“Together we’re going to change the world, man.”
– Kevin Flynn to CLU, Tron Legacy

When the child was a child,
It was the time for these questions:
Why am I me, and why not you?
Why am I here, and why not there?
When did time begin, and where does space end?
Is life under the sun not just a dream?
Is what I see and hear and smell
not just the reflection of a world before the world?
Is there really such a thing as evil, and people
who really are the bad guys?
– ‘Song of Childhood’, from Wings of Desire, by Peter Handke

~ IN THE BEGINNING ~

"Time for a change."

Groaning, the Alicorn rolled her shoulders, sensing a stiffness course in her joints that, more than ever, belied her apparent youth. The stiffness wasn’t helped by the pervasive damp in the air, a forever reminder of the humble, spartan cavern in which she was conducting this, her swan-song experiment. The culmination of her research.

Here in the centre of the cavern, removed from the poor furnishings that were her crudely-built crafting table and the ragged blanket which served for her bed, stood three figures, ponies all. Two at least six-feet-tall, all three in a circle around her, each surrounded by a cocoon of golden light that wove around them in strings of energy.

Although little could be distinguished of these figures, the fact that each were endowed with horn and wings was obvious, to be hoped for, a reflection of the same slender horn past which flowed her red mane, travelling further and down an elegant neck, to end up brushing against two regal wings upon her back. Figures created in her image. Or close enough.

°Art thou done yet with thy rituals?° a voice asked from behind her.

The Alicorn’s smile was solemn. “Patience is a virtue.”

°Not for us, and not now,° the voice said. °Thou hast been granted enough time.°

“Then grant me but a little longer, and they will be ready,” the Alicorn said. She turned to face the speaker, hooves sweeping a fine layer of ochre off the cavern floor. “One would think thou wouldst have learnt patience, in all the eons thou hast existed.”

°Eons are a fraction of infinity, and in such reckoning all are young,° replied the speaker, a tall silhouette clad in a grey cloak, its features hidden from view. It seemed to gaze at the three equine figures, encased in their cocoons. °Will these things work?°

“Mine children, you mean?” the Alicorn said, her tone somewhat testy. “Yes. They will ‘work’.” Her tone softened. “Come what may, they will do right.”

°A bold claim,° said the Spirit of Possibilities.

“‘Tis no mere claim!” Faust snorted. “Each complements the other. The youngest shall be their emotional centre, a being of great passion and compassion. The middle-born is to be, as befits her birthright, the mediator, the one who knows when to stand tall in pride, and when to bow low in humility. And the eldest, a being of logic and rationality, shall oversee the world they are to make. Together, I have arranged it so these three are to balance each other’s failings, and strengths.”

The spirit paused for a moment. °And for them, you have chosen no destiny?°

“Their destiny is as I have laid out, to take the burden of the sun and moon,” Faust replied. “Beyond that, they have none. They shall live, and in living decide whether they will stand apart from ponykind or live amongst them, stand as leaders of their kindred, as equals in the building, or as servants.”

°Precarious,° said the spirit, °when thou hast molded these three from the same ethereal clay as the servitors of the Old Ones. Seeking to bring forth a qualia, a sense of the conscious experience, in beings that were made, not born, is precisely what led to ruin of those benighted people.°

“What is born?” Faust demanded. “And what is made?” She shook her head. “‘Old Ones’... the Disaster is barely a decade young, and already, I feel no remorse at distancing myself from them in such terms…”

°Even as you labor to right the wrong they wrought,° the spirit warned, °it may yet prove your last act of hubris, this desire to erase your complicity in the deal that was made, Faust.°

Faust chuckled bitterly. “No fear of that. My last deal is with you, a manifestation of the order-within-chaos that underlines existence, a counterweight to the primordial Chaos which many of my old comrades anointed themselves with...”

°Very well,° the spirit said. °So you promise that, though these final creations of yours are fashioned with a purpose, they will have a choice in their paths.°

“All life is choice,” Faust replied. “They shall come into the world with a capacity to act upon the world as a positive force. It is up to them to decide what shape that force shall take.”

The figure was quiet for a long moment, contemplating what the Alicorn had said. She contented herself in watching her works finalize, features beginning to show themselves.

°Do not be too proud of these alchemical creations,° the figure said after a time. °They may have long-lasting life, and they may have the power of the spirits, but their hearts and minds are mortal, and as thou sayest thyself, they have failings. They are fallible, Faust, and so it is they are likely as to fall, as they are to rise.°

Faust continued to look upon the three new alicorns as the golden light receded.

“Fallible?” she echoed quietly. “Aye, perhaps they are. I count upon it. For were they nought but automatons, they should be as porcelain dolls in motion, creatures who act like beings with hearts and minds, yet hath no soul. Though gladly would I spare them from the woes of this world, why, if they were remote shells, in truth unmoved by the vicissitudes of mortal existence… they would not be given a chance to light a spark, in the darkness of being.”

The figure seemed unimpressed by Faust’s navel-gazing. °So you will risk the fate of the world on these three, inheritors of the legacy of the dead Old Ones and the rotten fruits of their arrogance which still plague the world? For all your contemplation, do you truly know what separates them from the monstrous beasts the Old Ones unleashed upon the world, at the peril of generations to come? The chimeras and grotesqueries each capable of threatening any settlement in this world?°

Silence. Finally, the figure let out something that might have been the faintest of sighs.

°I shall await thee at the cavern entrance, Faust. Be not overlong, for patience is a luxury even the eternal cannot afford forever.°

“I will take as long a time as this takes,” Faust said, “but it should not be long at all. We shall depart soon, and all shall be as I have promised thee.”

°Only time will tell, Alicorn.°

The spirit departed, leaving Faust alone. The light by now had entirely faded, revealing three beings of a constitution not unlike her own. She smiled. Within these beings, as within her, were meldings of the mightiest traits from the three pony kinds. The strength and courage inherent to the earthponies, the free-spiritedness and mastery of the heavens granted to the pegasi, the great command of arcane power and curiosity gifted to the unicorns.

She turned to the youngest first. A mare of midnight-blue coat and regal blue mane greeted her eyes, as did soft, kind features.

“Pathos,” Faust said to this mare. “Thou art Luna, Keeper of the Moon.”

“I am Luna, Keeper of the Moon,” the dark mare repeated.

“Thine place is at the side of thine elder sister,” Faust said.

“My place is at the side of mine elder sister,” Luna repeated expressionlessly.

“Thou shalt be her moral compass, heart’s guide, and conscience,” Faust said. “Thou shalt be the light in the darkness of her life, her friend when she is alone.”

“I shall be her moral compass, heart’s guide, and conscience,” Luna repeated, her tone warming, the edges of her lips curving upward. “I shall be the light in the darkness of her life, her friend when she is alone.”

Faust nodded, turning to the next sibling, an alabaster mare with a pink mane flowing down her face.

“Ethos,” she said. “Thou art Celestia, Guardian of the Sun.”

“I am Celestia, Guardian of the Sun,” the white mare repeated obediently.

“Thou art the crossing of logic and feeling, empathy and rationality,” Faust told her. “Thy place is to be a guide, and the rock which carries the world.”

“I am the crossing of logic and feeling, empathy and rationality,” Celestia repeated, her voice melodious and calm. “My place is to be a guide, and the rock which carries the world.”

Faust nodded. “Thou shalt be even-tempered, kind and firm, wise and compassionate, strong when needed, a firmament for those around you to gather around.”

“I shall be even-tempered, kind and firm, wise and compassionate, strong when needed, a firmament for those around me to gather around,” Celestia repeated, almost nodding to the words, her formerly blank expression glowing incrementally as her mind responded.

Finally, Faust turned to the last sibling, a mare in many shades of black and grey, with cold ice-blue eyes.

“And thou…” she said quietly. “Logos. Thou art Galatea, Scribe of the Stardust.”

“I am Galatea,” the mare repeated. “Scribe of the Stardust.”

“Thou art the bastion of rationality and memory,” Faust told her.

“I am the bastion of rationality and memory,” the mare repeated, almost primly.

“Where chaos rules, thou shalt preach order,” Faust told her. “Where the plan goes astray, it is thy place to correct it. Thou shalt watch, thou shalt learn, and thou shalt protect.”

“Where chaos rules, I shall preach order,” Galatea repeated, her face seeming to harden as she spoke. “Where the plan goes astray, it is my place to correct it. I shall watch, I shall learn, and I shall protect.”

Faust nodded slowly. “Good. All of you will sleep for a time... and when you awaken, you will proceed as you have been directed.”

And like that, the mares settled themselves down to sleep. A glimmer of blue light wrapped itself around them, and within two heartbeats, each mare had dwindled to the size of an infant foal. Faust smiled at them, even as her heart ached, filled with sorrow that she’d have to abandon them in a cruel world.

But it was part of the task that awaited them. Part of the price she paid.

“Good night, my little ones,” she whispered softly. “When ye awaken, the world will await thee, and thou in thy turn shall make it better.” She paused, before smiling at them. “Now, rest well. Dream of sweet things to come. And most of all, be brave.”

As she turned aside, her eyes lingered, for a heartbeat, on an unassuming, small wooden box lined with runes of her own devising, her very last gift to the world, should all else fail… She did not look back, leaving her ‘children’ alone and asleep.

Outside the cavern, Faust took a moment to take in the sight of the mountains range. The snow-capped peaks seemed colder these days, and this was no figment of her imagination. Dark days encroached this land, a remnant of old evils wrought to fight older evils, the sins of the past casting its shadow upon the now.

‘I have wrought my works barely in time,’ she thought to herself. ‘When even now, it may be too late.’

She sighed. Faith was an easy thing to declare, but to maintain that faith, hold the candle of hope against the pitch-black? Some days, that seemed almost impossible.

‘Which is why it must be done.’

The spirit was waiting for her, as cloaked and enigmatic as ever. It was not, however, alone. A young but exceedingly tall, well-built maroon reindeer, maybe in his mid-twenties, stood at the entrance of the cavern as well, a deep frown upon his face. Across his strong body he wore a fur-lined red cloak, and a single stylised pickaxe was hooked onto a harness, a weapon that looked somehow ill-fitted on this being.

Yet, Faust smiled.

“Dearest Sint Erklass,” she said quietly. “So, thou hast come to say goodbye.”

~ NOW ~

This new alicorn, this Galatea, held herself in the entrance to Celestia’s private chambers, her face cold and unreadable, her eyes reflecting the soft light of the fireplace without gleam.

“We… are sisters?” Celestia asked slowly, raising an eyebrow.

“That is the case, yes,” Galatea answered, nodding, as she folded back her wings. “So, you have no memory of me. Tis’ hardly a surprise. Mine place was to stand apart. To watch, and ensure you did not stray. Will you keep me standing in your doorway, Celestia?” She spoke those words with the ghost of a smile. “Though I’ve come this far, and it’d take me little to come further, I’d sooner come in at your invitation, if only for the propriety of it.”

Celestia scrutinized the unknown alicorn, the third strange arrival she’d seen today. There was a stiffness to Galatea’s bearing which she couldn’t place. Haughtiness, or detachment?

