From the Daily Journal of Steven Ambrose, Entry Number 118:

A quick note today. After taking a virtual tour of The Empire’s domain, I have a better understanding of just what is at stake if I fail to restore The Empire. There are billions of humans out there, spread out amongst the known cosmos, surviving, even thriving, on a hundred worlds spread out across the galaxy. Should The Empire not be be restored, these worlds may well fall into ruin; some already have. The planet of Caspian once held a vibrant society of Praetorian soldiers; now these same soldiers have waged steady and unyielding warfare against each other for the last ten millennia. They’ve eschewed their nominal equipment when they could no longer service it or repair for cruder, simpler gear. And don’t get me started on the castes they’ve devised amongst themselves… A planetoid of Intelligentsia survivors have developed a civilization of compulsive gamblers. I don’t even want to know how that came about…

Hand That Mourns has had me brief her on the people I’ve found through the holocasts, including detailed detailed analyses of their cultures, society, language, et cetera. It feels a lot like being back in Penn State, reciting results for my old Anthropology class. Granted, one of the many reasons for these contact sortees is to see how these individual colonies have fared. It’s also a means by which I can seek fellow members of House Endymion.

Historically speaking, House Endymion has been the smallest of the Imperial Houses since the founding of The Empire. We have always had the fewest members, but made up for that with our magical prowess. Strictly speaking, House Endymion is also the oldest House in The Empire. The Tribe of Wen’Ja was the first to organize itself long before the War of Ninety and Nine. Even given that Wen’Ja eventually became Endymion, the spirit of the tribe remains. Hand keeps reciting that fact to “help give me perspective,” whatever that means.

About the only thing of note happening thus far is Hand sending drones in search of pillars. I- Honestly, I don’t know what the fuck she’s looking for. She keeps harping on about eleven lost souls or something. I really haven’t a clue. The only thing that gets my attention about that is she thinks two of these “souls” have moved to Ponyville. Wonder what she means by that…

Meghan was in the middle of cleaning her clothes. The maid uniforms Mrs. Carousel had issued her, while ill fitting, were the only articles to her name that allowed the teenager to keep her modesty. She had lost her undergarments sometime back due to her nomadic tendencies since landing here and outgrowing them after so long. That training bra did manage to last her a long time, but three years is too long a stretch to keep her blossoming bust contained. She knew her active outdoor lifestyle on the ranch would leave her form rakish until teenage hormones kicked in; she never imagined being forced to be perpetually on the move during her teen years, so her current visage was less rakish, more womanly. (And that wasn’t because she kept indulging in her sweet tooth, though she was guilty of that, too.)

The rest of the town house was cleaned and dusted, the dishes from breakfast had been washed, bed linens changed, and the chimney swept clear of soot. All those chores left Meghan’s last remaining uniform completely dirty. The rest of her clothes were also in desperate need of washing, too, so she threw them all into the washbasin and scrubbed them down with the provided scrub board. The first few were already hung to dry but it would be hours before she was presentable to the world. Thankfully, the house Cookie Crumbles moved into at Ponyville was off the beaten path. She didn’t expect anyone or anypony to intrude on her solitude.

She didn’t expect Magnum and Cookie would be gone most of the afternoon. Something about an “acquisition” that they needed to pick up. Meghan hoped it wouldn’t be another of those gaudy vases that Cookie seemed so fond over. She was tempted on a weekly basis to break one of those things “on accident,” they were so hideous. She didn’t want to get her hopes up and think that the Carousels had bought her new clothes. As far as Meghan knew, human fashion and design styles hadn’t hit Equestria yet.

That was one of the many things she missed from back on Earth: clothes that fit, washing machines, dryers, television, her horse Buttercup… No, you stop right there, Meghan chided herself, you don’t know how long you’ve been away. Ma and Stepdad might have sold her, she could have died, any number of things could have happened to her. Just- don’t go there. The subject of her horse was but a small litany of things she didn’t want to think about, topped only by thoughts of her step-brother’s whereabouts and her half-sister’s current condition.

So when the rapping at the door of the Carousel townhouse came, it surprised Meghan, but not as much as one may expect. She knew that they were bound to return home eventually, she just never expected them this early. Wrapping a towel around her waist, and taking another for her bosom (Why are pony towels so dang small?!), Meghan left her laundry in the wash basin and strode to the door. She really wished she had a decent bathrobe to greet her employers in, but they didn’t think to get her one.

