguely equine in height and construction: four supporting parts, a barrel-shaped body, and a featureless head, all dry, dull wood strapped together with twine.

“This is the repel spell. Pick a structure that you like,” Celestia instructed. There was no difference between the statues, and they dispersed to the ones nearest them. Celestia paced behind them. “Now that we’ve found our magic, it is time for us to use it. Take a moment to call your magic to mind now.”

They did so, Rarity and Twilight easily. Rarity looked over at Rainbow, who had her eyes closed again. “When you have found your magic, simply concentrate on the object before you. Bring it into focus and make it yours. When you have it—and you should know when you do—it’s a matter of concentrating that willpower into a pushing force. It’s like the mental equivalent of shoving somepony out of your way.” She gave them a moment to process her instructions, and then told them to begin.

Immediately, Twilight’s and Pinkie’s statues burst away, individual boards and bundles of stuffing coming undone from the comparatively weak twine, rent by the force of their push. Just a second after, Rarity’s followed, though less energetically. Celestia nodded approvingly, and within the minute, Rainbow’s slowly tipped over. Fluttershy’s, however, merely creaked, and Applejack’s remained completely still.

The statues restored themselves, and they all tried once more. Again, Twilight and Pinkie were the first to succeed, and Rarity followed their spells with her own, smaller version, to be appended with Rainbow’s modest push.

After a few more tries, Rarity looked back at Celestia, then at Fluttershy, and Celestia nodded. Rarity went to the struggling pegasus, who looked at her with a pathetic, worried expression.

“Oh, Rarity, I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”

“Try again, darling, and let me see.”

Fluttershy visibly tensed, facing the statue as though it might attack her; though Rarity could see a haze of light pink around it, it hardly moved.

“It’s all about willpower, dear. How hard are you willing for your spell to work?”

“Oh, Rarity, I’m willing it as hard as I can.”

Rarity remembered her own experiences with magic, the hopelessness of casting as hard as she could and achieving nothing. She had been young and undeveloped then. “Here, Fluttershy, try this. When you want to push the statue away, try saying something as you cast the spell. That helped me keep my focus when I was just learning.”

“Um, but what should I say?”

“It doesn’t really matter. Something simple. ‘Go’ or ‘now’ or something like that. The point is for it to focus your concentration, without getting in the way.”

“Um, well, okay. I’ll try.” She looked at the statue again, her expression uncertain, and quietly said “go.” The twine swelled back a little, and a board creaked.

“Put some force behind it, Fluttershy. Be firm. Like this: go!” She snapped at the statue, which bowed outwards with a swirl of dust and soft splinters. Fluttershy cringed away. “Like that, dear. Try it.”

Fluttershy pawed at the ground, and looked at her statue—reset—again. “Um, go!” she said, a little louder, and it warped outward, one of its legs bending awkwardly.

“Better,” Rarity said, “but it needs more.”

“I’m trying as hard as I can.”

“Fluttershy, I’ve seen you be firmer than that. Address your statue the same way you addressed the dragon.” Fluttershy winced at the memory, and Rarity softened her expression. She didn’t want to seem admonishing.

“I don’t know, Rarity.”

“Just try it. Gather up all your strength, and tell it to back off. Don’t ask it, tell it. Remember, dear: willpower. In your mind, you’re not asking for it to get back, nor are you hoping it does, nor are you wanting it to—you’re telling it, commanding it.”

“But I’m not,” Fluttershy said quietly, cringing away from an expected reproach. “I don’t want to hurt it.”

Rarity sighed. “Fluttershy, how are you going to cast this spell when you’re out there?”

“Oh, but why do I need to? I’m just there to help other ponies.”

“But you still need to be able to defend yourself.” She turned to see Celestia walking over to them.

“How’s it going, girls?”

Fluttershy tried to hide her face. “Oh, your highness, I’m really sorry, but I just don’t think I’m cut out for this type of spell.”

“Let me see what you have so far.”

Fluttershy shrank slightly, but faced her statue and cast the spell once more, letting out an airy “go!” As before, it bowed outwards slightly from the middle, but remained standing firmly.

Celestia nodded. “Rarity, go with Twilight and begin work on your teleportation.” She smiled at Fluttershy. “I will help Fluttershy.”

“Yes, your highness.” She gave Fluttershy a small smile of encouragement and walked over to Twilight; Pinkie was with Rainbow and Applejack, coaching them exuberantly.

Twilight was happy to help Rarity, though she didn’t show it; she was still upset about Celestia’s callousness.

Teleportation was a difficult topic to approach. For her, it had been a part of her life since she was a filly, and breaking the process down into its constituent steps was like trying to explain how to write, or eat. It was so simple to her, she had to think a while before she could begin to direct Rarity. Even then, Rarity was slow to learn.

“Just focus on your destination, Rarity. Don’t think about anything else.” She had lost count of Rarity’s attempts, and they weren’t getting much better.

“I am, darling, but it just won’t work.”

“Are you visualizing it?”

“With perfect clarity.”

Twilight sighed. It was the same every time: Rarity could get the picture of her destination in mind, but she couldn’t put the magic into it. “Then just… imagine that place snapping over to you. Kind of like… how can I put it? Think of it kind of like a treadmill.”

Rarity looked at her with an uncertain frown. “I’m sorry?”

“Imagine your destination is on a treadmill underneath you, and your spell is making the treadmill move. You’re not moving, the world is. Do you know what I mean?”

“But the world isn’t moving! I am.”

“I know that, but just try imagining it the way I just described. It’s always worked for me.”

Rarity sighed and closed her eyes for a moment, and then tried once more; her body flickered briefly, and Twilight thought for a moment that the spell had worked, but Rarity remained where she stood. She let out a frustrated sigh and sat down, discouraged. “I can’t do it. I simply can’t do it.” She thought. “Maybe I just don’t have enough magic,” she said quietly.

“I don’t see how you can’t, though. I’ve seen you do some amazing things with your magic.”

“That’s different, though. What I do is really quite simple. It only looks complex because of how intricately it’s done.”

“I still think you can do it.”

Rarity shook her head. “I’m trying my absolute hardest, dear, and it isn’t working.” Twilight took a deep breath, trying to think of another different way to explain the spell, but Rarity held up a hoof. “Regardless, I need a break. All this… failure is exhausting.”

Twilight sighed; she didn’t like it, but Rarity had a point.

“How’s the teleportation?” Celestia asked, walking over to them. Behind her, Fluttershy was staring intently at her statue.

“Not good, I’m afraid,” Rarity said. “Your highness, different ponies have different amounts of magical power in them, yes?”

“That’s right, Rarity.” She smiled knowingly. “Are you wondering if you have enough magic to teleport?”

Rarity paused, caught off guard, and nodded. Twilight frowned and looked away.

“A question I’m asked all the time when I’m teaching young magicians. While some ponies truly don’t have enough magic for it, teleportation doesn’t require as much as you might think. Most ponies have enough.”

“But I’m not even close to getting it,” Rarity moaned.

“Let me help you. Twilight, I trust you are fine?”

“Yes, your highness.”

“Good. I will assist Rarity with her spell casting.” Celestia began asking Rarity about her previous attempts, and Twilight stayed for a moment. When it was clear that Celestia didn’t need her, she walked over to Applejack and Rainbow, at the end of the courtyard. They were conversing softly; Applejack looked annoyed, Rainbow deflated.

“Hey girls. How’s it going?” She tried to make her voice friendlier, but the princess’ dismissive attitude made her feel worn and impatient, and her cheer was very clearly falsified.

“Terrible,” Rainbow said, echoing Applejack’s “awful.”

“What’s wrong?”

“We barely have any magic,” Rainbow said sourly.

“How are we s’posed to survive out there if we can hardly even push somepony away?”

Twilight had no answer, and she regretted going over to them. It wasn’t helping her mood.

“Hey girls! What’s going on?” Pinkie’s sudden voice from behind made them all jump.

“Pinkie, you gotta stop sneakin’ up on ponies like that,” Applejack said, clutching her chest.

“You just about made me have a heart attack,” Rainbow complained. Pinkie only laughed.

“Your magic’s coming along pretty well, huh Pinkie?” Twilight asked.

“Yeah, super well! Super-duper well! I mean, I guess I’ve been doing it all my life, so it should come easy, right?” She laughed again, a little quieter.

“Ah know you don’t really like it, Pinkie, but Ah envy you right now,” Applejack said. She looked around Twilight and nodded a greeting to Fluttershy, approaching.

“Hey Fluttershy. What’s going on?” Rainbow asked.

“Oh, um, nothing really. Princess Celestia’s helping Rarity with her teleportation, but she didn’t leave me with anything else to do.”

