Doug awakens in a featureless black void.

“Not this again,” he groans, reminded of the time Celestia locked him in a Geas. That one was a small white room, while this one seems to stretch on forever - not that he can make anything out. He gets up, somehow, despite there being no surface on which to stand. He yelps, off balance, yet twisting this way or that does nothing to relieve the sense of vertigo. He closes his eyes, which helps, but leaves him no better off than before.

After a minute the feeling subsides enough for him to chance opening his eyes again. The unsteady vertigo returns with a vengeance, except this time he notices a small patch of white light, gleaming in the distance. Focusing on it helps, but leaves him with an entirely new problem: it’s getting bigger. It starts off as a blip he can fit between his fingers, then a baseball, then a basketball, getting larger until becoming about the size of a door. Two lines of black dots come into view, evenly spaced along a central line, until he realizes it resembles two snakes circling a staff with two wings on top. A caduceus.

Radiant Hope’s cutie mark.

Then his orientation shifts, like a two dimensional image being viewed at an angle side instead of from above, becoming thinner and longer. The cutie mark appears to be burning, shimmering and wavy, without any heat coming off. Standing on top and completely unfazed by the flames is a mare (based on the slight build) completely covered in a plain white garment, hood over her head and sleeves that come past her hooves. Her mane and tail are likewise hidden, reminding him of Rarity when they went hiking through the Badlands.

“Doug Merrick Graves,” the mare greets in a lilting, feminine voice. She sounds absolutely confident in her words, so confident as to be off-putting, except for the soothing tone of her voice. “You are a remarkably difficult soul to locate.”

Doug’s heart seizes at the mention of his middle name. He has not told anypony that fact. Did he let that information slip in a dream? Can she read his mind, know his thoughts? There is a fire that isn’t consuming anything…

“That’s me.” He straightens, looking the mare in the face, only to realize that he can see the inner lining of the hood. The mare inside is invisible. Is he prevented from seeing her face to keep him from dying, or is he already dead? He asks timorously, wondering if he is on sacred ground, “Are you God?”

She replies with a thick Austrian accent, “If someone asks me ‘Am I really a god’, I say yes!”

It takes Doug a moment to place the quote. It’s not the original from Ghostbusters, it’s from Starcraft II, the Thor. A similar reference had come with Discord, when the Lord of Chaos sounded like Alarak. Did she pluck that quote from his mind? Is she trying to tell him something with the reference, or is she being truthful?

“A shade less than omniscience,” she states, answering his unvoiced question. “I know the outcome of all things who follow my laws, but there are those who act outside my cognizance, whose perturbations must be inferenced from deviations. Discord, for one, for he is Chaos. You, for another, for you are not mine.” Her head cocks to the side, unseen eyes boring into him. “When ponies unnaturally became pregnant, the nearby Everfree Forest seemed a likely cause, a Discordant creation taking root. For he cannot create, only corrupt, and making a distorted copy would be a logical extension of his abilities. It turns out you are something else entirely.”

“What are you?” Doug asks, struggling to put words together with the revelation that he’s talking to a being far more powerful than the alicorns, than even Discord.

“I reflect what I perceive.” The invisible creature lifts one foreleg, peering inside the empty sleeve, the hood turning back as though inspecting its body for the first time. “From you, that is remarkably little. What I notice is because of this.” She motions down at the caduceus, slowly burning away. A lingering remnant of Radiant Hope’s healing spell? “Shall I take a different form?”

“No,” Doug says, shaking his head. He feels like she didn’t answer his question. “It’s fine.”

“But to answer your question,” she says, unnerving him again with her ability to read him, “I am Harmony.” She says the word like it is something concrete, not an abstract idea or a group of tenets. “I am Order, I am Law.”

“Law?” Doug challenges, feeling contrarian. What would Discord say about that?

“Definitionally.” Harmony nods, as though that settles it. “Discord would challenge that definition, as he challenges all definitions - is a rabbit still a rabbit if it has longer legs, or is a predator, or is an orange?”

“Everything?” Doug asks, skeptical. Her rabbit example, though, is eerily similar to the ‘random’ acts Discord has performed when working with Lemon and Meringue, such as swapping pony mane color.

“Indeed.” Her voice is patient, no trace of superiority or condescension. “For example, you have wondered how it is possible for Celestia to raise the Sun, for a celestial body to move at such great speed. ‘Is the distance wrong, or the size?’” She shakes her head, not waiting for him to confirm what he knows is true. “Discord broke the rule governing mass. The Sun’s mass should be two times ten to the twenty seven Celestias, yet it no longer bends the fabric of spacetime as it should. Its mass is effectively any amount one wishes it to be, and it took creating a permanent conduit - the alicorn Celestia - to manipulate this value without annihilating the harmony of those not suited for the task.”