Upon opening of the door, Cookie and Magnum rushed inside, with an added party member in tow. Meghan barely got a fleeting glimpse of the figure before Magnum wrenches the door closed with his magic and quiet settles over the townhouse. Abashed, and wanting to avoid a scene with her employers, Meghan quickly dresses and grooms herself. After depositing the soiled towels, which she will inevitably have to wash later into the washroom hamper, Meghan steps out into the foyer where Magnum and Cookie over fussing over the figure she witnessed drag into the house.

“Oh, Meghan,” Magnum says, “you’re home! You won’t guess what- I should say, who, we got this afternoon!”

“Oh, Honey Dumplings, you’re spoiling the secret!” Cookie cooes, “but, since you’re already here and everything, we may as well.”

The two ponies nod to each other, then Cookie places her muzzle into the hood of the cowl wrapped around the other entity in the room. She whispers something, the entity at first shakes her head, but after further prompting from Cookie, the figure nods, and lifts two upper appendages to the edge of the cowl. Meghan stares in utter disbelief, watching as hands, human hands, draw the cowl away, and a mass of carroty hair in loose ringlets spill out. The figure then turns to face the older girl; recognition flashes across their visages.

The bright blue eyes, freckles across the bridge of the nose, the ladybug earrings that were her birthday present when last they were home. It- it just couldn’t be, but…

“Molly…!” Meghan whispers, before the two girls crash into each other in a heart rending embrace.

Sunset Shimmer was manning the circulation desk of the Golden Oak Library today. Twilight was out with her friends, doing whatever it was that The Elements of Harmony usually did, Spike was out on a play date with the Cutie Mark Crusaders, and Steven, her nominal verbal sparring partner, was doing- something. He mentioned doing some task or another for The Terran Commonwealth, leaving for the day; it was uncertain when he would return. That was probably for the best, all things considered.

Five years of magical, solitary confinement had left Sunset with a vague sense of loss of all the things that Equestria had been through. That also meant five years of birthdays, Hearth's Warming Days, Hearts and Hooves Days, and Summer Sun Celebrations that she missed. She was in dire need of a plan to catch up on all these events, and at present, this was what she was doing. The library was seeing negligible trade this day, so that left her plenty of time for her to contemplate on this. But, it also had the unfortunate side effect of leaving her open to half of decade of estruses that she had yet to experience. This driven distraction is why her notepad of ideas was mostly blank.

“Stupid heat,” Sunset grumbled, “has to come on a day when nopony is around. Can’t even ask Princess Sparkle if she has a cooler because she’s out gallivanting with The Elements. Faust, I hope a stallion doesn’t wonder in here or there’s going to be an ‘accident’ in the offing.”

The door to the library opened at that instant, the bell over the portal chiming, indicative of a patron visiting the repository. Sunset quickly stowed her notepad and quill, along with the lingering sense of arousal she was feeling, as a mare entered that she did not know. (Granted, this wasn’t saying much, because Sunset hadn’t availed herself of the town all that often, so she was unclear of all who resided in this hodunk town.) The mare appeared to be in middle age, with wide hips and some slight graying at her temples, but all in all, she was in fit shape for her day. A fellow unicorn, she had a chocolate chip cookie, bitten into at least once, as a cutie mark. The mare perused the shelves around the cooking section of the library with significant interest. Sunset watched the mare closely before speaking up.

“Hello,” she stated, “and welcome to the Golden Oak Library. How may I help you?”

“Oh!” The mystery mare exclaimed, “Are the librarian here?”

“No, ma’am,” Sunset answered, “I guess you could say I’m the- librarian’s assistant? I guess? But I know every book and shelf in this place, so if there’s something specific you were looking for but can’t find, I am definitely the pony to ask.”

“Oh, good!” The mare beamed, “I was looking for some sewing books and magazines. I need some help making some uniforms, you see?”

“Oh, I think I know what you mean,” Sunset replied, with a somewhat disingenuous grin, “like with the Filly Guide Scouts?”

“Oh, no, dearie,” the mare answered, “although, not that far off from the truth. Maybe it’s best I show you.”

“Show me?” Sunset asked.

“Yes, yes, might be better,” the mare said, before her face flared red with embarrassment, “oh, my, I am so terribly sorry, I don't even know your name, dearie!”

“I’m Sunset Shimmer.”

“Ah, I see. Good, good, now let me reciprocate. I am Cookie Crumbles. Well, Carousel Cookie Crumbles.”

“Are you from Canterlot?” Sunset inquired.

“Of late, yes,’ Cookie Crumbles stated, “born and raised there, but I’ve spent the majority of my life on the road, to be honest. Oh, but I’m getting off topic. I must show you why I need sewing material and such- Girls? Oh, girls! You can come in now!”

