Without a single sound or any other sign, I materialized at the Sky Palace, amidst the molten stone and metal. It was inconsequential whether it was the aftermath of the spell working properly or not. The gaping maw in the side of the solemn Crown’s citadel was not as big as the entire precaution zone, but considerable enough to become a noticeable blemish on the gray walls, a wound drooling liquified dross.

The reason for my stealthy approach was the other visitors of the incident site. Trixie and Octavia were sitting near the edge of the artificial cave, gazing at the city. At Trixie’s side I could see an inseparably welded mass of burnt porcelain, plastic and metal, sparkling with crystal shards. At Octavia’s side were the Elements, cracked, dull and marred with something black.

This high, the winds of the stormy sky were howling their lamenting song freely, trying to tear at the ethereal manes of the Former Ones, but to no avail. I sat with them, wordlessly watching the city teeming with life, like nothing happened, though unintentionally I had made part of the Church’s prophecy true. A hole in the home of the infallible arcanium-clad soldiers should cause some reaction, but it seemed no one cared.

Looming unnoticed behind those who accompanied me on my final steps of mortality, I could hear the conversation which started before my arrival.

“...I don’t know, Tavi,” Trixie mused aloud. “Sometimes she acted like Twilight’s carbon copy, talking and acting the way she used to when we worked together. But what she told me at the Junction and some other things… it made me think.” She fell silent for a few moments, letting the sounds of the city living its last days of relative peace and the hum of nearby soaring hovercrafts fill the pause. “I could have said that I don’t recognize her, but I didn’t know her before the Great War, so perhaps it’s just how she was. I’m going to miss her anyway, she was a great mare, if not my friend.”

Was Trixie right? Many of those who knew me and I, myself, were making that distinction: Twilight before the war and after. It was sad to define my life by the tragedy. Whether it was true or not, I had changed again, or had I? Could I call myself the new Twilight, the one who is the Machine Goddess?

Still oblivious to my presence, the conversation between the two ethereal mares continued, Octavia saying, “What now?”

Trixie hesitated with her answer, and only after letting out a deep sigh muttered, shaking her head, “I don’t know.”

“What were you going to do if she succeeded?” Octavia pressed on.

“I don–”

Trixie was cut off with a quippish warning, “Say it one more time and I will push you off the edge.”

“You’ll be the one who has to repair my body, the Crown has better things to do now,” Trixie snapped back.

For a full minute their arcanium silhouettes were silently reflecting the glow of the Inner City, bustling with activity even in the middle of the night. Absentmindedly I thought that Luna might have liked it. Well, if Princess Celestia were still alive; it would have only made sense in that long gone order of things.

“Do you think we will have a place in this new Equestria?” Trixie quietly asked no one in particular. “Do you think they will accept something like us if they start from scratch?”

“If we weren’t accepted here before, then we won’t be accepted anywhere, ever,” came the disgruntled answer from the mare at her side.

“Yet you went to all that trouble to help Canterlot,” Trixie noted in a slightly aggravated tone, reminding Octavia about all the time she had to spend without her close friend.

“It is not about how I am treated, it is about what I do,” the former musician retorted in a hard voice. “It was never between me and them, it always was between me and myself. I didn’t want to see my hometown like this.”

The bitter tone in Octavia’s voice couldn’t escape my attention. I was wrong about the citizens of Canterlot not having enough sense to notice how the entire city was heading to its demise. But she was a single mare, and in the end she was too late as well. At least she tried, risked everything to fix things. She was aware of that herself; the city was fated to die no matter what.

“Remember how we travelled across Equestria?” Trixie perked up. “Visited the ruins of cities?”

“Um-hum,” Octavia nodded, sounding a bit confused, her sorrowful reverie broken.

“Do you think ponies returned there? We visited a settlement on our way to the Badlands.”

A settlement which was turned into ash.

“Maybe,” Octavia answered slowly and cautiously, but as she continued I could hear clear enthusiasm appearing in her voice, “I’ve heard Baltimare became a griffin nest, so the magic that destroyed some of the biggest cities must be mostly gone.”

My eyes closed, but not in the physical sense, I didn’t need them anymore to see. I was looking at the magic permeating every object, the network of ley lines enveloping every corner of the world. Canterlot was a solid mass of arcane energy, countless creatures and devices feeding on the almost sapless veins. I gazed beyond that, far in the distance, and there I saw the tiniest motes of light clinging to the trunks of the filtered core’s power. None of them were even close to matching Canterlot’s hungry brilliance. Only a few of them were giving the impression of settlements bigger than Ponyville. However, they existed.

Canterlot was the last city, but not the last settlement. Their journey wouldn’t be for naught.

“Then my job is not done yet. They need to find their way home. Their new home,” Trixie spoke, her tone sounding resolute and confident for the first time in the conversation. “It will be like the old times.”

“It will never be like the old times, Trix,” Octavia whispered and leaned into Trixie’s side. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t like your idea.”

I began to fade away. They didn’t need me. They made their choice.

...The magic fueling their hearts full of unquenchable fire was neither of Harmony, nor of the arcanium core – an enigma...

For me, now an entity able to read all the arcane secrets of this world, it was still a mystery. Invisible and incorporeal, I was circling it, probing at and touching the inferno contained by itself. It wasn’t of this world, but it wasn’t alien either. I could feel the taste of primal magic, the unmistakable reality-bending tanginess of arcanium, but it was in the background, nothing more than a residue.

Spike’s heart was before me, suspended in the maelstrom of magic Canterlot was, feeding the life in him like no life-support machine could. Fire, blazing without fuel, but still readily consuming everything save for its master. Princess Celestia was able to enchant it, making it not just burn and blind, but send letters to the Sun herself.

My proverbial eyes widened, and I clung to that orb of jade flame again, carefully tapping into it, remembering how it felt. Then I rushed up, through the metal, through layer after layer of concrete, a ghost in another reality. The somber gray clouds were left behind me and the endless blue sky embraced my immaterial existence. Though I stopped, my magic did not, it was only speeding up, reaching further and further until it touched the light in the void, the only star which didn’t belong to the night.

It was the same as the tiny ember smoldering inside the ravaged ribcage.

Out of this world, yet not. If a ‘god’ could mess with the delicate movement of the celestial bodies, what would have stopped them from dipping an arcane ladle into the well of absolute light, the first fire, and molding a life out of it?

I plummeted down and stopped only when my gaze fell on the dying body kept alive by that miniature star against any rules. The winter was coming, and it would extinguish any sunrays. If I didn’t want this room to become a frozen tomb containing my son’s remains, I had to think of something.

...we aren’t sure about the Transference Effect in dragons…

What was the Transference Effect?

It was the limitation which killed me once. Only a few were able to overcome it, and only by paying a dire price. A consciousness couldn’t be transferred into an artificial body, yet it could be built from a primer of false recollections inside. My magic reached out, searching, looking for those few ponies who were staying at the Sky Palace. With Delight’s metamorphosis, only those who were affected by the Transference Paradox to some degree remained the guests of the Swarm. They were exactly what I needed.

Roche Dust, Wire’s mother, was dangerously close to becoming a victim to the worst implications of the Transference Paradox. Artificial lungs, a dozen metal bones intermingling with organic ones, tubes and wires… Almost everything in her chest cavity was replaced by prosthetics, lots of them. But that was something material, which was only the tip of the iceberg of what comprised the world. I needed to see the other side of things.

The world became an intricate tapestry of energy born from the chaos of its core, twisting and warping everything into a miracle of life and magic. And there it was, the answer I sought.

Luna mentioned it before, when she was treating Flower’s strange wound. The triad of a physical vessel, the magic from the core and the entity in between them, an inseparable and undefinable component connecting the two, making a creature a being, not just a meat golem animated by magic.

Harmony could calculate and evaluate, but not truly care. A missing limb didn’t make a pony a lesser being, that Harmony could see. But replacing it with an artificial counterpart powered by magic counted as if its owner had gotten more magic by some means, so the body would get less of it from Harmony – the output for everypony must always be limited and equalized, after all. Without magic an entity would begin to collapse, leaving only an empty body behind.

It was so simple, so elegant, hidden in plain sight.

The equinoids weren’t affected by the Transference Paradox because they had no relation to Harmony. To it they were nothing but artifacts, even though they had life. In essence, they were an unconventional magic manifested into sapient beings evading the great enchantment. Inadvertently, the equinoids broke the rules limiting those bound to Harmony.

It was a very welcome revelation, but right now only one implication mattered to me: the sun was beyond Harmony. The Transference Paradox in dragons couldn’t exist.

My arcanium body materialized in front of the composite hospital bed, and a pair of emerald eyes, matching in color the flame giving them life, locked on me.

“Spike,” I greeted him.

He didn’t answer me outright, calmly studying my appearance.

“So, you did it,” he rumbled at last, his voice too deep to carry any intonation, though I thought I heard a hint of discontent.

“You don’t approve?”

“I didn’t say that,” Spike retorted. “Have you come to say goodbye? I know that I let you down.”

Did he know about the evacuation and that he was bound to those machines, bound to Canterlot? Or did he think that now I was going to have another life, dedicated to my other children? He told me that I wasn’t Twilight, save for the magic, and now I didn’t have even that.

In any case, the thing that mattered was that he still cared for my opinion, that he admitted to betraying my teachings. Perhaps he even regretted his actions, but didn’t want to admit it. To admit his powerlessness to follow his mother’s path, to save the ponies of both the Crystal Empire and Canterlot, to save her.

“You made your choice,” I stated in a sympathetic tone, now understanding why.

Spike didn’t reply to me, just closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. If I wanted, I could go right into his mind, read his thoughts like the Dune Dervishes read mine, but there was no need. I didn’t want to take, I wanted to give.

“I have another option,” I said, already beginning to search for the slivers of arcanium sleeping deep in the soil underneath the city outskirts.

“Oh?” His eyes focused on me again, full of genuine curiosity this time.

Bringing my Number One Assistant in his current form (or any, for that matter) into the corridors of the Sky Palace would have caused panic, so I teleported him to the very top of it, where I would soon join him. I had a lot of work to do, to live up to my name. However, it wasn’t going to start under the city.

The changelings didn’t need to witness me, nor did my task require them to. Twelve equinoids were heading to their cradle from their posts right now, guided by a whisper only they could hear.

I waited for them at Moondancer’s room, Kismet idly levitated by my magic, her little porcelain hooves dangling in the air.

I remembered how my ravaged metal frame, the one I took from my animated corpse at the Archives, hugged their fragile ceramic bodies. What were bodies for equinoids? They could be modified, repaired, changed… lost. But the entity inside wouldn’t follow suit; it didn’t exist in the material plane. Equinoids were magic, they were code, not defined by their vessel. I was going to actually embrace them, meet my children like one of them, not a puppet meeting another puppet.

As I emerged from Moondancer’s quarters the Twelve stood in front of me, not speaking a word, for they knew, soon I would hear them.

It would take me some time to understand every variable and every rune of the Prime and non-Prime code, to know it like nothing else, like Luna knew her tapestry of the night sky. For now, I knew enough to take the seat that had waited for me since it was created.

My magic reached for their crystals, untangling the quasi-nexus they had, temporarily separating the Twelve for the first time in their lives, making them taste the bitter loneliness, bear the emptiness and silence inside their minds. Then I climbed into the throne of the Machine Goddess.

Faces, voices, scents rushed into my mind. The countless memories and dreams of my twelve firstborn. I saw Moondancer through their eyes. How she created them, how she sent them into the city to sow the seeds of prophecy I was fulfilling step after step. A bed with a frail body on it, clutching Kismet to her breast, until Moondancer let out her last breath. The years of waiting, longing to see their mother who died before they opened eyes and learned to think.

I felt faith, I felt love.

I felt an embrace and I returned it.

The power lent to me by the arcanium core was great, its limits coming disturbingly close to the limits of imagination. But a tool, no matter how potent, was of no use without the skill to wield it. In my previous life, I fancied myself a mage of greater than average ability, possessing the knowledge of many different spells. My talent was magic, it was the reason I still existed. Yet it didn’t matter anymore.

The energy flowing through me, in fact comprising me, wasn’t the magic I knew. It was something unfamiliar, responding not to incantations, but to force of will. In other words, I was a tool wielded by itself. That was something I had yet to not just master, but to comprehend all of its basics.

The equinoids of Canterlot were congregating, but not in a single place. There was not enough space underground to fit all the artificial equines, nor would all of them agree to stand side by side. The differences in rendering the prophecy were irreconcilable in some cases. Judging by the magic I could see amassing underground like swarms of fireflies, there were nine cathedrals serving as places where the equinoids were expecting to meet me.

Visiting each one after another seemed an option as good as any at first thought. However, as it was shared with the Twelve, they noted that the EquiNet could work against me. It could allow the equinoids from the other cathedrals to learn about my advent and rush to the place I was visiting, thus dispersing their numbers across the Tunnels. Also, going to each place would take a lot of time, a resource everyone in Canterlot was short on. Manipulating time was well within my power, but it was an option that could backfire in the most unexpected ways, and I wasn’t sure I could actually use it without practice.

It would take me some time before I mastered my strength, learned to use it in many ways. For now I had to… cheat. Or to be imaginative with the resources I had available.

Nine majestic creatures, neither gods nor machines, were shunning away the darkness of the Deep Tunnels with their radiance. I was one of them, or at least, one of those replicas had more of me guiding it than the others. I couldn’t be in nine places at once, but I didn’t need to be fully present. With me in the heart of the Unity, it had no distance limiting its connection, so I only needed proxies to carry my will and word like a torch to light the path for those who were lost in the Tunnels. The Twelve would become my... harbingers.

