“You have done well to come,” said Elrond. “You will hear today all that you need in order to understand the purposes of the Enemy. There is naught that you can do, other than to resist, with hope or without it. But you do not stand alone.”
– J.R.R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring

“This is not the end. This is not even the beginning of the end. But it is, perhaps, the end of the beginning.”
– Winston Churchill

The Hall of Unity, Mount Metazoa. Tenth Day of the Month of Rophon, Year 3 of the Era Harmoniae.

There was a slice of cake left. Two days old, it should still be edible.

While Galatea had persuaded the peculiar pink mare to strip down everything else for the modest ‘birthday party’ she’d ended up sharing with Celestia, Luna and Cadance, this was the one thing Miss Pie had been adamant about. You can’t have a birthday without a cake after all.

A soft mountain wind swept in past the pillars, as she took the last slice from its package and peered at it. She’d eaten cake before, naturally. Not often, but she had. This was the first time she’d been offered any.

It was a present, Miss Pie had said. For her. A rare chocolate from Southern Equestria.

Sitting on a bench, surrounded by the lavender Luna had installed on the topmost spot of the pagoda that was the Hall of Unity, Galatea reflectively took a nibble. It was delicious, sweet and perfectly moist.

A week on, Reiner’s locket remained lost, a victory for the infiltrator Redheart, for all that the night had ended in her capture. If the locket did lie at the bottom of the Everfree River, even the infiltrator’s own gem-tracker couldn’t trace it through water. They’d tried. Yet Madame Heartstrings, who’d taken it upon herself to find the locket that night – with far more courage than success – had still made herself unexpectedly useful.

This idea of hers to go North and find the evidence that, once, humans had indeed walked this world, was too potent to ignore. Those waters which maps labeled only as ‘The Unknown’ were a place Galatea herself had scarcely ventured into, let alone documented.

If nothing else, in going there, perhaps there’d be more cake.

Celestia took another sip of her tea, contemplating Sint Erklass’ letter.

My dearest apologies, Celestia, but I have had an errand to take care of first. I have hastened my pace, but my arrival will be slightly delayed.

How is Luna faring? Give her my regards, for we have much to discuss.

With love as always,
~ Grandfather

The Reindeer would come. So too, after much silence, it had been confirmed the griffons would attend the Concordia. Another letter said so, penned by the claw of she who currently bore the title of Young Pretender – though Grizelda was just one claimant to the throne of Griffonstone. She just benefitted from an aging, yet well-respected general’s support.

Celestia smiled fondly. Sint Erklass’ delay was a non-issue, overall. With a summit to be held on a scale this grand, it’d be a minor miracle if all Twelve Families were to arrive at the same time. The grace period she’d outlined, hopefully, had sufficed.

Still, she picked up her quill, and drafted a reply, to reassure her once-caretaker that his ‘tardiness’ was no offense. And she would be delighted to welcome him.

The filly sat alone. Her sister had left her there, in the nursery.

She said she would be back soon.

She waited, and waited.

Her gaze fell upon the door. The one who would move the moon, they called her, but she was all too young to open the door by herself.

One by one, the toys moved of their own accord.

Or rather, by the will of the creature trapped beneath the mountain.

Twisted puppets, tangled in strings.

Moving closer.

Closer.

Memories of that night in Adlaborn haunted Luna for the next hundred years. Of puppets, possessed by a decrepit abomination, a perversion of the Reindeer’s prowess in artisanship. She’d hated puppets ever since. How they were mindless, unmoving, unless one tugged at their strings, a slave to their master’s will. The way they resembled living things, but were never quite more than a mockery of flesh and blood.

And of course, there’d come the time when she’d fallen towards the bitter darkness. A thousand years struggling in a prison of her own making, puppet to her rage and grief. Even now, after her freedom was won by the Bearers of Harmony, it tugged at her mind.

Much like the being who claimed to be her other sister.

Luna knew her not, and the opposite was true. This ‘Galatea’ knew nothing of her years of torment, yet Celestia had welcomed her all the same. She knew nothing of their stay with the Reindeer, of the obstacles in their ascension, nothing that a family should.

If her sister was a radiant sun, then Galatea was a permanently overcast sky, with dull colors to match. She lacked the warmth Celestia had always seemed to emanate, for even the word ‘family’ held no meaning to her, beyond a simple description. Nothing to suggest the existence of a bond in her heart.

It was maddening.

The door swung open, and Luna was greeted by the sight of Celestia reclining upon one of her excessively large pillows, sipping a cup of tea, with quill and parchment at the ready. Luna’s nostrils picked up a smell of cooking – in the far corner of the room, a pan lay sizzling upon a little kitchenette. How like Celestia. She loved to play at being an ordinary pony, with ordinary habits, from time to time.

Idly, Celestia was turning a tiny crystal over and over in her aura. A crystal containing a being, recently captured, that was much like the abomination who’d made puppets so hateful to the Princess of the Night. It was scheduled to be presented as a witness to the Concordia.

Luna gritted her teeth. Using telekinesis, she cast her crown aside, where it landed beside Celestia’s own.

“Sister,” she greeted.

But Luna regretted the bile she’d injected into those two syllables. Celestia looked disconcerted. She almost stood up, then seemed to think better of it, as the crystal vanished back into her null-space.

“Good morning, Luna...” Celestia furrowed her brows. “Is something the matter?”

Luna nodded, and yet right after, she stiffened, whatever rant she’d planned on dissipating.

“Ah...” Celestia said slowly. “Forgot something in Canterlot? We did resettle rather hastily.”

With a strangled cry, Luna slumped onto the nearest pillow. Gazing at her in silence, Celestia took another sip of her tea. Luna lay there, face down, for perhaps an hour. Or a minute. It couldn’t have taken Celestia so long to wrap a wing around her shoulders.

Luna lifted her head, wordlessly accepting the fresh cup of tea her sister offered. She let out a long, long sigh.

“‘Sister’,” Luna uttered woodenly. Celestia arched an eyebrow. “That’s the problem. ‘Sister’.” She groaned. “What does it mean to you, Celestia? Being a sister. Having a sister.”

“A sister, you say?” Celestia replied, tapping her chin. “A sister means… company.”

“To read?” Luna said, on impulse.

“To play, and to read with,” Celestia agreed, a slight twinkle in her eyes. “And snowball fights, too, don’t you remember?”

“All too well,” Luna replied, little smirk tugging at her lips. “I beat you then.”

“You didn’t,” Celestia snorted. “You had Elsa helping you.”

“I most certainly did not!” Luna shot back. “Well, once or twice, but the point still stands in my favor!”

“Whatever you say,” Celestia replied serenely. Her expression turned wistful. “A sister means… someone to welcome you home.”

“And I will always be grateful for you, big sister,” Luna said earnestly. Celestia looked at her, magenta eyes warm as the day the Element Bearers cast Luna’s thousand-year nightmare aside, and returned her to her sister’s embrace.

If anyone had asked, Luna would have said she didn’t know how Celestia felt about finding out there was another alicorn, much less a secret sister. However, she could make an educated guess.

“Celestia,” Luna said, after a pause. “Would you say that to be a sister means more than blood?”

“Ah,” Celestia replied. Her expression remained steadily calm. “You speak of Galatea.”

“Yes,” Luna said shortly.

“I see,” said Celestia. “Well… we’ve only known her a short while, including a party.”

“Tia… we don’t know her. Not her past, not her goals... her relation to us. Sint Erklass, Elsa, Anna... not once did they speak of her existence. Do you truly believe her to be of our kin, by her words alone?”

For a week, in private and in Celestia’s company, Luna had chafed to resist speaking ill of the enigmatic mare. Especially during Galatea’s party, where a smile must have slipped, Luna knew.

But if she didn’t talk to Celestia now, on the morn of the largest gathering of leaders Equus had witnessed in centuries, she could keep her silence for good.

Celestia sipped her tea in contemplation. “Our kin…” she said, slowly turning the word over. “How do we define that, our kin? We who, in the first seven years of our life, were raised by a people apart from the old nations and Equestria. Remember how, before we’d even earned our marks, Sint told us he knew we were different from those ponies who came to visit. He wished for us to have a family, whereas most others would’ve reared us as ethereal pack-carriers, or as weapons of war.”

Luna nodded. “That much is true,” she agreed, but she kept her brows furrowed. “Yet Sint had no trouble treating us as his own, when he could so easily have given us over to be fostered...”

“Remember, little sister,” Celestia said gently. “Galatea was given no such foalhood.”

“She thinks of us as means to an end,” Luna snorted. “Siblings would mean nothing to her, were it not for our duties to the Sun and Moon. And, Tia, I doubt she has an ounce of self-determination within her…”

Her words trailed off. The memory of living dolls she’d had on the way to her sister’s room resurfaced.

Celestia understood all the same, as she usually did.

“You don’t think of her as entirely…” She hesitated. “Awake.”

Luna nodded. “Yes,” she said cooly. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she had… strings, leading her every move.” She let out another sigh. “The question is, who holds hers? What is it that sets her apart? I can’t even be sure!” Again, Luna planted her face into the pillow. “I don’t know, Tia. It’s all happening awfully fast.”

Celestia patted her with a wing. “Hm. Luna? Have you tried… entering her dreams?”

“Wards. Wards around her mind.” Luna’s muffled voice replied, before she raised her head again. “Should’ve expected it, from an alicorn. Which, of course, doesn’t clear matters. You can blame her for that.”

She moved to take another sip of her tea. To her chagrin, it was empty already.

“I know, Tia,” Luna said, spotting her sister’s inquisitive look. “I ought to show more respect for the privacy of a stranger who came asking our help. But she’s imperceptible. How do we know she’s to be trusted, even after all this? She knows us more than we know her. Just what goes on behind those clouded eyes of hers?”

Celestia, much to Luna’s growing concern, remained quiet, and contemplative. Perhaps she’d pressed her too much on the matter.

“Hm, I do wonder,” Celestia began. “How much of Galatea came from her nature, and how much came from whatever... upbringing she had?” There was the faintest hint of that mysterious smile. “Maybe we are more alike than it seems at first.”

A whistling sound broke through Luna’s troubled mind. It came from the little kitchenette.

“Oh,” Celestia suddenly said, flicking her ears. “Silly me, I left the stove on. That’ll be the pancakes.”

Annoyingly enough, as always, she’d changed the matter as easily as lifting a hoof. Luna could hardly suppress a groan against one of her sister’s many pillows. She did wonder how Celestia could possibly have brought so many pillows here, so quickly. Her own room was much tidier, by contrast, although she’d had to fit a telescope into hers.

These quarters at the Hall of Unity were smaller than their chambers in Canterlot, and yet they were luxurious, with a view of the mountains. Of course, Luna could hardly tell with Celestia’s room, which her sister had turned into a personal lounge. In fact, Luna might have thought they’d never left Canterlot, were it not for the lack of fireplace or Celestia’s rosewine selection. Only a delightful drink invented in the last seven-hundred years, known as icewine.

The moment Luna had tasted it, she’d known exactly why her sister took such a liking to it.

“Dear, oh, dear,” Celestia huffed, hurrying back from the kitchenette.

Luna glanced at Celestia. Her sister had slung on an apron, and in her telekinetic grasp she held a steaming pan.

“I hope you don’t mind them crispy, Luna.”

The only, varnished table in the room was packed to the brim with parchments. Celestia didn’t let that worry her, as her magic hauled two plates from a cupboard above the stove. Luna rapidly gathered that Tia meant for them to eat lying down, plates on the floor. Of course. What else could those pillows have been for?

“Breakfast is served,” Celestia said sweetly, as she finished placing the plates down. “Come.” She swirled the pan, bringing forth a ladle to slide out the pancakes. “I’ve been practicing, you know.”

Luna grunted. “I’ve had my breakfast, Tia, please.”

“No, you haven’t,” her sister chided her. “Quick, Luna, before it gets cold. You really shouldn’t worry on an empty stomach.”

Seeing there was no can-do, Luna saw to the pancake on her plate. Apricot, she noted. With the slices arranged into a nice smiley face. Hesitantly, Luna raised a piece of pancake, and bit into it. And actually, it didn’t taste bad at all. Though as Celestia said, it had gone crisp.

“Thank you, Tia,” she said, a bit awkwardly. “I… see you’ve had plenty of practice. This is…” She paused, letting the taste, and the word for it, roll over her tongue. “Certainly well-refined, if… a little burnt, yes.”

Seeing Celestia had set down a bottle of syrup between them, she added some to her portion.

“I’m glad you noticed,” Celestia said affectionately. “And I think I understand. You worry of Galatea’s presence in your absence, Luna, and my safety.”

“Yes,” Luna said, quietly. “I… I suppose I do.”

“I see,” Celestia replied. “I admit, I’ve got my own reservations, Luna, but I’ll keep an eye out. But Galatea’s not the one who’ll be in the spotlight, this week. And how do you feel about this upcoming summit?”

Therein resided the question, Luna mused, mid-chew.

The summit to come would bring people from all four corners of Equus, many indifferent, a few hostile, most bearing ulterior motives. Where usually, Luna and Celestia ruled the skies, she now felt a great deal of uncertainty looming over them two.

She sighed, swallowing her pancake.

“I am not sure,” Luna admitted. “I have not seen many of them, nor was I familiar with some, even before… my banishment.”

“Hmm,” Celestia pondered, tapping her fork. “You worry of their conduct, I presume?”

“Many of them were, and still are foes to one another, and here we are expecting… expecting nothing short of cooperation, between each and every one?”

Her sister said nothing at first. Her cup was empty, evidently enough, for she cast it aside on her empty plate. And Luna, still quiet, still wearing a steely mask, quivered and moved closer beside Celestia.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It has been a while... But what about Chrysalis? Did she not unleash her armies upon Canterlot, impersonate Cadance while keeping her trapped in the mines?”

That too was a sore spot for Luna. Granted, she’d tried to play off her absence at the Royal Wedding lightly – and Celestia had known she needed her sleep – but she still cursed herself for her absence, nonetheless.

“Do not worry about Chrysalis, Luna,” Celestia said simply. “Not even she would risk foul play when the eyes of the world are upon us all.” She nuzzled Luna. “It’s you I worry for…”

“I know,” Luna replied softly, and she returned the nuzzle. “But I just…” She sighed. “I just want to make up for all those years, Tia, all those missing years with you. And by all the stars above, I haven’t even met Grandfather yet, to tell him I am truly sorry.”

“You’re afraid he wouldn’t forgive you?”

“Yes, and… I can’t ask you to do it on my behalf.”

There was a smile from Celestia, and a knowing glance towards the door.

“You can tell him yourself, sister dear,” Celestia said with levity. “I was expecting plenty of company for breakfast today.”

Her golden aura opened the door.

There, in the doorway, stood a mighty stag. Standing even taller than Celestia, the great maroon Reindeer wore no ornaments or regalia, only a humble pair of saddlebags, yet his presence carried the grace any ruler’s should.

His appearance remained much the same as thousands of years ago. As did the graceful, eternally young pale doe beside him – their old nanny, Elsa. Or rather, the willing doe who carried Elsa’s spirit within the shawl she wore. Her name was Lel, if Luna recalled.

Sint’s smile was warm and all-encompassing.

And Luna, who’d hesitated before asking Celestia’s forgiveness after being freed from the Nightmare, hardly waited to go forth and pull him into a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry, Grandfather…” she whispered. “I’ve missed you.”

That was all Luna could mutter, out of a thousand things which raced through her mind then. She felt Sint return her embrace, and Elsa’s comforting forehoof on her shoulder.

“It’s alright, Luna,” said Sint Erklass kindly. “I forgave you a long time ago.”

She let go of him, her eyes wide and brimming with tears. But as she looked at them both, the Reindeer rulers of Adlaborn, she returned their smiles.

“I trust your trip treated you two well, Elsa?” said Celestia. While she wore her usual mask, Luna saw the fondest of smiles under the surface.

“Indeed, Celestia,” replied Elsa. “We had to notify the Gift Givers of the Grove of our absence at the last second. And I’ve arranged for Cernunnos to assume leadership for the time being, though I regret that I couldn’t tend to his newborn.”

She let out a motherly smile, one that Luna and Celestia remembered all too well. “Lucie has her father’s eyes.”

“Give her, and her father, our warmest regards,” Luna said, to which Elsa nodded solemnly.

“Wonderful,” Celestia said. “I would very much like to see the newborn, one day. But come now. Much needs to be discussed, and there are people to meet... and we’ve got pancakes.”

And so, Luna’s worries faded, amidst her breakfast with all whom she held dear.

Except, for one moment, when her gaze flew over to the slightly ajar door, and saw the faintest hints of blue eyes, a flowing black mane, and the swish of a cloak.

After they’d finished their last morsel, Celestia led those she called her closest family across the bridge to the Watchtower. Humbler and less prepossessing than the Hall, this was where Alexander Reiner would sleep in the following nights, close to quarters where Madame Heartstrings, the Element Bearers and Nurse Cross could also enjoy their privacy.

Sint Erklass and Elsa Erklass, Princess Luna, they all followed her into Reiner’s new bedroom.

Rooms at the Hall and Watchtower alike were prepared to receive beings of all shapes and sizes. As had been noted before, Alexander’s physical constitution most resembled that of a Minotaur’s, thus quarters ordinarily reserved for Minotaurs had been given to him. Consequently, this meant the human occupied chambers that were lined with granite, as opposed to the fancier marble of the Hall, and spacious yet unadorned. The sole furniture were empty bookshelves, stools for guests and a sizeable bed.

When Reiner had been presented with these living accomodations, Celestia had felt relieved to hear him say his military career had inured him to ‘Spartan’ conditions, whatever those were. All he’d requested were bedsheets, which Nurse Cross had readily provided.

It was slow going, but Celestia felt Cross was starting to digest the shock of the two Redhearts. While this Nurse had no Guard history as Redheart had, she was valuable as a medical expert who could handle Alexander Reiner’s alien physique. However, ever since the hospital incident, Cross had adopted a very ‘need-to-know’ approach to matters. Such as now, where Cross was nowhere to be seen, having been informed of the Reindeer’s upcoming visit.

The human was seated in his wheelchair, leafing through a book. Without even looking, Celestia knew it’d be a copy of Ponyland: Fact or Fable. Princess Cadance and Captain Shining Armor, who’d been contemplating the view from the window, turned to see who’d entered. And Lyra was lying on the floor next to him, browsing her own copy for the hundredth time.

Reiner looked up. His jaw fell when he saw the Snow Maiden and her grandfather. The Great Stag bowed his head, immense muscles coiling beneath his pelt-like boulders. With quiet decorum, Cadance and Shining returned the bow, their heads lower than his.

“Salutations, Princess Cadance, Prince Shining Armor,” Sint rumbled in greeting. “And welcome, Alexander Reiner. It is an honor to meet a child of Earth in the flesh.”

Reiner took a moment to reply. “This is an honor for me…” he said, “and the dream of every child on Earth.”

Then tears began streaming from his eyes.

“Alex?” Lyra whispered, taking his hand.

Celestia and Luna looked at each other. In all this time, they’d never seen the man cry. Yet here he was, tearing up. Wiping his eye, Reiner seemed to be forcing himself to look at Sint. But he could not. His eyes fell back to Lyra instead.

“I’m… I’m sorry,” he said, choked. “It’s ridiculous… I didn’t even know him like I knew you, Lyra, but… You and the Great Stag alive in the same room, with a friendly Celestia, it’s... it was more than I can take.”

His mention appeared to make Lyra truly notice Sint.

“Goodness…” Lyra mumbled, mouth agape. She bowed clumsily. “Lord Hearthswarming, I-I… forgive me, I forgot my manners.”

Sint placed a forehoof on her shoulder. “Arise, Madame Heartstrings,” he said softly. “From what Celestia tells us, it should be we who bow to you.”

Lyra looked up, her cheeks pink. “That… that wasn’t me, exactly.”

The Snow Maiden came up to her, smiling slyly in Cadance’s direction. “From the start, you risked your own life to aid the human,” she said kindly. “And this selflessness is reason enough.”

Reiner coughed. “I’m not special,” he said, rasping. “I’m just a soldier. Saving humanity’s what matters, and if we don’t move quickly… Well, they say it’ll take another fifteen years for the Barrier to finish off Earth, but we’ll all be…” He looked away. “Gone long before that…”

Elsa turned his way. “Like the Reindeer of one Adlaborn, you mean,” she whispered, her voice soft as Winter’s breeze.

Celestia saw Reiner stare at her. “Yes. I told them about that.”

He nodded. “Aye, of course… you did the right thing…”

“But there was something we meant to ask,” Celestia sighed, meeting a glance from Luna. “Sister. Ask Grandfather about what he didn’t tell us.”

Beside her, Cadance and Shining each looked unsure and uncomfortable to suddenly find themselves caught in this family talk between immortal beings. Reiner and Lyra, however, their initial discomforture now past, watched with curious eyes.

Luna was the one to ask. “Grandfather,” she said quietly, Sint gazing at her with an unreadable expression. “Our other sister. Did you know about her?”

Sint’s lips parted in wonder. “Faust’s third daughter…” he whispered. “She has come, too?”

“Shortly after the human,” Celestia said. “She met me in my private study, as if locks and wards meant nothing to her… Though perhaps they weren’t the wards to keep her out. One of the first things she did was to… show me a vision of Adlaborn, burning.” She considered him. “So. You did know.”

Luna stared at Sint, her eyes glistening. “Why didn’t you tell us?” she whispered.

The Great Stag sighed, as Elsa wrapped a foreleg around his own.

“It was my promise to Faust,” Sint said at last. “Her Plan was that there must always be an alicorn in Equestria, standing watch.” He glanced at Cadance, yet kept his thoughts to himself. “Had you known of the third alicorn, you’d have sought her out…”

“...Would that have been such a bad thing?” Celestia said softly. “It was a lonely time, Grandfather. I scarcely dared hope, until I found that one of Luna’s line had survived…”

Her cheeks gone a deeper shade of pink, Cadance looked the other way, blatantly trying to avoid eye contact with Princess Luna. For her part, Luna didn’t seem to have heard Celestia, her gaze remaining intent on Sint, barely containing her emotion.

Against all expectation, the one to speak was Shining Armor.

“Alffather,” Shining said, stroking his wife’s mane even as he considered Sint. “I must agree, the Princesses have a right to ask. I’m married to an alicorn, and I spent years believing Princess Celestia was the only alicorn in the world. Most ponies don’t think about it, but…” He took a calming breath. “It’s my job to worry, as Captain of Her Highness’s Guard. Suppose anything bad had happened to Celestia?”

The Great Stag’s eyes were old and solemn. “Would you think I’d stay aloof, Captain?” he sighed. “If worst came to the worst, I’d have stepped in during Equestria’s hour of need. But it was Faust’s final request that I trust ponies to rule themselves, giving them only a nudge here and there where needed, trust all would be right whilst even one alicorn carried out her Plan.”

“Who’s Faust? What Plan?” It was Reiner. “Has this got something to with my locket?”

Sint turned to him. “I do not know everything,” he said. “But I can tell you a little of what I know. Are you familiar with Windigoes, Sir Alexander?”

“What’s a ‘sir’ about me…” Reiner muttered. “Oh, never mind. Yes, I know about Windigoes. Although for once, it wasn’t Lyra who explained ‘em.” Next to him, Lyra awkwardly shrugged. “I got that from Cheerilee. Aren’t they, like, these evil spirits who cause Winter?”

“The truth’s a little more complex,” Sint said. “They’re not necessarily beings. Would you call a plague ‘evil’? Even the Krampus, the intelligence at their heart, isn’t malicious as you’d understand it. They do not feel or want anything for themselves, they merely… feed.”

“The Krampus wanted to do something, alright…” Luna whispered anew. “To me and Tia, deep within Zamok Ustyag.”

Sint went to hug her. “Yes, Luna,” he said softly. “But it’s been aeons since it could act directly.”

“An intelligence, you say?” Reiner asked.

“More like the manifestation thereof,” Sint explained. “I am the oldest being alive today on Equus, and we came into being at the same the time. The Krampus and I, two sides of a coin...”

“Well, that’s…” Reiner hesitated. “Timely? Like, how do these things happen?”

“Our world operates more on the mystical, perhaps, than the one you came from,” Sint told him gravely. “But it was Faust’s belief that intellect, given the proper tools, will always bend the natural world to its will. She was a healer, in that way.”

“Sounds like a play I read somewhere…” Reiner muttered, rubbing his lip. “Hm.”

“Wait, wait, hold on,” said a frantic Lyra, who seemingly felt a need to say something, anything. “That ‘Old Race’ Celestia mentioned, during her speech… Was Faust one of them?”

Celestia, Luna and Cadance looked to Sint, who chuckled wryly.

“Oh, no,” replied Sint. “The Old Race came before. And when I was born, a few of them still lived. But they’d grown tired and complacent. The plague, they feared, heralded their final doom. Faust was from an artificial people who’d originally been crafted by the Old Race for its own purposes, before it… awakened. Faust was an alicorn.”

Reiner gawped at him.

“The fuck? More alicorns!”

While Elsa looked a bit put out by his language, it was evident Lyra had gotten used to it by now. And Sint didn’t react at all.

“Yes. There were many alicorns in those days,” Sint said matter-of-factly. “But today, the only ones left are Faust’s own creations…” He contemplated Celestia and Luna. “The third daughter was created by Faust to be everything you were not. An invisible, calculating, distant goddess... But she knew it wouldn’t do, entrusting the Land solely to such a mind. So, she made you. To be born and grow up living among us. Not one, but two of you, so you’d never be alone.”

Luna looked away from Sint, bowing her head. And despite the forgiving words she and Sint had given her sister, Celestia felt once again compelled to wrap a wing around her. Reiner observed this all in silence, Lyra faithfully waiting by him.

Then, Shining Armor sniggered. When everyone’s heads turned his way in bemusement, he clamped a forehoof to his mouth, but they knew they’d heard him.

“What is it, Shiney?” Cadance asked.

He gave the room a crooked smile. “It’s not funny, really,” said Shining. “But what Colonel Alexander just said is kinda what I was thinking when I met you, Candy, and then, my mother-in– I mean, Princess Luna.”

“Actually, I think it is rather funny, Shining,” Celestia smiled, ignoring Luna’s scowl next to her. “When you’ve grown used to people thinking you’re special as the only alicorn, it’s so refreshing to see the reactions at getting more alicorns than I’d know what to do with.”

Reiner’s face showed a mix of wryness and despondence. “Yeah… yeah, I can picture that. But…” He grimaced. “The Celestia I know, that’s just what she’d want. To be the only alicorn. If there were any other alicorns who could’ve stopped her, they sure didn’t show up. Her sister got petrified, Lady Cadance is a wreck… Galatea took her sweet time… And as for the Reindeer…”

His sentence hung in the air, unfinished. Unsurprisingly, what mild humor Shining’s comment had raised was lost from the room.

“Just what befell Adlaborn?” Sint Erklass asked the human quietly.

“I can’t tell you much, either” Reiner grunted. All I know is that, three years ago, Cel– the Tyrant ordered it burned to the ground. Completely wiped out. As far as we can tell… she succeeded. No mercy, none.”

Elsa’s brow darkened. “My grandfather isn’t so easily slain,” she said. “Yet, despite the corruption we’ve learnt of in this unknown Equestria, I still find it hard to imagine Celestia would face him in combat…”

For the briefest instant, Reiner’s gaze flickered towards Celestia. She met it without blinking.

“Well, that’s the oddest thing…” Reiner whetted his lips. “We really don’t know much about the holocaust of Adlaborn. Even though everyone knows it happened, it’s one of the Empire’s best-kept secrets. But rumor has it Celestia couldn’t fight the Allfather herself…”

“Then…” whispered Lyra. “Who did?”

To begin with, it seemed Reiner would not answer. Celestia knew that even with Lyra, he’d been cagey about certain answers, despite his pledge of honesty. He hesitated a long time, so long they began to think he’d never say. Then, on some cue of unknown source to them, the human found his tongue.

“They say the Tyrant has this… executioner,” Reiner said, as he surveyed the room. “A pale mare, her face always hooded. Whenever the Solar Tyrant has decreed that someone won’t live, this is who she sends.”

Despite his words’ simplicity, nobody felt they had an adequate reply.

“Alex…” Lyra finally said, looking at the ashen-faced human. “How was I… captured?

Nine days on, and she had never asked.

Sint Erklass coughed loudly. “I apologize, Madame Heartstrings. But right now, I think it’s more important that my granddaughter and I hear how the good Colonel came to Equestria.”

“Aye,” Celestia said, subtly brushing a wing over Lyra’s withers. “I believe that Sint is right. The Colonel and I havediscussed this. There are details he won’t be able to bring up before the Concordia, like my hidden sister, or his locket.”

Reiner’s shoulders slumped. “I feel like we’ve gone over this before,” he sighed. “At the hospital. Still, if it’ll help, I’ll repeat everything I remember.”

“Most important of all, Grandfather,” Elsa put in, with a meaningful emphasis on the last word, “would be that you meet the other sister at last.” She met eyes with Celestia and Luna. “What is her name?”

“She can tell you that herself,” Celestia said placidly. “It’d be her right.”

This was how that opening encounter of Allfather and Snow Maiden with the human drew closer to its conclusion, as Alexander Reiner recounted what Lyra Heartstrings, and the Princesses Celestia and Luna, had been told at the hospital. To the Reindeer and to Princess Cadance and her spouse Shining Armour, it was a new story.

To Reiner himself, the story felt new in parts, stranded fibers of his memory knotting back together from a shock which had dispersed them. But he understood the need for the retelling. Once he faced the delegates of Equus, he would have to know what to say and what not to say.

Aboard the Mikado’s Flagship, In the Vicinity of Mount Metazoa.

The sound of running water, echoing off the walls of the garden-room, greeted Kuno as he entered the great doors. Taking a moment to drink in the calligraphy carved into wood and cast in bronze, the old Kirin stepped through the vast gateway, into the largest administrative room on the Dai Konpe.

Next to greet him was the off-white glare of the room’s lighting. Once the Prime Minister’s ageing eyes had adjusted, he took in the sight of the cavernous chamber, rows of cherry trees within beautiful, ceramic pots lining a central avenue before him. Above, raised trellis held flowers regularly watered by a deceptively simple sprinkler system, which concealed a more complex plumbing network hidden below. Special troughs ran along the avenue, letting water flow to the center.