“Coming, Mrs. Carousel!” said a young voice from beyond the door.

Whatever Sunset was expecting crashed and burned upon the beings that entered into the library. Two humans, both females, one dressed in a Prench maid outfit that was so ill fitting the filly not only filled the thing but was nearly bursting out of it and the smaller one dressed in a similar manner, but the dress wore loose upon her tiny frame. The older of the pair wore her blonde mane in a plait, while the younger one had carrot colored ringlets that fell around her face, framing its heart shaped visage. Both seemed out of place in Ponyville.

“Now you see what I mean,” Cookie Crumbles said, “I need to see if I can mend one uniform and revise the other so my employees aren’t uncomfortable…”

“You really don’t have to go through this much trouble, Mrs. Carousel,” the older filly said.

“Nonsense!” Cookie Crumbles replied, “I know I’m not my oldest daughter but I can at least try to make those uniforms more presentable.”

“For any given definition of presentable,” the younger one quipped.

Mrs. Carousel smiled at the young one before turning her attention back to Sunset, “Might there be any such material here in this library?”

“I- do believe we have such references available,” Sunset said, then, “Wait. ‘Carousel?’ Do you have a daughter who’s light grey, with an indigo mane, a trio of blue diamonds as a cutie mark?”

Mrs. Carousel gasped, “Yes, yes I do! And she lives here in town! How did you know?”

“I’ve seen Ms. Carousel around before,” Sunset answered, “she comes in from time to time to check out the fashion magazines. And she’s friends with-” Sunset paused, not knowing if Princess Sparkle’s title was common knowledge yet, “she’s friends with the head librarian here. Good friends, I might add.”

“Oh, good!” Mrs. Carousel said, “I guess you can see where she gets her good looks.”

Sunset nodded, not willing to chance trying to vocalize an answer. Her eyes continued to stray to the two humans in her presence. As she started to beckon the older mare to the craft section of the library, the older of the humans spoke out.

“Excuse me, Miss Shimmer?”

“Um, yes, uh-?”

“Meghan, miss, Megan Williams.”

What an odd name.

“Is there something I can help you with?” Sunset asked.

“I was wondering,” Meghan began, “if you know of the human that supposedly lives around here? A man, possibly older than me?”

“I do know of a stal- I mean, man, yes,” Sunset replied, “he comes in from time to time.”

“Did- did he have reddish hair?” The younger one asked.

“Yes,” Sunset said, “very dark red hair, and green eyes.”

“Green eyes?” The younger one asked.

“That can’t be Danny,” Megan said to the younger filly, “but don’t give up hope yet, Molly. Danny has to be out there!”

“Danny?” Sunset asked. Danny?

“My step brother,” Megan answered, “and Molly’s half brother. They share the same father. He’s been- missing since we split up nearly a year ago.”

“I- I see,” Sunset said, “any particular reason why you’re asking for a- human male?”

“I was wondering-” Megan began, “I was wondering if he could help us. To find our brother.”

“Well, uh,” Sunset started, “Steven isn’t in town at the moment, but if you leave me your name and address-”

“They live with me,” Mrs. Carousel said, “and I’ll need a library card, so I guess you could lift my address from that.”

“Not- totally ethical but I can roll with that,” Sunset squeezed out, “well, let’s get you sorted, Mrs. Carousel Cookie Crumbles and, uh- if I hear anything from- from Steve. I’ll send word, I promise.”

The two sisters beamed at Sunset, the older one, Megan, adding, “Thank you, miss!”

The afternoon bore on, but still Sunset kept watch at her station. She hadn’t expected working as an adjunct to royalty meant taking on the position of bookstore clerk. Though, given the fact that Princess Sparkle was a die hard bibliophile, Sunset suspected that acting as an assistant librarian shouldn’t be too far a stretch. It did annoy her, though, that such a magical prodigy wasn’t solving the arcane mysteries of the universe or developing solutions to the trials of modern Equestrian existence.

Sunset’s downward spiral into ennui stopped when two beings entered the library: the very royal with whom she was slowly developing an intellectual quarrel with and- the human male named Steve. All thoughts about existential queries and various insults to her liege’s intellect were wiped away as the Terran Imperial Archmage swept into the building. He and The Princess were discussing something and in Sunset’s distracted state, she missed part of it. Forcing herself to concentrate, she was able to catch something of the discussion…

“…that’s preposterous!” Princess Sparkle stated, “No arcane spell work would require so little mana cost for such a significant expenditure of energy!”

