Things in the dark.

There are things in the dark.

Terrible things. Horrible things.

Unliving things.

Undying things.

She studies them. On the penultimate level of the Last Redoubt, She has created an observatory of sorts. Not for the stars; there are only a few dull red embers left in the sky, and there is nothing of interest in them. No, She studies the things lurking in the Everlasting Night, beyond the wall of the shield that encircles the enormous pyramid that is the last dwelling place of true life.

Her magnificent throne stands within the clear crystal peak of the pyramid. It is imbued with pure mana from the heart of the world and its the light of it shines into the vacuum beyond the walls, a bright star that is visible for a score of leagues into the shrouded lands below. I have seen Her seated there so seldom that I can recall each occasion clearly.

This time, when She takes to Her throne and broods for nearly a week I want to believe it is because of my moon. The rare occasion of its presence, no matter how diminished, is a reminder of me. That I still might have the strength to affect Her, even without intent, is pleasing.

Not many of the inhabitants care to look beyond the walls of the cyclopean structure that contains their lives. It provides them with everything they need—fields and farms and even bright skies to soar in. The pinnacle rises over seven miles above the ground—far above what is left of the atmosphere—and that is the lesser part of it. It extends much farther below the earth, down to where great crystal tap roots pull sustaining magic from deep within the Wheel of the World.

They know, of course. They know of the Silent Ones, the abequines, the vast Watchers, and the other deadly things that snatch up their scraps, subsisting on that which they cast off merely by existing, and which are desperate to consume them, mind, body, and spirit. But they put those things from their imaginations and tend to their own lives within the Redoubt.

Long eons from their origins, the cheerful dwellers inside are still recognisable as ponies, griffins, dragons and a few others. She made sure of that. The abequines were a mistake; an attempt at allowing, but guiding evolution, and they were hunted down and destroyed when their horrific appetites became known. Only a few score escaped into the darkness outside. Ever after, the creatures of light have remained themselves and would be recognisable to those who had lived under the long-forgotten sun.

For reasons nopony can explain, there are some who venture out into the night. Many go to Her for a blessing or advice before they make their way through the series of gigantic hatches that seal the long tunnel to the world outside. She gives them whatever they ask for and offers them the best protections and weapons Her craft and power can create. It is never enough.

When they go, She watches them from Her observatory, communicating with them mind-to-mind for as long as she is able. Her magic is powerful, and no mere distance could break Her mental link, but there are powers outside the Redoubt.. The things send false messages—enticing images meant to lure Her from the safety of the pyramid, mostly. They are crafty and subtle, but She authored the Master Word, which only a true pony can reply to. Their spying and attempts at deception always fail, and they ultimately resort to overwhelming Her communications with noise and the chatter of inequine madness.

Those ponies who venture out are often slain by Silent Ones within her sight, or are taken by the things that dwell in the Vale of Red Fire, or run down by the monstrous Night Hounds, or shrivel into dust under the baleful eyes of one of the Watchers. Some continue beyond Her sight, into the darkness that even the marvellous telescopes cannot pierce.

They never return.

Magic stirs within the pyramid. The shield wall and dome pulse with shifting energies. She summons a dyskos.

I am intrigued. I have not seen Her wield a weapon in an age. She has had no need of one, of course. The Redoubt is her sword and her shield, fashioned to fight against the Eternal Night in a battle beyond the ken of mortals. But for a more immediate struggle? Yes, a dyskos serves very well, indeed.

It seems no more than a magical halberd—a spinning, edged disk set on one end of a long haft. But it shifts in the grasp of her aura, flexing and lengthening, curving at her will, sparks of magical fire spitting from the blade of the disk. Every dyskos is unique. They are... coalesced out of pure magic, and bonded to the one who wields it. Each is intelligent in its own particular way, and nearly unstoppable in the hooves of the experienced warrior who is its partner.

She stands, and Her armor rotates into the conventional spatial dimensions around Her, assembling itself piece by piece until she is completely encased in dark crystal and black metal. She leaves the throne room.