There was no grass, but the floor had been paved, and Kuno heard his hooves clack as he walked along the stone. The original commission had been for the exact wood used in the palace’s nightingale halls, but tist demand had been overridden – the Mikado had found the idea distasteful, later admitting that stone was just as good at alerting him to visitors.

A few birds, trained for this environment, flitted over Kuno’s head and he let himself smile. Finally reaching the center, Kuno found the convergence point of every feature in the room. Now he stood in front of what took up the most space. It was a large pond.

Perfectly circular, the pond was unsettled only by small ripples set off by the trickling of water from the troughs. Deep below the surface were the pumps that took water from the pond and circulated it back. Though the Dai Konpe was equipped to harvest clouds, if necessary, the garden-room’s water supply was designed to continuously filter and recycle itself.

In the middle of the pond was a circular platform that served as an island. On it was a tall, conservatively built gazebo, and sitting in its roof’s shadow of its roof, several small, glinting shapes perched around him, was the Mikado.

There was no bridge to the artificial island, but that was no problem.

Kuno’s bifurcated horn was barely tinged by his aura’s glow as, without breaking his pace, he took a step onto the pond. Even at the lip of the shoreline, the land sloped sharply beneath the smooth, mirror-like surface of the waters, but Kuno’s hoof did not sink – or rather, it barely sank an inch, no further.

Traversing the pond on hoof came to the Prime Minister as gracefully as traipsing through the desert sands would to a Saddle Mareabian, his crossing leaving only the arrow-like trace a swan might in his wake, without otherwise disturbing the waters’ tranquility. It did not keep his hooves’ tips from getting wet, yet this was a small price to pay, easily remedied as he touched upon the platform, where any small moisture was sponged up by the softness of the gazebo.

“Blessed Mikado,” Kuno greeted, stepping back on land. “Do I find you well?”

Toshiro Kane looked up from the desk where, as ever, stacks of papers were lined up waiting for his signature. His expression was dispassionate, but he blinked to acknowledge Kuno’s presence, breaking his mechanical disposition from a second ago.

“I’m fine, Kuno,” Toshiro replied, putting pen to the next document pulled from the pile. “What brings you here?”

“I’d assumed you’d sooner hear it from me than a messenger,” Kuno told his Mikado. “We are nearing the East Coast of Equestria.” He breathed in, preparing for his next statement. “Not one pirate ship spotted over the whole trip, Kane.”

“Good,” Toshiro said tersely, laying down his pen. With a subtle series of motions, the Mikado shifted his posture and slumped. Kuno found it amusing, in its own odd way.

Saying nary a word, Toshiro lit his horn. Two ceramic cups floated over to the table. After the cups had set down, an ornate pot, which had been simmering over a tiny, gas-lit burner, was raised to pour.

“I believe today’s offering is jasmine,” Toshiro said, his face still impassive. His statement, however, was clearly a question, as was the second cup which lay in front of Kuno.

“A good offering back in the homeland, my friend,” Kuno said genially. “Though as we arrive in another land, maybe today warrants a special offering?”

Toshiro’s expression was totally deadpan. He didn’t look down at the teacup, instead holding Kuno’s gaze. Before blinking again, setting the teapot back on its burner, and sighing. “I’ll see what the kitchens can bring up.”

Hs magic wrapped around a bell-pull and yanked it. Though there was no sound, Kuno knew that, many rooms and corridors away, a bell had in fact been rung in the Dai Konpe’s galley.

“So,” Toshiro said. “Won’t you take a seat?” He indicated a large, luxurious cushion, with a tougher one attached behind it as a backrest.

“By your grace,” Kuno smiled, accepting gladly. “It’s a special time,” he continued, gesturing towards the desk’s papers, “to see you break with the custom of paperwork, such that our dear turtle-ship departed on the same day we were invited.”

“Well, we don’t normally get a summons like this, do we?” Toshiro asked, a thin little smile on his face. “History doesn’t talk about many Calls. Or any, for that matter.”

“No, that’s true,” Kuno said, laying his forehooves in his lap. “Strange, isn’t it. Any knowledge we may have on the Call originated, a long time ago, from one who still lives... But who’d have thought to consult the Great Tonakai about a myth that may never come to be?” He considered the Mikado. “Yet someone must have decided it’d come one day, if there’s a Hall of Unity…”

“Most prefer not to think about such things,” Toshiro interjected. “When something important, but essentially useless is left unused, you grow complacent. Its existence is meaningless, and when it suddenly becomes meaningful… well...” Kuno was suddenly fixed by a harsh, piercing glare from the Mikado, “that’s when people start to get scared.”

“You don’t say,” Kuno replied, swallowing. Accustomed as he was to the Mikado’s moments of intensity, there were times he could still be caught off-guard. “But if we’re thrust into a situation which’ll require us to meet with the world, then we should lay our fears and prejudice to rest as best we can.” He tapped his forehooves. “Of course, we can’t expect all who answer this Call to be our friends. What are you prepared for?”

“I’m quite sure we’re both capable of setting our own preconceptions aside,” Toshiro said, his thin smile returning. “And my students… well, the prospect of my lowering their grades will keep them from opening their mouths out of turn.”

In that moment, a tinkling of small bells rang through the room, with a panel at the back of the gazebo opening up in the floor.

A young doe in servants’ clothes peeked her head through, then bowed respectfully, a new pot of tea in her magical grip. Without a word she took the jasmine pot off the burner, settling the new one in place. Her work done, the doe vanished back through the panel, and its contour seamlessly rejoined the floor.

“Wonderful,” Toshiro said, taking the tea-pot to pour into a new set of cups. Once done, he reset the pot and turned back to Kuno. “The only problem I can see with less friendly individuals getting invited is that some of our more disruptive neighbors will be brought along.”

They both took a sip of the tea. Red tea it was, Kuno found to his pleasure, roiboos from the farthest shore of the zebra lands. While the Mikado may have preferred his offering for the day, Kane obviously knew him well. There was a richness to the brew, a faint taste of bark found in few other teas, which lent it a delightful earthiness.

“Yes,” Kuno said, once he’d taken his sip, setting the cup down. “And, rival or ally, each of them will come with the same request. To be given a share in return for whatever is asked of us… especially the people that were taken from us.” This was rather forthright, he realized, but it’d do no good to dance around the issue. “If only lower grades or a spot of tea sufficed to keep all of our own in line, Blessed Mikado.”

“Yes,” Toshiro said too, frowning. “How many denizens from around the world has Celestia incarcerated in Erebus for dabbling in the forbidden arts? But what Kana did was entirely her own fault. While I don’t appreciate the Equestrians meddling in our affairs, the very agreement that has us currently travelling is what saw her taken away.”

“All old agreements allow room for haggling,” Kuno said, eyeing the Mikado curiously. “Seeing as this Call is something we’ve never experienced before... and we don’t even know the full ramifications… What shall it be? Do you think you’re going to apply pragmatism, or be iron-bound by honor, even if it means Kana serving her full sentence in Erebus?”

“It depends on who else is answering the Concordia,” Toshiro replied. “And also on whether or not any of the other representatives are willing to pursue the issue. It’s possible we’ll have at least a few friends there. Or amiable partners, at any rate.”

Toshiro placed his cup in front of him and took a breath, composing himself. “Now,” he then said, looking Kuno in the eye, “you mentioned, just now, that we were entering an equine airspace.”

“Horseshoe Bay, yes,” Kuno confirmed. “Given the short notice this trip was organized at, we had to skip the usual paperwork…” He glanced wryly at the documents littering the Mikado’s desk. “But the Equestrians received our message yesterday, and given the unusual circumstances, they’ve agreed to let the ship through without fuss. Same as in every national airspace thus far.”

“Very good.” Toshiro glanced at a page atop one of the shorter stacks of papers.

Several seconds of heavy silence went by. Kuno was trying to get a look at the page that held Toshiro’s attention without making it too obvious.

Eventually, a frowning Toshiro broke the silence. “Before you arrived, I received another patent form, from our more... troublesome investment. A warning from our offices in Abyssinia came shortly afterwards, mentioning their airspace should be termed ‘unsafe’.”

“I’d heard rumblings…” Kuno said, feeling a tinge of nervousness, yet also relieved the Mikado had broached this first. “I wouldn’t worry about how it’ll affect us personally. Abyssinia lies too far South of our destination for that. But… I still wonder if we pulled out too few of our assets, concerned as we were with plausible deniability about our… friend.”

“I think the trademarks on his merchandise will give away at least a little of our involvement,” Toshiro said in response, dryly. “Still, we evacuated enough personnel to salvage the bare minimum of costs.” His voice then took on a colder note. “I suppose we can make a return when His Majesty comes to us for more of his toys. We already have a new line he requested complete.”

Kuno raised an eyebrow as Toshiro reached under the table, coming back up with a miniature figurine which he lay on the desk. It depicted a figure Kuno was, regrettably, all too familiar with.

A tall biped, colored in white and dressed in black armor. Its legs ended in cloven hooves, whilst its arms, one of which clutched a slightly crooked, crystalline staff, were tipped by three clawed digits. Its face was locked in a stiff expression of domineering confidence framed by thick shoulders, wide pauldrons and two pairs of long horns that jutted out from the side of its head – the shorter pair pointing upwards, like a crown.

“Doteki Toys announced that it comes in three different color sets,” Toshiro intoned in a perfunctory drone, “has removable armor and three different accessory packs, sold separately. It is also posable, though I was told the board were considering leaving it static, so that they can sell multiple poses instead.”

Although the Mikado hadn’t given express permission, Kuno let himself reach for the figure and pick it up. He turned it over in his forehooves, surveying it critically.

“A very peculiar form of payment, that our ‘friend’ asked of us,” he muttered. “But it seems to make good its return on investment. Although goodness knows, I couldn’t tell you what my granddaughter sees in these ugly things.” He lay the figurine back on the desk, not even sighing. “Still. The important part is what investing in the real thing did for us, eh? Outsourcing pirate-hunting...”

He attempted a jovial smile.

“Really,” Kuno concluded. “The way I see it, the heaviest price we paid for this incurred the best and brightest in our fleet. I hear that Ryoushi Kiku’s been smoldering… and I find it hard it to blame the good captain. With fewer pirates around, we might’ve put her out of a job, or at least one she enjoyed.”

“Times inevitably change,” Toshiro said. Despite the gravity such a statement usually carried, especially in the Court itself, he said it with all of the weight of a casual greeting. “I’m sure some other problem will come up to bother our shipping. Our friend may, in fact, end up becoming one himself in future.”

“Glad you’ve kept your foresight,” Kuno commented. “Even if you decided this short-term plan worked as a solution for now. Let’s hope our having Equestria’s backing will make him think twice about double-crossing us. While he might be bold enough, once his power base has grown, to take on one major power... Surely, not two.”

He said those words, he realized, as though trying to reassure himself.

“Well, I have no complaints about enjoying a quiet trip,” Kuno added, leaning back to sip more of his tea. “Pirates,” he said sourly. “Now there’s a bunch who’d be so bold as to take on the Kirin flagship itself, no matter how low their chances. They’re no great loss. I’m just hoping I might come away from this little summit with something to offer Captain Ryoushi. It’d be a shame to let her talents go to waste...”

“We’ll find something for her,” Toshiro said, his voice once again impassive. “Should it come to cutting ourselves free of our deal with His Majesty...” The derision dripped from his voice as he frowned at the figurine, “then, there will be plenty of work for her.”

“Work,” Kuno repeated. “Yes, she’s been working hard, for one so young. How I wish I could say that more often. Ahh… whatever Kana’s sins, none would’ve faulted her hard work. Unfortunately,” he indicated the figurine. “This is the face of what most young females are interested in nowadays. This and what they call musical theater.”

“Yes,” Toshiro sighed. “My son has even brought this nonsense into Court, thanks to his choice in concubines. Kaori has no discernible taste for these modern frivolities and Kaede is mindful of her appearance, but the others…” Kuno watched as his old friend cringed, rubbing his platinum ring of office. “I heard one of them bring recordings of those new performances. It was a racket.”

“Like... Oh, what’s the phrase? Ah, that’s it, like piercing the ears on an Abyssinian choirboy,” Kuno agreed, with a ghoulish smile. “Mind you,” he then said, images of long-ago travels resurfacing in his aged mind, “those aren’t half-bad to listen to, once you get used to ‘em. What they’ve got at least is choir-mastery. Whatever those concubines listen to, it does not sound like it got composed, only regurgitated.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Kuno tapped his chin. “But on reflection, these are merely follies of youth. I’m sure your son will outgrow them… after all, we did, didn’t we, Kane? Whereas Celestia must be glad she’s immortal, considering who’d otherwise be next in line from her family.”

Toshiro frowned, but it wasn't entirely disapproval. There was a pensiveness in his eyes.

“I’d sooner hand my nation over to Lady Kaori,” he said in a cold, heavy voice, “if my son ended up anything like Equestria’s Prince. Why, if their own news is anything to go by, Blueblood’s a wastrel, little better than a pirate himself.” The frown faded slightly. “Yet he might be more open to deals than the Sun Princess... I frankly doubt he’s as well-versed in the art of double-talk.”

“It’s a good thought,” Kuno said, stroking his lip. “Even if we should look into how well he plays what he fancies himself… Someone this adept at feinting with a blade must have some knowledge of deception. That said…” Here, he thought again of their ploy with the nation of Abyssinia. Despite himself, it made him feel heavy. Yet he pressed on. “Well, if the Prince decides to ever dip into our waters again, he’ll face a foe we’ve put up between us and his ilk. A weighty consequence, but I prefer it to letting Celestia deny us sending an outlaw to the copper mines.”

“At the very least,” Toshiro mused, “we won’t have to worry about her, should that happen.” His face shifted anew. “Speaking of deals. We’ll have to be careful at this Concordia. It. has no precedent, and I expect the best from everyone on this ship, especially you, old friend.”

Although the words were complimentary, Kuno felt how much hung on them.

“At no time is the world truly at Harmony,” the elderly stag said at last. “No matter how a noble soul such as Celestia may wish it. We could arrive at this gathering with the greatest goodwill… And never could we take it on faith that amongst the crowd, not one of those smiling faces isn’t concealing a plan to stab us in the back.”

He picked up his cup, without magic, to take a final sip.

Nowhere except his books had Prince Blueblood seen such airships, all in one place.

The grand pagoda of the Hall of Unity was accessible by other means, despite its location atop the peak of Mount Metazoa, a mountain known less for height – on that front, it was underwhelming, easily overshadowed by the Arismapi Mountains in the nearby South – than for sheer steepness. Other than how it broke off into a few, marginally larger tiers on the way down, Metazoa was comprised of the smoothest cliff-faces known to the world.

Except, peculiarly, for the very top, where jutting lips in the stone poured an endless cascade into the plains below, far enough for water to never touch the cliff-face.

But Blueblood’s eyes weren’t on waterfalls, even though one was pursuing its descent a few hundred paces away from the landing platform. He did feel a moment’s worry when one ship – Saddle Mareabian, going by the onion-top design covered in curlicues – flew close to the curtain of water, yet it soon dissipated. This was the other peculiarity of Metazoa’s waterfalls. They were thin as a curtain, creating no more a roar than a trickle.

This didn’t stop Metazoa, like all mountains, from falling prey to gusts of wind. One was blowing through his mane just now.

“Brings back memories, doesn’t it, Sooty?” he told the stallion beside him, who was leaning over the railing to gaze at the ships.

“Indeed,” Awesome Fire said, not breaking his gaze. “Will you look at them… Normally, ponies have to travel far and wide just for a glimpse of outsiders. And now here they are, coming to us.”

Shieldwall had been more aggrieved by the wind than Blueblood, struggling to keep his pompadour from blowing apart – which was a funny thought, seeing as spontaneous combustion wasn’t his talent in their little group. But he stopped and looked with them.

He whistled. “I don’t envy you, Bluenose,” Shieldwall told Blueblood. “You’re the guy with the tough job– meeting people! Me, I’m just looking forward to what toys they’ve brought us. Oh, we’re gonna kick back and have ourselves a wild time, Sooty and I.”

Shieldwall nodded ingratiatingly at Fire, but Fire just rolled his eyes.

“Fun and games ended two days ago, Wally,” he said stolidly. “We will need to talk to people at some point, you know. Especially when Mister Diplomat here’s still wanted by certain people for trespassing into their waters.”

This wasn’t the first time either of them made fun of Blueblood for this, yet he still reacted.

“Hey!” he cried, turning on Fire with affected indignation. “Don’t you try pinning this all on me. We were all together on that trip, guys!”

“Yes, our ‘Grand Tour’, as you called it,” Shieldwall sniggered.

“What else?” said Blueblood. “A Grand Tour was a fine tradition for gentry stallions back in the olden days, and I fail to see why we should drop it.”

“I agree with you there,” Fire said, revolving so he now leaned with his back to the railing. “But I’m pretty sure it’s toeing the line for a ‘Grand Tour’, when the Kirin put you on a watch-list for harvesting lightning without permission.”

Blueblood glared at him. “You picked now to wind me up, didn’t you?” he seethed. “You really want me all hot under the collar before going to meet important guests.”

Fire smirked. “Don’t worry, Your Highness. So long as you manage not to lose your collar, or the rest of your clothes this time, I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

Although Shieldwall chuckled, if Fire had hoped to get a rise out of Blueblood by reminding him of the incident in the Gala Hall, he was to be disappointed. Fresh as the memory was, Blueblood had already planned his response to further teasing.

“Actually, Awesome Fire...” Blueblood said smoothly. He let the phrase hang, taking time to look over the crowd. “I’ve got a good mind that before the week’s out, I’ll have found someone down there to shed my clothes for me.”

Of his two friends, it was Shieldwall who blushed at this comment. Fire merely shook his head with a ‘here we go’ look on his face.

“Astron,” Fire said, his voice entirely serious. “You know that’ll just cause more problems down the line. It’s bad enough making a stop in port, breaking hearts and moving on.”

“Besides,” added Shieldwall, freshly recovered. “You’re not fooling anyone, if you think we believe you’ve got over that pirate lass.”

Blueblood noticed Fire trying, too late, to warningly shush Shieldwall. He contained himself from sighing, as melancholy seeped into him at the thought of Celaeno. What he’d said hadn’t been just for show.

“I mean it,” he stated, keeping a cool, clear gaze for them both. “Shieldwall’s right, it’ll be a tough job. Why shouldn’t I grant myself a little fun? Can you believe, I’ve never tried it with a Reindeer before... though legend runs in my family that our founder and the Fire Maiden...”

The remaining words faded before he’d spoken them, for somewhere in his mind, he felt the memory dredge up of an old, nigh-forgotten tale from his youth, a tale more melancholic than his with Celaeno’s ever was.

“Never mind,” Blueblood said, glancing down. “Perhaps not. That might be… might be too much, even for Auntie. But I’m curious about Abyssinians, or even Diamond Dogs. Honest,” he said, catching their surprised looks. “People forget this, but many Diamond Dogs are a fine breed.”

“That’s not what I was thinking,” Shieldwall said. “I’m just surprised you’re less of a snob than I thought.”

Fire stared off resignedly. “There’ll be tears before bedtime…”

Ignoring him, Blueblood took out his pocket-watch.

“Half past ten,” the Prince read, before pocketing the watch again. “Auntie’s expecting me. Pardon me, lads.” He walked towards the staircase leading down into the hangar bay. “Now’s the time to make new friends… Or what passes for friends in international relations.”

Day 1 of the Concordia – Tenth Day of the Month of Rophon.

Few ever entered the Hall of Unity at the top.

Where they met was in the heart of the mountain, streaming in from different hangars and landing pads, one for each of the compass signs, symbolic of the four corners of the world. As was tradition, mistletoe hung over every entrance.

From the North, the Reindeer of Adlaborn. From the East, the Kirin of Ryuppon. From the West, the arrivals were mainly bovine, between the Minotaurs of the Tauren Isles and the Buffalo of San Palomino. From the antipodes of Equestria, too, people came – the same Saddle Mareabians and zebras who were ponies’ own cousins, though they were barely any closer to ponies than to each other.

And from the South came not only Abyssinians and Diamond Dogs, but the Changelings. Yet, while one may have expected the Changelings to be last to arrive, they were not.

That distinction went to the griffons, who were Equestria’s closest neighbors, and thus ought to have been amongst the first.

These were but a few, yet these were the principal players of the Twelve Families, here to meet below the vaulted ceiling of the mountain’s heart. And in the center awaited Equestria’s Royal Sisters, with a couple of companions.

By Luna and Celestia’s side stood Sint Erklass and his Snow Maiden. They were the only Reindeer present, and they’d travelled light. Sint’s presence, however, more than made up for it. It was a presence all in the Hall who’d grown up with the Reindeer’s tales and Hearthswarming Gifts would welcome. Despite her earlier reservations, Luna found it comforting that he stood with them.

Next to Celestia was her discrete yet ever-present secretary, a trim white unicorn who went by the name of Raven Inkwell. She held herself stoically, dressed in what Luna knew was sober modern clothing, ergo a pair of square glasses, a stiff collar and a red necktie. Because Raven wore her bouffant dark-brown mane in a bun, she was sometimes mistaken for an earthpony, as it covered her horn. In her aura, she carried a notepad.

By contrast, the other figure who trotted up before Celestia looked as if they more properly belonged to an era when Luna’s linguistics had still been fashionable.

“Sir Archmage,” Celestia greeted him brightly. “Do you feel well and truly vested to fulfill your role as Master of Ceremonies?”

Indeed, the Headmaster of Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns wasn’t clad in the suede or velvet he favored, but a star-studded blue cloak of satin, complemented by the traditional pointed hat in honor of Starswhirl the Bearded.

“Ready as I ever will be, Your Highness…” Spell Nexus muttered, adjusting his bearing. “I can live with the robes. They’ve got some style. But I’ll always find that hat a trial to wear, I must admit.”

“Uneasy lies the head, Headmaster,” Celestia said merrily. “Still. I’m glad to see you here. Miss Inkwell?” she said to Raven. “Let us take one last look at our plans for the Concordia.”

Raven passed her a sheet listing dates and times.

– Wednesday 10th
10:30 - 12:00
Greeting of the delegates
12:30 - 13:00
Formal opening of the Concordia
16:00 - 18:00
Madame Hearstrings’ presentation on Dream Valley

– Thursday 11th
10:00 - 13:00
Introduction of Colonel Reiner

– Friday 12th
10:00 - 12:30
Revelation of the Solar Empire
Testimony of Kontagion
16:00 - 18:00
Testimony of Redheart
19:00
Sending of Princess Luna and Lord Discord to Earth

– Saturday 13th to Sunday 14th
Expect establishment of relations with Earth

– Monday 15th
Keep this space open for potential delegates from Earth

– Tuesday 16th
10:00 - 12:00
Appeal to signatures of support

There was a flash and a smell of ozone.

“Greetings, Aunties.”

That voice of the stallion who’d just teleported in, though, was a bit less welcome. Although if Luna was honest with herself, she preferred Blueblood to Galatea. The mare, speaking of whom, had declined to make an appearance. Officially, anyway...

The Prince and two other stallions trotted up, brushing past Raven and Nexus, albeit granting the latter a curt nod.

“Blueblood,” said Luna evenly. “How nice of you to join us. I assume Cadance will not?”

“Well, she’s made it clear she needed time,” Blueblood replied. “Given one of the attendees will be… you-know-who.”

Nobody had to ask whom he meant. The Wedding Invasion remained a fresh memory.

He gave a respectful nod towards both Sint and Elsa, as did the unicorn and earthpony he’d teleported in with. Friends of his from the gentry, naturally. From the unicorn’s red-and-orange mane and orange coat, it was easy for Luna to recall the name ‘Awesome Fire’. She found it a little harder to place the stocky blue earthpony.

But whatever his flaws, Blueblood was ever the diplomat, and Luna understood well enough that he fit the task better than Galatea.

“Ah…” Blueblood said. “I see we’re starting with the Kirin. Of course.” He nodded towards Fire. “Yeah, um, better let you take this one, Sooty.”

Fire smirked thinly and trotted up closer to Celestia.

As had been arranged, Toshiro Kane, Mikado of the Ryupponese Kirin, was brought forth in an elaborate palanquin of purple and silver, borne by four Neighponese servants. Luna had wondered if the ponies of Neighpon would show up to for this Concordia. After them followed another palanquin, simpler in design, though adorned by the same colors and sign of the Chrysanthemum. The Prime Minister’s, then.

Only an exceptional occasion could have called away both heads of state from Ryuppon. Did that mean the Crown Prince had been left in charge of the country?

The palanquins stopped before Celestia. She had chosen to face East, where her Sun rose from, and Ryuppon was one of the great nations of the world. Decorum demanded the Mikado would be the first she’d greet. A small metal staircase unfolded from the base of the palanquin, and Toshiro stepped down, while next to him, the Prime Minister did the same.

“Blessed Mikado,” Celestia said, inclining her head lightly. Toshiro responded in kind. “And Excellency,” she added to the Prime Minister, repeating the same exchange of gestures. “In the name of the Sun that shines over our two nations, I bid you welcome to Equestria.”

“And I take your welcome gladly, Your Highness,” said the Mikado, who didn’t smile, but there was a twinkle behind his glasses. “Especially after we were granted your esteemed visit to Ryuppon. Though I admit surprise that we should meet face-to-face again so soon.”

Celestia nodded. “On no small matter, I guarantee,” she said. “Nevertheless, I hope this may allow new openings in the exchanges between our nations.”

“Lightning’s power for Equestria, pure crystals for Ryuppon,” the Prime Minister quipped. “A fair trade, I’d say.”

His Mikado gave him a strange glance, but made no rebuke.

“I wish it were trade talks alone that brought us here,” said Celestia. “Yet I believe we’ll still have much to discuss on that front.” She indicated to Fire that he should step forward. “May I present Mister Awesome Fire, recently of the Royal Sky-Navy, and alumnus to the Guild of Engineers. He’s expressed great interest in what lightning and crystal can offer the future.”

“Greetings, Your Majesty,” Fire addressed the Mikado, giving a bow so low that Luna found it bordered on obsequiousness. “It’s a pleasure, indeed. But may I say it that, while Her Highness shoots for glamor, I know to keep an eye for the smaller, unnoticed things. My time with air-ships makes me aware of the engineering feat it’d require, just to have running water for gardens aboard a Sky-Turtle.”

Toshiro looked at him with mild interest, while Celestia’s assistants took note of the meeting.

“Then I’m sure you’ll find your joy, Mister Fire,” the Mikado said, politely enough. “Have you called us here for this reason, Your Highness?” he then asked Celestia. “Will the Kirin’s technological prowess be needed in short order, with embellishments by the world?”

“In more ways than one,” Celestia said solemnly. “And I’m glad you ask so astutely. One of my citizens would stand a lot to gain, if the Kirin extended their help, such as a transport, for the trek she’s planned into the Unknown.”

The Mikado blinked. “I see. Well, Ryuppon is always glad to provide, when the price is right,” he said impassively. “We can only ask your assurance that another great airship won’t be taken from under you, Princess Celestia.”

Fire looked troubled by this, but Celestia gave a musical laugh.

“I promise I’ve spoken to my nephew about being more careful,” she said pleasantly, “before I let him borrow another ship. I thought this’d be a time for him to prove it. Oh, by the way? Come and say hello, Blueblood.”

And Luna noticed Blueblood was trying hard not to glare at Celestia, even as Fire struggled to suppress a grin. So was Shieldwall behind him, actually. Even Sint and Elsa were looking faintly amused. Only the assistants remained defiantly expressionless.

“Majesty,” Blueblood said, bowing. “Excellency,” he added to the Prime Minister. “While this is the first time we meet, I’ve had the pleasure of visiting your beautiful country in the past. And I’d happily visit it again, if I find it welcoming.”

The Mikado barely inclined his head. “Prince Blueblood, it’d be Ryuppon’s delight if you were to stay a long, long time.”

Discrete as it was, the slyness in his tone didn’t evade Luna. She wondered how Celestia kept her smile on, time after time in these meetings.

Then the Mikado’s eyes fell upon Sint Erklass and the Snow Maiden.

“Great Tonakai,” he said, his note of delight sincere now. “Years have gone by since you visited Kyorito in the years of my father. I didn’t know that I’d see you again when my hairs have gone grey.”

Sint smiled sadly. “So many children, dear Kane. The years pass so fast.”

Luna coughed quietly. “Excuse me,” she said gently. “But we do have many others to meet. And time’s passing even now.”

“Yes,” said Celestia. “I fear you are quite right, Sister.” She addressed the Mikado, her horn lighting up, a golden orb emerging to float between them. “Chambers have been arranged for your convenience, Your Majesty. If your staff will follow the Archmage,” she said, nodding at Spell Nexus, “they’ll find the place.”

She indicated the vast, arched mosaic that adorned the wall behind them.

“The way up will open to your procession. You and His Excellency are invited to take the balcony places reserved for you at the Public Assembly.”

“Thank you, Highness,” said the Mikado. “Sir Archmage,” he added graciously, “my retinue and I place ourselves in your care.”

Nexus smiled thinly, deferentially tipping his wizard’s hat. “Follow me, please.”

The Mikado and the Prime Minister took the lead in following Spell Nexus. The servants, having returned the palanquins in the interim, had come back with carts full of luggage enough to make Miss Rarity blush, in Luna’s opinion. Somehow, though, it all managed to fit past them.

Spell Nexus’ horn glowed. The ornamental mosaic shone blue, melting into a shimmering, translucent pale blue surface, beheld by the marveling eyes and not a few astounded mutters from those who’d never seen this. Beyond the opening, the floor curved subtly upwards and rightwards. Inside the walls of the Hall’s internal dome, a concentric onion-layer of sloping corridors circled in a spiral until reaching the central tiers, home of the Public Assembly.

With understated reverence, the Ryupponese procession were led by the Archmage of Equestria through this newly-opened entry-way, to be shown their quarters for the coming days and seats in the coming hour.

“Huh, neat trick,” commented the earthpony who’d come in with Blueblood and Awesome Fire.

But there was only so much time to admire the Hall’s magic. The order of these greetings had been calculated so that in the time required for the Archmage to accomodate one group, the Princesses could greet another.

