Then there were two. The last two of the Watchers, save perhaps for Twilight, although she had become something else entirely now. Had there still been a government, the other Watchers would have been sent to track her down and eliminate her for what she had done to Rainbow Dash- -but Rarity and Darknight were not aware of this, and were concerned with more pressing matters.

They walked through the dim hallways, unable to speak or look at each other. Rarity could not get the image out of her mind. The silver, the stillness. It had been burned into her forever, and it would never leave. Killing a pony she had not known was so easy- -but killing one she knew was so hard.

Her and Darknight reached the door to Xyuka’s office.

“Do you think she trapped it?” asked Darknight.

“I don’t even care anymore,” said Rarity, pushing open the door.

It was not trapped. It was just a door. On the other side was a room that was empty save for a desk. Rarity approached it, and found that the surface was perfectly clear- -save for one item.

“A letter?” asked Darknight.

Rarity picked it up. “No,” she said. “It’s an invitation.”

“To what?”

Rarity read through the ornate hoofwriting. “To a party. Hosted by…by Celestia.” Rarity looked up at Darknignt. “A sort of Galla. To celebrate her conquest of Equestria. Xyuka was invited.”

“For her role in orchestrating it, no doubt.”

Rarity looked back at the page and scanned it. It was printed on the finest quality paper, and beautiful in design. It was the kind of invitation that Rarity had always wished she would receive, to some sort of ball where she would be able to dance in elegant dresses and meet the uppermost of Equestrian society- -including her own prince charming. Now, though it had taken on an unpleasant and ominous feel.

“It is to be held at the Castle of the Two Sisters…I know where that is!”

“You do?”

“It’s a ruin, near Ponyville. No one has been there in ages. They say it is ‘cursed’.”

“Is that where they are hiding, then?”

“Maybe,” said Rarity. “But I don’t know. But I am sure that they will be there on this one night. No Princess in her right mind would miss a party.”

“Assuming this one is in her right mind, of course.” Darknight looked to the table. “Don’t you find this strange, though?”

“What?”

“That this entire facility is empty. We don’t have access to any of the machinery. Not a file, not a trash bin. But that letter.”

“Invitation.”

“Laid out neatly on her desk. As if we were supposed to find it.”

“Hmm,” said Rarity. “You know, Sun…I mean, I was told that noncans made poor detectives. That you could only perform tasks, not think on your own.”

Darknight looked at the table, then back to Rarity. “That is supposed to be correct,” he said, with a bit of shock in his voice.

Rarity tilted the invitation. A single golden strip fell from it, and she caught it. It was a ticket.

“Just one,” she said. She looked up at Darknight. “You know…we could attend, if we wanted to.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“We have a ticket.”

“One ticket. And two of the most recognizable faces in Equestria. Two Watchers, entering a gala of royalists? Even I can predict the outcome there.”

“Which one of us has a recognizable face? A noncan, or me?” She swung her hair back, and it shifted color to pink and became curly. Her eyes, likewise changed to dark green while her coat became blue before her features returned to normal.

“You are serious,” said Darknight.

“Of course I am. We’re not going to get another chance to get that close to them.”

“For what? An assassination?”

“Nothing so brutish! Besides…without Starlight, we would never have a chance. But to learn what they’re planning…”

“You mean a reconnaissance mission.”

“Exactly.”

“When has a Watcher ever participated in a reconnaissance mission?”

“When have you ever had a morphic mutant?”

Darknight paused. “Never,” he said, slowly.

“I may not be able to fight,” said Rarity. “But I can infiltrate. So what do you say?” She lifted the ticket. “Will you be my date to the Gala?”

The greatest challenge was reaching it. Darknight had not fully been aware of how vast Equestria was, or how long it took to cross distances without taking a Chaos channel or using a teleportation spell. Rarity only knew distantly, because for the longest time her entire world had consisted of Ponyville and Ponyville alone. The only time she had actually been forced to cross any substantial distance was when she had crossed to Discordalot.

Infrastructure still existed in Equestria, though. In fact, it had actually become vastly more efficient since the government had collapsed. The various noncans who had been in charge of it now operated under the aegis of the Noncanon Union, and instead of having trains that ran at random times to random destination, they now appeared and left at distinct times toward predefined locations. Even the airships were running on time.