“Hey, I don’t understand it myself, I just know that I can do it,” The Archmage argued, “also, case in point, arcanus sapiens operates under an entirely different set of principles than arcanus equus.”

“But how?” The Princess asked.

“The fundamental difference between how mana is regulated,” The Archmage answered, “unicorns, and by proxy alacorns, have an internal reservoir of mana that regenerates as they live; Equestrians are better adapted to absorbing ambient mana. Humans, on the other hand, have no internal reservoir and require an external source for mana generation. To wit: ponies draw from within, humans draw from without.”

“That still doesn’t explain anything!”

“I know it doesn’t, but I can’t cogently explain how my transformation enchantment works the way it does without the Equestrian need for- science. I'll endeavor to look within The Ecumene to see if there’s a better explanation, but that’s as good as you’re gonna get from me right now.”

“It still defies the Principles of Transfiguration,” Princess Sparkle said.

“The Schools of Discipline vary between our respective magical studies,” The Archmage said, “oh, hey, Sunny! How goes your war?”

“Oh, uh-” Sunset stumbled, uncertain how she got dragged into the conversation, “I guess I could be- better?”

“Are you feeling well, Sunset?” Princess Sparkle asked.

“Uh, well, this might not be the best time to tell you this, Princess, but-”

“Oh. Oh!”

“What’s going on?” The Archmage inquired, “and why do I smell lemons?”

“Uh, Steve, maybe you should head on home,” Princess Sparkle said, “Sunset and I- we have a- a research project? Yes, a research project we need to get completed before the end of the week. I may need to lockdown the library so we can focus on that. Yeah, so-”

“Oh, well,” The Archmage stated, “when you’re done with this ‘unnamed research project,’ we can continue to investigate what Lady Luna inquired of us. Though, I’m nonplussed as to why she wanted to know if I can accomplish a measure of transfiguration…”

“Yeah, that is a little weird-” The Princess mused.

“Well, I’m off,” The Archmage said, “I’ll catch you girls later.”

When the human left the library, Princess Sparkle turned to Sunset and asked, “How bad?”

“Really bad, but not quite Celestia Tier,” the wayward unicorn answered, “I have half a decade of estruses stored up; I’m lucky I didn’t throw myself against the human right then and there, it’s so strong.”

“Need a cooler?” Twilight asked, “Oh no! I think I left mine with Rarity!”

“Actually,” Sunset said, “you wouldn’t happen to have any heat medication? I thought I saw some when I was-” She paused, trying to find a way to figure out a way to say “rooting through” without sounding rude, “when I glanced at your medicine cabinet.”

The Princess gave her a look, almost as if she didn’t buy Sunset’s story, then said, “I think I may have some left. I'll get you some.”

“This way, Professor,” said the Royal Guard, of whom Nocturne had willfully neglected to learn their name, “just down this corridor.”

“I really don’t understand why the Princesses called me out a good sleep,” he murmured, “what good is a sleep deprived anthropologist, anyway?”

“I’m not sure, Professor,” the guard admitted, “all I know is that Princess Celestia and Luna specifically called upon you for an audience. Most ponies would give up all four of their hooves for such an event.”

“I don't know if you noticed,” Nocturn replied, adjusting his fedora with a wing tip, “but I am not most ponies.”

“That- that would be quite difficult to mistake, Professor,” the guard said, then he stopped upon a single, ornate door at the end of the corridor they had traversed. The guard raised a hoof to knock on the door. It was swiftly answered from within, though Nocturn didn’t hear it in his state. The guard pushed open the door with her magic.

“They’re ready for you now,” she said, “just go on inside.”

Nodding to the guard as he passed, Nocturne entered the spacious chamber. Tapestries of various ages of Equestria adorned the walls, a roaring fire set in a fireplace gave the room a source of light (and very little heat,) and the table that dominated the space was awash in fine linens and silver candelabras. Both princesses were reclining on poufs set aside for this occasion with an extra for the anthropology professor. A service tray in burnished silver with several steaming tea cups lay waiting.

“Ah, our guest has arrived,” Princess Celestia said, “please, Professor, won’t you sit down.”

“I had better,” Nocturne replied while taking a seat, “I’m liable to fall down at this point.”

“We apologize for waking you at this hour,” Princess Luna stated, “though you are not one of my ledrfladder, I do understand that khestrals have a regular sleep cycle that mimics it-”

“Close, Your Highness, close enough anyway,” Nocturne said brusquely, “I would be awake in a few hours, long before the moon rises, but yeah, a great many ponies confuse for a bat pony. It’s the wings, I think, as well as my general stealthy nature.”