Luna thought highly of the Minotaurs, a hardy, rugged people. Proud yet never arrogant, she had always been fond of their tales of old. Tales she hoped to be retold time and time again in the meetings ahead.

She was happy they were the next to march into the space below the dome.

Where most of the delegates had arrived in luxury transportation, Luna felt certain the Minotaurs – there were only two, father and son, if the dark color of their hooves was a hint – had primarily walked on hoof, taking only the same rides any common traveller could pay for. And since the Hall of Unity had resisted attempts to turn it into a tourist attraction, that would mean no unauthorized airships for the last ten miles. To come this far, the Minotaurs would have climbed the mountain.

They both carried their loads on their backs, the son a head shorter than the father, yet his load no lighter. The father halted, indicating his son should do the same.

“Princess Celestia,” he said, puffing slightly. “Princess Luna. And all of you. Greetings.”

“Welcome to Equestria, Proxenos Darkhoof,” Celestia said brightly. “When your wife sent word of your delay, we were worried as to whether you’d make it on time. It’s good to see you here, in this Hall your people have labored to keep pristine. And this is your son?”

Darkhoof nodded gruffly. “My eldest. Basil.” He turned then, not to Sint, but Elsa, looking at her in some wonder. “Princess Elsa… I met your grandfather once, not long after I left the Labyrinth. I never thought I’d meet you.”

The Snow Maiden wore a serene smile.

“It’s an honor to meet you as well, Proxenos,” said Elsa. “Princess Luna told me much about your people. I have to say, I’d never thought stories of the Labyrinth, retold a thousand times, could remain so compelling with the right storyteller. Do you agree, Luna?”

“I, ah, well...” Luna said, nervously. “Yes, indeed, Princess Elsa. A good story is always good company in the night-time.”

Her gaze darted elsewhere. Oddly, she thought she saw Blueblood eyeing Darkhoof’s son.

“And no Minotaur would disagree,” Darkhoof said, with a small smile. “Be they sad or joyous, we can hope, at least, to bring back many good stories from this gathering. Is the Dyonisian Lord in attendance? He came to visit shortly after the Call sounded. He and a mare.”

“Discord is here, yes,” confirmed Celestia. “Though, as often, he prefers keeping to himself, until something sparks his interest.”

Luna’s sensitive ears picked up Fire whispering to his earthpony friend.

“Know anypony like that, Wally?” he said, purposefully not looking at Blueblood.

Interestingly, Blueblood only exchanged small pleasantries with the Darkhoofs, shaking their hands in turn, before they headed for the translucent platform for the upper floors.

“Are you sure you won’t rest a moment?” Blueblood asked just as they were getting on, placing a forehoof on Basil’s backpack. “You must’ve had an exhausting journey, travelling on hoof. And only two of them, too!”

“Thank you, Prince Blueblood,” Darkhoof said graciously, pulling away his son. “But today’s business cannot wait, we all know that.”

Nonetheless, Luna was sad to see them go.

The zebras of the plains, Luna wasn’t so familiar with, even in the time prior to her exile. She knew Queen Zolomare, who drew up with a full procession of servants and councillors, resplendent in her robe of many-colored plucked feathers, was Queen to only one tribe, the Ezebrantsi. There were countless tribes, not all of whom lived on the plains. Some occupied the mountains. Others, what else, were the people of the hills. She willed not to embarass herself by asking one of Celestia’s assistants for pointers.

By coincidence, after Celestia had greeted Zolomare, their small-talk led to the Queen revealing she’d also been visited by Discord and his companion, during the lightning-ceremony at the Falls of Mozei-on-Daun-Heyr off River eMbezelmen-Tsekeem. Discord hadn’t stayed long, having noted Zolomare’s disapproval at his flippant treatment of the ceremony as a light-show.

But the Queen was in a good mood today, turning to greet Luna with distinction and grace.

“When Equestria faces away from your Moon, Your Highness,” she smiled, “does your Moon’s light does upon all of Zebrica.”

And Luna had felt a glow of pride at that, even as Zolomare moved on to Elsa.

“To you, dear Snow Maiden, I wish I had the same thanks to offer,” Zolomare said regretfully. “Snow is little known in Zebrica. For that alone, coming here may allow me to see marvels.”

That might have been all, with Elsa giving a soft show of gratitude, yet Blueblood stepped in.

“I’m sure you’ll see the marvel in the Maiden more than most, Majesty,” the Prince said. “As they say, aren’t good things better when they’re a… rarity?”

Zolomare chuckled heartily. “You have a good tongue on you, young stallion.”

Yet after Zolomare had left, with circumstances being as they were, Luna felt grateful the Saddle Mareabians, the next ones she saw approach, hadn’t come in at the same time as the zebras. Old feuds didn’t pass so easily, Luna knew.

Not to mention, Luna remembered, their ambassador had personal cause for grief with Erebus, which remained Luna’s domain to this day...

Still, Lady Amira was the picture of respectful, if formal deference when she, sided by her noble colleague Haakim, came forward to make the presentations. With their head-dresses, caparisons, nosebands and breast-collars, both where slightly overdressed in the manner of Saddle Mareabians, but Luna found them pleasantly understated compared to the pleats and baubles of the portly Malikah.

Unlike the Mikado before her, the Malikah hadn’t bothered to get off her palanquin, remaining lying there as she was fanned by two serving-mares.

“Your Highness,” Lady Amira said, bowing to Celestia together with Haakim. “In the name of Her Esteemed Majesty, Ylam bint Karistal, the nation of Saddle Mareabia extends the hoof of friendship.”

“As you extended it with such kindness mere moons ago,” finished Haakim. “So too do we.”

These were beautiful words, heartwarming words.

But Luna knew, from the tiny glance Lady Amira threw her way, that what she’d discussed with the Warden last week would come true. In a thousand years, this hadn’t changed. The great and the good of this world, when they had friends or family in Erebus – or, more often, assets to their nation – would approach her for a word and a deal.

The word being, let’s shorten their prison sentence in return for a favor.

Once the thought had taken hold of Luna, it preoccupied her throughout the rest of the welcomings and introductions. She was running on automatic, her mouth speaking the right words when needed, eyes and ears picking up the details around her – yet all the while, half her mind lay removed from the waking world as the dreams she shepherded.

There was the Abyssinian Queen, a nervous look in her eyes, telling Celestia she feared a warlord’s designs on her country.

The Queen of Hippogriffia expressed similar worries when she arrived, clad in a traveller’s cloak to protect against the wind. Luna recalled Tia’s retelling of their last meeting, ten years ago, when Equestrian and hippogriff sailors had moved against pirates and slavers in the Southern Seas, aspiring to end their trade, Since then, little had been heard of Novo and her people.

Now, only Novo and her trusted general Skybeak were present for the occasion, and all the Hippogriff Queen had to say, and Celestia affirmed, was that the hippogriffs liked their secrecy. But Luna saw the glint of a veteran warrior in Skybeak’s eyes, and little doubt was left of their people’s past mettle and camaraderie with her own.

Luna wondered if it would show again.

Then, for a moment, things seemed quaint when the Boss of Diamond Dogs apologized for the bad dogs in his pack who’d take what wasn’t theirs, and the Buffalo Chieftain assured there had only been peaceful co-existence lately with ponies in the West.

It was a particular newcomer who fully snapped Luna’s attention back to reality.

“Well, well, well,” the voice of Queen Chrysalis echoed. “‘Sup, Tia.”

And there she stood, the Changeling Queen of Queens.

Much as Cadance and Twilight Sparkle and Shining Armor had objected, the Call had reached far and wide, and invited the like of Chrysalis and her kin. Now Luna understood Cadance’s absence.

Behind Chrysalis was a sizable group, for lack of a better term. By her side, riding a huge warrior of the Red Hive, there was a small, timid Harlequin Queen-in-Waiting. Papillate, wasn’t that her name? Celestia had told her of the current Changeling politics, but apart from those two, Luna saw no other Changelings outside of Chrysalis’ own Ebony Hive

Blueblood and both of his friends were unable to hide some nervous shifting. Even Raven Inkwell raised an eyebrow. But Celestia held her head high, as Sint and Elsa stepped forward to stand by her.

“Queen Chrysalis,” Celestia said formally. “Mistress Papillate. I am heartened to see, despite our people’s differences, that when the Call was raised, you answered.”

“Why, of course, Princess,” Chrysalis said lightly, while Papillate just looked tongue-tied and her steed looked stoic. “It was so nice of you to invite me back... I wasn’t at all sure you’d want me, after last time I crashed the place.” Then her gaze fell upon Luna. “Ah, and you must be Princess Woona! At last, we meet.”

“Hello, Chrysalis,” Luna said impassively. “I’m afraid we did not have the time to exchange our pleasantries during the wedding.”

Chrysalis cackled, slapping the large crate beside her. No one else laughed, but she’d never been one to truly consider others’ feelings, after all.

“Oh, my, my,” she said, turning her gaze back to Celestia. “You didn’t tell us your baby sister had such a sense of humor! How delightful.”

“I try,” Luna said coldly. “Alhough, I hardly noticed your Hive’s presence.”

“Shame you had to miss the fun, Princess Luna,” said Chrysalis, baring her teeth playfully. “Though on second thoughts, there’s no shame in that at all.” Before Luna could retort, Chrysalis turned to her lead guard, a soldier-type with purple eyes. “Here, go ready the luggage. Careful, it contains live creatures, remember.”

“You didn’t tell us you’d brought pets, Queen Chrysalis,” Celestia spoke up. Impressively, her tone remained even. “We could have arranged a few details.”

“Oh, no,” said Chrysalis, waving her guards away. “No, we simply had a little detour. One which involved the Dragon Lord’s daughter.”

“She’s answered the Call?” Celestia asked, surprised. “I don’t see her in your group.”

Papillate spoke then. “Oh, um, we… we did have the Princess in our convoy,” she said, hunching. “B-but, it appears she’d prefer to blend in with the crowd.”

“Yeah,” Chrysalis said, huffing. “You’ll meet her later, no doubt… Once she’s done sulking.”

“Hm,” said Celestia. “I shall have to notify the Archmage. The Dragon Princess needs to be properly quartered as well.”

“Quite,” sniffed Chrysalis.

She looked past Celestia’s shoulder, just as Spell Nexus trotted back into view. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of her, but having prepared for her arrival, he kept his cool. Luna thought that Chrysalis was pointedly ignoring both Sint and Elsa. Changelings, Celestia had mentioned, weren’t too keen on Reindeer for company.

“I don’t see dear Cadance here,” Chrysalis said. “Usually she tails you, Celestia…” She nudged Papillate. “But I do wonder where she might be now.”

“The Princess is unwell,” Celestia told her easily, before Luna could interject. “Would you like to see your quarters? I hear they’ve got an excellent view.”

“Shame about Cadance,” said Chrysalis. “But don’t mind if we do!”

And so the entourage passed them by with much chittering and the buzzing of wings, in the wake of Spell Nexus, who kept his eyes firmly staring ahead of him. Like Chrysalis had said, they were carrying a surprising amount of luggage. Warily watching Chrysalis depart for the multi-tiered storeys above, Luna knew too well what it meant for her sister to keep up a mask.

Thankfully, though, the final player to appear brought no memories of past transgressions.

Grizelda, the young claimant of the griffon throne, looked emblematic of her kin, scattered as they were in the inhospitable regions beyond the ancient stronghold of Griffonstone. She was no taller than Luna, her dark brown plumage highlighted by her lighter, gold-brown crest. Despite her prestigious claim, Grizelda really bore only one mark to denote her as a pretender amongst many – the old Griffonstone sigil, embodied on a clasp of her red-lined nomadic cloak, which swooshed behind her as she entered.

She brought with her a sizable standing of what Luna presumed to be household retainers. Not just an escort contingent, but traders and crafters, about two dozen in total, all with a look on their face that spoke of an eye for a bargain. The lone exception was the eagle-like eye of the old, respected, weary General Ironclaw. The Young Pretender’s trusted advisor, the one who ensured her claim wouldn’t be a simple dream. He wore a red vest that shared the Grizelda’s sigil, complimenting his slate-grey plumage.

“Greetings to you, Your Grace,” Celestia said. “The Hall welcomes your presence.”

“I thank you, Princess Celestia,” Grizelda said stiffly. “I do apologize for our time of arrival. It has not been an easy journey.”

General Ironclaw nodded, clearing his throat.

“It has not, indeed, but no band of marauders would hold our mission back for long,” he said. His words might have been pompous, were it not for his world-weary, steely tone. “Woe betide anyone who’d confuse a griffon for a parrot, devious blighters that they are.”

Impoverished, the griffons lived by trade, and the venerable general had made his living and reputation protecting not just their caravans, but others’ against the raids conducted by brigands, dragons and their ilk in the lawless lands surrounding Griffonstone.

“Yes,” said Luna, simply. “But here, General, we only have hospitality to offer you and your Queen. Please, make yourself at home.”

As grand and formal though it was, Luna thought the title of ‘Queen’ had less bearing upon the griffons who claimed it. Still, the Young Pretender deserved her share of respect, for she was a claimant who’d stepped forth to answer these summons.

She saw Blueblood’s earthpony friend nudging Awesome Fire.

“Look,” he whispered, pointing towards Ironclaw’s waist. “Look at that.”

Luna followed his gaze. On his belt, Ironclaw wore a device Celestia told her had only recently come into existence, in the wake of some deal between the griffons and the Kirin. To her surprise, it looked familiar to her, although she’d never seen one before.

Then she remembered. While she hadn’t seen it with waking eyes, she’d seen something much like it in Alexander Reiner’s dark dream. It was a weapon that Ironclaw kept there on his person, presumably at all times – a flintlock.

Fire stared at the earthpony. “Yes, it’s a firearm, Shieldwall,” he said, sounding bewildered. “Aren’t those more my domain? Here I thought your whole purpose in life was to annoy me by coming up with new, tougher armor to block me with.”

The earthpony grinned. “You don’t get it, Sooty, do you,” he said. “How’d you think I do it? To make the best shields, I gotta know everything about what’ll punch through ‘em.”

He laughed.

“And for the record? Plate armor doesn’t have long,” Shieldwall added. “I’d wager that if–”

Awesome Fire and Blueblood were staring at their friend in what they both clearly hoped were meant to be warning glares. It was more like one glare and ‘Dear-Celestia-not-again.’

“...Nevermind,” Shieldwall said, slinking back ever so slightly. “Could’ve said something I’d regret without you two.”

Griffons had sharp ears. Luna saw Grizelda and Ironclaw peer questioningly at Shieldwall.

Again, Blueblood spoke up. “You’ll have to forgive my friend here,” he said, smiling to show white teeth, eyes going towards Sint and Elsa, “He can’t hold himself anymore now everyone’s arrived, he really wants to unpack his presents. Wally never could wait for Hearthswarming.”

Both Reindeer gave polite laughs at that. The griffons did not, but nor did they look offended. That was a plus, Luna supposed.

“If you say, so.” Grizelda yawned. “Sorry, but it has been a difficult journey. I wish they’d soon finish that railway line they promised to Griffonstone… I wouldn’t mind getting this done, so we can all soon hit the sack… or hay, I think that’s how you Equestrians would call it.”

“I agree,” said Blueblood. “Formalities, they do so wear you down… A drink and a nap, those we could do with, I’m sure everyone agrees. Auntie?”

To Luna’s surprise, he was addressing her, rather than Celestia.

“I know it isn’t bed-time yet, not by a long shot,” he said. “But… once we’re done, maybe you could give us all your special brand of pick-me-up?”

Incredibly, Luna found herself actually smiling at him. “Don’t worry, nephew, I’ve made sure to prepare just that.”

“Splendid,” Grizelda said gruffly. “After travelling all night, I could use the shut-eye.”

“Before then, we would be honored,” Celestia concluded, nodding to her assistants that proceedings were done, “if you, too, would join us.”

So it was the Hall of Unity welcomed the largest gathering Equus had seen in centuries.

Ember could scarcely believe what she saw. Beings from all over Equus – Abyssinians and Diamond Dogs, Buffalo, griffons, zebras, ponies. Of course there were ponies. Kirin, like the ones whom she’d left behind. And there were things – no, creatures, beings for which Ember simply did not have the words. All mingling in the gallery, or the common folk were, anyway, while their leaders took places in the balconies overhead. Whereas the crowd bustled with talk, the leaders were silent, watching the empty stage.

Like the central hangar, this chamber’s ceiling was covered in mistletoe, some hanging off the chandeliers.

This mix of peoples confused her. In her experience, the myriad races of Equus left each other alone more often than not. A “not” which consisted of aloofness at best, hostility at worst. So what could have brought them all here?

Well, that was obvious. It was whatever had contacted her father. But then, what was that?

With her keen hearing, she caught snippets of conversation amongst the crowd.

“...Has to be serious…”

“Thought the Concordia Maxima was a legend…”

“Well, you know pony legends. Most often true, more often painful.”

“No, you can’t fake the power of something like the Concordia Maxima.”

“What is that? Thought it was a griffon, but…”

“Never thought I’d have seen another of those in my lifetime!”

“No, she’s not a griffon. She’s a hippogriff! One of their elite guards!”

“Is it true they eat meat?”

“Never seen a pony made of crystal before…”

“Is it back?

The Hall of Unity was full of such conversations. More than she could possibly tracke – in fact, Ember considered herself lucky to have overheard that much.

Not that Ember really cared. Or at least, that was what she kept telling herself. She didn’t want to care, but this was such a mystery, it was impossible for her not to wonder. And thus she heard her own voice joining the low din.

“Any idea what happened?” she asked her nearest neighbor, a griffon in battle armor.

“I’ve no idea,” the griffon said. “I was called here, same as you, and when Dame Grizelda called, I was drummed up as part of her guard. Don’t know what, but I was told that whatever happened, the summons here was…” He rubbed a talon under his beak.

“Not merely the right choice, or even a duty, merely a fact of life?” asked someone nearby. Ember was left with the distinct feeling that they were parroting someone.

Surprisingly, it was not actually a parrot saying it. It was a Diamond Dog.

“Actually, I was told it was an emergency of the highest levels,” the griffon said, “Beyond someone flying a bit too close to Griffonstone over the Burnt Griffon Strait–”

The griffon tried to make it sound like a joke. Ember felt his eagle eyes raking over her, and she moved herself into a defensive posture.

‘How dare he…’

The Diamond Dog shot her a warning glare. And Ember made an effort to relax.

“In my experience, that’s been the worst we’ve had to deal with,” the griffon said. “I don’t… know what could be worse than that.”

“Planetary invasion?” the Diamond Dog asked, glibly.

“That’s silly,” Ember scoffed. “Like… from space? How would that even be possible?”

It was perhaps fortunate that at this moment, the Master of Ceremonies, or Archmage of Equestria, walked onto the stage, rapping his forehooves on the boards for silence.

The Archmage courteously moved out the way as Princess Celestia appeared behind him, flanked by two other alicorns. One seemed familiar, a mare of black and darker blues than Ember’s own colors. Presumably, this could only be Celestia’s long-lost sister, no longer lost, if the stories Ember had heard were true. She’d had no interaction with the sisters during their visit to the Mikado’s Court.

But Ember didn’t know who the other alicorn might be. This one, a pink specimen with an odd mane of gradient colors, wasn’t just shorter than the Royal Sisters. She somehow looked younger than the other two, despite or maybe because of their ethereal youth. Less experienced, unable to hide a glimmer of worry in her eyes.

A murmur rippled throughout the room, while a smaller pony, a white unicorn with a notepad, filled out the side of the stage.

Finally, two Reindeer entered the stage as well. A great stag – no, the Great Stag – and a pale doe.

‘Did Celestia send the Call?’ Ember wondered. ‘Probably... she’s the only one here who doesn’t look confused…

Celestia stood in silence, surveying the crowd. She seemed as though she ought to speak, explain, but never did she say a word.

Eventually, Ember couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Would anyone here mind telling us why are we here?!” she yelled.

For a second, all eyes were on her.

Momentarily, her mask cracked, leaving Ember to feel like a hatchling, so small before the eyes of so many.

‘Maybe I’ve made a mista–’

Celestia cleared her throat, mercifully drawing the eyes away, and onto the three alicorns. The last to have arrived at the Hall itself, having personally welcomed all the delegations arriving at Mount Metazoa.

“Honored delegates, fellow people of Equus,” the Sun Princess announced. “I bid you all welcome to this Hall. Far and wide you have travelled, and here we stand.”

Surprisingly enough, Ember thought, no-one bothered to interrupt her now.

“Why are we here? That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?” Celestia continued, assured, but with a gruffness that Ember found surprising. “Away from home, uprooted in the middle of our day, or our sleep, because some ancient Call was sounded? And now I see looks of surprise in your eyes. Did I not send that Call? Well, the answer is, yes, I did… but it’s a Call I’d never have made, unless something happened that led to my day, too, being thrown out of balance…”

A few scattered mutters rippled amongst the crowd.

“Why are we here?” repeated Celestia. “Why come all this way? Isn’t that the question? How many of us would sooner go home, even at this very instant, and let the world sort itself without us, as it has all these years? But all of you who stand here, you came because curiosity drove you, or your duty... And for that, I thank you.”

The muttering died down, but the tension remained.

“You who stand here, together, the Twelve Families of Equus,” Celestia declared. “Such is the name given in the ancient scrolls, a name assigned to us by the Old Race, long ago. So that we who separated by land and sea, by tribes and appearances, may look another being in the eyes, and recognize them as kin. The pony, the horse, and the zebra, equines all. Thus also the Kirin, the Basilisk, and the dragon… siblings in scales. And more besides…”

Ember couldn’t help smile with pride at that, though she noticed some grumbling from the Diamond Dog and the griffon, whose people hadn’t been mentioned.

Now Celestia let silence reign, for the time it took to breathe, and leant forward, her eyes on all of them, just as Luna’s eyes were on her.

“Thus spoke the Old Race,” the Princess intoned. “They made it clear that, after their passing, we’d never be alone in the world... But even then, it was whispered they knew of another Family… the one condemned to wander alone.”

She turned to the Great Stag.

“Allfather,” Celestia said, softly. “There is a Thirteenth Family, is there not?”

“Indeed, Princess,” replied Sint Erklass. “One long forgotten, but alive and well.”

And for a rare moment in her life, Princess Ember felt her heart catch in her throat. After her long journey, she’d casually put the burlap sack full of her things down on the floor, relieved to unload at last – but now she clutched the bags to herself.

Beneath her claws, it seemed, the Chaoskämpfer’s canister did thrum. Around Ember, a collection of gasps, mutters and whispers arose.

“But,” Sint added. “They never truly lived on Equus. Their place, it it said, belonged elsewhere, as the denizens of some distant and unknown realm, beyond even our stars.”

“It is not unknown!” spoke Celestia. “I know where it is. Long ago, when my sister and I were both young, the story was told to us… though we, as is so with children who grow up, let it recede into our dreams, a mere fairy-tale. A tale told to us by a legend… By Firefly the First, of Dream Valley.”

The name rang a bell in Ember’s mind.

‘She couldn’t have,’ Ember thought. ‘She would have been ancient! Even then! Like… ponies don’t live that long. They just don’t.’

And the canister thrummed all the more…

“In a time before our birth,” Celestia said, “all our births, save the Allfather’s, Firefly crossed the Rainbow Bridge, and the Thirteenth Family was brought to Equus. Now, it comes again.” She paused. “It comes to us, from the world of Earth, calling itself by the name ‘human’.”

Murmurs of disbelief rocked the Public Aseembly.

‘Firefly? Earth? Humans?’ Ember thought wildly. ‘But… aren’t those just legends?’

Yet the canister’s thrumming was undeniable, even as it receded.

Finding herself unable to look at the Princesses or the Reindeer, Ember’s eyes wandered over to the leaders, sitting at their lofty positions in the balconies.

She recognized most of them from her lessons with Kuno. Her old teacher himself was up there with the Mikado. Toshiro looked his usual placid self, but Kuno, unusually, was frowning. Ember didn’t feel in a hurry to greet them anytime soon.

As for the rest… Proxenos Darkhoof had steepled his fingers below his chin, deep in a thought that didn’t seem wholly untroubled. Queen Zolomare had actually stood up, as if ready to go badger Celestia for more questions. The Boss of Diamond Dogs was chewing his lip. The Malikah, the Abyssinian Queen and the Queen of Hippogriffia all registered various degrees of shock on their faces.

The Pretender Grizelda was leaning over her balcony’s edge, claws digging into the railing.

And, last but not least, Queen Chrysalis. Like so often, she held Papillate close to her, comforting the younger queen. All the while, she was stroking her lip, a calculating look in her piercing eyes.

The lull did not last long. In one of the balconies, a leader got up.

“With due respect, Princess Celestia,” called the Abyssinian Queen, standing stiff and upright on her cat-like paws, “is this what you call us here for? Chasing the stuff of old fairy-tales, when a very real threat hangs over us?”

Her gold crown was smaller than the Princess’s now staring up at her – a mere tiara, really – but it gleamed in the light of the chandelier, a small Sun unto itself in the room.

“The Storm King encroaches on a dozen lands outside our borders,” said Abyssinian Queen, her claw out-held to the gathering, “and moves closer to my own by the day. Alone, we cannot hope to stand against him!”

‘The Storm King… him again.’

Ember remembered Chrysalis’ words about the King working on a weapon that could take out alicorns. She also remembered her Kirin mentors’ secret dealings with him.

That was why she looked in Toshiro’s direction, to see how he would react. The Mikado only appeared thoughtful.

“I implore you,” the Abyssinian Queen said. “There are matters of more urgency for us to convene on than legends and archeological findings! If we don’t deal with this soon, half the world shall be thrown into disarray!”

Another voice pitched in. “Hippogriffia agrees with Abyssinia,” spoke Novo, the Hippogriff Queen. “Something is brewing all along the Six Seas. Sightings of pirate ships grow fewer with every day… yet, where this should be cause for jubilation, I feel dread, as I did many years ago. Other than perhaps the Unknown, it would seem the Seas have found themselves a new master. And not a good one.”

She narrowed her eyes, aiming a glare at Celestia.

“Princess Celestia,” she spoke, “you know very well what we both saw, ten years ago, when our forces and yours encountered his, and delayed his plans he had for who knows how many years. You’d even sent your best guards, your own household regiment. Why now do you turn your gaze away?”

Celestia raised her forehoof, an appeal for silence. Beside her, Luna was deep in thought.

“I understand your objections, Your Majesties. I did not forget about our alliance, Novo, I assure you,” she said. “The past seems distant, the future even more uncertain. But believe me when I say, this is a matter which concerns past and future in equal measure.”

“What are you talking about?” Novo demanded. “It’s my people’s future which looks bleak, if we don’t deal with this now!”

“You’re right, Novo,” Celestia said quietly, though not too quietly. “And I am sorry. Perhaps in these last few years, I’ve been too wrapped up in joy at seeing my own past’s wounds finally heal, to take stock as I should have of the outside world.”

She looked each Queen in the eye.

“But in the next three days, I hope to make you all understand why this takes precedence.” Celestia straightened herself. “The Thirteenth Family is back on Equus. And I promise you, they herald something that’ll overtake us all. It is big enough for me to call a truce with Queen Chrysalis and the Changelings, when our recent strife is so fresh in memory.”

Something about the pink alicorn drew Ember’s eye. She didn’t seem to entirely agree with her aunt, yet she stayed silent. As for Luna and the Reindeer, they subtly nodded.

Ceremoniously, Celestia raised her wings.

“Meanwhile,” the Princess of the Sun announced, “I invite you all to ease yourselves. You’ve travelled far. Rest and sup if you wish. I shall stay here, answering what questions I can. The important thing to know is that, nine days ago, a former student of my School found proof of humanity’s existence, out in the Everfree Forest. This afteroon I shall call her forth, so she can make an offer to the world. Tomorrow morning, you will be given her proof.”

Ember had heard of the Everfree Forest. ‘Something fishy’s going on, that’s for sure.’

True to his word, Blueblood had wasted no time searching for a candidate to hook in.

With Awesome Fire engaged in buttering up the Kirin – whom Blueblood intended to steer well away from, anyway – and Shieldwall trying to cozy up to the griffons, he’d discounted looking amongst those delegations for now. There were plenty of other fish in the sea.

The lunch buffet was a modest affair, and so would dinner be, compared to what Celestia had planned for every day as of tomorrow. By then, thanks to the tireless efforts of Raven Inkwell, the many hangers-on accompanying the delegates would have got to set up their own food-stalls on the grand landing.

Today, when they weren’t napping, everyone would mostly rely on dining what they’d packed for the trip. This buffet was more of a stop-gap for everyone to continue mingling, following Celestia’s pronouncement.

Not many people were attending it, he noted, lazily nibbling a cherry biscuit. A few Buffalo, a gaggle of griffons, many Diamond Dogs – they were never ones to turn down free food – and some Abyssinians, a zebra or two, and finally a couple of horses, all keeping their distances. None tempted him.

An assembly for lost souls, really. Or simple and quiet souls, like the woodland creatures hovering at the landing’s edges, waiting to service. He wondered why he’d come here.

Then Blueblood looked again, and smiled, knowing he saw his catch.

A common goat, on service duty.

Amidst the strangeness of Equestria, here at last, Basil had found a sight familiar from home on the Tauren Isles. Standing with stranger animals like squirrels or raccoons, true, but still. Sensible policy for any household, hiring servants only you could communicate with. He felt impressed to see the Equestrians use it.

Holding an empty plate, he wavered over the buffet, hesitant.

“I’m surprised to see you here,” spoke an amiable voice. “After walking up a mountain, I’d thought you’d choose sleep over food.”

Basil turned. Two paces away, and two heads’ height below his own, a white stallion casually helped himself to some olives. Surprised, he recognized him from the central hangar, the Prince of Equestria, who’d already helpfully suggested rest back then.

“That’d be the Minotaur way, yes,” Basil replied, cautiously. “But I’ve been living the ascetic lifestyle for two years… My father’s given me permission, while he retires to sleep and fast in his quarters.”

“Ah,” said the Prince, biting an olive. “Ascetism... I could never do it, I’m afraid.” He smiled. “Still, I see you’re wondering what to pick. Might I suggest something?” He gestured to a pastry-laden tray on the table. “Griffon scones. Those are ascetic as they come.”

Basil studied him, yet the Prince didn’t seem in jest. Shrugging, he picked a scone, and tasted it.