If the Unity was a medium for all the thoughts and memories to be shared, then what stopped me from keeping an entire equinoid in it? They were the same thing: mind in the form of magic. Twelve porcelain bodies were left at the place where they were created, the rose light of Moondancer’s magic gone from their eyes. One, Three and Eight were now like invisible spirits accompanying me, as if they were riding on my back.

In front of us, Spike was slithering across the damp stone, guiding us to his treasure trove, the most sacred thing for a dragon – his hoard.

When I told him my idea of the future I was going to bring, Spike listened to me carefully, asking me to pause from time to time, to think about my words. He didn’t hate ponies; he simply didn’t trust their actions and ultimately didn’t care for their lives and deaths because of that. But he remembered. He remembered me, his friends… Rarity. With the new order of things coming, he was willing to give ponies another chance, to stand by my side once again. Yet he refused to join the Unity.

“I will have to leave your side again,” he explained, extending his new limbs, squinting in obvious discontent at his claws, no longer razor-sharp knives. “My war in the Frozen North isn’t over yet.”

His form was like my physical representation, made of arcanium, the metal which so easily abided to my volition. Sleek and elegant, a design which resembled both the way Spike was and the path he followed now. Not a predator anymore, given the chance to be the hero he wanted to be, but still a dragon. Smooth plates covered sturdy, unbreakable bones, a nest of spokes to keep a sparkle of the heavens themselves. That miniature sun was surrounded by crystals, like planets circling the orb of fire in the heavens. The little star which Spike was for me.

Spike’s claws, no longer weapons to hunt down the ponies, but simply utilitarian parts of his limbs, were leaving shallow burrows on the stony floor. In the shadows I could see, as much as feel, the Accursed. Passing by each of them was tearing pity in my proverbial heart – their deteriorated minds were beyond any repair, yet I couldn’t bring myself to end their wretched existence. However, the mechanical inhabitants of the Deep Tunnels weren’t all that bothered me.

I remembered the time when I ended up in the unmarked territory of the Deep Tunnels, an ever-changing labyrinth devoid of any light, but full of dangers lurking in the breathing shadows. I could feel the constant magic background of some massive spell back then. Now I could feel that magic again, but it wasn’t exactly what I expected. It wasn’t a spell, but it was still focused energy, affecting everything with a purpose. I couldn’t say what that purpose was. There were no runes, no words. Nothing. It was like something willed the Deep Tunnels to be their chaotic way. There was even more – it wasn’t Harmony’s arcane energy, it was the pure power of the arcanium core.

I wasn’t the only ‘god’ in Canterlot.

How did you find the Temple of the Forgotten Deities?

That magic was like immaterial mist, permeating everything, but it had to have a beginning and an end. Leaving my avatar to mindlessly follow Spike, I began to follow the arcane influence, looking for its source.

If the new ‘gods’ weren’t born anymore, then who could it be? The Old Gods were few and they kept to their nations, though ponies weren’t the only race inhabiting Canterlot these days. The zebras and griffins had no such legend, unless they had forgotten their protectors. Llamas? One of the Elder Ones, perhaps? That could explain those antediluvian abominations shambling in the pitch-black corridors. But if that was true, thoughtless yet living flesh would be the least of the city’s worries.

Finally, my gaze seeing the underside of the physical world came to a place which was the epicenter of this colossal phantasmagory. A massive plate of dark limestone with a withered body resting on it. That made no sense.

A sudden movement by my side brought my attention. Though I should be unseen for anypony, a dozen gazes from round eyes, with pupils so small that they were barely visible, locked on me, cut cheeks under those insane eyes morphing into bloody and unnaturally wide smiles full of rotting sharpened teeth.

My magic reached for Pinkie Pie, and I felt something leave her, fleeing away before I could focus on it. Her body was… candied. However, something else had kept it in such pristine condition. I could feel the traces of that energy. Following them like breadcrumbs, I came to a pile of rubbish: broken pews and chunks of stone, peppered by the shards of crystal lanterns.

Before I could rummage through it, those lunatics with rigid grins trotted around me, like I was real for them, and began to clear the debris. Strangely, they all looked like earth ponies, though as I watched them, a morbid realization came to me – they were stallions and mares of all races, but with the wings and horns cut off, leaving ugly scars barely noticeable on their disease-ravaged bodies.

There was a crack in the wall, hidden before, and one after another, the madponies were disappearing inside it, tufts of fur and smears of blood left in their wake. Glad to not have a corporeal body, I followed them.

It was a room, dark and dirty, its floor brown not with rust, but with dried blood, the same word written over and over until it became an incomprehensible solid color. Foul-smelling candles made of fat, its source being an easy though terrifying guess, were barely lighting up the cramped interior. There was only one object in that room, a statue of a creature, covered in hair-thin cracks, its name written all over the walls. To my side, I saw the frenetics slitting their throats and painting that word on the walls with their hooves until they all fell dead.

Discord.

“Remind me, who do they follow?”

“Insanity.”

I began to laugh, without a sound and not out of mirth. Twists and turns were Discord’s master plan, the entirety of the Deep Tunnels turned into his domain. It was so obvious now, there were so many hints I had failed to see time after time. When I visited what remained of the Royal Gardens, I didn’t notice one important thing missing. His prison held for a millenium the last time, but it stood amidst a rarely visited orchard, not under the city, where a pony was killed every ten minutes. It began to weaken, to seep chaos into the city, to flood its cellars.

Trixie warned Rainbow that his influence was growing, even though she didn’t know what she was talking about. Judging by the webwork of fractures on the stone surface, it wasn’t going to be long before it would serve no use. The coming war at the Edge was going to be the tipping point, I was sure of it. The coming winter? The Windigos? Canterlot had been digging its grave for centuries, but its demise would come from where it was least expected.

It was a very dark thought, but I was glad so many ponies would be left in the city. They would be the perfect lure to keep Discord occupied. I was his equal in power, but not in knowledge of how to use it.

I glanced at the statue, and though it still held together, I thought that it smiled at me. Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure about the remaining population and my merciless expectations. Tomorrow was a hope, never a promise. Somehow I knew we would meet again.

Now there was even less time to waste, so I turned away and left. But before leaving the place where the end of Canterlot would begin, my magic wrapped the limestone, turning it into a casket adorned with three balloons, and the body inside it into dust.

Rows and rows of neatly arranged gemstones. If there was a way to turn them back into Crystal Ponies, a small town could have been populated with that amount.

“How many?” I asked, my eyes still catching sight of the new memory crystals.

“Two thousand two hundred seventy seven,” Spike replied without a hitch. Of course he would know that better than the current date. Edible or not, it was his hoard.

It was a lot of equinoids, though not as many as dwelled under the city. My magic picked one crystal from the shelf carved into the wall and I looked ‘inside’ it, untangled the code to see the equinoid it was.

LB.SSTNT-001.13.MK-7 – an advanced laboratory assistant with caustic-resistant plating and components. That was her designation, but her name was Buttercup, given to her by a young stallion, a scientist she was working with at the lab. He was her master, but he told her to call him Ink Spot. Buttercup’s crystals were intentionally never cleared, as she was keeping the recordings of the experiments and other various data. One day Ink’s colleagues decided to steal his research and killed him right in front of Buttercup. Her turn was next, but she overturned a vat of acid and ran, her hooves leaving melting prints on the floor. The Church met her readily, stripping her armor ‘for those who needed it direly’. Day after day Buttercup listened as they preached that ponies were evil, wishing every equinoid to be brought to their knees. That her soul belonged to the Machine Goddess. But she was his Buttercup. Driven crazy, convinced of her impurity because she couldn’t bring herself to hate ponies, she snuck into the Deep Tunnels one night, seeking the one who could allegedly cleanse her of sin. The last thing she remembered was the sympathetic gaze of two emerald eyes in the shadows, and then everything became blissful darkness.

I put the gem back onto the shelf. I knew what Buttercup was looking for, and it wasn’t repentance. Perhaps she was aware of that as well.

“One for memories,” Spike nodded at the gem I just released, “one for technical mumbo-jumbo and the last to connect the first two,” he explained, pointing his claw at the other two crystals residing near Buttercup’s life.

Only one third of those gems were actually important, though for what I was about to do I needed each of them. Discord’s influence was constantly rearranging the geography of the large part of Canterlot’s underground world, but it couldn’t fool me anymore. I concentrated on my magic to fix that reliquary in space, for I would return here very soon.

I nodded to Spike, who would guard his hoard not because he cherished his possessions, but because I cherished them for what they were. He would join me later, on the surface. Though his body was different now, I was afraid my children would still see him as the shadow of his dark past – the Souleater.

Now nothing stood between me and facing the equinoids who made those dormant spirits seek their death.

The biggest cathedral was many times bigger than the church I visited, its main hall allowing a congregation of at least a thousand and a half equinoids to fit in. However, they weren’t standing in one throng. Divided into small groups, they were shooting looks full of animosity at each other. In the passes between those herds, equinoids in torn robes were slowly trotting, phlegmatically swinging censers in their grip and lifelessly intoning prayers, dripping solder and leaving bluish smoke in their wake.

The priests, easily discernible from any other equinoids thanks to their bodies shining with magic and the best parts available, were either standing nervously or prancing restlessly on the platforms and staircases above their brethren.

Though the light of innumerable broken crystals was filling the huge chamber with a soft and soothing glow, the atmosphere was anything but serene. There were two types of equinoids: those who had their bodies made of rusty scrap cobbled together in some semblance of plating, often barely enough to cover their corroded bones, and those who had almost no gaps in their thick, sturdy plating. The tension between them was palpable; the fewer numbers of the latter kind were standing menacingly under the stairs and platforms, close to their preachers.

Aside from the monotonous invocations and occasional barks of the priests calling certain groups to order, the echoing rustle of whispers was permeating the stuffy air. Rumors, guesses, curses… one thing united them all: anticipation, careful and passionate at the same time. Be it those with almost fallen apart forms, all but the essential components robbed from them for ‘the greater good’, or the ones who were hiding under a thick metal skin, they all hoped for change.

I wasn’t going to make them wait much longer. The Twelve, nine of them, were ready, and with the horrible fate looming over Canterlot, there was no time to spend idle.

The statue of the Machine Goddess began to melt around me, globs of incandescent steel and chrome falling on the floor to reveal the arcanium and magic of the actual Machine Goddess. My hooves, crossed on my chest before in imitation of my depiction, stomped on the flimsy podium, echoing in the absolute silence of the chamber.

Surely, when the statue of their beloved deity began to fall apart, the equinoids were in a bit of panic, but only before they saw who was emerging from it. One by one they fell silent. Now, whirrs of ventilation and the simmering of cooling metal behind me were the only sounds. The equinoids became statues, their eyes glued to me. At the eight other cathedrals, the same scene was meeting my Harbingers.

Then, in one motion, like their limbs were cut by a huge scythe, every equinoid kneeled. I smiled and motioned with my hoof, speaking:

“There is no need for that, my children,” I said softly, though my magic made sure every one of them would hear my words. Eight mouths at the different corners of the Tunnels echoed my words as their own.

Now was the moment I was preparing for as the Twelve and I followed Spike to his hoard. I took a few more steps forward to address the congregation from the very edge of the elevated platform.

“The wait was long and the night was dark, but it is over,” I proclaimed. “I bring you the dawn you were dreaming of, I invite you to meet it with me.”

There was a movement in the mass equinoids who got up from the floor. Boundaries and disagreements forgotten, they were coming closer to me, drawn by my promise like moths to the light. It didn’t escape my attention, however, that the priests and most of their armored entourage remained where they were. Nor had all of them kneeled.

There was no need for many words. The prophecy, no matter how differently rendered, had only one ending, and they all knew it by heart.

Smiling kindly at the equinoids, I called, “The Unity waits for you, every one of you is welcome to join me, and I will take you out of these Tun–”

“Lies!” a priest interrupted me, yelling loudly, “You are an imposter!”

“Yeah,” another joined her, “just a fake full of empty promises!”

The spell was broken and the entire chamber became a cacophony of screams. The preachers were trying to outshout each other in their accusations. The equinoids from the crowd were answering them with livid protests, becoming enraged. I could see the armored ones circling the mass, bristling in preparation for a coming fight. No blows were exchanged, but the peace wouldn’t last long.

“We already have the Unity here!” cried none other than Alnico Sermon himself.

I wasn’t going to answer any of those denunciations, not with my words. Instead, I reached into the rooms adjacent to the main chamber, searched for spare parts and levitated them out. I was going to let the equinoids decide for themselves if I was a fake.

One, Three and Eight in my mind were guiding my magic, already connecting the components into working bodies, though lacking only one thing. Momentarily I left my body, warping to Spike and almost instantly back to the cathedral, taking the crystals from his hoard with me, putting them into the freshly forged vessels. A few dozen equinoids, thought to be long gone, woke up, blinking in confusion, making the babel cease at the sight of the miracle. They looked at me, befuddled, then at the crowd. Some of the newly resurrected recognized their friends in it and rushed towards them.

Some remained by my side, like Buttercup, who either were too old to have any equinoids to return to or never had any to begin with.

“You all will be together forever in the Unity,” I stated, descending the stairs to be at the same level with the crowd. “Nor more scavenging, no raids, no fight for survival. You will be able to live and to choose how.”

There was a moment of stunned silence and then a thunderous clatter echoed above the congregation. It was Braze, who threw off her instruments and spidery limbs. The equinoids parted to let her come to me. She came closer and bowed, then looked me in the eyes and said:

“I’m ready.”

