“It is only when our characters and events begin to disobey us that they begin to live.”

“You did something today that’s never been done before. Something that not even a great unicorn like Starswirl the Bearded was not able to do, because he did not understand friendship the way you do.”

Ponyville, Equestria, 6th Year Anno Harmonia

Morning in Ponyville shimmered. Yes, morning in Ponyville shone...in a sickly sort of way. But with the Divine Sun ascending over the horizon and the monotonous sounds of the dawn chorus in the air, nopony commented on it. Not on how the sun, although bright and radiant, seemed to cast a colder, more pallid light, or how everything on which it cast its’ gaze seemed...lesser. Not washed out, or colourless, or even decayed. Just lesser, diminished, reduced.

But nopony commented on it.

Over on the far side of town, Sweet Apple Acres was in full production. With more mouths to feed, the venerable agribusiness was expanding rapidly. Now, with a few Royal Grants (and a touch of Solar Fire to release up lands formerly occupied by the outliers of the Everfree Forest) neat, monotonous lines of apple trees extended for miles around the farm’s old footprint, extending with all the grasp and reach of a gorging octopus.

Yes, Ponyville shimmered, and the farm thrived.

Applebloom hated it. She hated the sameness of it all, and the nameless, joyless armies of newly planted trees. She hated the cement and clapboard bunkhouse that had been erected to house the expanding workforce, an ugly brick that not even bright paint and cheerful murals could harmonise with what she had once called home. She hated how she almost never saw her sister anymore, and how Big Macintosh was too increasingly busy liaising with the Ministry of Supplies to personally come down from Canterlot and tend to the farm. She knew it was essential to his cover story, so as to hide his affiliations with certain entities outside of Equestria, but it still stung.

And yet, Sweet Apple Acres was bigger, healthier, stronger and turning record profits, but she loathed every microcosm of it.

...and nothing rose her ire more than the ponies now employed by the farm. She kept it secret, balled the emotion up tight and buried it deep inside, but in her heart of hearts it only seemed to burn with a greater, more focused intensity.

The newfoals. Oh, how she hated the newfoals. It was their fault. Their fault that she had been left to run this soulless monster of a farm, their fault that she never saw her beloved siblings outside of a few stolen moments.

Their fault that she was, almost entirely, alone.

And so, when those emotions needed a release, the yellow youth, no longer a filly but not quite yet a mare, her rosy hair tied back in a straightforward pony-tail, came here to let them out, in front of Granny Smith’s grave.

“You were riht’ Granny...” she said at last, trying to hold tears back from her eyes. “You were right wen’ you said this weren’t any good. The war, the government contract, Applejack joinin’ the Salvation Armee’. You were right about it all...”

Granny Smith had died six months after the Barrier had began to expand over Humanland (or whatever the thrice-cursed rattlesnake of a rock was called). Her final days, which should have been full of family and tender love, were cold and lonely, with only Applebloom and Bic Mac and a few exemplary exceptions in attendance. Carrot-Top, Braeburn, and, of all ponies, the Flim-Flam brothers, had been the only ones to share the burden. Applejack had been ‘too busy’. Granny had passed on in sadness, grieving for her ‘lost’ granddaughter.

“Don’t let the same happen to you, darlin’ little Bloom...” the wise old matriarch had whispered weakly. “Don’t let pride and glory steal away whatchou are most of all. Never stop being the brave, strong, amazing little pony you are...”

“Ah’ promise, Granny Smith...” had been Applebloom’s reply. “Ah’ promise I’ll never abandon Sweet Apple Acres...”

“No! Landsakes no Bloom’! Get yerself away from this place as soon as you ken’. Get out of Ponyville, getch yerself outa Equestria! This hole’ place has been poisoned. It’s dyin’ Bloom, and what’ll be left will soon be just a corpse, movin’ and talkin’ and playin’ like it were alive, but dead through and through...”

“I can’t Granny! I can’t leave the farm! Our roots are here, this place is the Apple family! I can’t leave...”

And so she had remained, and endured. Times had gotten tougher. When Applejack had shown her disloyal muzzle at Granny Smith’s funeral, the situation hit rock bottom. Applebloom had gone on a right proper tear in an attempt to shame her sibling, at how AJ had broken the sacred bonds of kith and kin. Applejack however, had returned her sister’s attacks with equal force, accusing her of disloyalty to the Greater Family, to the Herd itself.

Applebloom shivered as she remembered. The creature screaming back at her, while Granny Smith was still warm in her casket, was not the sister she remembered. None of Applejack’s warmth and love shone in those eyes, just a dark fire that spoke of endless wrath. When Applebloom looked deep into them, all she could see was a hoof smashing down on a pony’s face, forever and always, ad infinatum...

Yes, Applebloom hated it all. And yet, some twisted perversion of loyalty had kept her here. She had contracts to support, a nation to feed, a Queen to SERVE. It might have all been the newfoals fault, but she had NO SYMPATHY for the Humans either. Her own hoof, strong and muscled from years of hard work, ground deep into the soil beneath it, and she imagined she was FORCING POTION down the throat of a DIRTY MONKEY. It would have been better if HER DIVINE MAJESTY Celestia had just wiped them all out...they were lucky that they were being SHOWN MERCY...Applejack was RIGHT to DEVOTE HERSELF to this RIGHTEOUS CRUSADE...

...and then the alien thought, the wave of sudden, unbidden rage, passed away from her, and Applebloom shuddered and fell forward onto Granny Smith’s humble grave, face pressed into her forehooves and eyes weeping huge, hot, emotional tears.

“What do Ah do, Granny? I’ve got responsibilities here, but I’m turnin’ into one af’them! What do I do!”

“Escape...” someone said, softly and tenderly. Applebloom sat up straight, just as something fell from an overhanging tree, and landed neatly atop her head.

It was a hat. Applebloom instinctively swiped it off and looked down at it. What a fine hat it was, too, a Stetson, crafted from a soft tan material with a darker band around the crown. It was far from new, but it seemed to have been well cared for, loved even. She flipped it over and read a label stitched inside the brim:

PROPERTY OF THE EASTWOOD ARCHIVES: FILM, A FISTFULL OF DOLLARS. HAT #1.

Then she lifted her eyes to the tree from which it had fallen, and felt her lips pull into a grimace as her eyes narrowed.

“Sweetie Belle...” she growled.

“Applebloom,” the other young mare nodded back, her beautiful green eyes sad, but glowing with resolve. From where she stood she was just out of Applebloom’s reach, and for a long moment the two ex-Crusaders regarded one another in a silent stalemate.

“What do you want, traitor!” Applebloom said at last, spitting out the last word. It was a personal touch, with no bearing on Sweetie Belle’s ‘outlaw status, just an expression of how deeply she felt betrayed when Sweetie Belle had gone into hiding without even a goodbye...

Then she brandished the Stetson. “And what in the hay is this!”

“A present from some friends,” Sweetie Belle said simply, before extended her sentence with a sight. “Can I please come down and pay my respects to Granny?”

Applebloom immediately shifted into a defensive stance, the hat gripped between her teeth as she placed herself before the sad little grave, protecting it. But then Sweetie Belle reached into another saddlebag, and pulled out a little glass jar, filled with an iridescent jelly.

“Zap Apple Jam...” Applebloom said, her voice a surprised whisper, and Sweetie nodded.

“It’s from the batch we helped her make...the Cutie Mark Crusaders that is. I thought she’d appreciate the gesture.”

Applebloom hesitated, but then she glanced over her shoulder at the gravestone, on which she had painstakingly carved a familiar apple-pie cutie mark.

“Alright, fine...” she said at last, stepping aside.

“Thank you Bloom’,” Sweetie Belle said, and then she took a step off of the branch. Applebloom leapt forward in an instinctive attempt to catch the alabaster unicorn, but to her amazement, she saw that her ‘old friend’ was walking down an invisible staircase, her horn glowing and a musical note ringing out every time she placed a hoof on the unseen ‘steps’.

“That...that’s some real fancy magic, Sweets...” Applebloom muttered, keeping her distance as the other pony stepped past.

“And this is a beautiful little marker Bloom’,” Sweetie answered, regarded the gravestone. “Your hoofsmanship is amazing.”

Applebloom bit back a word of thanks; she owed the unicorn nothin’. But she could not feel a pang as Sweetie Belle gently levitated the precious jar of Zap Apple Jam onto the grave, and then from her saddlebags pulled an old set of bunny ears, which she rested on her head. Then she did a strange, familiar little dance and laughed sadly.

“Sleep well, Granny. I’m so sorry I was unable to come sooner. And I promise to take care of Applebloom, as you would have wanted. Goodbye, and go with my love.”

As she listened uneasily, Applebloom felt that same snarl reshape her expression.