The taste was like chewing sawdust. A violent cough overtook him.

“What do you think?” said the Prince.

“This is… it’s…” Basil rasped. “It’s terrible!”

The Prince smiled lightly. “Well, what do you expect? They’re half bird. When was the last time you ate something a bird baked?”

Two heads above the stallion, Basil stared down, unsure whether to laugh. “Did you set this up just to make that joke?”

“Maybe?” the Prince shrugged, innocently. “I knew a bird once. A parrot captain. Her skill was slicing, not baking.”

And though intimidation wasn’t on Basil’s mind, he inwardly marveled at the Prince’s nonchalance around a creature who towered over him.

Then again, hearsay of his association with pirates had reached even the Tauren Isles...

“Basil, isn’t it?” the Prince said. “I do enjoy basil herbs… tastes better than griffon scones, I’m sure,” he added evenly. “But that isn’t what it means, is it?”

“No…” Basil said, noticing a curious glint in the Prince’s eye. “It’s short for Basileus. A name my mother gave me.”

“Basileus,” the Prince repeated. “‘King’, in Old Tauren. Fancy that. You know my name?”

Basil raised an eyebrow. “Yes. But I heard ‘Blueblood’ was originally a title.”

“Well, isn’t ‘King’ a title?” smiled the Prince. “But, no. That’s just my surname. I’m Astron.”

The word rebounded inside the walls of Basil’s head. “...Asterion?”

“Close,” Blueblood said, wandering off with a wink.

In a multi-tiered structure such as the Hall of Unity, not only a chamber of conference like the Public Assembly sported balconies. Overlooking the buffet area, the balcony level stretched out on all four corners from one wall to another, providing the Element Bearers an overhead view of the small assortment of creatures milling out to help themselves to refreshments.

While Twilight was keeping up a studious front in her observations, markedly staying at a cautious distance from the railing, Rainbow Dash and Pinkie were close to falling over from leaning forward. Rarity and Applejack, meanwhile, was surveying the throng with a critical eye. Only Fluttershy was hanging out of sight, huddled against the wall.

“Well, I say,” Rarity noted primly. “Someone down there’s being quick to make friends.”

Tip-toeing to be next to her, Fluttershy studied where she was looking. “Oh, uh, yeah,” she began. “Billy’s always wanted to be where the action is– at least, that’s how he put it, so I thought…”

“I wasn’t thinking about the goat, darling,” said Rarity. “Although, I am glad for you that you managed to get so many of your animal friends to volunteer for service, and in so little time.”

“Raven Inkwell is a wizard at organization,” Twilight agreed, grinning. “I honestly didn’t know how the Princess was going to pull off setting up this gathering in a week, but she did.”

“Sure is a pretty rum place, this,” Applejack said as she gave the Hall another lookover. The layout was more than old marble pillars. Everything about the place had a shine, but moreover, there was a sense of life to it. Scarcely a speck of dust troubled the air. “How’d they keep it so… clean, like that? So tidy?”

“That’s something I’d been wondering about,” Rarity nodded. “Who looks after all this?”

“Hm, well,” said Twilight, the fond and familiar memory resurfacing of yellowed pages by candlelight, “I do believe custodianship of the Hall traditionally belongs to a Minotaur. In fact, it’s one of the Proxenos’s duties, as part of their liaison with Equestria.”

“Really, a Minotaur?” said Rarity. “Like the guy I just saw Prince Blueblood turning on the charm for down there? Pish, where was that charm on the night of the Grand Galloping Gala…”

“Where was the fun?” Pinkie saw fit to add. Going with her words, she leaned over the railing as her gaze swept over the crowd, a barely-suppressed bounce to her demeanor. “Where’s the fun now? Oh, girls, if this were any, any other occasion, nothing’d hold me back from launching a huge ‘come-and-meet-all-the-creatures’ party!”

“Yeah, they did kinda skimp on the banners and confetti,” remarked Dash. “I’da thought there’d be parades, fanfare… Maybe a Wonderbolts display, but heck, they could’ve put up a big welcome concert by DJ Pon-3 and it’d still be totally awesome…”

“Sadly, this isn’t really party time,” Twilight said, to a soft sigh from Pinkie. “Princess Celestia has told me she’s aiming to filter the information little by little. Having extra staff and performers at the Hall would increase the risk of this leaking out prematurely.”

“Yeah,” Fluttershy said quietly, her forehoof touching Pinkie’s on the railing. “You know I’d have happily asked my animal friends to help you throw that party, Pinkie.”

A lull settled over their talk, spent by each of them silently watching the crowd below, in all its colorful ebb and flow. While Twilight would have been first to acknowledge she was still a learner in the finer details of social interaction, her research on the peoples of Equus had familiarized her with their mutual relationships. She wondered how, witnessed from up above, the subtle dance might look to an aspiring member of high society like Rarity, or to the social butterfly that was Pinkie.

Aside from Prince Blueblood and the Minotaur, whom Twilight assumed had to be the son of the Proxenos, none of those who trod the marble tiles on the lower floor were leaders, delegates or representatives in any capacity. These were the retinue, the airship crewmates, the many habitually unseen faces of the servicing people who tended to the diplomats’ accomodations, culinary requirements and means of transport – while Twilight had heard of the expression ‘a well-oiled machine’ in relation to the Kirin, she saw it much like her own role as a librarian, an invisible presence ensuring all was in its proper place.

To no-one’s great surprise, Abyssinians and Diamond Dogs kept to opposite ends of the room. Raven Inkwell, so Twilight understood, had prepared for this by arranging the fish stands and the stands serving gristle or spare ribs to be placed far from one another, and it was a testament to Raven that she managed to oversee the placement of meat-based products without flinching. More subtle were the interplays between Buffalo and griffons, or zebras and horses. While none were openly avoiding each other, their movements always seemed to bring them to circle around the other, precluding direct contact.

As with so many things in life, the sight gave Twilight’s a flutter of anxiety. Her and her friends’ own encounter with the Buffalo two years ago, and the role they’d played in resolving the conflict between San Palomino’s local tribe and the pony settlers, remained a point where she felt midly disbelieving that matters had sorted themselves out so neatly.

“They do wear such fabulous dressing, don’t they?” Rarity’s admiring voice cut into her head. “Even the servants. I have always wished to visit Saddle Mareabia some day.”

Twilight saw what she was looking at. At one of the stands, two horses were thanking a hedgehog for a piece of puff pastry. They wore ornamented cloth over their backs, accentuating the elgant curve of their frames, so much taller and leaner than the average pony.

An approaching pair of zebras, talking amongst themselves, briefly paused to see the horses move away from the stand, before proceeding in such fashion as to give them a wide berth.

Next to her, Fluttershy was staring at the stand, frowning slightly. “Say, girls? Does something here not look right to you?”

“Yeah,” Twilight said regretfully. “Yeah, it’s not right. But it’s part of history.”

“Actually,” said Fluttershy, glancing at the hedgehog. “I… I wasn’t talking about…”

But Twilight was feeling too wrapped up in the flow of information pouring into her. As she indicated the horses and zebras, she was mentally revisiting what she’d learned from guest lectures by Professor Shriek at Celestia’s School. And so she dealt with her strain in the best way that she knew. Even when it wasn’t easy or pleasant, she shared her knowledge.

“They don’t get along very well. And for good reason. It used to be worse than that. They… they’d take zebras prisoner, you know. Take them from their lands and put them to work.”

“What?” gasped Rarity. “Who did?”

Twilight found it painful to swallow. “The Saddle Mareabians,” she said. “They abolished the trade six-hundred years ago, but it took them another two-hundred years to end it entirely. Sl… Slavery, I mean.”

“Twilight,” Rarity said, her shocked look mirrored by the other four’s. “You don’t mean that. I thought this was all just stuff from trashy romance novels. Taking a stallion to be shared by a herd of mares and the rest–”

“No, that’s not how it works,” Twilight said quickly. “I… I mean, they do still have a herd system in Saddle Mareabia, but they’ve never done it like that. It’s, it’s more… civilized.”

There was a snort from Applejack, whose brow had darkened. “Ain’t nothing civilized,” she muttered, gazing contemptuously at the horses, “‘bout snatchin’ people from their homes and focin’ them to work… But I just plum don’t get it, Twi’. Those delegates we saw at the fireworks in Ponyville, there didn’t seem to be nothin’ wrong with them…”

“It was centuries ago,” said Twilight. “Although, as you can see, old hurts still linger.”

Some of Pinkie’s mane had lost its lustre. “It’s horrible,” she said, quietly. “They really were nice, the delegates. How can someone have… that, as their dark past, and be so friendly?”

“Yeah,” growled Dash, crossing her forehooves. “Why are we asking these guys for help? They don’t sound much better than… than the fake Redheart’s side.”

Applejack gave her an odd glance. “The ‘fake’ Redheart?”

“Ain’t that what she is?” Dash snapped. “Like, she can’t be the real Redheart. The real Redheart would never do these things. She’d never try to kill Lyra.”

“I’m… I’m not sure it’s that simple, Dash,” Applejack said in a subdued tone. “No-one knows what they’ll do until they have to do it. It’s tough times what bring out the truth in people… And war’s ‘bout as tough as it gets…”

“That’s not what you were just saying about the Saddle Mareabians,” retorted Dash.

With her shoulders at rest upon the railing, Applejack sagged. She sighed and took off her hat, beating it against the marble surface.

“I dunno, girls… I really don’t.”

Staying silent, they all resumed watching the goings-on below. The room hushed as two new figures crossed, taking no apparent notice of their surroundings. Changelings, both of them, one wearing an officer’s helmet. Only once they’d passed did the hubbub resume.

“It’s kinda funny, right?” commented Pinkie. “A few months ago, we were fighting them off. Now here they are, as guests.”

“I still don’t get that,” Dash muttered.

“Super-ancient treaty, sorta like a mega-special double-Pinkie Promise, I think,” Pinkie said, chuckling softly. “Why, if we’d known then… We could’ve invited them to come back later, after we’d baked some more treats. Then they wouldn’t have had to crash the Wedding.”

Someone gave an irked harrumph behind them.

“I, for one, don’t welcome them. Princess’s orders are all that’re keeping me in check.”

Recognizing her brother’s voice, Twilight snapped her head back. Shining Armor had appeared in one of the doorways leading away from the balcony, now clad in his regalia as Captain of the Royal Guard.

“Shining!” she said. “I wasn’t sure if you’d show up.”

She knew this hadn’t been an easy week for Shining, even less than for Cadance. And he sported the tired face to prove it. Organizing a skeleton security detail for this Concordia, composed solely of old and trusted veteran Guards, would be a tough enough call for a week. But then there was the news of how Redheart, a youngish yet well-respected Guard veteran, had moved against their Princess. To say nothing of what that Princess had become for this to be a reality.

And capping it off was the Royal Guard’s hitherto fruitless search for the human’s locket in the Everfree River.

“The Changelings?” Twilight noted. “Yeah, Lyra isn’t keen on them, either.”

“I can’t imagine why. Poor girl,” sighed Shining. “Once you recover, it makes you feel icky to have had Queen Chrysalis messing inside your head. Worse, actually… But I guess that in war, you make… strange bedfellows. I’ve talked about it a lot with Colonel Reiner. It’s how Redheart got close to him.”

“How so?” asked Rainbow Dash.

“The Colonel and I had a chat two days ago,” Shining explained. “During which Reiner ran me through some of his PHL’s workings, and the geopolitical situation on the… other Equus. That’s how I learnt Redheart had been hired as an independent operative.”

“Where is Redheart now?” Dash demanded, almost hissing.

“Still well in custody,” Shining said. “We’ve placed her in a secure location, here at the Hall. She’ll be ready to come out and testify.”

Twilight was deep in thought as her brother led them away.

“Madame Heartstrings,” said Sint Erklass. “Be well, we have faith in you.”

Lyra didn’t doubt his sincerity. Yet standing here backstage, carrying her copy of Ponyland: Fact or Fiction, her moment was soon come to present before the Concordia, and she wasn’t feeling it.

From between the Erklasses and Princess Luna, a tall grey earthpony emerged.

“Curb your anxieties, Madame Heartstrings,” said the earthpony. “I comprehend them. So long had I grown accustomed to be seen this way, that very nearly did I doubt mine courage, when time came for me to stand unveiled.”

Lyra did not recognize her. Until she did. “...Galatea?”

The earthpony’s lips twitched.

“Well deduced. As you can see, I’m bestowed with more than one means of going unnoticed.”

Sint Erklass advanced towards her. Still she stood there, firm and unmoving, even now that her form as a regular pony made her so much shorter than the massive stag.

He looked her over. Before, faintly, he smiled at her.

“Then that is your name,” Sint Erklass said. “Greetings, Galatea.”

Galatea nodded cursorily. “Allfather,” she stated. “Now you know. But while I am wearing this guise, you should no longer call me that.”

“What should we call you, then, Sister?” frowned Luna.

Lyra thought he saw a flicker of uncertainty cross Galatea.

“Shale,” the grey earthpony finally said. “Call me Shale. It’s a name the pink one came up with… Saying I remind her of her own sister...” She pulled out a tin box, profferings its contents. “We had a birthday party without you, Allfather. But there was cake left.”

Chuckling, Sint Erklass delicately reshut the lid. “Thank you. I think it’d mean more to you.”

“If you say so,” said Galatea. “When I met Celestia, I pledged I’d supply all my answers upon communication with Colonel Reiner. The locket’s theft threw this plan out of kilter. Still, I informed the Colonel that I was the reason he was here. When his memory waned, I coaxed it.”

“But you’re not the reason he’s here, are you?” said Lyra. “That was your other-self.”

Galatea hesitated. “We can discuss that later. Someone else wants to see you.”

To Lyra’s glee, Bonbon trotted up to her.

“I know your ‘tells’,” Bonbon smirked. “When you’re nervous, you crumple up your forehooves. I guess you’re trying to make a fist or something. Break a leg, honey.”

She quickly popped Lyra a kiss for luck. It made Lyra smile.

Then the moment was upon them., as Celestia called her. Lyra left Bonbon to watch in the wing, while she took to the stage, before the delegates of Equus.

“Good afternoon, everycreature,” Lyra began. “My name is Lyra Heartstrings…”

And as she told the delegates about Howie Waggoner’s ill-fated expedition to the Sunken Dream Valley, the sinking of the Nellie and the treasures it held, asking the world’s help to trace back this precious heritage of the world’s history, Lyra didn’t crumple her forehooves once.

“You really should’ve been there,” Ember was saying that evening, casually resting against the cage with her legs crossed and arms folded.

Garble snarled viciously, causing the Changeling standing watch to recoil. Ember had asked him if she could chat with her currently imprisoned bodyguard, and there wasn’t much the Changeling could say to deny her.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Garble muttered, gritting his teeth.

Incredibly enough, Chrysalis had managed to convince everyone in attendance that, whatever Garble might say, he was afflicted with a dangerous disease. It was ‘the disease of ignorance,’ as Chrysalis had put it to Ember as an aside, and it had elicited looks ranging from dismay to the concern of Sint Erklass himself.

All Celestia had done, in response, was politely tell Chrysalis she could have just said Garble needed his shot.

“Come on, Garble,” Ember chided gently, holding up the gem she’d brought. “They went through the trouble of getting food of every sort for everyone. And theyll be expecting me back at dinner soon. Any idea how hard it is to find a good ruby these days that isn’t in some fancy pony dress?”

His only reply was to blow smoke, parted by the wire-mesh.

Shaking her head, Ember looked around Queen Chrysalis’ quarters. Their layout wasn’t much different from her own, but even in the short while since they’d got here, the Queen had already settled in. Though all of them had, really. Ember wondered who’d left a sizable number of pillows in her room.

Chrysalis’ quarters, on the other hand, were moist, dripping and covered with wax, which filled the air with a green tinge. Ember had taken care not to step in any, but at this rate, the next time she came here, she might as well fly across the room. The only thing that still looked remotely like furniture was the bed and, of course, the dog-crates. Apparently, the Timberwolves were currently asleep.

Ember didn’t like to think what the damp atmopshere would do to their fur.

The Changeling on watch drew up beside her, his green aura towing a mop and another, empty crate the same size as the one currently occupied by Garble.

“Alright, that’s the Timberwolves sorted, now it’s time to make him switch for the night,” the Changeling spoke up. He gingerly set the crate on the wax-covered floor, door wide open. “Excuse me, Highness.” He pointed with the mop. “You’d be so kind to put the ruby inside?”

Shrugging, Ember rolled the gem into the empty crate, while Garble merely huffed.

“How much longer’s he gonna be in there?” said Ember.

The Changeling, who’d began pushing the empty crate, stopped. “He’s… in there right until he gets his shot. Queen’s orders.”

“Pity,” Ember said, not meaning it. “He’s missing out on a lot. Did you get to hear what Celestia was talking about?”

“Um... no?” the Changeling answered slowly. “I was… uh, guarding your friend.”

“We’re not friends,” Ember said, with a dismissive little wave. “I guess you could say, instead, that you were guarding my… guard.”

“Excuse me, I’ve got to do this,” said the Changeling, wheezing as he pushed the spare crate to connect with Garble’s crate, bridging the two. “Mind… mind helping me make him move?”

“How?” asked Ember. “His door’s still down, you know.”

Without a word, the Changeling jumped atop the occupied crate, his mop balanced on his back, and flicking his horn, unlocked the clasps which held the wire-mesh in place.

“It’s designed to come off in more ways than one,” he explained, sliding the mesh upwards. “If you know how.”

Before Ember could reply, she heard angry thumping from where Garble was being held.

“You’re a buncha fools,” snarled the red drake, “if you think I’m gonna move from one cage to another, just for one dumb ruby!”

The Changeling sighed. “I’m sorry…” he whispered. “I really, really don’t want to do this…”

Ember saw him press his hoof upon a depression in the obsidian surface of the crate. Her ears picked up on a faint buzz and a crackle coming from within – and a pained yelp, rapidly followed by scrambling and a loud ‘bump’ that rocked the previously-empty crate.

“Static electricity,” the Changeling said, as he slid the mesh back down, locking its clasps to the new crate’s opening. “It covers the surface of the whole thing. Causes a strong itching sensation.”

All Ember could do was shudder. Truly, Queen Chrysalis had a knack for bringing others to heel.

Heaving, the drone pulled the crates apart. While the green wax covering the floor provided a helpfully slippery surface, he was visibly finding it a strain to tug an obsidian crate occupied by a ten-stone dragon. A dragon who still seethed at this treatment, as Ember saw when Garble’s face came back into view, eyes behind the wire staring at her with loathing.

“So,” the Changeling said, suddenly, startling Ember. “What was it like?”

“What was what like?”

“Um, the, uh, meeting,” the Changeling clarified hurriedly. “You were going to… uh…” Seeing Ember look taken aback, he paused. “Here, uh... “ He dropped the mop. Using a forehoof, he began chipping away at the wax Ember had carefully avoided. “I can sweep his cage later. Let’s… let’s talk.”

He was creating a space for her to sit in. Ember hadn’t really paid him attention before, but now she gave him a closer look.

“Do I know you?” she asked, frowning.

“Um… we’ve… we’ve met.”

Ember noticed his eyes dart towards Garble, and it struck her. She hadn’t recognized him before. Changeling drones looked so alike. But she did now.

“Ah. Yeah.” Ember said. “Last time I saw you, you were pretending to be him.”

This was said with a nod towards Garble, who glared back, his ruby still untouched.

“What makes you think I want to talk? Especially with you?” Ember said snidely. “If you’ll recall, I almost tore your head off.”

Hit by her stinging remark, the Changeling wiped his brow nervously. Ember suspected it was a gesture he’d picked up elsewhere, though. Changelings didn’t sweat.

“W-well, do you…” he mumbled. “D’you have someone else to talk to?”

Caught by surprise, Ember almost reeled back. “What in the Chaoskämpfer’s scared fire are you on about?” she demanded. “Of course I’ve got people to talk to. Lots of people.” She gestured her thumb at Garble. “Him, for starters.”

Garble snorted mockingly, his teeth clicking against the wire-mesh.

“Oh…” said the Changeling. “I… I thought you hated speaking to him, and you only did because… because you had no-one else.”

Ember peered at the odd little drone.

Now she thought about it, this was actually the third time she’d seen him. The first had been when he’d tried to play-act Garble at the campfire. But the second had been very short – just him staring at her, right after Chrysalis had caged Garble.

“You’re wasting your time, roach,” Garble said with a leer, making the Changeling jump. “She thinks she’s too good for the likes of you. Heck, she thinks she’s too good for dragons. Comes with being a Princess.”

The Changeling drone was quivering on the spot. All of a sudden, a feeling of anger surged in Ember. An image came back to her, of this same drone, frightened, her claws around his neck. She had hesitated. Garble wouldn’t have.

“The Princess will speak with who she pleases,” Ember snapped. “At least he’s offering, even if he’s just a roach. You haven’t even touched your food.”

“Oh, you wanna talk?” sneered Garble. “You got it, Your Highness. From now on, while you’re here with him, I’ll talk your ears off. And he can’t leave his post, or he’s gonna be in trouble with Chrysalis. Think she’ll make us share a cage?”

The anger just kept boiling, until she caught sight of the Changeling furtively bobbing his head. By following his movement, Ember saw that Garble’s new crate was covered by a rolled-up tarp. Catching his drift, she reached out for the tarp, and pulled it down.

Just as she’d hoped, it muffled Garble’s indignant cry. This was, after all, designed to conceal the noises made by rowdy, anxious hounds – and now, a dragon.

“There. He’s not here,” said Ember.

And the Changeling burst out giggling.

Ember hadn’t known Changelings could laugh. Well, Chrysalis laughed often, that was true. But she was the Queen. Drones only ever wore expressions of bland malice. Didn’t they?

“Okay, he’s not here, then,” the Changeling agreed. “Thank goodness. I’ve no idea how come I got stuck guarding him. Ah, must be the Queen’s idea of a joke… He’s secure as he’s going to be.”

“Probably,” Ember agreed airily. “Knowing Chrysalis.” She sat down. “Now, you said you wanted to hear all about it?”

The Changeling sat beside her. “Yes, please.”

Much of what Ember had gleaned was built from assumption and speculation, from hearsay between the other delegates and what she’d heard herself. Therefore, initially, her words came out as a string of events.

As she continued, however, they began to form a coherent narrative. Celestia had stated the matter would be presented little by little in the coming days, yet the first day alone had been overwhelming. Before anyone could raise a question, the Princess had already decided to turn to the root of it all – the very existence of humans.

It was a meeting that ended rather suddenly. Barely an hour had passed, Celestia only taking a few questions before calling the day off. There was a nagging feeling in Ember, though, that Celestia had ended it early to let them settle in. Before the truly game-changing revelations. Whatever they were...

Or as Chrysalis had sneered within Ember and Papillate’s hearing at lunchtime, knowing how Celestia worked, the Princess expected them to make friends. Ember couldn’t help but agree with her then. Yet here she was, sitting down with a Changeling of all people, talking freely.

“It’s pretty absurd,” Ember concluded, yawning. “But we’ll see what it’s all about, I guess.”

Surprisingly, the Changeling has been listening intently. “I see. Sounds like, um… something, I think.”

The poor drone was out of his depth, obviously, and Ember wondered what went on in his mind without a Queen to lead him on.

“...So, why does she keep Garble in this room anyway?” Ember asked idly. “Isn’t she all… you know, about quarantine?”

“It’s so she can mock him whenever she wants,” said the Changeling, quite candidly. “Furthermore, the Queen wishes to minimize the risk to others who haven’t taken their shot.”

“...You don’t actually believe what Chrysalis said, right?”

“I can’t leave my post,” he finally said, but there was a pause which Ember thought might indicate hesitation. “You can come in to check on him, but I must be guarding your… guard.”

Ember snickered. “Got you there, hah!” she said triumphantly, though the Changeling remained motionless. Changelings could be truly inscrutable. She sighed. “Okay, fine, I’ll let you be... we’ve got days and days ahead here.”

She strode over to the doorway, skirting around the Changeling wax on the floor. Before she left, however, she shot the Changeling one final look.

“What did you say your name was, again?”

“I… I didn’t–”

“Yeah,” Ember said. “Which is why I’m asking now.”

“...It’s, it’s Thorax.”

“Huh,” Ember remarked. It was, like most Changeling names, pretty simple to remember. “See you around, Thorax.”

“Take care… Your Highness,” Thorax replied. For a moment, Ember thought she saw the faintest hint of a smile on that inexpressive, chitinous face.

Of course, as she shut the door behind her, she lingered briefly. Long enough at least to hear a most curious exchange, although she shrugged it off as easily as the day turns to night, before retiring to her own quarters afterwards.

“You know you still ain’t got no chance with her, right?”

“Okay.”

“...‘Okay’?”

“I know.”

Night came to the Hall of Unity, one night heralding many.

At the Watchtower, Fluttershy reclined by a windowsill, feeling the breeze run through her willowy mane, the light of the Moon shining upon her face. She tried not to look down. So long as she didn’t look down, she could understand what other pegasi saw in the horizons, that vast majesty where mountain peaks and night sky became one.

She’d snuck away from her sleeping friends for this night-time meeting. Dash was going a little stir-crazy over secluding herself in the Watchtower, but Pinkie and Twilight were both caught in excited anticipation, each for their own reasons. And Rarity and Applejack, for once, had found common ground, giddy over all they could write to their little sisters about the Twelve Families.

How odd to think she was the one doing some work, tasked by Celestia to direct her animal friends as a makeshift staff for the Hall.

“Well, I guess we’re here, too...” she whispered. “Aren’t we?”

From above popped a draconic, mad-eyed face, hanging upside-down.

Discord laughed. “Yes, we are,” he said mirthfully. “But don’t worry about it, sweet Flutters. Our parts don’t come until much later, after all the talking. Let Tia handle the workload.”

Fluttershy nodded, humming. “You’re certain she’ll ask you to go to Earth? You’re still weakened from your fight with Kontagion...”

“She will.” He grinned. “Discord at half-power’s still Discord.”

In the distance, she spotted the silhouette of Luna, finishing her rounds. She thought the Princess was carrying something.

Craning his upside-down neck to look, Discord saw it too. “Lavender,” he commented. “Luna renews it every night. Does the same in Canterlot.”

“What for?”

“Eh, says it helps ‘em sleep peacefully.”

“Oh,” Fluttershy whistled. “That’s so thoughtful.” She looked up, past him. “But what’s all the mistletoe for, then?”

“To honor Sint Erklass? Peace and goodwill, all that.” Discord shrugged. “Fellow’s too ‘holly-jolly’ for my tastes. Yet in the old days, mistletoe did stand for peace and friendship.”

He slid down slightly, the light revealing the mistletoe steam held coiled in his tail.

“I rather prefer the modern interpretation, though.” He sniggered, before closing his eyes, lips puckering expectantly.

Smiling, Fluttershy took his head in her hooves, still-upside-down, and gave him that kiss.

Day 2 of the Concordia – Eleventh Day of the Month of Rophon.

After all she’d striven and fought for, Grizelda found herself lost for words at last. Humans, the Thirteenth Family. She couldn’t deny it filled her with curiosity, yet it brought pause to all she’d planned for. Here they stood, her people’s chosen few, waiting to be ushered into the dining-hall – an outlandish tradition, accustomed as she was to open air and yurts.. But one she’d have to get used to, she suspected, once Griffonstone was hers and her people united at last.

“Is something troubling you, Your Grace?” said Ironclaw.

The title remained foreign to her, even after she’d called for the throne of Griffonstone as hers and hers alone.

“No, not quite,” she replied. “But will this change anything, General?”

With their banners gathered after years of effort, she owed much to the veteran general. She had questioned it at first, of course. Why would a famed mercenary pledge his sword to her cause, not seek the throne himself? His answers had never changed, but grown through the past four years. He’d found a warrior, a leader, and a brave soul. Any ambitions he’d held for the throne had dimmed as he got on in years.

While she’d had her doubts, it was through his wisdom and guidance that she now stood at the head of thirty-thousand griffons – travellers and warriors, bakers and traders, although only a sixth were under her direct guidance. The rest, scattered yet united in their hearts, had chosen her as leader. And many more, she hoped, would pledge their allegiance in the years to come.

In time, Griffonstone would prosper once more, with her at the heart of it all.

And yet it was when they were so close to marching on Griffonstone that the Concordia Maxima called upon her.

Part of her wished she hadn’t been chosen by a far-off call from a distant land. Yet another part hoped this mythical call would give further her credence, and she would be Pretender no more, but the Queen in Griffonstone.

“We shall see what happens, Your Grace,” said Ironclaw, echoing her thoughts.

The dining-hall’s doors swung open, and in the pair strode.

Great and welcoming was the dining-hall, its walls decorated by carved wood, the floors paved with marble, topped off by dining tables topped with cloth. Her people remained outside, as did the others, for only the leaders were invited in. No matter. When she sat the throne, she would ensure prosperity followed, her long-hall open to all griffons, no matter how long it took. Gone then would be the days of windblown tents and decrepit homes, for Griffonstone would rise.

At the very least, her entourage had much to pick from the food-stalls outside, even if they’d have to pay money for it – exotic cuisine from far and wide, from the finest of Canterlot to the rugged Ezebrantsi. She too had brought the finest the griffons had to offer, after all. The tinmaker Wolfram, one of her own and more, was also a skilled baker.

Yet even with Ironclaw by her side, apprehension filled her mind as they took seats at their pre-alloted table.

Grizelda glance around.

The dozen or so round tables in the hall were arranged in a few staggered rows, presenting the image of irregularity. One by one, they were filled with various delegates, one table for each nation, but set as close neighbors. She saw the two Minotaurs sitting close to the Boss of Diamond Dogs, the Night Princess showing the Snow Maiden to her seat, Queen Zolomare speaking with a hippogriff…

“Don’t mind me,” said a youthful, brash voice.

And Grizelda looked over her shoulder for the speaker. She was met with a blue dragon, who was sitting alone, her elbows resting on an empty table

“Sorry,” the blue dragon shrugged. “All the other tables were full.”

Reflexively, Ironclaw reached for a flintlock that wasn’t there. Grizelda shot him a sharp, if unsure look. He’d told her many times before that of all the raiders he and his warriors faced, none challenged him more than dragons.

There one sat. Small, vulnerable, and yet, brought here too.