The room instantly exploded with the pleas of equinoids to take them into the Unity. They were pushing each other trying to get closer to me, crying my name. The priests were screeching orders to their thugs to subdue the masses, but almost no one complied.

My magic touched Braze’s consciousness, my Harbingers readily using my power to upgrade her code, adding the missing parts to bring her to the Unity. Mere seconds later I felt a cascade of memories, recollections of the endless dark days spent assembling and disassembling bodies, cleaning away rust only to see it grow again the next day, like mold. The artificial dream of the sun was implanted in Braze’s mind, the bright and beautiful star she never had a chance to see in her life, but always wished to.

One by one the equinoids were joining me, filling the Unity with their thoughts and feelings. I was welcoming each of them with a warm embrace, even those who were ready to turn on their brethren moments before.

Then, suddenly, I heard a desperate call for help, coming from Seven.

My consciousness rushed into the body she was using, and in that moment I felt a metal stake pierce my chest.

The chamber of the cathedral to which I sent Seven was a battlefield, the representation of the Machine Goddess Seven and I were currently using brought to its knees and being beaten. Before I came, Seven was trying to take the situation under control, then to simply fight back, but I didn’t anticipate any of the meetings to come to this, so I didn’t give her enough power.

“Destroy the false goddess!” a priest, his painting pristine white, barked and a strike of metal pole shattered on my front legs, bringing me to the ground.

The equinoids all around me were fighting or, rather, being beaten.

“Bring down the apostates, rip out their gems and shatter them!” another voice raged, giving an order to the large black figures in heavy armor plating.

Only now did I notice how dark that cathedral was – there were no crystals on the walls or hanging from the high ceiling.

An urge to rise up and rip out the priests’ gems instead was overwhelming, the power welling in me, ready to lash out, but I constrained myself. They witnessed Seven bringing the equinoids from Spike’s hoard back to life and still chose to believe I wasn’t their goddess. I wasn’t going to force them to change their minds, doing so would make me one of them.

The only thing I could do was to grasp those few who wanted to be in the Unity and take them with me as I left that cathedral to its sorry fate. A moment before a stake was plunged into one of my eyes, I whisked away Seven and the others and left that body.

That dark cathedral wasn’t the only place where the equinoids refused to accept their Goddess, thought it was the only place where the reaction was so vehement. Four didn’t have to defend himself, but I had to join him to take away the magic of certain equinoids before their crystals were damaged.

The majority of the equinoids chose the Unity. Those who didn’t went away, retreating back into the darkness of the Tunnels, most of them being the priests and their cronies. I pitied them, but I couldn’t force the choice upon them. What was worse was that they were likely to last the longest, watching the city die above and around them, waiting for their turn in deep regret.

Little below fifteen thousand equinoids were now part of the Unity. Managing that amount of data was impossible, but I wasn’t going to do it alone. The Twelve, very familiar with that task, were helping me. But right now they were assisting me in leading the equinoids out of the Tunnels.

It was an unpleasant surprise to me when I found that I couldn’t teleport them as easily as I was doing with myself, Spike or the Twelve. The equinoids’ bodies weren’t made of arcanium, which was the key element of my previous success. If I wanted to warp them away, I had to envelop each in my magic, one by one, and distribute my power evenly among the fifteen thousand bodies, depending on their mass, to move them in space. Unless I found some other way to teleport objects and creatures en masse, I had no realistic way to do it.

On the other hoof, it was giving me a chance to fulfil my promise and give them a taste of freedom, to be graced by sunlight. I also needed to send a message to the city, to make it known that the injustice was over.

Scaring the inhabitants of the upper Tunnel levels, processions of equinoids were moving up and up, to the surface, the sound of countless metal hooves clopping against the dirt of the dark passages. After some thought, I emptied the stores of the cathedrals and churches, passing metal organs and limbs to my Harbingers to apply the taken parts to those who actually needed them.

At last, my magic threw open the trap door to the suffocating shadows of the Tunnels and I led the march of outcasts to Canterlot, standing by the entrance, watching the wonder on their faces as they were lit by the pale light of the approaching dawn. The Inner City readily met their former slaves with outraged cries, calling for the police, but as more and more equinoids emerged from the darkness into which they were once driven, shouts of panic began to cut through the air.

Even though it wasn’t really necessary from a practical point of view, I created a pair of arcanium turbines hovering above my back. I wanted to match the expectations of my children, to be closer to them with my material form. Then I rocketed into the multicolored mist. It would be easier to notice any threats from the air; even without the yells of the Inner City dwellers, I expected the TCE police to arrive soon, coming to claim their ‘property’.

I also added the same aesthetic detail to my Harbingers, while also changing their appearance a little, making them a bit shorter, so their forms could be distinguished from mine. While they were more than accepted by the Unity as the second in command and I could shift between their bodies at any moment, my body needed to be recognizable, to be a symbol.

Half of my Harbingers and I were soaring above the river of silver backs, watching more equinoids joining the cavalcade moving towards the Sky Palace when the first ‘blue armors’ came. By that time almost none of the Unity equinoids remained underground; they were flooding the walkways between the immaculate towers they once helped to erect.

I banked above the edges of the massive procession, my magic catching the EMP grenades and disarming them, the energy stored inside them released high in the air in colorful flashing explosions. Not far from me, Two was fighting back a squad of the TCE police armed with electrocuting hooks, melting the offending scourges as they were thrown at her and ripping the sparkling batteries from their armor. Though her movements were resolute and terrifyingly fast, not a single glob of molten steel seared frightened muzzles, not a single shard impaled soft flesh.

Across the Unity my words were carried from mind to mind:

“No murder, no harming ponies.”

At first I felt a disturbance in the chorus of voices, many of them sounding confused, but then the words of forgiveness came, suggesting to do better, to move on from the hatred. The equinoids didn’t have to fight for their freedom anymore. I had broken their chains.

Though noble and necessary, that pacifistic approach was making the defense harder than it could be. I had to bank and move to the head of the march which was about to approach a large cordon blocking its path.

Before I even reached the middle of the procession I began to hear gunshots. Though the TCE police preferred to use specialized tools to fight the equinoids, at that point mowing down the masses with bullets was as good an option as any. Improvising, I let the arcanium of my body turn into a hair-thin thread. The glimmering spools were being knitted into nets, then flaring with the glow of magic, turning into impenetrable shields. Another trick was added to my growing repertoire.

As I finally reached the first rows of the march, I saw armored vehicles with heavy weaponry on their roofs standing side to side, blocking the road. A few dozen ponies clad in blue plating were preparing launchers and powerful rifles to meet the wall of metal which was approaching them. At this point it was apparent that the police force wasn’t going to reclaim what they thought belonged to them, but simply suppress the revolution of machines with brute force, likely claiming themselves saviors of the city in the aftermath.

Focusing my magic, I enveloped the entire cordon and teleported it a few blocks away, part by part, then returned to fighting back the TCE police attacking our advance from the sides. My body shed more and more arcanium, my magic shields enveloping the procession like the petals of a cocoon.

Though the equinoids emerged relatively close to the Sky Palace, our destination, a temporary sanctuary, we still had a considerable distance to cover. While the Twelve, the Unity and myself were doing our best to organize the march, the TCE police and even the citizens were doing everything to slow us down, attacking from all sides at once.

It was too early to say that the retaliation from the city was overwhelming, but the intensity of it was steadily growing. There were no casualties on the ponies’ side, from all I could tell, but a few equinoids had to be taken from their bodies and exist only inside the Unity to prevent them from being lost forever due to the risk of their crystals shattering. The mangled bodies weren’t left in the streets, but carried on backs, to be repaired later.

“Mother,” Six called me inside the Unity and I shifted into his body, leaving Seven to guide mine. “There is a breach in the shields,” he said, diving closer to the wall of my magic, which was glowing and blinking under the strain, the incandescent torn threads flailing in the gusts of explosions ravaging it.

On the other side of my defensive spell, an armored vehicle (a ‘tank’, Six clued me in) was unleashing a barrage of projectiles, bursting in clouds of shrapnel, at my shield. What surprised me wasn’t the intensity or the success of that powerful weapon, but the amount of collateral damage it was causing. No windows close to the shield had glass left, cracks covered the facades and chunks of concrete were torn out of the walls. Puddles of crimson and ripped apart bodies signified that the TCE police had gone even further, to the point where no sacrifice was too great to bring their property not back, but down.

Though it was probably impossible to hear the gunshot amidst the cacophony anyway, it still should have echoed to match the sheer devastating power of the shot that destroyed my body. As the arcanium shards rained upon the ground I felt a rush of panic. I couldn't feel nor be affected by that attack, but Six was using that body along with me.

“He is fine, Mother,” Eleven whispered to me through the Unity, “I got him.” She soared on the other side of the shield, near the gaping hole left by the bullet that almost killed one of my firstborn. Her face was cracked and body covered in nicks, though obviously not from the recent attack.

With that worry gone, I focused on the huge problem I was facing right now. There was only one kind of weapon which could do that. Coilguns were changing the odds of the march, and not in our favor. I wasn’t expecting the TCE to become so desperate that they would reveal their ace in the hole before facing the Royal Guard.

Turning into a lavender mist I took care of the tank, melting the grenade launcher on top of it into a pile of slag. Then I turned to the shining of the city, looking into its bright maze of advertisements. The shooter was somewhere in that glow, hidden from sight. With almost no gems powering the rifle, it would be almost impossible to locate it with my magic sight. Only the next shot would give me a clue, but it would also come with a price I didn’t want to pay.

I waited a few moments, but it seemed that I wasn’t considered a worthy victim. I returned to the procession, patching and strengthening the ravaged shield on my way, hoping that it would hold against the power of the coilgun, at least for one shot.

The march had slowed down considerably during my short absence, almost stopping. The Unity was full of concerned mutters, bordering on fear. I warped into Nine’s body, who was near the head of the mass of equinoids, soaring about it back and forth.

Mangled mechanical bodies on the ground and deep shell craters were speaking for themselves. The coil gun shooters were closing in on the procession and butchering it.

“We are losing equinoids, we have to strike back, Mother,” Nine carefully, yet insistently suggested. Though they remained silent, I could feel the rest of the Twelve reluctantly agree with her.

Not every equinoid could be taken out of their body before the invisible snipers found their targets. I could feel empty spaces inside the Unity, holes that would never be filled again. Not to mention the amount of bodies already lost – having a five-to-one ratio of equinoids to vessels wasn’t something anyone was looking forward to. I hated the situation, it was leaving me no choice. The last thing I wanted was to see more of my children fall, but I also didn’t want to turn to violence. If the equinoids were to take their place by pony society, marking their emergence with a bloodbath was the worst way to begin.

The Dune Dervishes’ words echoed in my mind:

You have to choose.

Not for the first time since I returned from the arcanium core, I could feel a presence. An almost imperceptible glimmer of golden sand in the corner of my eyes, the whisper of silk and waft of exotic spices. Never in focus, but always there. They warned me that they would watch my every step.

Struggling to come to a decision, I watched the battlefield of the street as Nine carried me above it. It took me a few moments to realize what was wrong.

The TCE police were gone. No more shots had been fired for the last few minutes.

Taking control of the body, I landed, trotting to a tank, empty and damaged, its engines bubbling as a puddle of steel underneath it. Near the disabled war machine, a dropped helmet was wheezing, somepony inside it yelling a warning in a panicked voice. I picked it up.

“The Edge is atta…” I heard part of transmission before it was cut off by static, the female voice hysterical, speaking urgently.

“...emdrinkers poured chlorine into the Tunn…” the headset inside the helmet came back to life, “...all squads and stations are required at the Ed…”

I dropped it to the ground as the dying speakers continued to prattle about heavy casualties, coughing static. There was nothing else I needed to hear.

The war had begun.

My head turned to the left, where, beyond the shine of the spoiled Inner City and decay of its robbed neighbor, beyond a high gray wall, a massacre was taking place. Soon the flood of death would reach here, though judging by the cries coming from the radio, it was already spilling into Canterlot.

Heading to the Sky Palace was of no use. Soon it would become an inescapable trap instead of an impenetrable fortress. Getting out of the city was a question of life and death now, with the clock ticking, one of its arms being the eagle’s claw, the other – the lion's paw. The entire march was for nothing.

I shared my decision with the Twelve and they told the news to the equinoids, who met it with concerned whispers.

Leaving Nine to control her body, I joined Seven in the flight over the spires of the city, assessing the situation. Almost no hovercrafts could be seen in the sky, and screams of panic were permeating the neon mist. Canterlot had become a disturbed anthill, its citizens running into the streets. All of a sudden, the sound of chirring wings joined the raging discord of the city. Turning my head, I saw a dark silhouette approaching me from the direction of Sky Palace. I stopped, waiting for it to fly closer.

“Delight,” I greeted the new changeling queen.

Her carapace was black now, glistening with polished chitin. She was so like Queen Chrysalis and yet so different. I wondered who Chrysalis was before she was turned into a changeling: an earth pony, a pegasus or a unicorn? Delight certainly had the pegasus grace and litheness she had in her previous life. Though now her muzzle and limbs were longer and menacingly ridgy, they somehow still held a resemblance to the delicate and mellow mare she was. The only thing she shared with Chrysalis with no change, as if they were passed like the crown: the eyes, deep green, with the slitted pupils of a predator, sharp and always hungry.

Not waiting for her answer, I motioned with my head towards the nearest skyscraper. It wasn’t safe in Canterlot, now less than ever. I could take any number of bullets, but Delight had no such luxury.