“Take care of me! What do you mean ‘take care of me’. And how in the hay did you get this hat into Equestria! The Barrier stops al’ human artefacks from passin’ through!”

“It was an experiment to determine the limits of the barrier,” Sweetie Belle answered, her eyes still fixed on Granny Smith’s final rest. “It’s actually an exact replica of a human object, alchemically crafted from Equestrian raw materials. The real hat is safe in a film museum somewhere.”

She then turned, and Applebloom took a step back, seeing unexpected tears in the unicorn’s eyes.

“I knew that Applejack promised you a hat of your own when you were old enough to inherit the farm, AB. She forgot that promise, but I didn’t.”

Applebloom clutched the Stetson a little closer to her barrel, her mouth dry and unable to form words. Sweetie Belle managed a smile and then, sniffing, wiped her eyes dry with a hoof.

“I’m so sorry Bloom’, for everything that happened. Rarity helped me run away before she was taken, but you had to watch Applejack degrade before your own eyes. But why did you keep yourself here and prolong your suffering, you stubborn little filly?”

The word ‘filly’ caused Applebloom to jump, and with a deep shame she looked back at her flank. No cutie mark was blazoned on her haunches, and she was beginning to wonder if it ever would. Slowly she turned her gaze to the other pony’s hind legs, and saw a field of pearly white fur.

‘Two blank flanks met by a grave’, she thought to herself. ‘Sounds like a bad joke.’ But instead of expressing that thought, she instead began to sing, an old and almost forgotten tune.

“We are the Cutie Mark Crusaders...” she whispered softly.

“On a quest to find out who we are...” Sweetie finished, her own voice a sad whisper. Then she paused and gave another sigh. “I guess we did.”

“Yeah...” Applebloom replied lamely. “A silly little filly who couldn’t see the trap she was in...”

“And another who ran away from her best friend when she needed her the most...” Sweetie added, her own ears sagging.

“What happened, Sweets?” Applebloom said at last. When no answer came she expanded the question, sweeping one hoof around to ecompass the whole valley. “To us, to Equestria...to Scootaloo and Babs?”

“Celestia happened,” Sweetie said without hesitation, despite a waver in her voice. “She did this, and Big Mac and I are with the ponies and people trying to set that right.”

She extended a hoof towards her old schoolfriend. “You can too, AB. I know you promised Granny to put the farm first, but you know you need to get out of her. And you can help Scootaloo as well.”

Applebloom’s eyes flew back up to meet Sweetie’s gaze. “What’s wrong with Scootaloo.

“You remember how she could never fly, and the doctors didn’t know why. Well we know now, it’s the Disharmony Necrosis...without love and support, her wings never developed. They got sick instead, and began to kill her.”

“Kill...her...” Applebloom said in shock, her chest heaving. “Is she...has she?”

“No,” Sweetie said, shaking her head firmly. “She’s alive, but she needs your help, right now.”

Applebloom pulled herself to her feet. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s in surgery, but something’s happened, and she needs as many ponies who love her to help her through it.”

“Alright then, lets...wait a second,” Appleboom paused, and a shade of suspicion flickered over her features. “Ain’t this just a little convenient. You coulda approached me when Granny Smith died, or at any time since. Why now, when Scoot’s gets ‘sick’.”

She almost expected an angry retort, but Sweetie instead ducked her head and dug at the earth in a gesture of shame. Not for the first time, Applebloom noticed how...robust her old friend was looking. Sure, she still had all of her sister’s grace and elegance, but it was like the shine on the edge of a knife. If it weren’t for the horn, Sweetie Belle could almost be mistaken for a rough-and-tough Earth Pony. Seeing her pawing in the dirt like...well, Fluttershy, was unnerving.

“I was...afraid,” Sweetie said eventually. “Too scared to approach you. Rarity told me to run away and Zecora gave me her old hut. I went into the Everfree Forest and almost never came out, and left you here alone. It was wrong.”

She raised her head, and this time, there was fire in her eyes. If the Element of Loyalty could be convinced that its current bearer was evil and it needed a fresh start, then Sweetie Belle was an excellent second choice by any means.

“Rarity got taken, and I ran away. Babs and Scootaloo were brave enough to escape, and I ran away. You needed me, and I ran away. Not anymore, I’m not abandoning any of you again. My sisters, friends...”

“...confidantes, bosom buddies, compadres...” Applebloom joined in with the familiar oath (they never did get around to revising the swearing-in ceremony).

“...and Cutie Mark Crusaders!” they finished together. Yay.

“What’s the plan?” Applebloom asked at last.

“Carrot Top is waiting for us with supplies over at the old CMC Treehouse. She’s got a magical communicator that can reach PHL headquarters in New York. We can give our support to Scootaloo through that. Afterwards, the three of us pick up Big Mac, hit the Underground Railway, and get out of here as quick as we can!”

Applebloom gave one look around the farm...what was left of it. It was decision time, and yet she had no trouble at all making her choice. The sight of glassy-eyed newfoals toiling in the fields made it for her.

“Let’s go, Sweetie Belle! Ride em out!” she declared, setting the gifted Stetson back on her head. It fit like a charm.

*

PHL Headquarters, beneath the NY Presbyterian Hospital, New York; 2023 Anno Dominae

“What’s going on?” Cheerilee demanded as numerous ponies and humans alike flooded past her office. Everyone seemed to be headed in one direction, motivated by whatever rumors were being passed about. “Is it Equestria! Are they attacking?!”

“No”, one pony said in answer. “It’s Scootaloo. Something’s happening with Scootaloo! They’ve been calling for anyone and anypony who cares for her to gather upstairs in observation room number three!”

“Scootaloo!” Cheerilee gasped, before throwing herself into the rush, following the crowd up from the PHL bunker and into the hospital above. Inside Marcus Renee’s second-in-command was the heart of a schoolteacher, and right now her every thought and instinct agreed; one of her students needed her, and she would not fail that call.

Scootaloo’s last surgery was scheduled for today, after all...so whatever was happening, could not be good.

Observation Lounge #3 overlooked Operating Theatre #3, and was packed with bipeds and quadrupeds alike by the time she joined the crush. Managing to get to the front through pulling rank (and a literal bit of ‘pulling’ with her growing skill with runic magic), the burgundy mare in a flak-jacket pressed her forehooves against the glass, expression panicked.

“Scootaloo, and...and...WHY ARE BABS AND WILDFIRE BEING OPERATED ON AS WELL!?”

Her voice must have carried over the rising din, because the surgeons below briefly looked up, faces veiled behind mouth and muzzle-guards. Doctors, vets and film-makers alike were crowded around a trio of operating tables, on which three female ponies were sedated. Scootaloo’s back was a surprisingly neat construction-site of raw, exposed tissue, but her wings were gone forever...

...no, not quite. Cheerilee’s eyes narrowed, and then widened in shock. This was meant to be the last procedure for the brave little Pegasus: her decayed wings and necrotic Alicornal tissues had been surgically removed weeks ago; today was just meant to be closing up the wounds and applying tissue grafts.

And yet, in absolute defiance, Cheerilee could see two feathered stumps protruding from Scootaloo’s back. As she watched further, she realized that Wildfire and Babs were acting as graft donors, supplying the filly they loved in different ways with the tissues needed to reconstruct her back. But how...

...and then she saw. Zecora and Doctor Sheffield, the leading surgeon, was carefully removing a layer from Wildfire’s wings. Once the sliver of flesh, fur and feather was cut free, she transplanted it to Scootaloo’s back. A gasp went around the room when the donor tissue was applied. Instead of sitting there in contrast to Scootaloo’s own coloration, the creamy sample twitched, and then shifted in colour, becoming a vibrant, youthful sienna. Scootaloo’s colour. And then it fused itself in place, without the need for stitches or sutres. It looked natural, and was unbelievable.

And when the tiny filly stirred under her anesthesia...everyone saw her tiny, infantile wings give a definite twitch.

“That’s...that’s impossible....”

“No...” came the heavily accented voice of a mare over the speakers. “It is, ze magicks!”

Eyes drifted down to where Photo Finish, in surgical whites, was documenting the surgery. A camera was strapped to her barrel and as events unfolded she was dictating into a microphone, which it seemed was also tapped into the tannoy for the observation room. “Zat is why ze good Doktor Sheffield has called for you. When she opened ze little filly up, she found one last speck of necrosis, und vhen it waz removed, all zeemed well. But then ze tissue-grafts began, und begun to grow, to make new wings for ze brave child. A happy accident, a miracle.”

Murmurs of consternation went around the room, and Cheerilee’s gaze focused on the former fashionista.

“How? How come we never knew this was possible before. No-one in Equestria has ever succeeded in regrowing limbs like this, unless they were regenerating their own!”

