Celestia awakens in a wide open expanse, eerily similar to the demiplane where she keeps her memories, where she met Twilight the day her faithful student became an alicorn. Yet something feels off, very off, and it takes less than a moment to realize why.

Her magic is gone!

Try as she might, she cannot access it. Nothing works, not even the simplest spell a foal might perform. The few times she has stepped hoof in those despised Zones of Negation she could still feel that comforting presence, if locked away. But here, in this place? Nothing!

Gone also is the sense of her foal growing inside her, but a quick check to her flanks shows a familiar bulge. Relief washes over her like a flood. Her cutie mark also remains, though only a simple stamp, not the freely flowing font of energy it was before. Likewise, her colorful mane lays limp against her back, and it takes considerable effort to wrangle the thick strands into a simple ponytail. Her wings feel useless otherwise, a testing push unable to lift her even the slightest.

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. Despite feeling utterly abandoned she will not give up hope that easily. She murmurs a quick prayer to Harmony; she must keep faith, and by doing so prevail against whatever obstacles are in her way.

She looks around for any sign of life. The lights in her demesne twinkle, calling her to reminisce over old times and treasured acquaintances, but the ones here lie dull and empty. Even the stars above Equus shine with a taunting light, a smirk of sorts, as though they each hold a secret that they want to reveal, if only she gets close enough.

She steels herself, unwilling to succumb to despair so quickly. “Is this the end,” she calls, more of a challenge than a question.

From the corner of her eye she spots movement, turning to see a being step out as if from behind a tree, despite there being no such object in sight.

“Doug?” she asks, taken aback at the familiar sight. He is clad in a dapper suit that comes up to his neck and completely covers his arms and legs, solid black with a white shirt underneath. White gloves cover his hands, black dress shoes his feet, his short auburn hair neatly slicked back. There is a swish to his every movement, a casual grace as he walks, a litheness that promises strength and cautions danger should one cross him.

“Do you wish it to be?” he asks with the faintest of smiles.

Her heart beats faster, unsure to which question he is answering. Or which one she would rather he answer. But that just makes the contrast between her Doug and this imposter all the more glaring. His guarded grin is confident and conceited, so unlike the trepid and unsure smiles from the stallion she knows. It is the smile that, in her heart of hearts, she wishes Doug wore, assertive and brave, yet at the same time easygoing and playful, even flirtatious.

“You should have worn the guise of my Sister,” Celestia says scornfully. “On her I would have expected a sense of smug superiority.”

“You do not wish what could be?” He laughs, and in that laugh promises to provide that wish, that anything she wishes would be granted.

“Begone.” Celestia sits down, firmly staring past the imposter. “If this is the end, then leave me in peace.”

“The end?” He sounds honestly surprised. “Why think it is the end when there is so much more to show you?”

With a wave of his hand the scene around her changes. What once was an empty void studded with dead stars transforms in the blink of an eye to a dark and barren wasteland, an improvement only in the sense that there is potential. The ground is cracked, dying of thirst, with dry riverbeds cutting gashes through rocky steppes. Everywhere around her is bare, not a bite to eat or a drop to drink. Worse, studded around the bleak landscape are ponies, many blank flanked, huddling under makeshift shelters or hiding inside caves, emaciated and parched, the foals with distended bellies and skeletal limbs. Tens, hundreds, thousands, all looking to her for some relief, a respite to their dire situation.

“Stamp your hoof,” the imposter Doug commands with a certain urgency. “Stamp your hoof, and from the ground bring forth grass and trees, hay and apples, the good fruits of the farm and orchard. Feed your little ponies, and they shall follow you!”

Her earth pony magic returns, surging through her hooves. It only heightens her sense of desolation, the emptiness of the land. Her heart breaks at the despair around her. What kind of monster wouldn’t see their need and assist in any way possible? And there is so much need, ponies desperately trying to survive, but unable to provide for themselves. And she has the ability to see to their needs! With the power coursing through her she could, as he says, stamp her hoof and raise enough forage for everypony!

This is a test.

Not that it isn’t real - how many times has she come across a similar situation? But whatever being is in charge has put her in this situation to see how she reacts. Does she desire ponies to follow her commands, to do what she wants?

“They would follow,” she allows, her hooves remaining still, “but only because I fed them. Yet it is not in me whom they should put their trust, but in Harmony.”

“You would tell them to starve?” Doug asks, incredulous. Every ear flicks toward her, and a good number of them lay flat, dejected and hopeless. “They are dying out there! Is it not your duty to be Generous and Kind?”