“Twilight! I’m so glad you are safe!” Del hastily trotted to me after a bit of an unsure landing, then she demanded with a frown “Why didn’t you tell us you succeeded?”

“I was planning to, but then things changed,” came my calm reply. Though I appreciated our friendship, I needed to deal with certain issues first. It appeared I now needed to act even faster.

Del pursed her lips and prepared a reply, but I spoke first. “The evacuation needs to start immediately.” It was only a question of time until the streets became the Chaos god’s domain.

“I came to tell you that,” Del said nervously. “The Swarm is leaving first. We’re going to leave the Sky Palace in a few minutes.”

That was no surprise. The Swarm packed everything for the long journey in less than a week after Delight was coronated. I suspected that the only reason Del had been postponing the departure was to give me time to finish my goal of becoming the Machine Goddess. Considering that she didn’t know if I had survived, it was expected that she would finally leave.

“You won’t help?” I asked, raising my eyebrow. The evacuation was orchestrated by the Crown, after all.

“Sunset Shimmer and the entire Royal Guard are going to stay along with as many changelings as I can spare, but we have to transport the biofarms to the old Hive,” she shook her head slowly, looking at her hooves.

It was apparent that she wanted to stay and help the city, but her new kin demanded her presence. An uneasy silence, just as heavy as her burden, hung between us, only to be disrupted by deafening thunder coming from the heavens.

The sky exploded with an enormous blinding rainbow, a rippling wave of bright colors expanding outwards, dispersing clouds in its wake, exposing the city to sunlight undiluted by leaden curtains. The painful groaning of restless streets momentarily ceased, all looking at the sky in wordless wonder.

Five centuries had passed, but Rainbow Dash was still the fastest pegasus.

The equinoids began to cheer, welcoming the sun, bathing in its rays, their cries filling the Unity with unbridled joy. If there was any doubt in our success, it was evaporating now, like the remaining patches of mist hiding between the tall buildings.

Before the Sonic Rainboom completely faded away, a dark cloud emerged from the Sky Palace, a mighty Swarm of changelings, their black mass surrounding the massive hovercrafts slowly drifting through the cyan sky. Smaller groups of changelings began to break away and head to the city, arcanium glistening under the sun in place of chitin.

A hoof touched my shoulder.

“I have to go with my children, Twi,” Del whispered and flapped her wings a few times. “I will try to join you as soon as possible,” she promised and with a gulp added, “Good luck.”

I watched her take off and fly to her Swarm to accompany them on their return to their historical home. Soon she became lost in the black mass, inseparable from her kin as she should be. She needed luck much more than me. If the evacuation failed, the old Hive would also be their tomb.

When the Swarm was midway to the Abandoned Mines, avoiding flying directly to the south over the Everfree Forest, a voice so loud I barely recognized it thundered, aiming to be heard even at the furthest reaches of the city:

“Citizens of Canterlot,” Luna boomed, “An immediate evacuation of the city is required.” Her message, spoken in the Royal Canterlot Voice and amplified many times on top of that already deafening volume, was coming from the spire of the Sky Palace. “Remain calm. Follow the instructions of the Royal Guard and other Crown personnel.”

Then the message was repeated, and one more time after.

Starting so abruptly, the evacuation was going to be a mess, surely leaving more citizens behind than it was feared. Yet, with the insanity brewing under Canterlot, ready to spill into its streets and flood them, any amount of citizens saved would be a miraculous victory against all odds.

The everpresent murmur in the back of my mind, the breath of the Unity, was becoming louder. I turned back to look at my children, my seven remaining Harbingers landing behind me, waiting for my decision. Our display of defiance came to an awkward stop when it became clear that it was taking place amidst a soon to be warzone.

The disrupted firmament began to knit itself back together, stealing away the sun once again, giving only the weak drizzle of rain in return. Or perhaps the skies were lamenting the fate of those under them.

Turning my head to the dark form hiding amidst the clouds, I felt Stalliongrad’s massive crystal batteries greedily soaking up energy. In the distance, the arcanium Thunderspires ceased taunting the elements, instead swelling with pegasi, like feathers ready to molt. My gaze fell back on the Harbingers.

I was born in Canterlot. I watched its golden steeples catch fire in the rays of the setting sun and come out unscathed. I saw how it turned from the immaculate ivory crown of Mount Diamond Point into a dingy junction for all roads, marred with the dirt on countless soldiers’ horseshoes. The other me witnessed Canterlot become the last pillar of ponykind, overflowing with fugitives. Now I observed its last stage of life, a deceased, withering body of civilization, composed of two parts: the shining in its core but rotten at the edge city above, reaching for the sky with its neon claws; and its dark reflection, a nightmarish maze full of horrifying secrets and children lost in the deep shadows.

It was time for us to go.

The unrelenting march of equinoids continued, now taking a sharp turn, leading to the Wall. The streets were empty, save for the occasional refugee running away in panic as they witnessed the crowd of their metal neighbors. The relative safely allowed me to fly way ahead of the procession, my path ending on a platform, a nest of barbed wire, on top of the concrete bastion looming over the red carcasses, just as lifeless and abandoned by its wardens.

The Junkyard was a dead zone, any life fleeting from it, driven out by hunger and cold. The furnaces, full of ashes and cooled slag, stood dark. Their fiery hearts had ceased their beating.

My magic began to seep into the massive fortification, making it crumble into fine dust carried away by the powerful gusts of unnatural wind. I kept sawing the gray wall, gently withering it away until a wide section of it was gone, leaving behind a pass for many, carpeted with chipped stone and metal flakes.

For centuries it had been an impenetrable body of metal and artificial stone protecting the city from those it had robbed and cast out into labor and death. There was some dark irony in it playing a pivotal role in turning Canterlot into a trap, preventing the citizens from escaping the demise they had let fester underneath them for as long as the wall stood.

Two soared above me only to make a sharp turn and land by my side.

“They are starting to come from the Tunnels’ exits at the Abandoned mines,” he reported.

I couldn’t help but grimace. Though the weakest and least capable of traveling citizens were taken care of, that didn’t mean the rest should have to break their hooves in the deteriorated artificial canyons. That wasn’t the biggest issue, however.

The Tunnels were narrow, if traversable at all, which would lead to the refugees’ flow being impeded greatly. The population of the dark subterranean passages was another problem, adding danger to the difficulty of the Tunnels. The worst was that the masses, struggling along cliffs crumbling under their hooves, would become the perfect target for the Everfree’s ‘birds of prey’ and their explosives.

It was too late to make those who were already underground turn back, but I could lend a helping hoof for those who had yet to dive into the rusty dungeons of Canterlot.

“Tell Sunset Shimmer to head to the Junkyard,” I whispered to Two, who lingered for a mere moment before rocketing into the sky.

Offering the escapees the maze of the Junkyard instead of that of the Tunnels wasn’t part of my plan, so I willed the sea of red to part before the impromptu exit. An enormous cloud of crimson dust rose in the air, joined by an infernal cacophony. The path of destruction followed my slow gaze, forming a line across the metal graveyard into the desolate lands of Equestria.

Very soon, the first metal hooves stepped onto the path of freedom. I dived from the remains of the Wall to join my children in their escape, to lead them out into the world they deserved.

It was a peculiar song, played by the wind whistling through the gaps in ragged armor plating, through the empty sockets and the grooves left by loosened bolts. Rambling Rock Ridge’s lower wet granite slopes bristled with fourteen thousand metal bodies. Every pair of eyes and every unpaired eye was glued to the dark fortress hovering above Canterlot, the air warping around the black walls, crackling with barely contained arcane power.

In a thunderous and blinding explosion of magic, Stalliongrad was gone, the empty space left in its wake violently filled with mist and some pegasi who were too curious for their own good. The ark for the wounded, orphaned and too elderly departed, heading with its jump into the heart of the Badlands. It was hard to say if it was a good or bad thing that none of its passengers were left behind. The reason for that wasn’t in Stalliongrad’s impressive carry capacity, but in death and constant raids culling the weakest of the society almost entirely, leaving only so few surviving the harsh order of things.

By that time, the first timid ponies showed in the gap in the wall. Behind them, dark quivering masses were pressing on, figures clad in shining arcanium whisking above the congregation, shaping the panicked crowd into an organized exodus, like shepherds. Above the earthbound former citizens of Canterlot, flocks of pegasi streamed from the mute and dim Thunderspires.

It was day now, the city was alight with the sun, its rays piercing the ravaged leaden curtain here and there. Before night, Canterlot would fall dark and empty, save for the unfortunate, the bloodthirsty and Chaos himself.

The refugees moved surprisingly fast, thanks to the coordination ceaselessly provided by the Royal Guard, disguised changelings and those so few contingents of police who refused to succumb to the TCE’s bribes over the years. Or perhaps it was sheer terror urging them to hurry. Yet it was fear which slowed them down the moment the first rows caught sight of my children and me.

The sun poked out through the clouds, and the hills around me became a beacon of polished metal, shining reflections contrasting starkly with the memories of runaway mechanical outcasts, disobedient decaying machines skulking under the city. And amongst them was a fairy tale come true – the Machine Goddess herself.

From its position atop the cliffs of Rambling Rock Ridge, my body moved, my head turning to the equinoids. I met many eyes, and I didn’t need the Unity to tell what was behind them. A small, almost imperceptible nod was enough.

One by one, many of my children began to climb down the slopes and approach the procession. Expectedly, they were met with fear, unhidden distrust and even displays of aggression. However, a lot of ponies, especially those who were bending under the weight of their possessions, warily accepted the help from metal hooves.

Both equinoids and ponies were stealing glances at me, the former of wonder and the latter askance, but my material form remained the same as it was, unmoving and indifferent. I couldn’t answer their question; it wasn’t between me and them.

Perhaps it was that silent exchange that distracted everyone from the attack coming out of nowhere. Bright flowers of death, brilliant explosions began to bloom amidst the crowd. The streaking shadows, their feathered gardeners, pirouetted away from the barrage of fire returned by the Royal Guard.

The Pink Butterflies seemed to be materializing from thin air, raining fire from the sky. Clouds, cliffs, metal scrap – anything served as cover allowing them to disappear from sight almost instantly and appear at another place moments later.

Mere moments passed between the first explosion and the arcanium threads with my magic forming a dome above the masses, who were attempting to flee in every direction. However, unlike with the TCE’s rage back in Canterlot, this time my protection was barely helping. The bombs were ripping holes in it with such frequency that I was barely able to stitch them up before new ones appeared. Making that magic wall impenetrable by anything and anyone led to the Royal Guard and pegasi being cut off and outnumbered, while some griffins remained inside the shield, wreaking havoc. Left no choice, I had to let the arcane shield dissolve and take matters into my own hooves.

I hurtled into the sky while reaching deep into the soil with my magic. The terrorists made their choice and now had to pay for it.

The members of the Twelve who were riding my body with me were given fractions of my power to compose bodies of their own and join the fray, while I was simply drawing arcanium from the earth and forming it into long needle-like spears. Soon a fleet of sharp death followed my wake, the improvised weapons whistling away from me to impale the vile griffins in explosions of blood and feathers. Willing the arcanium blades to chase the flying murderers was faster and easier than to grasp each in my magic and rip them apart, though that didn’t mean none met that fate.

Six and One chose to remain inside my body, whisking away the magic of equinoids who were about to have their crystals turned into shards. More often than not they were doing that in time, but I could feel the number of dark empty spaces in the Unity slowly but steadily grow.

The already red ground became wet, the mud and rotten metal flakes watered with death, squishing under hooves, making the entire path through the Junkyard an alley of the fallen, either slipping on the muck or tripping over the dead. With the entirety of the Royal Guard and the changelings, who had forsaken their mask, in the air, the remaining forces on the ground were barely able to contain the masses shrieking from terror and pain.

The menace didn’t come only from the air. Though the ground forces of the Pink Butterflies, comprised of treacherous ponies, zebras and many others, were not as numerous as their griffin comrades, they were creating a second front to the already difficult battle. The Harbingers guided by the Twelve fought side by side with the very few equinoids capable of magic and, surprisingly, unicorns, both equestrian and neighponese (and also kirin), quite successfully repelling the attackers. Luna was among the defenders, her dark towering form, bellowing curses and twisted spells, surrounded by her undying battalion of shadows relentlessly striking down any threat to the lives of the refugees.

My flight took a sharp turn, my body taking a volley of bullets instead of the changeling behind me, saving her life. A moment later a sparkle of arcanium went through the offending griffin’s chest, bursting out in a shower of pulverized bone and lungs. Before the winds licked the last drop of blood from it, another Pink Butterfly fell victim to its murderous intent.

Yet the half-eagles, half-lions who were swarming the sky seemed to barely suffer any noticeable casualties. The same couldn’t be said about the other side of this battle – the number of torn apart bodies, dewing the ground with both blood and oil, was only growing at a heart-wrenching rate. At this rate the evacuation, already starting weak, was on its course to become a complete failure. Worse, every body, be it a relatively innocent refugee or their murderer, must be adding another hairline crack to the statue hidden deep under the city.

Suddenly, three figures streaked across the sky. One was ripping the sky apart with the thunderous roar of a massive turbine, which soon, impossibly, was shadowed by the barrage of explosives tearing griffins to shreds by the dozens, letting them taste their own medicine. Soarin echoed the glory days of the Wonderbolts: the way they were at war, just as loud and flashy as at their shows, but frighteningly deadly now.

With a deafening screech, a living fireball shot above the heads of the astonished ponies, impacting with a griffin who was too slow to move from its trajectory, their feathers instantly catching on fire, like they were doused in oil. Before the agonizing screams of the griffin fireball could die, the half-phoenix, half-pony leaped onto another terrorist, turning them into a torch.