“Enter, please,” Celestia, stepping aside. “Although, I would like to know how you bypassed the wards set around the Palace. It was my belief only Discord could do so.”

“Shortcuts and hidden entrances hold no secrets for me, Celestia,” Galatea said, sweeping past her, and the vast recliner in the middle of the room, towards the fireplace. She placed her folded-up cloak on the stone mantelpiece. “My duty requires me to see into many places and unearth many secrets. Some darker than others.”

Celestia shut the door, frowning.

“May I... offer you a drink?” she asked Galatea. “I sense you’ve travelled a great length to meet me here. I can provide berry nectar, or rosewine.”

“I’m accustomed to living frugally,” Galatea replied, her attention on the flames. “But, given the unconventionality of the occasion, I’d be prepared to grant the indulgence. I’ll grant you the choice of refreshment.”

A decanter of rosewine stood at the ready on the coffee-table, as well as several cups. Celestia picked two of them up and poured the liquor from the decanter. With that done, one of the cups levitated towards Galatea, the aura around it turning from gold to white as Galatea accepted the drink wordlessly.

“I do not understand.” Celestia took a sip, left to stare at the grey mare’s back. “How can you be our sister? Why were you not raised alongside us?”

“Because I was already grown when you were revealed to ponykind,” Galatea told her, not looking her way. Though she stood by the fire, she wasn’t warming herself, only peering into the flames. “Released from stasis early, to observe and to catalogue.”

Shaking her head at this, Celestia narrowed her eyes, preparing for the worst. “No. How do I know this isn’t some trick?”

Galatea’s head swivelled to face her. “Does it feel like a trick, sister?”

“Do not call me that!” Celestia snapped through clenched teeth, spilling a couple drops out of her cup. “We are not sisters.”

“But we are. You, me, the Keeper of the Moon, we were created together,” Galatea asserted, her voice steady. “Made from the same magicks, custom-designed to fulfill a role, no less than five-thousand years ago. Five-thousand years ago, in a world on the brink of death, a shell of its former self experiencing painful rebirth. Our place was to leave a positive impact on this world, to guide, to serve, or indeed, to rule as we thought necessary.”

Her voice rang with the conviction of age, and Celestia heard it.

“The sole genuine difference between you and me,” Galatea finished, “is that I am no Princess, nor do I expect to be received as one.” She patted her folded-up cloak, a coarse, threadbare garment. “I’m a hermit, Celestia, with no more material wealth than a pauper. The riches of knowledge are the only prize I care for.”

She drank from her cup at last, gazing at Celestia above the rim.

“They asked us,” Celestia said quietly. “Asked us to serve as the living bedrock of their newly-minted nation. After we left our old home in the Forest, they opted to have our new home built atop a mountain at the heart of Equestria, so we could survey the whole land. They made it the size of a palace, so we’d have a grand space in which to store the memories of ages. Only then did they call upon us to rule.”

As Galatea said nothing, Celestia swilled her drink, losing herself further in the past.

“Even so, we hesitated,” she whispered. “Carriers of the Sun and Moon though we were, truly, what righteous claim did that give us, to be regents, queens, empresses? Yet they insisted that we’d be their best guides. And then it came to us. Or rather, to Luna. The idea hit her in a flash. We’d been raised as the Reindeer King’s ‘little princesses’. Thus, princesses we would be...”

“Yes,” Galatea nodded. “I know. I watched.”

A silence fell then, broken up solely by the crackle of the flames.

“B-but…” Celestia stammered, shaking her head again, “when Luna… how could you...?”

Galatea sighed. “What happened to her… was within the tolerances of mine role as watcher. Only if you, too, had failed, would I have stepped forward to intervene.”

“And so she was banished, while you watched,” Celestia said lowly, a hint of bitterness and regret seeping through. “You, who claim to be our sister.”

“As do you, yet you are the one who banished her,” Galatea pointed out. She raised a hoof. “I do not resent the deed. Indeed, it was well done. How often has it been you, who stood firm against the darkness.”

“Too many times, and often with too little help,” Celestia admitted. “And you…”

“I watched you, observed you,” Galatea reaffirmed. “That was mine role.”

“So many times, the world has been in peril,” Celestia said, her tone growing harsher. “And never before have you stepped forward to reveal yourself. So why now?”

“You know why,” Galatea intoned. “You have sent forth summons to the entire world, asking that they step forward as witnesses. Because now… now, it is not merely one world that is threatened. And if you proceed, it will be more than two.”

“I will not change my decision,” Celestia said. “I shall not stand idly by as Reiner’s world suffers.”

“I know,” Galatea continued. “I am not attempting to dissuade you. Merely informing you as to the risk. Because you must know what I have seen.”

Celestia nodded. “Continue.”

“I can, if need be, know what is perceived by other instances of myself,” Galatea said. “I have never felt the need to, but that has changed. The Equestria that menaces the world of this human…”

For the first time, Celestia saw a flash of emotion on Galatea’s face, one that rippled throughout the whole of her body.

A surge of fear. Or disgust? Apprehension?

“Its Plan for ponykind, for all the races of Equus, has gone awry. And it seeks to impose its malformed vision of Order, not Harmony, on humanity. And it will not stop there.”

She looked downwards, her horn glowing. The colors at the edge of Celestia’s vision blurred, the room seemed to somehow shift sideways…

And then, there Celestia and Galatea were, standing over a burning forest.

Now, witness this.

~ ANOTHER WORLD ~

A lonely figure stood upon a mountain, overlooking a burning forest. Her elegant legs were cold, pale grey, and an ink-black tail could be seen poking from beneath the long dark cloak she wore. Had one seen beneath her hood, one might have found the long, slender horn that graced her head, the ice-blue eyes that took in every detail, judging it according to a design only she now remembered.

Your desire to provide for your people has been perverted into a will to further their well-being at all costs. Harmony, unity, and prosperity for them. Not for anyone else

Adlaborn, the home of the Reindeer, was in flames. The bodies of an entire kindred lay slain. Rick, cot and tree, all burning, all laid waste, without mercy, without hesitation. Even the Guardian of Joy himself, Sint Erklass, was dead. War had descended upon Equus, instigated by the Guardian of the Sun. She whose role was supposedly one of peace…

And Luna was nowhere to be found.

Built on the backs of those who’d inconvenience you. Dark desires, cloaked in the tatters of virtues. Healing a world? Sharing kindness to the destitute? Pretty words, believed in by many, but which make fools of them all. There is no honesty, only intrusion, to read the souls of all who’d be your subjects. You, who’d harness their strength to shore up your own power. Their bravery squandered in a futility, their loyalty become slavish devotion. Oh, there is hope, even if there are few true smiles. Your people have strong hearts! But the promised beauty they look towards is delusional. A poisoned gift, and not just for humans. This is what the magic of Equestria has been reduced to. A tool to enforce all this...

‘This was not the plan,’ the figure thought. If her face could have been seen, the only emotion it displayed would have been a slight frown of consternation. ‘This was not the way things were intended.’

There had been deviations. Of course there had. The plan only covered the broad scope, and her knowledge of it – yes, even her understanding of what she knew – was bound to be imperfect. That had always been understood. Those deviations had been accepted as unfortunate but, for the most part, within her tolerances.

Yet at no time was this, was any of this, part of the plan.

This. This is power. Power for its own sake.

‘Something has changed,’ Galatea surmised to herself, still surveying the burning forest with those cold eyes. ‘Something more than can be explained as a mere deviation from acceptable parameters.’ Her eyes widened almost imperceptibly. ‘The plan is in danger. It is falling apart.’

She breathed in, her decision made in an instant. Hers was the role of correction, and much needed correcting. Harmony had been replaced with disorder, peace with war, and loving guidance with brutal tyranny. The plan was astray.

‘And so, I must correct it.’

Adlaborn melted away, and there they were, back in Celestia’s private chambers.

“How, exactly, do you know so much?” Celestia demanded, this pressing question momentarily overriding all else. “More importantly, what don’t you know? You describe yourself as a watcher, an observer. But I have only ever heard of one being who possessed the Sight to watch over our whole world, and that is Sint Erklass.”

Something about this actually made Galatea smirk.

“You may be taken aback at how many observers there are in this world,” she commented. “Some of whom could, in fact, be watching us now. Yet your inquiry is legitimate, as is your curiosity about the extent of my abilities. No, I have no Sight, it is true. However, what I have is tied into much the same Source as the Allfather’s Sight, though whereas I look with the mind, he sees purely with the heart.”

Galatea sniffed, taking another sip.

“I cannot claim to understand how he does it,” she said absently. “Nevertheless, sister, we three who were cut from the same cloth, we all possess this latent connection to The Source. It is simply that who we are shaped to be, determines what insights it has to grant us. You know of what I speak.”

The statement gave Celestia pause, as she considered the strange alicorn before the fire.

“At the door…” Celestia began with trepidation. “Just now. When you introduced yourself. You said that you were the Scribe…”

“... of the Stardust,” Galatea finished and nodded, setting her cup on the mantelpiece. “That is correct. And this is how, in return for your help, I can help you too.”

“Stardust…” Celestia said, rolling the word off her tongue. In that briefest of instants, her mistrust and apprehension were replaced by a real wonder. “Qualia made ethereal. The building block of sapient existence. You can see it?”

“I document it,” Galatea said stonily. “All of the ebbs and flows.”

“What sort of life have you led?” Celestia asked. “And to what end?”

The hesitance which suddenly overtook Galatea came as a surprise to Celestia.

“I do not understand the question,” Galatea said after an interval.

A peculiar statement, one which again raised Celestia’s sense of uneasiness. “Then I’ll return to what I asked before,” she said, measuring her words. “While lacking on details, your explanation of your abilities tells me how you can be so aware. Yet it still doesn’t answer why the peril of two worlds, or three, should matter to you any more than one.”

“Because one of those worlds is a world of Equestria,” Galatea said simply. “Another Equestria, gone dreadfully wrong.” She leaned forward. “A damaged Equestria, in which there are no more alicorns who’ll stem the rot… not even me. Except that, prior to my death, I did not let myself down. All has been done to the end of repairing that damage.”

A chill crept over Celestia. “Your death? If you speak of your other self, who surely must have existed in a parallel world, you speak of dying with such ease… and as if it were you.”

Galatea tilted her head. “I fail to see the distinction.”

It was while Twilight was brushing up on theoretical physics that the other shoe dropped.

“C’mon, Twilight,” Dash moaned, catching her attention. Never the most scholarly or patient of mares, Rainbow Dash was staring up blearily from a book she’d hardly leafed through. “Look outside, the sun’s setting already. We’ve been at this for hours, we’re not gonna get any closer by keeping up at it all night.”

Ears twitching, Rarity peered out between the curtains. “Sunset? I do believe it’s barely six o’clock, dear Dashie. It just looks like sundown because we’re inside a gloomy library, and there’s a thick cloud blocking the sun.”