She hasn't ventured out since the Redoubt was completed... how many thousands of centuries ago? Thousands of thousands, surely—or more. She remained even when the Watcher of the South emerged from the blackness, growing toward the pyramid, so slowly that even across an entire year no movement could be perceived. She only waited, observing, until a millennium had passed and the intent of the enormous thing became clear. Even then, She stayed within her artificial world, seeding the slow magics that caused the Glowing Dome to rise before the Watching Thing, blocking its path.

The other Watchers do not approach. They watch. It is enough, for now.

Beyond my wildest hopes, She emerges from the Northern Gate a few hours later and descends the long ramp to the surface. For a moment I spare a small amount of my attention for Her observatory. It is crowded with ponies, changelings, griffins, kirin, zebra… indeed, a representative of every race within the Redoubt. Even a few dragon whelps, small enough to squeeze into the crowded chamber, are present. A strange emotion causes me to flush with pleasure. The coming horror and disappointment of those within, perhaps?

But that is an enjoyment to come. For now, I focus on the shield barrier where She must cross into the true Night.

And cross She does. Encased in her armor, She cannot fly—not that it would gain her anything but increased exposure to the things that float in the poisonous black mists above. No, She must plod along, bending her course to the East to avoid the depths of the Vale of Red Fire. I do not understand why She does not skirt the Western edge of the Vale through the Place Where the Silent Ones Kill. Surely She does not fear them, and those foolish enough to attack Her would provide Her with some small revenge for all of her ponies lost to those creatures. Her mind is a puzzle to me, even now.

She nears the Watcher of the North East and its vast eyes turn their gaze for the first time in many centuries. Her dyskos flares with bright power, and the Watcher's eyes close against its brilliance, making the ground tremble as the titanic upper lids impact the lower.

She breaks into a gallop as a limb stirs at the Watcher's side, blindly groping. It comes down with seeming slowness, but the earth quakes as it strikes, and She is thrown from Her hooves, rolling into a ball and bouncing along as Her dyskos circles Her, warding against the mountain of flesh that came within a feather of crushing Her.

Before the Watcher can begin to lift the limb from the new ravine it lies in, She has leaped to her hooves and galloped onward, beyond the thing's perception.

Hours later, a pack of Night Hounds sniff her out along the edge of the Plain of Blue Fire. A single sweep of Her weapon destroys three of the monsters, and would have easily dealt with the rest, but She stands fast and lets them flee, crying in terror.

She hugs the edge of the Western cliffs, as far from the House of Silence as possible, and finds a sheltered place within a rockfall to rest and take nourishment. She will be long on her journey, and each step will be perilous. I weave magics around myself. They are terrible and costly, but I will not sleep. I cannot rest, lest I miss the moment of her death.

She has lasted much longer than I would have guessed. She continues northward, sometimes hiding, sometimes silently circling a hazard or creature of the night, sometimes fighting, sometimes fleeing. She rests more frequently as She nears the border of the Country of Seas. Her steps are slower and more deliberate.

Good.

She passes through a great gorge and survives the attack of the giant brutes that dwell therein, though not without cost. Her armor is dented and riven, her gait halting and exhausted as She comes to the shore of the Dead Sea and gazes upon my tower.

The entities that wait beneath the sands of the lifeless, dry basin are swift and subtle. Surely, they will make an end of Her. I fight my own weariness to focus on Her as She begins the crossing.

Her dyskos blazes and the sand beneath her hooves becomes glass. Great needles of the stuff rise above Her and then plunge downwards through the sand. For minutes, all is chaos and swirling dust.

And then She emerges, and though the sand still roils with their agony, the Ones Beneath do not rise.

Her hooves reach the stones of the ancient beach. She does not pause, but climbs the slope beyond and approaches my tower.

Her dyskos awakens again as She stands before the sealed door, and She scars the invulnerable gray metal of the wall beside it with slight motion: once, twice, and on the third stroke, a hoof-sized piece falls away. Her message is clear; She will not be denied entry.

I unseal the door.

I set the sequence to allow Her through the many hatches to the interior and then leave my scrying sphere. I have my own throne room, and that is where I will meet Her.