“I did hear tale that Colonel Shywing attempted to recruit you,” Princess Celestia stated, “a pity, really. Your skill in the covert arts would make a fine specimen in the Coming Dawn.”

“I was never much of a military stallion,” Nocturne replied, “the rigidity and discipline are too much for me. I’m an intellectual, Zacherle damn it, not a toy soldier.”

“Ah, I see you’re familiar with the old gods,” Celestia cooes.

“It’s all part of my anthropology credentials,” Nocturne answered, “but you didn’t bring me out of a fine slumber to talk about hokey religions and ancient weapons now, did you?”

“We did not,” answers Princess Luna, “in fact, the subject of whom you will be studying is very much alive. Alive and residing in Equestria.”

“Well, how about that,” Nocturne stated, “no going out to some gryphon piss hole at theass end of the globe, huh? So, where am I going, who is my subject, and how much am I getting paid?”

“To the heart of the matter, then?” Celestia asked.

“Always, with politicians,” Nocturne replied, “if you don’t nip Blueblood’s posturing in the pastern, you’ll be there all day and some of the night while he bloviates.”

“I still don’t understand how Princess Platinum’s bloodline has sunk so low…” Luna muttered.

“Some other time, sister,” Celestia said, then to the professor, “as for your assignment, the subject of study is one Steven Edwin Ambrose-”

“Weird name for a pony,” Nocturne said.

“If he were a pony, yes,” Celestia continued, “now you get to use your expertise on humans to its utmost advantage.”

“Wait, I’m studying a human?!” Nocturne shouted, “Please tell me this is some sick joke…”

“It isn’t, Professor,” Luna corrected, “Sir Steven resides in Ponyville and while his manner is, to put it mildly, very abrasive, he has shown a propensity to protect the citizens there. Either from his own kind or from the creatures that emerge from the Everfree.”

Nocturne, having nothing to say about this, reached out for a tea cup and presently began to sip from it.

“I see from the way you’re taking your tea that you understand the gravity of the situation,” Celestia continued, “in essence, Mr. Ambrose is an unknown quantity amongst my- our ponies. We would like an assessment of his abilities, demeanor, and attitude. The Crowns of Equestria are authorized to offer you four times your yearly university salary for six months of investigation into the only known human of Equestria. You will also have a rather sizable budget for lab assistants, associate professors in your field, equipment, material, and supplies for the investigation. You can start as soon as you like but my sister and I urge you to begin as soon as you are able.”

Nearly choking on his tea, Nocturne coughed for a few moments while he digested all he was just told. A human, an honest to Zacherle and Faust human, living in Ponyville! While many in the Equestrian Royal Society of Science scoffed at his assertions of humans still in existence and chided his fellow colleagues about their work, the chance to actually observe one, almost in the wild, was an opportunity he was remiss to reject. And the setting for his investigation, Ponyville, was a rather hodunk town in a rural part of the Canterlot Demense along the Foal River. While cover would come at a premium, he could make do with what resided there. Besides, Ponyville was home to all kinds of madness, sitting so close to The Everfree Forest. A bat pony with over large wings, who would dismiss that as odd, in a town like that?

“I have some colleagues of mine who would champ at the bit for this,” Nocturne finally said after clearing his throat, “anything of consequence needed for field research we can acquire once we hit Ponyville. I understand Princess Twilight lives out that way, so the stores should have the necessary materials given her proclivities.”

“So, I take you accept?” Luna asked.

“I do,” Nocturne replied, “I’ll be on the next train.”

After being confined to a three decade (and a half) long existence without magic, it suffices to say that practicing arcane skills was something I had no real experience with. This in spite of the considerable casting i did during the Battle of The Royal Pony Sisters Castle. Don’t get me wrong here; I’m a proponent of practice making perfect. But I grew up with magic as illusions and escape artistry by David Blane, David Copperfield, as well as the acts of Penn & Teller, and Seigfried & Roy. SO actually casting spells, from a tome of magic spells, made by actual mages? Mind. Blown.

So, the purpose of my current practice session is to turn an apple into an orange. (I can practically here Jackie grinding her teeth.) Twilight has explained that this kind of magic is known as transformation. I looked up the definition of such in the tome I received from Princess Luna and the human definition is vastly different than how the Equestrian define it. For any pony with the arcane skill to cast a transformation spell, the caster turns a target into something else for a brief period of time. The spell has a specific casting cost not unlike Magic: The Gathering, but the mana has no alignment requirements. The human version varies in that, the mage doesn’t alter the target, the reality around the target is altered. For Twilight wants me to practice, I would need to commence with a transfiguration charm, which will alter the target.

