The Grand Magus paced slowly through the garden. As he did, he imagined that the light above him truly came from the sun, and that the plants below really were outdoors. In actuality, of course, the sun had been gone for over two centuries; the light that illuminated the gardens came from enchanted gemstones designed to simulate sunlight.

The effect, of course, was that the plants always looked a bit artificial. Every leaf and stem cast numerous shadows from the hundreds of gems above, and the density and variety of the plantings hinted of artificial placement. That alone, of course, was not truly a problem- -the plants had been placed artificially, in accordance with unbelievably ancient traditional ways that were regal, elegant, and at the same time pragmatic and bold. It was the way the garden was meant to be- -but in many ways, the Grand Magus longed for the beauty of real nature: not the leafless trees and strange fungus of the new world, but the leaves and flowers of the old one. With the death of Celestia, however, so many of those plants had been rendered extinct. This cave garden contained many plants that were the last of their kind.

As he walked, deep in thought, he would occasionally bend down to pick a flower or two. Most of them were aberrant growths, breaking the detailed pattern of the garden, but sometimes he would pick a more central flower if he believed it to be adequate.

In front of him, a group of smaller dragons suddenly appeared. They were laughing, chasing each other down the path, one very nearly tripping over his improperly sized robe. They seemed so small, in part because they were; they had not even developed their wings yet.

Several of them seemed to notice the Grand Magus, and stopped immediately. One, however, was looking at his friends behind, not looking where he was going. In his distracted state, he ran directly into the Grand Magus’s knees, and was knocked over by the impact.

Without a word, the Grand Magus caught him and righted him. The young dragon looked up, intending to apologize, but when he saw who he had run into, his jaw dropped. He and the other tiny dragons looked up to their leader in awe, as if they had never seen him before.

Two taller figures appeared behind the children. One was a female dragon, her color scheme mauve, who was walking with her hood down. The other was not a dragon at all, but rather a large and hairy bat-winged creature with a horse-like face who wore a belt, vest, and kilt instead of Draconian robes.

“Grand Magus,” said the female dragon, somewhat surprised, and performed a small curtsy. The Grand Magus noticed that she also blushed slightly.

“There is no need for that,” said the Grand Magus, concealing the flowers he was holding in his sleeve- -but not before the gargoyle noticed them. “Come now, you are embarrassing me.”

“As modest as ever, I see,” said Scorpan. He smiled and put his hand on the female dragon’s shoulder. “Incindiary, could you please take the children for me?”

“Of course,” she said. “If you promise to take my next supply run.”

Scorpan laughed. “Yes, yes. Indeed I shall. It has been too long since I gave these wings a good stretch.”

“Deal,” said Incindiary. She turned her attention to the children- -who were still somewhat awestruck. “Come on, children. The Grand Magus has important business to attend to, and we need to get you to afternoon lessons.”

The young dragons groaned, but allowed Incindiary to lead them away.

“Perhaps I will be able to give a lesson later,” said the Grand Magus, before Incindiary was out of earshot. “Sometime this week, maybe?”

Incindiary seemed taken aback. “A lesson from- -from you?”

“Of course,” said the Grand Magus, harkening back to his days as a recurring guest instructor at Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns. “I think the children would enjoy it.”

“Oh,” said Incindiary, inexplicably blushing. “The children- -yes. I do believe they would.”

The young dragons- -now smiling very broadly, nodded vigorously.

The Grand Magus smiled, and he waved as they left.

“You realize that she is madly in love with you, don’t you?” said Scorpan, smiling almost as broadly as the children had been- -but for very different reasons.

“Shut up,” said the Grand Magus, pulling back his hood. He sighed. “I know. But I’m two centuries older than her at least.”

“That, it does not matter so much.”

“I know, I know,” said the Grand Magus, looking up at the cavern ceiling and taking a breath of the garden air. It smelled like life itself. “I just don’t think I am ready yet.”