“Easy, General,” Grizelda whispered. She turned to the blue dragon. “You must be the Dragon Lord’s daughter,” she said. “Well, I can’t blame you for the seating arrangments. Practical joke of Celestia’s, I shouldn’t wonder. You stick in your corner, we’ll stick in ours.”

The blue dragon might have retorted, if this wasn’t when, just to liven things up, Queen Chrysalis chose to appear, her young ward Papillate in tow.

“Aaaah, I see you’ve found our table, Ember, excellent! Wonderful, just wonderful.”

The blue dragon blinked.

“What? But…”

Horrified, she swept up the place-card, looking it over.

Grizelda’s eagle-like sight allowed her to read what Ember had only now spotted. The table next to the griffons’ had been reserved for both dragons and Changelings.

“No way,” groaned Ember.

Privately, Grizelda agreed with her. Especially as Chrysalis’ gaze fell upon Grizelda, and her mischievous smirk widened.

“Good morning, Young Pretender. How nice to see you here.”

Another voice replied before Grizelda’s. “Good morning to you as well, Queen Chrysalis.”

When Grizelda saw who it belonged to, it finally gave her some relief. One more empty table waited close by, but its occupants were arriving. Queen Novo, flanked by he trusted advisor, General Skybeak.

“And to you, Queen Grizelda,” added Novo.

Somehow, it eased Grizelda to see herself mirrored in the Hippogriffian Queen and General. She placed a placating claw on Ironclaw, and his shoulders relaxed.

“My title is not yet earned, Queen Novo, but I thank you,” Grizelda said. “Let’s be ready for this banquet.”

With this motley assembly shooting each other wary glances left and right, all took their seat without another word. Papillate had been carrying a footrest on her back. Acting servile, she placed it at Chrysalis’ hooves.

A dragon and Changelings didn’t make for ideal neighbors, but with hippogriffs also present, Grizelda saw the logic in Celestia’s seating arrangments. They were the omnivorous Families of Equus, stacked together into a corner. It would spare them discomforted stares from herbivores if meat was served.

This breakfast just might be peaceful. And what a breakfast it was.

It took most of Grizelda’s practiced control not to let her beak hang, as the workers of the Hall, domesticated animals mostly, brought such a feast as neither she nor Ironclaw had ever seen. Exotic delights and beverages in silver trays, made of colors and flavors from all four corners of this world.

Fish and vegetable, bread and fruit of all sorts in tray-carts, for them to choose from.

Grizelda even noticed some who weren’t ponies nor animals amongst the serving-staff, including from her own griffons. Celestia must have meant this as a surprise, covertly co-opting a few of those in the crowd who knew cooking.

She recognized Wolfram’s stout and hefty build approach. Pushing up his tray-cart, the fat tinmaker smiled nervously as he presented her with her own feast – cooked in butter, a grey fish she didn’t know the name of, but it smelled delicious nonetheless.

“Thank you, Wolfram,” she said gently, with a smile as queenly as she could make it.

Her Wolfram, the poor soul, stammered and mumbled something, then gave her a respectful nod before hurrying off. One of these days, she thought, she’d have to show Princess Celestia his tinmaking skills. Perhaps the Reindeer as well, to prove that her people’s artisanship continued to thrive. Not to mention his baking skills. These days, a griffon often took on more than one trade, out of necessity.

There would be time to talk. For now, she would enjoy this breakfast.

Delicately, she handled the unfamiliar tools on her grasp. Ironclaw had given her a brief rundown on what to do on a dining table, but also confided he’d never cared much for it, all things considered.

The fish, by all appearances, was larger than any fish she’d caught in the desert ponds. Much too large for these knives, these forks. But to her benefit, the fish had already been cut in an odd little pattern that reminded her of a chessboard.

Picking up a piece in her claw, she bit into it.

It was an odd, unfamiliar taste, and it threatened to overwhelm her. Savory, salty, different from the rough-cut fish served in the few coastal griffon settlements. A far cry from the rodents, rabbits and hardy scones she’d grown used to in the desert.

She let the taste settle. Foreign, an assault on her senses... this was something she needed to enjoy while it lasted. She swallowed, and took another, larger bite of the delicacy.

“General,” Grizelda said, pausing to let Ironclaw swallow too. She remembered her etiquette. “We ought to give our thanks to whoever made this… delicacy.”

“Very well, Your Grace,” said her General. As far as she could tell, he too liked his meal.

Yes, they’d enjoy this stay, indeed.

She looked around to the neighboring tables. The Dragon Lord’s daughter was greedily tucking into her gemstone pile with every crack and bite. Queen Chrysalis, unusually, had been quietly sipping from a bowl of porridge together with the quiet Papillate, not a hint of her sarcasm slipping through. Queen Novo and General Skybeak, meanwhile, had settled for the most seasoned hay-and-flower dish Grizelda had ever seen.

When all were done, their plates emptied and bellies full, Grizelda turned to Queen Novo.

“Queen Novo, General Skybeak,” said Grizelda. “What news is there of the Storm King?”

That brought silence, and curious glances. Good, Grizelda thought. She had their attention. At least, the ones that’d bother listening to her.

General Skybeak furrowed his brows. Novo’s expression was scrutinous.

“Day by day, his forces encroach upon our waters and Abyssinia’s, and Hippogriffia… does not have the strength it once did, long ago,” said the General. “As Queen Novo said before, like the Abyssinians, we fear that if left unchecked, the Storm King’s plans may present a threat to the world as we know it.”

“Yes, truly,” added his Queen. “I understand Princess Celestia’s urgence, but in all honesty, there are matters that concern us, in our own corners of the world. And I fear this is one problem too many for us to handle alone.”

Skybeak darted a quick glance to the other side of the room.

“It’s those damn Kirin’s fault,” he muttered, so only his neighbors could hear. “Making under-the-counter deals all the time… Oh, they’ve given themselves a pretty alibi. But you mark my words, when the Storm King invades Abyssinia, most of their business will have ‘conveniently’ moved out the country.”

Ironclaw was staring at Grizelda, looking uneasy. She understood his feelings. While she had no great love for Kirin, her General’s mercenary business made an ideal testing-ground for them to try out new-fangled devices such as flintlocks.

“So it’s true?”

Of everyone at the tables, the Dragon Lord’s daughter was the last she’d expected to hear.

“The Storm King, making deals with the Kirin?” whispered Ember. She shook her head. “Those nefarious old geezers… I couldn’t get outta the Mikado’s Court fast enough.”

Involuntarily, Grizelda snorted with laughter. “What’s that?” she gurgled. “A dragon, playing house with the Mikado?”

“You should show Ember more respect,” spoke Chrysalis. To Grizelda’s astonishment, the Changeling sounded quite serious. “As Tia said yesterday, Kirin and dragons are of the same Family, remember? She was Prime Minister Kuno’s ward.”

Here, she patted Papillate on the head, provoking a blush.

“The delights of which I’ve only recently discovered, having a ward,” Chrysalis said cheerily, licking her lips.

“Regardless,” said Novo. “The Storm King’s threat can’t be ignored forever. Ten years it has been since we last crossed swords, and we have not seen a single hair of him. If we’re to delay further on the issue, Celestia better have something of tremendous importance to show.”

“The discovery of the Thirteenth Family is not nothing,” pointed out Ironclaw. “Humans… How much do we know about them? Would they be our allies? Our enemies?”

“Hm,” said Novo. “Celestia and the Allfather seem hopeful...”

Grizelda saw movement at the doors. A hush fell over the room. “Speaking of which,” she said. “I think we’re about to find out more.”

In the doorway stood Princess Celestia.

“Good morning, everycreature,” the Princess said genially. “Had a nice breakfast?”

The collective answer was generally positive.

“I’m glad,” smiled Celestia. “Now, if you would be so fine, I ask you to follow me, back to the convocation chamber. The time has come to greet the Thirteenth Family.”

Chrysalis smirked. “Stay close, Papillate,” she stage-whispered to her ward. “I promise they won’t hurt you.”

But she was intrigued, Grizelda could sense it. They all were, from the Mikado to the Boss of Diamond Dogs, the Malikah to the Abyssinian Queen, as they shuffled in Celestia’s wake to the chamber.

Today’s meeting would be held behind closed doors. For once, the leading figures of Equus would stand down in the gallery, level with the stage.

Two people awaited them on that stage. One was a little green unicorn, with golden eyes and an unkempt mane.

Next to her was a creature in a wheelchair.

Bipedal, smaller in stature than an adult Minotaur, yet closer to simian in appearance – this creature matched the descriptions from the ancient scrolls. The hairs on his head and chin were blond, and his forearms showed good muscle. How the rest of him looked, none could have said, for he was clad in an odd assortment that Grizelda thought resembled a camouflage pattern. She estimated that when he stood, he could have stared Celestia right in the eyes.

Eyes… Grizelda knew eyes. And there was something about his eyes.

Lyra swallowed, her grip tightening on the wheelchair handles.

“Easy, kid,” Alex said softly, with a weary smile. “You’re doing great. Let me handle the talking, okay? At least for this part.”

Quietly, Lyra ran Princess Celestia’s directives through her head one more time.

‘It’s too early to explain about Redheart or the Empire. We need to ease them in. Under no circumstances should you mention the locket.’

She glanced towards the wings. Twilight, her friends and the Royals were all giving her encouraging smiles. Even Bonbon nodded benignly.

“Okay.” Lyra nodded back, willing herself to look onto an auditorium which held a Diamond Dogs, and a dragon, and the Ebony Hive Queen.

Memories of a hypnotic glow, of her caught in a bridesmaid’s dress, rose up...

Alex patted her forehoof. “Trust me,” he said quietly. “I know.”

Celestia stepped upon the stage, positioning herself perpendicular to Lyra and Alex.

“Delegates of Equus,” the Princess stated. “We are told that aeons ago, Firefly crossed the Rainbow Bridge. I remember that Firefly was old when we were young, my sister and I, during our childhood in Adlaborn. In her tale, she did not come back alone.” She held out a wing in formal presentation. “Today, so it was then, a pony finds a human. Behold, Madame Lyra Heartstrings, and her find, the human Reiner.”

There was a calm, that ghastly calm interlude.

Equine ears flicked back, Kirin and Abyssinians narrowed their eyes, Diamond Dogs sniffed the air, Minotaurs stood stiff, and much more. Even Chrysalis looked nonplussed.

This last one actually comforted Lyra somewhat. Her deepest fear had been that Chrysalis would recognize her from the Royal Wedding.

‘Good. Let the evil hag feel uncomfortable for a change.’

It was an unlikely candidate who delivered the first question. A dark-brown griffon in a red cloak stepped forward.

“I am Grizelda,” announced the griffon. “Claimant to the throne of Griffonstone, Dame of the Redcloaks, and much else. I greet you, human. Tell me, do you carry a title?”

Alex shrugged modestly.

“Colonel,” he said. “Military rank. Some call me ‘Commander’, but that’s just a silly, pretentious nickname that stuck. ‘Colonel’ is fine.”

“A military title.” Grizelda smiled. “I did not expect that, least of all from Celestia. She claims you come from the mythical world, Earth. Is this true?”

“It is, yes. Until several years ago, I’d never even heard of Equus.”

“How did you get here?”

Alex glanced at Celestia, who said nothing. “It’s hard to explain… I’m not even sure myself. Honestly, it feels almost like an accident. But I’ve spoken with Celestia, and I do seem to remember seeing rainbows at some point.”

If only he could tell them the whole truth.

Ten days ago now, as time flew on both worlds, Alex had been called to Boston. It was a secret message from Amethyst Star, begging he meet her at the local portal-station. The trans-dimensional knowledge of Time Turner’s family was the PHL’s lone asset in matching the Solar Empire’s portal system. Which, as he was later to learn from Galatea, was the result of disassembling Discord for a power source.

No doubt of it, the Empire harnessed life itself.

A portal-station was an unconventional place for a meeting, yet no surprise from Amethyst. When not at her lab, where she slept half the time, she could be found at a portal-station.

The responsibilities of heading the PHL’s paramilitary wing, appointed by UNAC, continued to lie heavily on Colonel Alexander Reiner since Defiance. He’d told himself it was the lesser evil, compared to letting men like the now-Brigadier General Robert Gardner direct resource management and technological development.

Someone had to do it. And it’d be a cold day in hell before he let someone like Gardner have power over the PHL.

The net result was that it left him little time for summons, not when there were rogue HLF elements to keep under control, convoys to protect from the PER, or just the worrying prospect of a Second American Civil War, spurred on by said rogue elements. President Davis’ insistence that it was the nation’s duty to hold onto democratic processes in 2024 had proven a double-edged sword.

The portal-station was situated at the John F. Kennedy Presidential Library and Museum. In the manner of PHL operations, evacuating mankind’s legacy to hidden vaults had permitted them to co-opt vacated buildings for their ends. Call it propaganda, yet former museums made a good introduction to refugees from Equus.

As he entered, Alex had to allow himself a wry smile, despite another tense talk with Maxine. Talking to her was never easy before Washington, but after what happened to Agnes… She’d become cold. It was something, at least, to be in a building such as this. One that once held various manuscripts of Ernest Hemingway’s, including unused endings to A Farewell to Arms. Who knew how this war would end...

In the atrium, the glass-grid surface of the elevated pavillon loomed high above him, but he did not halt to admire the void. Since the Library’s conversion into a way-station, some practicality had taken over, and the concrete tower adjoining the pavillon wasn’t lit as it had been in peacetime. No need to make yourself an easy target.

They hadn’t taken down the huge suspended American flag, though. Typical. Of course the politicians would choose to accomodate a portal-station to the USA within an atrium pre-decorated by one of the largest Stars & Stripes in existence.

At the base of the concrete pillar, surrounded by its perimeter of PHL guards and medical staff, the portal lay dormant, a circular gateway to nowhere, waiting for the next contingent to arrive.

Not for the first time, Alex’s mind conjured up Stargate.

“Colonel Reiner,” said Amethyst, passing between two guards to meet him. “You’re here.” She checked her wrist-watch. “The… the portal’s scheduled for activation in fifty minutes. But I’m sorry, this couldn’t wait.”

“It’s alright, Specialist,” Alex said reassuringly. “I was told things were jam-packed around here.”

Amethyst nodded glumly. “The Smith Hall’s full to burst with those needing medical assistance. Things have been getting uglier on Equus. Nurse Redheart’s doing all she can for first-aid… but that’s not why I asked you here.”

She had led Alex up the stairs, leaving the din behind them.

They’d checked in on the Smith Hall and its patients, briefly, yet soon she led him into the larger of two conference rooms, currently serving as her office. As Amethyst had notified, two other senior figures of the PHL waited patiently at the table. Them, and a third figure he knew well.

Cadance and Zecora sat on either side of Bonbon, whose head was bopping up and down. Oddly, Cadance didn’t seem all that focused either, as if something else lay on her mind. His heart tightened to see Bonbon. She still wore her silver wedding-band, and clutched the golden lyre.

Having greeted them in turn, Alex took a seat opposite, while Amethyst joined the others.

“Alright, friends,” Alex said quietly. “What’s this about?”

Amethyst consulted her wrist-watch again. “Colonel,” she began. “Alex. I’m not sure how to put this. But… I think we’ve got... an answer.”

“An answer to what?”

“To…” Amethyst breathed in. “To how Celestia can possibly do this.”

It took him two heartbeats to reply. “…You’ve found out why she went crazy?”

“Oh, um... poor choice of words, sorry.” Amethyst said awkwardly, sharing a look with Zecora. “And yet, something… something I’d forgotten has resurfaced.” She gently nudged Bonbon. “From her.”

Alex gazed remorsefully at the broken, moaning mare.

Every time he saw Bonbon, that terrible evening came back to him. The news of Ambassador Heartstrings’ capture aboard the Thunderchild, the Imperial’s surgical strike at Reykjavik barely repelled at the cost of the valuable experimental ship, and losing the symbol of friendship between two worlds.

What was left of Bonbon was a testimony to defeat. Too late to stop Lyra’s petrifaction and consequent shattering, Bonbon had barely been snatched away before the same fate befell her. Amethyst had never told him the full details of what happened. He assumed it had to do with her family’s knowledge of portals.

Alas, brute-forcing Bonbon’s passage, when her mind had already taken a blow from witnessing her wife’s execution and countless other traumas, had done her sanity no favors. Yet it came with a curious, occasionally handy side-effect...

“Bonbon,” he said slowly, so as not to frighten her. “Did you see something?”

“Not where…” Bonbon gurgled. “Is when… All goods things comes in threes… Harmonious Trinity left to fill, atonement for Faustian bargain… This architectural pathology, this age of reason… an Empire grown fat, ripe for the bleeding… The Red Prince, the Demiurge, a blind Yaldabaoth who thinks itself master of matter… From the Tohu wa-bohu it crafts, yet it won’t share knowledge.”

Cadance sighed. “Same as always, Alex,” she said. “That’s all we can get out of her.”

“Colonel Reiner, look skeptical if you must,” said Zecora. “Valuable news we learned earlier, in this you can trust.”

“Give her a minute, Cadance,” Amethyst said. “It’ll happen again. She promised.”

What would happen again, he wondered. That question was soon answered.

With little warning, a change came over Bonbon’s eyes. For years, they’d been misaligned, unstuck in time and perception. But now they aligned – and glowed white.

Amethyst held up a forehoof as Alex gasped. “Don’t be alarmed,” she said. “I was expecting this.”

“Amethyst…” he murmured, keeping Bonbon in his sights. “What’s going on?”

“It’s complicated,” said Amethyst. “A few nights ago, I received a message. Not in my dreams… More like that space between dreams and awakening. Didn’t they used to say the Concordia’s Call’s works a bit like that…?” She shrugged. “But I remember finding myself on the Plane of Images… And this voice spoke to me.”

“A voice? Saying what?”

“My voice,” echoed someone from within Bonbon.

Bonbon’s voice it was not. It carried reverberation, and from what could be heard, it was too deep, too measured. Though somehow, unmistakably female.

Alex half stood up, immediately wary. “Who are you? What are you?”

“Have no fear, Colonel Reiner,” said the voice. “I come in Harmony. This means of communication is impractical, and displeasing to you, I can see that. Yet without safe passage to Earth, it was mine only option.”

He didn’t feel like sitting back down. “You haven’t answered my questions. And the last time someone said they came in Harmony, th–”

“Mine proclivity is to collect answers, rather than give them,” acknowledged the voice. “Mine own sisters never knew of me. But in this exceptional situation, I shall make an exception. Whether you believe me is your choice. I’m Galatea. I am an alicorn.”

“Did you choose to come here?” said Grizelda. “Or was it an accident?”

Alex smiled crookedly, which was as his smiles had become in recent years. “I think it depends on how you look at it,” he said. “I can tell you one thing. Ever since I learned another world existed, well, one full of intelligent– or rather, sapient, I think that’s the right word? Ahem. When I learned there was this alien world, my first thought was how much I wanted to see it.”

Grizelda contemplated him with one eye, eagle-like. “But are you an explorer?”

There it was. Alex collected himself. “No,” he said simply. “I am… a soldier.”

He noticed Lyra whet her lips, as some in the crowd muttered with consternation. But the Pretender Grizelda smiled thinly.

“That is the straightest answer you’ve given so far.”

Naturally, one of the first things Alex had registered was that Cadance looked miffed to learn there was another alicorn – a greater alicorn – while she was still a pegacorn. Certainly, they only had a mad oracle’s word to rely on. Yet the guaranteed steadfastness of Zecora and Cadance helped him believe what Bonbon spouted.

This wasn’t a new manifestation of Bonbon’s curious condition. This was different.

An alicorn unknown to Celestia or Luna, this was what Galatea had called herself. Living in complete secrecy for eight-thousand years, when the Royal Sisters had only made themselves known to the world on that Hearthswarming three-thousand years ago. And, prior to then, had no memory of ever walking the world.

Not that Galatea, who identified as a keeper of memories, would step forward. Until a switch had been turned inside her mind, she’d said, in a stigmatic response to the bloody, fiery death of Adlaborn and the Tree Atop the World.

This, she had described as her awakening.

Galatea had spoken, but it was Amethyst who gave the explanations, drawing on what she’d learnt in her dream-like conversations with the mysterious alicorn. Amethyst was interrupted only by the occasional correction from Galatea. Otherwise, Zecora and Cadance listened on, silently..

In less time than it seemed, Alex had learnt much about Galatea. Save for one thing.

“How can you help us?” he asked, eyes never leaving Bonbon’s illuminated, ghostly face.

A stranger’s voice spoke through Bonbon. “With mine only possession. Information. Knowledge.”

“Ma’am,” Alex said gruffly, pressing his palms on the table. “As a military commander, I’m never one to turn down intel… But in this war, unless you’ve got information on the Barrier, I hate to say this, but information alone’s not gonna be much help.”

“What if I told you I have precisely that?”

At that second, Alex thought his heart had stopped. “Say what?”

The glowing-eyed Bonbon bobbed her head serenely. “This is what I came to tell you,” she intoned in an echo. “In mine investigations, mine search to correct Equus’ path, I have uncovered what powers the Barrier.”

Amethyst flinched as Alex’s gaze darted to her.

“Did you know about this?” he said sharply. “Amethyst! Did you know?”

“Galatea told me, yes,” Amethyst said, in a careful tone. “Told me she knew. That’s all. Then she told me I should bring you, and Cadance and Zecora, to meet quickly.”

“Miss Star says so, and it is true,” Zecora nodded. “We know no more than you.”

“All Amethyst said was it has to do with crystals,” said Cadance.

“Heed me, Colonel Reiner,” said the voice of Galatea, resonating from Bonbon. “And heed me well. I’ve travelled mine world far and wide, under many guises, making associates out of lost and broken souls, in order to elucidate how Celestia could go so awry… and when that proved beyond mine grasp, I sought to uncover the truth of her Barrier. I found it.”

Pressing both forehooves together, the oracular mare lifted her head.

“The Barrier is powered by the Crystal Heart.”

“Although I wasn’t formally sent to represent my government,” said Alex. “I was entrusted with the authority to speak on their behalf. I am not here to make any challenges or declarations of war from Earth to Equus.”

“That’s a relief,” Grizelda noted snarkily. “But why would a soldier come here?”

“Well,” Alex began. “Guess they couldn’t find anyone better.”

That drew a few good-natured chuckles from the Public Assembly.

“...Now you see the scope of our tragedy,” Amethyst finished saying. “If the Barrier’s powered by the Crystal Heart, it’s powered by the feelings of love and devotion the Tyrant has built up in her Empire. Cunning old creature… She knew positive emotions are more potent than negative ones.”

“To think she’d use love, real love, to such ends…” Cadance whispered. “It breaks me.”

“But that’s absurd,” Alex protested. “We know Newfoals are hollow shells. We know their emotions have poisoned the last remaining Changelings. How can…”

“Alex,” Amethyst said. “The facts don’t lie. When the Barrier started growing, there was only a small number of Newfoals in Equestria. Nearly all Slow Newfoals, as we know now. Their love alone couldn’t have kickstarted the Barrier.”

“If it consoles you, it’s likely that as more Newfoals were produced,” Zecora said, a forehoof on Bonbon’s shoulder, “through that too, one must assume the Barrier got a boost.”

“Yeah, that’s some real consolation,” Alex muttered. “Dunno, though. The Barrier’s been moving a pretty steady two miles a day since 2019… So maybe you’re wrong somewhere.”

“Maybe,” said Amethyst. “Maybe. Yet not about this.”

It seemed to Alex that she glowed. Not a glow such as Bonbon’s eyes were glowing, but that of some inner fire.

“About what?”

Amethyst was smiling. “Colonel…”

There was a knock on the door. Everyone in the room, apart from Bonbon, glanced around.

“I’d better take this,” said Cadance, nodding apologetically at Alex. “The staff at the Smith Hall said we have a couple of tough cases.”

Amethyst consulted her wrist-watch. “We might be getting more soon, with the portal opening in ten minutes,” she said. “You go check what it is, Cadance. I’ve time enough to finish briefing the Colonel.”

“Alright.”

When Cadance went to the door, though, she was careful to open it ajar, so the person on the other side couldn’t see inside the conference room.

“Lady Cadance,” said a guard’s voice. “Your presence is urgently requested over at the Smith Hall.”

Cadance momentarily shut the door.

“Thought so.” She contemplated Bonbon. “I don’t like leaving Bonnie on her own too long, but, Zecora, think you’ve got this?”

“While none can change that Miss Sugarbean’s mind is broken in two,” Zecora said sadly, “In my hooves she ought to be as well-cared for as with you.”

“Thanks,” Cadance smiled. “I’ll be right back.”

No sooner had she left, with time running down until the portal’s opening, Amethyst Star launched into her plans. Despite the ghastly revelation of the Crystal Heart, she looked the giddiest he’d seen in years.

“We can turn the hourglass, Alex,” Amethyst said fervently. “We can make this right.”

“Wait, you’re suggesting… time-travel?” Alex stared at her. “Amethyst, I’m sorry, but… even with magical ponies running around, that sounds like crazy talk.”

Amethyst shook her head. “Time-travel would be a horrible idea,” she said. “I’m not sure we even could change the past. And if we could, we might just make things worse. But–”

“Then what’s this about ‘turning the hourglass’?”

“Sorry, Dad’s rubbed off on me,” Amethyst said, smiling wide. “Turn the hourglass, reverse the polarity, whatever you want to call it, don’t you see?” she gushed, a big grin spreading on her face, “All this time, the Barrier’s beat us back… Now, we can beat it back.”

“What?” Alex gasped. “You’re saying we can destroy the Barrier?”

Amethyst’s smile faded a little. Just a little. “No… no, I’m sorry, I can’t promise that. But we can push against it. Make it stop moving. We can make it retreat!”

As the conversation with Galatea had gone on, Alex had been on the verge of sitting again. Now he found himself standing upright.

Did he dare hope?

He’d heard something from Viktor Kraber while he was lounging about in the mess hall. Kraber had been reading a book aloud with Aegis. And he’d said, ‘To live without hope is to cease to live’. Could Alex argue with that at this point,? To ignore even the slightest hope here, to keep retreating was all but acknowledging that they’d die. That there was nothing that could be done.

No. He’d have none of that.

“Amethyst,” he said, counting his breaths. “What’s your grand idea?”

Unable to contain herself, she paced around her side of the table, nearly knocking over Zecora when the zebra tried to shield Bonbon from her. However, Zecora looked caught in her enthusiasm. And while Galatea did not speak through her again, Bonbon was quite calm.

“It’s amazing,” Amethyst said breathlessly. “It’s a chance, Colonel. It’s terrible to hear what they’ve done with the Crystal Heart… but now I KNOW! Now I know how they’re doing it! With that, I know how to change it!” She whooped for joy. “EUREKA!”

Amethyst paused then, catching her breath. She fixed Alex with a stare, beaming.

“All I need... is your locket.”

Instinctively, his fingers went to the heirloom he always wore, right next to his dog-tags. “You…” Alex said, mouth agape. “What locket?”

She tittered. “Oh, come off it, Action Man. We’re friends. You don’t have to put on the tough-guy act ‘round here, we know the real you.”

“You don’t know–”

But he could not finish. Amethyst was still beaming at him.

“I don’t know about this,” Alex mumbled, addressing the hidden figure inside Bonbon. “I might be head of the PHL’s military operations, but I’m not the unilateral boss of everyone in the damn army. I’ve got to answer my people, my superiors…”

“Colonel Reiner,” she spoke. “You are stalling.”

Her voice carried weight. Like his hands were moving of their own volition, Alex pulled out the locket from under his jacket, holding it on its chain, where all could see it.

The glowing-eyed Bonbon seemed fascinated by it. “There it is.”

“It’s lined with citrine crystal, isn’t it?” breathed Amethyst. “Just what we need...”

Alex’s fist closed around the locket. “Amethyst,” he said. “Why does it have to be my locket? Couldn’t you use any crystal?”

“Colonel,” Amethyst said, with utmost sincerity. “Crystals are my field. Ever since I gave you those runic tattoos, a little of Equestria’s magic is imbibed in you. Its principles apply to you. Maybe you wouldn’t survive long to magic’s exposure outside your home dimension, if the Tyrant didn’t lie to us… but in this controlled dosage, magic’s power is yours.”

“I know, why are you telling me this?”

Slowly, she neared him, from around the table.

“Because I think you still don’t understand how our magic works,” said Amethyst. “Listen to me, Alex. Your locket means something to you, a leader of men, a friend of Lyra Heartstrings. In your hands, with the crystal within, it’s as potent as the Crystal Heart. The fact it’s also heart-shaped is just a bonus.”

She enveloped his closed fist with her forehooves. He let her.

“We can create… not our own Barrier, but a counter to the Barrier,” Amethyst whispered. “Channeling the hearts of those who love us and our cause through your locket. Yes, it’d be like an arm-wrestling match. The Barrier’s too big to go down immediately... But it’d even the playing field. With the Barrier retreating, we can reclaim the lands you lost.”

With Zecora and Bonbon silhouetted in the background, Amethyst looked up at him.

“We’d fight fire with fire… where the fires would be the fire of love.”

“I wish to ask a question.”

When Alex saw who’d spoken, a sick feeling rose in his stomach, which he barely contained. He’d read about Changelings, heard of their victimhood by the Tyrant. But to see one in the flesh – the grinningly cadaverous, insect-like figure of Queen Chrysalis aroused no sympathy, only an instinctive repellence, even to his soldier’s eyes. Next to him, he felt Lyra stiffen up.

Alex kept his tone neutral. “Yes, what is it, Your Majesty?”

Without warning, Bonbon slammed her face upon the table, contorting, writhing in pain.

“Bonbon?” cried Zecora in alarm, as she reached for her. “What…”

But Bonbon’s convulsions were out of control. Her chair tipped over. The lyre she always carried fell from her grasp. A stray hoof struck Zecora in the chest, leaving her gasping. Twitching, groaning, froathing at the mouth, Bonbon fell to the floor.

“Bonbon!” shouted Alex, running up to her, Amethyst right behind him. “What’s the matter?”

And Bonbon, snapping her neck back, began screaming. Spittle was flying everywhere, her body racked with spasms.

Alex didn’t think twice. He ducked down and made to grab her forehooves.