“Well, it feels like it should be nighttime!” Dash complained, wings flaring as she slammed the book shut, startling Pinkie. “We’ve been up since before dawn, had a chat with a completely unknown creature that looked at us with this complete hatred, went into his mind and saw his nightmares, then learned there’s this universe full of evil usses attacking everyone else, then we hardly got to process it all before making the whole boring train ride to Canterlot straight afterwards... now on top of that, we’re stuck at the library! Isn’t that what you’d call a long day? I’m knack–Oompf!”

A harried Fluttershy had been quick to cover Dash’s mouth.

“Not so loud, please, Rainbow,” she whispered urgently, looking around to the stares they were drawing from other tables. But she followed it up by timidly addressing Twilight, as she lowered her hoof away from Dash. “Um, Twilight? She does have a point. We’ve all had to take in so much, in so little time. I’m not sure reading is going to help.”

“On the contrary,” Twilight said brightly, still absorbed in her tome. Too brightly, if she was honest with herself. “Reading’s by far the best way to sift through an information overload. It helps stretch the mind.”

“The only thing it’s helping me stretch are my jaw-muscles,” Dash said, yawning theatrically. “Can’t we give it a rest today? I thought you said you’d be taking us to your parents’ place. There’s this one book I am really excited to read, and it’s your Mom who’s got it.”

Only Rainbow Dash mentioning a book could have made Twilight gaze up from her own book at that moment, which she did.

“Mother’s been working overtime this week,” Twilight said, “and she’d keep all her spare copies at the office. Besides, if she got my message yesterday morning, she must’ve had time to send your copy later on. It’s probably arrived in Ponyville by now.”

“What?!” Groaning, Dash let her face slump onto the table. “You gotta be kidding me! I was… I was just there…”

As Twilight wondered how she could reassure Dash, she felt a tug at her tail. Spike, who’d been squatting by her seat with his nose in a comic, was holding it rolled-up in one claw and looking at her impatiently.

“Rainbow Dash is right,” Spike said. “You guys don’t look like you’re getting anywhere, and I’ve read the same issue of ‘Colonel Spark’ three times in one hour. I know you’re trying to take a weight off by diving into a book, that’s just your thing, but it’s not working. You gonna tell us what’s really going on?”

Seeing his chubby-cheeked face and green eyes, reptilian slits yet so innocently wide, Twilight stifled a sigh. In the end, when they’d got to Canterlot, she’d chickened out. Instead of explaining matters to Spike, she’d headed straight to Headmaster Nexus with the sketch of Reiner’s runes. Spike barely even knew there was a human around, let alone the rest of it.

But there was more to it than that.

“Spike,” she told him, as Pee-Wee came to perch on his shoulder, to a disapproving glare from the librarian. “I… I’m sorry. It’s just there are big things happening, which are really hard to talk about.”

“Like what?” Spike asked. “I mean, if evil stuff’s going down, not like it’s our first time dealing with it, right?”

How could she tell him? In the human’s dreams, she’d seen Shining Armor, her brother, do the unspeakable. And if Cadance was now her sister, Spike had been like a second brother to her for years. She had no clue what he’d become in the parallel world.

Reiner had said Cadance, at least, was alive and on his side. But how many others from Equestria, friends, family, good people, had done to humans what Shining had done? Just the thought made her head pound...

She closed her book.

“Okay, you have a point. Time to call it a day, girls,” Twilight told her friends. “Wasn’t expecting all that much to come from this, anyway. The real research ought to begin tomorrow, in the Canterlot Archives. This was just some light reading to get us in the mood.”

“You call this light reading?” Dash spat indignantly.

“Well admittedly, it could’ve been more relaxing,” Twilight conceded, collecting books from Pinkie, Rarity, and Fluttershy. “Sorry about that.”

“Here, I’ll help ya, sugarcube,” said Applejack, rising from her seat. “Load me up.”

“‘Canterlot Archives’?” Pinkie asked, grinning. “Isn’t that where we went last time something like this happened? Whatcha’ planning, Twi’? Think there’s a spell which can make us go back and stop all the bad stuff from ever-ever-ever happening?”

“Even if there were, I wouldn’t dare use it,” replied Twilight, busily placing a pile of books on Applejack’s sturdy back. “Starswhirl himself never did master the art of time-travel. And he hypothesized that trying to change the past to your advantage is a doomed cause. Somehow, the cosmos will make you pay for messing with it...”

Spike snorted. “Sure made me pay for eating too much ice-cream one day, thinking I wouldn’t suffer the next. Feels like I’ve paid for it ever since.” He thumbed at Dash, glowering. “Isn’t it funny how this is, like, the second time we’ve had a time-travel crisis, and my ice-cream tower got knocked over by somepony desperate to fetch her new book.”

“Hey, it’s Daring Do!” Dash shot back, forehooves folded. “Don’t mess with the classics.”

Twilight noticed Rarity eyeing her. “What is it?”

“You seem unsure, darling.”

“Well.” Twilight pondered. “Today, we’ve just been given proof we live in a multiverse. This is one of the greatest scientific breakthroughs of our time...” Dejected, she plonked the last book onto Applejack. “But only because something evil, something far more awful than anything we’ve faced before, has messed the balance. And, unless the Princesses can sort something out, it means we’ll be going to war.”

Another of those awful silences reigned as her words sank in.

“War?” asked Spike in a small voice.

Rarity straddled over to stroke his forehead. “Shh, Spike. We’re going to give you answers. Won’t we, Twilight?”

“Sure,” Twilight answered wearily. “But first, to return these books. Applejack, if you please.”

The distance from their reading-table to the counter was barely ten yards. Twilight set off, Applejack following her lead. It was just a step away, and had they taken it any other time, they’d have thought no more of it.

Except the cosmos, it seemed, wasn’t done with curious encounters over these two days.

There was a mare waiting at the ‘Borrow’ end of the counter, her back to the room. Twilight, focused on the ‘Return’ section, took little notice of her. She supposed, vaguely, that the mare looked familiar, but this was only natural. Canterlot was her home city, and like everyone else, she’d have fleeting moments of recognition upon return.

So at first, while unloading books on the counter, she didn’t spare the mare a second glance. Then the assistant librarian asked the mare – the archetypical bookworm, going by her oversized glasses and frayed sweater, if her huge pile of books weren’t clue enough – whether that’d be all, and the mare answered.

“Yes.”

Twilight couldn’t help it. Recognizing the voice, she jerked her head to see its owner.

Said mare, evidently an old hoof at sorting books, had been rapidly and efficiently packing the pile into her saddlebags. But Twilight’s abrupt movement must have caught her eye, because she halted, one book left afloat in her aura, and their gazes met, the mare’s magnified by the width of her glasses.

The book clattered to the floor with a resounding ‘thump’, nearly causing Twilight’s heart to leap up her throat.

A bewildered Applejack was staring at her, and so her remaining friends must have been, but Twilight only saw the mare.

“Moondancer?”

The mare blinked, but said nothing. Then, with a strangled noise of distaste, she picked up the book, stuffing it rather violently into her bag, and turned tail, shouldering the bags with a ‘flick’ of dismissal.

The whole thing had gone by so quickly. Twilight was left standing in shock, motionless, until Applejack prodded her shoulder. She looked around. Applejack and the others had gathered in a huddle by her, all of them utterly dumbfounded.

“Uhh, who’s she?” Applejack asked, frowning. “Have we met her?”

“It’s… it’s nothing,” Twilight said, realizing how unconvincing she sounded. “Come on. We’ve been hanging around here long enough.”

Without awaiting a reply, she strode for the doors, feeling their gazes boring into her. This only made her pace quicken. The sunshine of a summer afternoon flooded the entrance as Twilight pulled the doors wide open – apparently, the cloud cover had been short-lived – and left the building, glad for the fresh air.

Behind her, five Element Bearers trotted on, looking askance at a little dragon.

“Spike?” Fluttershy whispered. “What was that all about?”

“Ooh, boy,” said Spike, rubbing his forehead. “Where to begin, unpacking this one...”

“The veil opened to me, Celestia,” Galatea said, the light from the fire casting half of her face in shadow. “Mine reality itself turned crystalline, mine eyes staring through refractions. Centuries had I pursued my documentation, tirelessly and faithfully, yet all was changed as, for a tenth of a tenth of a second, mine being was one with the third alicorn of the trinity, the Galatea of that alternate world. And I no longer observed. I experienced.”

Celestia stared at her silently.

“That is how I came to know mine self,” Galatea concluded. “Before that, I existed akin to one in a dream. I knew not when it had begun, or whose dream it was. Then, mine other ‘I’ brought me face-to-face with something, and I could no longer play the sleepwalker.”

“And what was…” Celestia said slowly, “that ‘something’?”

“Pain.”

Not taking her eyes off the alicorn, Celestia sipped from her cup. “Pain?”

“The pain of a world’s soul,” Galatea said. “And it is not Earth of which I speak. The corruption digs deeper still into the foundations of Equestria. Its rot even spreads, now, to the roots of the Tree of Harmony, which feels the loss of its sister tree in the North.”

The ears on both sides of Celestia’s head twitched.

“What?” she whispered. “The Tree Atop The World… is lost?”

“Did the human not tell you?” Galatea said, dispassionately.

A thought crossed Celestia’s mind, that her strange visitor had still not explained her connection to the human. That she knew of him came as no surprise. Yet it still made her blood run cold to hear Galatea speak the word.

“Alexander Reiner has told me some of what’s happened,” Celestia said quietly.

“He didn’t tell you all of it,” Galatea pointed out. “He told you Equestria is waging war with his world, assimilating his people, but there were many things he either took for granted, neglected to tell you, or was unaware of. The harmony you spent millennia constructing, the balance, the soul of an Equestria worth protecting. All of it has been destroyed, perhaps never to recover. Madness has taken hold of your other self.”

“That, I have understood, in part.” Celestia frowned. “What else, though?”

Galatea smiled, for lack of a better word.

“You didn’t think humans would have no allies,” she said, walking to the coffee-table, “other than those amongst your people who were inspired by a little green unicorn’s kindness? Or that your world would stand by, as Celestia spreads the curse of living death? No. I should not be surprised. I expect the human will have told his unicorn friend, before he’d tell you. After all, why would he say anything to you...”

As she poured herself some more rosewine, Celestia moved closer to consult her.

“The corrosion of Equestria goes beyond a betrayal of its spirit,” Galatea said, lifting the cup without drinking. “Whatever it is that has befallen you, it won’t stop at ignoring the tenets of Harmony. It behaves with active hostility, an enemy to all life, with just enough cunning to make willing servants out of poor and desperate souls, who believe it’ll reforge the world for their lot’s betterment. And when it encounters those it cannot buy, or deceive…”

Her eye glinted in the firelight.

“It destroys them.”

It was then that Celestia caught onto her meaning. “The Allfather Sint… you say he is dead.”

“What else could he be,” Galatea said bluntly, “when nothing remains of the Tree Atop The World nor the mountain it crowned, not even a burnt-out husk? This was the catalyst, sister. This was the event Galatea witnessed, and the shock it sent through her system… wrought a change in her.”