“Becauz no-wun in Equeztria ever considered treating Necrosiz vith invasive surgery,” Photo Finish replied. “Or zo the good doctors have helped me understand. Treatment through therapy, und magick, to subdue the dying tissues, not exhume them altogether. Und no-vun has ever attempted tissue-grafts in pony medicine...with magick, was never needed until now. But something strange and wonderful is happening – Scootaloo’z body is accepting ze flesh und feather given with love, from those she loves, und iz bonding with them, und through zat love, her body iz using those donations to rebuilt itself.”

She trotted around on her hooves and gazed upwards at the growing crowd.

“Zis,” she said solemnly. “Is new. Never before dun. Und the doctor says that presence of loved ones seems to be helping ze regenerative process. So why I put out call for you good people to come watch.”

She gave a stomp and could not hold back a triumphant tone in her voice. “With your love, with our harmony, zis crippled filly will wun day FLY!”

“Quiet, please...” one of the nurses said softly, and Photo Finish, abashed, lowered her volume so that the delicate work could continue.

“Sorries. Please, good ponies, good people, please vatch these Magicks und lend your love.”

And they did. Several drifted in and out to retrieve snacks or drinks, but over the next few hours the observation room remained crowded with awed and hopeful expressions as Doctor Sheffield and her multi-species team of surgeons and nurses coaxed and nurtured Scootaloo’s growing wings into full size. Babs and Wildfire were under care as well, work going on to close up the raw marks left from their tissue donations and avoid infection.

Cheerilee never moved from her spot pressed up against the glass. Instead she held fast and took in the full miracle around her. Ponies and humans alike were supplying their heart, skill, and will to a common cause, and one that for once did not hinge upon war or liberation. Instead they were all coming together for a filly that had touched their hearts...

‘It’s beautiful...’ she thought tearfully, and smiled. ‘What wonders we can accomplish, together. And what miracles might have been done if Earth and Equestria had come together in harmony.’

She felt her muscles tense.

‘Damn you Celestia. Your strangled the dream in the crib!’

She would make that dream a reality. When this war was won (and it had to be won), so much work would be needed to rebuild two wounded worlds. But she was certain it could be done. Humanity and Equinity seemed like complementary halves of a whole. Between them she knew they had the knowledge and ability to heal Earth and Equestria, to make impossibilities come true, and accomplish works that defied belief.

Because both species knew of Love, that most potent of forces, and celebrated it.

The thought of love turned her attention towards a younger mare standing proudly alongside her. Cadence...no, she corrected herself, Princess Cadence (and none deserved the title more in her opinion) was more aware of the potent, positive emotions suffusing the air than anyone else, and seemed to have taken on the role for acting as a nexus and conduit. Her eyes were closed, her teeth were clenched, and sweat was rolling down her brow, but her horn was glowing with brilliant blue light, and throwing out beautiful, resonant shards of energy that seemed to linger lovingly on every surface they touched, like specks of crystal.

There were other, familiar voices too. In the crowd she could see Dinky Whooves sitting on her sister Sparkler’s back, holding up a familiar nautilus shell communicator. And the voices echoing out of it made hearts soar.

“Come on Scoots! Babs! Fight that stuff! We love you guys!” Applebloom and Sweetie Belle were shouting through the shell. The two of them were an entire world away, and yet right here at hand (or hoof) for their oldest and dearest friends. Cutie Mark Crusaders to the end.

Cheerilee reached over and gave Cadence a supportive hug. Then she paused, amazed at what she was feeling. The pegacorn’s body was warm to the touch, a soothing warm which felt underpinned by a primal potency. She paused and looked closely, her eyes widening. The glow of light was not confined to Cadence’s horn...it was beginning to spread in a soft aura across her entire body. And it was growing in strength as Scootaloo’s surgery, and the associated emotions, built to a peak.

And as her aura grew and spread, Cheerilee could see that Cadence was growing...

Unsure of what was happening, but filled with a certainty that it had to be good and wonderful, she reached back over and hugged the Princess even tighter, trying to share in her burden, and rejoicing in the warmth that she could feel, not just in Cadence now, but all around.

“Almost there, your highness...” she soothed as Cadence’s brow furrowed deep and she gasped in pain. “We’re almost there...”

Doctor Sheffield lay down her tools and, with a gentle touch, reached over and coaxed Scootaloo’s new wings into an open position, allowing everyone to see their healthy coloration and powerful spread.

“Thankyou everyone...and everypony” she said, speaking to the onlookers for the first time, tears trickling over her surgical mask. “We’ve done something amazing here. She’s...she’s healed.”

Everyone cheered, and beneath her forehooves Cheerilee felt Cadence’s body begin to shiver and hum. She held on tight and closed her eyes.

Climax.

Cadence’s eyes flew open, burning with brilliant white light, and she gave a mighty heave, knocking Cheerilee to the ground. As if she was elastic, Cadence’s limbs suddenly stretched in length and her proportions shifted. Cheerilee hit the ground hard and rolled onto her back, but instead of herself her first thoughts were of her friend.

“Cadence!”

Standing before her, gazing into the hereafter and shining with energy, was an Alicorn, Aphrodite or Venus in pony-form, the very picture of feminine beauty. Cadence’s short-cut mane and scrubby tail had billowed out in vibrant, colorful curls, and her wings were spread wide and far. Cheerilee could see Power in that form, and gave an awestruck smile.

They had WON. In that instance she felt it, knew it. Something had changed, and through human and pony love alike, Cadence had Ascended. The PHL had a princess on their side...an Alicorn princess.

“Arise...” a voice whispered, and Cheerilee’s grin faded. Someone else was present, another Alicorn, ethereal and transparent and barely visible, but she was there, hovering over Cadence and regarding her with a deep and endless tenderness. She was tall and slender, with a flowing red mane and a pearly coat.

Then the Alicorn looked around, and regarded everyone with that same warm, loving, and proud gaze. Cheerilee felt a sudden fire in her chest, and gasped...

“Arise...” the Alicorn said again, and smiled. The fire in Cheerilee’s chest burst into full flame, and the world dissolved into a brilliant, infinite light...

*

Somewhere Else, the World between Worlds

“Welcome, Scootaloo of Equestria...” a gentle, motherly voice whispered. The orange filly in question stirred, and opened her eyes, blinking in astonishment.

“Am...am I dreaming...” she said at last, trying to get a bearing on her whereabouts. She was standing in a vast, endless space. Ethereal mist swirled around her hooves, and stars twinkled in splendor above.

And everywhere she looked, there were screens...glowing panels hanging everywhere, and on them, memories of her life were playing.

She cowered slightly, and felt something unfamiliar on her back, a weight that had not been there before. Hesitant, and afraid of what she was about to see, she looked over her own shoulders, and saw a proud, healthy pair of wings.

“I’m dreaming...” she said at last, and gave a nervous laugh. “Yup, I’m still zonked out on medication.”

“No,” the voice who had woken her laughed, and Scootaloo looked in the direction from where it had come. “No you’re not dreaming, my little pony.”

Someone was coming towards her, an Alicorn mare, with a flowing red mane and sparkling blue eyes. An inkwell and quill stood rampant on her flanks, and Scootaloo suddenly felt the strangest sense of familiarity. She knew this mare, somehow, and her instincts all cried out ‘mother’!

“Who...who are you?” she asked.

“I am, the Scribe...” the mare said, smiling. “A racial memory magically carried within every pony. I walked the lands of Equestria in eons past, and I have watched over it ever since. I have seen our people’s triumphs, and failures. Their greatest achievements and lowest fallings.”

Her expression darkened and Scootaloo cowered. There was rage in those eyes, rage and timeless betrayal. She squeaked and hid beneath her hooves.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry for the war, I’m sorry for what we did!”

She heard Scribe trot closer and whimpered. Then a warm wing was draped over her, and she lowered her hooves in surprise. Scribe was lying beside her, and holding her tight under one wing.

“I’m not angry at all with you Scootaloo...” she said, and once again a whimsical light danced in her words and expressions. “In fact I’m proud of you, my little pony. You and your friends have done something amazing...”

“What?”

Scribe smiled and opened her mouth to speak.

*

“...you have performed new magic, Catherine Sheffield of Earth.”

Doctor Sheffield, stripped of her surgical attire and comfortably nude, sipped a non-existent cup of tea and reclined easily in an equally non-existent high-backed chair. It was made of solid gold and padded with red leather, and was of course, non-existent. Lowering her drink she finally looked across at her non-existent host, a willowy woman whose red hair hung comfortably around her shoulders. She dressed in a comfortable sweater and slacks, and seemed normal, but when Sheffield squinted she thought she could see a pair of wings extending from her back; she would have mocked herself for hallucinating up an angel, except she could also, faintly, perceive a long, elegant horn projecting from her companion’s head.

“Bullshit”, she said at last, and the woman, who had introduced herself as ‘Scribe’, laughed over her own cup of coffee.