“Then take your time,” said Scorpan, shrugging. “But not too much time.”

The Grand Magus looked back down at his friend. He knew better than to distrust Scorpan’s advice. In the countless decades since they had first met in what had then been unexplored land on Equestria’s border, the two had become close friends- -and the Grand Magus knew better than to doubt the gargoyle’s advice.

The two began to walk together, falling in step as closely as possible. Scorpan was shorter, with relatively small legs, but he somehow moved faster than the Grand Magus, and with an air of confidence that could only come from millennia of life.

“You spoke to her,” he said, suddenly becoming more serious.

“I did.”

“And it, I can tell, did not go well.”

“No. She refused to support us.”

“To be expected. Thebe is…”

“Arrogant? Self-centered? Misanthropic?”

“Misequithropic,” corrected Scorpan. “And…although you may hate me for this…not entirely wrong.”

“Scorpan. You are like a brother to me. I could never hate you- -even if you are an idiot.”

“I have had poor luck with brothers,” he said, smiling hollowly. “But hear me out. The rule of Thebe is not unlike the rule of Celestia in what you call the Second Era. Her motives may be selfish, but the ends of her style are good. Ponies have freedom to life their lives.”

“Not if that thing destroys them all.”

“I am sure she will engage when she sees fit.”

“If she sees fit. I worry about her, and what she might be capable of. I know her far better than you- -and I know that she would have no qualms about letting Equestria fall.”

“Is that what you truly believe?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” He paused. “Well, you are young yet.” He reached into a tree and pulled down a large fruit. He offered it to his friend, who refused. As Scorpan peeled the fruit, he continued. “Thebe is not the only ruler, though. Have you considered contacting Vale?”

“Vale made her opinion clear to me long ago. She is not a soldier, not for this kind of enemy and not for this kind of war. She will not join us, and Discord will not fight alongside us without his wife’s approval.”

“I maintain faith that both Vale and Thebe will act on this in their own ways,” said Scorpan, taking a bite from the fruit. He grimaced. “Not ripe,” he said.

“It was clearly green,” said the Grand Magus, confused. “Surely you could see that.”

“And surely you could see that your situation is equally unripe.”

“The Changeling Empire was decimated.”

“Yes. This is true. But by what? Ponies…they do not act as dragons do. Dragons live in the material world- -and Draconians dwell in the abstract. Ponies lie between. They will not engage unless a recourse is available.”

“All I asked was for their support.”

“Against what? This phantom you have seen through the eye of a madpony?”

“It is real,” protested the Grand Magus.

“Yes, it is,” replied Scorpan before the conversation could devolve into an argument. “But what is it? What is known? How can it be fought? Ponies will not engage an unknown- -because an unknown is impossible to defeat. Once they know, they will plan, and they will act. Evil must have a face- -whether it be my brother’s or Nil’s.”

The Grand Magus knew that Scorpan was right. Perhaps he had acted too soon. Thebe was not entirely disinterested- -she had assisted in the Invasion- -and Vale would gladly fight a war to protect her own people. The more he thought about it, the more unfair it seemed that he had asked them to fight an unseen and unknown enemy- -even though he still knew that fighting it was absolutely critical to the safety of Equestria.

He sighed. “Scorpan…sometimes I hate this eye.”

“Why? You are Grand Magus. It is your duty, and your honor to bear that.”

“I know…but I do not know how Crimsonflame could withstand what it sees. It seems fixated on pain and death. I see so much of it.”

“This world, at present, has no dearth of such things.”

“I saw that monster- -and I see other things. Sickness. Pollution. War. Why?”

“Because that is not all it sees. You know that. That eye saw me. In my time of need, it brought you to me. When I most needed a friend, it gave me you. And it shows you the others, the dragons born into a world different from their kin. Incindiary, the children, and all the others- -all of them your friends and allies.”

“That’s true.” The Grand Magus sighed. “I suppose it is my burden to bear. If the horrors of this world are the cost, I will bear them for you all.”