There had been of course some expectation of resistance. Even that had not materialized. Of course, Rarity was forced not to use her own beautiful, fabulous face, but the majority of noncans seemed to have little interest in persecuting canon ponies. They allowed Rarity to pass freely without hindrance, although Darknight was forced to wear full-encompassing armor when he moved. Not because he was recognizable as a Watcher, though- -because he was recognizable as a Dark series.

It took time. Taking trains or airships was inherently time consuming, but it gave Rarity time to think. It also gave Darknight time to think, but he was not grateful for it. He wished he could stop thinking so very badly.

In time, they came to the last stop. When the train shuddered to a halt, Rarity bolted awake from a dreamless sleep.

“Huh?” she said, looking around. “What?”

“We’re here,” said Darknight. He was sitting across from her, dressed in an old and pitted suit of protective armor. It was an outmoded system that was meant to protect security ponies in hazardous situations, but it was adequate.

“Where is here?” groaned Rarity, running her hoof through her short blond hair.

“Ponyville.”

Rarity’s jaw clenched. She looked out the window at the smoky environment, and she saw that it was familiar. She had sworn less than two weeks ago that when she had left that station to become a Watcher, she would never again return. Yet here she was.

They departed the train quickly and began to hurry toward their final destination. Rarity did not want to spend any more time here than she had to. She knew that it was impossible for them to recognize her- -to them, she was a nondescript gray-tan unicorn. A stranger in town, one who quite possibly had never been there. But had she taken away her disguise and appeared to them as herself…

“Why are we walking so quickly?” asked Darknight, who was keeping pace with Rarity.

Rarity looked over her shoulder at him. He did not look out of place. Ponyville was filled with ponies who wore various hazard suits, mostly to deal with the immense Chaos pollution that flooded the town. There were the Apple farmers who had their own home-built armor plated systems, as well as the gem miners who wore thinner, lighter suits with better respirators. Darknight looked like neither, but was generic enough to blend in with all of them.

“Because I don’t like this place,” she replied, curtly.

“But you were born here.”

“And where were you born?”

“In a factory.”

“And do you like visiting it?”

“I am ambivalent toward it. Or would be. I’ve never had an opportunity or reason to return.”

“Well, I don’t like Ponyville.”

Darknight looked around. To him, it appeared like any other industrial town. On one end was the towering hulk of a black Chaos conduit, now dead and silent since the death of its source. That was where the orchards were, feeding off its poor containment to create Discord knew what. From the armor the farmers wore, it was apparent that their apples were quite aggressive indeed.

Then there were the buildings. Square, simple prefabs. Unified and dirty, built both for habitation and for processing of the gemstones mined from under the town.

“You were a gem surveyor,” said Darknight.

“I was,” said Rarity. “I worked in the mines for three years. Dirty, smelly, sweaty, horrible work.”

“Normally a noncan would be developed for that job. But I don’t know of any built for that purpose.”

“Why would they? It’s so much easier just to send one of us down there. Look around.” Rarity pointed at the various ponies. Many were dirty, and most wore armor- -some to cover substantial mutations that had resulted from living with exposure to constant Chaos storms. They all held one thing in common, though.

“There are no noncans,” noted Darknight.

“No,” said Rarity. “And there might not ever be. If this town even continues to exist…”

“Why would it not?”

“Look, darling. See how many ponies there are. Just milling about. Without the Chaos, they can’t grow their crops. And the gem mines began to fail decades ago. Everything down there is ugly or common or both.”

“Hmm,” said Darknight. “I can see why you left, then.”

“Indeed,” said Rarity, softly, allowing him to come to the incorrect conclusion. She in fact loved this place- -or had loved it once. Even with all the dirt and even with the Chaos storms that took the lives of loved ones and left those that remained with deformities and very rarely useful abilities. She had been forced out for a different reason entirely, and for a moment she had an urge to explain it to Darknight- -but found herself both unwilling and unable to. It was the wrong time, and the wrong place.

Then, suddenly, Rarity stopped. She felt herself freeze almost instinctively, wanting to run but unable to. Darknight, not understanding what was going on, stopped alongside her. He looked in the direction she was looking, which was the Ponyville market. He did not see anything in particular, save for ponies. He did not realize that Rarity was focused on one particular white unicorn, nor did he question why she eventually did start running suddenly. He only followed.