“Normally I’d agree with you, and trust me, this scenario,” Scribe waved a hand at the rolling void populated only by themselves and the hovering monitors on which Catherine’s memories were unfolding, “this is not what I had planned when I laid out the game-plan for my little ponies. But other hooves meddled in executive decisions, and so here we are, trying to make the best of things.”

Thoughtful, Sheffield lowered the (non-existent) teacup and quickly self-tested herself for signs of a stroke or mental breakdown. 2 + 2 = 4, there were twenty-six letters in the English alphabet, the whole universe was in a hot dense state until fourteen billion years ago when expansion started (wait), Celestia was a bitch and cheesecake tasted better on Tuesdays. Nope, everything seemed to be functioning correctly. Ergo, this was somehow real.

“Alright,” she said at last. “Tell me more.”

Scribe leaned forward companionably. “You’re a gifted surgeon Cathy, and what you did for Scootaloo was nothing short of miraculous. Helping her alone was an act of supreme compassion, but when you realized her wings were regenerating, you didn’t panic or run away. You understood what was happening and had Photo Finish bring as many people as possible to your aid, to lend the positive emotions that would make it possible. Because of you, that filly, who has never known flight, will one day claim her birthright. You made that possible...you performed a work of new magic, and for that, the laws of Deep Magic wish to bestow upon you a high reward...”

Sheffield cocked her head, analytical engines turning in her mind, and comprehended what was being offered. Power, strength, wisdom, and a lifespan that flirted with immortality.

“Okay, before I decide on this Faustian pact, I have two questions.”

She held up two fingers and counted off on them.

“One...I want to know who you are, and what you are.”

“Understood...” Scribe nodded in solemn agreement.

“And two...the haircolour might be a little off and the eyes a touch more...crystally, but why are you dressed like my old roommate Lauren?”

Scribe smiled...

*

“...I wanted to make this meeting as comfortable as possible...” Scribe said to Wildfire, who was gazing at her with suspicion while the immortal racial memory of ponykind trotted around in the guise of a red-headed Wonderbolt Academy drill-sergeant. “Hence why I adopt characteristics of people to whom you hold specific memories or feelings...”

Wildfire rolled her eyes. “Fine, so let’s cut the sweet-talk and get down to brass tacks. You said I helped Scootaloo and the doctors perform some new magic. What does that mean for us?”

“To understand that...you have to know of the Alicorns...” Scribe said sagely, before adding, with a practised military bark, “Eyes forward Cadet!”

*

“So, many years ago, ya, ponies were one single race. Ze Alicorn race...” Scribe explained to Photo Finish, the two of them matching in accent and attire. “Zhey were great, und mighty, the dominant power on Equus, und though mortal lived for thouzands of yearz, all blessed with, strength, flight and ze magicks...”

*

“...and as is the case with all empires, they eventually fell into pride and arrogance...” she said softly to a French PHL commando, as the two of them sat on a bank of cloud and field-stripped their weapons. Scribe brushed a lock of hair out her eyes with and gave a remorseful sigh, before resting one hand on her body armor, over her heart. “And yet they recognized their hubris, and attempted to expunge it from themselves, through a great act of magic, they attempted to purify themselves of all evil, all of their nascent rage and hate, and pour that negativity into a bag. They called this negative range of emotions, ‘the Other Side of the Spectrum’, or the ‘The Rainbow of Darkness’.”

*

“...it went wrong, as you can guess...” she described to Babs Seed as they walked through the nether, Babs trotting along thoughtfully while Scribe stalked along in human form, hands pushed deep into a bomber-jacket worn over the torn T-shirts of a born street-rat.

Babs watched her closely, paused, focused, and then stood up, her body reforming into that of a bipedal pony dressed in similar attire to Scribe, a pair of hooves sticking out from the legs of her own pants.

“Tell me more,” Babs said intently, finally at eye-level with Scribe and matching her poise and bearing with equal moxie, arms folded and fists curled

“Smart kid,” Scribe smirked, and continued. “There was a traitor in their midst...the Alicorn government’s Permanent Secretary of Arcane Science, Tirek...”

*

“...‘Tirek’ was one of the more brilliant mages of the time, and in the Rainbow of Darkness saw his path to ultimate power ...” a resplendent crystalline Scribe said to Cadence, who was nervously acclimatizing herself to her new body as the elder Alicorn showed her the joys of flight. “He stole the bag, and bonded his spirit with it, shaping for himself a new, demonic form. Motivated by the rage and destructive impulses of an entire species of demi-gods, Tirek laid waste to the world, shattering and perverting the natural of reality, and waged terrible war against the Alicorns. In the process, he attempted to create footsoldiers, mutating many of our fellow creatures and ponies alike into vassal races that would serve him...so were born the minotaurs, the griffons, the changelings and the more mindless beasts that thrive on Equus to this day.”

“Does that mean those other races are inherently evil?” Cadence said at last, directing an affronted gaze at Scribe, as if challenging her answer.

“No, anymore than any human or pony is inherently evil,” Scribe consoled her. “Any being with a mind and soul is free to make its own choices, though those first forebears were unfortunate enough to be under Tirek’s malign influence. Chin up dear and wings back, you’re doing fine...”

*

“...the Alicorns defeated him in time, but at a price. In his final move to destroy everything, Tirek poisoned Equus’s moon with the Rainbow of Darkness and hurled it into the sun, transforming it into a dark star, unable to support life. Weakened but triumphant, Tirek was cast out. The surviving Alicorns strived to rebuild, and shaped a new moon and an artificial micro-sun to orbit Equus under their magical control...but in their victory, they soon found they had cursed themselves by Tirek’s very creation. Rage and hate are undesirable, but without them as a caution within us they found ourselves lessened, reduced...”

Scribe noted down all of this down on a blackboard as Cheerilee listened attentively.

“In the following years the Alicorns discovered the nature of their curse. Future generations were born with only one dominant trait of their forebears; they could have magic, or flight, or strength, but never all three. Thus it was that the pony race was split into three tribes; unicorns, pegasai, and earth ponies. In time, the weakened Alicorns died one by one, and the tribes splintered into factionalism and discord...”

Cheerilee scribbed down some notes with a pen, and then frowned.

“So who does that make you?”

*

“I am the Scribe,” she said to Vinyl Scratch. “An artificial intelligence created magically to archive all of the Alicorn race’s wisdom. But I am also my designer, Faust, Tirek’s number two, who refused to follow him. She based me upon herself, and so much of her went into me, that she considered us to be one. It was Faust, with me as her assistant, who created Discord as an ultimate weapon during the war, a chaotic, creative counterpart to Tirek’s destructive nature. Of course, at first he was just an infant, and she loved him as her own...”

She and Scratch were lying on their backs beneath a stupendous collection of speakers and subwoofers, wiring them together into an ear-shreddingly potent instrument of bass-dropping wubs. The name ‘Octavia’ was painted in loving pink script down the contraption’s side and a glisteningly preserved cello had been mounted upon it like a figurehead.

“Awesome!” Scratch crowed.

“For a while, yes...” Scribe said sadly. “But Faust died in the final battle with Tirek; after taking on the lion’s share of creating the new sun and moon to fulfil his mother’s dying wish, Discord vanished to carry out the mission she had groomed him for...to control reality and yet retain an element of chaos, so as to create challenges for civilization to overcome and thrive upon. But as their race declined, the Alicorns looked to me for salvation. I possessed all of their knowledge, all of Faust’s genius, and much of their spirit. They poured their remaining magic into me in the hope that I could find an answer; as a result I developed sentience, and a physical form based on Faust’s own...but immortal. I was the first undying Alicorn, born artificially through magic. But I would not be the last...”

*

“Turning to me for a cure to their decline didn’t work,” Scribe said sadly to Bon-Bon. The two of them were sitting in silence, Scribe running her hooves over Bon-Bon’s head and trying to delicately unwork the damage that had been done to the creamy confectioner’s mind.

“I became the Alicorns’ immortal sage and oracle, but I could not see a way out. By the time I was coming into full awareness of my knowledge, all the other Alicorns were dead and I was left overseeing the three tribes. I did not interfere with them, much, but shaped them to survive over generations from afar with my magic, and in time they forgot I existed. Instead I waited, and watched, and let them develop and grow into beings of their own, with all the passions and range of emotion that the Alicorns had tried to control without themselves. In time they regained a full and healthy spectrum of feeling. A nudge here and there was all I provided, sweet drops of love in the nectar.”

Bon-Bon made a crooked smile, while Scribe continued.

“As millennia passed the little ponies became my teachers. I possessed all knowledge, and yet I knew so little of life, so I watched, and learned from their conflicts and friendships, and grew in my understanding. In time, I saw an answer...”

