I’m not me when I fall asleep. I’m half of a whole. I’m incomplete. My friend is darkness, and I fail to see how I can ignore her when he calls to me.

The sound of beating wings and talons rattling against glass echoed in Stygian’s ears, then vanished along with the rest of his dream.

He sat up in bed. The moon shone through his bedroom window. He peered closer. It seemed important, though he didn’t know why. Outside, the same quiet streets of the same quiet Vanhoofer suburb stared back at him like a blind man. He missed his old village, where each house had its own distinct imperfections. The future was so square.

Going back to sleep proved impossible, so he dug his dream journal out of his nightstand drawer and flipped it open to the next empty page. Along with the date, he wrote in neat horn-writing:

Something important. Couldn’t remember.

The quill tapped a slow rhythm in the top corner of the page until the dots of ink formed a single large blot. He set the quill down and turned back to the last page, then the page before that, then the page before that.

Each one read:

Something important. Couldn’t remember.

Something struck him as he flipped through the pages. He rushed back to his most recent entry and added:

Decisions. Time. Scared. Somepony else.

He paused, then corrected:

Somepony else Something else.

The Hanhoofer Public Library was his first and only haunt when it came to libraries. The delicate stone architecture was a comforting reminiscence of the castles of his own time, and the colossal history section helped him get up to date on everything he had missed while trapped in limbo (currently he was only eight hundred years behind the present, and closing fast).

The literature on dreams, however, was less than helpful. Large quantities of crackpot fortune tellers and mind-mattered self-help guru-phonies piled up in between a scant quantity of peer-reviewed literature. Most of the usable papers were written by Canterlot scholars in typically long-winded fashion.

A few, however, were much more accessible. Those papers were all written by a single author: Twilight Sparkle, Ph.D.

He had his first lead. Papers in tow, he stopped by the post office and sent a letter via the dragon express letting Twilight know he was interested in setting up an appointment to discuss her work, and wondering about her availability over the next few months.

The response took barely five minutes. Tomorrow afternoon, it said. And bring the papers.

Stygian once again marveled at the pace of the future.

The train ride to Ponyville took nearly five hours. Stygian took his dream journal with him, expecting to nap those five hours away. But each time he started nodding off, the train would shudder and jolt him awake. Eventually, he gave up and stared out the window.

Forested hills gave way to swaths of industrialized farmland. Stygian recalled his old village’s meager plot. Everypony’s collective toil would cover perhaps ten percent of these new farms. Row after endless row of mounded earth flew by, impossible to count, rhythmic as a tide.

Soon his eyes grew heavy. As he nodded off, he saw a conjuring of his imagination, two dots in the distance getting closer by the second. They suddenly whirled towards him and came into focus. They were eyes, yellow like hot steel.

The train lurched to one side. Stygian’s head smacked the window with a thunk. The memory of the dream fractured.

The scenery outside had returned to forested hills. It looked vaguely familiar--Ponyville must be close.

He pulled out his dream journal and tried to recall what he had seen:

Anger Cold. Uncertainty. The future The past. Limbo

Ponyville’s grand castle was grown to inspire awe, but the crystal buttresses and soaring towers made Stygian feel awkward. He remembered this place only as a shadow of a memory.

Inside, he waited for princess Twilight in the main foyer. Castle staff and occasional guests wandered by with polite indifference, totally unaware of who he really was. Or maybe they knew and didn’t care. Equestria had no shortage of reformed villains, after all.

After what seemed like hours, Twilight appeared in the hallway, tiara and wings and all. Stygian bowed low. She laughed aloud.

“We don’t do that anymore,” she said.

Stygian blushed. “Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Twilight guided him down the hallway towards the castle interior. The glow of the crystal walls dimmed to a more subdued hue the deeper they went. “Truth is, some ponies still bow. But I’m trying to make them stop.”

“Why would you want them to stop?”

“It makes me feel like a tyrant. I wanted to start a new tradition of addressing royals with hoof bumps, but the old-money nobility shut that down.”

“Ah, so the nobility is still insufferable.”

“Some things stay the same.”

They came to a conference room as large and tall as the main foyer. A long table made from a single piece of crystal dominated the room. To one side was a refreshment cart stocked with modern teas and coffees in bright packaging alongside chic electric kettles. Twilight made a beeline for the cart.

Stygian plopped down in the nearest chair and stared up at the ceiling. “How many decades did it take to make this?” he asked.

“It was grown in a few minutes,” Twilight replied without turning his way.

Stygian shook his head. It took just as long for his tea to steep.

“So tell me all about your dreams,” Twilight said. “I’m no princess Luna, but I’ll help any way I can.”

Stygian sipped his tea and tried to put his thoughts together. The tea Twilight chose tasted too fruity and sweet for his palette. He longed for the bitter, funky-tasting, fermented tea he used to drink in his own time. He wondered if the recipe still existed.

“My dreams have been strange,” he started. “I’m overwhelmed by the importance of what I’m experiencing, but when I wake up I lose the memory of it.”

“That’s normal enough. Plenty of ponies dream but can’t remember. It’s like our brain’s way of processing and decoupling the thoughts that get jumbled up through the day.”

“Fair. But the past few nights they’ve changed. I still can’t remember them, but I believe they have something to do with limbo.”

Twilight stiffened. “What exactly do you remember from those dreams?”

“Hardly anything. Just feelings.” He opened his dream journal to the most recent page and flipped backwards. “But it’s definitely about limbo. I know that place too well to be mistaken about it.”

“Even today, limbo is still a fairly unstudied state. It’s so dangerous to get to and difficult to get out of once you’re in that most researchers can’t get approval to go there. That’s if they’re crazy enough to want to go. No offense.”

“None taken. I’m aware of that much based on my own limited research. Seems there are still some places that shun the light of modernity.” He considered his tea once again. “It’s comforting in a way.”

Twilight shifted in her seat. Something hung on the tip of her tongue, barely restrained.

“You can ask me whatever you’d like, Twilight. I’m an open book.”

In a single breath, a dozen questions spilled out of Twilight’s mouth at once. Stygian blinked in surprise. After nearly a minute of non-stop nerding out, Twilight paused to catch her breath.

“Let’s organize those questions,” Stygian said.

A blush sprang up on Twilight’s cheeks. “Of course. Sorry. Let’s start with the time versus experience question. Time doesn’t move in limbo, correct?”

“Correct.”

“What did you feel not moving through time?”

Stygian sipped his tea and pursed his lips at the taste. “It still feels like you’re moving. Just in a different direction. Sorta like moving in a dream. You walk through a still image, or a short scene. You see something that sticks out to you--it could be light moving through a tree, or water lapping against a boat. It arrests all your attention. It gets bigger and more clear and more focused. You think you’re getting closer, like you could fall into it, but you’re not moving at all. It’s the rest of the world that’s rushing up to meet you.” He looked down. The ground was still there. Thank goodness. “It makes me dizzy thinking about it. We’re not meant to be unbound from time.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“You’re very considerate, Twilight. But suffering makes us strong, and I am a much stronger pony because of my experiences.”

