“Twilight Sparkle? Is that really you?”

Those words continued to echo in my mind. They were spoken in a strange and quivering, feminine voice I had heard before, I was sure, but couldn’t recall when and where. Despite every fiber of my being demanding to turn back to Pinkie’s body, the reasoning in me forced my attention to the speaker – the mare who recognized me.

I stared back at the the hooded… was she a pony or equinoid? I couldn’t tell. Slowly, as if afraid of me, the mare stood up and took a few steps in my direction. Using her hooves the stranger removed the hood, revealing her astonished face. It had to be a mask – I had never seen anything like it: the front of her head was covered in iridescent liquid metal. Occasionally, the silver droplets would fall upwards from her face and then, after lingering in the air for a fleeting moment of indecision, drop back, sending little waves rippling on the everflowing surface. The waves of quicksilver undulated around the base of her horn, trying to go up, clinging to the spirals, as if the liquid was a living being intent on reaching the tip of it, and then ebbing in rhythm with an invisible heart.

Her eyes were of the deepest and most vibrant violet. They were obviously artificial, but so far these prosthetics were the closest to natural of any I had seen so far. The ianthine glowing irises were almost imperceptibly moving – just like the irises of a living being would do.

Hanging over one of the eyes was her mane – it was a very highly detailed magic projection, pale cornflower blue in color with just as pale cerulean stripes. Although giving the impression of the Princesses’ ethereal manes, it was devoid of any stars and didn’t move at all – only the occasional wave of the image refreshing itself would pass every few seconds.

Her illusory mane was coiling around her horn – it was long, longer than unicorns usually had, and was made from the rare yet familiar metal – arcanium. But it wasn’t just a solid spike of metal – in the hollows of spirals I could see a soft glow. It had to be an amplifying crystal inside. With such equipment even a foal would be able to vaporize me on the spot.

The mare’s horn wasn’t the only part of her appearance where arcanium could be found. Actually, it seemed like her entire body was covered in plates of the precious metal. They moved smoothly like scaly skin, perfectly aligned to each other. I couldn’t even tell if it was armor or the plating of an equinoid chassis – not a single gap between the shifting segments betrayed the nature of this mare. Some of them were covered in old scratches and burns looking like scars on an actual coat.

This mare was bigger than a normal pony, almost as big as a zebra from the Jangwa Tribe or a Saddle Arabian – she was slightly towering over me. I would have said that she was a half-blood, if not for her constitution – her body was lithe, far more slim and slender than the body of any equine – more of a predator than an ungulate.

What I took just for a hood was actually a cloak. Tattered and dirty, it was starkly contrasting with the gleaming body. I guess it was supposed to be violet in color, matching the mare’s eyes, but it had lost its luster long ago. Now it was covered in grime, the most noticeable were smears of yellow and white.

Resting on her side, poking out from the cover of the cloth rested a weapon. It was a gun. No. The Gun. It wasn’t as much as a weapon as a piece of art, obviously handmade. The polished wooden handle was shining with a rich matte-finished obsidian color. A pink engraved treble clef was adorning its smooth surface. The metal parts were polished and black-oxidized, but not completely, so the steel was grey and matte-finished too, matching the charcoal handle. The weapon was giving off a feeling of immense power.

But the most odd thing about this mare was her magic. I could feel it emanating from her like heartbeats. But it was... wrong. It was as if I put my hoof in the river and expected water to flow in a certain direction, like it always did. In her case… the flow was sideways and it was very cold.

As I studied the mare, wracking my mind in an attempt to recognize her, I realized she was still looking at me with wide eyes shining with hope – she was waiting for me to say something, her name, likely. It was to no avail. Her voice did ring a bell, but not her appearance – I would have remembered somepony who looked even remotely like this.

Finally, I gave up.

“I’m afraid I don’t who you are, sorry,” I said, genuinely apologetic. I really wanted to be able to recognize her – she wouldn’t have asked my name if she was my enemy. And though it sounded a bit selfish, I was in desperate need of friends in a place like this.

The light of hope in her eyes didn’t falter, however. She took another step towards me and, smiling, pointed with one of her hooves at her chest.

“I know, I look different, but it’s me – Trix.”

Who?

Seeing no recognition in my eyes, she continued, “Trixie Lulamoon. Don’t you remember me?”

Trixie Lulamoon? I had never… wait a moment. Was it the name of that ever boasting mare with an ego of the size of the moon from the years before the war? That “great and powerful” one who made the Ursa Minor wreck Ponyville, and then I had never seen her again? But… how?

“Yes… I remember you,” I said slowly and uncertainly. There had to be more than that one time, I was missing something.

For the first time Trixie’s expression of expectation and hope wavered, changing into that of confusion, starting to mirror mine.

“I thought you died during the transference attempt. We all thought you died,” Trixie spoke with a relieved smile. “I wish Moondancer was alive to see you, she would be so happy,” she then added with a tinge of sadness.

She was clearly speaking of the time I didn’t really live through, so that was why I couldn’t remember her. And she spoke of Moondancer like she knew her personally. However, it only added to my growing confusion, and judging by the notes of desperation in her voice, it was noticeable.

“Twilight, I know it’s you. It’s your magic, I can sense it…” Now I could even see the shadow of fear in her eyes, but she didn’t give up, “Don’t you remember how we worked together? You, Pinkie, Moondancer and I?”

And then it all clicked in my mind. That strange voice in the recording from the Archives – it was Trixie. Somehow, she ended up working with Moonie and me on the transference. A friendship that happened in another life. And somehow she lived for five centuries, became a Former One... the Magician. Of course!

But there was an explanation to be made.

“Trixie, I’m not exactly the same Twilight you know,” I began, and she looked at me more confused than ever, trepidation slowly overtaking her features. “Apparently, I had been leaving a very powerful imprint on my recording crystals, and when a filly from the Edge used them to create an equinoid, she accidently brought me back to life.” After a momentary thought I added another detail, to explain why I looked like this. “I took this body from the Royal Archives.” I could see that my story had struck her speechless already. “I don’t recall anything beyond the trial with Rainbow Dash.”

A few expressions went through her mask-face: bewilderment, amazement, and in the end – awe. Then she began to laugh, but more from relief than amusement, I realized.

“All those years,” Trixie wheezed between the guffaws, “we were beating our heads against the wall trying to make the True Transference happen, and you just… you just made yourself a lich without even knowing it!”

Trixie’s chuckles finally winded down and she stared at her hooves, shaking her head in amazement, beaming like a filly, which was resulting in a bit of an uncanny combination with her eerie appearance.

“I never thought I would ever see you again, Twilight. You can’t imagine how glad I am, even though you almost don’t remember me.” She looked up at me, and her eyes shone with more than just happiness and hope, but a stalwart resolve. “And if you are alive, it changes everything.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, growing confused once again. And I still couldn’t decide if it really was a good thing that I had just met Trixie. It felt like I almost remembered something about her I didn’t like, not at all, and I wasn’t talking about that encounter in Ponyville.

“I will explain it on the way,” she curtly replied and motioning with her hoof turned to the exit, prepared to leave. “Let’s go.”

“Wait!” I myself refused to move, it was all too sudden for me, I had too many questions. “Where are we going? And what about Pinkie Pie? Why is she here?” I glanced at her body supine on the slab of stone.

Trixie unceremoniously grabbed me with her magic, which felt like a bucket of icy water was doused on me, and began to drag me behind herself as she headed from the temple.

“She isn’t going anywhere, but we are going to my place,” she threw over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, Twilight, I will answer all your questions and more.”

Though I didn’t really appreciate such treatment, I could understand it – whatever Trixie had in mind, she acted with the urgency of somepony who had finally seen an opportunity after many years of waiting. She had finally gotten a chance to realize her hope. And nor did I remember her as an extremely polite pony.