“Well, here goes nothing,” I whisper, drawing upon the ambient mana of Equestria to build the charm’s matrices then cast it. I hear Twilight gasp as the casting completes (I had closed my eyes for focus,) and when I do peep a look at my red delicious mark, it is now a decidedly orange color. And shape. When Spike pokes a clawed finger into the flesh, orange juice bleeds out. He samples the liquid to confirm.

“Yup, that’s an orange,” Spike confirms for us.

“That was amazing,” Twilight breathes, “I know when you said that the mana requirements are different for hooman magic to function, but I didn’t realize just how efficient it is!”

“Why?” I ask, “Isn’t this spell sorta rote for you by now?”

“It is, but even with my new alicorn form, it still requires a lot of mana generation to make it work,” the book hoarse explains, “which reminds me, that wasn’t the kind of spell I was hoping to see. Why did it feel so different from what I used?”

“I think it might be the matrices to construct it?” I mused, “If I were to do a human mage version of transformation, you might have seen distortions around the apple, where reality had been warped to conform to what I wanted it to seem like. Transfiguration actually converts the target into what I want, but the charm is intricately woven and requires a new set of matrices for each new set of attributes I require for the change.”

“You just made that up, did you?” Spike asked.

“I might have, honestly,” I reply, “to be perfectly honest, I’m no Rhodes scholar or even a scholar of the arcane. Though, that would be cool becoming Stephen Strange. A surgeon and a master of mystic arts? Total badass. Uh, minor tangent aside, I’m mostly talking out of my ass about all of this. I guess it could be true, but I haven’t had the time to do a deep dive into it all.”

“Still, it is a rather masterful explanation,” Twilight added, “and a useful bit of adaptation. Are all hooman spells like this?”

“I think so?” I said, “There’s a lot less math and lot more instinct involved, from what you’ve told me Twilight. You Equestrians make magic sound like science and even have an entire field of study on it. I’m not sure that human magecraft works the same way, though with Kevin dropping in, I kinda have my hands full.”

“How is he, by the way?” Twilight asked.

“He’s- adapting,” I answer, “world of magic, check. Planet not unlike Earth, check. Magical, miniature, pastel equines with their own civilization? He’s still wrapping his head around that. Hand tells me he should be stable enough for Acclimation, but I want to get him a little healthier than he is now. I mean, he did spend three weeks roaming the White Tail woods with little food, no shelter, and the deer for company. He’s had worse but- there’s something off about him that I can’t quite place. Like, he’s older or something, then when I last saw or remember him. He’s been more lucid than we he turned up after Night Mare Night, but he’s still a ways from carrying on a lengthy conversation.”

“It’s kinda weird how he arrived here, ain’t it?” Spike said, “like, he just- teleported here or something.”

“That is striking me as rather ominous,” I add, “and he’s been talking in his sleep. Something about portals- and a lab? I can’t quite make heads or tails of it.”

“Well, I guess we should give him a little leeway in terms of explanations,” Twilight said, “he has been through a traumatic ordeal. I don’t want to break him or be the cause of a psychotic episode.”

“Greatly appreciated, Twilight,” I said, “now, let’s see what else I can do-” then add as Twilight and Spike shudder, “without causing massive amounts of destruction.”[br]

“Are you feeling relaxed, Stevie?”

“Any more relaxed and I might fall asleep.”

“Okay, good. Now, Hand That Mourns says you will need to get into this relaxed state for meditation. Treehugger once explained to me that in order to properly meditate, a pony must be in a state of almost trance like quality. Mind open, body calm, thoughts stilled.”

“I’d like to meet this Treehugger one day. She sounds like a nice mare but I don’t know if she’s ever had to quiet a mind like mine.”

“It’s okay, Stevie. Treehugger once told me it took her three whole weeks to get into the meditative state. The trick was to make the whole experience routine so you can reach it with little effort.”

“I guess I’ll be doing this a lot more often, then.”

“Mmhmm. Now, let’s try those breathing exercises. Breath deep through the snout… and out through your muzzle…”

“I have neither a snout or a muzzle, Shy.”

“Oh, right. Sorry. Uh… Oh, yes! Let’s try this: breath in through your nose… and out through your mouth…”

“In through the nose- out through the mouth…”

“Exactly! Now keep that up. In through the sn- uh, nose. Out through the mu- mouth.”

“In through the nose… out through the mouth… getting myself calm, cool, collected…”

“Keep going, Stevie, you’re doing great! In through the nose and out through the mouth. Let our tension leave you as you exhale.”