Twilight nodded resolutely. “Do you think limbo could be calling to you somehow?”

He shook his head. “As charged-up as it is, limbo is still just a place. It’s as sentient as this conference room.”

“Then perhaps it’s a vestige of the shadow.”

“The shadow doesn’t bide its time. If it were a remnant, it would have taken me over months ago.”

“But it could theoretically call to you from limbo.”

“I suppose. But time and limbo aren’t on the same page. Past, present, and future don’t exist. It’s removed from time. So something in the distant past could be reaching forward, and it’s just as likely something from the future could be reaching back.”

“Fascinating.”

“You see why this vexes me so. It could be the first traces of shadow from a thousand years ago. It could be something that hasn’t even happened yet.”

Twilight’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know that.”

“With that said, I don’t think it’s that.”

“Oh.” Her voice fell. “Why?”

Memories of darkness flashed through his mind. “I’m never going back there as long as I live. If whatever’s causing these dreams can reach into my mind, it would see that much and find some more susceptible pony to haunt.”

He saw another question stalled on Twilight’s lips. He knew what it was but had no interest in entertaining it. A question of mental strength was a silly one, anyway. It was anecdotal at best and unscientific at worst.

To get her mind off the question, he flipped through his dream journal, hoping against hope some forgotten words would spark a memory. “I wish I had more to offer you. These dreams feel tremendously important, but the specifics just aren’t there.”

Twilight tipped up her tea cup and went for a refill. Stygian looked at his nearly-full cup, then took another half-hearted sip. The tea hadn’t cooled at all during the course of their conversation. The cups must have been heated magically.

“I wish I had more to offer,” Stygian said.

“You certainly do,” Twilight said as she returned to her seat. “Why did you write to me about this?”

“My neighbors and colleagues in Vanhoofer are still scared of me. If I told them I was dreaming of limbo, they’d probably call the police.”

Twilight giggled. “You’ll find ponies much more open to radical ideas than in the past. If they really are your friends, they’ll appreciate you opening up to them. Start slow. Be honest. Be kind.”

Her advice clogged Stygian’s next thought. “I just--” He paused. “I also came to you because you’re an expert. I don’t need answers, just more opinions.”

“Spoken like a true academic,” she said. “Do you really want my expert opinion?”

“Of course.”

“There is a great network of dream therapists in Vanhoofer. I can give you the name of one and you can start as early as tomorrow.” She flashed an encouraging smile, but the table was so wide and the gap so profound that all that tenderness and care dissipated before it could reach him.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Have you talked to anyone about your time in limbo?”

“There’s not much to talk about.”

“Well, maybe it’s time to start sorting through whatever’s there.”

Stygian sighed. “Perhaps. Thank you Twilight. You continue to surprise me with your open-mindedness.”

Her face lit up with a massive smile. “You’re too kind. That’s just the nature of knowledge.”

He raised his mug. “So it is.”

Just then, The centermost gem in Twilight’s royal crown blinked red and went, bleeeep.

Stygian raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” Twilight said, “that’s just a reminder to keep me on schedule. I have to go feed Owlowiscious.”

“Your pet?”

“One of them. Would you like to meet him? He’s very outgoing for an owl.”

Stygian’s expression lit up. “I thought cats and dogs were all the rage.”

“He’s an exception to the norm.”

“He’s in good company, then,” Stygian said and cracked a smile. “I would love to meet him.”

“Great!” Twilight started towards the door, but paused halfway across the room. “Do you mind waiting for just a few minutes? I have to feed him, and I’m not sure--it wouldn’t...”

A simple realization dawned on Stygian. “It wouldn’t be polite,” Stygian interrupted.

Twilight nodded. “Normally I feed him in the den. I don’t like upsetting my guests, and that’s usually what happens when they find out--”

“That he’s a carnivore.” Stygian blushed. “Sorry. Still getting used to having conversations again. I know he’s a carnivore because I used to have a pet owl. Way back in the day.” His voice grew soft and distant. “Way back.”

He looked down at the floor for a moment, and when he looked back up Twilight was right in front of him, draping a wing around his shoulder. “I know this world is a big adjustment for you,” she said.

He shrugged. “Same dirt. Same sky.”

“But a different time.” With her wing still draped around him, she led him into the wide hallway snaking through the belly of the castle. “I know Owlowiscious hasn’t had many other pets to play with lately. Some company would be really good for him.”

Stygian’s face brightened. “That sounds lovely.”

The den where Owlowiscious lived was gorgeous, but Stygian couldn’t take his mind off the mouse cage in the corner.

The design of the den was drastically different than the rest of the castle. Laquered wood panels with deeply expressive knots lined the walls. On the opposite side of the room, an opening too small for a pony to fit through had been carved into the crystal, leading up and out of sight. A large fireplace dominated one corner of the room. Flickering light from an ever-burning fire served as the room’s sole light. A set of formal chairs sat in front of the fireplace, casting their tall shadows on the opposite wall.

The way the shadows flickered reminded Stygian of a forest at twilight. He took a step forward, and the illusion was shattered by the not-so-natural feel of linoleum under his hooves.

He turned to Twilight to inquire about the floor, but before he could the sound of beating wings grabbed his attention. From the opening on the other side of the room swooped Owlowiscious. He hovered for a moment, assessing Stygian, before hooting once and alighting on a coat rack that doubled as a bird perch.

“He’s very pretty,” Stygian remarked. “Would he mind if I got closer?”

“Not at all. Just go slowly.”

Making himself as obvious as possible, Stygian walked towards Owlowiscious’s perch. He sized him up as he approached, his massive yellow eyes radiating awareness. They bore through everything they touched. Stygian couldn’t help but marvel at them. This creature was every bit as alive as he was.

As he got within a few lengths of him, he hooted once and flittered his wings like he was about to fly away. Stygian paused, one eyebrow raised. He considered him up and down with those unwavering eyes, hooted again, and lowered his head. It was consent to approach, as clear as if he had spoken it aloud.

A smile broke across Stygian’s face. He reached out and scratched Owlowiscious softly behind one ear.

“What was your owl like?” Twilight asked.

“Bigger talons,” he said absently. “Pretty.” As he spoke, Owlowiscious moved his head so Stygian was scratching his other ear. “His feathers were light grey, like a mouse’s fur. Ironic, right? And his eyes were yellow, too.”

Owlowiscious straightened up, cuing Stygian to stop. His eyes moved from Twilight to the fireplace, then over to the extra-large mouse cage in the corner.

In an instant, he flashed his wings and disappeared into the shadows that clung to the high ceiling corners.

“Looks like he’s getting hungry,” Twilight said. Her eyes moved to the cage. “I want to remind you about what I said earlier.”

“I lived a thousand years ago. We weren’t so averse to blood back then.”

Twilight nodded, then went over to the cage. She stuck her hoof inside, hesitated, then chose a live mouse at random from the dozen or so in the cage. “I don’t like to stay for this part,” she said as she set the mouse on the ground. “You can wait with me outside.”