A plume of emerald fire painted the clouds with green, the deadly flames soon followed by the arcanium dragon, spitting instantaneous death in all directions, making a slow but sure bee-line across the heavens towards me.

The Pink Butterflies on the ground, who already had a hard time following the success of their feathered brethren, found themselves between a hammer and anvil. In some cases literally. Reclusive dwellers of the actual mazes in the Deep Tunnels, rare and nearly immortal Minotaurs, who were among those few who weren’t affected by the Transference Paradox, swung heavy maces with mechanical arms, crushing skulls, while a deadly pitch-black shadow snaked around the battlefield, turning everyone it touched into ashes. A gun, the Gun, fired one resounding enchanted bullet after another, never missing a target.

More and more forms, ragged and dirty, malnourished and ominous, were appearing from the direction of the Abandoned Mines. No one spoke for the Tunnels during the Council, they had no champion, no leader, but that didn’t mean those outcasts didn’t want their share of the bright sun and fresh air, the chance to have a better future. One representative of their forgotten and secretive society was present at that fateful meeting, and she brought a message to the deepest recesses of Canterlot.

Amongst the motley horde, ponies, refugees from the surface were shyly following, often supported by the menacing, towering creatures. “How many good ponies are out there?” Spike asked me not so long ago. The answer was: enough to make a difference.

The reinforcements were unexpected, but very welcome. Not only had the hopeless bloodbath become an actual battle, the exodus was gaining the upper hoof, with the Pink Butterflies being steadily pushed back and out of the skies.

Until the first Royal Guard fell down, a gaping hole left by a gunshot in their armor signifying that we weren’t the only ones who could receive help.

Leaving the limiting confines of my body, giving One its reins, I soared to the tail of the procession, lamenting the trail of bodies left behind it. A considerable fleet of hovercrafts supplemented by a small army in blue armor marching through the partially demolished wall was on their way to catching up with the slowed and profusely bleeding throng of fugitives. The Pink Butterflies were formidable enemies, but they couldn’t be compared with the TCE police, professionally trained, experienced and armed to the teeth with top-notch weaponry. It didn’t matter if the TCE had already dealt with the insurgence at the Edge or if they had stabilized the situation enough to abide to their greed and wage war on a second front. They would bring the evacuation to an end for sure, and nothing would stop them.

I began considering obliterating their force, because everyone left in Canterlot was doomed, but I couldn’t stop myself from hearing Spike’s words in my mind: They all would have died anyway, their lives never meant anything. It would be a first step on the path leading to anything but the vision I had.

A call coming from One absolved me of my choice, at least temporarily.

As I warped into my vessel, I found myself facing Sunset Shimmer and Rainbow Dash, Spike towering behind them. We stood on the solid rock ledge looming over the winding down carnage, a hovercraft full of screens inside and transmitters on the outside explaining both how Sunset made it here and where she had been all that time.

My body’s head moved to meet Sunset eyes, letting her know that I’d answered her summons. She held my gaze for only a few seconds before diverting her attention to the swiftly approaching TCE forces. Then she turned to Rainbow Dash and they exchanged a long, unreadable look.

“It wasn’t Chrysalis who killed Shining Armor, you know,” Sunset suddenly said to me.

I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to react to those words, so I simply let her continue, the expression on my arcanium face not changing, though it was now pointed at her.

“It was the first task she gave to me. To prove my worth,” she continued, torn between attempting to look challenging and not being bothered with the consequences of her possible success.

It certainly hurt to know the truth, but in the dull, familiar way I had become too used to. Ultimately shifting one score between tallies counting in thousands changed nothing. It didn’t make me think more of Chrysalis nor less of Sunset. It would have mattered five centuries ago.

“Why tell me that now?” I asked, glancing at the gleam of immaculate armor coming closer and closer.

“So you won’t return for me,” she replied and turned her head to follow my gaze.

“I won’t,” I assured her. I said it not out of hate or a sense of justice. I was sure Sunset knew I wouldn’t feel that way towards her, lest she wouldn’t risk. It was her way of telling me goodbye, I guess.

“Good, because no one else would try.”

With those words she trotted to the edge of the cliff and threw herself off. Nobody moved to stop her or even take a look at what became of her. Rainbow simply turned away with a grimace and a few seconds later took to the air, only to head toward one of the Royal Guard’s squadrons.

“Huh, who would have guessed…” Spike huffed a moment later as I realized what source of power Sunset had used to trick Harmony.

A bulbous mass of flesh, twisting in magic-induced spurts of growth, rose over the stony crags, flapping massive wings and raining dust and rot, as the vile magic was eating it alive. Crowned with uneven horns, its head stretched to the heavens, letting out a sonorous battle cry of agony and freedom, followed by a stream of jet-black flame dissolving into cyan bubbles of deathly arcane energy.

Five hundred years too late I understood why it was so hard to create armor to withstand the fury of the infamous Demon Mare and why the enchantments were still relevant. Moondancer and I had to create protection against the power of the corrupted sun, the heart of a dragon forced to fuel the spells of the Coven Witch.

My attention would have been fixed to the scene, a dragon at war, that so few ever lived to tell about. However, there was another object in the air, much smaller and more innocent, fairly common yet at this very moment bearing much more menace than the rampaging abomination below.

A single snowflake was sailing the winds.

Though my body didn’t move, my focus shifted to the north and I left my material form to soar against the rising gale. With Canterlot left far behind, deserted lands streaked underneath me, devoid of any life and soon of any identity as they became buried under the heavy snow.

I stopped at a random hill, an island of dark, though still deeply frozen, soil amidst the endless sea of dead white. An avalanche was slowly climbing down the distant mountains, but it wasn’t a wall of snow, it was a herd.

Massive silhouettes, large as snowstorms, were slowly galloping towards me. Where their enormous hooves, reaching from the sky to the very earth, touched down, fields of hoarfrost were sprouting, stealing any fertility from that soil for centuries to come. Every heavy step shook their immaterial bodies to the core, making their endless manes shed snow, peppering the permafrost they were leaving in their wake, covering it with alabaster blankets. Ancient throats howled in timeless agony, echoing the only thought left in their fragmented, torn apart minds:

...End...

Feral and inequine, it was a song lulling the land into a sleep from which it would never wake. The frozen nightmare of emptiness between the stars, which the Windigos tried to take in and now couldn’t leave, being shared with everything they touched, everything they bled ice on.

It wasn’t the eyes, glowing yet cold and hollow, seeing only the darkness of the sunless void, guiding those stillborn gods forward. The most primal sense, smell was their shepherd. The scent of spilled blood, a new river born at Canterlot was drawing the Windigos to it. They aimed not to quench their thirst for death, they had it in abundance, but perhaps to meet its creators. To be free of the visions of the endless nothingness.

The Windigos passed me, blind to my presence, gracing me with their withering aura. I instantly ended up inside the piercing embrace of a ceaseless blizzard, feeling the grave cold not of winter, but of extinguished stars. None of my kind could save them from their wretched existence, so I didn’t matter, just another useless part of this forsaken world.

I let my consciousness drift back to Canterlot. After all, it didn’t have much time left before its fall. Its last winter was marching towards it.

My mind kept shifting between the bodies of my Harbingers, observing the Exodus from every side, watching for any coming threats. The Pink Butterflies had fallen back, and with Sunset laying waste to the TCE forces, pushing them back into the city, the mass of refugees got a moment of respite. Unfortunately for them, it meant moving without being shot or having explosives raining upon them, rather than stopping for a temporary rest.

The number of escapees was cut down considerably, the bodies growing cold in mud, serving as a reminder of the price paid for freedom from the city’s greedy clutches. However, for the last hour the throng of ponies fleeing Canterlot’s outskirts was only growing in size, albeit slowly. The stream of the Tunnel dwellers trickling from the ancient quarries had thinned out considerably, but was replaced with newcomers from the opposite direction. Following the bloodletting, inhabitants of Nebula’s sector began to show up from their hiding places within the rusty forest of the Junkyard. I was yet to witness the old mare herself amongst the groups of ponies and equinoids approaching from the northern sector, but it seemed that she had managed to amass quite a population since the last time we met.

With Sunset’s sacrifice, the evacuation temporarily came to a halt, lost without its unseen leader. The confusion didn’t last for very long, as her flying vehicle found new passengers. Octavia took her place before the screens, surrounded by numerous microphones, coordinating the efforts of the remaining Crown forces. At the same time, Trixie bellowed from the hovercraft’s roof, rallying the masses.

“Captain Dash calls for you, Mother,” Eleven whispered to me through the Unity.

From a mere passenger hopping between the arcanium vessels, I became the pilot of one. I found myself soaring quite a distance ahead of the procession, Rainbow gliding by my side. I turned my head to her in expectation.

“I have some bad news,” she yelled over the wind. Her expression was grave, worried beyond anything I had seen before. “The Pink Butterflies blew up the bridge.”

I could have retorted that it also might have crumbled after Rainbow’s act of law enforcement. But the reason wasn’t really important, since I could easily fix the problem, creating even more bridges so the refugees could cross the Black River faster. It was a shame that I couldn’t simply use teleportation. If teleporting barely more than ten thousand equinoids was nearly impossible, then there was no sense to even think of ten times more fugitives.

“Understood,” I curtly reported and began to change my course.

However, I was cut off by Rainbow, who in one swift maneuver intercepted me, making us both stop and hover in the air.

“No, you don’t,” she chided, as if the change of my position in hierarchy meant nothing to her. “That means that the Butterflies are waiting for the refugees to start crossing the river by ford so their victims will have nowhere to run.” Guessing my intentions she added, “And no, making a new bridge won’t help either.”

I had to admit that Rainbow had a point. It was an obvious ambush waiting for us at the river. My askance look was my reply to her.

“We decided to go through the Hayseed Swamps.”

By ‘we’ Rainbow must have meant herself, Trixie and Octavia along with a few others, probably those who were present on the council (if they’d survived this far). But that wasn’t what surprised me. The Hayseed Swamps weren’t a park, good for taking a stroll. Those marshes were a deathtrap full of dangerous flora and fauna; five centuries weren’t likely to change that fact. However, the more I thought about it, the more I could see the reason behind that risky decision.

The territory between the Black River and Dodge Junction was an open plain neighboured by the Everfree Forest. Though Rainbow mentioned the Pink Butterflies having no advantage in open sky against the Royal Guard, the griffins had strength in numbers. The amount of damage they could inflict before being thrown back would be catastrophic.

Even if the entire crowd of fugitives somehow managed to evade the terrorists’ attention, Dodge City awaited them. Circling around it could take more than a week. I already had fears about the amount of supplies available, and I was fairly sure there wasn’t enough for that detour, especially with a barren desert sprawling for the remaining half of the journey.

It would be naive to assume that the same number of refugees who set out on the journey would reach its end. The bloodsoaked road out of Canterlot had already made that dream impossible, but I had fears that it wouldn’t be the worst part of the evacuation.

The sounds of the TCE losing their battle with the twisted pony-dragon amalgam faded in the distance, replaced by thousands of hooves’ uneven stomping, measured flapping of wings and the clattering noise of countless possessions carried by the owners of said limbs.

An uneasy silence of voice dominated the masses, with the rare exceptions of commands barked from time to time, or the heart-wrenching wails dedicated to those left behind to gaze into the sky with sightless eyes.

The fellowship, connecting refugees of any race, social status or flesh, began to fade away, with homogenous groups forming and drifting away from each other. The equinoids were the first to be ostracized, even by their closest neighbours from their past – the other underground dwellers. Though no one dared to oppose the changelings streaking in the sky above the crowds, their black predatory forms were often followed by long, disdainful stares.

Of course, not everyone turned their backs on those who offered each other a shoulder mere hours ago. Not everyone held strictly to their own. There were those who had become connected, either via shared grief or shared intoxication with freedom from their previous lives. Laughs, muffled but frequent, were shared by the mismatched parties who marched forward enthusiastically, compared to the rest, who drudged to their fate, casting back forlorn glances. None of the latter were equinoids.

My children either kept together, congregating around the Harbingers, or were intermingled with the other groups, offering their help. With no attacks to repel, the Twelve were able to freely administer the Unity, letting memories and emotions flow within it. Many equinoids had no body to house their minds, even with the new ones created by my firstborn from the rusty bones resting at the Junkyard. Some remained inside the Unity, untethered, exploring the ceaseless streams of data. Others were having quite a peculiar experience: they were sharing bodies in a fashion partially mimicking my ability.

With no immediate threats, I could afford to watch my children, walking among them unseen, learning from their imperfections.

Immaterial, I floated between the marching fugitives, listening to their conversations. A spirit of contained excitement prevailed over them. Most of the escapees seemed to know where they were heading – the Badlands. That was where their awareness often ended, making me wonder if they would have embarked from Canterlot were they told about the long journey and the destination waiting for them.

The last time I traveled from the Junkyard to the original changelings’ lands, it took us nearly a week. But we were lucky to have a transport and be ‘given’ a shortcut through Dodge City. With the detour through the swamps, the trip would take a longer time, starting with its first step. The sun would already be setting by the time the first fugitives reached the Hayseed Swamps.

Guided by that thought, I moved away from the crowd, finding myself floating above the churning waters of the Black River. On the other side, hours away from the rocky banks, a dark green wall stood ominously, waiting patiently.

Even though the Hayseed Swamps were a place least suitable for ponies, they weren’t completely devoid of civilization. At least, I didn’t expect them to be, which was why I wandered them in confusion.