Though she hid it, the news had also brought a shock to Celestia. To think that Sint Erklass, bringer of gifts, the one who’d raised her and her sister – her true sister, not this eerie, unknown claimant – could be dead. The magnitude felt inconceivable. He, who had lived longer than anyone she knew.

Or almost anyone. And now an awful suspicion filled her chest.

“Shortly before you arrived…” Celestia began slowly. “I met with Discord. He’d just returned from an important mission. One of those times I judged it better to set a monster upon a monster. After everything you’ve told me, I find the timing too good to be mere coincidence.”

“Coincidence is anathema to me,” Galatea said. “I know you were pre-emptive. You sent Lord Discord on a mission to subdue an evil made feeble with deprivation, yet still mightier than himself, lest its blight should spread anew. You did right to act swiftly. These evils are like weeds in the garden. No matter how much you purge, they will find a way to choke you.”

“Discord acquitted himself on this mission,” Celestia acknowledged. “I admit, I had a lingering doubt as to his trustworthiness...”

Galatea kept her flinty gaze locked on Celestia. “So, he did not betray you.”

“How fortunate for me,” Celestia said. “Had he failed, or been led astray… while the Elements of Harmony might have prevailed, I shudder to imagine the damage Equestria could have suffered.” She paused, drank, let the contents slosh in her throat. “And now… now, I feel a fear, fear I may no longer have to imagine that prospect…”

“Celestia,” said Galatea. “If I read you correctly, your suspicions are sound. Yet I must put them on hold. My theory is that, whichever malign force rules the other Equestria, it is not Father Kontagion.”

Even the sound of the name bore on Celestia, as she blinked in surprise.

“Who else could it be?” she asked. “Who else could hate Sint Erklass that much, and dare to challenge him? How can you be certain?”

Galatea sighed, and set down her cup. “Because in that world, Father Kontagion is more than locked in a crystal within Tartarus. He is obliterated. As dead as nearly all of the great players who stood in Celestia’s way.”

Celestia digested this information. Verily, today had been a long day of learning.

“There is one other...” Celestia mused, contemplating her cup. “One other, with whom Sint Erklass shares an aeons-old rivalry… but, no. Inscrutable and fearsome as its motives are, the single thing it’d never do is murder him…”

“I take it you refer to the entity the Allfather keeps confined in his own home?” Galatea replied to that. “True. How curious should it be, that the Bringer of Joy’s oldest enemy, in some regards, is also his oldest friend.”

“But then,” Celestia stared at her, “if this isn’t the Krampus’ doing, would you know of a third, potential culprit?”

“Alas, I don’t,” Galatea replied, with a hint of annoyance. “Yet I hope that in giving answers, I might find some of my own.”

“What do you mean? I feel you’ve not given up all your answers yet.”

“I shall supply them all, once I meet Alexander Reiner.”

Strange, but Luna was unsure how she felt, about this custom remaining unchanged in her thousand-year absence. Forgiveness and atonement, a new chance given to many, this was the side of Equestrian justice most were familiar with. Yet, for all that, it had its harsher side, Luna knew, as she silently pored over the logbook, commiting to memory the names of creatures in every shape and size, creatures now committed as residents of Erebus.

“What do you make of it, Your Highness?” asked the Warden.

Luna looked up at the rakishly-thin, black-eyed thestral, thinking. In a way, she’d been lucky. The same Moon she regarded as a second home had been chosen as her place of exile. Except, for one who held such power as she, no pardon could be negotiated. No restitution, other than her repentance.

“It’s going to be the same old mess, if people are the same as in my day,” Luna sighed, clapping the logbook. “No-one, least of all those who move in high circles, will do anything for free. Never mind the stakes, the fate of a whole world hanging in the balance. They’ll want their return investment.”

“Aye,” the Warden nodded somberly. Or more somberly than usual. “And never mind how many we’ve got downstairs who deserve where they are. Petty warlocks, vile sorcerers and enchanters, necromancers…” She scowled. “None of it matters. Oh, no, please Celestia, they’re kinfolk, and we want ‘em back. So what if they dabbled in dark arts, not caring who got caught in the crossfire? Who’re you to pass judgement on a free and seductive zebra, or a proud, mighty Kirin?”

“Yes… it’s going to be tough, Diane,” Luna reflected. “Especially that business of the Mikado’s personal student in the Second Circle.”

“Please, Highness,” said the Warden, leaning on the desk. “Call me Di. And, aye, I agree, we can expect that matter to be top of the Mikado’s demands.” She, too, sighed. “To hear them whine, you’d think we grant ponies special favors.”

“That reminds me,” said Luna. “It’s been, what, four weeks since the sentencing over the Alicorn Amulet? How is our convicted felon holding up?”

“You mean the mare with an ego the size of the Moon?” The Warden chuckled genially. “It’s working out better than we might’ve feared. Got off to a rough start, of course, but she’s been coping well. Now I think of it, guard reports say they’ve seen her mingle with the Mikado’s student… oh, and this handsome Saddle Mareabian fellow. Isn’t that cute?”

Luna smiled wanly. “Thank you for your time. You may resume your duties, Di.”

The Warden saluted with her wing, and turned to clamber up the steps of the amphitheater. Luna watched Diane enter the ethereal gateway. It shone, the shimmer of orange turned the planetary models, as viewed from Luna’s desk, into silhouettes, then the Warden was gone.

“As a portal, this configuration is serviceable,” spoke a voice. “But you’ll be dealing with works more intricate and sophisticated, in these approaching days.”

Surprised, Luna turned. Celestia was standing in the side-entrance. And by her side was the one who must have spoken. Luna could scarce believe her eyes as she saw it was a severe-looking grey alicorn.

“Sister,” Celestia said. “I’d like to introduce you to someone.”

“No,” said Spike. “I don’t think any of you guys have met Moondancer. It’s not like Twilight’s been to see her Canterlot friends in three years...”

“What’s this?” Dash gasped. “First, Twi’ has a brother we’d never heard about. Now you’re telling us she used to have friends?”

“Rainbow Dash!” Applejack said sharply, glancing in Twilight’s direction.

Twilight was trotting a good few yards ahead of them, her step listless as she made her way through the street. Even though she was the one guiding them to her parents’ place, she did not look like a leading person, just then. Her ears were droopy, her mane limp. She looked different than when, in her desperation to write a friendship report, she’d accidentally cast a ‘want-it-need-it’ spell to turn everyone mad with jealousy, but this was still the worst they’d seen her look since.

At least she didn’t appear to have heard them.

“It’s okay, Applejack,” Spike said. “I’m sure if you asked Twilight right now, she wouldn’t believe it either.”

“That don’t make it right, Spike,” Applejack chided. “No good ever came from whippin’ yerself when y’all carryin’ more than ya can bear. Ah’ve had to learn that lesson myself.”

“Twilight feels things deeply,” Spike reminded her. “She tries to hide it, to look like the calm responsible leader, but it’s true. Even if she’d ask you for a chart of her dopamine levels or whatever to prove she’s getting worked up.”

“More of an adrenaline fan, personally,” Dash said smartly.

Spike nodded, which was somewhat ruffling for Pee-Wee, still perched on his shoulder.

“Oh, sorry,” Spike told the squawking phoenix chick, tickling its chin calmingly. “So, you see,” he explained, “that’s why Twilight, way she used to be, she wouldn’t have grasped that she had friends, not unless someone pointed it out to her in a book. But she did. In those days, as far as friends went for Twilight, they were the best of friends amongst ponies her age. Her, Lyra and Moondancer.”

“Best of friends?” Pinkie echoed, her indomitable grin on display. “Here, in Canterlot? They must’ve had the most super-dooper-fancy-schmancy parties!”

“I’m inclined to agree, darling,” Rarity said, smiling despite herself. “Acquaintanceship with Sir Fancypants and his crowd have proved not all parties are as awful as the Gala...” Her face scrunched up. “Or all the attendees as uncouth, unlike certain princes I could mention.”

“Yeah, about that...” Spike said, his voice caught in his throat. “See, Moondancer was a lot like Twilight. Spent her whole life with her snout stuck in a book. Lyra was the one who’d make them get out more, well, I suppose I helped a little bit, but you know, I’m just Twilight’s Number One Assistant…”

Dash glanced back the way they’d came, to the library. “Wha- what happened? She looked mighty upset then. What’d she do?”

“Well…” Spike sighed. “One day, Moondancer decided she wanted to try something new. Have a party.”

Surprisingly, while Pinkie hadn’t exactly turned grey, she no longer wore an ear-to-ear grin. She’d also stopped bouncing along the cobblestones.

“What’s wrong, Pinkie?” Applejack asked. “Thought you’d be happy to hear about that.”

“Well… I would, but I’m guessing it didn’t go well,” Pinkie said in a small voice, “did it, Spike?”

“I dunno,” Spike shrugged. “I missed it. Because Twilight missed it. Said we didn’t have time for that, even though we were on a break.”

“That’s… quite rude,” Rarity admitted. “But you’ve always been Twilight’s voice of reason, Spikey. If she played truant on a party she’d been invited to, didn’t you go and explain?”

For once, Rarity’s praise didn’t lift Spike’s spirits. “I would have. But…” He hesitated. “Never got the chance. That was on the same Summer Sun Festival that Twilight found Nightmare Moon– er, Princess Luna, was coming back and she didn’t want any distractions, then Princess Celestia sent us to Ponyville, and I guess the rest is history.”

Hearing this, all five mares gave each other dismayed looks, stopping dead in their tracks.

“Twilight missed her good friend’s party?!” Pinkie gasped. “That’s terrible! I should throw a super-friendship-reunion party for the both of them! But I don’t know much about Moondancer. I’ll have to see what I can do…”

“Oh, my…” Applejack muttered. “Don’t it just feel like a kick to the face, bein’ told our friendship and rescuin’ Luna from the Nightmare ruined someone else’s friendship?”

“Please don’t blame yourself, Applejack,” Spike assured, turning to face them. “It’s like you said, no good comes from it. Take it from me, travelling to Ponyville, meeting you guys, it’s the best thing that ever happened to Twilight. Not to mention how you all saved the world.”

“Even so,” Applejack said, tipping her hat. “It stinks when somethin’ bad happens in order for somethin’ good to be accomplished. Like when ya’ve got to displace a family o’ field mice to plant the crops.”

“It isn’t the same, Applejack,” Rarity said gently. “Crops, field mice, they’re your responsibility. You couldn’t have known about a pony in Canterlot. None of us could.”

“Still one thing what happened because o’ the other…”

“C’mon,” Spike urged them, “we need to move. Can’t let Twilight stew all on her own. Her parent’s mansion is just at the end of the street, it isn’t far.”

“Figures, they’d raise her in a place close to a library...” commented Dash. “So, you’re saying that’s what’s going on, Spike? This mare, this Moondancer, Twilight didn’t show up at her party and she’s mad at Twilight because of that?”