The mouse, sensing danger, squeaked in its feeble mousy voice. It scurried beneath Twilight, and when she stepped towards the door it bolted around the baseboards, trying to find a nook or cranny to squeeze into.

Stygian’s eyes flashed from the mouse to the ceiling and its dark shadows. He thought he saw a flash of feathers. A moment later, a flash of yellow eyes. Then he turned his eyes to the mouse again. “It’s never bothered me,” he said. “It’s a part of nature.”

Twilight paused by the door. Stygian felt her eyes on him.

“Nature is so violent, isn’t it?” he said. “It’s a good thing ponies today find this sort of thing distasteful. Back then, this might be considered fascinating.” Something moved in the rafters. “Entertaining, even.”

Just then, Owlowiscious dove from his hidden perch in a flash of feathers. The mouse disappeared in a flash of talons and gore. Twilight jumped. Stygian blinked.

The two ponies stood there silently, transfixed, as the owl picked the mouse apart into little pieces.

That night, back in his cozy Vanhoofer home, Stygian had another dream. When he woke, he flew from his bed in a flash of sheets and went for his dream journal. In another moment’s time, the memories faded away.

He got this much down:

Limbo. No doubt. An owl with yellow eyes. It’s larger than a house and I’m as small as a mouse. It’s in its nest. I climb over massive twigs and tufts of grass and dirt and when I get to the top I see inside the nest. The owl is picking apart a pony into little pieces. The pony’s head is facing away and the belly’s opened up. The color of the coat is so familiar.

The mere act of putting pen to paper distracted him enough to lose the last of the memory. He was left hovering his pen an inch above the paper, wracking his brain for the climax of the dream and coming up short.

He shook his head and added one more line before setting the journal back down.

I recognized it for certain. Can’t remember now.

A letter arrived at Stygian’s doorstep the next day. Twilight, in elegant swoopy hornwriting, apologized again for not being of much help with the dream issue but wanted to approach another issue that might be more in her wheelhouse.

From their time together, she wrote, she determined Stygian was feeling several acute symptoms of loneliness. Vanhoofer was an awfully big city, even for somepony used to big cities. Widening his circle of friends might be good to get him out of his shell.

Apparently, he had already made a big first step and made a new friend in Owlowiscious. He was anxious for him to return. On the condition that he extend an effort to get out more on his own time, Stygian could also come to Ponyville and visit Owlowiscious once a week.

As Stygian wrote his reply thanking Twilight for her generosity and offering to visit in a few days’ time, he couldn’t help but ponder how an owl showed anxiety.

As with so many things, Twilight had an answer.

“Owl psychology is about as settled as pony psychology--which is to say, not really settled at all. But I know Owlowiscious, and I know when he’s anxious.” The two ponies wove their way through the meandering hallways of the crystal castle. The seamless walls offered no landmarks except for the occasional locked door.

There were a few moments Stygian could have sworn he was walking on a treadmill. Trapped in place.

“How can you tell when he’s anxious, though?” he asked.

“It has a lot to do with his eating habits.” A faint look of distaste crossed Twilight’s face. “When he’s anxious, he takes it out on the mice.”

Stygian couldn’t help but laugh. Even as he noticed Twilight’s frown and stifled himself, his smile persisted.

“It’s not funny,” Twilight grumbled, “it’s gross.”

“It’s life.”

“There’s been an awful lot of life to bleach out of the den carpets lately. I can’t hire other ponies to do that.”

“Of course, of course. It’s good you feel that way. This world must be a kinder place if the death of a few mice is so traumatic.”

Three more weeks and three more visits came and went. Each time Stygian and Twilight arrived, he found Owlowiscious waiting patiently on his coat rack perch. When he had their full attention, he nodded to Twilight, then fluttered over to Stygian.

On the fourth week, Twilight presented Stygian with an ornate wooden brush. “Today’s a grooming day. Care to do the honors?”

Caring for an owl was a tricky thing, but in no time at all Stygian fell into an old rhythm of brushing and smoothing. Owlowiscious, who seemed more concerned with the quantity of attention he got than the quality of the grooming, closed his eyes and relaxed. Twilight reclined on a long couch in the corner of the room and watched him work.

The two ponies made small talk, if not just to drown out the soft skitters and squeaks coming from the mouse cage.

“Does he think?” Stygian asked.

“About what?”

“About anything.”

“Well, an owl’s brain is pretty small in proportion to the rest of its body. Most of that brain serves its hunting needs.”

“Huh.”

“It’s ironic they’re fabled to be wise birds. In general, they’re less trainable than pigeons.”

“But not Owlowiscious.”

Owlowiscious hooted at the sound of his name.

“No,” Twilight said softly. “Not Owlowiscious.”

“Maybe I’m just crazy, but I look at those eyes and I feel like he’s thinking about us.”

“I’m sure he is.”

“But I mean really thinking. More than just animal thoughts.”

“We’re animals too. Even our most inspired thoughts are animal thoughts.”

Stygian chewed on his reply for a moment. “It’s just different. Maybe I’m the one that’s different.”

“You are technically a thousand years old.”

“That’s true. I used to think animals and ponies were equals in consciousness.” He felt Twilight’s eyes shift to him, and he focused intently on the floor. “So if they’re not that smart after all, then maybe we’re not as smart as we want to think, either.” He coughed. “But not Owlowiscious.”

Twilight fell into silence, pondering Stygian’s words. The longer they waited to speak, the louder the mice in the cage became. If Owlowiscious heard his prey, he made no indication.

As Stygian brushed down the bird’s midsection, he noticed something unusual. He gently lifted his wing and felt around the ribs, pausing every few seconds so as not to upset him.

“Twilight,” he said quietly, “come here.” He took her hoof and pressed it against Owlowiscious’s side. “Feel that.”

“What is it?”

“There’s something between the last two ribs. Feel all the way up to the middle.” Their hooves paused halfway up. “There.”

Sure enough, there beneath the soft plumage and skin was a bump roughly the size of a button.

“What do you think it is?” Twilight asked.

“It might be nothing. But I’m certain there’s not supposed to be any bumps there. If I were you I’d schedule a visit to the vet just to be safe.”

He looked back at Owlowiscious to find him eyeing him cautiously. All the softness had drained from him eyes.

He shivered. It was like he understood every word they had said.

In a week’s time, everything changed.

It started a few days after Stygian found the lump on Owlowiscious’s ribs. He got a letter in the mail from Twilight informing him the vet couldn’t figure out what it was either and needed to run some additional tests. She also invited him back to stay in Ponyville for a few days while this whole thing got sorted out. Since he was the one that found it, perhaps he would have some insight from his own time he could share with the veterinary team.

His response was this:

In my day, veterinary doctors leeched lumps. In the interest of the bird, I will defer to the professionals’ opinions.

The following day, six letters arrived all at once.

The mailpony had gotten them all jumbled up in her bag, so the first two Stygian opened were actually the last two sent. They both said the same thing: Urgent reply needed. Postage forwarded for dragon express.

Enclosed with each letter was two bits. They fell from the envelope and hit the floor with a clatter. Stygian jumped.