“Do not be dramatic. It does not suit you.”

The Grand Magus smiled. “I know.” He paused. “But I believe the eye may be changing.”

“Changing? How so?”

“According to Crimsonflame, the eye had always seen what has been happening in the world- -the present. But for me, I think it’s seeing the past.”

“The past?”

“Yes,” said the Grand Magus. “I keep seeing- -of all ponies- -Rainbow Dash.”

“Hmm,” said Scorpan, stroking his beard with his long-clawed fingers. “She was one of the Six, if I recall.”

“She was a good friend.”

“But she could not possibly be alive now, could she?”

“No. She died in an accident centuries ago.”

“Peculiar indeed, then. Unless she yet lives.”

“Scorpan. I saw her die. And believe me, I know death.”

“Indeed you do.” Scorpan pointed to the flowers hidden in the Grand Magus’s sleeve. “Are those for her?”

The Grand Magus was silent for a moment- -but it was clear that Scorpan already knew. “Yes,” he said.

Scorpan said nothing. He only nodded. She had been dead nearly four hundred years, and yet the Grand Magus still loved her as much as he had when he had first met her. Of the Draconians, only Scorpan knew this- -and he never criticized the Grand Magus for it, never pressured him to move on.

Perhaps, though, the Grand Magus knew, it was about time. Memories of the past were meant to be treasured, but not to hold one back.

“I must bid you farewell,” said Scorpan, passing down a slowly curving path that forked from the main one. “We are having a hoofball match later. Ironic, as none of us have hoofs!”

“I did not know you played hoofball.”

“Oh, I am far too old to play such a game with young dragons, but I have a bet with Wuvern. The loser must make the entire winning team a gem cake.”

“Then he had better hope your team wins,” said the Grand Magus. “I’ve had your cooking. It is terrible.”

“I know,” said Scorpan, smiling. “Until next time, Grand Magus Spike!”

He waved as he left, trotting down the cobblestone path. The Grand Magus waved as well, and continued on his own path.

The garden was constructed with several monuments within it. The two primary ones that most Draconians witnessed were the abstract markers to the two previous Grand Magi, both now deceased: Crimsonflame, the only one of the true, ancient Draconians to survive the First Choggoth Ware over one million years earlier, and her father, Rageclaw, the most powerful dragon ever to live. There was also a much larger marker in the center of the gardens, meant to commemorate the countless thousands who had given their lives to protect Panbios in ancient times.

The monument that the Grand Magus approached, however, was set far away from the other two. It was much smaller, and virtually unknown to the other thirty two modern Draconians that dwelt together in Vulcan Colony. It was far off the path, buried deep in the foliage in a tiny clearing surrounded by willows and flowering vines and a special group of delicate ferns tended by the Grand Magus himself.

The others might, perhaps, have seen it, but likely regarded it as a curiosity. Few among them understood the ancient parameters of Draconian art, so none could fully translate that the small marker depicted not the shape of a dragon, but that of a pony- -and few could tell that it was not truly a monument, either, but that it was in truth a grave.

The Grand Magus slowly approached, and, as always, was overwhelmed by his memories of her- -the pony he had loved. He remembered the joy of their time together- -and the sadness that he, as an immortal, was forced to shoulder at her loss- -and still he smiled, for even one memory of her held ten thousand times more happiness than the sadness her death had brought to him.

He knelt, and gave the flowers to her, just as he had so many times in life. He said nothing, as the dead could not hear- -but only paused, and remembered. Then he stood, and, in his mind, vowed once again to protect the world that they had both held so dear- -for she had once again reminded him that he could never be like Thebe, living eternally for himself. To be selfish with his power would be an affront to the pony he had loved, and still loved, even in death- -so he once again promised himself that he would bear the spirit that she no longer could, and to carry generosity in all his actions until the day when his marker was constructed in the garden and he could join his beloved Rarity.