“Doing so would rob them of their potential, of the meaning of their life.” Celestia meets their eyes, encouraging them as best she can. “Were I to err - and err I shall - I would counsel relying on Harmony too much, rather than too little.”

“You think they haven’t asked?” Doug demands, flinging his arm to indicate the vast multitudes. Many of them are standing, their eyes lifting to the skies. “You think they haven’t begged Harmony to provide for their needs? What if Harmony sent you for this very purpose?”

Celestia closes her eyes, but she can’t rid herself of the images. “I would seek forgiveness, were I not to follow my mark and my heart.”

“Your heart.” Doug scowls, both at her words and as cutie marks start popping on pony flanks, trees and flowers, streams and rain clouds, scrolls and sorcery. The ground under their hooves blooms green, springs of water break forth, while lights from horns guide the way.

Celestia notices not, firm against the despair battering at her heart, while a snap of his fingers brings them to the lonely peak of the Canterhorn. About them swirl dark storm clouds, lightning-streaked thunderheads and billowing tempests. They blot out the sky, leaving the land in cold darkness. Far underneath she can barely make out those hapless ponies searching about in their desolate wasteland.

“Have you not been given power over the skies?” Doug motions upward, a grand sweeping act. Her pegasus magic returns, surging through her wings like lightning and leaving her energized. “Flap your wings, and scatter these storms! Have they not sworn to obey, to do nothing that you do not command? Then all shall praise you, for giving them clear skies when wanted, and rain when needed!”

Celestia longs to see her Sun’s radiance again, the utter lack sorely felt. Cadance told her of the work she did with the Hippogriffs; this seems ten times the task, and she would be alone in her toil. Yet it is not the arduous task that keeps her wings at her sides.

“It is not a pony’s place to seek praise for the power Harmony has vested in them.”

The imposter scoffs at her denial. “Yet is that not precisely what you have done? Did your fellow Princess, Twilight Sparkle, not revere you from a young age? Did it not bring you pleasure to learn she thought of you as a goddess? Does her timorous tongue not tie in your presence, ever afraid of falling short of your expectations? Has this not been the case with every pony you have ever met?”

“You speak truths,” Celestia concedes, “but truths meant to tear down, not teach. She was mistaken, as many ponies are; Harmony desires ponies to freely follow Her, and recrimination for doing otherwise would be tantamount to coercion.”

Her focus remains on the heavens, not seeing the pegasi that rise up to combat the storms.

He again flicks his fingers, bringing them even higher, higher than she’s ever flown, so high the air is too thin to breathe. The sun is absent from the sky, but so too are the moon and the stars.

“Bring about the sun,” he commands, stretching his arm to the east. “Bring light to the whole world, and they shall bow to you. Is that not your duty? Is that not why you were put upon Equus? To lead your little ponies?”

Her unicorn magic returns, her cutie mark coming alive with power. Celestia feels whole again, invigorated by Harmony.

“That is my duty,” Celestia concedes, her horn lighting, the power of the Sun channeling through her. The sun peeks out from behind Equus, gradually sliding into place. “As Harmony has called me, so I will lead. But not so they will bow to me, but to Her, to follow Harmony’s ways.”

The imposter crosses his arms, staring at her.

Celestia waits for an answer, something, only to realize that her Sun is becoming bigger. Far bigger. Equus shrinks away from them as the Sun grows, filling her vision. The light becomes blindingly bright as she spreads her forelegs as though to embrace her Sun.

I feel…warm.

As the light fades, she finds herself in a large room.

“I tried,” the imposter Doug begs, but not to her, to the ceiling. “I tried everything I could think of. What more could I offer?”

He stares for a long moment, immobile, only to nod. “Very well.”

He stands as though reluctant. “You are to be allowed a single boon,” he says, motioning to Celestia’s side. “Choose,” he orders, a smirk breaking through his stone demeanor.

In front of her is a large table, laden with many things. Her heart nearly stops at the grisly sight of a skinless foal, barely as wide as her hoof, organs clearly visible alongside stark white bones. But then the bones lengthen, the beginnings of wings and the nub of a horn. Skin covers the organs, then a coat of soft alabaster fur and beautiful white feathers. A hint of orange and red along the neck becomes a billowing torch of a mane, dark blue eyes open and regard Celestia with calm assurance, and on her flank flash a set of scales. She stands, then sits, patiently waiting to be chosen, every bit as regal as Selene, the mare Twilight described from the alternate timeline. Her filly, radiant and graceful and healthy. Her Noon.