“Aw, I feel so sorry for her,” Pinkie said. “It must be so humiliating for her to not be able to do magic as well as us.”

“Yeah, must be,” Applejack said bitterly.

“What’s wrong, Applejack?”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Pinkie. Ah’m just a little annoyed.”

“Why?”

“It ain’t nothin’ to worry ‘bout,” she repeated, an edge of irritation tinging her voice. Pinkie narrowed her eyes very slightly, but accepted Applejack’s denial with no complaint.

“Uh, great,” Rainbow said, looking at Pinkie with a frown. “So, how long do you suppose Celestia’s going to be helping Rarity.”

“I doubt she’ll be much longer. Even if Rarity can’t learn the spell herself, I know Princess Celestia can give her the magic she needs for it,” Twilight said. In response to her friends’ quizzical expressions, she explained. “There are lots of spells that allow one unicorn to impart her magic to another. A lot like what I’m supposed to do to Pinkie Pie.”

“Yeah, about that,” Applejack broke in. “Ah’m not sure Ah got this whole thing straight. So, if the battle starts getting out of hoof, we’re s’posed to form some sort of protective barrier ‘round you an’ Pinkie so you can cast yer spell. Do Ah got that right?”

Twilight nodded.

“An’ that spell will give Pinkie even more magical power than she already has, which should somehow end the battle.”

“Right.”

“But we don’t know how Pinkie’s gonna do it, ‘cause Princess Celestia don’t know.”

Twilight nodded again, no longer looking at Applejack. “Yeah. That’s right.”

“Oh, but isn’t that way too dangerous?” Fluttershy asked, concern in her voice.

Twilight’s voice lowered some. “Yes. I’ve been trying not to think about it.”

Fluttershy winced. “Oh, Twilight, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Oh, I can’t imagine what it must be like for you.”

Twilight didn’t respond. She was lost in thought, and only partially returned when Pinkie moved closer to gently nuzzle her.

“Pinkie, just how much power do you have, anyway?” Rainbow asked, eying them all uncomfortably. “I know Celestia said you have a lot, but how much is that?”

“I don’t know. Probably about as much as Twilight has.”

“Actually,” Twilight said, brightening a little, “that’s a great idea, Rainbow.”

“Uh, thanks?”

“While the princess is off helping Rarity, why don’t Pinkie and I do some practicing?”

Rainbow snorted. “You unicorns and your magic. What are we supposed to do?”

“You can judge,” Pinkie said.

“Judge what? How good y’are at castin’ spells?” Applejack asked.

Pinkie laughed. “No, silly! How would you even do that? You don’t have any magic!”

“Ah got a little!”

“I was actually thinking we could have a mock battle or something!” She looked expectantly at Twilight.

Twilight paused, surprised by the suggestion. “Er, I guess we could. Nothing serious, though. Just something to gauge our abilities.” She looked at Rainbow and Applejack for a moment. “You two can make sure nothing gets out of hoof.” She looked around. “I don’t think this courtyard is big enough, though.”

“I’ll ask,” Rainbow said, flying over to the princess. Twilight watched her converse with Celestia, who nodded once and smiled, horn glowing.

Light bloomed suddenly behind them, and Twilight turned to see the entire back portion of the courtyard gone, fallen away into an empty field where a sourceless, gray sunlight illuminated a sepia carpet of soft grass. She narrowed her eyes; the whole area looked washed out, like an old photograph.

Rainbow sped up to join them as they stepped into the field. At first, Twilight thought there was an opening in the ground; she couldn’t see the ceiling. After her eyes had a moment to adjust, she saw the earth curving upwards into a giant, stadium-like dome, from which resonated the odd, smokey light.

“So, what is all this?” Applejack asked, mirroring Twilight’s thoughts.

“I’d have thought you of all ponies would recognize a field,” Rainbow said. “The princess said you three can fight here all you want.”

“What about you and Applejack?” Twilight asked.

“We need to get back to practicing our repel spell.”

“More? Ah thought Ah had it okay,” Applejack said.

Rainbow shrugged. “It’s just what Celestia said.”

“Aw, heck. Ah guess we’ll be seein’ ya, Twilight. Pinkie. Fluttershy.”

“Have fun!” Pinkie cried as Rainbow took off, Applejack behind her.

The remaining three stood in the grass, looking at each other and the openness of the field—so great that the fact that they were still underground could be easily lost.

“So how were you thinking of doing this?” Twilight asked.

“Well, let’s keep it between you and me for starters,” Pinkie said, walking a circle around them. “You and I are probably about even, but Fluttershy doesn’t have quite as much magic as us. Sorry, Fluttershy.”

Fluttershy whimpered, crouching and coiling her tail around her body.

“I’m not sure if that’s completely fair. While you may have as much magic as I, Pinkie, you don’t know any spells.”

“So?”

“Your magic is useless if you don’t know any ways to express it.”

“But I can express it, silly. The princess said so.” She flashed Twilight a wide smile.

Twilight thought. Ordinarily, she would insist they practice first, but Celestia’s insensitivity in such a stressful situation had evaporated a lot of her usual respect for procedure. “If you say so.”

“Yay!” Pinkie bounced in place.

“Fluttershy, you can mediate and make sure things don’t get too dangerous,” Twilight said, giving her a smile.

Fluttershy gave a sigh of relief and took to the air, hovering a few feet above them.

“How do you want to do this, Pinkie?” She looked around, but Pinkie was already gone. “Oh geez, she wants to start already. Pinkie Pie! I’m not ready yet. We need to discuss the rules first, so we don’t hurt each other.”

Pinkie gave no answer, and Twilight shrugged, again yielding to carelessness. “Okay, fine. If this is how you want to do it, then this is how we’ll do it.”

She surveyed the field warily, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. “She’s probably invisible,” Twilight thought, eyes narrowed. Her horn glowed for a moment, and the strange light faded out. A corona of moonlight filtered in from behind, from the courtyard, but it hardly reached the first tufts of grass at its edge. Fluttershy gave a small moan of fright, but Twilight resisted comforting her. She didn’t want to give away her position. Considering her options, she cast a spell to point her toward any form of magical discharge—a simple spell, but one she had rarely used.

She slowly walked through the meadow, moving by the feel of the grass and consciously resisting the urge to light up her horn. “Come on, Pinkie, I know you’re out here somewhere.” She padded through the grass, her ears ready to pick out the smallest sound, her eyes ready to spot the smallest movement.

What she wasn’t ready for was the sudden burst of white all around her, followed by a massive weight knocking her off her hooves. She cried out, panic taking hold at first; by the time she had focused her magic into a defensive barrier, her vision was back. Pinkie stood above her, grinning her unfocused grin at the grounded unicorn.

“Ugh, Pinkie,” Twilight groaned, “that wasn’t fair. I wasn’t ready.”

“You seemed ready,” Pinkie said cheerily.

“I didn’t have any time to come up with a strategy, though.”

“Neither did I.” She helped Twilight up. “Wanna go again?”

“Sure, but let’s establish a few rules this time, okay?”

Pinkie giggled. “Rules? Twilight, there aren’t rules in war.”

The brevity of the statement startled her. “I guess that’s true. But right now, we need to have some sort of order. We have to know what our relative strengths and weaknesses are.”

“But we already know our strengths.”

“Do we?”

“Magic!”

Twilight closed her eyes for a second and rubbed her forehead. “Pinkie, I think you’re oversimplifying this.”

“Well, duh! I mean, it’s war, Twilight. Of course it’s simple!”

“But that’s wrong. There’s nothing simple about war.”

“Our part of it is. Rarity and Fluttershy have the hard parts, but we just run around and destroy stuff! What’s more simple than that?”

Twilight was at a loss for words. “I still think we should do some sort of controlled demonstration of power. So we know what kinds of magic we each excel at.”

“But—”

“I know, I know, we both excel at magic in general, but what about specific spells? We need to know these things if we’re going to be a good team.”

Pinkie shrugged elaborately. “If you say so.”

Twilight looked back at Celestia and Rarity, watching curiously as the princess took Rarity under her wing and teleported a few paces ahead, Rarity cringing. She leaned down and said something with a kind smile, and Rarity nodded slowly.

“Wanna play with us, Fluttershy?” Pinkie asked innocently.

“Oh, no, thank you. I hate fighting, even if it’s just pretend.”

“She doesn’t know any spells anyway,” Twilight said. Fluttershy looked down with a blush. “Sorry, Fluttershy.”

“Oh, um… don’t worry about it,” she said quietly.

Twilight looked back at Pinkie, who gave her an eager, menacing smile. “Okay, Pinkie, we need to make a few changes. I don’t want another game of cat-and-mouse. It’s a waste of time.”