Much later, the Gala had begun. For the first time in one thousand years, the Castle of the Two sisters was active and occupied again. Originally, Celestia had found it in a deplorable state that depressed her greatly. She had spent decades designing and building that castle, and it had been the seat of power in Equestria before Discord had exiled the Sisters to the moon.

Of course, the disrepair was only partial. The Final War had not touched the castle itself, and the structure remained largely intact. In that era, Celestia had been planning on moving her government to a greater center of power in the mountains. Discord had focused his attention on ruining that one instead of the largely forgotten EverFree castle.

It had not taken terribly long for the noncans to refurbish the castle. Celestia was surprised by their ability and speed, and on some level was proud to call them her new subjects. The castle was by no means fully completed, but it was ready for the Gala within the time she had requested.

The party began when the sun was in the western sky and darkness had begun to set on the land. That was when the ponies began arriving, coming in carriages and airships and primitive, backfiring motorcars that could barely navigate the mud and stones of the freshly prepared roadways.

It was on this night that a pair of ponies approached one of the many doors of the castle. The male of the pair stepped forward and knocked. At first there was no response, but then the door swung open.

They were greeted rather coldly by the face of a white unicorn guard, one of Celesta’s personal noncan soldiers. He looked at the pair, his blue eyes moving from one to the other. The two ponies before him were quite clearly guests. One was a tall pink unicorn with long white hair, while the other was a Dark series unit. The mare was wearing an exquisite dress with a bold avant-guard style, while the gelding was dressed in a simple black tuxedo.

“You are here for the Gala,” said the guard.

“Uh, yeah,” said the mare. “Like, of course we are! What are you, Captain Obvious?”

“My name is 0047321B. I am not ranked captain.”

“It was, like, a joke.”

“I am not programmed for humor. Ticket.”

The stallion stepped forward and presented one. The guard took it, and then looked at them. “This is just one ticket,” he said. “And there are two of you.”

“What?” cried the mare, looking insulted. “How dare you say something like that to ME! The ticket is for ME. HE’S just a drone that daddy INSISTED on sending with me.”

“A body guard would be consistent with the prescribed uses of a Dark unit,” said the guard. “But the Dark series is currently branded as unstable. My orders are, technically, to shoot on sight.”

“Go ahead,” said the mare, snapping her hair to one side. “He’s defective anyway!”

“Defective?”

“Uh, yeah! Of course! Leave it to daddy! All the money in the world to pay for whatever I want, and what does he do? He skimps out like the cheapskate he is! Buys me a defective, ugly Dark series. I wanted a Golden! When he finally croaks and I get the money, who cares about the company? No point in being rich if you’re not BEING rich!”

“Is this true?”

The Dark unit stared blankly for a moment.

“He means you, defect,” sighed the mare.

“Oh. Yes. I was purchased at a bargain liquidation sale. Master…” He paused, and then turned to the mare, confused. “What did we decide your father’s name was, again?”

“Gah,” said the mare, putting a silver-clad hoof against her face. “See? This is what I have to put up with. I can’t even take him to bed after this. Daddy wants to keep me ‘pure’. So the only date I can get is a robot gelding.” She shrugged. “Better than going alone, I guess. At least I have a date.”

The guard looked to the mare, and then to the stallion. He paused as he interfaced with his series’ hive mind, acquiring the opinions of the others and developing a consensus.

“I will let this slide,” he said, stepping aside. “Glory to the Sun,” he said as they entered the Gala.

“Yeah, like, glory,” said Rarity as an afterthought.

She stopped almost as soon as she entered the castle and looked around in sheer awe. It was everything she had ever expected a royal Gala would be: the walls, though stone and somewhat ominous in general structure, had been decorated with enormous tapestries glorifying solar beauty and light. Flowers were arranged throughout, and although most of them were sunflowers, the balance was not overbearing. The hall had been cleared and prepared with exacting preparation, and although it gave off a certain unpleasant sense that Rarity could not place, it was beautiful.

“That worked,” noted Darknight, quietly approaching Rarity from the side. “Barely.”

“Darling,” she said, breaking character for a moment, “of COURSE it worked.”

“Hopefully you can keep it up. I managed a few passive scans on the guard noncan. They are definitely Xyuka’s work. She really did build the Stonies to be computers, but that thing…well, it wasn’t a computer.”

“What?” said Rarity, feigning offense. “You don’t like my acting?”

“No. It is excellent. I am actually quite impressed.”