*

“I created a spell, and an entire school of magic to execute it. Runic Magic. The spell was vast, and widespread. I travelled the world inscribing its component cantrips and incantations into rocks and gems which I buried deep, writing the fabric of the spell into Equus itself...” Scribe said, a tone of compassion mingled with authority as she spoke to Pipsqueak. She was clad in golden mail and wore a laurel wreath on her brow, a God-Empress incarnate. “And then I sacrificed my life to prime it.”

Pipsqueak saluted in response. “Your sacrifice was great and noble I’m sure, Your Majesty.”

“Please Pip,” she smiled gently. “Even if your subconscious has dressed me like this, I’m not royalty. I’m just the Scribe. Besides, as I understand it you already serve a noble lady by the name of Dinky.”

Pipsqueak blushed.

*

“The spell had several components. First, it would draw upon the magic of all Equus to create two immortals like myself and Discord, stewards that could control nature and the orbits of the spheres above. They would take over these duties from the tribes and so remove that which had caused so much strife between the little ponies, and do their work from the shadows.

“Faust had shaped Discord according to one of the Alicorn philosopher Aristrotle’s three modes of persuasion; Pathos, and so my creations would be styled upon the other two, Ethos and Logos...”

“Pathos, Ethos, and Logos: Passionate Emotion, Ethical Authority, and Cool Logic...” Maya Akagi nodded. A Japanese specialist in veterinary surgery who had helped work on Scootaloo, her hands were folded neatly in her lap as Scribe continued, dressed in the blue mini-skirt and white lab-coat of a mentor on who Maya had long labored a secret crush. “If Discord was Pathos, then that would make Ethos and Logos...”

“Celestia and Luna, yes...each would possess elements of all three modes, and yet have their personality shaped by a dominant aspect, so as to stimulate creativity and debate. When the spell was triggered, they would be born, my darling daughters...to live and work with Faust’s beloved son. The three of them would regulate the world, and so leave the ponies free to thrive and grow on their own.”

Scribe’s tone grew wistful, and a little sad, before she continued.

“Secondly, with my body dead, the spell would write my living spirit back into a hidden runic computer terminal, but also place a fragment of me into every pony. That is how I became a racial memory, a lingering watcher to monitor what happened. And it would also seed in my ponies my own genes, and the genetic potential to ascend into Alicorns...”

She paused and shared in another weary smile. “A potential which, through the immutable bonds of friendship, magic and harmony, everyone who helped Scootaloo today now shares in...”

*

“So I see, I may be a pony, if I choose to be...” Zecora rhymed thoughtfully as she methodically flowed through a series of martial-arts katas, Scribe besides her doing the same in pony form.

“Not quite a pony, and not quite a zebra...” Scribe continued. “But with Cadence acting as a fulcrum for the emotion in that room, you all shared in the creation of New Magic, and thus share in this experience, and in the reward that comes with it. My being here with you means that the seeds of Alicornhood have now been planted in you.”

“Your experiment with magic, had this goal in mind? For I find it most tragic, that you play with pony-kind.”

Scribe flinched, and then smiled. “It always had to be of their own choice. I gave my life to prime the spell, and then slumbered within its magical framework until the time was right. The runes would not activate until specific conditions had been met...when all three pony races, who had spread far and wide, returned to their native home in Equestria under a banner of friendship. As it was, it happened within a decade, spurred on by a terrible winter.”

Zecora paused, and when she next spoke, her voice was devoid of rhyme.

“The first Heartswarming Eve!”

Scribe nodded. “Of course, my little ponies always found a way to break things a little.”

*

“When Clover the Clever, Private Pansy and Smart Cookie made peace in that cave under the Canterhorn, the spell kicked in, and I was reborn within all ponies...” Scribe chuckled. “I can still see the look on Clover’s face when she was suddenly plumbed into the magic of an entire world. Oh, she was brilliant that one...”

“But it wasn’t just them in that cave...” Derpy Hooves pointed out, her eyes bright and her words clear. “Princess Platinum, Commander Hurricane and Chancellor Puddinghead were there too, and so was their distrust and disharmony...”

“Indeed...” Scribe dipped her head.

The two of them were looking through a simulacrum of one of Derpy’s photo albums, and sharing a tray of truly Divine muffins.

“You have a wonderful husband and daughters Derpy. I could never have foreseen that such beauty would have arisen out of my creation...the artist of fate gave you your maladjusted eyes, but the Unseen Audience that looks upon us and smile, they gave you a family...”

“But what about your family?” Derpy said softly. “What about your children. If the spell went wrong, what happened to them?”

“It went...askew...” Scribe answered.

*

“Ethos and Logos were meant to come into existence away from ponies, whole and full-grown, ready to take on their roles. But the presence of the tribal leaders’ disharmony spanned the spell’s execution. Ethos and Logos, Celestia and Luna, were born inside the cave, as infants. Clover and the other ponies took this as a divine gift, which I suppose they were. I could not intervene, not now that I was but a ghost, and the plan in motion, and so I watched. They were raised with love, and care, and at first kept secret. Clover and her mentor Starswirl suspected that these two powerful fillies had a special purpose, and raised them out of the public eye, which is why their birth never features in the pageants...

“All might have been well, but then, Discord returned. He had never approved of me – ‘Scribble’ as he called me, and objected to my plan. Faust’s goal was for the Alicorn civilization to overcome adversity through the challenges he presented, whereas I wanted to regulate the environment so as to leave the tribes free to sort out their problems in debate and peace. Discord chose to intervene in Equestria, and so begat the Discordian Era...”

“And what about the two sisters?” Spitfire said at last. “They had to go to war, didn’t they?”

“As history shows...” Scribe nodded, as the two serious mares sat facing one another over a campfire. Flying goggles hung from both their necks, and marshmallows were toasting over the flames. “Clover and Starswirl conspired for my daughters to go into hiding under the care of Sint Erklass, the Reindeer king of Adlaborjn in the distant North. When the two girls came of age and power, he returned with them on their hundredth birthday, and they revealed themselves to the public and took up power to fight Discord. After he was banished, the ponies tried to declare them Equestria’s Goddess Queens. They refused the title, but with Equestria devastated, they felt compelled to take up the burden of rule, and did so as Princesses, subservient to a greater power. Harmony.”

“And what about the Elements of Harmony?”

“My greatest shame. They were derived from Faust’s research, and a primitive version was used to defeat Tirek. She died wielding the might of Harmony against his evil. Celestia and Luna desired those notes to destroy Discord. At first I refused - the sight of my daughters at war with Faust’s son...my son, almost broke my heart. But what could I do – I was a spirit computer, a little presence at the back of everypony’s mind. Celestia and Luna knew I was there though, and in time found my terminal, and raised their first castle around it. I tried to guide them as best I could, but when Celestia refused to give up the throne and let the ponies rule themselves, believing she and her unicorn advisors had a better plan, I spoke to them no more. Just sat in the dark and wept for my children.”

“But not before they used the Elements of Harmony of Discord?”

“Yes. Faust’s research into what would become the Elements was buried deep within my circuit vaults. When I refused to relinquish that knowledge, Celestia and Luna tried to create Elements of their own, and a side-effect of a botched attempt resulted in the Crystal Ponies. I rejoice at the beauty of the Crystal Empire, and celebrate life that came unbidden of my plan, but it still grieves me to think of...after more failures, Celestia could not restrain herself any more. She broke into me...and took the data, crafted the Elements, and turned them on her pseudo-brother. She was considerably disappointed when he was merely petrified, not outright killed...”

Spitfire, uncertain of what to do, reached over and patted her on the shoulder.

*

“And so we come full circle...” Scribe concluded to Sheffield. “The Crystal Empire rose and fell, Discord was trapped in stone, and Luna went insane with cumulative grief and resentment...a thousand years later, we pretty much hit the present day.”

“Sint Erklass...” Sheffield repeated. “Your world has a Santa Claus analog?”

“Yes, the reindeer possess the power of flight in their hooves, and since they gave an oppressed Equestria the greatest gift, the princesses who brought peace from Discord, good ol’ Sint entered legend as a wintertime bringer of joy. Each Hearthswarming foals believe that he flies through the sky with his royal court and distributes presents down chimneys.”

“What about Tirek? You said he was banished, not destroyed.”

Scribe frowned. “During the Discordian era, he briefly returned. There was a place known as Dream Valley, and he made a bid for power there, but was overthrown...”

Sheffield frowned, feeling certain that Scribe was holding something back. The sentient construct sighed and gazed heavenwards.

“I feel Tirek’s hand at play in events now, but Celestia has cut me out of her mind, and so I’m left making guesses.”

“Celestia and Luna never went chasing after those rumors?”