The next four letters were in the right order. They relayed in progressively deteriorating hornwriting that the vet team had found something seriously wrong with Owlowiscious. Nothing was confirmed. Then they had a hunch. Then they needed to run some more tests. Then the hornwriting got really sloppy, and Stygian couldn’t decipher what Twilight was trying to say.

The final letter ended abruptly and unintelligibly with what he could only assume was Twilight’s signature.

So he was left where he started, at the urgent reply needed letters, with nothing but a few bits to show for it.

Instead of writing, Stygian went straight to the Vanhoofer train station and bought a ticket for Ponyville. While he waited, he found a food vendor on the platform and tries to grab a bite to hold him over, but when it came time to order he realized he only had the four bits Twilight had sent him in the mail. The only thing he could afford was a lilly sandwich.

Stygian took this as a bad omen. Lillies were traditionally flowers of sympathy. He still bought the sandwich, though.

The first time Stygian ever saw the Ponyville castle, it was a literal warzone. He was the pony of shadows back then, an unthinking monster of chaos and darkness. He would have ground every bit of that castle to dust along with everypony in it if he got half the chance. He very nearly did.

This time around there were no demons, no villains, no battles to fight. But the castle had turned back into a warzone.

A few hollow-eyed staffers carried stacks of papers this way and that. Stygian tried stopping a few of them to ask for directions, but they either didn’t hear him or didn’t have time to stop.

In the main foyer, he found a small cluster of Twilight’s friends chatting over a tea cart. A few of them he recognized from the time he tried to kill them. Most of them were strangers. All were kind enough to greet him as he approached.

“Pardon me,” Stygian said, “do you know where I can find Twilight? It’s about--”

“We know what it’s about,” one of her friends, a sky-blue pegasus, replied. “Don’t say the O-word too loud.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. O-W-E-L.”

Stygian’s brow furrowed. “I...”

“There’s no ‘I’ in the word,” she replied matter-of-factly. “But I don’t wanna hold you up just cuz you can’t spell.” She pointed to one of the adjacent hallways. “Down there, follow it all the way to the end, then take a left.”

“Thanks.”

“Hey, wait.” Stygian paused as the pegasus scrutinized him. “You’re Stygian, right?”

He winced. “Yes.”

“Pony of shadows? Tried to kill us that one time?”

“Yes. And I am cursed to remember those mistakes as long as I walk this mortal--”:

“Mortal schmortal, whatever. I’m not trying to vibe you.” The pegasus nodded at the unicorn next to her. “Starlight here almost killed us a couple times, and she’s one of my best friends now.”

“Thanks,” the unicorn muttered, glowering into her tea.

“Point is,” the pegasus continued, “right now Twilight needs friends. She told us earlier about how you and her kinda bonded over the O-W-E-L.”

“I suppose we did,” Stygian said.

“She needs all the friendship we can give her right now. We know you’re here to help, and we’re glad for it.”

The earnestness in her voice shocked Stygian. He looked around the group to find all eyes were on him. Pure aching sincerity filled his heart. What a pure pony Twilight must be to accumulate such a group of friends.

“I’ll do what I can,” Stygian said.

The pegasus offered him two styrofoam cups of tea as he left. “She’ll have her own tea in there,” the pegasus explained, “but she likes the thoughtfulness of it.”

When the other ponies were out of sight, Stygian tasted his tea and frowned. Still too sweet.

The door to the study was unlocked. Stygian let himself in and found the place even worse off than the rest of the castle. Twilight hunkered down inside a small bunker of books, tearing medical journals off the shelves with her magic, lobbing peer-reviewed statistical metaanalysis across the room like grenades.

A book on traumatic brain injuries whizzed by his head. He ducked, spilling some of his tea.

“Sorry,” came a soft voice from behind the pile of books. “I didn’t see you there.” A roll of paper towels materialized in front of him and went to work on the floor. “I’m a little busy at the moment.”

Stygian walked around to the back of the pile to find a desk and a chair and a lamp and four empty tea cups and one full tea cup and Twilight Sparkle, dead-eyed and hunched over a selection of archaic medical literature.

She hauled herself upright and graciously took the tea Stygian offered. “Did the girls make this?” she asked.

“Yes. They’re all in the main foyer.”

She took a careful sip. “They’re good friends. I have very good friends.” Twilight smiled crookedly. She put the tea down carefully beside the other cups, buried her head in her hooves, and sobbed.

Stygian jumped in surprise. He hovered at her side as she cried, unsure whether to leave or hug her or try and fetch more tea. Ponies hugged other ponies, right? He swore he had seen that before. Did they hug when they were sad or just when they were happy?

Before he could deduce an answer, Twilight pulled herself together. “I’m so sorry,” she said, sniffling, “I’m hopeless.”

“Is it?”

Twilight looked up at Stygian. She cleared her throat. Misery lingered under her eyes. The usual glow had gone. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “Here I am languishing and you’re just as lost as me.”

“I’m afraid I’m even more lost than you. I couldn’t read your last letter.”

A sandpapery cackle escaped Twilight’s lips. “Classic me.” She lit up her horn, and a manila folder with some paperwork and an x-ray materialized in front of them. “The vets who saw Owlowiscious--” she choked on the name. “They said the bump is a tumor.”

“What’s a tumor?” he asked innocently.

Twilight stared at him for a long moment. Just when Stygian thought she was going to burst into tears again, she started laughing. “You really are a thousand years old,” she said as she caught her breath.

“Guilty as charged.”

“Let me put it this way. Owlowiscious is very sick. He’s not in any pain, and he seems to be just as active and happy as ever.”

“Then what’s the issue?”

“He may not last the month.”

Stifling silence blanketed the two ponies as Twilight’s words sunk in. In that moment, a piece of a dream flashed before Stygian’s mind. It was the pony being picked apart by an owl. The coat had been light grey, the color of a mouse.

“What do we do?” Stygian finally asked.

“I don’t know.” Twilight gestured to the fortification of books. “I’ve been trying to find a cure, but all the brightest medical minds haven’t found a cure in the hundreds of years we’ve known about this illness.” She turned to him suddenly. “What do you think we should do?”

Stygian balked. “My knowledge of medical canon is moot. How should I know?”

“Don’t think medically, then. If you knew your owl was dying and it was a thousand years ago, what would you do?”

Stygian considered the question. “I suppose I would take him to the nearest woods and set him free. Let him live out his days as nature intended.”

“Oh.”

“Like I said, how should I know? Don’t take my word on this one. I’m not even sure Owlowiscious could survive in nature. If he’s fully domesticated, captivity might be the best place for--”

“No.” Twilight held up her hoof. “I appreciate your candor. He would do just fine on his own.” She looked with vacant eyes at the closest open textbook. “I’ll think that through. Can you stay in one of the guest rooms tonight and see me tomorrow? I know it’s quite an imposition into your personal life, but time’s not on our side anymore.”

“Anything for Owlowiscious.”

A small smile formed across Twilight’s face. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Did the magic of friendship exist a thousand years ago?”

“It must have existed in some form. But it was much weaker than it is today.”