“Sure looks like it,” Spike said unhappily, scratching his dorsal spikes. “It’ll have flown over Twilight’s brainy head, but the three of them, she and Lyra and Moondancer, they did practically everything together, best and brightest of Celestia’s School. When Lyra would get lazy again and leave her homework till’ the last minute, one of them would cover for her, just because they enjoyed the extra work, can you believe that?”

“What!” Pinkie exclaimed, “Twilight, who freaks out if she sheds one hair too many on her hard-written papers, enjoy doing a pony’s late work?”

“I mean, it kind of makes sense,” Dash said. “You’ve seen how obsessive she gets now and then, right?”

“And isn’t it fun to get into somepony else’s skin?” said Spike.

“That’s true,” Pinkie said thoughtfully. “Always did love a good cosplay… It’s what makes that ‘ponification serum’ sound like it could be cool if it weren’t so… horrible…” She trailed off. “You’ve been super quiet, Fluttershy,” she said, turning to address her friend on her right. “What d’you think, does somepony here need a party, or wh–” She abruptly stopped. “Wait a cotton-picking minute, weren’t you walking to my lef–”

“Ah,” said Fluttershy, in a disturbingly masculine, low-pitched voice. “You always were observant, weren’t you, Pinkie Pie?”

She raised a forehoof to the point below her mane and, with a sharp tug, the whole of her body got pulled off, falling in a heap on the cobblestones, eliciting gasps from the friends – save Twilight, too far ahead to notice – and even a few passers-by, as an asymmetric, mish-mashed figure, part equine and part dragon and many other parts revealed itself to them, drawing itself up to tower over the group.

“What? Discord!?” Pinkie gaped. “Hey, that’s not fair, y– you hack, you! You stole my joke! And my stock of Fluttershy costumes!”

“Where’s Fluttershy!?” Rarity demanded angrily, while Applejack and Dash glared at him. “What’d you do with her, you big brute!?”

“Um, Rarity,” piped a meek voice. “I’m over here, at the back.”

Everyone’s head shot in the direction of the real Fluttershy, who, sure enough, was there, pawing the pavement nervously.

“Huh?” Dash’s eyes widened. “But– I just… how did I miss…”

“You need to get in with the times, Rainbow Dash,” Discord commented smugly, his arms folded. “Stop expecting things to make sense with me running free. Or gliding. And you, Pinkie! Isn’t this exactly the kind of Fluttershy emergency you’d keep spare costumes for?!”

“That’s not an answer!”

“Yeah,” Rarity added angrily, “don’t you know anything about continuity?”

Even Discord was startled at what she’d said. “I beg your pardon?”

“S-sorry…” Rarity said, brushing a hoof through her coiffure. “That… that just slipped out. I’ve no idea what made me say that.”

“Well, whatever,” said Discord, shrugging.

Now they had a closer view of him, they noticed he wasn’t looking his halest. For one thing, he wasn’t, in fact, gliding as he often did. He was standing, even stooping, legs bent by an unseen weight, and he didn’t keep his arms folded for long. With a wheezing groan, Discord let one of his forelimbs, his paw, flew – not literally – to the side of his torso, clutching it in visible pain. And they saw why.

“My goodness, Discord,” Fluttershy said, stepping forward, fast. “Is it… caved in?”

“Oh, you noticed, did you?” Discord said sarcastically, his voice coming out in a rasp. “Yeah. There’s a smoking lung for you…”

For emphasis, he loosened his grip slightly, releasing a thin trail of smoke from the corners of the poultice he wore over a plainly fractured rib.

“You’re not kidding,” Dash said. “But what could possibly have done you in so bad?”

“Got into a street brawl,” was all Discord had to say, mopping his brow. “Mortal combat, you might call it, where the biggest adversary you face is some people’s chronic inability to spell ‘c’ instead of ‘k’, cos’ poor literacy is kewl...”

“Is this a reference?” Pinkie asked. “I feel like this is a reference.”

Dash glanced at the real Fluttershy. “Uh, Fluttershy, is this his usual brand of weird… or is he delirious?”

“Six-one, half-a-dozen the other, I’m thinking,” replied a concerned Fluttershy. “You’re here because you want a little TLC, right, Discord?”

“Dear Fluttershy, you always know what to say,” Discord grinned, his grin the crookedest of them all – not helped by the fact some of his teeth appeared to be broken or missing. Worryingly, they didn’t seem to be reverting back to normal. “As it is, Celestia was thoughtful enough to have this poultice prepared for me in the Palace Ward, but I could do with tea, wouldn’t you say? And cucumber sandwiches.”

Fluttershy was silent. She stared at her friends. Then at Discord. Then at her friends.

“Apologies, girls,” she said softly. “But I’ve got a creature in need of loving care here. I can’t ignore him out of the gate.”

While Rarity sighed, she looked comprehending. “You go on ahead, Fluttershy. Maybe it’s best you go with him. Can’t think of who else could bring him up-to-date the quickliest, without jumping through mad hoops, conversing with that fellow.”

“Do your thing, Flutters,” Pinkie nodded. Her eyes narrowed. “And then he and I can have a little chat afterwards about plagiarism, and stealing cosplay supplies!”

“Alright,” said Fluttershy, to the acquiescing nods of Dash and Applejack. “Be back as soon as I can, promise. Discord,” she said, reaching out to take his claw, “where are we going?”

“There’s this really good club I know,” said Discord. “I daresay it’ll spice up your life. Hm, pretty sure I saw a zebra dancer there’s who’s the spitting image of Zecora’s twin sister.”

A click of his paw, a flash, and without much ceremony, they’d disappeared off the street. Leaving a group now down to four mares, a dragon and a phoenix to stand there.

“Sweet Celestia,” Dash moaned, massaging her temples. “This is waayy too much for one day. What, is this still the Second of Rophon? Argh! I’m gonna go loopy if I don’t go fly a few laps, right away. Aw, heck, even that’s not gonna be enough for my head.” She turned to Spike. “Didn’t Twilight say her Mom kept all those books she edits at her office? So I can’t read them?”

“Um, yeah,” Spike said. “Why?”

Dash flexed her wings. “I’m sorry, guys. I gotta fly. There’s a copy waiting for me in the mail back home, and if at least I still get my Daring Do book before midnight, I’ll have pulled one silver lining outta the day.”

“Wait,” Rarity mumbled, a forehoof half-raised, “you’re going to make the flight all the way back to Ponyville?”

“Yeah. What, you think I can’t?” Dash grinned cockily. “It’s in a straight line as the crow flies, to say nothing of the dashing pegasus. I’m telling you, I’ll just pop back home and pick it right outta the mailbox. And nothing else is gonna get in my way!”

With that, before anyone had anything to add, she took off in a neat, vertical line, leaving a rainbow trail in her wake, and curved. Mere seconds later, a vibrant-colored ring appeared beyond the rooftop-line of Canterlot, rapidly followed by a resounding boom.

Once more, Spike heaved a sigh. He petted Pee-Wee comfortingly. The phoenix chick wasn’t the only shaken by Dash’s theatrical departure, however. Around them, Canterlot residents were muttering, staring at where the commotion had come from. And a couple of the three remaining mares weren’t too pleased, either.

“Yikes,” Rarity grumbled, clutching an ear. “There should be a law, honestly…”

“Ah hope she’s not headed into more trouble…” Applejack grunted.

“Trouble? Rainbow?” Pinkie said innocently. “You think?”

“Well, we’ve had enough dilly-daddling,” Spike told them. “Now we gotta catch up with Twilight, and explain why two of her friends shall be late for dinner tonight…”

Ponyville, Equestria. Second Day of the Month of Rophon, Year 3 of the Era Harmoniae.

It made Lyra want to cry inside, to see how blearily Alex stared back at her. In spite of the terrible revelations he’d made, the human’s presence was still as wondrous to her as ever. But considering how, ever since he’d opened up to her about his life’s story, the afternoon had been one continuous process of him falling in and out of consciousness, coming awake for brief, faltering intervals, she found herself slowly giving up on asking him questions, about his world or his life. All that seemed to matter was his grief.

The pages of Waggoner’s book lay unfolded on her lap, a reminder of simpler times.

“How are your burns?” Lyra asked. “I mean, those necrotic patches?”

“Tis’ but a flesh wound,” Alex grimaced as he clutched his arm, apparently trying to grin. “I’ve had worse.”

Lyra smiled uneasily. “Not sure why, but that sounded like a joke.”

“It was meant to be,” Alex said, chuckling, coughing. “Heh. It’s nice, really, that you’re a Lyra who still gets it, even though you’ve got no context for it at all.”

“I feel there’s a lot I’m missing out on,” Lyra said, turning a page. “Probably because I am. But, I used to think I’d find all the answers, you know? As if, just look hard enough, and you’ll be rewarded for it. Okay, Twilight’s always been the researcher, while me, well, I’m an over-imaginative filly in a mare’s body. Except she’s convinced things are meant to work a certain way, and hates being told any different. I like to believe all the rules can change at the drop of a hat.”

Alex chuckled again, a little more mirthfully. “Tell me about it, sister. When I was a boy, portals to other dimensions, parallel universes and rainbow-colored critters were stuff of… heh, we could say experimenting with ‘illicit substances’. Or, sure, overimagination, let’s go with that.”

Something he’d said stuck in Lyra’s mind. “Illicit substances? You mean… drugs?”

“I’m a soldier, Lyra,” Alex said candidly. “In a mad world, sometimes, a little dose of madness you choose for yourself, is the only way to stay sane. Which reminds me, as you were asking about burns. Am I getting any real treatment soon, or is my chest gonna be minced hamburger for the rest of my days? Which may not be very long, at this rate...”

“Ham… burger?” Lyra repeated, tremulously. “As in… pig ham?”

Alex paused. “Yeah, pig ham,” he said. “Humans can eat pretty much anything not trash. Sometimes even that, depending on how bad things are. Just like pigs themselves, when you think about it... These last few years haven’t been easy…” He then trailed off when he noticed her expression. “You didn’t know?”

“I… I guess I never really thought about it,” Lyra replied, clutching her book a little tighter. “Didn’t you go over this with the other me? If you’d ask me, it should be one of the first things to talk about.”

“She’d already been on Earth for years when I met her,” Alex reminded her patiently. “She’d had time to acclimatize. All I really taught her was how to…” He hesitated. “Convince people to go and die, I suppose. Or how not to let things hurt you too much. Not while you’re in the thick of it, anyway.”

Lyra ran all this through her head. “It isn’t that I don’t know meat-eaters can be civilized, Alex,” she explained, trying not to sound offensive. “I mean, I’ve met griffons and... whatever you call those folks from Klugetown… um… maybe that’s not the best example. But you know what I mean. I… it’s just kinda hard for me to get completely used to that.”

“If it helps,” Alex said reassuringly, “we’re not purely carnivorous. We do eat fruits, vegetables, and grains as well. And there are people from my world who choose not to eat meat, or some kinds of meat. No flowers or hay, though.”

“I think that makes me feel a little better,” Lyra nodded. “What about you? Do you…?”