“Zecora, help me hold her!” he yelled, not looking back as he tried pressing himself on the convulsing Bonbon. “What’s happening!? She looks as if she’s having a fit!”

“Colonel, this is no fit!” Zecora shouted back, going for Bonbon’s hindlegs. “Bonbon’s never had anything like it!”

The glow in Bonbon’s darting eyes sparked madly. Alex saw those eyes burning right into him.

“Colonel Reiner!” Bonbon screeched. Not in her voice. “It’s me, Galatea!”

“Galatea?” Alex spat out. “What the hell are you doing to her!?”

Bonbon shook her head desperately. “That’s not me! Our connection’s being severed! Colonel, the Tyrant is here!”

“What?! Where!”

“On mine side, on Equus!” cried the echoing voice. “She found me!”

Amethyst thumped Alex’s shoulder. “Alex! We’ve got to get Bonbon to Cadance! The pressure on her mind’s gonna kill her at this rate!”

“Wait!” Holding Bonbon as best he could, Alex tried to look into her eyes. “What about you, Galatea? We’ve got to help you!”

“I’m worlds away, there’s nothing you can do!” responded the voice. It sounded calmer, now. Yet it was the voice of one marching to the gallows. “I’ll fight her as long as I can. Mine part here is played out, Colonel Reiner. I’ve told you what I know. Now, trust Amethyst Star!”

He’d thought he might get some last words, some proper farewell.

Instead, Galatea just went. The glow in Bonbon’s eyes died. Vanished as if it had never been. The spasms left her, too, and her limbs went limp. Tongue lolling, Bonbon’s head weakly turned over. She’d lost consciousness.

Alex hadn’t realized he was sweating. The locket still dangled from his neck. Grunting, he roughly thrust it back beneath his jacket. He then wiped his brow. He had to wipe it three times.

“Alex…” Amethyst said gently. She placed a hoof on his shoulder, the same shoulder she’d thumped. “Galatea’s right. There’s nothing we can do for her.” She gestured at Bonbon. “But we can still get her to safety.”

His teeth were clenched. Like Bonbon, he felt like screaming, too.

“How many, Amethyst?” Alex whispered. “How many has she taken from us? Lyra… Luna… now this, this alicorn, Galatea. Why? They wanted to help us… they wanted to help us…”

“I know, Colonel,” Amethyst said, head bowed. “It’s sick. But we’ll make it right.” She’d been kneeling beside him. She promptly stood up. “Come. I just need to do something first. Once today’s transfer is over and done with, we can begin work on our plan.”

Wearily, Alex nodded. As he stood, he picked up Bonbon in his arms, gingerly moving her head to nestle into his chest. With his training, carrying a little pony like her wasn’t hard, yet she was light, far lighter than she should have been.

Wordlessly, Zecora tucked the battered old lyre between her forehooves.

Having emerged from the conference room, Amethyst trotted a way ahead of them, heading for those stairs that descended back towards the Museum’s spacious, crowded atrium. Although the Smith Hall lay in the opposite direction, and Bonbon was in uncertain condition, Alex couldn’t help but gaze after Amethyst, from his vantage point atop the stairs, as she passed by the guards to enact her day’s duties.

While other specialists were practiced in the craft of opening portals between worlds, it was a highly delicate operation, and Amethyst trusted herself to perform it above all others.

Again, his gaze was drawn to the huge American flag that hung from the ceiling. He wondered how much he still believed in it.

A point of light sparked in the portal’s center, heralding its opening. A token number of PHL, composed mainly of Equestrians, formed a semi-circle facing the portal, but many faced outwards. The foremost task of guarding a portal was to shield it from possible outside assault. He saw Amethyst nod into a headset. She’d requested a password from the other side, and it checked out.

It was rumored, and he’d heard Amethyst ponder it, that the Empire had ansibles. If only the PHL possessed similar instant-communication, rather than having to rely on garbled radio messages or old-timey mail, via unstable portals. Like shield technology, this was an area where only Equus’s resources could provde what they needed. Resources they were low on – the Empire, not.

The numerical indicator above the keyboard displayed how many refugees were scheduled for transfer today. A dozen. Not a bad number, yet there were about six times that amount lying on indefinite wait at the Smith Hall. He saw the first pair of refugees, a couple by the looks of them, one a pegasus mare, the other a male griffon, emerge blinking onto Earth. A crumbling, ephemeral haven, but still sought by those who wished to look upon a new world, before it vanished forever...

Something nudged his elbow.

“Colonel Reiner?” said Zecora. She gestured at Bonbon. “Think what’s best for her.”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Alex sighed, thinking of the Smith Hall.. “Let’s go find Cadance.”

An alarm bell rang throughout the building.

“Yes,” said Queen Chrysalis. “Several years… you’ve been here a while.”

Alex let his chest decontract. “More like ten days,” he said glibly. He tapped the wheelchair. “Rough landing.”

The Public Assembly chuckled again.

Out of the ensuing chaos, what Alex remembered was one word.

Not merely a word. An invective.

…Or an order.

Jump.

Before that there’d been the refugee couple, looking around in panic, the harsh screeching noise of the alarm in everyone’s ears. The troops reacted with sensible discipline. Two of the guards pulled the refugees to safety, to the stairs atop which Alex stood.

All the others concentrated their aims on the portal.

There was Amethyst, crying to make herself heard above the alarm.

“Something’s picked up this station’s coordinates! Perform emergency shutdown!”

Jump.

Yet the safeguard failed.

…And a look of horror dawned on Amethyst.

Even from afar, as the guards and the refugee couple rushed past him, Alex saw it, and understood her horror. The safeguard had been sabotaged. He called out to the ones below.

“This is Colonel Reiner! Destroy it! Destroy the portal!”

“Too late! They’re coming through!”

Amethyst had called back just as a purple shield wrapped itself around the gateway.

“Zecora, take Bonbon!”

Those were his orders to the zebra, in the process of handing her the unconscious body, before he raced down the stairs, his runes burning.

Amethyst saw him hurtle towards her.

“Alex, no! What are you doing! We need to get out of here! I still need you to–”

Jump.

Then their surroundings dissolved into white light, drowning out even his runes’ brightness, knocking him back. The effects of a flash grenade going off.

In the bright void, he couldn’t make out the shape of the enemy until they were atop of him.

A spell hit him in the chest, scorching right through his protections, tearing up his skin, filling his nostrils with the scent of roasted flesh. Half-blinded, he saw the unicorn, a dark silhouette against the void, move to strike again...

A well-known mohawked equine figure slammed against them.

If only he could find his tongue. He was torn between wanting to thank Zecora or chew her out. What was she thinking, abandoning her post like that? Where there no troops down here to hold back the tide?

…But, from what little he could make out, the tide wasn’t turning.

A shadow fell across his eyes.

Like a prophet parting the tide, he thought he saw was Bonbon. Back on her hooves. Her eyes aligned, gazing right at him, unperturbed by the chaos.

She nodded at the portal.

“Jump,” she whispered.

The last Alex remembered seeing was her vanish into the aether.

“But you say you’d heard of Equus, Commander?” Grizelda blinked. “Oh... My apologies, Colonel.”

“No, it’s fine,” Alex said, running a hand through his short hair. “I’m used to it. The name confusion, and the roughness. It comes with the job. And, yes… humans found about Equus recently, but I’d never gone there.”

“Roughness,” Grizelda nodded approvingly. “I trust that, much like my own people, yours have been… scattered, and separated under a dozen different flags?”

"Hundreds, yeah,” said Alex, nodding back. “You catch on quick, Your Grace." He took a breath. “Admittedly, our world’s larger than Equus. Without other, uh, intelligent species, we spread out. Settled where we found water and fertile soil, and sort of... moved on. In six-thousand years, we’ve gone from mud-hut villages to cities in the thousands. Separated by borders we drew up ourselves and more languages than I can count.”

Grizelda let him speak.

“You’ll find no great unifier from where I come from these days, Your Grace,” lamented Alex. “We’ll find a cause, band together... and when all’s said and done, go our separate ways.”

A great hand was raised from the throng. Alex, to his unexpected delight, saw it belonged to none other than a Minotaur. A real, live Minotaur. Wearing glasses. He nearly grinned.

“Pardon me, Sir Reiner,” said the Minotaur. “I am Philip, Lord Darkhoof of the Minotaurs. I believe an important question has been forgotten. Do you have a first name?”

“Alexander,” said he. “My name is Alexander.”

The Minotaur nodded thoughtfully. “It is a good name. May I ask another question?”

“Yeah, well,” Alex said. “What’s another question, at this point. Fire away.”

“Really?” said Thorax. “That’s how he put it?”

Ember chuckled. “Of course I didn’t take him at his word.”

Thorax was a better listener than Garble ever was, and Ember had seen fit to visit him again – ostensibly to bring Garble his daily meal, but she could hardly contain the stories she had to tell. And this time, she’d taken her new guitar along. Besides, Ember had seen the ruby she brought lying uneaten in the corner of Garble’s enclosed space. Lamenting a waste of good food, it hadn’t been tough for her to again bid Thorax he draw the tarp down on the crate.

The Changeling lay opposite her, and had cleared a spot of wax so Ember could sit. Like the previous day, she’d been telling him all about it. All of what Reiner had said at the breakfast-table, and then later on, in the formal environment of the convocation chamber.

“But that’s all I got to ask him,” clarified Ember. “If he was a warrior, who had he fought? He got vague and evasive… just said he’d done a lot of fighting in the desert.”

Thorax sucked in air. “Oof. I can’t imagine a worse place. When it’s hot, even Pharynx has trouble hiding how much the Sun does murder to his chitin.”

“I quite like the desert,” Ember shrugged, though she chose not to mention how she’d ‘obtained’ her new guitar in a desert raid. “Matter of taste. And that was it. You ask me, I think he didn’t like talking about fighting. Must be cos’ of his pony friend.”

“Huh,” Thorax said simply. It may have sounded inexpressive to the untrained ear, but Ember understood he was unused to conveying his thoughts. Such were Changeling drones. “Still. Sounds better than the other day.”

“Definitely more engaging,” Ember agreed, plucking the guitar’s strings. The drone seemed to enjoy whatever noises she made with it, and that was good enough. “This… human, is pretty interesting. He had a lot to tell, but he had his hands full with everyone else.” She raised her claws. “Bet his hands aren’t as good as these. They look too soft.”

“Mmm, maybe,” Thorax added. “Probably couldn’t play the guitar like you.”

With a twinge of guilt, Ember thought back to the guitar’s original owner. Thorax didn’t need to know about her raid on the pig caravan.

“Eh,” said Ember. “He didn’t say much about who he is. In the end, the meeting was just ‘hey, here’s a human, gaaaze in wonder!’ We’ll just have to see if he’s got more to show.”

“Hm,” Thorax pondered. “That can’t be all, can it?”

“Actually, no,” Ember said. “There was Madame Heartstrings’ idea…” She glanced back at Thorax, who was resting his chin. “But you’d have to hear it yourself, I guess,” she chuckled. “Tough luck.”

“Darnit,” he muttered. “Why must you tease me along?”

“Come on, just ditch Garble and go see for yourself,” Ember said with a huff. “You’re a Changeling, you can put on a disguise. Chrysalis doesn’t have to know.”

“... I would, but I can’t. Queen’s orders.”

Ember let out a frustrated sigh. There was no way to get around his rigid view, no matter how hard she tried. In time, perhaps, but not today.

But the thought of Thorax in disguise led her mind back to that ambush in the Forbidden Jungle, and Thorax-as-Garble praising her music. This was nothing like what Garble would have said. She wondered if there was more to this drone.

“When you were… you know.” She paused her guitar-strumming, and Thorax looked at her. “Garble. By the campfire.”

Thorax blinked. “Yeah?” he said, tilting his head. “What about it?”

“... Okay, look,” Ember backtracked a little. “Did you not see how Garble acted before?”

Thorax glanced at the crate behind him, and then back at her.

“Um,” he said. “Is… is this about what I said at the campfire?”

“Yeah, guess it is,” Ember said. Even as she continued to pluck at the guitar, she felt her brows furrow. “I thought a Changeling would be better at the disguise thing. Could’ve fooled me more than that.”

“Oh, uh, I… I did watch Garble, you know,” he said, a little defensive. Perhaps their abilities were a point of pride. “But…”

“But…?”

“I don’t know, I guess...” Thorax began, with a drawn-out sigh. “I just thought it’d be more natural if I– I mean, if Garble liked it. I mean, well, uh, not saying it wasn’t good– which it was! I just, darnit, I’m sorry. Was I– gah, I mean, Garble– not supposed to like it?”

“I… didn’t say that,” said Ember. And there was an unfamiliar, bashful feeling inside her. “So… you’re saying you liked it, but you tried pretending Garble did?”

Thorax had lowered his head to the floor. The poor Changeling was frightened, obviously. Ember rolled her eyes.

“It gets a little mixed up,” Thorax admitted. “But… I don’t know, Princess. It’s hard for me– even for most Changelings– to pretend you’re something you’re not. So I said it as myself.” His face scrunched up as he realized what he’d said. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t supposed to like it, was I? L-look I’ll make it up to you, I’ll say I didn’t like it! Yeah, that makes it right, right? I’ll, uh, I’ll even–”

His words died down as Ember put a claw to his lips.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” she said calmly. “I’m glad you liked it, actually, Thorax.”

“You… you are?” Thorax said, cautiously. She nodded, and his head rose higher. “Oh, uh, then… then I like it.”

“There, was that so hard?” Ember smiled thinly. “I could use more practice, but I’m glad someone liked it.”

The Changeling formed a tiny smile in return. Ember found it suited him. Perhaps he should be smiling more often.

His smile faded quickly. “I… don’t know if we can talk much longer.”

Ember blinked with surprise. “Why not?” she said, in a low voice. “Is that now part of Chrysalis’ orders, too?”

“Oh no, no-no,” Thorax said nervously. “Not… exactly. But… I won’t be here all day...”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Ember said, nodding at Garble’s crate. “Frees you up from watching this twit.”

“Yeah, but…” He swallowed. “The Queen also wants me as her– by her side at mealtimes. I mean, luckily, my friend came in today, but… if the Queen comes in and sees us talking…”

Always Chrysalis, always getting in the way. Ember frowned, but said something different.

“I didn’t know you had friends.”

“Me neither,” agreed Thorax. “She’s from our Hive, too. Just sort of started talking to me and Pharynx. She does that a lot. Pharynx was annoyed at first, but now I think he’s just used to her butting in.”

Thorax looked up.

“Oh…” he said, in a small voice. “She must’ve snuck in through the window.”

Ember felt wax drip on her head.

With a yelp and a fiery breath, she jumped away from Thorax, glancing up in time to see something dark fall off the ceiling and scuttle into the underside of Chrysalis’ bed with a chittering noise.

“I think you scared her...” Thorax said, keeping his tone matter-of-fact. “Aphid! You can come out now. Ember didn’t mean it, uh, did she?”

“I scared her?” Ember asked indignantly, watching the other Changeling slowly creep out from underneath the bed, a bag slung over her shoulder.

While Aphid’s dark, chitinous husk matched Thorax’s, she was small, smaller than he was, which only served to emphasize her large Changeling bug-eyes. Curiously, though, her otherwise identically-shaped fin was colored purple. Apart from her helmet, the little drone wasn’t armored at all, and looked perfectly harmless.

But Ember knew better. “What the– when did your friend arrive?”

“She, uh, she came in right after the… presentation,” said Thorax.

The other Changeling was giggling, having made no other sound. While Ember realized she was gripping her guitar tightly, smoke rosing from her nostrils.

“Uh-huh…” said Ember, without loosening her grip. “How long was she up there?”

“Probably long enough to listen…” Thorax admitted. “I think you really must’ve scared her when you came in earlier, so she… uh, hung up there for a while.”

The little drone named Aphid nodded vigorously, her shoulder-bag jiggling. She nudged Thorax and pointed at Ember.

“Um, you should probably introduce yourself,” Thorax said to Aphid. “I mean, the Princess knows your name, but, yeah.”

As a response, all Aphid did was boop his snout playfully.

“Sorry,” Thorax told Ember. “She’s… she’s pretty shy.”

Ember peered at the drone. “Now that could’ve fooled me,” she said drily. “But now she’s here, you get time off, right? Isn’t it her turn to guard Garble?”

“Uh, no, that’d be Pharynx’s job,” clarified Thorax. “And actually, I did ask Aphid to come in early… I just… forgot you’d be popping in, Princess.” Again, he showed Ember a half-smile. A rather sheepish one. “Watch this.”

He thumped the crate. Immediately, Garble gave a loud snarl, audible even under the tarp. It made Aphid jump back in fright, her bag almost slipping off.

“Sorry,” Thorax said to Aphid, just as sheepishly. “Had to… had to show the Princess you need the company, if we’re letting the beast out of his cage.”

“Wait, what?” said Ember, eyes widening. “Isn’t that against the Queen’s orders?”

Aphid, who’d been staring darkly at Thorax, now glanced towards Ember, blinking. Then back towards Thorax, considering him a moment, before she started giggling.

“I-I d-didn’t...” Thorax stuttered, embarrassed. “I mean we’re… gonna give him some space. Aphid’s agreed to help, while I’ll keep… guarding your guard. Garble.”

At this, Aphid giggled harder than ever, and she patted Thorax on the back – not roughly, or even jovially, but gently, Ember noticed.

“Yes, yes, I do appreciate your massages,” said Thorax, mildly indignant. “But do you have to rub it in? That’s what she does,” he added, addressing Ember. “She’s a masseuse. Though if you asked, she’d say… um, she’d call herself a fan-girl.”

“A ‘fan-girl?”

“For the Queen,” Thorax said tiredly, going to lift the tarp. “Aphid, lend me a hoof?”

Ember tensed. “That’s Garble in there,” she warned, raising a claw. “He’s a brute. If you’re not careful, he’ll bite your heads off.”

“Well, uh…” Thorax slowly looked away from her. “Then I’m… glad you’re here, Princess. Didn’t think you’d help...”

But as it turned out, Ember needn’t have worried.

Timid as both these drones were by Changeling standards, she was amazed to see them work in harmonious synchrony as Thorax unlatched the door. Blinded by the sudden light, Garble didn’t have time to even yelp when, adroitly, the drones each released strings of wax into the cramped crate to bind his limbs – wings behind his back, legs and tail attached, forearms before his chest, even clamped his jaws together.

Thorax nodded at Aphid. She took a deep breath and darted into the crate, wings flitting, to push Garble’s mass while Thorax carefully pulled at the last remaining green string, their combined efforts easing the trussed-up Garble out of his prison.

The red dragon’s eyes burned into them, hateful as ever, but his jaws were locked, and Thorax ignored his gaze.

He knelt by Garble. “I’m really, really sorry about Chrysalis…” Thorax whispered. “I know it must be awful, stuck in there, barely able to move… I thought… Aphid could do something for that. She’s done it for me lots of times.”

The dragon merely snorted, or tried to. But Aphid, reassured he’d be no threat, giggled and leapt onto Garble’s back, rubbing her forehooves. Ember saw what she intended then. Sure enough, Aphid began delicately massaging the mantle between Garble’s wings, with expert smoothness.

It was like a burning light had gone out in Garble’s eyes. She actually saw him untense, his eyes drooping, ears flicking as he released a blissful, if muffled sigh.

“~Gooood boy,” Aphid whispered, sing-song.

Those were the first words Ember had heard her speak. Yet her attention didn’t stay on Aphid. Her gaze slowly turned towards Thorax, as she saw him in a new light.

Thorax rubbed his neck abashedly. “It… it seemed like a nice thing to do…”

“Yeah…” Ember said, staring from him, to Garble. “Yeah. For a Changeling, you’re... uncommonly focused on ‘nice’, you know.”

He looked up at her. “Do dragons do ‘nice’?”

Ember prepared to reply, but then her gaze fell upon something. The guitar, still in her grip. Her guitar. Except, could it really be called ‘her’ guitar?

She turned from him, sharply. “I’d better go,” she said. “Next meeting starts soon. Apparently, that green unicorn wants to say something.”

As she stalked to the door, though, something inside her halted her step. She turned around. While Aphid was still massaging Garble, Thorax hadn’t moved. He was standing on the spot, watching her quietly.

“Well…” Ember said. “You said… you’re there with Chrysalis at mealtimes?”

Thorax looked down at the floor. “Yeah… In the background.”

“Okay… I…” Ember trailed off. “I’ll keep an eye out for you.”

She left then, not wanting to lock gazes with him.

As the dining-hall filled again for a late lunch, Blueblood’s eyes were on a particular figure. From his place by the door, he allowed his gaze to rove a moment over their bronze-toned, muscular chest, their pink, bovine lips, their shock of curly black hair… Seated for the meal by his father, Basil Darkhoof cut such a fine picture of masculine beauty.

He smiled to himself, remembering the note he’d slipped the young Minotaur.

Tomorrow at daybreak. Meet me in the steam-baths.

These pleasant thoughts were cut short, however, by a new arrival casting its shadow. Literally. Before Blueblood had turned, he knew few beings at the Concordia cast such a long shadow.

The evidence stood before him, in the shape of the Great Stag. By his side, like always, was the Snow Maiden.

Not his actual granddaughter, for her physical self had long passed away, but a doe called Lel. A doe of two shadows. Hers, and that of Elsa’s, borne in the shawl around her neck.

“Hello, Prince Blueblood,” said the Stag. “I trust you’re enjoying the refreshments?”

His tone was warm, yet seeing him, Blueblood felt a cold shiver. Did it have to do with the Snow Maiden’s accompanying presence? In a way, maybe it did.

“Enjoying them fine, Allfather,” Blueblood said carefully, holding up his cup. “I do have a taste for exotic fruit.”

“Ah,” the Stag said sagely. “Not unlike your ancestor, Astron. I remember young Polaris. He was charming, dashing, and much the same in his tastes.”

Blueblood tried to smile, nervously. “They do say a Blueblood can steer his way towards any creature’s heart, when he puts his mind to it.”

“Quite,” agreed the Stag. “Your talents are in-keeping with ancestral tradition, dear Prince. You have the potential to make a story for yourself like Polaris’. In all tales, each retelling may bring something new while remaining true to its spirit.”

His warm tone, Blueblood felt, belied an icy depth akin to the Snow Maiden’s eyes. Here the Maiden chose to speak.

“Tell me, what retelling would your tale be?”

He saw her eyes had turned.

“We do not blame sons for the sins of their father, Prince Blueblood,” said Elsa Erklass, “but don’t mistake our forgiveness for your ancestor’s mistakes as acceptance of yours. They are cut from the same cloth. I’ve remembered his and felt them well enough.”

Although the eyes of Elsa’s bearer were the warmest brown, they went as icily blue as the Snow Maiden’s truly were. She tugged at the glimmering shawl which held her spirit, and untold others that once bore her spirit as their burden.

The doe Lel was merely the latest. If Blueblood’s memory served, the first had been...

“Excuse me,” he said. “I’ve got a lot of people to meet.”

Blueblood didn’t wait for an answer before he turned away, ardently hoping the darkness of his mind wouldn’t show to the crowd. Of course a meeting with the Reindeer always led back to his family history.

His ancestor’s star-crossed romance with the Fire Maiden, and the fate which had ultimately bound her to her sister’s particular form of immortality.

All the fault of a Blueblood.

He went to pour himself another drink, bitterly wondering if the Winter nights of the North could feel half as cold as the Winter in his heart.

And before you knew it, the end came, after an afternoon of individual deliberations.

Ember sat on her bed, finding the room eerily quiet. She didn’t feel like going to dinner. Only the second day, and she felt isolated. Maybe it was because Garble wasn’t around to amuse her anymore. Maybe it was being surrounded by faces from all across the planet. What did they see her as? No more than her father’s daughter? Or did they view her as an equal?

Letting out a sigh, she idly gazed to her bag. Sticking out of it, the morning light reflecting off its dull metal, was a metal canister. The same metal canister the Great Chaoskämpfer gave her after choosing her as their representative to the Concordia. Among the common word, the Kämpfer’s flame could always be used to speak with him regardless of location.

With no other thought, she slowly pulled out the metal canister, admiring its coltan, a dull black sheen. Slowly, she placed it onto a vacant cushion, where it made a soft sound. Her claws quickly worked to twist knobs and undo locks, and its lid slid open with a hiss. It was nearly time.

“Great Chaoskämpfer. It is I, Princess Ember,” she spoke, twisting a knob as the fire started to slowly escape from the opening. “I call upon your fire to light the way, for not only myself, but everyone here. Please respond, so we may have answers to what lies before us.”

To complete the show of respect, Ember slipped back, and kowtowed before the canister, her snout pressing the bedsheets.

Emerald-green fire arose, the flames molding themselves into something new. It was a head. The head and neck of a dragon, whose eyes spoke of an ancient wisdom, unconsumed by the emerald blaze. By the head’s proportions alone, this dragon’s size in life must have been far larger than most would expect.

“And I appear before you, dragonet, willing to provide answers,” the Chaoskämpfer spoke through the projection, his voice soft and quiet like candle-light. “Although a distant spirit, I’m here to grant you and everyone else aid for what lies before us. Speak now, dragonet, and tell me what is it that troubles you.”

She licked her lips, nervously. Sharing feelings have never been her forte. Yet if she couldn’t talk with the Chaoskämpfer, she couldn’t talk at all.

“I’ve no idea what I’m doing,” Ember admitted. “Dragons don’t do… diplomacy. We barely even trade, except with the Kirin, and they’d trade with anyone. I feel like I’m just an errand-girl, and now I’ve brought you here… what do I do?”

“Well, what have you done thus far, Ember? What has occured to drive you to this state of mind?”

Ember sighed. “Chrysalis… damn her,” she said, rubbing her head. “I let her walk over me too easily. Alright, I did get some fun out of what she did to Garble, but… if I want to be a Dragon Lord, what sort of Dragon Lord will I be, if I can’t stand up for my people?”

“Hmm. You’ve had an encounter with the Changeling’s current Swarmarch? Well, I commend you for your pragmatism, Ember. There are times where a Dragon Lord must act on what is necessary, rather than just. Having to sacrifice one’s dignity for others is a labor you’ll have to bear in the future. To be a great Dragon Lord, you’ll need to know when it’s best to act and when best to placate the egos of others.”

“I despise him, you know,” Ember said candidly. “Forgive me. But I don’t know why you chose Garble as my companion. His buffoonery makes me laugh sometimes, but that’s it. Yet…” Again, she sighed, then muttered. “I hate it, but I feel like I’m gonna have to make it up to him somehow… for his dignity…”

“You are presently among others, Ember. He is not limited to solely entertainment, and you would do best to not underestimate him, much as he underestimates you. There is a lesson that you’ll each learn from your experiences. Give him time, and you may see my reasoning.”

“I hope you’re right,” muttered Ember. “Because I sort of feel like Chrysalis did us a favor… Imagine him, knocking around the representatives. Not that I’ve been doing much better… All I’ve reached to right now is one Changeling drone. A drone.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“It’s… it’s not enough, is it? He’s just a drone.”

The Chaoskämpfer gave a knowing smile, an amused look in his eyes.

“Has your father ever told you of his time in the Gauntlet of Fire? Of how his left claw hadn’t healed when the previous Lord’s Call came out?”

“Not really…” said Ember. “Dad, he... never talks about the Gauntlet. I guess he doesn’t want me getting any ideas.”

“And yet, he sent you to be educated by the Kirin,” the Chaoskämpfer remarked idly, “I’d say Torch doesn’t want to appear ‘weak’ by letting others know of how he succeeded without use of might.”

“You’re joking.”

“I remember him so vividly,” the Chaoskämpfer began. “He approached the mouth of my mountain, most of his hoard dragged behind him in the dead of night. Torch had offered nearly all he had for my assistance. The Dragons’ Elder looked to Ember with a piercing gaze. “He was desperate, he was willing to make any deal possible if his hoard didn’t suffice… including an egg.”

Ember thought over the Chaoskämpfer’s revelation. Learning that her father almost sacrificed everything he could to become Dragon Lord was shocking enough. But then her mouth fell open the weight of the Elder’s words hit her. To dragons, she’d always been small, but now, she felt smaller than ever.

“Wait…” she whispered. “If he… I was his only… Dad… did my Dad try to sell me?”

“He was young, Ember. He was young and so desperate to become the Dragon Lord,” the Chaoskämpfer said softly, stretching his ethereal neck forward to rub his forehead against her’s. “I told him to keep his gold and stow his offers. He didn’t need my help to win the Gauntlet.” A kind look was now what Ember saw, “For what he was missing was not power, no. All he had to do was to use what little he had… his cunning. It was after misleading the other dragons into fighting each other that he managed to win. I remember how he was when he saw me the following night. Scepter in the claw, a look of guilt on his face for what he almost had done.”

Ember’s head rose, subtly, from her kowtow.

“Guilt? Guilt for what?” she asked, straining to steady her voice. “For what he almost did? Or… because he used his head, and that’s not what a ‘real’ dragon would do? Huh?”

“Guilt for being so desperate, that he almost gave me an egg,”[color] said the Chaoskämpfer. “Oh yes, your father used his head, instead of his strength. I think he’d want you to do likewise in that regard.”

An unpleasant burning, unlike the embrace of dragonfire, took hold of Ember. “Know what? After what you’ve told me,” she spat, “I’m not sure I care about what my Dad wants.”

“So, what do you want then?”

Groaning, Ember rose entirely, chafing to bow any longer.

“I don’t know!” she shouted, pacing around the bed. “I thought coming here, I’d get to show, I… I don’t know, somebody, that I’m not just some little princess! But so far, all I seem to get is more jeers from knuckleheads like Garble, or mocked by Queen Chrysalis, if I’m noticed at all!”

“I think you’ve forgotten something, Ember,” the Chaoskämpfer said simply, “use your wits. What do you have?”

“Have?” Ember slowed down. She chuckled bitterly. “Alright, I’ll bite. I’m a dragon without a hoard. Chrysalis even took my bodyguard from me.” She tapped the side of the Chaoskämpfer’s bag. “All I’ve got is this bag, my armor, a Scepter that doesn’t belong to me, a guitar… that I stole, and… a drone who hangs on to my every word. Goodness knows why. I was that close to strangling him in the jungle.”

There was a look in the Chaoskämpfer’s eyes. He adopted a wistful smile.