“You’re not being a sore loser, are you Twilight?” Pinkie asked with a smile. Twilight found it obnoxious.

“No, Pinkie. It’s a waste of time because it’s not going to be anything like that out there. We need to find a different way to practice.”

“Well, okay. How about a simple, raw show of magic? That way we can see whose is stronger!”

“That’s… okay, I guess. But I don’t want us to hurt each other.” She thought for a minute. “How about this? Instead of casting spells on each other, we take turns trying to undo each other’s magic. So I’ll cast a spell, just out here, in the open, and you undo it if you can. Then we switch. Sound fair?”

Pinkie bobbed her head up and down.

“Okay, I’ll go first. Let’s start with something fairly easy.” Focusing her magic around her, she called to mind one of the older spells in her repertoire. A translucent, purple bubble glittered to life around her: a shield spell. Pinkie narrowed her eyes at it for a second, and it vanished. Twilight felt a slight prickle along her horn as it did so.

“Not surprising,” Twilight said, nodding at Pinkie to go ahead with her spell.

Pinkie thought for a second, then giggled. A weird, scratching, stretching sound filled the air, and the grass slowly reached up around their legs, tickling Twilight’s pasterns. Pinkie only laughed as the grass continued growing upwards, coiling and bending until the blades were too tall to support themselves, and began leaning over sleepily. Before long, they stood in a tangled mess of the light brown grass, covering their legs and chests, sticking in their tails.

Twilight struggled out of the floppy, cool strands; she hadn’t appreciated how dewy they were before. “That’s one heck of a growth spell, Pinkie.” She gathered her magic to cast the counter-spell; it didn’t take much, but she felt herself straining a little to revert the grass back to normal. “Of course,” she thought, “I’m still tired from steering our balloon. No big surprise.”

The grass slowly sank back down and returned to its original half-inch length. “Nice one, Pinkie. Now try this,” Twilight said, collecting her will into a more powerful, more elaborate spell—one she had used only in experimentation, to see her own limits.

With a low, rumbling, ripping sound, a patch of ground to their sides shook and jostled. Slowly, with a heavy, heart-pounding sound of earth rent against its will, it began to rise up into a small column. Bits of loose soil and clumps of grass fell from its sides, and she released it, allowing it to stand without the benefit of magic. Fluttershy cringed away, and Twilight allowed herself a smug smile.

“Ooooooh,” Pinkie awed at Twilight’s creation. Her face twitched once, and the earthen pillar crumbled into powder, like a heavy sandcastle. “My turn!” Pinkie looked excited, and she shook her head a little, as if to dispel an itch.

Twilight was immediately hit with a soft, powerful force that cushioned and impressed upon her body, like a pillow striking her chest and face. She tried to inhale, but it was labored and slow; she tried to move, but the air itself seemed to resist her, as though she were underwater. Fluttershy was slowly drifting to the ground, her face alarmed and terrified, her body twisting in an elegant dance of panic.

“What the heck did she do?” Twilight thought worriedly. She tried to breathe once more, and, again, the air came slowly and thickly; she barely got anything. She did not know precisely what Pinkie had done, and so gathered her magic into a general counter-spell—weaker, but with a broad scope of effect. For several suffocating, fear-stricken moments, she concentrated on her spell, her head going fuzzy with lack of oxygen. Eventually, the air loosened around them, lifting off like a wet coat, and she and Fluttershy gasped, the latter falling to the ground with a yelp.

She caught her breath and looked at Pinkie angrily. “Pinkie, what in the world did you do? That felt like that could have killed us!”

“Don’t worry Twilight, I wouldn’t have let it kill you! All I did was thicken the air.”

Twilight rolled her eyes and looked at Fluttershy, who had picked herself up. “Are you okay, Fluttershy?”

“I… I think so. Pinkie, why didn’t you warn us?”

“Sorry, Fluttershy.” Fluttershy looked down, and Pinkie avoided her gaze when she looked back up. “I think I’m going to go and see how Rarity’s doing now,” she said almost inaudibly, walking away.

When she was back in the courtyard, Twilight turned to Pinkie indignantly. “I think she’s really upset.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“You should have warned us.”

“You handled it just fine.”

“Yeah, but it really scared me for a second.”

“Sorry, Twilight.”

Twilight shook her head, a little violently. “I should just drop it. It won’t do for us to fight right now.” She sighed in annoyance. “I still don’t understand how you can do all this stuff without learning the spells first.”

“Like I said, it just happens for me.”

“I know, but I can’t even imagine that. It seems wrong to me.”

Pinkie giggled and sniffed the air. “Oh! Here comes Rarity!”

“What?”

There was a loud crack and a flash of magic, and Rarity stood a few paces away from them both, breathless. “I, I did it! I did it!”

Twilight smiled, happy to have someone to distract her from Pinkie. “Nice job, Rarity! Princess Celestia finally got through to you, huh?”

“She did indeed, Twilight. It turns out, I was just thinking about it the wrong way.”

“Way to go, Rarity!” Pinkie chirped.

“Thank you, darling.”

“So what’s going on now?” Twilight asked.

“Well, she’s with Fluttershy at the moment. She came over just as I was finishing up. She seemed upset; is everything okay over here?”

Twilight’s voice darkened again. “We’re fine. Pinkie just scared her with a spell.”

“Oh, Pinkie, darling, you really should be more careful.”

“That’s what Twilight told me!” She narrowed her eyes conspiratorially. “Did you two set this up?”

Rarity rolled her eyes. “The princess told me to come over here to practice my defensive spell.” She looked at them: the bits of grass in Twilight’s mane, the earthen debris by her side, her frazzled expression. “What have you been doing?”

“Just some practice fighting,” Pinkie said. “Wanna join?”

“No, no, Pinkie, darling. That… that sounds just awful. No offense.”

“None taken!”

“Although, if you two are casting spells on each other, it would give me the perfect opportunity to practice my shield.”

“Let’s do it!” Pinkie cried, hopping into the air again.

“Wait, hang on,” Rarity said, backing up a little. She seemed disturbed by Pinkie’s excitement, and Twilight could see why.

Pinkie stopped jumping and just stared at her.

“How do we want to proceed?”

“If you want to practice shielding us, I think it would be best if we took turns throwing reasonable—” here Twilight glared at Pinkie— “attacks at one another. That way you can practice defending them without having to be attacked yourself.”

“That sounds fine.” Rarity looked at them both and lit her horn preemptively. “Um… well, who first?”

“Twilight’s still shaken up about my spell, so she can attack me!” Pinkie said, her tone betraying none of the surreality of the situation.

“I guess that makes sense,” Twilight said casually. “You’ll be protecting her more anyway.” Rarity eyed her with a mixture of dismay and concern, but said nothing about it.

“Okay. So… just throw whatever you want at her, I suppose, and… I’ll do my best to deflect it.”

“That seems a little dangerous.”

“I can have a backup shield in case Rarity’s breaks!” Pinkie said.

“Yes, good idea, darling,” Rarity said, nodding at her. Her horn, already shining lightly, glowed brighter, slowly bringing a light purple, watery shield up tight around Pinkie. It was a perfect bubble, and Twilight was quietly impressed. For having never formally studied, Rarity’s attempt was solid. “Are you both ready?” she asked shortly, her voice cut with the strain of maintaining the spell.

“Ready, Rarity! Hit me, Twilight!” Pinkie cried.

Twilight thought for a second, combing through her catalog of spells—of which relatively few could be used for attacking—and settled on the repulsion spell Celestia had just shown them. Her horn glowed momentarily, and the shield bent inward with a shower of twinkles. For a bit, Twilight thought that she had felled it already, but it held, and quickly bulged back out to its original shape.

Pinkie giggled, her voice glassy inside the shield. “That looked funny, Twilight! Do something else!”

Twilight looked at Rarity momentarily, who nodded. With a brief shuffle through her spells and a small, but not insignificant amount of focus, she conjured a beam of hot, white light, balanced on the tip of her horn like a feather. She cut the air with it experimentally, and then arced it down like a sword, swinging it onto Pinkie. It felt strangely satisfying. She crashed it into the amethyst barrier, and Rarity gasped lightly as it shattered into a shower of beautiful shards before dissipating on the grass like embers. The shield was gone.

“Wow, Rarity. That’s pretty good, considering it’s your first time,” Twilight said, receiving a tired smile. “You really are talented.”

“It’s almost entirely natural, too. At least, that’s what Princess Celestia said.”

“What happens when it breaks?” Pinkie asked. “Does that mean you’re out of magic?

“Oh, goodness, no. I can bring up another one if I need to.”