She nodded and reached for the tea Stygian had brought her, ignoring her full cup from before. “Perhaps you’re more a pony of this era than you think.”

At the crack of dawn, Stygian found his way to the Ponyville market. He spent the walk in silence, trying to dredge up any memories of the previous night’s dream. Nothing he remembered made any sense. Had he dreamed anything at all?

Scents of charred vegetables and dark bread floated from the collection of pastel-painted stalls. Though the sun had technically risen, it hadn’t been up long enough to burn off the sluggishness of sleep. The shopkeepers and their meager patronage moved at a glacial pace.

Stygian was grateful for that. He didn’t want to deal with a crowd right now. Especially given what he was here to buy.

The market was a maze of dead-ends and money traps, but eventually he found what he was looking for: a partially-rotted wooden cart with the rough silhouette of a griffon carved into the side. Plywood boarded over the only window. Cracked bricks beneath the wheels kept the whole operation from rolling away.

It felt oddly homey to Stygian.

When he knocked on the plywood, a husky voice from inside replied, “How much?”

“Tenderloin,” Stygian replied. “Four ounces.”

“Four? That’s it?”

“Yes.”

The plywood jerked aside. The whole cart shook. An old griffon babushka peered at him with milky eyes. “Hmm. You’re twiggy. You need at least sixteen ounces.”

“I only need four.”

“I only sell whole tenderloins.”

“I don’t need a whole tenderloin.”

“You freeze it. It lasts six months.”

“It’s not for me. It’s a gift.”

The griffon considered his offer. “I will ruin my only tenderloin for your meager appetite. For the right price.”

Stygian pulled out his coin purse. “Money’s not an issue.”

The castle staff barely spared a glance at Stygian as he made his way to Twilight’s study. Trailing him at a leisurely floating pace was an unmarked brown bag.

The princess looked up from her books, her nose wrinkling. “What on earth is that smell?”

“You can smell that?”

“Alicorn nose. Very strong. What’s in that bag?”

“A gift for Owlowiscious.”

Twilight gagged. She pointed to the door frantically. “Leave it in the hall!”

Stygian complied, laughing all the while.

He waited patiently by the now-closed door while Twilight composed herself. A few cans of air freshener whizzed through the air and went to work showering them in aerosol dust.

“I can’t believe you brought that in here,” she muttered. “That used to be somebody.”

“True. Soon it’ll be somebody else.”

Twilight’s frown deepened. “I suppose so.”

“Are you mad at me?”

“No. Owlowiscious will like it. Thank you.” Twilight floated a shopping bag floated over from the corner. “But I will say that I got him something as well. And I didn’t have to kill anything for these.”

“Fair enough.”

“So what do you say? Want to help me throw a surprise party for an owl?”

“How does one throw a surprise party for an owl?”

“The real question is, whooo do you invite?” Twilight let out a mad cackle. Then another. Then she was doubled over on the floor, howling with laughter, tears streaming from her eyes.

Stygian waited outside politely for her to finish.

As it turned out, a surprise party for an owl was quite the affair. All the girls he met the previous night showed up, along with their own pets. Cats and dogs and turtles and birds frollicked around a grassy park on the edge of town. As they played, the ponies of the group huddled together and exchanged muted conversation.

Stygian mostly stayed out of the way. He wasn’t a part of that clique, anyway. He was content to lounge on a park bench and watch the pets play.

For his part, Owlowiscious seemed very happy for all the attention.

As the party wound down and the other ponies and pets dispersed, Twilight trotted over to Stygian and took a seat beside him on the bench.

“My friends should be diplomats, the way they dance around difficult topics,” she said with a sigh. “Thanks for keeping track of the pets.”

Stygian nodded. His eyes were still on Owlowiscious, who was flying circles around some local birds who wanted in on the party.

“Do you think he knows?” he asked.

“No,” Twilight replied. “The vets said it would be totally painless. One day he’ll be fine, flapping around. Then he’ll drop.” Her eyes trembled. “Boop. Just like that.”

They watched Owlowiscious as he paused to preen himself. As his beak passed over a hairless patch on his ribs where the vets had x-ray’d, Stygian held his breath.

“You were right about what you said yesterday,” Twilight said in a low voice. “If this is the end, we shouldn’t pen him up.”

“Are you sure that’s what he would want?”

“As sure as I can be about any of this.”

Stygian turned towards Twilight. “What about you? What do you want?”

“Not important,” she replied automatically.

“You’re his owner.”

“I never liked that word.”

“Okay, you’re his caretaker.”

“As his caretaker, I think we should release him.” Before Stygian could reply, Twilight lit up her horn. An ornate polished brass cage appeared beside them in the grass. “You’re welcome to come along. But you don’t have to.”

Stygian surveyed the park. The sun had barely dipped into the afternoon sky. A slight breeze floated from the west. Birds sang from all directions. It was too nice a day for this.

“I’ll go,” he said.

Twilight nodded. “I know a good spot up the road.”

Owlowiscious, who had noticed the sound of magic a moment before, left his bird friends behind and flew their way. He coasted all the way into the cage. The little brass door swung shut behind him with a click.

“You’re not making this very easy,” Twilight said to Owlowiscious.

The spot Twilight found was a clearing just beyond the treeline. Tall weeds partially reclaimed a pair of ancient picnic tables in one end of the clearing. Other than that, the spot was bare.

“Time to go,” Twilight said, placing Owlowiscious’s cage in the center of the clearing. She opened the cage and motioned for the owl to get out. “Away.”

Owlowiscious tilted his head, then resumed scanning the trees for mice to play with.

Twilight cast a nervous look over her shoulder. “Seems like he’s not getting the hint,” she said with a dead chuckle. “Out. C’mon. Please?”

Eventually, Owlowiscious hopped out and took an experimental lap around the clearing. He returned to his perch atop the cage. He seemed a little confused.

“Go,” Twilight said.

Owlowiscious did not go.

“Get out of here,” Twilight said.

Owlowiscious did not get out of here.

“I said go,” she said, this time with force.

Owlowiscious cocked his head.

Stygian watched silently from a few lengths away as Twilight tried to dislodge the owl. His mind wandered to what Twilight must be feeling in that moment. Grief, no doubt.

Was grief a good thing? Twilight was grieving, and clearly suffering. Owlowiscious’s heart was light as a feather in comparison, and he seemed none worse for wear. If someone told the owl he was going to die--well, the first problem would be he wouldn’t understand the word “you,” or “are,” or “going,” or “to,” or “die.”

So if someone could tell an owl he was going to die and make him understand, would it even matter? Something told Stygian that even with that knowledge, Owlowiscious would probably go right on ahead tearing through mice in spectacular fashion and flying around until he dropped. What else would he do?

A low wail echoing through the trees broke Stygian’s train of thought. He looked over to find Twilight had collapsed beside Owlowiscious’s cage. The owl had perched on one shoulder and was preening Twilight’s mane, trying to calm her down.

Owlowiscious turned towards Stygian for just a moment, and in that look he could have sworn the owl spoke to him. No words. Just sympathy.