“Sometimes, life surprises us in how we meet our companions.” He’d spoken in a soft tone. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

Ember placed a claw to her forehead. “Great Chaoskämpfer…” she said. “Thanks. But I think I want to be alone.”

He merely nodded, his head a rock of ages. “As you wish, dragonet,” he said softly. “Yet know that while I’m here, you’re not alone. And maybe you won’t be after I’m gone.”

The emerald-green flames receded, of their own volition, back into the canister.

Ember slumped onto her bed, head in her claws, rocking to and fro. She’d get over it soon, she knew. She was a dragon. Dragons were tough.

But at that moment, inside, she’d have liked to be anything other than a dragon.

Day 3 of the Concordia – Twelfth Day of the Month of Rophon.

Watering the lavender was becoming a routine. But Luna found it put her no less at ease than it had centuries ago. Since her return, she’d realized it was one activity she looked forward to the most, besides playing with her abacus. It was a personal regret that her sister hadn’t thought to mention the beauty of her lavenders. Still, to have others notice the pleasant smell was enough. It wasn’t like she was the only one awake in these early hours.

Luna strode up the staircase leading to the top of the pagoda. The flowers’ soothing aroma would travel down, as she intended. Watering the lavender, and closing off by lowering the Moon to start the day. Then Celestia should awaken, and her shift would end.

She found Darkhoof practicing his own daily routine – his idea of an early morning workout. In the past few days on Metazoa, she’d come to appreciate his company.

“Ah, good morning, Proxenos,” Luna greeted, with a smile and a tip of her gardener’s hat. “I trust you had a restful night?”

Acting on reflex, the great Minotaur cracked his knuckles before answering.

“Surely if I hadn’t, you’d be aware?”

His tone was easy enough, for someone who’d just done hard exercise. But his face was lined with a look he couldn’t quite hide.

Not that she saw it for long when Darkhoof headed for the ornamental basin, to splash water on his face.

“Most refreshing,” he commented. “Really, Your Highness, I’m grateful you don’t mind having your flowers mask the scent of this old bull.” He coughed. “I found the gardens were always the hardest to tend, while lookng after the Hall. Night’s rest is good, but I get restless during the day unless I start by pushing myself.”

“Don’t we all?” agreed Luna. Holding the watering can in her aura, she dilligently went to water the lavender at the balcony. “And don’t worry. I’m flattered my flowers are of some use other than an old mare’s hobby.”

“Gardening isn’t just a pastime for the old,” Darkhoof said, wiping himself with a towel. “Those who know Minotaurs only as fighters are surprised to learn we find it an honored profession.”

“I’m only as old as I wish to see myself, mind, though my sister would disagree,” said Luna. She wiped sweat off her brow, but maintained her smile. “It’s a time-consuming hobby, but I find it as enjoyable, and more personal, as spending time counting stars.”

“I see you pour a nurturing spirit into it,” Darkhoof remarked quietly. “I’ve often wondered if that’s how alicorns see the world. Parents pass on before their children, but a gardener watches as what they cared for grows old and is reborn, many times over...”

That, more than anything thus far, caught Luna’s attention. She set her hat aside, along with the watering can.

“Perhaps,” she replied softly. “I don’t know how Tia does it. But, a gardener takes care of their garden, like you said. In the stead of each flower, so too another grows... beautiful as the last, perhaps even more. And our duty is to ensure they grow.”

She glanced to the expanse surrounding Mount Metazoa. Beneath the starry skies and the light of the moon, these vast, rolling steppes seemed almost serene.

“Time passes,” Luna continued. “I haven’t known a mortal life, and I spent a thousand years in timeless sleep. But there are times where my sister would tell me how many friends she has seen pass over the centuries. Time passes, but memories remain.”

Luna turned her gaze to the lavender, bristling softly in the cool morning breeze.

“And those memories are what we treasure the most. What of you, friend Darkhoof?”

“Me?” replied Darkhoof, sighing. “A Minotaur spends much of his life apart, in a house of memories. Sometimes I feel we only have children so they shall tend to the images of long-past ancestors… The Labyrinth is designed to teach but one lesson, to those who’d brave it. Every living being dies alone.” He was looking over the expanse. “It is not a lesson my son took well…”

“I see,” Luna said shortly. “Perhaps his… insight, differed from yours?”

Darkhoof shrugged. “You could say that, Your Highness.”

Luna considered it, for a moment.

“Time changes one’s outlook. Our grandfather taught us much,” she began. “We were to be those who’d move the Sun and Moon, who’d shoulder the burden as the seasons changed. Yet he, and Elsa, and Anna, assured us that no matter our purpose, we deserved to live. And we’re forever grateful for his guidance, long after having left the safety of Adlaborn. But never did I unravel if this was his plan from the beginning, or if he’d had a change of heart in years gone by.”

She sighed.

“Perhaps in time your son would see it as you did, Proxenos. Or impart his own thoughts. Give him enough time, and he’ll give it to you as well.”

She smiled. It was a sad, reminiscent smile.

“If only I’d heeded such advice many centuries ago. I confess envy for those who hesitate not to resolve their issues, in a matter of years, months, days... For my sister and I, well, it always felt like there was a next time, until it was far, far too late.”

Luna glanced back at him.

“Apologies,” she said. “I am not... I do believe my sister’s usually the one who gives our little ponies advice on a dime.”

Darkhoof’s eyes crinkled. “Perhaps you are growing into it, Princess Luna.”

“Perhaps,” Luna agreed. “Thank you, Proxenos, and I do wish you the best with your son…”

Then, something did come to her mind. Of a gift, given back to her only recently, but which had been hers many, many years ago.

“Princess Luna?”

“To grow into it… yes, ah...”

Luna regarded him with a knowing look. The question of her immortality lingered on - and it was a question that hardly anyone has ever asked her directly.

“Our nature is unknown to most,” she said softly. “Including ourselves. Sint Erklass, kind as he is, imparted that we were meant to be more. I do wonder, however, should I ever perish, would an afterlife await me? And for that…”

She raised her uncovered hoof, looking at it thoughtfully.

“Do we have souls, after all? A question that will not be answered so easily, I fear, even with our milennia of experience. Tell me, Proxenos. What do your people think of souls?”

Darkhoof eyed her queryingly. “I’m surprised you didn’t ask a long time ago, Your Highness,” he said. “But then… maybe you were still young, in the days of Asterion?”

“Beliefs change, Proxenos, as do the people who hold them,” Luna answered. “Though I’ve read my fair share of myth and legend in my youth, I wish to keep myself knowledgeable. And the days of Asterion have long passed.”

He nodded, as if this answer satisfied him.

“Then you’ll know what they accused him of,” Darkhoof said solemnly, “of arrogance, of madness, perhap shunning his fellow beings. Poor, woeful Asterion, who believed himself the first Minotaur… or at least, the first to see the world for what it was.” The Proxenos paused then, his eyes going back to an old story. “Asterion had an ambition. He thought he could build a house so large, it’d encompass the Sun, the stars, the world.”

Luna leaned on her watering can, still held afloat in her magical aura. She’d heard the story many times over, but what was one more time, really, to an immortal?

“He was haunted by the idea that none of these last forever,” Darkhoof explained. “It was his hope that, in this house, he’d be able to keep their death at bay. Day and night he labored, pulling stones, setting mortar… But no matter how large his house grew, there was one thing he never allowed inside its walls, which were built to preserve celestial beauty alone. People would have spoiled it. Ruined it.”

Breaking for a moment in his story, Darkhoof sat on the edge of the fountain.

“Then, came the inevitable,” he said. “One day, he discovered his house had grown so big, he could no longer find his way to the center.” He chuckled wryly. “What do you make of that? Though this isn’t how the tale ends, of course.”

Luna tapped her chin, humming.

“Dreams hardly ever end, do they? Their stories unwind, on, and on, until morning arrives, for one rude awakening,” said Luna wistfully. “And the same it goes for Asterion’s domain.”

“Ah, then you do remember the end,” Darkhoof smiled. “They say he wandered nine days, trying to find the center again. And when he did, he came face-to-face with… himself. Literally.” He chuckled again. “Well, not quite. A small pod of Changelings had made their roost in his house’s center and, sensing him approach, chose to play a trick on him. Exhausted and delirious from his long search, he couldn’t tell for sure what he saw. So when he demanded what they were doing there, the Queen, who’d taken on his shape and had a poet’s tongue, told him these words.”

Here the Proxenos paused for reflection.

“These words… ‘We are like the spider. We weave our life and then move along in it. We are like the dreamer who dreams, and then lives in the dream. This is true for the entire universe.’ And then she asked him if he’d ever loved anyone but himself. That, they say, is when Asterion’s eyes truly opened.”

Darkhoof stroked his beard.

“But even then, he never could fully let go of his compulsion… Something in him required that he never be idle, be it with his hands, or to take in the world’s beauty before it vanished. So he decided he’d travel. And yet to others, his heart should always be a mystery, unless he chose otherwise. This was how he forged his armor, a house unto itself, only ever to be opened for those to whom he’d bare his heart. And this is why, to a Minotaur, armor is akin to their soul.”

Luna gently set down her watering can, smiling.

“Many a time have I heard the story, Proxenos Darkhoof, in many forms and languages,” she told him. “But like all stories that pass through the millennia, the essence and heart remains. Thank you, for a lovely retelling, one that I think I shall remember.”

She cleared her throat, adjusting her hat one last time.

“Your story isn’t the only Minotaur legacy brought here. In my possession is an ancient artifact of Minotaur origin. I’d like your assessment on its... readiness, for we expect it’ll be of use in the coming days."

‘Artifact’ was putting it lightly. It was a heirloom, made for her and her alone. But privately, Luna knew the time would come when she’d return it to its rightful owners. And the word caught Darkhoof’s ears, evidently.

“An artifact, you say?” he said curiously. “If it’s from your time, in all likelihood it is undamaged. Unfortunately, it may even be that the knowledge of how to create such artifacts is… not what it once was.”

“Will you be able to assess it, though?” Luna asked. But she knew the answer already.

“Have some faith in us. We remember our legacy well, Your Highness.”

“I thought as much. Come. The dawn is upon us, and it’s best we start early.”

With a glow of her horn, she wore her hat once more, and looked up to the Moon. And with great care, it began to lower. Celestia had not arrived yet, but these days, one could do away with formalities.

The pair descended back into the Hall, the Moon lowering with each step. Soon, the first rays of the Sun began to shine through the windows, and Luna met her sister halfway down the stairwell. She looked as laidback as Luna felt this morning – unadorned, with a cup of tea in her aura.

“Good morning, Luna, Proxenos Darkhoof,” Celestia said brightly. “I do believe I’ve missed the time by a few minutes.”

“Tis’ alright, Sister,” said Luna reassuringly, tipping her hat. “Take your time, these meetings do wind our breaths.”

With a polite nod exchanged between the three, they continued on their respective paths. Already, throughout the Hall, the first delegates began to emerge from their quarters, giving both Luna and Darkhoof a nod or salute, acknowledgement of all sorts.

They turned around a corner, and came across a Changeling.

He didn’t seem to notice either of them, too busy glaring at the lavender pots by the window. Then, before Luna’s disbelieving eyes, he reached out and bit into the flowers.

“Soldier,” Luna said firmly. She maintained what she hoped was her best, most polite smile, though the glance Darkhoof gave her said otherwise. The Changeling turned, frowning. “May I ask what you’re doing?”

“Inspecting these bushes,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing. He dropped the torn flowers from his mouth. “These are a safety hazard.”

Luna raised an eyebrow. “And…” she said, choosing her words carefully. “How do my lavenders pose a threat to the Concordia’s proceedings?”

“Not the flowers,” the Changeling said patronizingly. “The enemies who’d use them as a hiding spot. I’d suggest removing them entirely.”

Luna nodded stiffly. “That’ll be considered, Soldier…?”

“Pharynx,” said the Changeling. And Luna now recognized him as Chrysalis’ lead guard. “Do consider it. Our Queen would very much appreciate the increased security.”

“Right,” said Luna. “I’ll be sure to… consider it, then.”

At the very least, the Changeling had the courtesy to nod before moving to the next hallway. Luna hoped he wasn’t seeking more lavender pots to ruin, or she’d be having words with Chrysalis, with or without her sister’s approval.

“The things I do for a good night’s work, Proxenos,” Luna said resignedly, readjusting the lavender. Thankfully, Darkhoof lent her a hand. “These meetings can be exhausting to deal with anyway, but in times such as these, we must make do with what we’ve got, and give our best smiles, it seems.”

She looked at the hallway the Changeling had taken. No scattered pots yet, at least, but she harrumphed nonetheless.

“I suspect we’ll have much time to adjust, all of us here…”

At last they arrived in her quarters, which lay across from Celestia’s.

Like Celestia, Luna had made it her own. Gloomy, dimly lit by candles, but it was home. At the balcony stood her telescope, and an abacus lay ajar on her simple bed. Thanks to the breakfasts Celestia prepared each morning, she hadn’t bothered with the kitchenette. Overall, Luna kept it as clean as she wished. Which was to say, not very, given the scattered notes here and there.

“I apologize for the state of these chambers,” Luna said. “We’ve not yet had the time to properly ready them.”

“Never mind,” said Darkhoof. “Should you need a hand… It takes patience to navigate a Labyrinth, you know.”

“No, no,” said Luna, stifling a laugh. She placed her hat on the coat-rack, and set her watering can aside. “I can clean up after myself, Proxenos. But I’ll ask if you’d be so good to help me open this box.”

The wooden box lay where Luna had left it, besides the bed. It wasn’t a plain thing, for Reindeer carvings adorned the wood. With her telekinesis, she removed the notes and single pillow on the floor, and placed the box between her and Darkhoof. The great Minotaur held onto one side, her magic held onto another, and together they opened it with a heave.

Darkhoof’s gaze fell upon the artifact in the container, and his eyes widened.

“Like I said, we’ve not yet the time to present it, unfortunately.” said Luna. There was a reminiscent look in her eyes. “Sint Erklass brought it with him as a gift... the Gift Givers of the Grove are quite prescient, might I add... and he informed me that I ought to seek you out instead for its properties. He’s many things, but he’s no blacksmith. But your people are, and it’s most fortunate we should meet in this early hour.”

Her horn lit up, and she lifted the artifact from its box – a unicorn’s headgear, made out of what could only be obsidian, with a silvery metal horn protector. Intricately forged and crafted with carvings on its side in a long-dead language, there was no question by whose labor it had been made, nor for whom. There, at the base of the horn, was a white crescent moon.

“It’s a little old-fashioned,” said Luna serenely. “But we could use a little old-fashioned, and would this armor not fit as a timeless mare’s soul?”

“Princess… this is… this is...”

“One should always come prepared, Proxenos. Shall we begin?”

Basil found Blueblood, as promised, in the steam-baths.

Within the hazy humidity of the room, the princely stallion’s coat shone white. He was waiting by the edge of the pool, a bath-towel wrapped around his haunches. In his forehooves, he carried a strange piece of folded-up paper, almost arrow-like in shape.

The Prince saw who’d arrived, and nodded welcomingly.

“A miniature Kirin Paperwing,” the Prince explained. “I made it myself... to remember. You fancy watching an experiment?”

This was unexpected. Basil thought about it.

“I’m my father’s son…” he said. “I hope.”

Blueblood patted the spot next to him. “Sit, and I’ll show you.”

While Basil sat, careful not to let his own bath-towel slip, Blueblood softly blew on the Paperwing, and released it into the steam rising from the water.

Basil thought the Paperwing would sink and land in the pool. It did not.

“It was one of those Summer afternoons,” the Prince whispered, “when the pegasi are pulling double rainfall duty. An hour away from storming... You could feel your hairs stand from all the electricity.”

The Paperwing glided, to and fro, one graceful circle to another.

“Of course, I hadn’t looked up the forecast. Have I ever? I went out in my airboat. And, fool me, I got caught in an updraft.”

Sometimes the Paperwing rose, sometimes it did sink, but never low enough to hit the water.

“But the wind... I felt it was begging me to play with it, to never come down. Push and pull, like we were dancing... For fifteen minutes.”

At one point, the Paperwing’s very tip skimmed across the water. It left behind, much like the Kirin who’d conceived it, the parting trace a swan might upon the surface.

“That's the day I realized there's an entire life behind things, and no reason to be afraid. Ever. Paper's a poor copy, I know. But it helps me remember. I need to remember.”

Finally, the Paperwing flew back to Blueblood’s waiting forehoof. The Prince stared at it, wistfully, before letting it drop gently to the floor. He turned his gaze to Basil.

Basil met his gaze. Without premeditation, he felt his hand move to Blueblood’s bath-towel, loosening it. Now he was caressing the stallion’s haunches, as the stallion’s wrapped around his in turn.

Then, feeling his eyes close, he leaned forward, in tandem with the Prince of Equestria.

In the room next door, Queen Chrysalis lay on a massage table, her crown replaced by a hair towel. Papillate lay on another.

“Oooh,” she crooned, as Aphid kneaded her shoulders. “Yes, dear girl, that’s goood...”

Her tongue darted out, tasting the air. A vent connected both rooms. Smirking, she looked over to Papillate, who returned the smirk in kind.

The little Queen-in-Waiting was learning.

“Heh-heh. Tastes like it’s getting… steamy, in there,” Chrysalis grinned. “I’d call that a good omen, for today.”

A dread hung in the air of the convocation chamber such as Ember hadn’t felt before. Her banter with Thorax and laughter at Garble’s expense in the days that passed, had all been forgotten when Celestia strode into the convocation chamber, bearing a face most grave.

“An enemy is coming.”

That brought a screeching halt to the delegates’ talk, and all eyes turned to her. Ember leaned in closer, along with beings from far and wide did, too. Even Queen Chrysalis, haughty as she was, stopped her idle talk with Papillate to pay attention.

“There is a war,” Celestia stated. “A so unforgiving, the entire human race has found itself driven to the brink, to seek every means to an end, all to escape, and to delay the unrelenting enemy.”

‘What?’ Ember thought. She dare not speak, this time, or join in the growing murmurs.

“In the human’s own words,” Celestia continued, as the murmurs died down, “We did it.”

The room erupted. It would have been pointless for Ember to try and mentally transcribe it, but she could tell, among the ringing in her ears, that everything said amounted to variations on “WHAT?!” or “How’s that even possible?!”

“Alexander Reiner claims to be from a world besieged by Equestria,” Celestia said. “Half its population destroyed, as if they were never there, overwritten by the works of a corrupt soul. Millennia of history, destroyed, forgotten, leveled by a wave of magic that erases them mercilessly. And worse yet is what this corrupted Equestria seeks to do to humans.”

Celestia had to pause. “From what he told us, it transforms them, crushing them into pony-shaped things with virtually no free will, not as much a mind as a set of restrictions. It regards humans as… as raw materials. For machines, for soldiers that die in droves. All while the true spirit of Equestria bleeds dry, and virtues are twisted into perversions.”

She paused, again, letting the weight of her words sink in.

Despite the eternal, constant poise for which Celestia was known, Ember was sure she could detect a hint of revulsion in the Sunbearer’s voice. Or maybe she was just projecting.

“In another world, the First Family wages war on the Thirteenth. I have called you all here so we can band together and stop this madness.”

‘That’s…’ Ember thought. ‘I can’t believe this! This… this is too much–’

The atmosphere grew fiery. Tempers flared. Creatures yelled at the top of their lungs, clamoring to be heard. The griffon general leaned to whisper to the Young Pretender. Loudest were the zebras, and the Saddle Mareabians, and for a moment Ember thought Celestia had lost control of the room.

But it was the rumbling, aged voice of Sint Erklass that spoke above all. The Great Stag had until now sat quietly alongside his delegates from the far reaches of Adlaborn. Flanked by the regal, steadfast Snow Maiden, his was a presence most welcome… had he bothered speaking earlier.

‘Now you speak, Allfather.’ Ember thought. ‘Always the one voice of reason. Typical.’

“Let her speak her mind,” Sint said. His towering gaze panned around the room. Some of the… less capable races present wilted under it, even if it wasn’t a particularly hard stare. “Isn’t that why we’ve gathered here, to answer the Call, this warning of old?”

‘Yawn.’ Ember quietly, if half-heartedly sneered at the old stag’s words.

As she predicted, his words were regarded as trustworthy advice by the greatest powers of this gathering, outright gospel by some of the smallest. But who’d openly deny such an obviously wise and rational statement?

‘Not us,’ she thought, answering her own question.

She wondered whether to bring out the Chaoskämpfer. As the murmurs of agreement rose in the room, it was clear Sint had swayed the gathering’s flow in his favor.

“Thank you, Allfather,” said Celestia, and the Great Stag nodded. “I understand each and every one of you have your own reservations. That this was an uncertain prospect. That coming here is folly. I assure you, it is not. I believe the human was sent to us so that, where one Equestria betrays Harmony, we may restore its truth.”

“That, too,” whispered Sint, “is in Faust’s Plan.”

They paused. There were no murmurs, though Ember saw lingering doubts in quite a few – from the Malikah to the griffon general who accompanied the Young Pretender.

Luna stepped forth.

“The enemy understands,” she said. “It understands fear. It understands desperation. It understands that when the time comes, the last of humanity will join them... and they’ll turn their sights on their fellow people in Equus.”

Her horn alit, and the room grew darker. The murmurs of discontent rose once again, but then Luna spoke up again.

“Do not fret,” she said softly. “I do not intend to frighten. I merely wish to show it as it is. As Alexander Reiner remembered.”

In his wheelchair, the human came forward by her side. His hand held Luna’s forehoof.

“I remember,” Reiner said gravely. And it began.

There was a sense of opening. The human’s eyes shone, and–

There is a set of canyons and rock spires that remind Ember of some canyons of the Dragon Lands, except that isn’t quite right.

This isn’t rock, this is concrete.

And this is a city.

A massive tower of brass scaffolding rises above it all, scraping the sky like the tail of a dragon as they fly above the planet. It is beautiful, and haunting in its similarity to some of what she’s seen of Equestria. The stony architecture, the stucco, the brick. All feels familiar. And yet it is not. There are vehicles akin to horseless carriages in the streets, streetlamps with no visible flame, lights that cannot come from fire. They could be from crystal, but somehow every instinct says they are not.

She hears whispers in the air. Screams in the dark. The crack of lightning and skies alight with thunder and fire. She sees a unicorn, mint-green and bearing a golden lyre upon her flank. Their words are distorted. But it all comes down to the same.

Fight. Survive. Live.

She sees endless streams of people fleeing the great barrier. Pegasi, unicorns, earthponies. Joined by hippogriffs, zebras, and the ponies of the Crystal Realm. A thunderous march. A thousand smiles. A white mare with the sun above her. Smiling contently over her people. Her Empire. An empire built upon ash. Forged in war. Drenched in the all-encompassing purple. Grotesque. Malignant.

In the streets of the city a battle did occur, with humans clad in strange suits, wielding weapons more advanced than any in Equus, against armor-clad equines raining fire and a sickeningly violet rain from the heavens above.

A human in rags runs through the city. Towards a train packed with people. And they scream. Arms outstretched. Doors wide open.

He doesn’t make it. An earthpony nails him in the back with a crossbow, and he starts…

…There’s no single word to describe what happens. He melts like candle wax. He screams in unmistakable agony as his body bubbles, melts, twists, all things a body should never do. And then in the human’s place apears something that is not a pegasus. It has the wings of a pegasus, the build of a pegasus, but is not. Its eyes are as if an artisan has cleanly and bloodlessly removed them, replaced with glassy orbs.

The expression on its face is and is not happy. It looks happy, but something feels lacking. Some essential soul. It joins the fight against humans with the childish glee of a young drake smashing things to see what happens.

The Barrier approaches. The battle is lost. And it will be lost, time and time again. So many twisted, turned, and smiling.

What can they do do but run?

There he stands. Alexander Reiner leads his people into battle. A horrid affair in the streets. The bodies of the fallen scatter the ruins of a city once shining with a thousand lights. A thousand lights to be extinguished beneath the violet Barrier.

The scene changes. But the story remains the same. The Barrier ever looming. Another sacrificed so others may live. Day by day. Week by week. A city falls. Another stands. The story repeats again, time and time again. Another battle. Another retreat. Millions dead. Millions awaiting the sweet relief of death.

Alexander Reiner stands weary, but defiant. His gaze lands upon the Barrier. Behind the Barrier, the Solar Tyrant stands. Tall and proud. Beloved above all.

And the Sun shines brightly on her people, as it sets for another.

Luna felt cold.

Colder than she had been that night in Adlaborn. Colder than she’d been when the Krampus’ twisted, corrupted puppets approached her. For she had seen what Alexander Reiner lived. There wasn’t much she could have done to worsen it, and therein lay the primal, gut fear she held of puppets and strings.

On far-off Earth, humanity faced them, fought them, and now, they were losing to them, one puppet amongst many in an eternal worship, and concert of madness.

“The war is not over,” Luna finally said, to the silent, entranced chamber. “The Empire’s will has yet to falter. And in time, they will turn their eyes here.”

The vision faded, slowly. The air in the hall had turned icy. The fog dissipated, revealing herself standing at the center, and the human Reiner. She looked around. The last pieces of her projection began to fade into the air, leaving a large group of bewildered, horrified, and perturbed delegates.

Until only the Imperial symbol remained, as she intended. Not a word was uttered, for all eyes turned to the Sun Princess, her customary tranquility replaced by a grim expression. The sunburst sigil cast above her glowed in the dimmed light of the room, casting the room in a sickly, pallid, yellowish tone – the same sigil upon her flank. There, finally, Luna fully understood what Alexander Reiner had said of the enemy, for she saw that Celestia’s half-shadowed visage was that of the Queen herself.

Celestia coughed. “We have one more call to make.”

The Sun Princess left them no time to digest the vision, or her words. From Celestia’s null-space, a tiny crystal appeared and clattered to the ground, landing on its side. Hidden in the crowd, Ember watched, apprehensive, glad for the Chaoskämpfer’s canister by her side. What was so important about this fragment?

She was given an answer when the crystal randomly jumped. It was clear that it was doing this of its own volition. Somehow, it was made animate by itself and not by any magic. Eventually, it ceased jumping. Instead, it began to shake and vibrate. Before anyone could question this, there came a loud crunch, as a section of the crystal expanded outwards, followed by yet another crunch and expansion, and so on. It was getting bigger, but also forming a shape.

The crystal merged into a tall figure bipedal figure of bizarre proportions. Standing upright, its hindlegs resembled Minotaur’s, yet impractically thin, just as its tail was long and stringy. The torso akin to a griffon’s with its billowy chest, yet the forelimbs, both tinyl, were a dragon’s arm on the right, a bear’s arm on the left. Two wings, leathery, popped out from behind itss back. The head vaguely resembled a pony’s, except for two goat-like horns and oddly-placed eyes…

Eyes that showed a soul consumed by pure, unadulterated madness. Through the crystal, the figure’s eyes suggested no hint of sanity in the slightest. All Ember could distinguish was… purely eldtrich.

Once fully-formed, the figure stood. Taking in all present, as though looking for someone particular in the chamber, before snarling. Ember watched as Celestia, about to ask the figure a question, was interrupted by the figure jerking its head and–

It let out a high-pitched scream. One so dreadful, everyone who heard it was forced to cover their ears, with the entire building seemed to shake.

“Didnt want this. Didnt want…”

The creature growled at the crystal shell that encapsulated it.

“Confined again,” said the thing, as it angrily hissed, grabbing at itself in a futile attempt to remove the crystal. “Confined again, confined again!” It began to thrash, growing only more infuriated. “Confined again. Not asleep. No good!”

Before it could let out another scream, a golden glow overtook it and dragged it over to a recovering Celestia.

“Kontagion, calm down,” she asked politely, yet the creature just rambled and thrashed in her telekinesis.

“Didnt sleep only awake didnt sleep only awake.”

It was a mantra, almost.

“Kontagion, please come to your senses.”

“Didnt sleep only awake didn’t sleep only awake.” Kontagion ranted, as Celestia tried to prod him. Thankfully, this seemed to have some effect. “Remain to watch, only watch, as flesh of my flesh, son of my skin, scum and stinking, putrid and pathetic…” The creature sneered. “Still. Out. THERE!”

“Kontagion, please, you’re our only lead.” Celestia pleaded. “What are you looking for?”

Kontagion looked to Celestia, eyes still consumed in insanity, and bared his teeth.

“Abomination it is. Churlishly cheated demise and death. Cheated his victims for what he’s done. Callously can’t comprehend characters cannot all completely feel his fractious frustration. Took everything… he can’t have it all, no-one can, and it is all, all anything that is not him sees…” Slowly, something changed in the crystal eyes. “Couldn’t stop him. Couldn’t make him pay for what he did to her…” Was he crying? “C-Couldn’t... couldn’t stop him from ruining us any further.” The creature tried to breathe, before shuddering, “Sorry. Sorry, can't remain much like self, Fausticorn. Too broken...”

Celestia seemed touched by this in her own way, before recomposing herself. “Kontagion, tell us what you know while you’re lucid. Please.”

“Fought. Fought him, flesh of my flesh, to make him pay. We did what what we could, didn’t we, Fausticorn? The lot of us... you and Scorpan my eldest son, we… we confronted him.” Kontagion tried to say, but seemed to struggle despite his voice staying soft. “You got hurt. Hurt bad but cast him down. I… I could not.” Again, the creature shuddered. “Failure. Despite everything, was failure.”

“Why?” Celestia asked lightly, as Kontagion grimaced. “Why was it a failure?”

“Didn’t know about bag.” Kontagion said through clenched teeth, rather frustrated. “Allowed him to crrrrrrrrawl his way out. Allowed him to wait. Allowed him to return and couldn’t make him pay.” His began to thrash again, savage rage overtaking him, “YOU WILL BE FOUND, FLESH OF MY FLESH! YOU WILL SUFFER! WE KNOW ABOUT BAG! NEVER LET YOU ESCAPE AGAIN!”

His voice was so loud, the rage so raw, both echoed throughout the Hall.

And then, then Ember watched as crystal eyes looked towards her. Kontagion was looking right at her. What was he–

“You.”

Ember blinked, as her mind seemed to lag. Kontagion had walked right before her and sneered, but not at her. He was sneering at the canister.

“You know.” Kontagion said. “You know.” It wasn’t a question. “Come out!”