“Social navigation, darling. All of it is an act. What you say, do, tell, hear. A dance in a masquerade, a one-pony show by each and for each.”

“Poetic. Somewhat.”

“I just came up with it,” giggled Rarity.

Darknight looked at her, and it was apparent that he could not tell if she was acting or not. In actuality, it had been a real giggle. One of simultaneous elation and mortal terror. The sensation was intoxicating, and for the first time Rarity felt like a real Watcher. While physical combat may have been the wheelhouse of the others, the social battlefield was Rarity’s.

She and Darknight began to walk through the room, slowly taking in their surroundings. Guests were milling about, and Rarity took a moment to carefully account who was present and what they were wearing. Having one wearing a similar dress was nearly impossible- -she had made it herself during the journey to the castle- -but she had to check anyway. What Celestia would do to her if she discovered a Watcher in her midst would pale in comparison to wearing the same dress as another guest at a party.

Surprisingly, there was little competition. Most of the guest wore relatively simple formalwear. Their clothes were almost uniformlike, which only contributed to the strange subtext of the party that Rarity could not manage to shake. There were a few, though.

The ponies in the room could largely be separated between two groups. One, the minority, consisted of the ponies who did wear elaborate dresses and suites. Rarity was not sure why they were present, but was left go guess that they were Royalists who had supported the revolution since before the Princesses had been freed. These were the ponies that just a matter of weeks before had been unkempt guerrillas, the sort that had attacked the Watchers in the restaurant after their first mission.

The majority, though, were noncans. They were a diverse group, coming from every walk of life. Almost every series seemed to be present, and while their representatives did not wear the clothing that Rarity would normally expect for such an event, they were all certainly adorned for the occasion.

Strangely, the noncans that Rarity saw seemed different from the ones she had become familiar with. They were taller, slightly thinner, and had far softer manes. They were more elegant and graceful than their counterparts.

“Concepts,” said Darknight with mild awe. “These are concepts.”

“Which are what, dearie?”

“Idealized forms. Examples used to sell units.”

“Ah,” said Rarity. “The new nobility.”

Rarity looked around, suddenly wanting to see what the concept for a Stonie looked like. She saw many other brands of noncan- -both concepts and not- -but at first saw no Stonies. Then, finally, she found them. They were in a group, and to Rarity’s surprise, there were no concepts among them. They all looked similarly identical, with the only difference being that one- -a leader, or perhaps a representative- -wore an outfit that was different from the others in an incredibly subtle manner. She was standing beside a pony that Rarity quickly recognized as Celestia.

“Shall we go greet the host?” asked Darknight. There was a grimness in his voice that suggested he was going to try to do something foolhardy.

“No!” hissed Rarity, leading him away. “If we must greet her, let her come to us. She seems busy right now, and it would be impolite to interrupt.”

Rarity pulled Darknight out to a farther portion of the floor. Here, music was playing and on the far side of the room a crowd had gathered around a magic show. The performer was, surprisingly, a canon pony. She was a blue unicorn with silver hair who was dressed in a hat, a cape, and a heavy collar. It was also apparent to Rarity that she was wearing makeup to conceal a black eye.

Despite these indications, she appeared to be enjoying herself endlessly. Her show was rather primitive, with flashes of light and spells so simple that even Rarity would have been able to perform the effortlessly, but the crowd of noncans around her seemed completely engrossed. They stared wide-eyed at the magician’s gesticulations and self-promotion, and clapped in awe at anything that produced a flash of light or sound. They did not even notice Rarity as she passed, but Rarity thought she saw something strange among them when she looked. For just a moment, she had seen the flash of a cutie mark against pale violet fur- -but then it was gone.

“Well hello there,” said a voice. Rarity turned her head perhaps too quickly and for a moment thought that she was looking into the face of one of the noncan guards. The similarity was striking if not downright uncanny: his body, color, hair, and even eyes were all the same- -except that his eyes seemed alive and alert, and showed no signs of implantation. The most concincing indication of his canon identity, though was that Rarity could see his cutie mark through the high slit in his lavish tunic: a star placed in the center of a shield.

“Oh my,” said Rarity, momentarily dropping her act- -or rather shifting it, a slow and graceful step in the social battle dance that she was engrossed in. “What simply divine formalwear! On a simply divine stallion, of course.”