“Sorry, Lyra,” Alex replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Military diet. Although, funny story, as a kid, I was a bit of an oddball in Texas because I never had much of a taste for cow. As for pork, fish, and poultry… well, that’s another story.”

“I see,” said Lyra. “You know, I remember once asking Fluttershy how she does it. Dealing with animals eating each other. I mean, in her job as an animal caretaker, the guild, they teach you how to catch fish, or feed worms to birds.”

Her gaze drifted for a second.

“And she told me,” Lyra continued, “that the first thing they do is show you a movie. Apparently, some naturalist managed to film an otter catching a trout and sharing it with her babies, and as they eat it alive, the fish’s belly splits open, like, really wide and spills out a mess of shiny eggs, which the baby otters climb over to get to, and gobble it all up, like it was candy...”

“Mother and child dining on mother and child,” Alex commented. “Sounds about right.”

“Does it?” Lyra asked. “Does it to you? I’m not sure it does to me.”

“You really were too nice for your own good…” Alex sighed sadly, holding the back of his hand to his mouth. “It’s nature at work. It doesn’t hold itself to ‘civilized’ standards. If I’d ask Gardner,” he scowled, “my so-called mentor in the military, he’d say it’s deluding yourself, to think ‘life’ and ‘war’ are not one and the same.”

“That… that’s not Harmony.”

“No, it isn’t. Whatcha gonna do about it, kid?” he asked brusquely. “The Solar Empire’s whole spiel is how they want to change all of that. Look at what they’re replacing it with.”

Looking somber, he reached for the glass of water on his bedside table, and drank.

“You didn’t tell me much about them,” Lyra said. “I mean, I have some guesses, and I’m assuming that ‘secret police’ means exactly what it sounds like. But what are they replacing it with?”

Alex sighed. “Every pony goes through some bad times when they get Earthside,” he said. “Night terrors, some jackass asking why they get better food, a nice home and job in minutes of getting there, too many other things to mention. But they always stay.”

“Hey, uh, Alex?” Lyra asked, wanting to break the mood. “Speaking of, when was the last time you ate?” She picked up her bags and took out a daisy sandwich, showing it to him. “I’ve still got a sandwich left, but you…”

He gazed at her, set down the glass, and then surveyed the drip in his arm.

“Christ,” Alex muttered. “It had completely slipped my mind, what with me half-believing this was all a dream… but this IV isn’t gonna keep me sustained forever, is it.”

“Should we call the nurse?” Lyra suggested, getting off her chair. “If you say you can eat vegetables and fruits, I’m sure there’s got to be some in stock they can get you. And maybe even some eggs.”

“Thanks, Lyra,” Alex told her, hand moving towards the call button, “no need to stand up for my sake, I’ll take care of it.” As he pressed the button, he mulled over what he’d just said. “Hm. Imagine if I’d told that to Ambassador Heartstrings. Where would we be?”

With a weak chuckle, Lyra took a bite from her sandwich.

Not a minute later, the door opened, and Nurse Redheart came in. “What is your need, sir?” Redheart asked Alex, with a patient smile.

“Well, Nurse,” Alex said, straightening himself, “hate to bother you, but the thing is, I could do with some grub. I was hoping you might’ve something that’d agree with me.”

“Oh, I’m sure that shouldn’t be a problem...” Redheart began, before her eyes darted towards the floor. “Though it seems you were given some good stuff, and it went to waste. Drat, how’d I fail to notice the mess...”

Surprised, Lyra looked to the same place as Redheart. In the corner facing the window, covered in smashed-up glass pieces, a thick smear of red, crushed fruit still stained the floor.

“Ah, um, right, the strawberry jam,” Lyra mumbled. “Sorry ‘bout that.” Seeing that Redheart was peering at her questioningly, she elaborated, “Gift from Fluttershy, got broken.”

“Indeed?” Redheart asked, bemusedly. “How so?”

Lyra glanced at Alex, wondering how to explain. But, again, the human took it from there.

“There was a kerfuffle,” Alex said, one palm side-up. “My fault, I’m afraid. Two left hands. Not like strawberry was my favorite, anyway...”

“Okay,” Redheart said. She sounded doubtful, but did not press the issue. “I’ll have someone brought over to clean it up. And what might go down a treat with you, sir?”

Alex thought about it. “Potatoes are always a good place to start, in my line of work. If vegetables are what you’ve got, I’m partial to carrots and cauliflower. I’d ask for cheese, but well... I’m not about to push my luck on hospital food. Mind you... what wouldn’t I give for a nice quesadilla…”

“Noted,” said Redheart. “I’ll instruct the kitchen staff to send up a carrot stew, with mash. You know, it so happens, my shift’s just about done. Maybe I could pop into town and bring back something you’d like?”

“That’s sweet of you,” Alex said gratefully. “Lyra–” He briefly hesitated. “Lyra’s told me nice things about this town’s baked goods.”

Lyra, having said no such thing, felt acutely aware of who he was talking about. She considered Redheart, who’d taken out a notebook to jot down Alex’s requests. The Nurse knew the human was from very far away, and a different sort of creature. What Redheart couldn’t know was this was his second time meeting ponies.

If Princess Celestia went ahead, her fellow Equestrians, ordinary people living out their lives like Redheart, would have to learn about the Empire. And what might that do them?

“There,” Redheart smiled, clapping the notebook shut. “Let’s see what can be arranged.”

“Thank you,” Lyra said softly. “Will you be back soon?”

Redheart was already heading out the door, but she turned.

“I’m counting on it, Miss Heartstrings.”

It was to Redheart’s mild amusement that, unlike the Imperial Guards of her Equestria – no, that wasn’t the right term, they’d still be known as ‘Royal’ at this time – these two pegasi were rather laid-back in watching the door to the human’s room, if the behavior of the grey one was anything to go by.

“Heading into town, are we, Nurse?” he piped up as she closed the door behind her.

If that twinkle in his amber eyes was any clue, it was too easy for her to spot a young stallion eager to impress a mare. Indeed, his dirty white-coated, uptight companion – a bookworm, no doubt, going by the cutie-mark printed on his uniform – could also be called guilty of not following protocol, going by the snatches of whispered chat she’d caught. Yet the nervous look in his icy-blue eyes hinted at a greater worry of being chewed out for unbecoming conduct than his friend.

She reflected that he’d have made a fine Imperial Guard. Even if the grey one’s flirtatiousness was rather more inviting.

Reiner could wait, and she could use the break.

“You guessed it, shift’s over,” Redheart said innocently, pausing. “Is… there a problem, sir?”

“Nothing, just wondering,” the grey pegasus chuckled. “Say, the name’s–”

“Icewind,” Redheart finished for him, to which his companion raised an eyebrow. “We’ve talked before, right?”

“Ah, right,” Icewind said, adjusting his helmet, a little bashful now. Redheart knew she wasn’t feeling done with him. “Pardon me, ma’am, just been a long day, is all.”

“Don’t you worry, it’s quite fine,” Redheart replied. “Hm. We get guards around these parts every so often, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you two here in Ponyville.”

“No, ma’am,” the white guard interjected. Which caused the grey one to eye him with what looked like a bit of jealousy. Quite amusing indeed. “But we were available on short notice this morning, and so the Princess had us called to escort her.”

“Since this morning? And you’ve been standing here this whole time? You poor lads,” Redheart said sympathetically. “Still, by nightfall, I expect Princess Luna will be sending a few thestrals to relieve you. Mind you…” she said, deliberately slow, looking at Icewind out the corner of her eye, “I imagine the night shift must feel just like a second afternoon, to well-built Vanhoover boys like you.”

The white guard merely huffed at this, but his grey friend drew himself up proudly, puffing out his chest.

“Ain’t that right,” Icewind told the white guard cheerfully. “When night gathers, that’s when the true watch begins, as they say back home.”

“Humph,” the white guard blew his cheeks, unimpressed. “I’d be more curious to know, ma’am, by what presumption you call us ‘boys’, and what assumption leads you to call us Vanhooverites.”

“Um, Winter, I just told her,” Icewind said, looking sheepish. Redheart felt sorry for him.

“No disrespect, soldier, but it’s plain as day you’re no grizzled veterans,” Redheart said. “Nor would I wish it upon you…” she added in a softer voice, too soft for them to hear. “But,” she resumed at indoor voice level, “let’s gather the facts, shall we? You’re both pegasi, one of you is named after ice, your coat colors have that arctic shading, and of course, there’s your unmistakeable accents.” Pause. “One with the Wind and Sky, gentlecolts.”

‘Winter’ blinked, recognizing the pledge. “I… didn’t know you were in the Guard, ma’am.”

“Eighth Home Guard,” Redheart said, in that same, disciplined tone that had been taught by her old trainers. “Sorry, I forgot to mention it before.”

Icewind smiled broadly. “No offense taken, ma’am. If anything, I know he’d absolutely love it if you could entertain him with some veteran advice, hah! Unwinding here felt just right, eh?”

But Redheart’s attention wasn’t on him. She felt an odd sense of familiarity coursed around the one named Winter. Obviously, this stallion looked like many other pegasus guards, with his dirty-white coat, blue eyes, and gray tail-hairs, yet that overly serious air around him tugged at Redheart’s memories.

“Right you are,” Redheart replied, smiling. “On that note, what say I take you boys out for a night on the town, this very night? Sugarcube Corner’s evening service is always a treat.”

Icewind’s mouth fell agape at this unexpected straightforwardness, but true to form, Winter shook his head.

“No thank you, ma’am,” he said, firmly. Although, surprisingly, he wore a smirk. “I have my plans for tonight back in Canterlot… though Icewind doesn’t.”

“Classic Winter,” Icewind said, chuckling. “No, no I haven’t.”

His friend frowned in frustration. “You know very well it’s just for a spot of tea.”

“Of course it is, buddy,” Icewind retorted, and his own smirk grew wider still.

That tingling sense of familiarity kept tugging at Redheart, however. She cleared her throat. “Winter...” she repeated. “Ah, Winter Truce?”

“Pardon?” Winter said with a raised eyebrow, and it was now Icewind’s turn to look confused.

‘The Martyr of Volgograd…’

A nickname that emerged, unbidden, in Redheart’s thoughts, for she now knew what the white guard’s gaze reminded her of; a celebrated officer, made immortal by his brave actions to stall the enemy during their push into the heart of Volgograd, buying valuable time for the rest of the army and the Barrier. His company, a light airborne unit mostly comprised of pegasi, didn’t stand a chance to survive the onslaught at the height of the battle.

A martyr to the Queen, a sacrifice to the cause. Vanhoover Company died that day, but the Empire’s will had lived on.

She held her tongue. No need to confuse this future hero, this future martyr, with the formalities of an officer he’d never been, and hopefully might never be. Not like this.

“Ah, sorry,” she said. “Your reputation precedes you. Top of the class, I hear.”

“Well, what else can you expect,” Icewind snarked, “from a guy who uses books as weights for his barbells, eh?”

For the first time since she’d chatted with them, Redheart laughed heartily. “Oh, my,” she managed, wiping her eyes as her giggling wound down. “Aren’t you the funny one.”