Stygian took Twilight’s hoof in his. He hauled her up, leg by leg, until Twilight was standing again.

“Why don’t we go home?” Stygian asked.

“But... we have to... Owlowiscious...” Twilight babbled.

“Let’s just go home.”

A soft click drew their attention. The two ponies looked at the cage in unison to find Owlowiscious had already packed himself in and shut the cage door behind him.

Following the official diagnosis, Stygian’s dreams got darker.

He woke a few mornings after his return to Vanhoofer and put pen to paper without really realizing what he was writing. Only once he had wrung his mind onto the journal and all memory of the dream evaporated did he read what he wrote. His own thoughts sent chills up his spine.

Now I’m being chased. It’s a giant owl. Not Owlowiscious. Same color eyes, though. I try to run but I move so slow. The owl takes me with ease. He picks me up in his talons and flies me back to his nest. At first it looks like twigs sticking out at crazy angles, but as I get closer I realize it’s not twigs but legs and arms and fur. The owl drops me into the center of the nest and now I can finally see the entire nest is made out of dead bodies. I can’t stand to look so I roll onto my back and I look up and the owl leans down, like he’s going to peck out my belly, like I’m a mouse, like I’m about to become part of the nest of bodies. I’m back in limbo, my soul exiting my body to be torn apart. The blackness of limbo is a nest of souls. I was disemboweled and rotted for a thousand years. How did I survive? HOW?

Stygian shut the journal abruptly. He set it aside. Outside, the birds were chirping. He let their song distract him until he felt ready to stand, then went to the kitchen to make some tea.

As the leaves steeped and the bitter funky smell of the tea filled his meager kitchen, he wondered if he should take Twilight’s advice and see a therapist.

His eyes drifted outside. The hazy silhouette of downtown Vanhoofer met his gaze. There would be plenty of excellent options to choose from. Discreet. Helpful. He could talk to them, and though they couldn’t really understand they might just be able to help. Somehow.

There was a knock at his door. It was a letter courier with the dragon express.

The letter read:

Stygian,

All things considered, I very much hope you are still able to make it to Ponyville at the usual time this week. Owlowiscious would be very pleased to see you.

T.S.

A little spark of hope rose in his heart. Perhaps the best therapy was action.

The weather couldn’t be better, and the park where Stygian found himself was picturesque to say the least. Owlowiscious and a few of his bird friends from the previous weekend dove from the treetops and soared high into the sky before gliding back to earth, wings beating ecstatically against the warm summer breeze.

The mood where Twilight and Stygian sat felt more like a hospice home. A dark blue sun hat sat low on Twilight’s head, covering most of her face. Every so often she would lift her chin to watch Owlowiscious. Then her head would drop again.

Stygian, pale as he was, lifted his head to catch the sun. Maybe his earlier thoughts had been off-base. This outing certainly didn’t feel therapeutic.

“You seem happy,” Twilight said. The raggedness in her voice surprised him.

“I suppose,” he said. “I’m just trying to keep everything in perspective.”

Twilight nodded. “I like this perspective,” she said, and tilted her head lower.

He chuckled and went back to watching Owlowiscious. A couple times, he came his way. He nodded and smiled, and the owl would double back to rejoin his other friends in flight.

He must have been checking in with him. Or checking up on Twilight.

“Can I ask you a personal question?” Twilight asked.

“Of course.”

“Can you tell me again what limbo was like?”

Stygian looked at Twilight. Her head was still low, her face hidden behind the brim of the sunhat.

“Dreamlike,” he said. “Anything in particular?”

“You said you still experienced things, but everything was out of time. Right?”

“Yes. For a creature who’s supposed to exist in-time all the time, it was quite peculiar.”

“It wasn’t painful though, right?”

“Not of itself. It was profoundly unpleasant for me, but that’s because I had been corrupted by the shadow. It was a festering internment.”

“So, theoretically, if we threw you back into limbo right now you’d be okay?”

“I suppose.” He chuckled nervously. “But please don’t.”

“I would never!” Twilight finally looked up, her eyes wide and earnest. “Believe me. Never ever.”

“Are you writing a paper about limbo? Having read your academic work on dreams, I would say you’re one of the most qualified individuals I know to write about such a topic.” Twilight pulled her hat brim even lower. Out of modesty, Stygian assumed. “In fact, if you need a reference I’d be happy to oblige.”

“It’s not that,” Twilight grumbled. She sat up and pulled off her hat. Her mane fell down her shoulders in knotted curls. Stygian wondered if she had brushed it once this week. “I don’t know how you’ll react to this.”

“What is it?”

“What if we put Owlowiscious in limbo?”

Stygian gave her a long, confused look.

“You didn’t age, right? That means, if Owlowiscious is in limbo, he won’t get any worse. We could pull him out once we find a cure.”

Stygian shook his head slowly. “How long will that take? Another ten years? Another hundred?”

“Time matters less to me. No offense.” Twilight tapped her horn. “Alicorn, remember?”

“I’m sure you could wait it out. But should you? That’s no place for anyone, pony or owl.”

“But he’d be okay.”

“He’d be fine physically, but you’re not really alive in limbo. You’re not bound to time.”

“He’s an owl. He doesn’t understand time.”

“He understands the difference between being alive and being whatever it is you are in limbo. I certainly wouldn’t call it being alive.”

Twilight scowled and looked away under Stygian’s withering gaze. Pleasant sounds from the park filled the gap between them, though now they seemed more intrusive than inviting.

“I’m out of ideas here,” Twilight finally said. “I’d try anything.”

“Maybe we don’t need to try anything.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, maybe it’s out of our hands. Maybe we should let it go.”

The look in her eyes went from overcast to pure lightning in a blink. “You can’t be serious.”

“Twilight, whatever you do, promise me you won’t put him into limbo. I know you can. But don’t.”

The tension broke. Twilight put the sunhat back on and pulled the brim low. “Is it worse than the alternative?”

“That depends.”

“Then why shouldn’t I?”

“Because you care about him.”

“He can dream.” Her voice wavered. “He can dream, can’t he?”

“I don’t know. But going into limbo made me feel one thing, and I came out a thousand years later still stuck on that same feeling.”

“What was it?”

Stygian’s eyes moved across the park. There above the treeline, a few faint shapes floated on the breeze like the dark-colored leaves of autumn trees. Soaring, hesitating, then falling towards earth. “Fear.”

Owlowiscious wasn’t there next week.

None of the staff knew what had become of the bird. Twilight was nowhere to be found, either.

He stuck around the castle for almost an hour before giving up.

On his way back to the train station, he stopped at a little coffee shop to unwind. Swirling a loaded americano in a little glass cup, he took a moment to appreciate how peculiar and pleasant it was to be alive at all.

He also took some time to contemplate his dream journal, though he steered clear of the more unsettling passages. There was no need to upset himself. Not right now, anyway.

Where were all the pleasant dreams? He wanted to read those. He flipped further back in the journal, but every dream of note he came across had some element of tainted shadow. He flipped even further back, until he came to the front cover.