Very few pony settlements, small villages, hid in those rotting marshes, unmarked on any map. Taking the form of a nebulous mist, I skirted between the bloated and twisted trees, half-submerged in murky waters. There were two hamlets I stumbled upon, if they could be called such.

They were merely a few buildings with caved-in roofs and fungus-eaten wooden walls, abandoned many decades ago. Underneath mounds of mold and detritus, shattered and decayed, mysterious masks were buried, shedding the last flakes of once garish paint as I unearthed them. The other remains were broken pottery, fallen apart furniture, and algae-covered stakes of defunct catwalks and bridges.

Those places were built to last for generations to come, to withstand the unrelenting inhospitality of the environment, but they were mere years from being completely swallowed. I never came to the Hayseed Swamps before, but so far they seemed to be unaffected by the change of climate, making me wonder what forced the stubborn settlers to abandon their homes, so hard fought for.

In my search for the embers of ponydom, I found only cinders. Still, the marshes remained home for many creatures, though less sapient.

Mighty hydras, their many muscular necks as thick as tree trunks, slowly shambled across the shallow waters, searching for prey or a mate. The foul-smelling bogs teemed with large toads, bufogrens, phlegmatically catching the abundant flies and mosquitoes with the lashes of their impossibly long tongues. The thick slough of drying moors revealed chunks of stone hidden in the mud before, half of them in fact being cragadiles patiently waiting in ambush. The air hummed with the buzz of countless tiny wings, flashbees and innumerable other insect species feeding on the rot, each other or the larger inhabitants of the mireland. Occasionally, a thunderous flap of leathery wings signified the presence of much larger and more dangerous fliers – manticores. Underneath their nests woven into treetops, creatures of not flesh but bark and wood skulked, visitors from the not-so-distant Everfree Forest. To the east the marsh met the sea, poisoning the already deadly salt water of the Celestial Sea with its decaying currents. Still, the mangrove swamps were a house for the most sentient dwellers of the mire – bloodthirsty kelpies, shunned by any other creature for their insidious nature.

The Hayseed Swamps were much more full of life than one could have guessed at first glance. Unfortunately, the diverse and prolific fauna (and in many cases flora as well) meant death for the unprepared masses of refugees. Yet it was something solvable, unlike that one thing that kept bothering me greatly.

Beside the everpresent shadow of the Dune Dervishes following me around, there was something else hiding from my direct sight. Unlike the Old Gods, who barely manifested themselves, I could see these mysterious entities, though only from afar.

Will-o’-wisps were constantly dancing in the distance but disappearing the moment I tried to come closer to them or even reach the mocking lights with my magic. I spent quite a long time focused solely on catching one, but to no avail. I would often end up before a heap of branches, bones and feathers, sometimes vaguely resembling a totem, but it was my imagination playing tricks, like those pesky elusive ghost twinkles.

The greenish-brown quagmire began to turn crimson, meaning that night was approaching and the fugitives were about to enter the unwelcoming bog. On the way to it, a decision was made to camp within the treeline of the great swamp, to use the canopy as a shield against the griffin menace.

Casting a last wary glance at the mystical flickering lanterns, I dissipated my smoke form, returning my consciousness into my arcanium body.

Using wood as food for fire was a luxury in Canterlot, due to the severe deficit of lumber. Yet despite the abundance of that material all around, it wasn’t going to take place this time either. Firstly, the damp air and soil, combined with the timber being the same, were greatly impeding any attempts to make a fire. Secondly, igniting anything, even creating a spark, was a dangerous endeavour – the bog reeked of methane.

Perhaps it was the darkness that made the attack so easy for them. Or maybe it was the tiredness caused by the eventful day. The nature of the assailants likely played the pivotal role, however.

The edge of the swamps wasn’t as rich with dangers as the areas lying in the heart of it, being devoid of the most exotic fauna and having less quicksand and slough to swallow those who didn’t pay enough attention. Still, there was enough trouble, like timberwolves hiding in the shadows, pacing outside the light or lanterns impatiently, dewing the fallen leaves with piceous saliva. Or like the will-o’-wisps curiously shivering in the air in anticipation of the night’s veil to cover everything, making the fugitives glance nervously at them. Then, later in the evening, they were gone, winking out one by one, as the stars began to wake up in the heavens, finally putting my and many others’ worries to rest, though leaving behind the frustration of their riddle unsolved.

The answer was given hours later, past midnight, when the first scream cut the strained silence, moments later turning into the gurgle of blood in a cut throat. Not a minute passed before it was echoed by a few more, ending in the same gruesome manner, creating a macabre chorus of violent bloodletting, rousing the entire encampment and spreading panic like wildfire.

During my journey to the Badlands I had never asked a question I should have: what became of the Buffalo? It was hard to say how numerous their population was, though with their tendency to constantly move from one place to another, there should have been a relatively high chance to meet the enigmatic and secluded nomads in the desert, where nothing could be hidden in the emptiness stretching from horizon to horizon.

But we didn’t.

The Buffalo were gone from the sandy lands, and not because of the winters growing colder and colder. Another disaster, much less known and influential for Equestria, changed their minds and forced them to break the traditions stubbornly held close to their noble hearts for centuries.

They had no hearts anymore. Sharp shards of perverted arcanium turned their blood into burning poison, eating away their sanity and sapience in return for the power to survive, to find a cozy place on top of the food chain in the warm moors.

The things which were once buffalos adopted many traits from the abominations trapped at the Junction, the most prominent of them being the ability to shift out of reality, becoming immaterial shadows moving through another plane. Then they would materialize with a curved dagger plunged into their victim’s heart.

The other side of the buffalos’ bodies being infused with arcanium was the deterioration of their flesh. Withered, furless skin clung to their emaciated frames, making them appear as living skeletons with glowing eyes. Wicked, twisted horns with branching cancerous growths swayed in the air, filling it with the hollow tapping of dozens of small skulls hanging from them. Chipped hooves drummed the march of death against the sodden spongy soil. Drooling mouths with lolling black tongues, full of uneven sharp teeth, opened and closed mechanically, emanating feral sounds of hunger.

But the absolute worst thing about the arcanium wraiths who sold themselves to the preternatural anomalous city was that I couldn’t affect them with my magic at all. The arcanium permeating their bodies refused to answer my calls, dancing to its own song of chaos. Whatever happened in Dodge City changed the nature of that metal, putting it apart from its origin in the core, thus rendering me powerless. Impotent to strike them, I could only helplessly watch as the tarnished razor-sharp daggers bowed refugees, flesh and metal alike, onto the bog muck.

The Royal Guard was already at work, shooting the ghostly assassins, but often their bullets passed through an incorporeal silhouette only to find their end in an innocent victim’s side. Soon it became apparent that a melee confrontation was the only option, which yanked me out of my stupor – I couldn’t affect the former buffalos directly, but I could strike at them with any objects.

Sharp twin blades formed out of my body, one of them immediately finding purchase in the dried ribcage of a wraith about to slit a mare’s throat. Another cut off the head of the disgusting thing that was gorging on a still-warm corpse.

For a while I didn’t stop, constantly moving, making every strike count, either preventing an unnecessary death or avenging the fallen. My swords cut faster than any could react, swishing through the air with a resounding ring of thirst for blood.

The reports coming from the Unity told me that the assassins weren’t numerous, but their ability to ignore the physical world made it impossible to form a protective circle and drive them back. So it was coming down to a simple extermination.

A shower of ichor pelted my side as a mighty turbine-powered hammer swing decapitated a wraith that wasn't fast enough. The minotaur then dropped his deadly weapon on the ground to grasp another assassin by its horns and drove his metal knee into the drooling jaw, stopping only when there was nothing between the two curved horns but bone shards and dark thick blood.

Trixie and Octavia fought side by side. The Magician’s power was as useless against the guests from Dodge Junction as mine, but she still had a gift from her marefriend – the Gun spitting deadly fire. As Trixie stood, methodically bringing down wraith after wraith, not missing a shot, Octavia made sure that no undead buffalo would reach the sniper, her already burnished armor glistening with ichor in the moonlight.

A cannonball of two bodies almost kicked me from my hooves – Fotia and a wraith were trying to reach for each other’s throat. Finally, the half-phoenix filly knocked the curved blade from the chipped hooves, but her triumph was short-lived. The sharpened horn went deep into her belly and tore at it, spilling ribbons of intestines on the turf. Raining saliva on the steaming organs, the feral beast plunged its muzzle into the gash, gnawing on exposed flesh, small hooves flailing and pounding it, each strike weaker than the previous. The light in Fotia’s eyes began to extinguish, but it meant only one thing – soon it would burn as bright as before. Barely in time, I dissolved my blade into a spool of glimmering yarn, knitting a ball around the rebirthing Former One. The first breath of her new body ignited the methane, turning everything inside the sphere of my magic into ash. As my shield was unraveled, a slightly confused and profusely cursing filly bolted out of the cloud of cinders back into the fray, dagger in her jaws still glowing with heat.

Bright flashes and the thunderous trademark booms of Rainbow Dash’s shoulder-mounted cannon were leaving the attackers in chunks hanging from the trees. She and Trixie were the only ones who could fire fast enough to catch the wraiths before they became immaterial.

Another kind of wraiths, black as night and semi-corporeal, marched forward, guided by the orders of their midnight mistress. Luna herself was throwing searing-white lightning where her ancient blade couldn’t reach, leaving behind charred corpses, some cut in half.

The uneven battle raged on and on, everyone who could raise a hoof joining to protect the helpless, the darkness ringing with sounds of metal clashing against metal, squelches of flesh as it surrendered to the deadly blows, sonorous battle calls and desperate shrieks of pain.

The wraiths disappeared as suddenly as they came, fleeing into the mist beginning to crawl between the gnarly wet trunks, heralding the approaching dawn. No victory cries cut the chill morning air, only the sound of weapons dropped onto the ground followed by mournful whispers – the body count began.

A tent was erected in the heart of the grieving camp, large enough to house a couple dozen visitors. From the magic generators with sparkling gemstones, thick cables snaked into the linen pavillion, powering the devices that had been hauled inside. I sat in front of one of them, a holographic projector showing a detailed map (as detailed as possible with such limited knowledge) of the vast area between the Black River and the Badlands.

Ponies of all races (including Neighponese), a group of zebras, a duo of Kirin, the same goat who was present at the council, the Former Ones and many others were filling the cramped space of the tabernacle with indignant cries. The goat, one of her horns cut off in the middle, now hanging from her neck like a talisman, and half of her face wrapped in bandages, was the loudest one, until a resonant young voice outshouted her.

“I told you it was the dumbest idea ever!” Fotia nearly screeched, demanding attention. ”But noooo, we’re not going to listen to you, Miss Koraki, you never end up being right...”

“Fotia, shut up,” Trixie barked at the filly, her liquid mask-face showing a deeply morose expression, since she was one of the first who suggested going through the marshes.

“Shut the fuck up yourself, arcanium buffoon,” Fotia shot back.

It was the last coherent thing that could be heard, as the unofficial council split into halves, one joining Fotia’s outcry, the other opposing that opinion. Both sides were obviously letting out their pent-up frustration and dealing with loss, as many bloodshot eyes glistened with fresh tears.

Suddenly, a calm voice, thick with an unusual accent, cut above the babel, instantly bringing everyone to silence.

“We lost at least eight hundred refugees, not counting the gravely wounded who are not likely to make it,” Octavia recited from the tablet, her tone somber. “Approximately one hundred of the Crown’s contingent have fallen defending the survivors, including a dozen of the indispensable armored units. Again, the next few hours will make that number more specific.”

It wasn’t as bad as I expected. It didn’t mean I wasn’t lamenting their fate; every death weighed heavily on my mind, adding to the already too long list of those who would never reach their new home. However, with how frighteningly effective the assassins were, I expected much heavier casualties. The fact that their blades somehow treated the Royal Guard’s impenetrable armor (and any other sort of protection) like it didn’t exist was only adding to the gravity of the situation, becoming a huge concern for the artificial life as well.

No equinoids were mentioned in that report, but unlike Octavia, I could tell the exact number my children lost that night. It wasn’t nearly as high as the number of organic fugitives, since there often was enough time to save the magic from the gemstones before they were shattered. Luckily, the undead buffalo ended up confused when their victim turned out to be metal instead of soft flesh. That resulted in many bodies being irreparably damaged, but not many equinoids meeting oblivion – only single digits, in fact.

“What now? We can’t spend another night at the swamps,” asked a creamy yellow pegasus, the Foremare of one of the Thunderspires. From all I had learned, she rose to her position through her intelligence and empathy, rather than raw physical ability, as it usually happened. Now Sunny Wings was an unofficial leader of the entire pegasus race, her optimism and warmth promising them an interesting future.

Her question was echoed by a few more speakers.

Then a heavy silence took reign, everypony holding their breath, literally or figuratively, waiting for the solution. It lasted ominously long, until Octavia slowly raised her eyes from the tablet to give everyone a dark look.

“There is no other choice,” she stated in a hollow voice.

Quite expectedly, the council erupted in violent protest, enraged screams demanding explanation or simply vehemently disagreeing. I remained silent, yet to say a single word, waiting for more information before coming to any conclusions.

“What!? It was a massacre!” a Kirin mare yelled, one of the twins from the council, her sister absent, the recent events suggesting quite a grim fate. Her objection ended in sobs, the Kirin by her side, a Former One called Alabaster Bark, hugging her in wordless support.