The fluttering of pages draws her attention. She has to tear her eyes from her precious filly, not wanting to give up just watching her breathe. A plain white calendar, with benign pictures of roiling hills and chocolate rain, courtesy of Discord. Days are crossed off, then months, then years, until the pictures suddenly transform to sunny skies and moonlit nights, calm and peaceful. For one hundred and eleven years the pages rip away and fade into nothing, and then it is only blue or cloudy skies, the night notably absent. A thousand years rip away, decades at a time, then centuries, slowing again as the thousand years near their end. A heart joins the sun as the pages slow, and then the moon and stars as it skips, a month at a time, a week, a day, until coming to a stop on June 3rd.

Today. For a seeming eternity the calendar waits. Would this day be her last?

And then the pages begin pulling off again, faster, much faster, millenniums a blink and eons that barely last any longer. Would this be her life, a promised eternity?

Next, a large basket overflows with crafted ponies, none larger than a foal’s doll. They are her friends, her paramours, her companions, every pony she has ever loved, and newcomers she doesn’t recognize. Some are more rugged than others, with powerful bodies and boundless energy; some are studious, with sharp minds and sharper wits. Luna is there, larger than the others, her stitched muzzle a playful smirk; and Doug, his features painted a permanent smile, with one hand poised to pet an ear. They wait patiently for her to choose, to relive the memories they had together, and with a promise to always be there, should she wish to make more.

Then there are foods, every delicacy and delight she can think of: cakes and pies, cheeses and breads, salads and seafood, steaks and bacon, every dish more tantalizing and delectable than the last. And there are other pleasures: musical instruments and choirs, fragrant aromas and perfumes. A pair of well-muscled stallions stand oiled and ready to massage; Doug seems to flicker in and out of this group, replacing some of those she recognizes from earlier.

Lavish riches cover the next part. Chests overflow with gold, threatening to spill off the sides, and brilliantly cut gems are piled next to heaps of magical items. They promise strength, security, and wealth, and the call of adventure, that with these she could acquire more, artifacts so powerful to make these seem useless baubles.

And there, at the end of the table, almost as an afterthought, is a plain gold crown. It is a tiny thing, smaller than the one that used to adorn her head, with five modest jewels around the band colored teal, green, yellow, pink and red, intertwined with a central purple star.

Celestia agonizes. How could she possibly pick between these? How can she choose her filly over her friends? Would a long life be worth living if it was alone, without pleasure or adventure? How many words of wisdom has she heard over her years: that if you don’t have your health, you don’t have anything, or that it isn’t the destination, but the journey, and the friends you make along the way?

She focuses on the last item, the crown, seemingly insignificant compared to the rest. Not ostentatious, not boasting or bragging, but modest and humble.

Perhaps that is the answer.

“I choose Harmony,” Celestia says, picking up the crown. It feels heavy in her hoof and heavier on her head, a constant reminder. “I ask for her guidance, her wisdom and discernment, to always distinguish between right and wrong.”

The imposter laughs, a low and slow chuckle, and it takes Celestia a moment to realize he is not laughing at her. “She will do what you ask,” he says, his laughter turning to euphoric gasps. “She will grant you wisdom and discernment. Moreover, She will grant you what you did not request. As long as you follow Her ways, all that you see here will be yours.”

Celestia’s eyes widen as her filly, her precious Noon, scampers off the table and into her waiting hooves. All of it? The long life, the friends, the pleasures, everything?

“As a sign,” he says, raising one arm to the ceiling, which fades away to reveal a familiar starry heaven, “She will fix the stars in the sky, all but your Sun. No longer will they shift about under your whims, for they shall belong to your posterity, to your descendants, and to those of your friends. And though you shall live to see your descendants settle those stars, they are not yours, for the day you leave this solar system is the day you shall perish.”

“A-as She wills,” Celestia says, stunned by the turn of events.

“I’ll see you soon,” Noon says, hugging her tightly.

Celestia closes her eyes, hugging back.

She awakens back in the stadium. She slowly gets to her hooves, her fellow Princesses and Shining Armor slowly rising while her stallion remains laying down.

Was that a dream? A portent of things to come? …A test?

…If it was a test, did she pass?

Next Chapter: Ch. 198 - Nadir Mode Estimated time remaining: 34 Minutes