“Unicorns can control how much magic they want in a shield,” Twilight said. “Rarity can make a shield that’s easy to overwhelm, and replace it instantly, or put all her magic into one or two really strong ones.”

“Princess Celestia said it would be a good idea if I kept you both protected with a lot of weaker shields. It’s less magic-intensive,” Rarity said.

“How many shields do you think you can make?”

“Oh, dear. I’m not really certain. I have a fair amount of magic. I’d say… fifty? Sixty?”

“That much? Rarity, I’m impressed.” She laughed, a little relieved. “I suddenly feel a lot better about having you defending us.”

“Yeah, you go, Rarity!” Pinkie shrieked.

“Thank you, Pinkie Pie. I just hope I can use them as well in battle; it’ll be much more hectic out there than it is in here, after all.”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine, Rarity,” Twilight said. “You seem competent enough.”

“That’s just it, though; this is practice. Ugh, the thought of actually going out there where all those ruffians are fighting and… and participating is simply repulsive.”

“At least you probably won’t die.”

“Twilight, dear, that’s no way to talk.”

“Sorry.” She looked at Rarity for a moment, debating whether to keep talking. “I’m just… I always thought of Princess Celestia as my teacher and my friend, but tonight she basically told me that it wasn’t worth the effort to keep me alive.”

“But that’s not true,” Pinkie said. “She wants Rarity to protect us both, ‘cause we’re both valuable. It’s just, you know… I’m more valuable.”

“Thanks, Pinkie, that means a lot.”

“She can’t afford to look at us as friends right now,” Rarity said. “I know it sounds harsh, but it really is for the best; it’s what a good strategist does.”

“I just hate how devaluing it all is. We’re not her faithful students anymore. No, we’re just pieces in this chess game she’s playing with Discord.”

“Don’t think of it that way,” Pinkie said.

“Yes, Twilight. We’re not pieces, we’re assistants. She called on us specifically to help her with this battle. It’s an honor. In a way.” Rarity seemed uncomfortable taking the stance, and she cringed a little under Twilight’s unhappy gaze.

“Why are you telling me what an honor it is to fight, Rarity? That’s not like you.”

“And it’s not like you to talk about your own mortality in such a depressing way.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Fair enough.” She cleared her throat nervously. “While I personally am mortified that we will soon be thrown into the… war outside, I also consider it an honor that the princess thinks so highly of us as to call on us in a time of such need.”

Twilight thought for a while. “Maybe we’ll get lucky, and the battle will be over by the time we get out,” she said with no real conviction.

“Come on, Twilight, be confident!” Pinkie urged. “It’s not so bad! Rarity knows what she’s doing, and so do you, and I think I do. Everything’s gonna be fine!”

“How can you know that, Pinkie?”

“I don’t know. But I do.”

Twilight sighed and shook her head. “I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but it’s not working.”

“Stop paying so much attention to the bad!” Pinkie said, moving around again. “That’s what I’m doing! You just gotta smile it away, Twilight! Remember what Granny Pie said! Wheeeeeen I was—”

“Pinkie!” Twilight shouted, annoyed.

Pinkie dropped her tune and looked at her sadly.

Twilight softened her voice. “I know you’re just trying to help, but you’re wasting your time. There’s nothing good about tonight, Pinkie. Even you should recognize that.”

“But there is good in this, Twilight. What about getting to spend time together? Getting to help Celestia with something she can’t handle herself? Saving Canterlot? All of that’s good.”

“That’s only if we win, Pinkie.”

“Well, even if we don’t, it won’t be all bad. ‘Cause if we lose, then we die, and if we’re dead, then it won’t matter anymore!” Twilight was taken aback at her friend’s words.

“Pinkie! How can you say that?” Rarity asked, aghast. “Death is a tragic thing. There certainly isn’t anything good about it.”

“It’s not tragic for the pony who’s dying. For them it’s peaceful.”

“Not when they’re at war, like we are. About to be,” Twilight said.

“I guess it depends on how they die, then,” Pinkie said with a tiny, nonchalant shrug. Her words were beginning to make Twilight uncomfortable. It wasn’t the first time she had wondered how Pinkie looked at the world; that she talked about matters, both serious and not, in the same way made it unclear.

“Girls, can we please stop talking about this now?” Twilight asked. “I’m already depressed, and this isn’t helping.”

“We’re sorry, darling, we are,” Rarity said. “It’s just that when we aren’t talking about it, you seem to steer the conversation towards it.”

“I’m not steering the conversation anywhere.”

“Maybe you’re mad because you think Celestia betrayed you,” Pinkie suggested.

“Wouldn’t you be? Let’s say we all said to you, ‘oh, Pinkie, we’d love to keep you as our friend, but you’re just not doing enough to be useful to us, so we don’t need you anymore.’ Wouldn’t you be upset?”

“Of course I would, but your example is completely different from this.”

“No it isn’t!”

“Yes, it is,” Rarity cut in. “Twilight, dear, thousands of lives are depending on us tonight. I… can’t really believe I’m saying that. But it’s true. An entire city depends on the outcome of this battle, and Celestia has to make decisions rationally.”

“So what’s so bad about me? What can Pinkie Pie can do that I can’t?”

“Ask Celestia.”

“She’s busy with Fluttershy.”

“Ugh, I know that, dear; it was a rhetorical question.”

Twilight huffed.

“Let’s just stop talking for now,” Rarity said, tired. “Give ourselves some time to collect our thoughts and relax, and maybe we’ll see things from a different perspective.”

“Good idea,” Twilight said angrily. “I don’t want to wind up saying something I’d regret.”

She retreated a few feet from them both and crouched down in the grass, moodily staring at her hooves, which she crossed in front of herself. Pinkie only watched, and Rarity sat down where she stood, looking around but never settling her eyes on any one thing.

After a few minutes of quiet sulking, Pinkie walked over to Twilight and looked at her, worried. Twilight ignored her for as long as she could, but Pinkie refused to turn away.

With a sigh, she looked up. “What do you want, Pinkie?”

“I want you to stop being a Mrs. Grumpy-Pants and start looking on the bright side of things again.”

“Pinkie, do you know what it’s like for the pony you’ve revered all your life to tell you that you’re not worth the trouble to keep alive?”

“Nope. But Twilight, Celestia didn’t say that. Like, at all. She just told Rarity to protect me more than you.”

“It’s the same thing.”

“But it isn’t! You’re blowing it waaaaaaaaay out of proportion.” She smiled suddenly and let out another giggle, her personality instantly flipped back to the cloying exuberance that Twilight had shouted at earlier. “Like a balloon!” She began bouncing. “Oh! Speaking of which, what ever happened to the balloon? Is it gone? Are we ever gonna get it back? How are we gonna get back home? Will Celestia give you another one? Won’t she be mad that you destroyed this one? Will—”

“Pinkie Pie, please be quiet!” She put her head down. “I’m trying to get my thoughts together, and it’s really hard with you standing next to me and talking like this.”

“Sorry, Twilight. I just thought if I talked more, it would distract you and make you feel better. ‘Cause I know when I’m feeling down talking always makes me feel better because I get distracted so easily. Like just now! I’m already distracted and I don’t even—”

“Pinkie!” Twilight looked at the pink pony urgently. “Please be quiet! I really need this time to myself.”

“Okay, okay. Sorry, Twilight,” she said, a little hurt. She gave Twilight another disappointed look and walked back into the field. Rarity glared at her from across the small space between them.

Heaving a sigh, Twilight looked back to the main room, where Celestia and Fluttershy were working together. Despite her anger, she had to admire Celestia’s devotion to teaching Fluttershy; having no experimental subjects, was forced to use her own body as a canvass for Fluttershy’s burgeoning magic. She could just make out the rosy splotch of a small wound on Celestia’s side, angled toward Fluttershy, who stared at it intensely. Twilight knew that alicorns couldn’t be killed easily, and that any injuries they sustained healed more quickly than with other ponies, but did they feel pain in the same way? She assumed so, but Celestia’s distance-blurred face showed nothing.

She looked back at Pinkie, who was bouncing up and down the space between the courtyard and field, smiling and singing a cheery tune to herself.

“Confound her,” Twilight thought bitterly. “Confound all of them. Celestia, Pinkie, Rarity, all of them.” There was a pause in her thoughts. “Why Rarity? For that matter, why Pinkie? I shouldn’t be mad at them. They only want to help.” She looked down and sighed quietly to herself. “I’m probably scaring them with all this negativity.”

She looked around, but Rarity and Pinkie were the only interesting things in the field; all else was sepia grass and artificial light. Her eyes alighted on Rarity for a moment; she noticed and looked back, her own face offering no sign of emotion. Twilight looked away as Rarity stood.