For the first few minutes we trotted through the tunnels in silence, or rather, Trixie trotted and I cantered behind her, trying to catch up with her long-legged gait. Not taking into account the fact she was navigating the ever changing underground without any trouble, there was another ominous thing about her – the way she dealt with the darkness. Her majestic horn didn’t glow, on the contrary – the shadows, concentrated to pitch black ribbons, swirled and bubbled around it. There wasn’t any light, there was an absence of darkness around us. It certainly was unnatural, and without any doubt dark magic was involved. At first it troubled me greatly, but then I remembered that when I worked with Trixie she had already been using it and apparently I thought it wasn’t much of an issue back then.

With Trixie, who lived at the same time as I did and then through the next five centuries, I had, maybe not thousands, but hundreds questions I wanted to ask. And for the first time in a while I felt like I would finally be able to get all the answers.

I thought of Pinkie and the mystery of how her body had ended up in the Deep Tunnels of all places, of my other friends and their unknown fates. I thought of Spike and my forthcoming journey to Stalliongrad. I remembered the Royal Archives, full of misinformation and I recalled the question I asked back then, the key question which held the answer to everything.

“Trixie,” I called her. She turned to glance at me over her shoulder and slowed down a bit. There was a look in her eyes like she was a teacher who was waiting, wondering when her student would finally give up and demand the resolution for the undefeatable riddle.

“What happened to Equestria?” The response to this question probably wouldn’t be short, but it would be the answer to most, if not all, of my countless inquiries.

Trixie slowed further down, until we walked side by side. It was a weird thought, but her towering figure brought back memories of how Princess Celestia had taught me during our walks through the Royal Gardens.

For some time she simply walked forward, deep in her thoughts. For the first time I really paid attention to our surroundings, and I was left disturbed by them. The passage was very ambiguous in nature – I couldn’t tell if it was artificial and deteriorated with time, or natural but refined. It also felt as though we were passing the same place over and over, so monotonous it was.

Then finally she spoke.

“The thing is, it all began after that accident with you and Rainbow Dash,” Trixie said thoughtfully, recollecting memories of what had transpired half a millennium ago. “All of the unicorns who were there were knocked out. You survived, but were seriously injured.” There were words unspoken in that phrase. Even though I accepted Rainbow’s death, it was no less painful to hear about it.

There was a momentary pause as Trixie glanced at me with empathy. She knew what I felt – she couldn’t not, if we indeed were friends. Letting me mourn for a moment more, she continued.

“The incident had everypony shaken to the core, but Rarity got it the worst.” I dreaded to hear what happened next. Though many ponies would say Fluttershy was the most emotional of my friends, I knew that the demure pegasus had a steel-hard core deep inside her, while Rarity was always pure emotion through and through.

“She seized total control of the temporary government with a group of her political allies – it was a military coup, basically.” I blinked in surprise. I wouldn’t say it was impossible, but it was a really unexpected move from Rarity’s side. The only reason she alone remained involved in the running the temporary government was that she could at least do something, unlike the rest of us. And she also personally knew most of the Canterlot elite, most importantly, the nobles.

“The first thing they did was remove you and Moondancer from the executive positions.” I frowned – I didn’t like where this was going. Trixie glanced at me warily, before proceeding, “Right after, they ordered the production of five dozen cybersuits.”

“What!?” I exclaimed in utter shock and anger. But the armor failed! Rainbow died, I was injured… Rarity had lost her mind, clearly – while loss after loss drove me into the clutches of phlegmatic depression, Rarity was overtaken by maniacal desperation.

“Yes,” confirmed Trixie, unperturbed by my outburst. “You were in a coma, and though Moondancer was already awake by that point, she couldn’t protest, since she had no power anymore.” I was still seething from the sheer stupidity of that decision, muttering curses under my breath.

“However,” Trixie said loudly, in order to quiet me, “the cybersuits not only didn’t explode, but they turned the tables of the war.” I was sincerely jarred by this news. So it might not be my failure then, it was either an accident or sabotage. That brought little peace to my mind, though. After all, no matter what happened, it took Rainbow away.

We took another sharp turn and once again I wondered how Trixie knew the way through the Deep Tunnels. Though it was unlikely, she could even have been the one who cast the spell on them. Dark magic didn’t equal power, but I couldn’t discard that possibility either. I would certainly ask her later, but right now I yearned to learn about what happened next – her words finally promised something good.

“After a year of victories, the Equestrian army came to the walls of the Crystal Palace. However, the siege couldn’t succeed, not until King Sombra was betrayed...” Suddenly, her voice trailed off and a hollow melancholic expression overtook her features. She must have been there, I realized, living through the horrors of the war.

Trixie cleared her throat, making me wonder if it was just a symbolic gesture, or if she had living flesh hidden under the arcanium armor. I still didn’t know if she had an entirely mechanical body. In the recording she mentioned that the transference might have worked if dark magic was used. But again, no matter how good that question was, I had to focus on the story of the events which took place after my “death”.

“The war was won that day.” Even though Trixie managed to compose herself, her voice was strained and it didn’t sound jubilant in the slightest. “But by the next week all the cities in Equestria, except for Canterlot, fell one after another.”

It felt like she struck me, I staggered so hard, I had to stop to prevent myself from falling. Trixie held my shoulder and as I flashed her a pained glance, in her eyes I saw the same hurt, if not stronger.

“How?” I managed to squeeze out only one word from my quivering lips. Manehattan, Fillydelphia, Baltimare, Vanhoover, Las Pegasus, Cloudsdale… hundreds of thousands of pony lives.

“It was the last order King Sombra had given to the Coven – to strike the largest cities. Manehattan was the sole city to evacuate its population, but only partially.” One last atrocity from that monster, carried out by his acolytes, no less vile. The amount of blood it took to wash the stain of his hatred from this world was horrifying. I understood why that war was called “Great” now.

“But it was only the beginning,” Trixie continued in a somber and sorrowful tone. Everything inside me shrunk. If the loss of most of the Equestrian population was only the start – what horrible things could have come after? But even before she spoke again, I realized that it was only what followed the Great War that defined the world now, not the war itself.

Trixie looked at me with pained sympathy, similar to the medics who had to inform their patients of the imminent amputation of a limb. It was going to hurt, I knew, it was going to cripple.

She gulped and cast her eyes to the floor.

“Shining Armor was assassinated by the remnants of the Coven a week after his return. Princess Luna didn’t return and wasn’t answering any missives. The temporary government not only didn’t step down from power, they took a tighter grip on what was left from Equestria. In the next few years things became so bad Pinkie and Fluttershy organized a rebellion, but it was crushed. Fluttershy was exiled to the Everfree Forest and Pinkie was put into an asylum.”

Every sentence was spoken in a voice devoid of any emotion, with the haste of a precise cut, something that had to be done despite the pain it inflicted. I began to shake. The Crown, the Pink Butterflies – it all began to make horrifying sense, the answers I craved for so much had finally found me, but they came at a price.

“What happened to Cadence?” I blurted out in desperation. “Why had nopony contacted Princess Luna directly? Why wasn’t I the part of that rebellion? Where was Applejack?” But I knew I was only making it worse, thrashing on the operational table against the knives of truth slicing my body to numbness.

“King Sombra executed Cadence during the first year of war. Princess Luna was reported to have finally found the changeling hive and sacrifice herself to destroy it. The magic explosion was so strong that it could have been felt in Canterlot. And you had just come out of a coma, blind and semi-paralyzed. Applejack had had problems with her health and died a few years before the rebellion.” The painful answers in a detached voice rang through the air.

The world span before my eyes and I found myself on my knees. I couldn’t remember the fall. Trixie was instantly at my side, holding my shuddering form in her hooves. With my face pressed against her chest I wept.

I wept for my brother and for my sister-in-law. Knowing that they had passed away was one thing, but learning how was completely different. The cursed Great War took them away, and what was most maddening was the fact that it was fought for nothing in the end.

I wept for Princess Luna. Even though I already knew of her terrible fate, hearing it confirmed only re-opened that wound. The fact that she avenged Princess Celestia’s murder barely held any nobility; the throne was sacrificed for that.

I wept for my friends – now I was certain that the Archive entries were lies, behind which lay painful truths. Pinkie and Fluttershy banished like criminals. Rainbow and Applejack dead, the latter most likely assassinated – I refused to believe she fell victim to any illness at such an young age. And Rarity simply went insane.