“They were too busy carrying out the grand plan Celestia had concieved – to get every race of pony living together in harmony, so as to try and provoke the circumstances that would restore the Alicorn race. They would act as constants, keeping things on track. Celestia called it shepherding, Discord called it stagnation. I still wonder if they’re both right and wrong at the same time.”

“Are you implying eugenics, because that strikes me as distasteful!”

“Not quite, though they hoped to strengthen the pony genome by overcoming social boundaries to marriages between the tribes. All three versions of the plan, Faust, Celestia’s, and mine, had the same ultimate goal: to get all ponies working together, trusting and loving and harmonizing, so as to trigger off powerful magics that could result in individuals ascending. New Magic is one means, but there are others...”

“And so we come back to that. You say we here did New Magic, and you want to reward us...”

“I do,” Scribe, still dressed in the guise of Sheffield’s old college roommate nodded. “You wanted to understand the context, and you can probably guess the burden.”

“Immortality, or a close representation thereof,” Sheffied nodded. “A lonely place to live, but not intolerable, if you have equally long-lived friends...and the responsibility of power...”

*

Wildfire looked Scribe in the eye. At her side she felt Babs join her, striding on two legs with a cocky grin that challenged the universe on her face. Good girl.

“We did something wonderful with Scootaloo,” she said. “New Magic or not, ponies and humans working together achieved a miracle. I want to do more of that...”

*

“For Lyra, in her memory, I will do anything!” Bon-Bon vowed, stomping one hoof on the ground. “I’ve seen the past, and I’ve seen the future. I know what we can do, and for her sake, in her name, I will make that true!”

Scribe beamed with pride. Bon-Bon’s eyes no longer wandered and her mind was no longer at war with itself. Instead, she practically burned with a righteous fury, ready to grapple Equestria one-on-one and bring it into line.

‘Rock on, My Little Ponies!’

*

“...if doing this means I can help other people, that I can help win this war and make everything better afterwards!” Scootaloo crowed, wings flared and chest pushed out, “then I want to! I don’t care if I’ll be lonely, or outlive most everyone! I’ll have Babs, and Wildfire, and my friends, and new friends all down the years, and I’ll be there to serve and protect them, forever and always!”

“So let it be,” Scribe beamed, kneeling down to plant a kiss on the young mare’s brow. “Scootaloo of Equestria, Scion of Love and Harmony, I declare you Awake!”

And the light and love filled the world...

*

And magic makes it all complete...

*

Cheerliee came to with speed and clarity, almost brimming over with energy she jumped to her hooves and spread her...wings.

She turned and looked at herself, eyes wide. Then with one hoof she reached up and found her horn. Without needing to think about how she knew she realized that she needed a mirror and felt a trill of energy crackle in her brain. There was no effort needed at all. She needed a mirror, and the universe bowed to her whims and delivered her one out of thin air.

She stared at her reflection.

‘Holy shit! I look fantastic!’

The mare looking back was familiar, the same face and eyes she saw in a glass every day. But she was now...more. Bigger, sleeker, a natural elegance expressing itself in every curve of her body. Her mane had grown out and now had a lustrous, almost metallic sheen to it, and the flowers on her flank we radiant and proud. All of the dust and grey weariness that had seeped into her over the past few years was gone, replaced with light, and life and effortless knowledge of her purpose and role...to heal the world and make it bloom and shine once more. She could feel her talent inside of her, and the urge to turn it loose was indescribable.

And she felt fantastic. Strong and sure and brimming over with confidence and certainty, buoyed up by the love and harmony in the air.

‘When we find Marcus I am going to ride him like a rodeo bull!’ she decided, and then felt her wings pop to attention in an instinctive expression of arousal. Blushing she displaced the mirror with another touch of the magic inside of her (her aura was a calming sea-green, she noted) and turned around...

...only to prove that it is just as possible for an Alicorn’s jaw to hit the ground as it is for any other pony...

Everyone in the observation lounge had changed, as much as herself. Cadence was aglow with regal power, even as she was being carried around the room by a cheering band of human soldiers who had manifested wings and horns, their armor adjusting itself automatically to fit.

‘Human Alicorns....’ she thought in wonder, and as she looked she saw more. Ponies walking on two legs, humans who had developed remarkable skin-tones and eye-colors besides the wings and horns, humans she did not recognize (who until moments before must have been ponies), and equally new ponies who had changed from humans.

It should have been horrific, a nightmare of distorted bodies and stolen identities, and yet it was not. This was not ponification, which raped the body and soul alike and bound it in chains. This was neither ponies dominating humans nor humans oppressing ponies. She had a sense of rightness, as if everyone had been offered a choice, accepted it, and then come back out the other side wearing the form that expressed them as they truly were.

And all because of Scootaloo...

SCOOTALOO!

She spun to look down into the operating room, and saw an open space in the corner. Focusing her eyes on it she felt the world stretch around her...

BANG!

...and then a warm, extatic (almost erotic) surge of energy inside of her had pulled reality through its own nose and teleported her down into the open patch of land.

Her heart raced for a second and then stabilised as she took in the sight. Scootaloo was hovering over the operating table, her wings beating and elated tears streaming from her eyes as she turned in circles.

“I CAN FLY! I CAN FLY! THANKYOU EVERYONE, I CAN FLY!”

People were cheering, pumping fists and hooves as newfound magic burst and flashed everywhere, Scootaloo was suddenly joined in the air by furry, bipedal Babs, her own wings blurring as she caught her marefriend with both hands (?) and pulled her in for a kiss. The cheers and applause grew even louder as the two young lovers held one another tight.

Tears of joy were pouring down Cheerilee’s own face. Elated her eyes slid past Doctor Sheffield (who it seemed, had gone full pony, attainting a size and natural grace that rivalled any princess, (with a fifteen-inch horn on her too...was she feeling jealous?). Photo Finish had gone the other way however, fully human except for the extra appendages, holding her camera in her new hands and turning it over in disbelief...

‘Hands...oh hands will come in handy when I see Marcus...’

Cheerilee bucked down another perverted flash of inspiration (with the distinct feeling that her actual bucks could probably go through armour plating now) and instead turned her thoughts to another mare, one who suddenly teleported into place opposite her.

“Bon-Bon!”

The creamy Alicorn looked at her, and Cheerilee felt a sudden shock run over her as they made eye-contact. Then she hurled herself forward with one flap of her wings and tackled her old friend from Ponyville with an elated shout.

“You’re healed! Bon-Bon you’re healed!”

“Yeah...yeah I am...” Bon-Bon smiled weakly before looking up at the ponies, humans and shades of in-between cheering and throwing magic about above and around them. “Lyra would love this...”

Then, her eyes widening, Bon-Bon stood up. Literally, stood on her back legs which shifted fluidly to accommodate her, and took on a form that, like Babs, was not quite human or not quite pony, dressed in charcoal-grey combat armour and with fire in her eyes. She stared at her new fingers for a second and Cheerilee distinctly saw her lips form the syllables ‘Lyra’...

...and then Bon-Bon reached into her bag and snatched up the battered lyre she carried everywhere. For a second she cradled it to her chest, and then, eyes shut, she slowly began to pick at the strings...

...the notes were rusty at first, as was the instrument, but as Bon-Bon played people began to listen. Eyes turned towards her and tongues fell silent, as the anthropomorphic Alicorn, wings spread angelically, continued to play. And as she got further and further, the smoother and more beautiful the music became, as if someone else were with her guiding her through the scales and chords. Her horn began to glow, enveloping the lyre in loving sparkles of magic, and as Cheerilee watched with fresh awe, she saw it was being restored, straightening out and stripped of layers of dirt and rust. As Bon-Bon came to the end of her sudden recital, she was smiling, and the instrument looked brand-new.

“Goodbye...” she whispered at last, as the final plinking notes dissolved in the reverent silence.

Then she looked up at everyone and everypony, and held the gleaming golden lyre up high.

“FOR LYRA HEARTSTRINGS!” she shouted, voice clear and full of resolve. Everyone roared the vow back at her, shaking the bunker with the declaration.

“I’ve seen the future!” Bob-Bon continued, lowering her voice slightly. “I’ve seen multiple futures! I’ve seen Earth vanquished and Equestria triumphant! I’ve seen the last human fall to a bottle of potion!”

Then, as murmurs of discontent rumbled around, she hardened her eyes and roared, holding the lyre aloft like it was a sacred relic. Perhaps it now was.

“BUT I’VE ALSO SEEN THAT WE CAN WIN! AND WE ARE NOT ALONE! HELP IS COMING! AND WITH THAT HELP, WE ARE GOING TO TURN THE TIDE OF WAR BACK! WE’RE GOING TO SAVE BOTH OUR WORLDS, AND WE WILL CAST DOWN, AND CAST OUT, THE TYRANT WHO CALLS HERSELF CELESTIA!”