“Hmm.”

He took a long sip of his coffee. Pleasant dreams must be the easiest ones to forget.

Just then, a mare with a familiar coat caught his eye. It was the blue pegasus from the castle. Last time, she had been surrounded by half a dozen other ponies, but today she flew solo. Stygian flagged her down.

“Hey Stygian,” she said, plopping down in the chair across from him. “What are you doing here?”

“I was supposed to visit Owlowiscious, but I couldn’t find him or Twilight.”

She let out a little sigh. “You weren’t the only one. We’ve been looking for her all day. Looks like she’s pulled another vanishing princess act.”

“Does she do this often?”

“Only when there’s something important to be goofed up.” She laughed. “Don’t worry too much. Twilight can take care of herself.”

“I’m more concerned for her owl.”

The pegasus gave a shiver of her wings. “It’s terrible, isn’t it? I can’t imagine how I’d handle it if my pet got sick.” She paused, her eyes working out imaginary scenes. “Maybe we should be worried.”

A train whistle sounded down the street, startling a flock of songbirds perched on a nearby window. Stygian and the pegasus turned together and watched the birds scatter, circle, and reform.

“I’m sure it’ll be okay,” the pegasus said. “These sorts of things usually work themselves out.”

“And if they don’t?”

“Then we’ll know they didn’t.” Her eyes moved to Stygian. “Trust me. We’ll know.”

The words of Twilight’s pegasus friend followed Stygian back to Vanhoofer. That night, back in the comfort of his home, he went to bed ruminating on those words.

Her disappearance most likely meant nothing significant. The problems of princesses spanned centuries and nations alike. She probably needed to attend some significant government function on short notice and forgot to inform him. Or she needed to take Owlowiscious to the vet. Or the world was ending somewhere far away and she needed to save everypony.

Everything was fine.

But as he slipped deeper into sleep, something felt off. Instead of the usual flow of fragmented memories from the day’s events, Stygian saw a flood of vague shapes rushing towards him, breaking at the last moment, then reforming. He was on the ground looking up, and something was swooping down to get him.

Sleep took him.

He woke the following morning in a cold sweat. He threw the bedsheets aside and wrote furiously in his dream journal.

Vivid colors. Hate Cold. LIMBO. IT HAS TO BE. Not the pony of shadows but something else. Amorphous shapes like the birds from earlier. Forming and reforming without end into a single entity. Yellow eyes, not attached to anything. I was a mouse in the den. He picked me up and put me in his nest along with the others. A nest of bodies. I stuck out at odd angles. A scream owl’s cry? Not sure. Can’t remember.

He also heard a sound as he woke, though he didn’t dare write it down. He choked it up to a bird outside his window and buried the memory. Deep down though, he knew exactly what it was.

It was the sound of beating wings and talons rattling against glass. It echoed in his ears, and this time it would not vanish.

Every night for the next six days, the dream came back. Each morning, he heard the same sound. Beating wings. Talons on glass. The first few mornings, he checked his window for marks to see if something had been scratching at it while he slept.

he never found anything, and gave up after a few days. The sounds persisted.

The dawn of the seventh day signaled Stygian’s usual return to Ponyville to visit Owlowiscious. He woke to the sound of beating wings and talons rattling against glass, but put the sound out of his mind as he headed towards the train station.

As he rode the train to Ponyville, he amused himself by thinking of how much things stay the same across time. Sure, everything had changed in the thousand years he was gone, but he still thought about owls and magic and strange otherworldly things just as much as he used to back them. The thought brought a comforted smile to his face.

He went to the castle, where a surprised-looking Twilight greeted him at the door.

“Good morning,” Stygian said. “I’m here to see Owlowiscious.”

Twilight shifted from one side to another, not moving from the doorway.

“May I come in?” he asked.

“Owlowiscious died,” she said.

A flock of birds flew overhead. The town echoed faintly in the background. A few poignant thoughts half-formed in Stygian’s head, then disappeared. “Oh,” he managed.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. Rainbow Dash said you visited last week?”

Rainbow Dash. That was the pegasus’s name. How could he have forgotten? Maybe he needed to get out more. Be more sociable. Learn to learn more names.

Why were the thoughts of everything else burying what should have been the only thing on his mind?

“Anyway,” Twilight continued, “I’m sorry I forgot to write to you. Owlowiscious’s health took a turn for the worse last week, so I had him go to a specialist in Canterlot. They couldn’t do anything either.”

“I see. Where did he--”

“In the den. He was about to pounce on a mouse and he just--folded up.” Twilight looked away. “I think it was good. He went out doing something he enjoyed.”

“I’m so sorry,” Stygian said. The door swung open, and the two shared a lingering embrace. Twilight felt brittle in his arms.

Perhaps it was his inexperience with matters of the heart, but as they held each other Stygian got an odd feeling in his gut. Something seemed wrong.

“It doesn’t feel like he’s gone,” he said as he pulled away.

“I know. I went into the den yesterday to clean some things out and part of me thought he’d be there, same as ever.”

“No, it really doesn’t feel like he’s gone. I know I must sound crazy, but are you sure there wasn’t some sort of mistake?”

Twilight couldn’t look him in the eye. “I know this must be hard. We just have to move past this.”

Shame and certainty collided in his mind over what to say next. The duel took all the words out of his mouth.

“You were right, by the way,” Twilight said. “I shouldn’t have ever suggested putting her into limbo.”

“You were desperate to do something. We all were. Who could blame you?”

She kicked the ground and said with a mirthless smile, “More like, whooo could blame you.”

The sound of birds chirping filled the gaping silence that followed. Stygian looked up, hoping to see a familiar shape flying towards them. But the sky was empty. Twilight swayed nervously in the doorway, a strange mourning dance.

Twilight invited him in for some lunch, but he politely declined. Instead, he set out towards the center of town with no particular objectives in mind other than to process the news.

As he made his way around town, he couldn’t shake the odd feeling in his gut. On the surface it made sense. He liked Owlowiscious, and he had died.

But it was all wrong. Owlowiscious wasn’t gone. He could feel it. He didn’t understand how Twilight couldn’t feel it, either. He had only known Owlowiscious for a short time, yet he felt this connection as strongly as if they’d known each other all their lives.

What a strange thing, to feel so connected to a creature of a different species. The only thing he could think of that would even come close to comparing was his strange, much darker relationship with the forces of limbo.

He stopped dead in his tracks.

She wouldn’t.

Up ahead, he saw a long three-story building with an immaculate glass face set in delicate stone architecture. The Ponyville Public Library.

He went in without a second thought. Sometimes, a place you’ve never been before can be just the right place you need.

Inside, he scouted out a study room facing away from the busy part of town. With the weighted soundproofed doors locked and the lights turned down low, he could organize his thoughts in peace.

The first book he checked out was a children’s textbook on the Crystal Castle. He poured over it for nearly an hour, taking detailed notes on its history and formation.

Next, he soured through a literary article on magical crystal lattice patterns. The castle seemed to be laid out in some sort of naturally-occurring pattern. Sure enough, the maze of corridors and hallways seemed to correspond with the lattice patterns of magically-grown crystals.