I wept for Equestria. It was no more, succumbed to the madness which followed the war.

Even though I knew that in another life, another Twilight must have shed many actual tears for each and every one of these losses, I still wept.

However, the grief didn’t consume me entirely – albeit ravaged by sorrow, I was still clearly hearing the voice of reason placating me. I wasn’t mourning as much at their demise as the circumstances. Half a millennium passed, only a few, like Trixie, had endured the onslaught of time, but they were the exception, everypony I knew should have been gone a long time ago. It was the knowledge I carried with myself from the moment I learned how long my “sleep” had lasted.

I suddenly understood why I actually attempted the transference. Despite everything, I didn’t give up – the mechanical body was the only option for me to oppose the darkness that was engulfing Equestria, I was crippled and I was...

Held by two metal hooves I grew completely still – the words said by Trixie echoed in my mind and one of them had finally caught up with me.

“...And you had just come out of a coma, blind...”

And other words, spoken hours ago by the corrupt priest resonated sharply from my memory in answer.

“...they betrayed our Goddess! They blinded her…”

Coincidence is a lazy word for lazy ponies.

I stubbornly refused to believe it, though I once again returned to that crazy theory. It had to be wrong, I was imagining things. Tweaking the results. Hanging on to words. It couldn’t be true – the Machine Goddess was in the Sky Palace, waiting for her children, and I was here. The transference took away my life when it was attempted. For every match of the facts there was a contradiction. It was nonsense.

Another of Starswirl’s quotes came to my mind: “When you think things through, either everything makes sense or nothing does.”

And so I asked a question that must have sounded strange and very out of place in the current situation, but I knew that the pony who was still holding me in her hooves was the only one who could put an end to this conundrum.

“Trixie,” I said in a tight voice and looked up to meet her eyes. Somehow, she looked like she knew what I was about to ask, “who is the Machine Goddess?”

She didn’t look surprised at the question, but a melancholic forlorn expression once again overtook her face.

“So, you know already.”

My proverbial heart fell in my chest. She must have been joking.

All of a sudden, Trixie spoke in a clear loud voice thick with nostalgia.

“I was already living in the Tunnels when Pinkie managed to escape from the asylum and found me. Some time after, you and Moondancer learned about her and started to visit us. We began to work together.” She smiled recollecting the bright memories. “You worked on the enchantments, Moonie was a prodigy when it came to the mechanics, Pinkie was the best moral support any pony could wish for.” Trixie chuckled mirthlessly. “And she seemed to be the only one who remembered both of you had to eat and sleep. And I… I was helping whatever way I could. My…” she paused, searching for the right words, “predicament… left me in dire need for a replacement body, so I often served as a lab rat. Not that I minded.” Then her expression sombered. “After you were lost in the Transference, ” she motioned at my frame with her chin, “that body was taken away by the Crown.”

Cradled in her hooves, I listened to the story in astonished silence. The recollection of the events that brought Equestria to ruin hadn’t incited any positive emotions, obviously. But it was… impersonal. There was no place on their grand scale for individuals. Those times were survived by the nation. This story… every moment of it was lived, leaving a permanent mark on the heart. I could hear countless words unspoken, of the years of friendship, of light-hearted rivalry, of struggle between the four ponies, yet experienced by one singular soul.

Trixie paused again and I saw tears of liquid metal form below her eyes and trace their path down her cheeks before they became a part of her face again. “We were already very old back then. Pinkie passed away in her sleep. Moonie… she grew mad with grief. In desperation she had stolen your body from the Palace. I still remember her face when you… it… didn’t recognize Pinkie. Moondancer just let the Royal Guard take her away that day, never to be seen again.”

I felt a pang of petty and inappropriate jealousy – I wished I could cry tears too, even if it was artificial. The heavy silence stretched on and I thought it was the end of the story, but after a deep sigh, Trixie continued.

“I was left alone and…” She laughed bitterly. “I ran away. It wasn’t my best of moments.” She paused to clear the tightness in her voice. “I took the latest mechanical body, the best Moonie ever made – her magnum opus, and left Canterlot. By the time I came back, there were already runaway equinoids living in the Tunnels. They learned of our lives and departures second-hoof and wove them into one single tale, the cornerstone of their faith. And I learned that Moondancer had to submit all the research you and she made, so the Transference Paradox wouldn’t be called ‘Twilight’s Paradox’. She didn’t want you to be remembered only for that.”

Yes, it was all making sense now, indeed. I wasn’t the Machine Goddess, the four us were. In a sense, she had never existed, but she wasn’t a lie either. Before, I didn’t know what to think, because I couldn’t believe the truth. Now, I didn’t know what the truth was anymore.

As if reading my mind, Trixie spoke in her strange echoing voice. Like two ponies speaking almost in unison, I realized.

“Between the two of us left alive, only you deserve that title – after all, you were the one who created the fundamental enchantments for artificial intelligence – the Prime Code, the only thing Moondancer refused to submit.” The glimpse of that giddy smile from before graced her face. “And, you are here and now. I’m just a pony who wore the body made by the best mechanic to ever live.”

I got up from Trixie’s hooves and sat on the floor not far from her.

If I had learned something, it was that I had to face the truths and accept them, no matter how hard they were. But it wasn’t as much about the hardness as about the sheer scale, something I knew from the first time that guess visited my mind.

I wasn’t the Machine Goddess, but I was the closest to her anypony ever had been or would be. Was it my responsibility? After all, I did have a hoof in creating them, even more – my mind gave birth to their “souls”. Was it my right? Who I was to take the mantle of a deity? I was just a pony, as lost in this nightmare as they were. Could I allow myself to leave Canterlot now, when I was supposed to be the mother for an orphaned nation? Would I snuff their hope out with my own hoof? Would I absolve them of any future but rust?

Minutes passed by as I gazed into the darkness of the tunnel, but it answered not. Nopony held the answer to any of these questions, only me.

Behind me, Trixie called. I turned and saw the genuine empathy in her eyes. We were friends, after all. Like any of them, she could read me like an open book, something that always irked me and yet warmed my heart.

“It is only up to you what to make of all of this, but there is one thing you must know, something I intended to tell you from the beginning.” I took a few steps towards her. “You may think all is lost, but there is hope still.”

I blinked. I remembered, the words Trixie said, that my presence was changing everything. But she wasn’t talking about the Machine Goddess, was she?

“When I left Canterlot I traveled across all Equestria – to the ruins of the destroyed cities, found a great friend out where. Together we’ve journeyed even beyond the borders of Equestria.” There was that look again, the melancholic recollection of things gone so long ago, but still dear. But this time there was something else to it. “And at the Badlands we saw… her.”

A bizarre mix of dread and desperate hope in the eyes of the immortal.

Trixie gulped.

“Princess Luna might have died. But Nightmare Moon… she still lives.”

What.

Did I hear that right? Nightmare Moon was alive? But… that was not how things worked. Nightmare Moon was Luna, they were not two separate entities… There was room for debate in the case of the Machine Goddess, but everything Trixie had just said was wrong on every level.

“Slow down, Trixie.” I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt; after all, she saw something. “Start from the beginning: what exactly did you see?”

“After visiting the ruins of Baltimare we decided to go to Dodge City right through Hayseed Swamps, but without the map we got lost and ended up in the Badlands instead,” she began explaining in a hasty and somewhat offended manner. “I’ve never been there before, but I was sure it wasn’t supposed to be covered in alarm spells at every step, cast by a pony no less. We learned it only when it was too late, and the night, Twilight, it descended on us, claiming that we were changelings in the most horrifying voice I’ve ever heard.” Trixie shuddered. “I don’t know how we made it out alive. Both of us lost our bodies.”

I decided not to pay my attention to the last detail, instead I focused on what Trixie said before. Paradoxically, it seemed she was right – everything was pointing to Princess Luna having survived, but her state of mind was an altogether different question. That fact was implying a few other questions: if she had survived and accomplished her task, why didn’t she return? Why was she still out there, hunting? Had she destroyed the hive?

However, there was one more important question.

“You do realize I can’t use the Elements, right?” I was not only alone, but they stopped working for me a long time ago, and I wasn’t sure that would ever change.