Suppressing a tremble, Ember turned the canister’s knob, summoning forth the Chaoskämpfer’s emerald-green smoke visage, to many gasps.

But the Chaoskämpfer, called up, just glanced at Kontagion. Despite his stoic exterior, there was pity in his eyes.

“TALK!” Kontagion almost screamed.

The Chaoskämpfer closed his eyes and took a breath.

“S-Sir?” Ember found herself asking, before Kontagion’s mad gaze turned itself directly at her.

“Not you.” He pointed at the projection. “Only him. Now, talk.”

“What would you like me to say first, Kontagion?” the Chaoskämpfer said calmly, “You’ve already confirmed that the enemy we face is something… something I’ve wished to never see again.”

“So you do know him.” Kontagion said, as the eyes of everyone present turned towards the Chaoskämpfer, who sighed in resignation. “Who. Are. You?”

“To dragons, I’m known primarily as the Chaoskämpfer,” the Chaoskämpfer said, its voice more vulnerable than before. “But I’m also Spykoran the Elder, oldest dragon alive. And even then, centuries upon centuries ago, I had another name. I was once known as Spike, slave to the Lord of Midnight Castle, Tirek.”

He seemed to stand up straighter for the next words that would come out of his mouth. Not a single soul dared to speak, and the Hall waited with bated breath.

“For a time, I was friends with three human children who came to Equus. One was named Megan.” His gaze looked to the human, who seemed dumbstruck by what he’d just heard. “It was thanks to Megan that Tirek was vanquished, the land saved, and everything put to right. And I am reasonably certain that you, Alexander, are her heir.”

But before anyone could process this, Kontagion had one last thing to say.

“The Architect… the Architect! She brought forth the human child...” He grinned sinisterly. “It all unfolds.”

There was a sudden crunch as Kontagion’s spine was collapsed inwards. And his arms were forced back, followed by his legs crumbling back into his body. Eventually, all that remained was the tiny crystal Kontagion had arrived as originally. A solemn silence held, even after the crystal had hit the ground with a soft chink.

A pall hung over lunch that afternoon.

There was only one, long table this time, and once the doors had been closed to the crowds, no-one, from resplendent Princess Celestia to meek Papillate, appeared eager to speak first. Even Prince Blueblood seemed lost, the Mikado noticed.

“An imperialist Equestria…” Toshiro mused. “It’s unreal. But the human, clearly, is very real. As was the testimony from the Elder of our draconic kin. And Madame Heartstrings speaks passionately about the old LV-426 expedition.”

Agreement was voiced all around the table. Next to Toshiro, Kuno gave a polite clap.

Chrysalis harrumphed. “I certainly did not expect you to carry such an artifact, Ember.”

Ember shrugged. “No good reason to show it before.”

From the way Chrysalis was staring at Ember, Toshiro suspected that one way or another, the Changeling would be getting her answers. He himself wondered if Kuno’s former student had more tricks up her sleeve. Judging by his look, Kuno wondered the same.

Sint Erklass spoke. “I’d considered bringing the Krampus to this Concordia,” he said. “But the old monster’s long given up on worldly matters. These days, it appears to have no goal, other than await the Final Winter of the world.”

“Father Kontagion pointing us to the Chaoskämpfer was clue enough,” said Queen Zolomare.

Reiner laughed throatily. “You… you seriously believe what that freak said? My mother, coming to Equus thousands of years ago? I’m thirty-seven! Humans don’t live that long.”

Celestia pressed her hooves together. “Alexander…” she said gently. “Kontagion may be mad, but he is ancient and, in his way, wise. He knew whom in the room could give us more answers. Why would the Chaoskämpfer lie? Forgive me, there’s no delicate way of putting this… At this point, you seem in denial.”

“I’ve just been told my Mom was some kind of Chosen One!” Reiner snapped, his temper flaring. “Like… something out of Harry Potter! Or The Wizard of Oz! This crap doesn’t happen in real life, let alone to a… teenage girl!” He seethed, light shining off his runes. “Just… goddamn it all…”

He took shallow breaths, rubbing his eyes.

“He’s under intense stress.” Papillate commented. “Huh, reminds me of an overtaxed drone during a frenzy.”

Chrysalis stroked her chin. “Spykoran mentioned a name, next to Reiner’s mother,” she said. “Tirek. It rings a bell.”

“And what would that be, Queen Chrysalis?” Reiner asked, sounding defeated.

“Dunno,” Chrysalis said carelessly. “Some overlord of yore? Midnight Castle… I’d never heard it’d anything to do with humans before.”

“Scorpan and Tirek were Kontagion’s sons,” Sint said softly, looking down. “And Tirek became the last of the Old Race… An ignominious end for them. And in her twilight years, Firefly came to reside in Adlaborn, her age much prolonged.”

Steepling his forehooves, he turned to the beleaguered-looking Reiner.

“Thus if Kontagion spoke true, I’ve no doubt of your mother’s hand in the rescue at Midnight Castle, Sir Alexander. Firefly had forgotten a lot, but she hadn’t forgotten the Rainbow Bridge, or the human she brought back.”

“Then could Dame Firefly have been this… this ‘Architect’, of Kontagion’s?” asked Zolomare.

“I find that supremely unlikely,” said Sint. “Just how she found an access to the Rainbow Bridge, I was never quite able to get out of her… But I’m certain she had help.”

No question this time, Toshiro thought. Sint and Cadance were looking at each other.

Chrysalis was tittering. “‘Had help’. And some help she brought back, too!” She sniggered. “I’m sorry, but if Colonel Reiner’s right, and his dear momma was just a teen, I fail to see how a teenager could beat something like Tirek. Not unless she had help herself.”

“What sort of help, Ebony Queen?” Papillate asked guilelessly.

“Like, I don’t know,” Chrysalis shrugged. “The Alicorn Amulet? I’ve always wondered what’d happen if a Changeling tried harnessing that accursed artifact…”

“Did that even exist back then?” said Ember.

“Hey, you tell me, Ember,” Chrysalis harrumphed. “You’re the one with the can of Dragon Elder.”

But Ember’s response came down to throwing her a dirty look.

An uneasy quiet reigned at the table.

“I sense that Princess Ember here is not the only one with secrets,” muttered Queen Novo, to more murmurs of agreement.

She’d stared Toshiro’s way when she said that.

“Indeed,” was his only comment. “This is a game-changer... But!” And here, he lifted a forehoof. “It should not detract from the value of Madame Heartstrings’ proposed expedition.”

The shift in topic didn’t go down a storm with all at the table, so to speak. Novo and the Abyssinian Queen were simmering. Zolomare seemed to resent moving from her musing. Meanwhile, Reiner, instead of looking relieved, only looked more despondent.

However, Blueblood hadn’t been able to hide an eager beam. Good.

Ember snorted contemptuously. “And I expect you’re motivated purely by joy of discovery, Blessed Mikado?”

Had she still been at his Court, he’d gladly have flogged the impudent she-drake.

“I don’t claim to act without interest, Ember,” Toshiro said coolly. “But supporting Heartstrings’ expedition would serve us in the same way Princess Celestia was served by reintroducing us to the myth of the Thirteenth Family. Am I not correct, Celestia?”

Celestia dipped her head. “You see clearly, Toshiro.”

“I thought so,” said Toshiro. He surveyed the whole table. “I foresee terrible things. Reiner’s war might even come to us. However, we cannot thrust the public unknowingly into any of it. But the publicity around Heartstrings’ expedition would be a wonderful means to get people interested in humanity… and it’d be profitable.”

“How can you think of money at a time like this?” demanded Grizelda.

“Your Grace,” said Kuno. “I know how you’ve built your claim on restoring your people’s pride in being griffons. In some cultures,” he nodded respectfully at Zolomare, “it is said that to be rich is to have many followers. Yet there are things which only money can buy.”

“Excuse me,” said Novo. “Supporting this expedition, raising public awareness of the Thirteenth Family… these only have value if you want to prepare Equus for involvement in this war. What about those who don’t want it?”

The Abyssinian Queen and the Malikah nodded together.

“You are free to withhold your signatures,” said Celestia. “However, I have pledged support to Colonel Reiner. When the time comes, Princess Luna and Lord Discord will be sent to Earth. We’ve considered every available avenue, and they’re our best options in presenting our words to the people of Earth.”

“With all due respect, Highness,” asked Kuno. “Why the risk? Should we risk your sister’s intervention or her presence at all?”

Toshiro thought he saw Luna exchange an enigmatic glance with the Minotaur Darkhoof.

“Worry not, Excellency,” said Luna solemnly. “We have taken the precautions for the task as needed. With Discord’s presence, I daresay our safety is mostly assured. If not, then we’ll be ready for it.”

“Yes,” Celestia said in agreement. “Princess Luna’s departure remains independent of whatever decision we reach after tomorrow’s presentation, and we shall see that good fortune follows her in her duty.”

From her bag, she retrieved a peculiar device of metal and wood. Dozens of small buttons lined it, and Toshiro recognized it as a device for those who preferred to write without a pen or quill...

“It’s a typewriter,” Reiner said flatly, confirming his suspicions. On the device’s back was a mark not unlike Celestia’s own.

Celestia nodded. “And yet,” she said. “this device has presented us a means to communicate with the Empire. My student Twilight Sparkle has confirmed it is bound to a different realm across time and space.”

She pushed it forwards with her magic, ensuring every soul on the table could look upon it. To Toshiro, it seemed no more than a machine, not unlike a Kirin’s, with its assortment of elaborate springs and gears.

“We shall test this device tonight,” Celestia said. And for a change, she didn’t try to hide her apprehension. “But let us all be aware. Doing so might constitute our point of no return. Thus, we must consult someone who can confirm the truth, from another point of view.”

In a sterile room, Redheart sat still. Unchained, but a prisoner. Alone. She was alone. Nothing mattered. She had her orders. She failed. She lost. And here she sat. Alone. She remembered, briefly. The Bearer of Loyalty was there. So was the traitor. Why was she with the traitor Heartstrings? Nothing made sense. Nothing was clear. She was a prisoner now. Memories blurred together. Her orders were clear. Had been clear. What were they?

What were they?

She pawed at the ground. Nervous. Afraid?

Do not let– Reiner leave.

That failed. He left. And here she was.

In his possession is– locket. Retrieve it swiftly and–

Gone. Taken. Safely hidden away. Icewind listened. She should have stayed. Should have kept her promise. No... duty called. She had to answer. And she’d won then.

Success is– too late to prevent this Equestria– securing this locket–

But she was here now. Prisoner. Alone.

Once the locket has been– enact Re-Harmonize–

She couldn’t. Couldn’t. She failed, failed, failed.

May Her Majesty watch over and protect you on your endeavor.

The Queen protects all. The Queen…

…Wasn’t here.

The door swung open, gently. What time was it, now? She didn’t mind. She was busy. She needed to remember.

“Good evening, Redheart,” the presence spoke. Ancient. Warm.

“Has she been fed?” spoke another. Younger. Female.

“Yes, m’lady,” said the Guard. “If I may, I wouldn’t bother with her. She hasn’t said a word.”

“That is quite alright,” said the Allfather. “You may leave us.”

The door swung shut. They were in here with her. She felt, more than heard, the Snow Maiden approach her. Carefully.

“Why did you do it?” the Snow Maiden asked immediately. Harshly. Icily. “How could you, your people, how could you have burned it all to ash?”

“Elsa,” said the Allfather. “Please.”

“I’m sorry, I… Grandfather. I defer to you,” the Snow Maiden answered.

Redheart imagined her as she’d been – sad, quiet, gentle, but fierce. Protective. As she was now. Silence. Nothing but the wind, she imagined. She’d face him if need be.

There they stood. The Snow Maiden, beautiful, pale, forever young. The Allfather, warm, tall, wise and eternal.

“What do you know of Adlaborn?” the Stag said. His voice was grave. Mournful. “What do you make of its fate, in your world?”

Redheart shook her head. “I cannot answer that. They left us. They locked their gates.”

He frowned. “Are you sure?”

“The Queen told us. So we left them be.”

“You don’t know,” the Allfather said. Not a question. A statement.

What did he know? She turned away from him. She grimaced. Defiant. Or so she hoped.

“You left. You left Earth to its fate and judgment. You shouldn’t speak."

“And who told you this?” the Allfather asked. High and mighty.

“No one. But it’s the truth. I know it is. The Queen knows it. You’re no better. No better than them. You don’t act. You never do."

“I see,” he said simply. “And these are the Queen’s words.”

She said nothing. She had nothing to offer him. Adlaborn was sealed off. It had turned away. Thought nothing of them all. Leave them be, the orders were.

The Queen’s words rung true. They always had.

“Thank you for your time, Redheart,” the Allfather said. “I apologize for intruding upon you at this hour.”

“Grandfather, was that all?” the Maiden asked. She sounded doubtful.

“It would appear so,” he replied. Firmly. “The truth is hidden away from her, and I fear telling her would do her no good at this state.”

She didn’t respond. She never had to. But why did she want to?

“Very well, then,” said the Maiden. “I… I suppose I’ll have to tell Celestia and Luna.”

She felt them move away, Allfather and Maiden both.

“...How could she do this? Our Celestia, such a sweet filly, a just mare,” said the Maiden. Her words grew strained. “Earth, Adlaborn, the Changelings... Lucie! Heavens above, we’d only just heard of her birth, and here… Grandfather. I don’t know if I can take it.”

“There, there, Elsa,” said the Allfather. She heard them leave. The door shut. “We shall make this right. For everyone, from Alexander Reiner, to the mare whose cell we’ve just visited, to those who’ve lost their lives and their very souls in this war on Earth.”

Redheart leaned against the wall. She sighed. Tired. Tired. She closed her eyes. She heard them speak, one last time.

“If what I fear is true, Elsa,” said the Allfather, his voice fading away. “then those who started this war may have been its first victims.”

She wondered what it meant.

Three days had now passed, and little by little the story revealed. A human, a war, and another Equestria. There were of course, hushed whispers over why Celestia had brought them here. Whispers that Pharynx hardly cared for, for he knew what the Diarchs of Equestria intended them to do. After all, he’d served the Ebony Hive and its campaigns long enough to know war loomed on the horizon.

And he scoffed at the idea.

He passed the halls, the scent of lavender was strong in the air, fresh and enticing sleep – all too overwhelming for a guard. But of course a guard’s duty was never done. In his stride, he reflected on the other races in attendance. While like most Changelings, he was kept in the dark about their Queen’s plans, as should be, he was privy to pick up on the relations between the people of Equus.

They weren’t ready at all. Half the races here would be at one another’s throats without the Equestrians to mediate. The other half were quietly tucked away in their corner of the world. The Changelings had no business being invited here. There’d come a time when Celestia’s compassion would prove her undoing, and he’d be by his Queen’s side when it did.

‘This is no alliance,’ Pharynx thought. ‘This is a rabble.

What business did dragons have with Changelings? What business the far-flung people of Adlaborn, the Bringers of Gifts and Joy, with war?

He turned the corner, huffing. Once the decision was made, and the ramshackle alliance faced whatever dark magic this ‘Solar Empire’ brought, the folly of it all would be seen. One wrong word and the so-called ‘alliance’ would come tumbling down. One dead weight and the waves would claim their unsteady ship. Changelings knew that better than anyone.

As lightly as everyone was taking Chrysalis’ claims about Garble, Pharynx did not. An entire Hive wiped out by disease was proof that excess caution was still not enough. The other peoples of Equus didn’t understand, and never would.

His brother’s foolish attempt at cozying up to a dragon was something else to nip in the bud.

Finally Pharynx arrived, and there his brother stood guard at the door. Obviously Chrysalis had now retired inside with Papillate. Thorax’s stance was rigid and proper, but Pharynx knew his brother would be glad not to get too close to their Queen.

He had to say this before Thorax made a fool of himself, if he hadn’t already.

“Oh, h-hello, Pharynx,” Thorax stammered, as Pharynx drew closer. “What’s–”

“I know what you’re playing at. It won’t work.”

His brother blinked, and tilted his head. Thorax had always been infuriatingly dense, but with the dragonet around, he’d been worse than usual.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about–”

Thorax’s words cut off when Pharynx grabbed him by the ear, and hissed.

“Don’t play dumb with me, grub,” he said harshly. “I know you’ve got your sights on the Dragon Princess. Now, Aphid might be blind, or maybe she doesn’t care... but I’m your big brother, and I do. So, let me tell you first... Grow up. You think this is some pony-tale, huh? Like their campfire tales? She’s out of your league, and the Chaos Lord’s not gonna turn you into a prince.” He said this last part while twisting his brother’s ear. “Understand?”

He paused, awaiting a good response.

With the ear still held firm in Pharynx’s grip, Thorax weakly nodded.

“Good,” said Pharynx gruffly. He let go. “No funny business, y’hear? We’ve got a job to do.”

And he marched along, leaving Thorax to rub his sore ear.

He didn’t doubt Thorax was trying to hold down tears. Pharynx quietly sighed. The least he could do not to shame his little brother any further was not to watch.

Ember felt anxious now. She’d sought Thorax, to pay him another visit in the guise of checking on her bodyguard, the routine she’d settled in nicely over the past few days. Princess Celestia had announced that at noon-time, they’d have the final piece of the puzzle.

Amidst all this madness, Thorax had been the one person she could relax with.

Ember had eagerly gone over to Chrysalis’ chambers, ready with a last bit of levity, that one final tease for him to finally, finally join her in listening.

No sooner had she stepped into the hallway that Pharynx blocked her way, firmly declaring that no other guests may visit the dragon in quarantine. Princess or no princess, he’d made it very clear. He was dedicated, Ember had to admit. But it didn’t help her sudden burst of anxiety.

Today, she’d chosen not to mingle with the crowd, instead taking a balcony seat, like the other leaders and delegates. This gave her a clear vantage point of where Celestia stood, presently.

Ember leaned forward in her seat. Celestia stood still, waiting for everyone to finish arriving. Including, inevitably, Chrysalis and Papillate, who came into the same balcony as Ember, Chrysalis greeting her with that wicked smirk of hers.

“I see the show hasn’t started yet,” said Chrysalis, taking a seat as Papillate did likewise. “Ugh, all this sitting around, though...” she added, reclining to stretch out her hindlegs. “Massages aren’t enough. My legs ache!”

But then Ember spotted the Changeling who’d trotted in after Chrysalis and Papillate, and her eyes widened.

“Come, Thorax. I need to rest,” Chrysalis yawned, not looking around. “No, don’t bother transforming. You’ll do fine as it is.”

Ember had barely got a breath out when Thorax, averting his gaze, shuffled himself beneath Chrysalis’s outstretched hindlegs, kneeling. And before her own eyes, the Changeling Queen stretched her hooves across his back.

“Ah, much better,” said Chrysalis, crossing her legs. “Don’t worry about your watch-dog, Princess, Pharynx and Aphid have him covered. But I need my footrest, don’t you agree?”

She didn’t wait for Ember’s response, and simply looked past the railing, down to where Celestia stood, now joined by Luna, Reiner and Lyra.

Ember glanced at the little drone.

“...Thorax?” she mouthed.

The sight was absurd. Him on all fours, Chrysalis’ hooves upon his back, his wings delicately rubbing her soles. Yet she found no mirth, as her eyes met Thorax’s own. And he never had looked so resigned.

She might have said something, but Papillate put a hoof on her shoulder, shaking her head. Then Celestia stepped forth, and the word on the tip of Ember’s tongue evaporated at seeing the Sun Princess. In Celestia’s face, too, was no laugh to be found today.

“Fellow leaders, people of Equus… witnesses,” Celestia spoke. “I stand before you bearing a witness of my own. A witness to the transgressions of the Solar Empire.”

Out stepped a white earthpony.

“State your name,” Luna said.

Redheart stared at her forlornly.

“Redheart,” she croaked. “Formerly of the Eighth Home Regiment.”

“Do you recognize this device?”

Behind Redheart, Archmage Nexus made an appearance, directing for the the ansible was rolled onstage by two stallions. Awesome Fire and Shieldwall, who’d spent the last week examining it, furnished it with a dictaphone. Bringing the rolling table to a halt, they bowed, then left after Nexus, impassively.

“No.”

“So you say.”

Luna’s horn shone, taking Redheart’s forehoof in its grasp. She offered little resistance as Luna pressed her forehoof to a pad on the ansible, lighting up the keyboard.

“It appears to recognize you.”

“Excuse me.” From her balcony, the Abyssinian Queen had stood. “Aren’t we being a bit reckless? If that thing connects to the Empire, we–”

“They know already.”

The human had spoken. Luna saw his eyes, haggard, pained, his brows twisted in anger.

“Your Majesty, I’m asking for help, too,” Reiner declared. His hands, Luna noted, clutched his wheelchair so hard, he was going to break something. “I’ll beg on my knees if I have to. Because the Solar Tyrant won’t rest until every soul on Earth sings her praises, every second of every day. We’re winning every battle, yeah, but the Barrier’s it. That’s it. That thing touches us, we’re gone. All that’ll be left of us will be a bunch of little pony-shaped things with all the autonomy of figurines on a fucking cuckoo clock. We’ve had everything at our disposal, everything. Weapons that could wipe out Canterlot and the mountain it stands on in the blink of an eye. And we still haven’t cracked the goddamn Barrier.”

He struggled to stand. Lyra held onto Reiner’s hand, and Princess Luna shot him a worried look. He remained seated.

“I’ve fought men before, killed for the flag I was born under. I’ve seen death in every walk of life. But this isn’t death. It’s so much worse. I’ve fought things that were men and are now but soulless, smiling puppets. And this fate awaits every single of my people on Earth. I have welcomed death. But billions haven’t, shouldn’t welcome it. They deserve a future without the Tyrant. I’m asking for help, alright? I wish it’d never come to this, that we didn’t have to fight to the bitter end. But she’s shown us her mercy. She’d turn us into her zombies and call it mercy– We’d rather be six feet under, or on our feet, when she comes knocking!”

There was a gasp from his side.

“The ansible– look!” cried Lyra. “It’s, it’s doing something!”

There were gasps, and murmurs, and Luna saw all eyes turn to the stage, and even Alex turned to look. She followed their gaze, where she saw the ansible. The keys were moving of their own accord.

Swiftly, Celestia cast a spell presenting its words to those in attendance, a projection on the wall behind her.

And Luna read it out loud.

“He lies.”

Alex paled. “It’s her…”

Celestia put her lips to the dictaphone. “Greetings...” she said. “Am I addressing Queen Celestia of the Solar Empire?”

Briefly, the keys didn’t move.

Then, slowly, they did.

“Yes.”

The room sucked in a collective breath.

Celestia licked her lips. “Then I am glad that we can speak at last, Your Majesty. This is Princess Celestia.”

“I know who you are,” Luna read.

“Of course you do,” said Celestia. “We share much common… But we are more different than alike, I should think.”

The typewriter clicked away.

“If that is what you believe.”

“I don’t believe it. I know it,” Celestia said, narrowing her eyes. “The conversion of mankind, the holocaust of Adlaborn… Do you deny those? Why are you doing this?”

“Justice.”

Even Celestia had to gasp. “You call this justice? For what?”

But the answer, lengthy as it was, came quickly.

“The Thirteenth Family walks alone for a reason, Princess Celestia. Humans murdered and butchered anything that challenged their primacy. Do you know what happened to their closest cousins, the Neanderthals? They ate them.”

“What about Adlaborn!” cried Celestia. “Don’t you call that murder and butchery!?”

“Nothing so crude. We were clinical. To cure illness, sometimes must one cut out the benign cells with the malign. And humans, believe me, are very ill. The year we arrived, they were on the cusp of disaster.”

The letter concluded. Another took its place.

“Earthponies. Pegasi. Unicorns. Horses. Zebras. Hippogriffs. Griffons, too. These are the people welcomed under our banners. Our prosperity. Together as one. Mankind would turn against its own for the pettiest of reasons.”

Redheart moaned. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry,” she begged, on and on. “I failed.”

“Where they once lived, the land flourishes. The Barrier does not destroy. It purifies. Restores it to what it should be. Whereas they have destroyed their world. And when they run out of creatures to dominate, they will come for you and yours. They are too irresponsible, too brutal, to be allowed to continue as they do. They are a blight. They are lucky to receive the correction that we bring.”

Celestia wrapped a comforting wing around Redheart, her face calm and soothing. Yet Luna wondered if beneath her sister’s sorrow and regret, lay fury tranquil as water, over this undying loyalty to another Celestia.

Something changed. The former Nurse and Guard turned to look at her, fearful.

“We should, we should have tried harder. With you. Brought you back together, Sun and Moon. I’m sorry, I’m, I–”

“Shhh, Redheart,” said Celestia. “It’s not your fault. It never was.”

Amidst Redheart’s tears and Celestia’s words, Luna finally understood what Sint and Elsa had both meant, days earlier.

She joined her sister’s side, lowering her gaze to Redheart’s level. “Whatever your faults, whatever’s been done to my sister and myself… We forgive you.”

Then Luna heard more typing. Startled, she rushed back to the ansible.

“Redheart...” Luna’s voice faded. “You have been a faithful and dutiful soldier.”

Not a soul dared to raise a voice. As the ansible wrote itself out, only Redheart’s strangled breath and sobs filled the air.

“Thank you, and rest well in harmony.”

There was a short cry of what could have been pain or joy. Everyone turned, staring at the source of th–

Redheart laid limp at Celestia’s hooves, her eyes closed. She looked almost… peaceful.

No time to linger on, even as the murmurs grew. Luna smelled something burnt, something ancient and twisted. And it came from the ansible, which wrote another message. A lengthier one. The smell grew fouler still. A few of the serving-beasts at the doors had to open them, to let in a breath of fresh air.

Bracing herself against the sickening, deathly stench, Luna read aloud.

“By the power entrusted upon my being,” she read, as it was written letter by letter. “I, Queen Celestia, Sol Invictus, hereby reaffirm our noble cause, to unite the equine peoples in Harmony’s name, to purify and cleanse the Earth of its decadent rulers, and to release humanity from their own sins for their own good.”

She coughed. The smell was overwhelming. Yet she pressed on.

“Tread carefully, Princess Celestia. My Empire has no quarrel with you, but the path you follow shall lead your subjects astray. I’m who you should have been, who you are, who you will become. Our cause is just and true. Whether you choose to stand aside or in our way, the Sun shines on the Twelve Families of Equus, now and always.”

Smoke rose from the ansible.

”Harmony above all.”

And there was a blinding light.

The device ruptured and tore itself apart. And when all s been said and done, the smell had dissipated, leaving the smoky, twisted remains of the ansible.

Celestia turned her gaze away from the burnt, ruined device, on to the mare who lay immobile at her hooves. Luna bowed her head.

The room was deafeningly silent, until she heard her sister speak.

“Sleep now, Redheart,” Celestia said gently. “May you find peace, at last.”

When Alex wheeled up to her, Lyra was still backstage, staring at the wall.

“Lyra...” he began. “Remember when you asked me how you were captured?"

She turned to look at him, nodding quietly. He sighed, the words and the memories weighing heavily on his soul.

“It was the Thunderchild, Lyra,” Alex whispered. “An experimental warship. Capable of going below the waves, like a giant submarine. A fortified haven. We… were seriously thinking underwater cities. Tests showed the Barrier’s reach shrinks in the oceans… And you– no, she was onboard, off the coast of Iceland, when the Imperials caught up to her…”

His voice broke. He was drinking in her face, wanting to remember every inch of green.

“It sank, Lyra. It sank and they caught her. Took her back and turned her into a statue, then broke her into a million pieces. They say… I don’t know, nobody does, but… they say it’s the Tyrant’s assassin who did it. The… that same ghostly creature who killed the Allfather…“

He’d said all he could. He felt like a man three times his age. And still he forced the last words.

“You were on a ship… a ship… Lyra, I… I don’t want you to go on this expedition.”

Lyra shook her head. “I’m sorry, Alex,” she murmured. “I’ve got to do this.”

Author's Notes:

Sledge115:

^ A completely accurate rendition of Princess Luna seeing Pharynx ruin her lavender pots. Diplomacy is hard.

We do apologise for the lengthy date between the previous chapters and this one – as the finale of Act One, we thought it was appropriate for it to be a rather lengthy one, to wrap up as many plot threads as possible for the Act. And let me tell ya that writing Thorax and Ember, plus Chrysalis and little Aphid, Princess Luna, and finally Grizelda the Young Pretender has been quite fun

This chapter is, obviously, more of an anthology by design. We thought it would better portray the political intrigue surrounding such an earth-shattering discovery by taking multiple points of view covering several threads, and several days. It’s a monster of a chapter, one we hope is worth the wait!

So ends Act One. And now it begins.

VoxAdam:
Now wasn’t this a juggernaut of a chapter to write.

With it entering the planning stages in Spring 2018, ‘Concordia Maxima’ was no less a chapter we knew we wanted to write from the moment Spectrum got rebooted in May 2017, only a few days short of two years ago.

Ember’s scene mingling with the crowd was the very first scene we wrote in June 2018, with DoctorFluffy taking the lead, employing his knack for crowd scenes to convey the feeling of hubbub and rumour.

Originally, Celestia would have immediately announcement the enemy’s coming. This, naturally, would have made for a shorter chapter. But somewhere down the line, we decided to make a little more of a concession to realism. While Celestia and the Mane Six are used to earth-shattering events occurring all the time, not everyone is.

Hence three days to gradually ease the world into not one, but two life-altering revelations; humans are real, and are under attack by an evil alt-Equestria.

If Act One’s been this lengthy, it was to help sell a sense of Equus Prime as the ‘real’ world, with the human’s arrival disrupting that reality.

Thus it wraps, and I hope you’ll enjoy a shorter, more intense, more action-packed Act Two.

P.S.
Yep. She has arrived.

…Also, a shout-out to my new story, Inmates of Erebus; connected to fundamentals of the Spectrumverse, but designed to work as a standalone.

TheIdiot:
Act One now draws to a close, everyone.
Our players are assembled together,
upon this chapter's audacious long run,
each with their own intentions so clever.
As I'm sure you're wondering, while reading
this author's note written in iambic
pentameter, about what proceeding
the next act will have or how gigantic
it will be, I cannot say. For to spoil
what is to come would be very unwise,
seeing how Act Two required many toil.
Given how we will witness the Moonrise.
Regardless of iambic pentameter, or enjambment, until next time.
Carpe diem, everyone.