Lastly, he found a book of recent history detailing Equestria’s last twenty years of apocalyptic near misses and brushes with disaster. He skipped through the mare in the moon, past discord, past parasprites and bug bears and hydras and Sombra and Tirek, all the way to the penultimate chapter of the book.

There he found a picture of himself, along with a chapter title. It read:

The Pony of Shadows

Gingerly, he turned the pages of his own history. His upbringing, his motivations. The words got blurry when he came to the paragraph detailing his thousand-year imprisonment in limbo. All the panic and pain resurfaced in those words.

He was glad the soundproof doors didn’t have any windows.

He fought to focus his mind. Nothing but the task at hoof mattered now. He was no longer the pony of shadows. He was an instrument of light now, filled with the magic of friendship. A pony of modern times. The thing he already knew but couldn’t bear to say aloud crystalized in his thoughts as a single blinding flash.

There was no time to waste. He flew out of the library and back towards the center of town. He needed summoning supplies, a dark cloak, and plenty of parchment.

He wouldn’t need a refresher on the summoning spell, though. He remembered that much perfectly.

Once he had his supplies, he set to work. In addition to a few summoning runes and sacred chalk to write on and incense and pre-enchanted safety wards, Stygian would need something precious to Owlowiscious.

He tried teleporting into his old den first, but found the castle to be guarded by impregnable counter-spells. Fair enough.

His next idea was walking up to the front door and seeing himself in.

He found one of Twilight’s friends inside, one of the other ones who at one point or another had tried to destroy the world. She introduced herself as Starlight Glimmer.

Stygian showed her an empty locket which he had also picked up from the spell store. “I’m making a good luck charm to remember Owlowiscious by,” he said. “Is there any way I could go to the den and look for one of his feathers?”

Starlight shrugged and led him to the den. As they navigated down the labyrinth of corridors, Stygian marveled at their design. The foal’s textbook had been spot-on. The hallways were all arranged like the lattice pattern of magically-grown crystals.

With all the necessary ingredients obtained, Stygian took a late train back to Vanhoofer. A knot lingered in his gut. He half-expected Twilight to learn of his plan and teleport him back at any moment.

But he made it back to Vanhoofer without any magical extradition incidents. Once home, he set right to work.

There in the living room of his suburban home, with all the furniture pushed haphazardly into one corner and the hardwood marked up with sacred chalk and wards along each baseboard to prevent dark magic leaking out into the world, Stygian set to work.

The trick would be going far enough into limbo to look around without actually getting sucked in. He placed a few extra spells on himself which would yank him out if he stayed in for more than a few moments.

Just before he got started, he also tied one end of rope to his refrigerator and looped the other around his waist, just to be safe.

With that done, he was ready to begin. He arranged the necessary runes in a circular pattern on the floor, with Owlowiscious’s feather at the topmost circle. He stepped into the middle of the circle and recited a series of chants he had memorized a thousand years ago.

The words burned his tongue with magical energy as he spoke. They steamed the air, and the steam turned to semi-solid smoke, and the smoke leaked over the ground and ran into the chalk circles and formed inky black pools.

A sound filled the air, low at first, then rising to a dull roar. Stygian raised his voice to hear himself over the sound but in another moment it drowned him out completely.

The house lights dimmed. One shattered. The furniture in the corner shook with a horrible clatter. The energy in the air rose to an electric hum. At that moment, he lit up his horn and sparked a magical connection with the runes on the floor. The bolt of magic shot from one pool of smoke to the next, finally striking Owlowiscious’s feather.

The whole house shook. The roar became a screech, accompanied by the scraping sound of talons rattling against glass. Stygian braced himself as he shouted the final line of incantations and poured more energy into the spell.

The floor fell away beneath him. Below was an endless black void. The spells tethering him to reality faltered. He lurched towards the abyss, but the rope bit into his waist and held him back.

Something moved in the darkness. It rose from the bottom of the bottomless void. As it came closer, one point of light became two. It was a pair of bright yellow eyes. They pierced Stygian’s heart like a lance. Every ancient instinct screamed for him to hide, but he dared not look away. Not when he was so close.

As the eyes screamed towards Stygian’s portal, he realized with horror that they were bigger than him. Much Bigger. Bigger than a house.

Everything went yellow, then black. The sound of feathers cutting through the air and talons shattering glass rang in his ears.

His strength gave way. The portal collapsed with a thud. The gateway between worlds slammed shut.

Stygian collapsed in the middle of his ruined living room, caked in cold sweat and panting. With the last of his strength he lifted his head.

The furniture had been mostly shattered. The runes were scattered across the room. The chalk marks were all burned away. The baseboards had cracked where the wards discharged the sheer excess of magical power.

He looked to where the feather had been.

There, in the middle of an unburned piece of floorboard, surrounded by an untouched chalk circle, was Owlowiscious. He appraised Stygian with a curious look.

Stygian pumped his hoof in the air victoriously.

Owlowiscious squeaked, vomited a little, then flew over to Stygian to perch on his belly.

Stygian let out a tired chuckle. “That must have been difficult,” he said, petting him gently. “Limbo is a horrible place, isn’t it?”

The owl hooted once.

“Of course. Would you like to stay here awhile?”

The owl hooted again.

"Wonderful."

The next week, Stygian surprised Twilight at the castle with a silver-wrapped gift box. Inside was a hornwritten sympathy card, a small stained glass pendant in the shape of an owl, and some sweet calming tea.

“You’re a good friend, Stygian,” she said as she admired the pendant.

“Not bad for a pony born before the age of friendship,” he joked.

“It was always in you. Sometimes, it just takes special ponies to bring it out.”

“Or other creatures.”

“Yes.” Twilight put the pendant down. “Them too.”

Together, they adjourned to one of the castle’s many formal sitting rooms. They set some of the gifted tea to steep and settled in for a relaxing afternoon.

“What was your owl’s name?” Twilight asked.

“Stax,” Stygian said. “A similar breed to Owlowiscious. He had a very different personality, though. Less kind to others. Very protective of me.”

“What ever became of him?”

“He’s gone now, same as everyone else I knew. But he was still alive when I was trapped in limbo.” Stygian frowned. “I hope his later years were peaceful. Not like he really needed me to survive, though. Some pets need us to keep them alive. But the ones who don’t--why do they stay?”

“They need us in different ways,” Twilight said. “We’re just as animal as they are on some level. Look at all the crazy things we do for companionship.”

“Do you think they could fathom the freedom they could possess, they’d give up being pets?”

“No. I think they need love just as much as we need it.”

Stygian chuckled. “We’re like owls to mice when it comes to love.”

Twilight chuckled nervously. Stygian tried to imagine the look on her face when she cleaned out the mice cage in the den.

The tea was ready a moment later. As Twilight went to pour some, she accidentally knocked one of the cups off the table.

Stygian reached out with his magic and caught it inches before it shattered on the floor.

“Close call,” she said. “Thanks for the save.”

Stygian smiled broadly. “That’s what friends are for.”