The cheer that went up was epoch-changing. Cheerilee stood in silence and counted heads. Of the several hundred people and ponies assigned to the bunker, at least a fifth had been present for this. That was eighty to a hundred Alicorns, bipeds and quadrupeds alike. Derpy and her family, Vinyl, Wildfire, Spitfire, nurses and doctors and engineers and so many others.

They had strength, they had Spike, they had weapons and runic magic and a Tardis.

But most of all they had ummutable bonds of love, and each other.

“WE ARE GOING TO WIN THIS!” Bon-Bon swore. “FOR EARTH, FOR EQUESTRIA, FOR LYRA!”

And Cheerilee believed it...and then Bon-Bon looked her way, eyes bright and smiling widely.

“And Cher’...I know where your Marcus is!”

‘Find...fingers...fun...fast!’

*

In a treehouse on the corner of an apple-farm, three mares gathered around a nautilus shell stared at one another in shock. They felt their horns, tested their wings, tried to catch their bearings...

...but it was when Carrot Top pointed in shock at Applebloom and Sweetie Belle’s flanks that the cheering really began...

And for a few moments, despite the baleful glare of the Eternal Sun, morning in Ponyville truly shimmered, yes, morning in Ponyville shined!

“HOLD IT!!!!” a voice shouted...

PAUSE (II)

*

The Editor’s Lounge, None of Your Business Where

“This is the big twist!?” Discord demanded, waving a remote control in disbelief. “Spontaneously ascending almost a hundred people into demi-gods without any fore-warning. ‘Double Rainboom’ did better than that and they threw in the POWERPUFF GIRLS!”

“I dunno,” said Pinkie Pie, munching through a tub of pop-corn. “I thought it was awesome! Meanie-pants Celestia is going to get her flank paddled by an ARMY of Alicorns!”

She chewed for a moment and then summed up her feelings in one word, expression stern and eyes hard.

“Bitchin’!”

Discord shook his dead and reached forward with the remote.

REWIND (<<)

“It’s a mess...” he said as the chapter rolled backwards, ascensions and revelations unwinding themselves back into nebulous realms of untold story. “I mean, the bits with Mom’s shadow...sorry, ‘Scribble’, describing ancient history were pretty accurate, not perfect, but close enough, and some of the material is moving if you’re into soppiness, but seriously, what were those two ‘authors’ thinking!?”

He snapped his fingers and two sock-puppet humans popped into being. One wore glasses and was balding, the other had a darker skin tone and more hair.

“Oh, hello there Redskin...” he said as he controlled the four-eyed puppet, adopting a sarcastic British accent. “You wanted my thoughts on how Scootaloo should wake up from surgery, and I think we should spin it into a huge plot-twist where everyone involved becomes Alicorns! Forget King Sombra, this will be an entire swarm of omnipotent, underdeveloped OCs! Mary Sues for everyone!”

“Wut?” the other puppet said in disbelief, a Texan drawl colouring the single syllable.

“Oh it’s alright, I conceived it out of boredom while driving my Nissan one day...” Discord sarcastically replied. “For I am the Great & Authorial TB3, self-published novelist and Bringer of Awesome! Pip-pip, tally-ho, God Save Lizzie!”

“Ah, I think he’s meant to be Welsh, not English,” Pinkie corrected, rolling her eyes at the King of Hammy Acting’s performance.

“Then we’ll throw in some jokes about sheep and animal husbandry in the edit!” Discord cut back, before discarding the two Author Avatars with another wave of a paw. Then he reached forward and pointed the remote again.

STOP (-)

“Seriously,” he ranted. “It’s barely a narrative, just a string of exposition strung out along a train of vignettes, coupled up with a nonsensical ending that shame M. Night Shyamalan!”

“And with a healthy soupcon of meta-humor, don’t forget!” Pinkie laughed, bouncing up from her recliner. “Lauren cameos and jokes about Season 3’s writing never go out of style!”

Hovering in mid-air she flailed her arms and briefly looked like a sketch from a certain cartoon’s Creative Bible, one of a candy-maned Pegasus who had consumed enough sugar to imitate a hummingbird!

“See, there they go again!” Discord scowled, pointing up into the infinite void of the Fourth Wall. “Now they’re comparing you to Surprise, see! What are they trying to do, pad out the fic’s TV Tropes page!?”

“Oh, now there’s a thought!” the Pony Girl Extraordinaire (Pinkazoid! Pinkazoid!) agreed enthusiastically, landing sharply back on her chair and ticking off points on her limbs;

“Scootaloo getting to fly = Crowning Moment of Heartwarming. Bon-Bon pulling off a St. Crispin’s Day Speech = Crowning Moment of Awesome! This entire chunk here = Crowning Moment of Funny!”

“Well I don’t like it!” Discord fumed, folding his (suddenly many) arms and bending himself into a sitting position that defied Euclidian Geometries and the animation capabilities of Flash. “If you want characters to suddenly start acting out of character like this, go read a Chatoyance fic! The whole point of Spectrum was to defy Conversion Bureau archetypes, not ramble into these kind of divergences...”

“Did you never read The French Lieutenant’s Woman Discy!” Pinkie consoled him cheerily. “Sometimes the story wants to do things differently from the author...”

“That’s it!” Discord sat bolt upright, the effect looking something like a series of knots being pulled straight. He let out a long chuckle. “Oh this will really screw with their minds! Delicious!”

“Ooooh,” Pinkie looked eagerly towards him. “Someone’s got a plaaaaaaaaaan!”

“Indeed Pinkamina my dear. I’m going to let them have their cake, eat it, and then rip the cake out of their stomachs and feed it to someone else!” the spirit of Chaos purred, reaching forward to tap at the fabric of reality.

EJECT (^)

“Ooooooh, this gun be good!” the party-pony (and sometime editor of fanfics) cheered as her companion caught a VHS cassette that spat out from between two paragraphs and pressed a finger to its casing. Familiar swirls of mind-bending power flashed in the two plastic windows over the spools.

“Now...we begin!” he cackled, as thunder crashed in the dimensionless space.

“Thankyou Pinkie,” he added, glancing to where the mare was holding a large panel of sheet metal. “Always ready with a sound effect!”

“Yup!” she beamed. “Well what are you waiting for!? Get the Party Restarted!”

“Good! Then we can begin!” he smirked, forcing the tape back into the story and wielding the remote as if it were Excalibur itself. “One more Thunderous Clash please Pinkie?”

!!!THUNDEROUS CLASH!!!

“Delightful...”

PLAY (>), RECORD (O)

*

New York City Presbyterian Hospital, 2023 Anno Dominae

Scootaloo woke slowly as the anaesthetic wore off. She was on a gurney, and could hear its wheels squeaking as she was moved down a corridor. Bright light burned into her eyes and she instinctively vomited into a bed-pan that was being held by her face.

“There you go, brave girl. Let it all out...” someone murmured, and she felt a set of fingers gently scratching behind her ears. She mewled quietly and relaxed onto the pillow, content to let the world spin as she was moved to Recovery.

There had been...a dream. Screens, and a soothing voice, and a sense of strength and boundless love...

She smiled to herself. Babs had been there with her, and they had been Awesome.

Then the smile faded as she realised her situation. Reaching behind her, she felt for her wings.

There was nothing there. They were gone forever. She was grounded.

Scootaloo wept. But then the dream stirred again in the back of her mind and brushed away the tears.

‘This is Earth. I don’t need wings to fly! I could handle a scooter, so I bet I could fly a jet...let Rainbow Dash just try and catch up to me if I’m soaring on tireless steel wings at Mach 3!”

She scowled as she thought of her old idol, and then sighed and let the festering feelings of hurt, betrayal and loss go. She had true heroes to look up to now. She had the PHL, and Wildfire...

“Scoots!” that very mare cried out as she was pushed into the Recovery Ward, and Scootaloo felt her heart soar to heights that no feather or fighter could reach.

“Hey Fire’,” she said, her voice almost lost in the depths of soft blankets and fluffy pillows. “I came back...”

“And I always knew you would,” the spirited mare said fondly, before bending over and kissing her softly on the brow. “Babs brought some friends to see you...”

“Dinky...Pip?” she asked, hearing the sounds of several hooves approaching. Wildfire shook her head, tears of happiness in her eyes.

“No honey. Even better.”

She stepped aside so that Scootaloo could be propped up carefully. The sound of approaching ponies was getting nearer, and with it was a pair of strange, yet familiar scents, rising warmly over the acrid sterility of the ward.

One smelt of...forest flowers, like a natural perfume that spoke of sunshine and laughter.

The other...apple, and cinnamon, and just a touch of sweat earned after a hard day’s work.

Scootaloo felt tingles run over herself and slowly turned on her pillow.

“Sweetie Belle? Applebloom?”