She came a few paces closer to Twilight. “I’m going back into the main room. There’s no reason to stay here.” She walked down the large corridor, and Twilight, after a momentary, internal debate, got up and followed her. Pinkie was there as well, gamboling around the wooden statues, and she trailed after Rarity as she passed.

They congregated in the main room, where Celestia was lying on the ground, at first appearing to be resting. Twilight looked closer and then reeled back with a shocked gasp; her hoof was mangled into a crimson, tattered mess, partially hidden by the golden shoes she always wore.

Celestia smiled gently. “Worry not, Twilight Sparkle. This is just a test of Fluttershy’s skill.” Her expression betrayed none of the pain she must have felt.

Fluttershy looked intently at the wound, her eyes unblinking and her lips moving wordlessly. They all watched, and slowly, the red ribbons of Celestia’s ruined hoof began to knit together, flesh moving with a life outside its host, rising and reconnecting in invisible tear lines; blood faded back in, like ink; veins burrowed back down into swelling muscle, then smoothed over again with pink, then very light sand skin, and finally short, imperfectly-regrown hair in the clear stripe bordering a hard, cornified hoof. It was a silent affair, and before a minute had passed, she was completely healed.

“How does it feel, your highness?” Fluttershy asked quietly.

Celestia moved her hoof experimentally, twisting and bending; Twilight could hear her joint. “Perfect. No pain, no mobility issues.” She stood up and looked down on Fluttershy, who cowered meekly. “You are becoming a fine medic, Fluttershy. Your magic is superb, as is your form. All you lack is confidence.”

“Oh, um, thank you, your highness.”

Celestia’s gaze swept the room. “You all have improved vastly. Would you believe that only twenty minutes have passed above ground?”

“Twenty minutes?” Applejack repeated.

“That’s right.” They all looked at each other, baffled. “Only a couple things remain. Twilight, Pinkie, if you would follow me back out into the field.” She gave them a calm smile, but her tone had lost a lot of its softness. “The rest of you need not come along just yet. I will tell you when we need you.”

The three of them walked down the corridor again, and Twilight watched Pinkie out the corner of her eye; she occasionally stole quick glances at Twilight. “Trying to assess my mood, I suppose,” she thought.

They moved out into the center of the artificial meadow, a fair distance from the courtyard. “I just need to teach you a pair of advanced spells for the battle.” She paused. “And then, unfortunately, the final spell. Should we need it.” Twilight’s steps faltered. In all the practicing and socializing, she had forgotten it.

“How long until we get out there?” Pinkie asked.

“Maybe half an hour. That is, half an hour for us.”

“That’s… not very long,” Twilight said.

“I have every confidence in your abilities. Still, we must not dawdle. Luna cannot handle things indefinitely.”

“We’ll do our best, Princess,” Pinkie said.

Twilight nodded seriously, a little insulted at Pinkie’s reverence. “Why are you taking it seriously now of all times?”

“Excellent. I would expect nothing less.” With a single flash of her horn, a pair of earthen mounds, similar to the one Twilight had erected, grew up slowly before them. “First, explosions. These are quite similar to the repulsion spells from earlier, except, instead of a pushing force, you want to concentrate on a rupturing force.”

“Like this?” Pinkie chirped, flicking her eyes at one of the mounds. It erupted up and back in a sudden, sharp crackle of dust and smoke. Twilight was amazed at how quickly and decisively it had happened; one moment, the mound was there, and then it was swept away.

The smoke cleared with another pulse of Celestia’s horn. “Yes, Pinkie, but not until I say so.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t do it again.” She looked at Twilight. “Push your magic into the object, then expand outwards. Twilight, I know you tend to prefer moderation, but this is not the spell for that. Be as visceral as you can.”

“I’ll try, your highness.”

“Don’t spend too much time building up your energy. Just push and release.”

Twilight nodded, trying to work out the steps in her head, and moved before her mound. Pinkie backed away.

“Now,” Celestia said firmly. Twilight hesitated, but forced her magic forward and then outward, as Celestia had said. It felt unlike any spell she had cast before. Usually, her magic would surround an object, something she wanted to manipulate. Here, it pierced the mound and welled up within, like a gout of water suddenly released. The mound burst upward, and small chunks rolled off its top, though it was distinctly whole next to the black scar where Pinkie’s had been.

“You delayed,” Celestia said. The remains of both mounds vanished, and new ones replaced them. “Again. Do not spend all your time on pushing the magic in. Once you get the first part of the spell going, the rest of the magic will follow.”

“Think of it like kicking a pile of leaves, Twilight!” Pinkie said.

“No,” Celestia said. “That’s sloppy spellcasting, Pinkie. Ideally, Twilight, your spell will place the explosion’s epicenter, lock it in, and then pour magic in to burst outwards. Do you understand?”

“Let me try again,” Twilight said. She focused her mind again, as Celestia directed, and faced her mound. “Place the epicenter,” she told herself, trying to envision the center of the earthen dome. “Place, and release.” Her horn tingled with the effort, and the mound tore upwards into small pieces, until the top had been dislodged. She felt her magic stutter and shut down inside, and the bottom of the mound still remained.

“No moderation, remember,” Celestia said.

“Right, right.”

“Oh, Princess, can I go?” Pinkie asked, raising her hoof and waving it around.

“You may.”

Twilight stepped aside for Pinkie, and Celestia restored her mound. Pinkie wiggled as she locked in on it.

“Now,” Celestia’s humorless voice commanded. There was a shattering, shuddering, staccato ripping as the mound, and a few feet of the ground surrounding it, disappeared in the sudden explosion, slower than Twilight’s. Twilight was astounded at the blast, but Celestia’s expression didn’t change one iota as she nodded simply, surveying the damage.

“Very good, Pinkie, but keep in mind that bigger is not always better. A controlled explosion in the right place can be just as powerful as a large blast.” She cleared the debris away. “Twilight, give me another. Remember, no moderation.”

“Yes, your highness.” Twilight faced her mound and placed the spell’s center.

“Go,” Celestia said, and she jumped, releasing her magic into the small space she had created. The air shook with the sharp sound of her blast, and the mound was gone, its pieces sprayed across the grass and on the back walls. She cringed away, chest pounding, and Celestia chuckled.

“Perhaps I was wrong. A little moderation might not be the worst thing.”

“Sorry, Princess.”

“It is fine, Twilight. Just try to be careful.”

Twilight frowned at her. How could she be so dismissive?

“I would like to practice this with you more, but we really do not have time. Simply being able to cast the spell will have to do—refinement can come later.”

Twilight looked at her uncertainly. She had never known Celestia to be so slapdash in teaching someone a new spell. She was justified in her urgency, Twilight knew, but it still seemed weird. Only a few minutes had passed.

“Now, the other spell I want you to learn is a small, localized earthquake spell.”

Twilight’s eyes widened at its mention. “Is—isn’t that forbidden magic, your highness?”

“Not forbidden, my student. Just discouraged.”

“Are we gonna learn any forbidden magic?” Pinkie asked, and Twilight looked at her, shocked.

Celestia only laughed. “Goodness, no, Pinkie. I will not be showing you any forbidden magic, now or ever. It’s forbidden for a reason, you know.” She smiled and winked mysteriously, and Twilight wondered how much forbidden magic Celestia actually knew.

“As I said, this spell is not for causing full-scale earthquakes. The largest radius I’d like you to cover is a couple meters.” She looked at Pinkie. “That means no collateral damage, Pinkie. I know you tend to overdo your spells.”

Pinkie smiled guiltily.

“And that is something that I feel I need to impress.” She looked at both of them severely. “This kind of spell, overdone, can split the ground at your hooves, deep. And putting it back together is not nearly as easy as breaking it apart.”

“Um, are you sure it’s a good idea to teach it to us, Princess?” Twilight asked. “It sounds incredibly dangerous.”

“Not at the scale you’ll be using it. You can actually cast it over much wider an area before worrying too much. But I’m not taking any chances, not with how excitable you both can be.”

Twilight frowned. “I’m not that excitable.”

“I’m sure you’ll both find it quite easy to cast. Like the explosion spell, you must first place an epicenter, but instead of bursting outwards, keep the magic under control. You want motion, but contained and oscillating. Intensity, but not a totally static release of power. Do you understand?”

“I got it!” Pinkie cried.

“I think I do,” Twilight said.

“Then you may go first, Twilight. On my word.”

Twilight looked down at the ground, trying to gather her magic together. Just a few minutes ago, her eyes had been drooping, but the act of casting gave her energy. She knew it wouldn’t last; the boost was an ephemeral thing, and she would begin to crash as soon as she had a few minutes to herself. How were she supposed to fight in her condition?