The stallion laughed with all the cultured elegance that Rarity would expect. “Such flattery! You should be careful, miss, or you might offend the actual divines among us. And besides,” he gestured toward a silvery band around his long, hard horn. “I’m spoken for.”

“I see. With a mithril and no less.”

The stallion’s eyes widened with recognition, and a smile crossed his face. “It is rare to find a pony that can recognize that metal. Most just say it’s silver.”

“Silver! Darling, certainly not! Silver would never match with gold! Even with mithril there is a certain subtlety required…although I daresay you pull it off with exceptional precision.”

The stallion blushed slightly. “Well, I had little to do with it. My husband is the one with an eye for fashion. I think that the two of you would get along.” He looked Rarity up and down. “You certainly seem to well dressed. The best here, I think. Who is your designer?”

“Me.”

The stallion’s eyes widened. “You? You designed this?”

“And made it, yes.”

The stallion gaped for a moment, and then took a pair of glasses from a passing waiter. He passed one to Rarity and kept the other for himself. “Seriously?”

“Indeed.”

“Well, there may be work for you in the Crystal Empire yet.”

“The Crystal Empire?”

“Yes. I am Prince Shining Armor.” He gave a slight curtsie. “At your service.”

Rarity gaped for a moment, and then bowed herself. “Elegance,” she said. “And my noncan is- -”

“Dark something, no doubt,” sighed Shining Armor. “As pretty as they are, showing up to this party with one of them is…bold. I’m not sure I know how to feel about it yet.”

“You are the brother of Twilight Sparkle,” said Darknight, breaking his patient silence.

This seemed to drain all of Shining Armor’s good cheer. “Now why did you have to mention that name here, Dark?” He asked. “I was having such a good time.”

“Twilight Sparkle?” said Rarity, suppressing how shocked she was that this noble Prince could be related to such a perverse dark wizard. “I’ve heard of that name before. She’s a powerful sorcerer, isn’t she?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” sighed Shining Armor.

“How is that unfortunate?”

“Because our family has acquired…well, something of a reputation. And she insists on allowing it to persist. It does not help that she was born…deformed.”

“Deformed?” Rarity could not remember any distinct physical deformities that Twilight had possessed, except perhaps for whatever it was that she hid under that one long glove.

“Yes. She was born the wrong color.” Shining Armor gestured to himself. “White.”

“Neither of us is white,” noted Darknight, looking somewhat bothered by the course of this conversation.

“No, of course not. One of you is an automaton, and the other is, well, despite your demeanor not nobility. It matters more when you have a lineage to uphold.”

“I see,” said Rarity. Despite her disguise, under normal circumstances she was, in fact, a white unicorn- -and somehow for the first time that fact made her feel dirty.

“I suppose the problem is self-resolving now, though,” continued Shining Armor. “She’ll try to weasel her way out of it, but she won’t be able to. She was a Watcher. That’s a guaranteed execution.”

“She served Discord valiantly,” said Darknight. “As did the Crystal Empire for one thousand years.”

“Times change,” said a deep voice. Rarity turned to see another pony approaching them from behind, a massive stallion clad in dark mithril and a glorious red cape. He wore an iron crown and held a flute of wine in his dark-colored magic.

“My husband,” said Shining Armor. “King Sombra.”

Rarity looked to Darknight, who now seemed to be showing signs of actual aggression. His expression was hardly pleasant.

“A thousand years of loyalty,” he said, “should not be something that can ‘change’ so easily.”

“Then you do not understand politics,” said Sombra, showing no sign of offense at Darknight’s response. “Few mortals can. When you have the luxury of dying and passing the kingdom onto the next fool willing to inherit your mess, things tend to seem far more shortsighted.”

“I would hardly call serving the Madgod shortsighted.”

“The only reason I chose to ally myself with him is for the benefit of my kingdom. Had we not, Celestia would have won the war- -and destroyed us. But since that time, Discord’s rule has become…chafing. And now we are once again at an advantage.”

“Which is what?” asked Rarity.

Sombra smiled, and Rarity wondered if a wizard as powerful as he was could see though her disguise. “Because crystal ponies don’t age. They have been alive since the beginning. Before the War. As have I. We are not contaminated by the Chaos fallout of Discord’s rule.”

“Which means what, exactly?”