“Solid copy. In through the nose- out through the mouth- In through the nose- out through the mou-”

Steven Edwin Ambrose, son of Clach Ethan Ambrose, long have I awaited your Return. Welcome![br]

I didn’t think I’d get into the meditative state so quickly, or during my first attempt. But it seems I achieved it. The figure in the mist of this plane is indistinct but certainly human. It’s not like when Luna sometimes visits my in sleep. The figure striding towards me is human in shape, but neither sex or human features are not resolving for me at the moment.

You are confused, but that is unavoidable. The rituals and rites of House Endymion have been lost in time and tide, no thanks to those of Tribe Proletariat. To have survived this long and still hold the mantle of Archmage is a feat I must congratulate you for. I had not known that any of my descendants had survived the Purge or the War. To see you here, with the Mantle upon you, is a feat I had not dared to dream about.

“That’s uh, that’s great and all, nice to know I had achieved something, but uh, I don’t know you from Adam.”

I would imagine not. My beloved Cornelia was able to evacuate… but i had not known she was with child. I am- more than a little surprised but I am also highly pleased. That my line should not die is a welcome boon, even within the hereafter.

“The hereafter? Seriously, this is confusing me to no end. You have the luxury of knowing my name, and that of my dad, but I don’t know yours. Just how are you, anyway?”

The figure finally emerges from the mist. Lo and behold, his face is one that is more than a little familiar to me.

“I am Edwin Ambrose, late of House Praetorian, the first Archmage in nearly an age until you were called, and, it seems, your paternal ancestor.”

“Wait, aren’t you the Ambrose I heard was assassinated?”

“I am. I had been called to serve as The Empire’s new Archmage, freshly vested and recently married when I was murdered. The Proletariat despised the idea of a renewed House Endymion; they would lose both power and prestige if such had come to pass. But, not that Empire has fallen low, Our House can be built up once again, not unlike the phoenixes that were the spirit animal of House Majesty.”

“I’ll, uh, I’ll do my best at that. Already made contact with some of the far flung colonies the Empire once had. Quite a few are on board with linking up again, but here are a few hold outs.”

“If you seek my advice, I would say, ‘let them remain independent.’ Their autonomy may yield successful fruit- or not. Matron Gwendyln, my matron while Empire still lived, had seen her predecessor attempt to hold on to colonies that wanted nothing more from the Empire once they become fully self sustained. The results were- far less than optimal. A great many of Praetorian brethren perished in the fighting. Should you find the mMatron of your era, I would pass on such advice.”

“Duly noted.”

“Now that we have been introduced, is there anything you would want to know? I am certain that Valeria has answered as many questions about Our Empire but may not have the resources to uncover all the answers. As the former Primus Legate, I have had more than my fair share of knowledge pertaining to the Empire and it's holdings.”

“I can’t really think of many questions that I need answers for… Wiat, Valeria?”

“Yes. While I lived, she was a member of-”

“-House Anthro. Holy shit, Hand!”

“So, you have you encountered her?”

“In a fashion, I guess you could say. She’s now an ancilla called Hand That Mourns.”

“Ah, so fitting. I had not done so before I met Cornelia, but I knew Valeria was attracted to me. I can imagine she sees as much of me in you, seeing as you would so uncannily alike. Now, was there anything that piqued your interest about Our Empire?”

“Not really. But, I did have something in regards to the way Terra Firma operates. Why- why has there never been any mention of The Empire there? If the residents of Terra Firma are all descendants of Imperials, then why don’t they know about this?”

“I assume you know the old Imperial adage, ‘To the victors goes the spoils?’”

“I thought that was an ancient Roman proverb.”

“I know nothing of these ‘Romans,’ but the adage had been old when I was a lad, so it stands that it has been passed down through the ages. As for why the people of your cradle world know nothing of The Empire? I can only but speculate, albeit, I believe my speculation may have some kernels of truth to them. Namely, that The Proletariat got to Last Chance before the rest of the Exodus- yes, I know of those plans. I was there when they were drafted. I also know that House- no, Tribe, Proletariat had intended to relocate to Last Chance long before the Terran/Equestrian War. That they instigated the War was but a pretext for their evacuation, leaving the rest of the Empire to deal with the fallout. I can only assume they had plenty of time, centuries compared to the orbit that Best Chance has, to manipulate and coerce the simple residents Last Chance into believing that they represented some greater power- maybe some god or other that came close to fitting the Proletariat’s particular religious leanings, and used that to sour relations with the newly disaffected Imperials when they arrived. By assuming the class of priests or clerics, they affected the minds of the Last Chance denizens and thus caused persecution of the other houses as they transmitted onto Last Chance. That religious fervor, plus aeons of deception tactics and the rise of patriarchy, both of which are soundly against Imperial Principles, have caused your home world to be so chaotic and unruly. Granted, this is all grandiose speculation on my part.”