I climb the seven steps of the dias on shaky hooves and settle myself onto the dark obsidian throne, but I cannot rest. There is one other preparation I must yet make. I am weary from lack of sleep and drained by the useless sustaining spells that I so unwisely set upon myself, but this is something I must do.

It is my moon, not Hers.

She enters the throne room. Her dyskos draws in upon itself, and becomes quiescent, settling between Her shoulders like a sleeping foal. She bows to me. There is no dishonesty in the gesture, no subtle sarcasm. I would like it better if there were.

Now is the time.

I light my horn.

My moon rises. Slowly, but it rises, dark red, the color of old blood

Like the Last Redoubt, my tower is crowned with clear crystal, and even the feeble light of my moon is enough to cast my shadow down upon Her.

My senses swim, my chest goes tight and I struggle for breath.

"Luna," She says. "Will you not come with me, now?"

I sneer and lift an imperious hoof to the sky. "Because you think I am weak? Because you think I need your care, Twilight Sparkle?" On my throne I am taller than She, but only just. I hate her strength. I hate her compassion.

Oh, inconstant moon! At that moment its glow dims and flickers, nearly going black before settling again, darker than before.

She shakes Her head sadly. "It is not your strength that fails, Luna. The moon is a mirror. It is the—"

"Speak not the accursed name of the sun!" I shout at her. "If she is dying, it is my doing!"

"What is done... is done," She replies. "Come with me now. Be at peace. You will find friends in the Redoubt, I promise. Or if you desire a realm of darkness, I will make one for you within the walls. There is room, even among the billions, for—"

"Shall I live within your gleaming coffin, then?" I snap at her. "That abomination embedded in the flesh of the planet like a giant tick, sucking greedily at its life-blood? The time must come when the magic will be exhausted and the shield will fail and the Eternal Night will close around you like vast black jaws. What then, Twilight Sparkle?"

"That will not be for a very long time, Luna." Her eyes gleam with unshed tears, the coward. "Return with me now. I cannot come again." She holds out a tentative hoof to me. "Please."

My reply is cold and absolute, as She must have known it would be. "No."

She doesn't hesitate or make another useless attempt. She bows, turns away, and departs.

I wait until She has sealed the last door behind Her to descend from my throne. I go again to my scrying sphere and watch Her cross the cooling shards of the Dead Sea's bottom. I renew my dangerous sustaining spells and study Her as She skirts the fire pits and enters the narrow, arched gorge.

Among the shattered pillars of sandstone, in a cleft deep enough to provide some protection, She sleeps. But I cannot sleep, I dare not.

Another trek southward, and She rests again. The wreckage of a mighty airship on the coast of the Country of Seas gives Her shelter within a league of tangled, decaying metal beams. The lurking, nameless horrors of the seas crawl forth, sensing Her life and thirsting for it. But the twisted maze of rust defeats them and they slither back beneath the slow, oily waves.

Onward again, but does She see what I do? It is a mass of Silent Ones waiting at the bottom of the Mighty Slope, their forms shifting and swaying as they position themselves to welcome Her, to force Her to the House of Silence from whence nothing may escape.

I stagger with exhaustion, and even as I circle the sphere with my forelegs to support myself, I can feel the coldness creeping in on me as the spells leech away my lifeforce.

The blaze of combat nearly blinds me, even at my remove. She cannot defeat them all, but she need not; not with Her cunning. I should have known. The Silent Ones chase phantoms of life that She calls forth. All is disarray, and She slips by them, lost to their perceptions.

I should have known.

I should have known.

I should have known She would triumph.

Why then, does She now sit upon Her throne, weeping?

Above me, the moon, my moon pulses and dims, and I know it has risen for the last time.

I slump to the floor. My sight fails me, but I do not need eyes to know that my moon has gone dark.

The breath goes out of me, and I do not have the strength to draw it back. My magic deserts me.

Things in the dark.

There are things in the dark.

Terrible things. Horrible things.

Unliving things.

Undying things.

I am

their

Queen!

Many inadequate thanks to Jordanis for his invaluable editing/structural help!