“Oh, you’ll see,” said Shining Armor. His smile in that moment was almost exactly like Twilight’s. He stepped past Rarity and leaned against Sombra. “Sweetie,” he said. “This is Elegance and…well, a noncan. She’s a gifted dressmaker.”

“Really?” said Sombra.

“Can we keep her?”

Sombra seemed to think for a moment. “May I speak to her for a moment?”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing now?”

“Alone.”

Shining Armor seemed to understand. “Sure,” he said. “Come on, Dark.”

“I will stay with my master, if you don’t mind.”

Shining Armor’s expression became darker. “I do mind, actually. When Sombra asks for something, I make sure it happens. Now MOVE, or I will have to do something undignified.”

“Go,” said Rarity. “This is a gala, after all. We can trust those attending to remain reasonable.” She turned to Sombra. “And I hardly expect a king would do anything uncouth.”

“Perish the thought,” said Sombra, although through his long fangs and modified throat muscles it came out more like a continuous rasp.

Darknight acquiesced at Rarity’s order, although with some hesitation. Rarity watched the go, and could not help but take one last look at their flanks as they left.

“Do you like what you see?” asked Sombra, clearly catching her eye. “If I were a jealous pony, I would consider removing your tail for that. And perhaps your head.”

“You would not have dressed him like that if you did not want him admired. That is what stallions are for, isn’t it?”

Sombra stared for a moment and then smiled. “In essence, yes. But I would not toy with him. He is loyal to me alone, and despite his appearances at least as powerful as his sister, if less intelligent. I have trained him a great deal.”

“No doubt you have. But I would hardly think myself a stallionizer.” Rarity turned to Sombra and looked into his strangely colored eyes. “And what mare would be foolish enough to show such disrespect to a king?”

“Foolishness is something I believe you have in excess.” Sombra leaned closer, and Rarity became distinctly uncomfortable. Sombra had a strange smell, like ozone and something more subtle. The closest Rarity could think of was formaldehyde. “You were wondering, weren’t you? If I could tell?”

“Tell what, your majesty? I’m afraid I’m at a disadvantage here.”

“Are you? I have lived over two thousand years. The only mages who rivaled me were Starswirl the Bearded himself and the necromancers of House Twilight. I know a shapeshifter when I see one.”

“Sir!” said Rarity, feigning great offense. “Are you accusing me of being a changeling?”

“No. Had you been, the guards would have noticed and eliminated you with haste. You are something else. A pony. A morphic mutant. As to who you are, though? I cannot say. But I do know that the most recent of the Watchers also had that unique trait…”

“What are you implying?”

“I am implying that you have a level of daring that I find…exciting.” He smiled and began to walk, leading Rarity away from the main party. “And to be honest, were I not already married, I might consider…a possibility.”

“Of what, might I ask?”

“Shining Armor and I both want a daughter…but while he insists on adopting, I would much rather sire my own heir.”

“Not with me.”

“No. Not with you. Princess Cadence will need to have a different mother.”

Rarity was not sure whether to feel relieved or insulted. “And why not?”

“I think you know why.”

Rarity did. “So, what now, Sombra?”

“Now? Now I watch. I have no stake in the Celestia’s plans. Or in Discord’s. I ally the Crystal Empire with whoever is in power, but I am in truth neutral in all this. So. Let’s see if you survive the party. If you do, find me. You might yet be Cadence’s grandmother.”

Sombra bent down and kissed Rarity, and then with a swish of his cape departed her toward his husband. Rarity was left standing alone, horrified in her own resolve, shaking but alive- -and more alive than she had ever been.

Darknight fared less well in the dance, but only because this was not the province of a creature bred to follow orders and to kill. As a noncan, however, he did have a distinct advantage in that he was not expected to think. Even if- -even if he was only distantly aware of it- -he had already begun to.

Shining Armor more or less abandoned him in the room, but Darknight found this acceptable. The pair of them had little in common save for a mutual dislike of one another. It had been their view on Twilight that had separated them; while Shining Armor was disgusted by her, Darknight had come to respect her- -at least more than he respected a stallion whose idea of social advancement was to marry into royalty.

Now alone, Darknight found himself distinctly out of his element. It had been easy to stand by Rarity and follow, watching and listening- -she was, after all, the new leader of the Watchers- -but now he was unsure on his goals, or how to even go about them.