“Speculation or not, it makes a kind of wild sense. The religious nutjobs hold far more power than they should- Wait, are you telling me Christianity is a tool of the Proletariat?!”

“It may very well be. As a tool of control, programme, and propaganda, religion is such an excellent master of all three. It would not take much to work that into the civilization of the Terra Firma natives, allow that to grant The Proletariat such great control, and thus prevent any knowledge of The Arcane Empire of Terra to exist. It would also allow The Proletariat to create their own- fiefdom, I think is the best way to describe it. A system of government where they are the lords and masters of the world and all else serves them.”

“…son of a fucking BITCH!”

“Indeed. Should have any ties to any such organization that professes to have such leanings, I would suggest breaking away, poste haste.”

“Done and done. ARGGH! First, they deny my my birthright, then they fuck around with my people, now they created a bullshit cult in order to build and maintain control, politically and socially?! That- that- is bullshit! Complete and utter bullshit!!”

“As with most things the Proletariat are known for, yes, it is a confidence game of the highest order. Unfortunately, what time we have for such discussions is coming to an end. My descendant… Steven Edwin- you- you have earned my pride and admiration for becoming the new Archmage. Hells, you may even ascend to greater heights than I ever thought were possible… But that is neither here or no. Know this, though: you will need to defend your position from the machinations of Tribe Proletariat. No doubt that Valeria has done what she could to warna and prepare you for the coming Proletariat assault. What she may not have known, which was knowledge imparted unto to my by the last Imperial Matron, was that Trieb Proletariat cannot use magic. They are missing several key alleles and proteins in their genetic makeup that would allow them to coalesce, process, manipulate, and project mana in any way. The First Archmage of House Endymion tried everything she could to make them one with the Arcane, but to no avail. Thus, their quarrel with House Endymion and all aspects of Tribe Wen’Ja. All other members of The Empire possess these genetic markers and are thus able to use magic, to one degree or another. I would not surprised if The Proletariat try to murder you- convince to come to them willingly in order to perform the necessary experiments they need to finally become Mages. Do not allow them to sway you- that is how I was killed, going to a meeting with Supreme Chancellor of then House Proletariat.”

“They’ve already tried that. Didn’t end up as well for them as they would have liked. Seeing as I cast Ultima on them didn’t help all that much.”

“! You can cast Ultima?!”

“Yeah, I can. Why, you couldn’t?”

“It was- a spell beyond my comprehension. That is the kind of arcane skill on;ly possessed of- Grand Archmage… But, nobody has seen or heard from The Moochik in ages! He left The Empire shortly before the rising of House Proletariat, to spend time with his bride… To think that you have such skills…”

“This- sounds like a big deal.”

It is, Steven Edwin, it is. But we have not the time for that discourse. We will meet again, either in the realm of dreams or during another meditation session. Fare thee well, Archamge. Carry on, My Wayward Son…”

Kevin woke up in a cold sweat, which was a lot better than he had been waking up to for the last three weeks. Wrapped up in warm blankets with a soft pillow under his head, it the first time in his young life he could remember not waking up to dread or anxiety or a pain in his gulliver. The lack of a migraine was actually a rather pleasant surprise for him.

“Mama? Papa? Quien es?” He called out.

“Kevin?” cried out a voice nearby and when Kevin looked, he was met with dazzling green eyes, plenty of freckles, and cowboy hat- on a strangely shaped pony something.

“Huh?”

“Boy, howdy partner, Ah done thought you was gonna sleep all day. Glad to see ya making a rousin’ come back. Names Applejack by way.”

Kevin stares at the strange, orange colored creature for a moment, then says, “I think I would like to get off this train…”

Well, finally! I get a new chapter written. I knew it took a while but My Muses took a holiday somewhere (or in some dimension or other) and only recently returned. If you're a little confused by the introduction of a new character (or two) and don't know where they came came in- then maybe you should stick around a little while for the FWB side project, which was supposed to be a Night Mare Night side story, which will be coming shortly. And by shortly, I mean, completed when my Muses have stopped playing around around with all my narrative canons. (Seriously, is like a Navy live fire exercise is going on in my old brain pan!)

Just one, one, one more chapter before…