“I know, but we aren’t talking about the Nightmare Moon,” Trixie retorted patiently. “She hasn’t brought eternal night or anything like that, she is just mad with a vendetta. I’m pretty sure if she is to meet somepony she knows, her mind will clear up.” However, I couldn’t hear any certainty in Trixie’s voice.

Trixie was looking at me with so much hope and expectation in her eyes that I couldn’t bear it. I sat down, stared at my hooves and began to think.

I could imagine for her it was all pretty simple – the Goddess would come and fix everything. Except it wasn’t. While I wished Queen Chrysalis’ death no less than Princess Luna, in the latter years of the war I started to find her conviction… unhealthy. I didn’t know if it was her zeal or something else, but Princess Luna eventually abstracted herself from all the issues Equestria had at that moment, even though her help would have been invaluable. It often felt as if Queen Chrysalis killed both Princesses. So, bringing her back wouldn’t miraculously resolve anything, and some things, like the lack of resources or the unnatural winters – such things were beyond her power anyway. But. According to Tin Flower’s words, somepony from the Crown had taken on themselves the responsibility for the sun and moon, and though it might happen many years later, that pony would become unable to guide the celestial bodies when Canterlot finally shared the fate of the other cities in Equestria. It was not Equestria that needed Princess Luna, but the entire world.

That was not how I expected the meeting with a Former One to go. Instead of clearing things up and helping me with my predicament, things had suddenly gotten much more convoluted, presenting me with burdens of a great scale. And the worst thing was that I had a choice. I had no real obligation to help either Trixie or the equinoids. There was friendship between Flower, Wire, Delight and me. Even with all that aside, I owed them. I had to save Spike, obviously. However, I didn’t really belong to this world, to its problems. In a sense, my life was a blank page, I had gotten a second chance. And what I had just learned was threatening to blot it out with blood-red ink, for Canterlot had no other colors left.

But I knew I wouldn’t be able to live with that if I just left. The Elements of Harmony had stopped working for me, but I couldn’t stop working for them, it seemed.

“What is your plan, then?” I asked Trixie, finally raising my eyes to meet hers. It was like giving a present to a filly on Hearth’s Warming Eve. And I found it funny that a pony who used dark magic was able to radiate so much sunniness.

“We are going to my hideout, where I will grab the map and some crystals, and then I’m taking you to the workshop before departing to the Badlands.“ A simple plan, but good, though the part with the workshop wasn’t really necessary.

“I’ve just been at the chapel, the technopriest told me that I’m good,” I voiced my thoughts, noting that mention of the Church made Trixie scowl in annoyance momentarily.

“It is not about maintenance,” she retorted and then explained, “you’re going to need harder hooves, the path is going to be rocky, you will grind these to nothing half-way.”

A fair point. Especially considering the fact that I was planning to ask her for a detour.

“Do you remember the filly I mentioned, who made my first body?” How strange it must have sounded, I realized. “I’d like to visit her before we head to the Badlands. We aren’t in a hurry, are we?” I decided not to mention that I would have visited Flower regardless of what Trixie was going to answer. Paradoxically, that filly meant more to me than a goddess.

“We aren’t. I’d like to see the genius who brought you back to life with my own eyes,” she said with a chuckle. “She must be living at the Junkyard.” I nodded. “It is on the way.”

Trixie stood up, dusted off her cloak – the remains of her old cape and hat stitched together, I realized – and twirled on her hooves. And then she began to trot in the direction we came from.

“Erm, Trixie…” She stopped and turned her head to me, one brow raised in question. I could have asked her about her strange choice of route, but instead I struck deeper: “How do you orient yourself in these tunnels? They kept changing almost right before my eyes.”

“You don’t know?” Trixie asked, surprised. It was my turn to raise my brow. “How did you find the Temple of the Forgotten Deities?” she inquired, sounding even more incredulous.

“Some lunatic showed me the way,” I replied. In retrospect I realized how incredibly lucky I was.

“Yeah, Pinkie acts like a magnet for them,” Trixie shook her head in disapproval and then motioned with her hoof to follow. As I caught up with her, walking by her towering form again, she continued to speak, “The secret of the Deep Tunnels is that you have to know exactly where you want to end up and to want it. No map is needed, only confidence. Doesn’t work for generic places, like an ‘exit’ or ‘entrance’.”

“But how?” I asked in bewilderment. It wasn’t just a curse or a spell, it was something beyond my comprehension.

“Nopony knows,” she said with a grimace – it must have been very annoying to live for five centuries and still not know the answer to such an important question. “Dr. Hooves says it’s a tear in time and space caused by some very powerful magic, but he says a lot of crazy things.”

Doctor Hooves… That name sounded familiar.

“Is he that weird earth stallion scientist with the hourglass cutie mark, who had a workshop in Ponyville?” I finally conjured all the facts I knew of Dr. Hooves from the depths of my mind.

“Don’t know about the Ponyville part, but, yeah, it is him,” confirmed Trixie. “After the Great War he got his hooves on a huge batch of arcanium and a decade later he found a way to violate the very rules of time flow.” Suddenly she spluttered with laughter. “The Crown found him guilty of using dark magic, an earth pony, can you imagine? So he fled to the Tunnels and continued to study his crazy ‘quantum’ science here.”

“So, Dr. Hooves is a Former One? Like you?” Trixie grimaced at the “like you” part, but otherwise nodded. “How many of the Former Ones are in Canterlot? Can I meet them?” I asked a question I itched to know since I had learned about those ponies. Now that I had sated my curiosity regarding the global changes, the time for more mundane inquiries had come.

I saw Trixie furrow her brow in thought and mouth silent words.

“There have been about forty Former Ones in Canterlot over the last five hundred years,” she said thoughtfully, still counting ponies in her mind, “right now less than fifteen are left and you may already know half of them.” Trixie glanced at me and I titled my head, prompting her to continue. “Well, I’ve told you about Dr. Hooves already, then there is Sunburst, though he spends most of his time recovering books from the ruins of Neighponia; the mare who was called Raven Inkwell back in your days, goes by the name Fotia Koraki now; Soarin, once a Wonderbolt, now a Lobster.” Trixie felt silent, though her lips continued moving. A pained expression visited her face. “And… Octavia Melody. But she isn’t in Canterlot right now.”

Some of these names I indeed recognized and these were the last ponies I expected to become immortal. Raven Inkwell? She was Princess Celestia’s secretary, if I wasn’t mistaken. Some things didn’t make any sense to me at all – “a lobster”, or what happened to Neighponia. And Octavia… could she be the mare Scuff Gear mentioned? I thought she was a musician back in my day, but I wasn’t sure.

“I think I’ve heard of Octavia.” I didn’t want to know as much about her as about her destination. “Is she the one who went to Stalliongrad?”

“How do you know?” Trixie broke from her nostalgic reverie to squint at me in surprise and suspicion.

“I’ve met a stallion at the Edge, a mechanic called Scuff Gear, I think he might have worked with you at some point.” Trixie’s eyes brightened instantly at the mention of his name, her face dissolving into a smile.

“Scuffy!” she exclaimed and added, shaking her head in amazement, “I thought he died in the job when we tried to rid the Tunnels of that necromancer cretin, whatever-was-his-name.”

However, besides the sincere joy, there was a slight strain in her voice. It didn’t escape me that Trixie had not-so-subtly tried to change the topic, and she also knew that I noticed. On one hoof I didn’t want to disturb her old wound – Octavia obviously was a very dear pony to her, but on the other, Princess Luna and equinoids or not, I still couldn’t discard the possibility of “moving” to Stalliongrad.

“And what about Stalliongrad?” I asked again, focusing only on the place this time, but got no answer – as the seconds passed by, Trixie remained stubbornly silent. I couldn’t tell if it was her grief or if she was just too lost in her memories. “I actually thought of fleeing there with Tin Flower, the filly who ‘resurrected’ me, and a few other ponies I’ve met,” I added after a few moments, trying to bring back to life our dead conversation from exactly where it ended.