“Now,” Celestia said, and Twilight shook her head to clear it. Lost in thought, she hadn’t gotten her magic where she wanted it in her conscious mind. Still, her horn glowed, and a patch of ground in the distance rumbled slightly for a minute, before quieting down.

“Not bad. You can afford to be a little more forceful, though,” Celestia said, nodding. “Pinkie, your turn.”

Pinkie looked out at the field with a look of put-on determination. Twilight couldn’t tell whether she was taking any of it seriously. On the princess’ word, the same plot of ground shuddered and vibrated, and Twilight could feel the earth trembling and rippling with the tiny quake’s intensity. When it ended, Celestia smiled, and Twilight was jealous. She hadn’t gotten a smile.

“Very good, Pinkie. I would tell you you can go bigger, but… no. You need to be extremely careful with this spell.”

“Don’t worry, Princess! You can count on me!”

“I am.” She looked away for a moment, calculating. “Not much longer. Twilight, I will trust your abilities in regards to the earthquake spell.”

“Wait, are we only practicing once?” she asked.

“I’m afraid so.”

“Well that’s… ugh, never mind.” She sighed. “What next, your highness?”

“Now, Twilight, this is your spell. The spell to enhance Pinkie’s power.”

“For a spell she doesn’t know,” Twilight said dully. She knew she might face an admonishment for her tone, but her fatigue dulled her caution, and her bitterness at the princess gave her confidence.

Celestia sighed. “Yes, I’m afraid so. If I could teach her something, I would—trust me on that. But this kind of power is reserved only for alicorns.”

“Then why don’t you do it?”

“Remember, Twilight Sparkle, this is a last resort. This is the spell you will cast only when all other options have dried up. I simply can’t trust that I will be in a position to do it for you, should the time come. When either Luna or I is on the battlefield, every pony that can see us is devoted to stopping us. I’m powerful, but I’m still limited by the laws of time and space. I can’t cast a spell this complex and powerful at an instant’s notice.”

“Neither can I!”

“You’re not expected to. That is where Rarity comes in. She will erect a shield around you and the sigil, and the others will protect it.”

Twilight thought. “How much time does that give me?”

“I cannot say.”

Twilight sighed and looked at Pinkie. Suddenly, the resentment she felt toward her was gone, and she was a friend again. “You’re okay with all this, Pinkie?”

“I sure am! I mean, I guess it’s not like I have much of a choice, but that’s okay ‘cause figuring stuff out on the fly is easy for me! Oh! Maybe I’ll just turn it all into a big party! Can I do that, princess?”

Celestia smiled. “Knowing you, Pinkie, yes. You probably could.”

Twilight took a moment to envision it. She had to smile at the thought. Two armies, hell-bent on destroying each other, suddenly reverted to a mountain-covering party. She closed her eyes and tried to force her mind back on topic. “Princess, how am I supposed to practice this magic-enhancing spell if I can only do it once?”

“Ah, but there is a difference, my student. Unlike Pinkie’s spell, yours is something you can practice on a smaller scale.”

“Is it a difficult sigil?”

“Unfortunately, yes. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves. First, you need flat ground. Clear some grass for Pinkie, please.”

Twilight had to think for a moment; she had only cast a defoliation spell a few times in her life. Her horn glowed briefly, and a circle of grass, only a meter across, shriveled up and vanished beneath the ground. Pinkie stepped in.

“Now,” Celestia said, “this is the sigil that you’ll be drawing around her.” A bright, white circle appeared in the air before her, and Twilight studied it, frowning. She had never seen one so complicated, not even in her advanced magic books. It was filled with wicked, angular lines and barbs that either branched off to connect to one another or exploded into swirling flowers of disjointed dots and dashes. It had a loose radial symmetry, but, at first glance, it was difficult to see the harmony in the thin, sinister lines. She could identify the key parts of the sigil, but some details baffled her, seemingly there for no other reason than to add to an already difficult design.

“But… I’ve seen enhancement sigils before. They’re nothing like this,” Twilight said, trying to wrap her mind around the monster Celestia projected.

“Those would be sigils for enhancing extant, natural attributes, I suspect.”

“I think so.”

“Because Pinkie here is such an anomaly, you need something a bit more complicated. This sigil not only enhances the power she has, but it also has to bring it to an energy level more commonly associated with creatures of her power level.”

“Like an alicorn?”

“Like an alicorn. Like me.”

“It sounds like a sigil you’d use to enhance your own power, but modified to fit an earth pony.”

Celestia thought for a moment. “Yes, that’s right. You know, now that I think about it, I don’t think there’s something like this in the archives. I’ll have to record it.”

Twilight knew she should be excited about the birth of a new spell, but all she could think about was the dread task it represented. “And I need to memorize it? It’s… crazy.”

“It is a bit much to take in, I know,” Celestia said. “There is an alternative to memorization, but you won’t like it.”

“What’s that?”

“I can brand this sigil on your mind, so that you are incapable of forgetting it naturally.” Twilight swallowed hard; she had read about mind-branding. It was a painful, invasive process by which information was permanently affixed to a pony’s brain. At best, it was as painful as being physically burned, but done improperly, it could lead to insanity—not from any magical cause, but from relentless, unstoppable migraines, nightmares, or other aberrations.

Celestia’s voice had softened for the topic. “I have done it before, and know what I am doing. I can brand it quickly and with very intense pain, or slowly, with less.”

“Or I could memorize it.”

“Or you could memorize it.”

Twilight studied the floating sigil for many minutes, closed her eyes and tried to visualize it. “Let me try.”

Celestia summoned a brush and inkwell. “For this part, you are only drawing the design. Put no magic into it.”

“I understand,” Twilight said, grabbing the brush and beginning the drawing. Already, the details were fading from her memory. She had to close her eyes several times, and ended up fudging most of the circle’s interior. Her rendition ended up nothing like the real thing.

Celestia banished the ink wordlessly as Twilight studied her example again, noting the big errors she had made and paying no attention to the smaller details, much as she wanted to. She reminded herself that there was no way she would get it right in one shot, but still, her confidence suffered.

She tried again, producing a severely cut-down, but mostly accurate, copy. She tried a third time, incorporating a few details but also messing up a few parts she had gotten the second time. Through it all, Pinkie watched silently, but with a small, excited smile that stirred up Twilight’s frustration anew—why should Pinkie get to merely watch while she went to so much trouble?

At the sigil’s end, Twilight shook her head, discouraged. She recognized her errors, but couldn’t remember how they were supposed to be. “Am I taking too long, your highness?”

Celestia appeared to deliberate. “I… would not be averse to speeding up the process.”

“How bad will it be?”

Celestia made a tiny grimace, but forced an encouraging smile. “I will be as gentle as I possibly can.”

“Well… all right. Can you do it quickly?” Twilight instantly regretted her decision, and she thought that Celestia could see it in her eyes.

“You are certain?”

“I don’t know. I guess it’s for the best, right? I… don’t know if I can memorize this thing.”

Celestia nodded. “Then I will need to warn the others. You will make quite a scene when I do this.”

“O—oh. Okay.” Twilight tried to hide the fear in her voice, but could not. Celestia smiled sympathetically and flashed out of the field, and Twilight strained her ears to hear what she was telling her friends; she heard nothing.

“Are you sure about this, Twilight?” Pinkie asked, her tone worried. “It sounds really nasty.”

“I wish I didn’t ask, but it’s too late. Even if it wasn’t before, it is now.”

“The others have been warned,” Celestia said as she popped back into range. “Are you ready, my student?”

“Um… I don’t know.”

“I understand.” She nodded and closed her eyes. Her tone was suddenly businesslike, and it made Twilight’s heart shake. “I will not stop until it is finished. Prepare yourself. It will be best if you aren’t tense.”

Twilight took a few deep breaths, trying to force herself into relaxation. Despite Celestia’s advice, despite her own sleepiness, and despite her exhaustion from all the magic, movement, and worry, her muscles were tight in anxiety, and her mind raced.

“Here we go,” Celestia said calmly, and Twilight’s mind flew into the beginnings of a panic.

She didn’t get far; all her thoughts were immediately and completely cut off by a pain that was exquisite beyond words. Her vision went white and her ears roared, and her brain was a pincushion, each nerve a white-hot needle tip. All other sensations were gone, forgotten; she didn’t feel her body hit the floor, or hear herself screaming. Coherent thought was gone, not even a memory; it was replaced with a sensation she knew was pain through instinct alone, separate and above any possible associations with memory or intellect. She wanted it to stop, but again only instinctively—she was a body in distress that sought relief. The pain simply was, with neither implication nor context to rationalize or quantify it. She was so enthralled that she didn’t notice as it lessened, until it was gone entirely.