The first time in, indeed, a long time.

“I have to be,” Icewind said earnestly, “because when it comes to that, with this guy, I’m the one pulling weight for two people.”

“Quiet, Icewind,” Winter said, but his tone was calm and he was smiling. “Ah, you can go have your break later on. I’ll cover for you then.”

Redheart observed the happy expression this elicited in Icewind, and she played along. “Brilliant.”

“Aye, ma’am,” Icewind replied proudly. “So, was it the bakery, you said?”

“Sugarcube Corner,” Redheart clarified, with a little wink. “Don’t be late, will you?”

“No, I certainly won’t. You have a nice walk, ma’am.”

“You too,” Redheart said. “I mean... you have a nice day.”

And so she left them, wandering the pristine hallway – a sinking feeling in her stomach. These two soldiers, or rather, their other selves, had served the Empire well. She knew this, but she also knew it was not them, not these untouched guards, who had fought, bled and nobly died. The evidence had been, literally, staring at her in the face.

What had the human told the people of this Equestria? What could he do to them? She couldn’t afford to wait much longer. The whole day had been spent scouting the area, meeting new people who were not new. The Guards, Twilight and her friends, Lyra Heartstrings, even Her Majesty Celestia...

The sedative she’d administered to her counterpart was powerful enough to knock out an elephant for three days. In theory. Experience had taught her that if anything could go wrong, it certainly could go wrong. Some instinct in her said she’d have to ensure her other self would not be woken early by snooping children, or the like.

Now, of course, there were a couple more things to do. Have the human’s meal delivered as promised, for starters. After that, she’d have to see this ‘other’ Ponyville for herself. Even if it gathered her no intel, her rest was far overdue.

And justice would come soon enough for Alexander Reiner.

Lyra wasn’t coming back soon, Bonbon had long decided, as she languidly folded and unfolded a sweet wrapper . And it wasn’t like any of them, bar Rarity, had even bothered keeping her updated with the peculiar going-ons in town, oh, no. Last she’d heard in gossip – from Dinky Doo, inevitably, who seemed to know everything – Twilight Sparkle and company had taken a train to Canterlot, while Lyra, sweet Lyra, stayed back at the hospital. She didn’t much like this feeling of being in the dark. Not when she was the one used to keeping her eccentric marefriend in the dark.

Bonbon glanced at the clock. Six-thirty. Half an hour before she’d be off work. Half an hour too long, especially regarding Lyra, of all ponies.

‘Darn it, Lyra,’ she thought, laying a hoof on the counter. ‘Wonder how busy Amethyst is at this time of day... Nah, she’s got her Dad to contend with. Must be serious, for her not to come in here with Dinky this afternoon. Whatever’s up with that family and ‘fourth-dimensional issues’, it’s obviously nothing to sneeze at.’

Yet while trans-dimensional babbling wasn’t her forte, but Bonbon always felt quite proud of her work back in the agency. Monster-hunters, they had called themselves. But if word of what she did reached Lyra’s sensitive ears, Bonbon would have never heard the end of it.

Lyra, Lyra. Not the most sensitive to common gossip, thankfully, yet she made up for it in love for wild tales. Talk about living inside her own little world. Bonbon wasn’t about to forget how only a few weeks ago, Lyra oh-so-casually continued drinking her soda without another care in the world as Twilight fought that amulet-boosted, trouble-making magician. A magician later arrested and thrown into Erebus, no less.

My, wasn’t Lyra just the selectively oblivious one.

Perhaps that was why she hadn’t returned. Maybe she had simply forgotten. No, not forgotten, even Lyra was not that forgetful. She really had the most remarkable memory for trivia. The enormous, red-lined spreadsheet that covered an entire wall of the living room was testament to that. As was the one time Bonbon had thought she could get away with ‘borrowing’ a pin off it for her needlework. She was convinced she’d replaced the pin very carefully afterwards, and yet, Lyra had spotted it’d been moved by one-and-a-third inches!

Lyra had spun an entire yarn about sneaking breezies and where socks went to in the wash, before Bonbon had stepped forward and confessed.

Her parents still wondered why she put up with Lyra. Frankly speaking, Bonbon had wondered the same. And frankly speaking, she wasn’t quite sure. Maybe dating someone who questioned everything held its special charm. Besides, she wasn’t the only mare around with an unconventional partner – much could be said about Amethyst and Dinky’s father, that husband of Derpy’s, the inventor who never seemed to have a grip on his schedule, Or the local ranger Minus, with the brickmaker Short Fuse, whom Bonbon swore must have had a colourful past in the underworld, if his gruff outlook and appearance were indicators.

If anything, it was a wonder the fillies and colts of Ponyville got along so well.

‘Well, guess Ponyville is just what Lyra needed after all. Conspiracies, creatures, who am I kidding?’

Ponyville. Always a magnet for the weird. And that was before Twilight Sparkle arrived. Still, Twilight wasn’t the only defender of Ponyville.

Staying undercover had done its time, Bonbon mused, trotting out from behind the counter. Now, the questions tugged and tugged at her mind, till they reached the point where answers were needed, lest she report back to Canterlot with yet another incident file for Ponyville. Celestia knew they’d had their hooves busy after the Wedding Invasion.

Where to begin? The hospital was too obvious. Attention drawn to the unknown creature would be unprofessional. But she’d have to start somewhere.

‘Redheart,’ Bonbon realised. As a former medical worker for the Guard, they’d let Redheart near the creature. And, best of all, her shift today ought to be over. If the gist of what Rarity had said was correct, combat-related injuries were right up her alley.

With a flip of the sign at the door, and a turn of the key, the shop was closed early, and Bonbon had the time to think thoroughly. Who to call, who to bring in the loop, for starters. Redheart, check. Her shift should be over soon. A question here and there about Lyra and whatever she was up to, that should cover it. Twilight and her friends were obviously ‘in’, considering they were the first to respond to Lyra. It was unfortunate they’d be out of town. Nevertheless, you could always count on Twilight, especially with the unknown about.

If one creature had appeared, who knew what else might have followed?

Special Agent Sweetie Drops was on the case.

Canterlot, Equestria.

Normally, matters related to Luna’s realm would have, at the very least, given her a mild, tingling pleasure, thus she now wondered how this could now feel so… joyless. Something hung over this new alicorn, as grey and flat and lacklustre as she was. Luna’s domain was the night, of course, the hours without daylight, but the night held its own trove of colors.

Merely standing in Galatea’s presence gave her a sense of light and color draining away, as the strange alicorn’s horn shone an icey blue...

“Focus,” Galatea said. “It is vital we ascertain our powers can work in fusion.”

Groaning, Luna yanked her horn back, throwing Celestia a look of frustration. Just then, the Moon-model completed its orbit and brushed the back of her sister’s mane, making it billow to one side. Wrapped up in their experiment, Celestia took no notice, but the sight, reminding Luna of how being the shorter sister had its perks, diluted her irritation somewhat.

Not that they were just a pair any longer, obviously. And, to hear it, never had been.

Galatea, head still tipped forward, stood as still as a statue. That was a good description, Luna thought. Her speech was stiff, like a statue, too – no, scratch that, Discord was very bombastic for someone who’d spent a thousand years as a statue. Yet despite her horn and wings, the alicorn didn’t stand out. If it weren’t that she refused to shut up, Luna felt sure Galatea would be easily missed in a crowd.

With characteristic self-control, Celestia hadn’t moved either, the tip of her horn touching Galatea’s. As it often did, one magenta eye peeked at Luna, unconcealed by her mane.

“Let’s try again, Luna,” Celestia said.

“Fine, fine,” Luna grumbled. “Just give me a minute.”

To calm herself, Luna let her eyes move upwards, to the vault of the dome adorned with the night sky, all blue hues dotted in white. Satisfied, she looked over Celestia’s shoulder at the massive orrery, trundling along its finely-calculated ideal schedule of days and nights.

“Every minute counts,” Galatea said tersely. “We shall not often have the luxury of time.”

“Then why,” Luna demanded, feeling her pulse rise again, “are we spending time on this experiment, when you could simply teleport to Ponyville and meet the human there?”

“Because, I explained to you,” Galatea said, frowning, “while there are ways of blocking physical tele-transportation, astral projection, in its purest form, is virtually boundless. It is important we know that, by pooling our efforts as sisters, we can reach out anywhere, without the limitation of requiring the subject be asleep.”

Her calculated tone, the tone of one outlining for a layman step-by-step, did nothing for Luna.

“You think it’s easy?” Luna asked. “Think it’s easy, when you’ve spent three years getting back to knowing the only sibling you ever had, to be told you had another all along, and then, not five minutes later, you’re just expected to… jump into uncharted waters? I’ve had a day’s full of dealing with humans and nightmares and wayward princes. This is getting ridiculous.”

“This is new to me, too,” Galatea said neutrally. “Though the knowledge I’ve accumulated in five-thousand years could fill the greatest of libraries, I’m not well-versed in popularizing it for the uninitiated.”

Luna shook her head.

“Stardust…” she muttered. “I don’t know where you’ve been three-thousand years, ‘sister’, but you’ve been gathering dust, more than there being anything stellar about you.”

“Luna,” Celestia said gently. “I know, it’s been a very long day. And, while I wish I could promise otherwise, it’s unlikely to get much easier soon. But, think about it, this isn’t all bad. We’ll get to spend time together as a family.”

“You think so?” Luna said, glancing skeptically at Galatea.

Celestia smiled. “I do. I expect we’ll be receiving a visit of our nearest and dearest, from the North.”

Ponyville, Equestria.

By the standards of hospital food, the tray brought to Alex’s bed was luxurious. Not only did it bear a platter of carrot stew and mash, exactly as he’d asked, but the stuff looked cooked, rather than cubed. Lyra noticed Nurse Snowheart had even thought to include a spork, a utensil for the human’s hands. It was pleasing to see she wasn’t the only one aware of certain non-ponies’ customs of picking their food.

Even if, in practice, she did feel a little queasy at seeing Alex’s forelimbs placed so close to what he ate. Who knew where those had been?

“Something on your mind?” Alex asked her, through a mouthful of stew.

“Yeah, um… I can’t... get it out of mind. What we were saying, about meat-eating.”

He stopped chewing, swallowed. “Ah. Yeah. The salmon and the otters.”

“Maybe it’s because I’m not an earthpony,” Lyra said quietly, letting herself slide in her chair. “They’re generally better with such things. But I’m just a unicorn, with a touch of pegasus… Wait, did other-me tell you I’m a pegacorn, Alex?”

“Yeah, she did,” Alex answered, his face alit with memory. “Turning on the fog machine and walking on clouds, that was her favorite trick at parties.”

“I should know,” Lyra said, attempting a grin. “‘Too nice for your own good’? And to think, Flutters is the Bearer of Kindness… she had an explanation, can you credit that? Said that nature doesn’t hold itself to our standards. In fact, if you want to work with animals, you gotta learn to work according to their needs, not our wants. A caretaker is taught to show the same compassion for the most vicious predator as they would for the cutest baby bunny. Funny, then, how Fluttershy is a pegasus, not an earthpony like most in the guild.”