As I said that I realized I didn’t really know what I was supposed to do after confronting Princess Luna. Stalliongrad was still an option, mostly because I didn’t know any other. And I had no idea what Trixie herself was planning to do. I seriously doubted she would recommend staying in Canterlot. But if not Stalliongrad, there had to be other places, or she might have something else entirely in mind.

“It has been fifty years,” Trixie suddenly said in a firm yet sad voice. “I will think of your words, but only after we get to Princess Luna.” Then she fell silent and broody again.

So, she, too, had no other ideas except for Stalliongrad and no concrete plan at all, it seemed. My only hope was that it wasn’t caused by a complete lack of options left for those who were stranded in Canterlot.

We spent the rest of our journey in the heavy silence of Trixie’s ruminations, which I didn’t dare to disturb again. I spent that time absorbed in my own thoughts, digesting all the knowledge I had just received.

The monotonous stone surfaces were emerging from the darkness as we walked and disappearing in the shadows following us in hoofsteps. Eventually, we came to a black square cut in the wall. The darkness obscuring what lay behind it refused to yield and as I took a closer look I realized that it was a sheet of shimmering dark magic. Trixie touched it with the tip of her horn, and the veil dissolved in the air, revealing a room, though I could barely discern anything in there – Trixie’s “unlight” wasn’t strong enough.

“Well, here we are – my humble abode,” she commented, then winced. “I haven’t cleaned it in a long time, so don’t be scared.”

I only shrugged. After Tin Flower’s dwelling, I doubted anything could have surprised me anymore.

Yup. I wasn’t impressed.

Though, the room, which had apparently been carved by Trixie herself from the rock mass, was very dirty, it wasn’t as bad as I expected it to be. It barely had any furniture, only two flat-surfaced huge stones, presumably serving as a table and bed. There was also a workbench, but it didn’t seem to have been used in a while – it was cluttered with rusty spare parts, covered in a thick layer of grey dust.

What was impressive, however, was the immense collection of various little things on the shelves cut in the uneven walls, taking up all the space from the floor to the ceiling. Knick-knacks, crystals of all sizes and colors, leather-bound ancient folios, dilapidated scrolls… hundreds of unique objects I had trouble categorizing, so many of them resided on the dusty stone. Things of value, sentimental and practical, accumulated over half a millennium. Many magical, I could sense that.

“May I take a closer look?” I asked, driven by overwhelming curiosity, feeling like a filly in a bookstore.

“Sure,” came the muffled answer – Trixie was rummaging through the scrolls on of the lower shelves, muzzle deep in them, a thick cloud of dust around her. “Just be careful, I can’t remember what half of them are, but some can be dangerous.”

I dismissed her words and rushed to the nearest shelf with books, tugging them out with my magic. However, as soon as it came into my view, I dropped it with a shriek.

A flattened pony face was looking at me from the floor with empty eye sockets, the toothless mouth agape in silent eternal agony. Black ribbons of shadows enveloped it and gingerly put it back with its leather-bound brethren. “Warned you,” chuckled Trixie.

It was horrible, disgusting even, but what else should I have expected from a pony who practiced dark magic?

I proceeded with studying the shelves contents much more carefully, keeping away from the books and scrolls. I had the suspicion that the latter weren’t written on parchment.

To my dismay, most of the things I took a closer look at weren’t as interesting as they seemed at first, but rather disturbing. A set of basalt daggers, likely sacrificial. Weathered stones with eldritch runes carved in them. An entire shelf dedicated to glass spheres filled with swirling inky shadows. Small yellow bones of creatures I didn’t recognise. Crystals, bare and encased in metal, sometimes connected to devices. Tiny, yet complex clockwork mechanisms. Vials with murky liquids.

I could recognize nothing of it.

I was slowly walking by the shelves and marveling at the bizarre collection, when I felt like somepony was watching me. Somehow I knew that it was a hateful glare. I turned back to where Trixie was picking up crystals from shelves, studying them and then putting the gems either into the cloth bag in her hoof or back where she took them. She was completely absorbed in her task, paying me no attention, muttering something barely audible. But the sensation refused to leave me. I twirled around and my eyes fell on it.

In the far corner, on one of the shelves a jar with a pony head inside stood. And that pony was looking straight at me. I froze in shock and horror.

“T-T-Trixie…” I stammered, unable to divert my eyes from the sight. I heard the clicking of crystals and shuffle of hooves from where she stood.

“Oh, that,” she said after a few moments, “meet Mordant, the bitch who decided to play dark mage and thought that it would be very fun to kill everypony and everyone who lives in the Tunnels.” Trixie accompanied her words with a literal growl. “Took me an entire year and three bodies to take her down.”

As if I was enchanted, I slowly approached the jar, driven by some twisted curiosity.

Inside the cylindrical tube adorned with dark pulsing gemstones and fortified with oxidized vertical metal bars, the head floated. Through the dirty glass it was giving me a glare so baleful and hateful, that it was close to rivaling the mad eyes of the Ebony Warlock himself. Even though the head was scarred and bruised, colorless and furless from the time spent in the liquid, I could tell Mordant was once a quite beautiful mare. Now, bloated and deformed, with scraps of skin signifying that it was torn from the body rather than cut, it incited only abhorrence. I noted the runes rudely cut into the skin in a few places and the chapped lips sewn shut with a thick thread.

Despite everything, I felt pity deep inside of me. Surely, her crimes sounded horrible, but why not just kill her?

“Why is she like this?” I asked turning to Trixie, who moved to the next wall, still gathering gems.

“She is a Former One, from the later times. A lich, like you,” came her answer. I remembered Trixie mentioning that word, but I didn’t know what it meant. As if feeling the unspoken question, she explained, “Liches are dark mages, or not, in your case, who enchant items called phylacteries to be anchors for their entity in the physical world.” She scowled at Mordant. “So when they die, they actually don’t and return back to life some time later. This moron had made, like, a hundred phylacteries, so I can’t kill her and have to keep her alive.”

I felt no pity for Mordant anymore, however, there was now newfound respect for Trixie. Though I still didn’t know what compelled her to turn to dark magic, she was using it for a good cause.

I decided that was enough of this room for me.

I walked to Trixie and took the bag from her hooves, holding it open for her, providing my help and studying its contents at the same time.

Inside were a couple dozen unremarkable crystals and a few pieces of metal, but not just any – they were small slivers of arcanium. I could understand why the metal, though using arcanium for horseshoes felt like a huge waste. But the crystals?

“What do you need them for?” I frowned. Was she going to enchant the gems and incorporate them into my frame? Or…

“I need them to trade,” Trixie replied and another small metal nugget fell into the bag. “Arcanium too.”

Eh? I thought Equestria had the official currency, even in a place like this it had to have more value than any tradable objects.

“Don’t you have any e-bits?” I imagined that a mare like her would have had a small hoard after a couple of centuries.

“E-bits are for citizens,” Trixie scoffed and after a short pause explained, “A pony is born in Canterlot, a pony gets a tattoo on the neck in special ink.” I remembered how Delight had got her neck scanned at the eatery. “It’s their identification and the bank account number. E-bit is a cryptocurrency, so it can only be digital.” Trixie poked her neck with her hoof, producing a sharp click. “No stamp on your neck – no money for you, simple as that.”

It explained a lot and for a moment I admired such a system, there was a lot of order and efficiency in it. But then I started to see downsides, such as the ponies who were born at the Edge, like Tin Flower, not counted as citizens. I didn’t know a single thing about “cryptocurrency”, but I could imagine that a type of currency which existed only virtually must have its own specific issues.

“And what if that pony gets injured at that place?” I asked the most obvious implication of that system. A single cut while being non-lethal could have still “killed” a pony as a citizen.

“I don’t do that usually, it’s too messy,” Trixie replied without missing a beat. It took me a few moments before the meaning of her words caught up with me. I sent her a judging look so scathing that she faltered. “Er, I mean, they are really unlucky then.”

We continued to trot by the shelves, gathering any pieces of arcanium and the crystals Trixie was willing to part with.