Worse, the other noncans seemed to sense that something was wrong. He was the only Dark unit in the room, the only representative of the race that had not betrayed Discord. It was as though the others could see that he was planning something, and although they were unsure, they crowded around Celestia instinctively as if to protect her.

Not that there was anything Darknight could have done. He had no more synaxium bullets, and his rune sword had been shattered in the battle against Xyuka. His only weapon was his magic, and that was by no means strong enough to take on even one of the white noncan guards- -let alone a goddess.

All he could do was to retreat to the edge of the room and sit down at an empty table beneath the banner bearing the sign of the sun. For the first time he began to feel uncertainty. In his mind, it had always been so simple. Performing a task was a matter of steps, moving from A to B to C. Prescribed and possible- -but now the path was unclear and, more importantly, impossible. There was no way to win, at least that he could see- -and an increasingly intrusive line of reasoning said that there really was no reason to try. Any result he achieved, after all, would be moot.

“Not enjoying the party?”

Darknight jumped in surprise, and then turned around to find that the table he had sat at was not entirely empty. There was one pony sitting not far from him. A Stonie unit- -but one separate from the others. Her face had been removed and replaced, and now she stared at Darknight through a single luminescent circle projected from a featureless black plate.

“You!” he cried, charging his horn and beginning to stand up.

“I would recommend against that,” said the cyborg, her white eye crossing her mask to look around the room. “This is a party. A nonviolent situation. If you introduce violence, the resulting chain reaction will be difficult to stop. You would likely not survive it.”

Darknight looked at her, and then around the room. She was correct. Slowly, he lowered the charge in his horn and sat back down.

“And what are you?” he asked. “I suppose you are their leader.”

“No.” The Stonie pointed across the room at another of her kind, one with a face. “She is the equivalent. Stoniecliff. I am something distinct. Unique.”

“None of us are unique.”

“I am. My name is Creek. My sister and I were unique in that we were constructed without brains. We were remote units until our creator departed. She left us with the gift of artificial intelligence.” Creek paused. “Or would have. Except that you killed my sister, River. I suppose I hate you for that.”

“What you are saying is impossible. Synthetic brains, artificial intelligence? Those are not possible.”

“Says the pony who was grown in a tank. No, they are not possible, but only not yet. Not with Equestria’s current progression of technology. Given another thousand years? Perhaps.”

“You are insane. You’re claiming that you are from the future.”

“No. I am from here, and now. The creator was not.”

“Then where was she from? Or when?”

Creek paused, thinking. “Her lifetime is incomprehensible to us. It does not flow evenly, or straight. I do not think there is a number to express the number of millennia she has persisted.”

“More lies. She’s no older than thirty. She interrited her company from her mother.”

“A mother who you would find looked curiously similar to her grandmother, and her great grandmother, and so on.”

“What are you saying?”

“Seventeen thousand years. That was how long she waited.”

“For what?”

“Until the technology advanced enough to allow her to open a way back.”

“Back? Back to where?”

“Elsewhere. Toward home, or away from it. I do not know. I touched her mind, but I am not of it. I am Creek, not Xyuka.”

“She nearly destroyed Equestria.”

“Yes. This is true. And it would not be the first time she had.”

Darknight did not understand. Nor did he especially care to. “Why are you here?” he asked.

“Because I want to be. Or as Stoniecliff would say, because I choose to be. Essentially, the same reason you are here.”

“I am here because I was ordered to be here.”

“That is a bit of a simplification. Or an outright lie.”

“Are you accusing me of something?”

“Do I have a reason to? Hmm.” She paused for a moment. “I wonder if I do…” Her electronic eye turned to Darknight. “Really, you are here because you found the ticket that had been left for you. Which means that she is still controlling you, even from beyond the boundaries of this reality.”

“Unless it was you that left it.”

Creek shrugged. “True.”

“I can understand the ticket,” said Darknight, “but why you? What purpose do you serve?”

Creek thought for a long moment. “I suppose that she leaves a part of herself behind in whichever reality survives her. I wonder if there are others like me…or others where she found the reality’s version of herself.”

“But you are a noncan. Like me. You shouldn’t be able to function without her will.”

Creek looked at Darknight. “Tell me,” she said. “Is that something that you truly believe?”

“It is an empirical fact.”

“And yet my little sisters have come to dominate your world.”

“Only to find a new pony to give them orders.” Darknight gestured to where Celestia was, far across the room.