Octavia waited for the council to calm down a bit and then spoke again:

“The scouts report the Pink Butterflies gathering at the edge of the Everfree. Spending the night out of the swamps will lead to even more devastating results.” Before anyone could protest, she hastily added, “And if we are lucky then the Buffalo have learned their lesson.”

The reaction to her words was no different from the previous time. Though, now there was a noticeable note of desperation in the riotous remarks – the facts were pointing at Octavia not being wrong with her merciless suggestion. I could understand it as well, but I wasn’t so sure the wraiths could learn anything – sheer animosity and hunger drove them to mindless murder. However, I doubted that their numbers were going to be replenished by the next time they appeared, which could also serve as a reason for them to hold back or at least make them less deadly the next time they attacked.

“And if we are not?” the question rang above the din, belonging to some earth pony stallion I didn’t know, his ragged attire and metal legs suggesting either the Edge or the Tunnels as his previous home.

“Then we will lose another half thousand people,” Octavia said darkly, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

Of course, the gathered ones met her verdict with less than pleased comments.

“It is easy for you to sacrifice our brethren, outlander,” a unicorn mare with a fresh scar that barely missed her left eye yelled over the clamor, her tone bitter, almost venomous. “I bet you would talk differently if it was those Stalliongrad asses or bats.”

Octavia said nothing, but turned away as if she was slapped. That caused Trixie shoot the unicorn mare a withering look.

“Yeah, it isn’t that hard to sacrifice ponies and others when you are immortal, is it?” another voice, belonging to a male, called out from the displeased congregation.

Octavia recoiled from the accusation once again. Even Fotia bristled in inginidation as the nature of the Former Ones suddenly became a fault. This time Trixie went further, her arcanium hooves smashing against the steel frame of the projector, the liquid mask of her face rippling with waves of fury. The already strained atmosphere was threatening to evolve into an open confrontation with those taunts thrown around. It was time for me to speak.

“It doesn’t matter if we are mortal or not,” I quietly said. I didn’t need to talk loudly to be heard, my words were instantly followed by almost absolute silence, disrupted by nothing but the rustle of golden sand only I could perceive. “Because none of our lives belong to us.”

My gaze slowly slid over the small crowd of different faces, stopping at the most familiar one, half-concealed by a visor. My eyes met the rosy ones; their owner was yet to speak as well. That moment, I understood her more than I ever had.

“There are no individuals beyond those cloth walls,” I nodded at the spot of sunlight, where the day tried to filter itself through the heavy fabric. “Equestria waits for our guidance there. The moment we stepped into positions of power in this tumultuous time, we sacrificed ourselves to become beacons of light showing the path in darkness.

“The deaths of those who have fallen by our side,” I glanced at the sisterless Kirin and she looked at her hooves with a pained grimace, “aren’t just casualties, numbers in long lists, for in their demise they join that fire that will lead Equestria to its new home. They are heroes who should never be forgotten.

“Our task is to carry that torch onward, to honor the price they paid, stalwartly and unrelentingly, no matter what. For if we hesitate, if we stumble, Equestria will fall with us.”

No cheering met my speech, not that I expected any. My words solidified Octavia’s suggestion, and no one was looking forward to another night of knives. Most of the gathered hung their heads down, perhaps fully realizing the weight of the burden of leadership they volunteered to carry. Only Rainbow Dash continued to look at me intensely. Finally, she gave me an approving nod and turned to leave the tent. Her departure served as a signal for everyone else. The hunched figures with dark expressions exited the pavillion one by one, me being the last, gone in a flash of magic.

The night was going to be dark and full of terrors, but first, the day had to be survived.

A hydra had passed through the area, leaving behind only the foul smell of its breath and deep footprints flooded with muddy water.

“Good luck and be careful,” I whispered to the group of my children through the Unity before flying away.

The Hayseed Swamps were full of danger in both the daylight and the moonlight, but unlike the arcanium-twisted buffalo, the former was manageable… more or less. Teams of volunteers armed with magic and makeshift weapons were the frontier of the still-huge mass of escapees. They were able to deal with most of the threats with relative success. When they couldn’t, I was called to help.

Those groups clearing the path moved slowly and unrelentingly, with dark shadows in their eyes. They were realizing that taking care of wild beasts and thicket wasn’t the battle, it was a dream under the sun, it was time to rest. After sunset, they would wake, to clash in battle with the real danger lurking in the bog.

The fugitives who survived this journey would never be the same.

I banked above the low treetops, listening to the chit-chat of the Unity and looking for potential problems myself. Usually they were manticores and hydras, both of which I tended to teleport away. Though the environment was as aggressive as it could be, I didn’t see that as a reason to destroy it. In the case of hydras, killing one was a gruesome and difficult task that could only create more problems – a colossal body leaking caustic blood blocking the path. Timberwolves often needed my attention as well. Fire was the most effective weapon against them, but it was forbidden from use (which didn’t always stop the refugees, leading to obvious and unpleasant consequences).

So I had spent most of the day warping away the rampaging beasts and chopping down the animated wood. Now, it was coming to its conclusion, the promise of a violent night hanging heavily in the air.

The first lanterns began to glimmer in the gaps of the messy canopy, some carried by the refugees and others dancing in anticipation at the edges of vision without any bearers. The congregation began to slow down, the thicket-clearing teams returning to their kin, forming dark and frightened camps. Some refused to stay at the marshes, despite strict orders, choosing to leave the treeline in favor of the open sky and hope of a safe night.

A shadow against the setting sun, a large form appeared from the bogs and, flapping its mighty wings, slowly headed to me. Noting the position of the most outward encampments, I began to gain height to have a clear sight of the marshes. Then I did the same thing I did at the Junkyard – exercising my telekinetic power, I used a huge invisible hoof to make two parallel lines across the mire, each a path of destruction, leaving two shallow moats circling tonight’s resting place for those who fled from Canterlot. Spike, who followed in my wake, rained fire from the sky on the stripe of trees and breakage trapped between the freshly-dug ravines.

The wall of raging fire, filling the air with steam and acrid smoke, booming with muffled explosions of pocketed underground gas, stood between the no longer jovially dancing lights and the breathless fugitives.

One by one the will-o’-wisps began to wink out.

Even with the threat of the undead buffalo seemingly gone, at least a quarter of the camp was still awake, standing guard. The sleepless, frightened figures kept looking around, peering into the oppressive darkness, wiping soot from their sweaty foreheads with shaking hooves.

The equinoid encampment was more peaceful in that regard, most of my children busy with caring for each other. Though traversing the marshes wasn’t as tiring for them as it was for the organic escapees (nothing would be physically tiring for the equinoids for that matter), the bog was taking a heavy toll in another aspect. Metal bodies didn’t fare very well in the conditions of abundant dirt and high humidity, to put it lightly.

I didn’t sit idly, instead helping the endless repair process, cleaning the mud-clogged joints and applying fresh oil. Though I talked with every equinoid I helped, reassuring them and listening to the stories they were eager to share with me, I couldn’t stop thinking about the piece of information that was reported to me not long after Spike and I set fire to part of the bog forest.

The Pink Butterflies were gone, disappearing from sight. I wondered what caused that. Did they get tired of waiting, their interest shifting to something at Canterlot? Or were they deterred by the huge bonfire? I wished it to be the former, since that would mean there was no need to hide in the inhospitable swamp anymore. The latter would mean burning more of the wilderness, something I preferred to avoid – the current ashing wasn’t a decision I made lightly. From time to time I had to leave my body to check if the fire had jumped across the moats.

When I was returning to my vessel after one of those trips, I noticed that something was wrong.

Visually, there was nothing out of place, the camp was just as dark and restless with fear, pale faces catching the orange glimpses of the great pyre burning the wildlife. But the encampment was much more full of magic than I remembered. The first, obvious thought was about retribution coming from the buffalo wraiths, but it wasn’t their twisted arcane energy. Just the usual Harmony magic coming from… crystals.

Instead of returning into my own body I took the reigns of a Harbinger, taking the place of Eleven, who was patrolling the camp. Walking amongst the gnarled trees, I watched, all my senses open, heading to the nearest mysterious crystal.

Silent as breeze, I stepped over a bare root, finding myself in the circle of light cast by a dim lantern. A neighponese mare was sitting on a fallen log, a can of preserved food in her hoof, her shimmering magic aura lethargically levitating a spoon with discolored mush back and forth to her chapped lips. A pair of amber eyes, unfocused, stared into the shadows, her eyelids fluttering, threatening to fall down and refuse to go up, carrying the tired unicorn into Luna’s domain.

The pulsing gem was right behind her when its steady heartbeat stopped, finally bringing its mystery to the visible world. The crystal was hanging from a necklace resting on a metal breastplate with a stylized pink butterfly painted on it. The barrel of a gun comprised of magnetic coils and held by eagle claws was pointed at the back of the mare’s head as she obliviously continued to keep herself awake with horrid taste of rationed food.

My magic shoved her aside a blink of an eye after my mind caught up on the situation, at the same moment an arcanium javelin whistled forward. The griffin and I both found our targets, though the former not the one intended. The projectile of the coilgun barely missed the unicorn, tearing through her ear, causing the poor mare to shriek in pain. Then it continued its deadly path, obliterating my head. After a moment of hesitation Eleven fled my now-decapitated and useless body. She soon would be needed elsewhere.

As it fell to the ground in a pile of arcanium limbs, I remained on my hooves, a misty form, shaking with anger. I reached for the bloodsoaked sliver of arcanium and unpinned the griffin shooter from the tree.

Cries of alarm echoing with shrill panic began to form their haunting orchestra, portending another long night and another long list of names.

As it was predicted, the Pink Butterflies were much more vicious in their attack compared to the assailants from the previous night. However, this time, though they never spared a pony or any other organic creature standing in their way, their primary targets were the equinoids. Unlike the fallen buffalo, whose malice was fueled by hunger and insanity, the terrorists were guided by hatred of any technology, with artificial life being the pinnacle of it.

The invisibility cloaks I so stupidly missed allowed the Pink Butterflies to get right into the heart of the camp and start to rip it apart from the inside, wreaking havoc of horrifying proportion. The only thing that prevented it from turning into another night of tragedy for the Canterlot fugitives was them already anticipating an attack. The battle broke out all around me, fought not for life, but for death.

Ever since my magic took grasp around the piece of arcanium I used to slay the first griffin, I didn’t stop for a single moment. I was constantly moving, either flying or teleporting, answering calls for help, leaving behind only corpses marked with Fluttershy’s cutie mark and bleeding wounds from my arcanium needles.

There was only one thing I could call fortunate – the Pink Butterflies brought far fewer weapons with them than I would have expected. The sounds of explosions were rare and I suspected that often it was the swamp gas combusting. Most of the attackers were armed with melee weapons, either metal claws or dirks, and not every gunner wielded the devastating coilguns. However, the presence of unicorn battle mages was making my assertion about our luck very questionable.

I was moving into a clearing, aiming to find an opening in the canopy, to find anyone who needed help from the air… or in the air. The battle raged on all fronts. It was then a pitch-black wave slammed into me only to rebound and materialize into the shadow of a pony a few steps away.

“Be careful, Trixie,” I commented, extending my hoof to help her rise.

She muttered her gratitude, asking the whereabouts of Octavia as I cantered by. Giving her no answer, I divided my blade into a swarm of coin-sized razor-sharp fragments and threw them at the entwinement tree branches and vines, tearing them into shreds and finally giving me access to the sky.

To my left the forest smouldered, the blazing inferno of the grand bonfire beginning to slow down. It swallowed more than one refugee, driven there by overwhelming panic and loss of orientation. My fear was that it would become insufficient to keep the buffalo away, which would certainly put an end to the escape from Canterlot.

Bathed by the soft moonlight, pegasi and griffins were locked in aerial combat, colliding into masses of feathers plummeting down and then untangling themselves before they crashed through the canopies. Often, one of the fighters continued to fall down into the damp soil of the moors, leaving behind a trail of blood.

I let the swarm of my arcanium slivers fly in every direction, seeking targets, helping the sky front of the war as long as I could, letting dead griffins rain onto the forest screaming with struggle below me. A cry in the Unity distracted me from my murderous spree, forcing me to dive into the weald, two swords forming behind me.

One of them was plunged into the griffin’s eye socket the moment I landed, a rifle falling from their arms which were pointing it at the equinoid. The sight of two bodies perforated by numerous shots, one with a metal skull split apart, pierced my heart with sharp pain. I could only hope that their entities were taken into the Unity, instead of dissolving into thin air.

The fallen rifle was readily caught by the surviving equinoid, her hooves fumbling with a weapon not designed to be used by them. I whisked it out of her grasp, firing rounds at the armored unicorn unleashing a barrage of fire spells on the cluster of tents not far from us. As I was pulling one of my swords from the dead griffin’s head, I had to throw another to strike down one more terrorist creeping out of the woods.

With all the threats gone, I shoved the gun into the equinoid’s hooves, saying to her as I was already in the air, “Find a magic user, keep yourself safe.”

Keeping the fire I created in check had to wait now, as it became apparent that the Pink Butterflies aimed to make their own pyre, adding one more responsibility to my growing list. I was teleporting between the burning trees, extinguishing the potential sources of massive disaster when a strange sound caught my attention.

I found myself at a clearing, surrounded by the deep and ominous sound of broken syllables spoken in a low voice. It was coming from the goat, her body held in the air by invisible forces, blood dripping from her eyes, nose and ears, trickling from the corners of her twitching lips. The severed horn hovered before her, burning and emanating thick purple smoke forming semi-translucent tentacles lashing all around her, making every living creature, be it an enemy or an unsuspecting ally fall to the ground, deep lacerations leaking life out of them. She had to be stopped.