Her eyes accepted light again, and her vision swam back shakily. She saw the earthen vault above her, the sigil’s afterimage hanging like a spirit. It was perfectly clear to her, small, but without the fuzziness or ambiguity of a memory. She rolled over and uneasily stood, facing a concerned Celestia; the afterimage followed her, dimming quickly.

Her friends were crowded behind the princess, and Twilight moved to get a better look at them. She was regaining her other senses, and suddenly became aware of a searing, tearing pain in her throat.

“I am afraid that Fluttershy has fainted,” Celestia said. “But she’ll be okay. She was merely upset by what was happening to you. I don’t blame her.”

“Y—” Twilight coughed and retched, the pain stopping her short.

“You don’t remember any of it, do you? Except the pain.”

Twilight nodded. The memory of the experience was already fading, but her heart was fibrillating, her hooves trembling, and tears sat behind her eyes.

“As soon as I began the spell, you collapsed, screaming. You screamed until you were out of breath.”

Twilight nodded, and coughed again. Celestia turned, bent down, and touched her horn to Fluttershy’s head. Her eyes opened, and Rainbow Dash helped her up. She shook her head once to clear it, and then, spotting Twilight, raced over to her.

“Oh my goodness! Twilight, are you okay? I was so scared! Princess Celestia said not to worry, but you were just in so much pain, how could I not? How are you feeling? Are you hurt? I mean, are you still hurt?”

Twilight motioned at her throat, shaking her head.

“Oh, you can’t talk because of all the… screaming. Here. Um, if you don’t mind, I can help you,” Fluttershy said, edging closer. “If you don’t mind.”

Twilight nodded enthusiastically, and Fluttershy motioned for her to hold still. She narrowed her eyes and mumbled something to herself; despite being accustomed to picking out the quiet pegasus’ words, Twilight couldn’t discern it. She felt her throat tingle momentarily, and then the pain lapsed away. She coughed again, and Fluttershy cringed away.

“Ugh. Sorry, Fluttershy. Hey! It worked!” She hugged Fluttershy tightly. “Oh, that feels so much better! Thank you so much.”

Fluttershy blushed. “Oh, it was nothing, really.”

“Twilight! Pardon my language, but what the hell happened?” Rainbow interjected, indignant.

“Didn’t Princess Celestia tell you?”

“All she said was that she was going to enchant you, and you’d make a really big scene. But I didn’t think it’d be that big.”

“How bad was it?” Twilight asked hesitantly. “All I remember is pain.”

“Sugarcube, you were rollin’ ‘round an’ screamin’ like yer life depended on it,” Applejack said.

“If Princess Celestia hadn’t told us, we would have thought you were dying,” Rarity said.

“It certainly felt like I was,” Twilight said, rubbing her head. “How long was I… out?”

“Less than a minute,” Celestia said.

“Well, that’s good, I guess.”

“Yes. Are you feeling all right now?”

“Yes, I think I am.”

“Good. Twilight, I truly am sorry for this. I hate to rush you, but we have to continue practicing. You girls may as well stay here. It won’t be much longer before we need you.” Celestia flared her massive wings, and they all stood back behind them. She gestured to the blank patch of ground that Twilight had created, and Pinkie entered it again. “Go ahead, Twilight.”

“Huh?”

“The sigil.”

“Oh. Right.” Twilight nodded dumbly, still recovering, not from the pain, but from the knowledge of it. Just a few minutes ago, she was experiencing the most intense agony she ever had, or ever would, know; now, with nothing by which to remember it except vastly insufficient recognizance, she was left only with the implication. That such a powerful, life-changing thing should come and go so quickly and so completely, leaving only a single image behind, made her head spin. She closed her eyes.

“Twilight?” Celestia said.

Her eyes flung open. “Sorry, your highness.” She grabbed the nearby brush with her horn and dipped it in the ink. “I was just thinking.” The image of the sigil was perfect in her mind, and she drew it just as accurately, though with some effort. The picture had transferred, but not the muscle memory; it was difficult for her to translate it to the ground, and she found herself backtracking often to reorient herself.

When she was done, she looked at the princess expectantly; Celestia nodded in approval, and the sigil vanished. “That’s it? After all that work and pain, I get a nod?”

“Very good. You know how to put your own magic into the sigil, I trust.”

“Yes, your highness.” She had to try to keep the bitterness out of her voice.

“Then we need not practice the actual enchantment portion.” She smiled, and her horn glowed for a second; the ring of bare ground around Pinkie expanded outwards. “However, you should practice this at scale.”

“This is how big you want it on the battlefield?” Twilight asked, turning to see the whole space.

“Yes, Twilight. The circle is twenty feet across.”

“Twenty feet,” Twilight repeated to herself. The figure sounded impossible. “That might kill me.”

“I do not believe so.”

“Well, it certainly won’t be healthy.”

“Unfortunately, no, it won’t.”

“But it’s a risk we need to take, I assume.”

“You assume correctly, my star student.” Twilight sighed quietly, not caring whether Celestia heard the exasperation in it. At this point, she felt entitled to a little frustration with the princess.

“After this, we will have one more practice session.” She turned to the crowd behind her. “In which you will all be involved.”

They started chattering to themselves, and Celestia cleared her throat, quieting them. “Twilight, you will be expected to summon your own brush and ink on the battlefield.”

“I understand.”

“Good. Now draw, my pupil.”

Twilight squared her shoulders and set to work; the sigil was much more difficult to keep track of this time, and she frequently had to review her previous work so as not to get lost in the maze of lines and angles. Despite this, the picture in her mind never faded, though she had to stop and concentrate a few times to study it. It was stuck in her mind, but not actually memorized; she couldn’t know intrinsically whether she was getting it right. She had to study it, like a map. When she finally finished, she turned to look at Celestia, who was on the other side of the circular patch of ground, watching impassively. Her face did not yet say whether she was satisfied with Twilight’s work. She traversed the giant magical symbol once more, a little proud of herself; despite its size, some of the lines were only half a pace apart from one another.

“Well done, Twilight. Now,” Celestia said, whisking the sigil away, “is the last practice session. Everypony gather before me.”

They all did, quiet and nervous. The last session before reentering the chaos on the mountainside.

“In the interest of preparing you as thoroughly as possible, I’m going to summon a fake battle to cover the field.”

“Whoa, hold on,” Rainbow said. “A fake battle?”

“I apologize, Rainbow Dash, but we are running out of time. I cannot stop to allay all your concerns anymore.” She paused, and Rainbow snorted indignantly. “Twilight, once we have begun, I want you to clear a spot for your sigil. Full size. Pinkie, you simply need to stay in the middle and not move. I expect the rest of you to protect the area. Rarity, shields. Rainbow, Applejack, and Fluttershy: you must deter anypony who approaches the shield. If anyone steps onto the sigil at any time, it will likely fail. Definitely, if Twilight’s in the middle of casting. Only probably if she’s not.”

“Why only probably?” Rarity asked.

“If anypony steps onto the sigil, they are very likely to scuff it up.”

“Can’t Twilight just draw that part in again, though?” Rainbow asked.

“Yes, but the spell won’t work as well if she does. Besides, we can’t have her running to fix her sigil all the time. The goal is to get it drawn and the spell cast as quickly as possible. I do not know if Discord is out there yet, but I have no doubt that if he catches on to what we’re doing, he’ll do everything in his power to stop it. He’s not one to take chances.”

“The god of chaos, not one to take chances?” Applejack said. “Ah feel like Ah’m missin’ somethin’ there.”

“Do not be fooled by his silly outer appearance.” She frowned. “You don’t organize a surprise attack on Equestria’s capital city by being as daffy as he likes ponies to believe.”

“What do we do if he does show up?” Rarity asked. “There’s no way we could defend Twilight from him.”

“Luna and I will be there, along with any nearby Canterlot Guards. If Discord comes, we will do everything in our power to stop him.”

“So you’ll be down there with us,” Twilight said.

“Yes, but only if the spell is being cast. Until then, we’ll be busy with other parts of the battle.”

“When will I know if I need to cast it?” “Luna and I will be keeping track of the way things are going. If we see that the spell is necessary, we will draw everyone to you.”

“And the army will know what to do?” Rarity asked.

“I will disseminate the information when I get out there.”

“And we’ll be right there, right?” Rainbow asked.

“You all will stay near Twilight, yes.”

“Okay,” Rainbow said hesitantly; Twilight could tell that she was unsure of the plan.

“If there are no further questions, I’m going to summon the battle now,” Celestia said.

“Wait,” Fluttershy squeaked.

“Yes, Fluttershy?”

“Can it actually hurt us?”