“Why’s that funny?”

“Well, I have a bit of pegasus in me,” Lyra said, tapping her back for imaginary wings. “Pegasi are, culturally, stewards of the weather, not caregivers. They’re used to bending natural forces to useful ends. But clouds are easy to push, to herd around, it’s all just air pressure and humidity. Predation and biology, they don’t confirm to our demands like that. Gut instinct, or metabolic truths, can’t be manipulated like weather, which is something pegasi have trouble adjusting to. Farm ponies have a first-hoof understanding of that reality, which is why most animal caretakers are earthponies. Fluttershy is the great exception.”

Alex whistled. “Wow,” he said, dipping his spork into the mash. “The more you tell me, the sorrier I feel for almost strangling her. That little bird’s got more guts than I’d have given her.”

Lyra didn’t answer right away. She just sat there, thinking. “Guess I was right. Before you know it, rules do change.”

“That’s a nice way to put it,” Alex agreed. He ate his portion. “Now,” he added, obviously eager to change the conversation, “what’s that you’re reading?”

Lyra’s ears perked. “Oh, this?” she said, picking up the open book. “It’s a copy of the great Howie Waggoner’s Ponyland: Fact or Fable. The stallion was a visionary. Get this, Alex, he didn’t only believe humans had visited Equus, he had this big theory on how they were connected with ponykind’s origins.”

When Alex smiled at this, it wasn’t mocking, or skeptical. It was, so far, the most genuine positive expression Lyra had seen on him.

“A guy after my own heart,” Alex commented. “That takes me back. Before I joined the Marines and had to grow up, I used to be into that sort of thing, did you know? All those movies about aliens building the pyramids and stuff. Never thought I’d be the alien.”

“Here, take a look,” Lyra smiled, sensing a kindred spirit. Privately, she felt herself warm to the human, seeing him start to shed his surly streak. She passed him the book, careful not to knock the tray. “That’s my favorite passage. It’s both really awe-inspiring, and kind of sad. Howie said he’d found evidence, but then his ship got lost at sea…”

“Yeah,” Alex said, tracing a finger along the lines. “Yeah, I see. Ain’t that always the way.”

But Lyra was already contemplating Waggoner’s drawing, in black-and-white, of the lonely, half-buried pearl figurine on the shore, holding up her locket. She peered closer. If she’d ever had doubts and suspected Wagonner was a fraud, the live human in the bed dispelled them. The figurine really did match his features closely, she realized. Too close for fakery.

“He didn’t come back completely empty-hoofed,” Lyra said brightly, pointing out the sketch. “Thought to keep records of what he’d found, even put his own spin on it. Like this. He gave it a name. ‘Harmony Enlightening the World’. Never was sure why, just that he had this… feeling… Alex? Something wrong?”

Alex was frozen, staring at the picture. “What the hell is this?”

The sun hung low over Ponyville, few clouds in the sky to block its light. With very few pegasi in the air, an open blue sky that opened itself up before Redheart, the sun shining brightly. Itself an alive, comforting orange.

‘This feels nice,’ Redheart thought, stopping for a moment to take in the sun’s rays. They were warm, genuinely warm and rejuvenating.

Maybe the sun felt different from back home. Or, more likely, it had just been a long time since she’d actually had some semblance of a rest. In the past few hours, she’d felt far more happy and peaceful than she had in almost the entirety of the last year. This was even taking into account the fact that she was assuming the identity of another pony. Well, okay, technically not another pony...

She’d laughed, cheerfully and genuinely happy for the first time in awhile. She’d been in the presence of a hero, or perhaps a hero-in-the-making. She’d had a friendly conversation. There’d been no infiltration missions, no threat of discovery, no reminder in the back of her mind that she’d have to suddenly yet inevitably betray the ponies or humans she was so happily mingling with. It’d just been her, the nurse of a small town.

She was free, out and about in the town.

Which was a disturbing thought. Not that she was free, but that she was so happy about it.

‘I still must do my duty. Our personal happiness, be it short or long-term, pales in comparison to the greater responsibility.’

Redheart shook the thought away. Duty could wait, and justice would be delivered. For now, it was time to live.

She was indeed taken aback for a moment or two, when it dawned on her that, apart from her other self’s home and the hospital, she hadn’t really explored this Ponyville yet. It was very much the same in appearance – not so much the layout, for the Empire had graced her Ponyville with expansion in honor of the Element Bearers and their service.

The statues in the Town Hall, the now-bustling and much larger train station hosting visitors hoping to see the hometown of the six heroes, not to mention the rows upon rows of housing built for new labor. Buildings that had long existed in Ponyville, such as the old Apple Family Farm, Fuse’s Brickyard, the Town Hall, all either rebuilt or retooled in order to serve her Majesty and the war effort on Earth. This Ponyville was a shadow next to that.

But the bucolic innocence of it appealed to her, Redheart mused, as she took a step inside Sugarcube Corner.

“Hello, Nurse,” greeted the short, chubby, very welcoming-looking mare behind the counter.

‘Chiffon Swirl-Cake,’ Redheart suddenly remembered. For some reason, the detail of the name felt important to her.

Was it because she was Redheart, and yet, not Redheart?

“What’ll it be today?” Mrs. Cake asked courteously.

Redheart looked around, seeing not the colorful bakery, but some other place entirely. Bakeries, tea shops and boutiques like this, they were all very much unchanged in the Equestria she knew, and yet – when she thought of home, she found it hard to see such a place in her mind’s eye.

“Um,” Redheart began, fixing the shopkeeper in her sight. “Well…”

She took stock of the selection. Tarts, éclaires, muffins and gateau. Fizzlepop and soda. Yes, nothing here she couldn’t find back home.

“Do you have a marmalade sandwich?” Redheart asked, walking up to the counter. “Mrs. Cake,” she added.

“Sure, dear,” the shopkeeper said, picking a box. “Home-made and freshly-baked.”

While waiting, Redheart’s mind continued to be elsewhere. What she saw were forges and foundries, crafting armor for the Guard and plating for airships, out in the barren rocky wastes claimed from the dragons. Rows upon rows of timber, the wood felled from forests in South Equestria. Stacks of bricks, fired in massive kilns much like Ponyville’s, all around Zebrica. Great panes of glass, blown and hammered and polished in Saddle Mareabia. The whole brought together in prefabricated housing, an achievement of pan-equine industry, to be dropped onto suitable land on Earth.

So much heavy lifting, for her Equestria to preserve its pastoral image. Yet sometimes, when the wind blew, it was as if she could scent the smoke and steam from faraway, and the pure, clean air she’d known was gone...

“Here you go,” said Mrs. Cake. “Enjoy.”

Mechanically, Redheart paid what she owed, and accepted the treat. She took a nibble...

‘Oh, my… It tastes so… sweet!’

The feeling snaked its way past Redheart’s tongue and into her nervous system. In that moment, it came back to her in full force.

“Redheart? Is something the matter?”

She found the shopkeeper staring at her concernedly. Or, she assumed it was concern. Her vision had turned blurry. But she remembered. What Equestria was like, in its purest, distilled essence. And what she had to fight to protect it from.

The humans. They let decay reign, death follow in their wake, in their own attempts to be masters of their realm. No child should ever have to fall ill nor die in the infernal working conditions they had subjected their world to for centuries.

Redheart dropped the sandwich. “I’m sorry. I have places to be,” she said, her voice faltering.

She had to act fast. Eventually, the human would turn those who visited him in hospital, sway them to his sob story.

Without another word, Redheart turned and raced out the door, ignoring the other mare’s shocked expression.

‘This ends today.’

“I– Alex, I don’t understand,” Lyra mumbled. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

The human opened his mouth, but whatever he was about to say, it remained unsaid, as his eyes suddenly fell upon something behind Lyra. Feeling the hairs raise on her coat, Lyra turned swiftly around to see what was up – and nearly fell out of her chair, with a surprised little squeak.

As luck would have it, there indeed was a translucent, ghostly outline present in the bedroom with them. It stood at the window, a tall, horned equine, and the picture of spectral presence could have only have been more complete if the curtains were swaying without wind. Because that would be unquestionably supernatural, given how the window to the human’s room was shut tight.

Not to be outdone, Alex slammed the book closed. “Jesus wept... Now what’s going on!?”

“Um… hello?” said Lyra, rotating on her chair to face the see-through unicorn. Not knowing what else to do, she gave a wave. “To whom do we owe the honor?”

“Lyra.”

Alex’s voice sounded close. Before she’d even turned back, she realized he’d dragged himself out from under the covers, bringing himself to sit, legs hanging over the side of a bed that was rather short for him.

“Look,” he said, raising his arm, with febrility, to indicate the figure.

That was how Lyra saw the unicorn was no unicorn. It couldn’t be. For one thing, this mare had wings and was large.

“I am the Alicorn of Doorways and Memories, Scribe of the Stardust,” said the apparition. “I am Galatea, and I am the reason why you are here, Colonel Alexander Reiner.”

Author's Notes:

Sledge115: Hello there, Sledge here. Apologies for the delay – we shuffled a few scenes around, et cetera, et cetera – and of course, reintroduced a few others from Classic Spectrum. Sadly, Jed has decided to resign from Spectrum, leaving us with a wealth of material and lore to work with. His contributions has been incredibly valuable in setting the new Spectrum up, and we’ll miss his insight dearly. Have a good one, mate.

DoctorFluffy: We wish him luck at whatever he does next – which, in my case, involves editing some of my work, too! Godspeed, you magnificent sonovabitch! Jed has been, for a long time, one of the most integral parts of Spectrum, and we wish him the best in whatever he does next.

Maybe, in time, he’ll come back. Or maybe not. The best we can do as his friends is to let Jed do what’s best for himself here.

VoxAdam: Jed and I disagreed, and still disagree, on many things. On the best tone to adapt for this kind of story, on essential lore details, on how much we should emancipate ourselves from Spectrum and in which areas, and on the strengths or weaknesses of the DCEU. And I’ll be missing all that sorely, once it’s gone.

Except the good news is, today isn’t yet the day it all comes to a close. Following an initiative proposed by TheIdiot, Jed hasn’t lost time on diving into a new project, one which the old Team remains privy to. Will it see the light on Fimfiction, or any other fanfiction hosting site? I believe that if so, the author will be waiting to let it be known when the time is right.

What you see here, the extended backstory of Faust, and the sisters three – bid ye welcome to Galatea, the long-lost sister of Celestia and Luna – is a major component of the revamped lore as envisioned by Jed months ago, in the Summer of 2017. We hope that you’ll like Galatea, and that her character will avert the pitfalls of alicorn OCs. A character type which Spectrum Classic, for a brief and memorable, if notorious moment, displayed an overabundance of! Here’s to dialling it back to one alicorn… Or Is It?

Not that the story is done introducing new characters, or as Sledge says, reintroducing them. Stay tuned for Chapter Eight, when figures from around the world of Equus will show up.