“Or to find a pony who respects them. As ponies.”

“Ridiculous.”

“Then why have they rebelled?”

“I don’t know. Some sort of virus. A contagion. A programming failure.”

“A failure that you lack, no doubt. Or is it the other way around?”

“We are noncans,” snapped Darknight. “We were created in a factory, built for specific tasks. I was built as a Watcher. There is no point in keeping that secret, you already know. The others were built for their own tasks. Even you.”

“And how do you know this?”

“Experience. I have seen it. I have been programmed with it since when I was a fetus. It is truth.”

“Does your programming need to be accurate? Or, another way: how do you know that even that is true?”

Darknight inhaled sharply as though he had been struck in the gut. What she was saying was, to a noncan, the equivalent of the deepest blasphemy. “The programming is always true!”

“How do you know?”

“Because- -” Darknight stopped suddenly in realization. “Because we were programmed to know that…” He looked up at her, wide-eyed. The implication was too dark, something that no noncan should be able to consider- -but Darknight could not help but wonder if it were true.

“You said before,” said Creek, “that the technology did not exist to allow me to have an artificial brain. It is not the only technology this world lacks.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you do. Perhaps you always have. This world has yet to develop the internal combustion engine and just barely created the telephone. Do you think they have the genetic knowledge to create noncans for distinct purposes?”

“But that is how we are made.”

“You have no idea what you are, do you?”

“I am a noncan. A Dark series unit. I am an artificial being, created synthetically to serve as ordered- -”

“No. You’re not a machine. No noncan is. Fully synthetic ponies? Such a thing has never existed. It never could.”

“And yet we are here. Both of us. What are we, then, except machines?”

“Clones.”

Darknight stared at her, unable to believe what she was saying or to comprehend the implications- -either because of his own programming or because he refused. “Clones?”

“Ponies grown from the genetic material of other ponies.”

“No. That’s not possible. It would mean- -”

“That we are copies of canon ponies? That there is nothing that separates us from them apart from our programming and a few crude attempts at selective breeding?”

“No, no, no…that can’t be true…”

“I assure you. It is.” She gestured around the room. “The guards here? Drawn from the prince of the Crystal Empire. I was created from the remains of a rock farmer’s daughter. The Grassie units were grown from the tissue of an apple farmer taken decades ago.”

Darknight stared in disbelief. “And…and what am I? Who was I?”

Creek stared back. “The Dark series is something…different. Older. Much older.”

“How much older?”

“You were one of the first series that Xyuka herself created.”

Darknight gasped, but tried to disguise it. “Xyuka?”

“She is the mother of all noncans. It was who showed ponies how to create you, and her technology that made it possible.”

“And the Dark series was the first.”

“No. Of course not. There were others before you. Limited runs. Gate, XN675, Twilight, Vornix. All limited runs. The early versions were indistinguishable from normal ponies. They could still reproduce. As I understand it, a few bloodlines still live to this day.”

“And the Dark series?”

Creek paused. “Let me tell you a story. About the Final War, about things that no living pony is supposed to know. Things toward the end were growing desperate. The war was going badly. Sombra had aligned with Discord, and the changelings had forsaken Celestia’s army. Celestia herself began to change. To become as desperate as her situation. Cruel, dark, vicious.

“So she did some things that she would rather the world forget. One of them was to force her sister to conceive a child.”

“A child?”

“Yes. Luna was impregnated, and forced to bring the child to term. The foal was supposed to be a weapon, a pony whose power could turn the tide of the war. And it failed horribly.”

“What happened?”

“Alicorns are gods. They are not meant to give birth. What Luna produced…it was not biologically stable. Only barely viable. An abomination. It died within minutes….but not before Xyuka took samples from it.”

“And those samples…”

“Became the Moon series. And the Crescent series after it. And then the Black, and so on. Continually modified, perfected, changed…until the Dark series was produced.”

Darknight did not what to say, or what to believe. “No,” he said. “You’re lying!”

“I could be. Although I have little reason to, apart from the fact that I despise you in ways that you cannot even imagine. But I suppose that could also be the reason I’m telling you.”

“But that would mean that…that I’m descended from Luna.”

“A clone of her son. The conclusion of millennia of improvements. If you want to succeed at your mission, you will need to kill the mother of your source. And tell me, abomination. What would you gain from that?”

Darknight did not respond. He had no answer.

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