“What were you doing all this time?” I voiced the question that suddenly occurred to me. I did not know of many creatures that had a really long lifespan. Dragons slumbered on their hordes, the Princesses governed countries (or hunted down changelings), phoenixes… well, I didn’t know what they did, actually. How would a dark mage, even one who wasn’t acting like such, spend her life?

“Mmph,” mumbled Trixie with a scroll in her mouth. A moment later she fished out a cracked crystal from behind other scrolls and with a scoff sent it flying back into the dust. “Many things, mostly studying magic and trying to stop The Tunnels from killing themselves, they are really good at that.”

I had no doubt about the last part. Though it was hard for me to evaluate Trixie’s skill in magic, because it wasn’t an arcane school I knew anything about or even approved of, I kinda expected her to be a master of it. Five hundred years would be enough for anypony to become a real professional in any field. And it prompted my next inquiry.

“What happened to you?” All I had got so far was that she began using dark magic at some point after the Great War or during it. Apparently, it had taken a hard toll on her body, which wasn’t unusual for witchcraft. But I didn’t know any finer details which actually mattered. “I’m sorry if it’s too personal of a question,” I hastily added.

“It’s fine, after all, you already knew it once.” The familiar expression of disant melancholy visited her face of living metal. From the past I summoned the memories once painful, but lived through so many times that they became dear to their owner.

“I was cursed during the Great War and used a spell I didn’t really comprehend.” I glanced at Trixie with sympathy, and with a bitter smile she continued, “It turned me into a living shadow. The worst part is that I am a shade on both the magical and physical planes.” She grimaced in annoyance. “That means I can’t have an actual body or use any magic other than dark. While it didn’t take me very long to learn that I can posses artificial bodies, I spent years inventing the simplest spells, because everything works very differently with dark magic.”

That was not what I expected to hear at all. I remembered Trixie as a mare who was an embodiment of boasting and I thought that using dark magic was just her way to become “Great and Powerful”. But the fact that it wasn’t even a voluntary decision, which I could tell, changed her drastically – instead of corrupting Trixie, dark magic taught her humility. However, I couldn’t say I rejoiced at that – the price was too high.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” was all I could say. I realized now we had more in common than I ever had with anypony – we both were prisoners of a cursed immortality we didn’t choose.

“Nah, I’m alright,” Trixie dismissed my words, smiling light-heartedly. “I’ve gotten used to it over five centuries. And Pinkie helped a lot.” I could imagine that, optimism sprang eternal in her.

“How are you faring, Twilight?” Trixie suddenly asked, looking at me intently.

With all the talk about the past, Canterlot and Trixie, I hadn’t really paid attention to the feelings deep inside of me.

“I guess... I’m alright too.” I actually felt better now, when I had somepony who could understand my plights. Though the truths I learned still stung, and the future looked very concerning. “I woke without my magic and had a few problems in the beginning, but now I’m fine, more or less.” I smiled and Trixie smiled back. “I will get used to it.”

With the canvas bag full of crystals and pieces of arcanium, we left Trixie’s dwelling. The flicker of shadows around her horn made the sheet of blackness coalesce in the doorframe.

Our path lay to a workshop belonging to two mechanics Trixie had a longstanding business relationship with. Because of the specifications of her body, which in fact was a bit different from the average equinoid frame on a deep technical level, she couldn’t go to just any place. The fact that Trixie was a Former One wasn’t helping the issue, as she complained she had trouble finding a decent technician since she had parted ways with Scuff Gear, who was also tolerant of her as a dark mage and a Former One.

Since the Deep Tunnels were a barely traversable enchanted labyrinth, the workshop wasn’t there, obviously. However, paradoxically, we had to go deeper. As I continued to batter Trixie with countless questions, I learned that we were wending our way to one of the “Wells”, huge, hundred meters deep sewer collectors serving as community hubs for the underground of Canterlot. It didn’t come to me as a surprise that the Tunnels were in fact the remains of the old sewer system; it was something I had suspected for a long time already.

I had also learned that the Tunnels, both Deep and not had much more order to them than it might have seemed. The very first level served as a neutral ground for absolutely everypony, or, more accurate, everyone, since the population of Canterlot, especially underground, was very varied these days. The next three floors were the ponies’, where they dominated in numbers and power. And while the Wells weren’t ruled by any particular faction, they were often considered the ponies’ grounds as well, because of their abundance there. The fifth level belonged solely to the zebras, who served as both brokers and peacemakers between the upper levels and the next two – the equinoids’ domain, or, since the relatively recent times, the Church’s. The Deep Tunnels didn’t follow the “level” system, but there were more or less permanent areas, inhabited by the various groups, mostly religious cults and communities of those who were born with severe mutations.

The thing that struck me the most – nopony knew how deep the Tunnels went. At some point the artificial system of sewers and maintenance passages met both natural ways burrowed through bedrock by time and water and the ancient paths dug by the Diamond Dogs. There was a group of creatures not limited to ponies, who called themselves “The Cataclysm Watchers” and believed that they could wait out the end of the world underground, but only if they were deep enough. So they drilled for many decades. They claimed to have made a shaft as deep as the Sky Palace went high – and it pierced the clouds.

“I suspect,” Trixie said thoughtfully, “that the Deep Tunnels might have existed long before Canterlot began to develop its “roots” and that they had already been this way.” She paused for a moment, and when I glanced at her I saw apprehension and trepidation written across her face. “There were things prowling in the darkness when we first came here, horrible creatures bearing traces of magic so raw, so ancient. A few other Former Ones and I hunted them for years but I’m afraid some might have survived.” I shuddered as the memory of the tunnel with flesh-covered walls returned to me.

However, not only did the thought of a living nightmare come to my mind – there was one creature in that darkness, magical but not ancient, well, relatively speaking.

“I’ve met Spike,” I simply stated, knowing that it was enough to imply the questions I wanted answered. Trixie winced hard upon hearing that, prompting me to raise my eyebrow – it wasn’t the reaction I expected.

“And he didn’t attack you?” she asked incredulously. I shook my head.

“I wish I could tell you something concrete, but I’m afraid I know little more than you,” she said with a sigh. Madness – that was all I knew. “I can only say that it was dark magic that made him act this way, but I have no idea how it happened.”

“What do you mean?” I furrowed my brow.

“I’d never met Spike before he went insane, but from what I learned from you, he returned from the Great War relatively normal. Shortly after that, he was sent to the Dragon Lands as an ambassador, to prevent the dragons from exhibiting any aggression towards Equestria.” That sounded reasonable, considering how weakened Equestria had been after the war and knowing the long-standing tensions between our nations. “When I myself returned from my journey he was already here in the state he is now. I did try to help him, but the only thing I achieved was losing my body.”

And I thought I would find something in the Archives… But it didn’t matter.

“I’m going to help him,” I said in a hard voice. Trixie looked at me with concern and then nodded.

“I will help you in whatever way I can, but it isn’t going to be an easy task.” I gave her a questioning glance. “First of all we have to find a way to locate him, I have no idea how to do that.”

Nor did I, but that didn’t mean it was impossible. Spike was a dragon after all, so he should have some kind of hoard at this age, or a lair, at least. Also, Princess Luna could be of help – alicorns had always shared a special bond with dragons.

We continued to walk in silence – I decided to give Trixie a moment of respite from my curiosity even though she didn’t really seem to mind my impromptu interrogation at all. Eventually, she stopped using her “unlight” spell – our surroundings had finally started to have light on their own. Nor did they look anymore like something lost in time and space – signs of civilization, like trash, unfortunately, began to appear, along with the trademark smell. Then we began to meet ponies, zebras and equinoids, though they were giving us a wide berth, glancing warily at Trixie.

The tunnel we used ended with an opening and an unsafe looking rusted railing. Trixie led me directly to it and I stood with my mouth agape, marveling at the sight before my eyes – we had come to the Well.

Beyond the railing, the floor ended abruptly in a vast vertical shaft with its bottom barely visible. It also went up, but I couldn’t see the ceiling at all, because the space inside the Well wasn’t empty – an enormous cluster of catwalks and what looked like assortments of scrap from the Junkyard speckled with sporadic lights hung precariously in the lumen, defying any reason and safety measures. It was as if a huge spider had woven a web from twisted rusty metal, catching countless fireflies in it, and then passed away in that web, its corpse now being dismantled by countless ants.

