Celestia knew it was an illusion spell as soon as they reached the door. She understood it without even consulting her magic. There was no greater trial than the one you put forth for yourself, no greater obstacle than a mental blockade, and if you conquer that, you conquer everything.

So it was with that in mind that her powers seamlessly went to work countering the illusion. But, rather than a simple dispel, she instead worked within its inner machinations, threaded what was to come in the illusion with what she wanted to appear, and was left with a vivid change of scenery.

The all-folk stood alone in a white void, seeing no need for imaginary companions, she had dispelled their appearance before the world before her had even fully formed. There was a blur of motion, an unseen artist scribbling a world, and through a sea of yellows and oranges, she found herself eventually staring at a dense forest in the midst of autumn. The bright maple leaves were a memory of home. Not the land of her father, of England, but, rather, of Cabello. Of her home. Of her land.

She spotted a dirt path that swam under the dead leaves scattered throughout her entire field of vision and it invited her to travel farther along, to see what lay beyond.

Though she could cancel the spell at any time, its caster was potent, but far from beyond her own expertise, she knew better than to completely ignore an issue. Let the caster show itself, be it saint or sinner.

Traveling down the dirt road, Celestia discovered that it was far from a saint that was responsible for the spell.

Tirek sat at the end of a table, drinking a glass of wine. Though Celestia remembered him as ancient during her childhood, during the Crusades, here he sat looking near forty, with black silken hair and a smirk that seemed permanent on his face. The man gestured at a chair near Celestia and she eyed him warily. Taking another drink, Tirek sat in stony silence until the all-folk complied.

“My, you’ve grown,” he remarked. “What happened to the girl hiding in her father’s shadow? The one that hid behind his leg at every opportunity?”

Rather than humoring him, she leaned forward, resting her arms on the table.

“How are you still alive?” Celestia asked.

“Good diet and exercise,” he replied. But after a beat, his smirk widened. “Surely you remember the Crusades? Lancelot running me through? He should have cut off my head. I’m not one to die easily. Wasn’t even before Sombra’s blessing.”

Hearing the name made Celestia flinch, as if she felt responsible for its existence. She said nothing, though, and instead let him continue.

“I have some of his spirit within me. Though he sadly saw no way for me to be a herald for his return. Rather, that honor went to—”

“Say it and I will kill you,” Celestia warned, already on her feet and her sword at her side. “I will find wherever you are outside of this illusion and I will kill you.” Her normally gentle, motherly face was gone, replaced instead by raw, unquestionable fury as she loomed over the man. He calmly took another drink of wine and gestured again for her to sit. Shooting a warning glare his way, she returned and sat.

“You’re set on killing me one way or another, aren’t you?” he questioned. “Because deep down you know where I’m at in the real world, don’t you?”

“How did you find it?” she asked, continuing a trend of ignoring his own questions, not giving him the satisfaction of an answer.

“The grail? Sombra. He sought an artifact to help in his revival. I suppose that he didn’t need it, after all. Since he did return.”

“He was sent back.” Though her disdain at the man ran deep, a question came to mind at his words. “How do you know all of this?”

“I have visions. Visions of what was, what is, and what is to be. I know of your sister. Of her patricide—”

“That was not our father she killed,” Celestia countered, her hand clenching to a fist. Noticing her display of aggression, he smirked and continued talking.

“I know you travel with not one, but two murderers. Hardly seems fitting for a queen of a country to mingle with such woman. Or, perhaps, for your kingdom of filth and lies, it’s completely fitting.”

“You know nothing of our kingdom. Nothing of its people.”

He finished his wine and put the glass back on the table, running a finger across its brim.

“I know they’ll come to resent you. The power of the grail. They’ll be no more than complacent dogs for you to feed and groom. You’ll turn tyrannical. Desperate to hold onto its power regardless of who lies in your path.” His smile was open-toothed, mocking. “It’s a far better accessory for me. A king can have his throne and scepter. Mine and my own are satisfied with a cup. A fair trade.”

Celestia measured him “Your own?” she finally asked.

“My flock. Sombra’s flock. Their hour grows near. Surely they’re what set you across the world.”

“The king slayings. You’re responsible for them?” Celestia questioned, unbelieving even as the words came out of his mouth.

“In the same way a father is responsible for the fruits of the son.” He rose and shook his head. “I doubt we’ll meet face-to-face again. Luna, perhaps, would have the courage to face me and her destiny. You, however, have been softened by years of compromise.”

Turning, he set to leave; Celestia rose and walked after him.

“We’re not finished,” she warned. He chuckled.

“Actually, we are.” With that came a surge of mental magic that flooded Celestia’s thoughts. She twitched at the sudden invasion of her mind and her concentration vanished, flooding her vision with flashes and splotches of white as the woods first lost saturation, then clarity, before finally vanishing in an almost audible pop.

Celestia drew in a loud breath and her eyes searched violently across the room as she broke free of the illusion. Though her outburst was far from regal, she recovered easily enough and seemed to take stock of the group, counting the ones behind her, all with their legs locked, all with their heads bowed, obvious victims of the illusion. Though she was ready to dispel their conditions, something caught her eye.

Jack was missing. It was an easy guess to where she went. Further ahead.

Looking down the hall there was an opening that cut a narrow slit of light through the cave. Celestia ignored the others and walked cautiously towards it, drawn forward like a moth to flame.

When she stepped through, she froze. Though she would never know, she held a mirror of Jack’s reaction as she took stock of the massive room, at the man, frozen, encapsulated within crystal standing atop a stairway of ash-white bone. But, more pressing, more important than even Tirek, frozen within time in a hell of his own creation, was the woman who stood in the center of the room. Jack stared at Celestia, her sword already drawn and resting easily in her hand. She said no words to Celestia, instead watching the all-folk enter, her expression neutral, masked. Well, masked wasn’t true. Rather, the woman’s eyes seemed to hold a sort of apologetic look to them.

Celestia knew it was an apology for what was coming, rather what was before.

“You hate me that much?” the princess asked. Jack’s frown deepend.

“Nah,” she readily dismissed. “That ain’t it. That was never it. I love how things are now; how the people I care ‘bout are now. I ain’t lettin’ anyone change that. Not even you, princess.”

“Who says that will happen? I’m doing this to make sure what we have stays that way, Jack. I’d never hurt you or anyone in Cabello.”

Jack exhaled, seeming to work herself to take the first step. Bringing her sword up to her shoulder, she continued watching the all-folk as Celestia took another step farther into the room.

“Ya say that, but ya don’t know that. Power can do a lotta things ta people. What I’m doin’ here is…” Jack swallowed, seeming to not want to say the word, but spitting it out anyway. “I might be stoppin’ a monster.”