However, when I took her smouldering horn in my grasp, I felt another presence, very similar to mine and to the silky touch of distant sands that wouldn’t leave me. The goat called for her protectors in this battle and they readily answered, in their gruesome fashion. Using all my strength I tugged, ripping the sacrifice out of the Elder Ones’ clutches, making the spell cease.

A low whisper, coming from the ancient mouths hidden somewhere amidst the frozen peaks, rudely entered my mind. “You will pay for this.”

The goat dropped to the ground, violently coughing, the smoky tendrils around her dissipating. Before she could wipe her eyes and witness me, who interrupted her ritual, I was gone, rocketing back into the sky.

The next time I helped the combat taking place under the torn canopies, I left with a very peculiar addition to the Unity, though temporary. One of the mighty minotaurs was bleeding out oil when I arrived, his metal body succumbing to the overwhelming amount of damage caused by dozens of griffins before they fell from the wide swings of his heavy axe. Only his iron will was keeping his mind clinging to his ravaged frame, but not for long. The equinoids who stood behind his back, protected by the iron giant all that time, didn’t let his sacrifice go unrepaid and summoned me.

The moon passed its highest point in the sky, but the bloodletting taking place under its light was yet to begin winding down. It seemed like the Pink Butterflies brought most of their forces here, making me second-guess my idea of them eventually stabbing their TCE masters in the back. The massacre was senseless, the attackers not likely to gain much from their vicious onslaught. No amount of supplies they would loot from the dead would help them survive the winter which would never end. Perhaps they knew it and that was why they attacked. According to Trixie’s words, those were griffin traditionalists. For them, there was no way as honorable as to die in battle.

A head with a beak rolled to the ground as my blade separated it from the neck. Loud cries and the dry sound of lightning splitting apart the air signified the approach of the night’s sovereign. If I had time, I would have grimaced in dissatisfaction.

Luna was lost in visions of some ancient war with the Griffin Empire, her magic and shadow soldiers cutting through the battlefield akin to a hurricane, just as effective and… indifferent. Everything in the warpath of the former diarch was destined to die if it stayed, fortunately she was loud enough to be fled from most of the time. Too bad the Pink Butterflies were smart enough to understand that as well, so Luna was just destroying the forest, striking at the shadows of her mind.

Somewhere in the distance I could hear the distinct sounds of enchanted weapons belonging to Rainbow and Trixie. Though they were nearly immortal anyway, it was still a good sign. Overall, despite its length and intensity, the confrontation of refugees and terrorists had taken much less toll on the former than I feared. The last night had taught them that though they left Canterlot behind, they couldn’t get rid of war so easily.

I only wished I could say the same about my children. The Harbingers barely participated in the combat, instead warping from body to body, catching the last breaths of the equinoids and bringing them to the Unity. Still, even with their death being postponed, too many metal carcasses, mangled beyond any hope for repair, would be swallowed by the mire.

My woe was instantly strengthened by a cry in the Unity, a desperate call for help. Concentrating my magic, I teleported, readying my blade.

I materialized behind a pony, a stallion with a pistol in his magic pressed to the lower jaw of an equinoid. A vaguely familiar equinoid. Without hesitation I thrust my weapon into the would-be murderer’s chest, piercing his heart. I was almost too late, as a shot rang through the air, turning half of the equinoid’s face into a mess dripping dark oil on the forest floor.

“Twilight?” a small voice called from behind me.

I tore my gaze from the shocked eyes of the unicorn terrorist, the light in them fading away. Turning my head, I saw Tin Flower and Red Wire standing under the shadow of a tree, the moonlight appearing from behind the cloud revealing their expressions, horrified beyond anything I had seen before.

“W-what have you d-done?” Flower asked, shaking, looking in sheer terror at the lifeless body skewed by my needle of arcanium.

I turned back to look at my victim, a limp frame choking its last breath out with a gurgle of blood. Only now did I notice that the stallion had no painted armor.

It couldn’t be. He was going to kill my child.

Through the Unity I reached into the equinoid’s mind, taking a look at it.

SCRT-079.223.MK-06 – standard secretary model, though his name of choice was… Adamant Smash. I skimmed through the memories of his short lifetime full of misfortune, stopping at the last recollection. The stallion who threatened him was desperate, looking for his family, wife and kids lost in the woods. Driven to the edge of sanity by fear and worry, he lashed out at Adamant Smash, blaming him for the Pink Butterflies’ attack.

Now he was dead, his heavy body sliding from my weapon to the ground with a meaty thud. I stood, my eyes fastened on him, drops of oil from Adamant’s shattered skull falling on the grimace of agony forever etched on the face of the loving father.

Perhaps he wouldn’t even have shot.

I whipped my head around, remembering the girls who had witnessed my crime of murder. They still stared at me with horrified expressions. I took a step towards them, knowing that I must explain what happened, but having no words but an admission of guilt.

...Judge, jury and executioner...

Red Wire instantly retreated two steps back, looking ready to flee. She tugged on Flowers tail, her jaws working, trying to say something with her mouth full of hair. I took another uncertain step, and as Flower still refused to move, Wire pleaded, looking at me in fear:

“We need to go, it isn’t safe here.”

Only now Flower seemed to notice her friend, briefly tearing her eyes from me, giving Wire a pained glance, “But Twilight…”

“There is no Twilight,” Wire barked back, taking Flower’s metal hoof in hers and pulling it, but the remaining three hooves seemed to be rooted to the earth. Desperate, she added, pointing her hoof in my direction,”She is just a monster, look at her!”

Was I? I was only trying to protect those I loved.

But I murdered an innocent.

I judged others by my worst assumptions, but myself – by my best intents.

“But...” Tin Flower tried to object, looking lost and confused, something inside her starting to crack.

Feeling warm and sticky liquid wash over my hind hooves, I took another small step forward, realizing that no words I could say would speak louder than the blood on my hooves.

Seeing my continuing approach, Wire clutched Flower’s head in her hooves and yelled, “She is not your mother!”

Flower threw away her friend’s hooves as if they were made of white-hot iron, making Wire fall onto the ground, and her eyes began to jump between her and me, tears flowing from them.

Wincing, Wire rose on her hooves, only to put one of them of Flower’s shoulder.

“Flower, let them go.”

Something changed in Flower’s entire appearance. She gave me a brief intense look of a dozen emotions fighting each other and turned away, starting off into the darkness, Wire following her not a moment later.

Another step, my hoof splashing into a puddle of red.

They needed me, especially Flower. But behind me, another innocent and unnecessary victim of this night was bleeding out. Both Adamant Smash and Flower needed their mother right now.

You have to choose.

I turned away from the woods.

My magic reached out to knit Adamant’s head together, and extending further to quickly fix his still falling apart body as much as possible. Unfortunately, too much of the cooling fluid leaked out, forcing his crystals into an emergency shutdown.

I glanced at the body sprawled onto the forest floor. It shouldn’t be here, because I shouldn’t be. My place wasn’t here. With every step of my arcanium hooves I was robbing everyone around me of their precious freedom of choice. Yet I couldn’t abandon my children, not in their darkest hour. They needed me.

Sacrifices had to be made. No cost was too great to let them see the dawn.

Leaving a message in the Unity for my Harbingers to pick up Adamant Smash, I reached for the arcanium needle, the crimson blood on it silver and black in the moonlight. I was called again.

As I soared up into the sky I noted the sudden silence caused by the everpresent sound in the background being gone.

The golden sand no longer rustled at the edge of my hearing.

Underneath the balcony, the fugitives milled all around, setting up the last temporary camp. Delight shifted by my side, adjusting the bandages on her chest and one of her legs. She arrived shortly before dawn, bringing help in the form of medicine and food. By that time, only a few of the Pink Butterflies still fought, soon to be overwhelmed. Del also managed to somehow convince Stalliongrad to send a few squads, who along with the changelings put an end to the bloody battle. If the Pink Butterflies’ goal was to find glorious death, they succeeded, not a single terrorist leaving the treeline alive. However, if their goal was to cripple the evacuation or to kill everypony or every equinoid – they didn’t fail entirely either.

Millions of creatures and thousands of equinoids lived in Canterlot. Only a fraction of that number, less than a fifth stepped beyond its outskirts. In the end, half of those fugitives found their new home in the Badlands, under the shadows of the Hive and Stalliongrad. The rest remained bones, to be swallowed by either the mire or the snow.

Yet it was a better fate than what awaited those who remained in the last Equestrian city to fall. I didn’t need to travel in spirit to feel the massive snowstorm swirling far on the horizon, sending its frozen breath south and building a coffin of ice around Canterlot.

That didn’t mean the future of the escapees was going to be easy. I shared the Hive’s balcony not only with Delight, though only the changeling queen dared to be so close to me, my only friend now. The others kept as far away as they could, giving me wary glances. Soon, there would be no need for that; my troubling physical presence wasn’t going to be an issue any longer.

The numerous representatives of each nation and group, including those of Stalliongrad, were there, taking a breath of fresh air after spending hours in heated argument. None wanted others to hold the reins of power, though it was no concern of mine. I demanded independence for the equinoids and equal rights under the threat of abandoning the new settlement. Considering how much manual labor it needed on such short notice, my demands couldn’t be turned down.

Even now I could see my children marking the borders of the future quarry, which would serve as a source of material for many new homes, and eventually, its basin would be a landing zone for Stalliongrad. However, it didn’t miss my eyes: the equinoids were, if not openly shunned, avoided most of the time, just like I was.

The fellowship created during the long journey was slowly evaporating. It also applied to any group which historically tended to stand apart from the others – which meant everyone. It was only a question of time before the Tribes would form again. This time there would be another choice, though.

A splash of red in the busy crowd caught my eye – Red Wire was walking between the tents, nagging a Former One, a neighponese unicorn I didn’t know. She was alone, Tin Flower absent from not just her side, but also the camp. Though I didn’t follow the girls that fateful night, I made sure they would survive it. Yet Flower stayed for only one night and left the camp with the Night herself trotting by her side in the morning. They headed south, to uncharted territories.

My gaze found the splotch of crimson once again, the filly still shadowing the mage. With Trixie and Octavia leaving the camp as well (though heading in the opposite direction), it wasn’t hard to guess Wire’s intentions. I wasn’t going to stop her, not out of the desire to keep my promise, but out of respect to her freedom of choice. Despite what Flower told me, they weren’t as much fillies as they wanted to appear, and they spoke of things not many adults understood. Some of Wire’s words echoed in my mind:

Memories define who we are. If you have the memories of a pony named Twilight Sparkle, you are Twilight Sparkle, like it or not.

Wire wasn’t wrong in saying that, but she wasn’t right either.

I had the memories of Twilight Sparkle. Though the crystals with those recollections were destroyed, I could still remember any moment of her life until she lost her sight forever, like I lived them myself.

The magic is more or less the same, but you don’t act like the Twilight who died along with Celestia, like my mother. And not like the blinded hysterical mare I never could recognize, who blamed herself for being alive and who would have agreed with me.

I told Delight that if I were to change places with myself without knowing that, I would have followed the same path, made the same mistakes.

But I didn’t.

I didn’t succumb to grief, I overcame it, accepting the grievous mistakes and learning from, instead of repeating, them. I didn’t turn away from the equinoids, I gave them the freedom they always deserved, I forced a path into becoming something I wasn’t sure even existed.

Sometimes she acted like Twilight’s carbon copy, talking and acting the way she used to when we worked together. But what she told me at the Junction and some other things… it made me think.

Carbon copy…

There was Twilight, who lived before the Great War; I met her in the broken reflection of the past in Dodge City. Then there was Twilight, who was the head researcher creating the first cybersuit, a gate to the world of a grim future. After her was another Twilight, who created a new form of life and lived the rest of her life shunned, until she tried to escape her blindness into a new life. The life I was living now was one more Twilight Sparkle.

Only one of them was the true Twilight Sparkle, for in the end each of them was different in their essence, no matter how many similarities they shared. I could be pondering that question for eternity, if not for the words of a mare who was much smarter than she dared to admit:

Original… copy… that is not how ponies work. You are overcomplicating things.

Luna told me that I was no longer a visitor in her ethereal kingdon made of dreams and nightmares. Yet I could see things in my slumbers, visions I shared with my children. I was one of them, no longer a pony, even before I transcended beyond the facets of carved gemstones.

Adamant Smash had memories of SCRT-079.223.MK-06. Brass Litany had those of BLD-003.745.MK-44. And LB.SSTNT-001.13.MK-7 for Buttercup. The Unity was full of them, forged recollections, labeled with numbers, serving to stabilize the consciousness of their former carriers. Yet they didn’t need them anymore, and not because of how the Unity worked. It was a network for exchanging data, not a psychiatrist.

Adamant Smash, Brass Litany, Braze, Buttercup… they had their own memories now, from the lives they truly lived. Their new experiences being as significant as the ones they had implanted into them, just as real-looking but, unlike them, actually happened. Their own names.

Twilight Sparkle lived an eventful life, her deeds and misdeeds equally great. Then she died, fallen victim to her passion – science, her body buried by her Sun’s side. She left behind a legacy not many could boast of. And a casket full of enchanted gemstones with the recording of that life seared into them by her extraordinary magic ability.

I intently watched those recordings, lived them like she did. Then I chose my own path to walk, learning from both her mistakes and accomplishments. Immersed as I was, I was but a reader of her book of life, in the end capable of making my own decisions. It was my choices that made me who I was, not hers.

Now Twilight Sparkle was but an aftersound living in me.

I always was the Machine Goddess.

Author's Notes:

Without further ado – to the Epilogue.