“Yeah, Scoots. It’s us...” one of the two young mares said softly, her cherry-pink mane hanging limply down the back of her neck. The other just smiled with a tender pride, but trotted softly in place as if holding back her anticipation. Babs hung to one side, eyes warm and loving.

Then Scootaloo threw her forelegs apart and the three of them rushed to her, crowding around her gurney and sharing tears, hugs and cries of apology.

“I missed you guys! I missed you guys so much!”

Wildfire watched it all and did her best to hold back her tears as the Cutie Mark Crusaders were reunited.

“Thanks for bringing them home to us CT...” she said to another adult mare. “Scootaloo needed this.”

“Don’t thank me,” Carrot Top smiled back. “Sweetie Belle convinced Applebloom to come.”

She nodded towards the euphoric young mares. “They did this all by themselves.”

The four Crusaders were so glad and proud to be together that none of them noticed when three flashes of light went off simultaneously around Sweetie, Bloom and Scootaloo’s flanks, three brilliant puffs of magic.

But Wildfire saw, and could not wait until the glorious moment came when the three girls noticed. A threefold cutecenera looked to be on the horizon soon. She had promised Scoots a Vespa...that would make a brilliant gift for such a party...

Her hoof brushed against something, and she looked down. Applebloom had arrived wearing a Stetson hat, which had fallen off in the sudden dash to Scootaloo’s bedside. She rolled her eyes and then picked it up with one wing, noticing a label in the brim.

Curiousity gave way to surprise, and then confusion.

“How did Applebloom get hold of one of Clint Eastwood’s hat?”

*

Photo Finish was confused, and a little apprehensive. But most of all she was tired, a weariness that neither caffeine pills or a half-drunk (and very cold) mug of coffee could treat.

Her private corner of the PHL complex was called ‘Public Relations’, though in truth she dealt more in propaganda for distribution beyond the Barrier, and video documentation of the PHL’s activities. Right now she was in a sealed section, the ‘Hands Free A/V Lab’, one where no humans were allowed. That was not bigotry so much as practicality. This was where film and audio were magically transferred to Equestria gemstones, creating a record that could cross the barrier. No human touch or influence in the process could be allowed, so as to not endanger the risk of the barrier detecting and destroying vital evidence of human/equine harmony.

This was her trump card. Even if Earth fell, these archives would remain, seeding discontent within Celestia’s regime.

But one particular film was giving her trouble, the one she had recorded today during Scootaloo’s surgery. Herself and a human USAF cameraman had documented the entire process, not just for posterity, but for ongoing research into pony physiology.

Pausing in her fruitless efforts she sat back and rubbed her eyes. Then, she tapped at another crystal lying on the workstation and let herself relax as a familiar voice carried her away.

“I’ve...I’ve been allowed to uphold my right of Final Words...” the voice of Lyra Heartstrings echoed out of the shard. Behind her words could be heard the slow-rolling roar of an angry crowd, and a rising piece of music that Photo Finish had edited in to lend weight to the speech. “...a chance to justify myself, as either a martyr to humanity, or a traitor to equinity...and so I’d like to borrow from the words of a great human, Charlie Chaplin...”

Lyra’s voice took a deep breath and she began to speak, reciting from memory:

“I’m sorry, but I don’t want to be a martyr or a traitor. That’s not my business. I don’t want to subvert or conquer anyone anywhere. I should like to help everyone - if possible – Pony, Human - biped - quadruped.

We all want to help one another. Social beings are like that. We want to live by each other’s happiness - not by each other’s misery. We don’t want to hate and despise one another. In these two worlds there is room for everyone. Equus and the good Earth are rich in resources and ideas, and can provide for everyone. The way of life can be free and beautiful, but we have lost the way.

Fear and greed have poisoned our souls, barricaded borders with hateful barriers, and marched us into misery and bloodshed. We say our ‘enemy’ has developed speed, and so we shut ourselves in. Their machinery which could give abundance has inspired our fear. Our war with Sombra has made us cynical. Their history has made them sometimes hard and unkind. Now we both feel too much and feel too little. But more than their machinery, we need the genius of humanity. More than cleverness, they need our kindness and gentleness. Without these shared qualities, our worlds will be violent and all will be lost....

The accident at CERN brought us together in flesh, but Celestia divided us in spirit. Yet the very nature of all races cries out for the goodness in all - cries out for universal brotherhood - for the unity of us all. Even now my voice is reaching millions throughout the world - millions of despairing men, women, and little children; colts, mares and little foals – all victims of a system that makes us torture and mutilate innocent people...”

Lyra had hoped that someone in the crowd was recording the message. And she was right. Her Final Words became not a useless tirade against a brainwashed crowd, but a rallying cry to all corners of two worlds.

“...to those who can hear me, I say - do not despair. The misery that is now upon us is but the passing of greed - the bitterness of those who fear the way of harmony and progress. The hate of man’s history will pass, and the Tyrant of Equestria die, and the power taken from the ponies and the people will return to those same. And so long as we are mortal, liberty will never perish.

Ponies! Newfoals! Humans! Don’t give yourselves to brutes – the Queen who despises you - enslaved you - who regiments your lives - tells you what to do - what to think and what to feel! Who drills you - diets you - treats you like animals, uses you as cannon fodder. Don’t give yourselves to this unnatural Beast – a machine mare, with a machine mind and a machine heart! You are not machines! You are not weapons! You are living beings! You have the love of others in your hearts! You don’t hate! Only the unloved hate - the unloved and the unnatural. Guardsponies! Don’t fight for slavery! Fight for liberty!

In a great human book it is written: “the Kingdom of God is within man” - not one man nor a group of men, but in all! In you! You, the people, you, the people, have the power - the power to create peace. The power to create happiness! You, the people, have the power to make this life free and beautiful, to make our unified worlds a wonderful adventure.

Then - in the name of freedom - let us use that power - let us all unite. Let us fight for this new age - a decent time that will give all a chance to work - that will give youth a future and old age a security. By the promise of these things, a brute has risen to power. But she lies! She does not fulfil that promise. She never will! Tyrants free themselves but they enslave the people!

Now let us fight to fulfil that promise! Let us fight to free these worlds - to do away with the barrier - to do away with greed, with hate and intolerance. Let us fight for a world of reason, a world where magic and science and true harmony will lead to the happiness of all. Ponies! Humans! My brothers and sisters! In the name of Earth, and Equestria, let us all unite!”

The dubbed-in music hit a crescendo and faded away. The recording continued, as Lyra turned to her fellow prisoner and said farewell.

“Bonnie, can you hear me? Whatever happens, look on Bonnie! The clouds are lifting! The sun is breaking through! We are coming out of the darkness into the light! We are coming into a new world; a kind new world, where we’ll rise above hate, greed, and brutality. Our souls have been given wings and at last are beginning to fly. Flying into the rainbow. Into the light of hope! Into the future! The glorious future! That belongs to you, to me, and to all of us. Look on Bonnie, look on! I love you!”

Then there was a crackle of magic and stone, and Bon-Bon’s screams as guards rushed forward, and the smashing and shattering of hopes and dreams and love. Then, before Bon-Bon’s own execution could proceed, the screaming, holy roar of the TARDIS’s engines as the entire Hooves clan rushed onto the scene. Too late to save Bon-Bon’s mind, but fast enough to save her life...

Photo Finish sighed as the recording ended. Poor Bon-Bon. Poor Lyra. Poor everyone. And yet despite the mixture of triumph and despair held within this one crystal, it was the one she listened to the most. It reminded her of why they were fighting.

Rejuvenated she turned back to the footage from earlier that was giving her trouble. All was normal until the very end. Scootaloo’s surgery had proceeded in silence, with only a few onlookers watching on from the observation lounge above, and when her back had been closed up, the doctors had washed her down and wheeled her away. All normal.

Except for...THERE! Photo Finish’s hooves played over the monitor’s controls. Every so often the image flickered, and she had gone back to edit out what were clearly skipped or corrupted frames.

But the last one was...not. There was no static or scrambled data. Instead, something was in visible in the image that had definitely not been present in the operating theatre when the video was filmed.

Bending over Scootaloo, tenderly nuzzling the crippled orange filly, was a red-maned and white-coated Alicorn mare...

*

“You may think novelists always have fixed plans to which they work, so that the future predicted by Chapter One is always inexorably the actuality of Chapter Thirteen. But novelists write for countless different reasons: for money, for fame, for reviewers, for parents, for friends, for loved ones; for vanity, for pride, for curiosity, for amusement: as skilled furniture makers enjoy making furniture, as drunkards like drinking, as judges like judging, as Sicilians like emptying a shotgun into an enemy's back. I could fill a book with reasons, and they would all be true, though not true of all. Only one same reason is shared by all of us: we wish to create worlds as real as, but other than the world that is. Or was. This is why we cannot plan. We know a world is an organism, not a machine.”

*