The assemblage of shacks and bridges was taking up a few dozen of the floors, connecting to them, making me wonder what exactly held this enormous bloated construction in the air. I really hoped that magic was involved, otherwise that settlement could turn into a tragedy at any moment.

Of course, being a hub for a vast territory of the underground, it teemed with activity to the point that this entire metal lesion in the artery of the Canterlot sewers seemed to be constantly moving, shivering. It was mostly made up of equine silhouettes, the tall ones belonging to zebras and the skeletal to equinoids. However, I could also see bulky winged figures – griffins, and even some bipedal moving forms.

Suddenly, a gunshot thundered through the air, cutting through the faint buzz of the hub and making me jerk. It was accompanied by a bright flash of fire in my sight and a second later I saw the limp form of a pony plummet down, leaving behind it a thin trace of blood and smoke.

I glanced at Trixie with wide eyes, and she just shrugged, like it was something normal. Probably deciding that I had gotten the concept of this place she motioned with her head to follow and trotted in the direction of the nearest catwalk.

I didn’t like it from the moment I laid my eyes upon it. A long perforated plate of metal served as a bridge. Obviously it was rusty, it simply couldn’t be any other way, and that wasn’t the only thing about it that bothered me. The perforation was so uneven that I couldn’t tell if it was a natural degradation of the material or if it was created with the holes and it was just the passage of time that made them look so. The saggy rope railing didn’t look convincing either. I had known already that I weighed more than the average pony, and unless Trixie’s arcanium frame was specifically enchanted, she could be even heavier than me.

However, she trotted forward and up the bridge without missing a beat. Yes, her body had to be enchanted, because when I put my hoof on the weathered metal surface it instantly answered with an ominous creak.

“Trixie…” I began with uncertainty.

“It’s not a very long fall, you will survive, I guarantee.” She was already in the middle of the bridge and as she turned to look at me there was a smirk on her face – I couldn’t understand how she was able to joke about something like this.

“Trixie…” I hissed menacingly.

“It’s sturdier than it looks. And sounds. And feels.” I audibly growled. It had to be the dark magic giving her dementia. Or the old age. Or both. “I will try to catch if you fall. I will do my best, I promise.”

After probably the worst five minutes I had since I woke up in this world, I finally escaped from the unsteady footing of the cursed thing which didn’t have any right to be called a bridge or simply exist. Though, I had trouble leaving behind the desire to push Trixie from the narrow paths and find out if I could catch her if I did my best.

As I expected, the place was cramped, however it wasn’t really an issue. Without exception, every underground dweller who happened to be in our path was yielding it to Trixie, their expressions ranging from deep respect to outright disgust or fear.

After a few minutes of following Trixie through the hub, I realized that it wasn’t in fact a place where ponies or other creatures lived. It was a business centre, though I had a hard time calling such a congregation that since it could be easily confused for a garbage pile.

Shops in separate shacks or set on the open platforms hanging above the abyss sold all possible varieties of things, starting with questionable looking food and ending with weapons in mint-fresh condition. Workshops offered their services both to ponies with prosthetics and to equinoids, or just to repair any kinds of devices. Enchanting booths, judging by their adverts, were mostly focused on memory manipulation. Prostitutes traded their bodies, though thankfully the magic signs they were holding implied that any activity would take place beyond the hub’s unsafe scaffolding.

After we passed a small eatery selling weird looking translucent noodles and, to my horror, grilled rats, we came to an average sized shack looking like a hornets’ nest. It wasn’t anything unusual – half of the “buildings” here looked like this if not worse. What was strange, however, was the fact that the shack was apparently on fire – thick curls of smoke poured from the empty door frame and every numerous crack.

I glanced warily at Trixie but she didn’t appear concerned, rather, annoyed. As we approached closer I realized that it wasn’t smoke but that strange vapor I had encountered before. The clouds of artificial fog smelled of some herbs I could vaguely recognize as medical in purpose, but I refrained from taking a deeper breath – the atmosphere of this hub wasn’t a pleasant one. Also, I wasn’t sure if that was how my sense of smell worked anymore.

Without a knock or any warning at all, Trixie plunged herself into the mass of fumes obscuring the entrance and I followed.

It felt like I was in the steam room of Ponyville spa, so dense was the smoke. It took me some time squinting through it but eventually I was able to distinguish the outline of the interior – a very small room with two cots, one unusually big; two tables with glowing screens set on them, two figures sitting in front of them back to back. They were the mechanics, supposedly, but who were they? Their shapes were definitely not equine. In all that haze I were seeing things. I squinted at them again… no way.

I was looking at a goat and a llama.

The latter one, like a huge brown wooly worm was hunched over a tablet with a pen in their mouth, scribbling something on its surface. That llama was enormous and I couldn’t tell if it was the voluptuous coat of thick fur or the large body underneath it. It was a wonder how they even managed to fit into this tiny living space. My facial plates wrinkled in distaste as I realized that what the llama was scratching on the tablet was appearing on the screen above it – some kind of obscene drawing of a pony mare.

The dark goat with glasses, who was much smaller by comparison and wrapped in torn rags, like a mummy, was furiously typing something on the keyboard set before the screen. And judging by the device appearing in the cloven hoof every few moments and then drawn to the lips, the credit for all the vapor went to the caprine. Behind the curved horns atop an uneven mohawk, large headphones were emanating loud hideous sounds that would have made my ears bleed if I had any blood. Or actual ears.

None of them paid us any attention until Trixie loudly cleared her throat. But only the llama reacted to that sound and not even instantly. They regarded us, or rather, only Trixie for a few short moments with dark displeased eyes gleaming from under the bushy brows and behind the thick eyeglasses. The huge towering figure straightened, almost scraping the low ceiling, then bent towards its horned neighbor and slapped the back of their head with a loud juicy smack, sending the pair of glasses sailing from the goat’s muzzle.

“Ow, fuck!” The goat yelled in a male voice tearing off his headphones and blindly pawing the keyboard for the glasses. He instantly turned back when the glasses had finally found their purchase on the crooked nose, glaring at the great llama.“What was that for?”

The llama, still holding the pen in their mouth, grumbled something, revealing himself as a male and pointed with his thick pointy nail at us. At last, the goat paid us attention.

“Ah, the Magician, didn’t see you,” he greeted in a hoarse voice, rubbing the back of his head, reminding me that the Former Ones preferred not to use their real names. “Did you come for the usual?” The goat tried to use his smoking device, but began coughing violently as it was enveloped by the inky shadow of Trixie’s magic, preventing it from producing the vapor. Giving her a glare, he spat, “You still haven’t paid for the last maintenance.”

“No, I’m fine. And I’ve brought the crystals.” Trixie made the bag jingle in the air. Then she motioned with her head at me. “Just needed something for a friend.”

It seemed the goat noticed my presence for the first time and he wasn’t happy about it.

“Did you find your friend under a rock or something?” He grimaced. “She keeps staring at me like I’m going to start summoning the Elder Ones any moment.”

“Are you not?” Trixie looked around at the still lingering mist. “I thought we came in the middle of some ritual.”

The llama produced a dissatisfied grunt without stopping drawing.

“Haha. Very funny,” the goat grumbled, “What does your friend need?” He regarded me with a scrutinizing look. “I hope not the entire body replacement.”

“Just the hardened horseshoes,” replied Trixie, throwing the bag into the goat’s hooves.

The goat buried his muzzle in it studying the contents. He appeared back a few moments later with a satisfied grin showing his yellowish teeth. “Going for a walk outside, are we?”

“Yeah, gonna pay a visit to an old ‘friend’,” said Trixie winking at me. It went unnoticed by the goat mostly because he turned his attention to the llama, poking, or rather stubbing, the large form with his hoof. The way it was disappearing in the fluctuating sea of dark brown fleece made think that the llama consisted entirely of it.

“Hey, are you going to sit like a stump or are you going to help me?” At first, the llama didn’t react, continuing its scribbling, but then the pudgy limb flashed out aiming at the goat’s horns, though their owner seemed to be prepared and dodged the slap with a practiced duck.