“Not severely. You might get bruised if someone hits you. But I do not expect much trouble.” She let her words sink in for a second. “Rarity, shields?”

“Oh, sorry.” Rarity’s horn came to life, and a purple shield enveloped Twilight and Pinkie.

“I trust you all know your places?” At first, no one responded, but then they all slowly nodded. “Then here we go,” Celestia said, her horn lighting up brightly—much more brightly than it had before.

Suddenly, and all around them, there was a tumult of crashing armor and frantic shouting. The noise hit Twilight first, and she jumped at the intensity of it. The walls and ceiling were gone, and Twilight could only stand, stunned; it was so real, at first she thought something had gone wrong, and they were back on the mountainside. Fluttershy and Rainbow were in the air, while Applejack ran towards Twilight, deviating every time she came near a black-armored pony. For the most part, they were being ignored; fighting surrounded them, but the soldiers seemed too distracted to pay them much attention.

Twilight shook her head to orient herself, just in time to see a large pony in black armor turn around and aim its back hooves—shod with wickedly long, thin blades, like ice skates—at her. She yelped and dodged to the side, throwing a flare of magic to knock the pony away. Pinkie was no longer by her side; she was racing around, several meters away, tossing ponies every which way. Frustrated, Twilight ran toward her, yelling to get her attention. As she did so, the others following frantically, Celestia’s voice reverberated across the field.

“Ponies! To Twilight, to Twilight!” Her voice boomed, louder than Twilight had ever heard it, snapping her back from the shock of the situation. They caught up with Pinkie, who still wore her smile even as she pushed ponies bodily away. Rarity came up from behind, eyes terrified. From her peripherals, Twilight saw Rainbow and Applejack stepping closer to the protective, white unicorn.

“Watch out!” Twilight shouted, casting a spell to clear a giant circle in the battlefield; it was a blast of energy, directed straight outwards, scattering both attackers and defenders. As soon as the circle was clear, a transparent, purple dome glistened to life above it, and Pinkie jogged into the center.

Twilight summoned her brush and ink and immediately began drawing, laying the outermost circle first. She had to be careful not to tread on any of the lines herself, lest she accidentally ruin them. It was difficult; the uproar outside the shield constantly drew her to look up. Clatters of metal on metal, yells of triumph and pain, occasional shouts for reinforcements, and the electric shiver of displaced magic whenever something struck the shield. She could see Rarity blasting away ponies left and right, Celestia holding an entire side of the circle at bay by herself, and Rainbow and Fluttershy circling above her, occasionally diverting a pegasus that got too close.

Twilight smiled as she worked; she had to give her friends some credit. As timid as some of them were, they could hold their own when the situation truly demanded it. “Even though this isn’t actually the real thing.” She shook her head and refocused on the sigil, drawing as quickly as she could, but it was slow work; the image in her mind was almost too intricate to be seen properly at the size she was viewing it.

“Twilight, hurry it up! We can’t hold this shield forever!” Rainbow’s voice shook her out of her partial reverie, and she resumed drawing with a renewed fervor. It was several minutes later that she had finished the sigil, standing next to Pinkie in the middle, sweating and trembling with the exertion.

The battle continued for a couple dreadful seconds more, and then, quiet. Her ears rang. Everything was gone, as seamless and traceless as a candle being snuffed out. The sigil remained, but disappeared a few seconds later, followed by Rarity’s shield. Celestia stood nearby and beckoned them to her. It took them a few moments to regain their senses and go to her.

“That was a very good performance from all of you,” Celestia prefaced. “Rarity, try not to stay in one place. If anyone figures out that you’re the source of Twilight’s shield, they will immediately try to harm you.”

“Yes, your highness,” she said, a little cowed.

“And Pinkie, do not go running off like that. You must stick close to Twilight at all times, unless directed otherwise by me. Or Princess Luna.”

“Sure thing, princess!” Celestia narrowed her eyes, as if determining how serious Pinkie took her admonishment.

“Twilight, next time, I’m sure all of your friends would appreciate it if you would try to draw your sigil a little faster. Protecting such a large space is very tiring work.”

“Yes, your highness,” Twilight said, a little annoyed with both herself and Celestia. “I’m going as fast as I can.”

“And Fluttershy,” Celestia said; Fluttershy looked at her with a vacant look in her eyes. “You did an admiral job of protecting the area above Twilight, but you will need to focus more. I know your primary job is to administer treatment to injured ponies, but when we’re all protecting Twilight, your job is only to make sure the spell is cast. Injured ponies will have to wait.”

Fluttershy nodded dumbly; Twilight had seen the expression before, and knew that she hadn’t heard a word of what the princess said. Celestia regarded them, letting them take in what she had said.

After a while, she addressed them again. “Your training has to stop here. I apologize that I can’t afford you more time, but we are needed—desperately, I’m sure—outside.”

They followed her into the main room, each a little dazed; only Twilight looked back and saw the meadow, and then the courtyard, close off behind them, replaced, again, with bare wall.

“I will leave first. I must find my sister, and it would be better if you did not appear with me. Your primary advantage will be that no one suspects you.” She paused for a moment. “Stick together. Twilight, Pinkie, Rarity, come here.”

They approached her, and she bowed her head, horn aglow. Twilight flinched a little, but the only sensation was a light tingling all across her skin.

“This is the magical tether. Use it like you would use any teleportation spell. It can cross the entire battlefield if it has to, though I do not want that to be the case. Stay together as much as you possibly can.”

“Yes, your highness,” Twilight said. All the bad feelings she had for the princess, in that moment, evaporated; she were too close to the battle, too close to possible annihilation, to hold onto a grudge.

“You all will be disguised as soldiers, nothing more; we don’t want the enemy taking notice of you. Do you understand?”

They all nodded.

“Fluttershy, don’t stay in one place for too long. I doubt medics are particularly welcome out there.” She heaved a sigh. “And Rarity, you must only protect yourself, Twilight and Pinkie Pie. Should they separate, follow Pinkie. Use your magical tether.”

“Yes, your highness.” The fear in Rarity’s voice was obvious, and it unnerved Twilight.

“Twilight, Pinkie Pie, this is primarily your battle. Be careful, and pay attention to Rainbow Dash and Applejack. You two,” she looked at Rainbow and Applejack, “pay attention to your surroundings, and communicate. Do not let Twilight and Pinkie go blind.”

“You can count on us,” Rainbow rasped. She sounded like she was trying to capture her usual bravado, but she only sounded sick.

“Twilight, this is no time to be merciful, and it is no time to be indecisive. Destroy what you can of the enemy, and don’t stop until it’s over. Pinkie, for you, this is no time to be impulsive, and it is no time to be scatterbrained. Pay attention to your surroundings, and don’t get lost.” She paused again, her horn glowed, and six sets of armor appeared before them, more complete than the decorative, ceremonial suits the Canterlot Guard usually wore. “Put these on.”

They looked at the armor hesitantly as they approached it. Twilight and Rarity managed to get theirs on without help, but Celestia had to assist the others. The armor was thin, but sturdy; light, but impossibly hard. Form-fitting, but not restrictive. The helmets covered all but their eyes and horns, and long, bladed skewers were affixed to the tips of their hooves, jutting out awkwardly like compass needles.

“This armor is weakest at the neck and flanks,” Celestia said. “So be careful not to let anyone get too close. The enemy wears black armor, so there should be no problem differentiating between sides. There were no machines when I was there last, but that may have changed. I pray that it is not simply a matter of strength in numbers, for if it is, we may have already lost.”

They were all silent, and Celestia activated her horn again. “This replenishes your energy, and your magic.”

Twilight looked around at the others; their faces mirrored her own: shock and pleasure, mixed together in a dreamlike blend of invigorating, soft courage. She felt strong—not aggressive or dangerous, but simply capable, ready, and aware.

When the spell was over, Celestia hesitated a moment, then began another. A sextet of thin force fields appeared momentarily around each of them, then thinned to invisibility. “And these are your shields.”

She walked to the dark entryway. “My blessing is on all of you. I chose you all for a reason. Go through the courtyard and engage them where you can.” She sighed. “I wish you so much more than luck.” She disappeared into the darkness, and they were suddenly alone.

They could hear nothing, not even her hoofsteps. The underground vault suddenly felt huge and empty, and they looked around, uncertain and afraid. Even Rainbow had given up on the appearance of bravery, and trembled next to Fluttershy.

“Come on, girls,” Twilight said, trying, and failing, to sound encouraging. She began walking down the corridor, and they followed reluctantly. Its darkness and warmth seemed to press in on them, the last vestige of protection from the nightmare outside.

When they reached the gardens, the hole closed behind them, and Twilight led them back to the main courtyard. It was still empty, still calm, and still dark.