“Ffff...fine!” the goat yelled, throwing his hooves in the air. I was pretty sure it wasn’t what he intended to say.

“Let’s go,” -he motioned us with his hoof- “I have no time and more than half of the story to finish.”

We followed the annoyed goat through the curtain on the wall leading to a small workshop.

It had no wall opposite to the entrance, but otherwise the repair room was completely normal, impressive even – despite the limited space, it wasn’t too confined. Every surface was used very efficiently, with all the tools neatly organized. And it was incredibly clean, except for an empty cup of tea on the workbench which appeared to have not been washed in forever.

As I was wondering at the little workshop, the goat rudely and suddenly tugged at me by hooking his horn under one of my plates. Making me yelp, he yanked me into the middle of the room and unceremoniously lifted my front hoof, intently studying it, like I wasn’t a sapient creature but some kind of doll. He let go of it and left me standing flabbergasted. I looked at Trixie but she only shrugged and rolled her eyes.

“Your friend, that old hag, came looking for you the other day,” the goat grumbled, rubbing his mohawk. “She didn’t say what it was about, though, only that it’s urgent.”

Trixie let out a deep sigh, though it was unclear if she was displeased with the goat’s choice of words or with the news itself.

“You could show some respect for Koraki, you know.”

“I would if she didn’t act like a huge jerk,” the mechanic barked back, sliding a metal container from under the rack near on of the walls.

“I will look at you when you get old,” Trixie retorted absentmindedly, as she appeared to to be evaluating the information she had just received.

“Not in this city, Magician,” the goat chuckled bitterly.

“So…” she said, leaning on the workbench lazily, “any other news?”

“Not much has happened since your last visit,” came the muffled voice from the box, in which the goat was rummaging noisily. “A couple of weeks ago the Cataclysm Watchers came for supplies.” He emerged with a horseshoe on his horn. Or a thing that looked like such, but wasn’t quite the same as the common apparel for equines. It was much bulkier and thicker, meant not just to protect hooves, but to almost entirely replace them. “Said they have dug into a huge cavern system, that it may have arcanium veins.” The caprine mechanic tried it on my hoof, scowled and returned to the boxes.

“They say it everytime,” dryly commented Trixie.

“Aye, but this time it may be true, they brought some for trade, the raw stuff.” The goat emerged for a moment from the box, showing with his hooves what I supposed was the size of that amount of arcanium and then returned to the content of the crate. “If I were you I would check it out, it is impossible to come by so much of it these days otherwise.”

Trixie shook her head and her brows went up briefly as she noted that information.

“Anything else?” she asked after a moment.

“Nah, only the usual.” The mechanic returned to me again, with another horseshoe hanging from his horn. “Though, the Church stirs up shit lately,” he added with a sour expression.

“Why?” the question slipped out of my mouth before I even thought. The goat gave me a momentary glance, but I couldn’t read his expression.

“Pff. Why wouldn’t they?” he scoffed. The mechanic tried on the new horseshoe, and judging by the nod he gave to himself, it fit. “Jumping on the bandwagon, I guess. The winter is in the wind, so everyone goes bats. Almost the entire Edge did for sure.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard the Junkyard still can’t get their arse into gear,” Trixie agreed with a scowl. I was paying close attention to the conversation before, but now I was all ears.

“Uh-huh. It’s been more than a week already, but that’s not the funny part,” the goat drawled.

More than a week! I thought I had spent one day in the Tunnels, two at most, but apparently my nightmares lasted much longer than it seemed. I felt a sharp pang of anxiety for Delight and Flower. They were alone for so long, and Pepper Mercury was still waging the gang war.

“What is it then?” I joined their chat again with another question. The goat mechanic didn’t pay me any attention this time, but that was probably because he was looking for the remaining three horseshoes.

“The TCE has yet to give a single fuck about it.” A lone horseshoe sailed through the air and landed not far from me with a loud bang. “I can’t remember a time they let a gang war last for more than three days. The rumor is one of the furnaces blew up.” My proverbial heart clenched in worry. “Could be the Pinks, of course, but it’s strange anyway.” Another horseshoe fell on the floor.

“And what about the other sectors?” Trixie took her turn in asking questions.

“Wait,” the goat said, his head jerking from the box and, squinting at her, “you haven’t heard about the Industry?”

“Which one?” she asked in return, leaning on the table towards the mechanic. “They are not my ground, so I don’t usually care. I have enough of my own troubles here.”

“That’s the thing, they are united now,” the goat diverted his attention from the search to point at Trixie with his cloven hoof. “The Heavy and Light Industry sectors.”

“What?” Trixie grimaced, obviously not believing him. “They hate each other’s guts.”

“They do, but there is a pony who managed to unite them, for the first time in history.” I could hear clear concern in the goat’s voice. “That’s why the TCE has turned a blind eye to the Junkyard, methinks. It smells like a riot is cooking there.”

“It sounds to me like a huge mess is brewing for the entire city,” Trixie hissed, sounding just as concerned. “The last thing Canterlot needs is crippled production lines.”

“Speaking of the mess,” came the voice from the container a moment before the last horseshoe flew out of it. “Even the Shitters are restless, the Gardens cut their share of crops a few weeks ago. Seems like we are gonna have another hungry winter.”

Gathering all four horseshoes from the floor, the goat came to me holding a screwdriver in his mouth.

For a while he worked in relative silence disturbed only by the sounds of screws and metal hooves falling on the floor. Only after the last of them landed on the metal surface below me, did he speak again.

“Only Nebula is as quiet as a mouse, but even there something ain’t right,” the goat said scrunching his nose.

“Let me guess – the zebras?” Trixie replied, rising her brow.

The goat finished putting the new, heavy and bulky horseshoes onto my limbs. He made a few checks and took a step back, giving me a contented look. Grabbing my old purple ones, he headed to the box with the spare parts, but half-way stopped, turning to Trixie.

“Caravans are leaving day and night,” came the confirmation. “And the Stripes are also emptying the black market.”

I didn’t know the implications of all that had just been said, but despite the semi-joking way Trixie and the mechanic spoke, deep frowns marked their faces. Something was going on in Canterlot, and it seemed nopony was about to enjoy where it was leading.

“It’s going to be an interesting winter,” Trixie said slowly and carefully, her expression full of worry. The goat bit his lip and nodded sorrowfully. And I couldn’t shake off the feeling that I would somehow end up involved in all this.

Author's Notes:

Alrighty, I have something to talk about this time, so prepare for these notes being quite long.

First of all - a new chapter (duh), but wait, there is more! Check out the Side Stories - there is a new addition as well. This week I was struck with inspiration and came up with that short depiction of the Edge. However, it is not the longer story I'm still working on (without much of a progress so far, though).

The second - things are progressing on all other fronts (okay, not all - I haven't touched the second clopfic since December). But regarding Aftersound things are in motion. The editing of chapter 11 has almost came to the end. I'm close to finishing chapter 12, it will happen within a week or luckily less.

And the third and the most important topic. I'd like to ask you for some feedback. I know, it was more than year since I've started this story, so requesting your opinion on it is a bit late. And considering the fact that the rest of the story is planned out with finality in those decisions, nothing can me changed plot-wise, but the way the story is told may be influenced, depending on what you are about to say.
So, here is a little survey, and I'll be infinitely grateful if you answer even a few of those questions:

Why did you decide to read Aftersound? What did you expect from it? Did it meet your expectations? What do you like of it the most and think there should be more of that? What you dislike the most and think there should be less of that? What chapters did you enjoy the most and the least? Is it very noticable that the story is written by someone for whom English is not native language? What would you have added or removed completely?

Don't be shy and don't be afraid to be harsh, I don't seek the praise, I want to gauge my skill though your critique and use that knowledge to improve as an author. It may not reflect on some aspects of this story, but it surely be used in future if you stick with me.

Aftersound Project Discord server - it's a little community dedicated to discussion of the story and whatnot. Everyone is welcome to join.
If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.
I hope you enjoyed reading this story so far.
Stay awesome.