Doug raises an eyebrow. He finds it entertaining using Celestia as a unit of measurement, though has no idea whether or not that value is accurate. Regardless, he enjoys the position of Lunar Advocate. “You couldn’t just fix that yourself?”

“By all means,” Harmony says with a sweeping bow, “if you believe you could do better, then I shall grant you all of my considerable power.”

Doug’s mouth purses to a thin line. He’s not so arrogant as to take that sort of bet. Besides, he already had that chance when he gained the power of the ponies, and all he did was build a gaudy castle. “I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

“A humble choice. I limit my influence, with one exception-” Her hoof sweeps to indicate the caduceus cutie mark “-for all creatures have been bestowed free will, as has Discord. By empowering one pony, tying her mortality to that of the sun, many more problems were solved than just one, many more ponies encouraged to embrace Harmony.”

“And Luna?” Doug asks, folding his arms and partially obscuring the Celestial crest. “Where does she fit into this?”

“A companion through the ages,” Harmony answers, “for this life is not meant to be walked alone. And, as Harmony requires difference - a pitch does not harmonize with itself - Luna provides balance, another perspective, and a check on unbridled power.”

“And when she fell from grace?” Doug asks pointedly. “You couldn’t have, I don’t know, made ponies that follow you?”

“Her fall was a necessary consequence of free will.” Harmony sits back with a sigh and a profound sense of loss. “It is my desire for ponies to freely choose harmony, and it is not a true choice if there is no alternative.” She makes a circle with her hoof, and a large block of brown dirt appears. “This earth follows my laws perfectly, it cannot choose otherwise. But there can be no companionship with such material, no love, no harmony. But for a pony that does choose otherwise, Luna’s tragic fall provides a demonstration of the forgiveness we are to show our fellow equines - indeed, all creatures - when they honestly repent of their actions and choose to again follow my tenets.”

“It’s a test,” Doug speculates. “But you can’t reveal yourself to everypony, be obvious about it, because…”

“Their mind would be persuaded,” Harmony allows, “but not their will. For one must know their own faults - their balefulness and betraying, their apathy and avarice, their deceit and despair.”

Doug frowns, unconvinced. “And if they continue to choose otherwise?”

“Then their will be done.” Harmony pushes her hoof forward, and the cube of earth slides underneath Doug’s feet, roughly twenty feet in diameter. “But they will have no place in the choir.” Next to him springs a fully grown tree, complete with ripe red apples. A pickax lands, point embedded next to a bucket of lava and a bucket of water. Harmony looks at him, seemingly sincere. “Should I start with you?”

Doug grimaces. While surviving with just an apple tree and a cobblestone maker would be an interesting challenge, it’s not what he wants to do with his life. Not at all. “No.”

“You are a being that I cannot predict.” The hood turns slightly to the side. “Where would you fit?”

“At Celestia and Luna’s side,” Doug says, hands curling into fists. The question pierces deep, seeming more than a simple query into his intentions. She more than implied he doesn’t belong, yet did not state that outright. She’s giving him the option to argue? “And at the side of the rest of the mares of the herd, as a good husband and sire to their foals.”

“You believe that to be a good thing?” Harmony asks, curious. “An undertaking upon which you would not relent?”

“Correct,” Doug states harshly. “Unless you can somehow convince me otherwise. Why limit the alicorn’s ability to bear foals?”

“Why?” Harmony laughs, though not at him, a high and melodious chuckle. The fire at her hooves has burned halfway through. “You might as well ask what is the meaning of life.”

“Okay,” Doug says, undeterred. “What is the meaning of life?”

“Why, to fulfill one’s cutie mark,” Harmony answers without hesitation. “To make new friends, and to love. Is life not best described as a drama, a romantic adventure full of angst and strife?”

Doug looks down at the colorful marks tattooed on his chest, his arms, his legs, the marks of every mare in the herd. What does it mean to fulfill one's mark? “Surely foals are part of ‘love’,” Doug retorts, unable to hide his grin, too many fond memories of that part of love. “Chaotic little bundles of joy that they are. Unless that’s a part of themselves the alicorns need to completely cut off, to show their dedication to you.”

“There are many ‘parts of themselves’ that ponies must ‘cut off’ should they desire to live in Harmony: their greed, their pride, their lust for power and prestige.” Harmony sighs, stirring a breeze that fades as quickly as it came. “The random combinations of genes,” she says wistfully, almost regretfully, “carries an inherent flaw of sorts, an inability to distinguish between combinations that produce one who might embrace harmony, who may accept my yoke and bridle, and one who shall reject it, who will never accept another as their master, who wishes their own will to be made manifest. Such is the dilemma! And, though I could, I shall not differentiate from the start those who will or will not choose harmony, as that would be tantamount to choosing for them. It had to be all or nothing.”

“And you chose nothing,” Doug spits out.

“For the alicorns,” Harmony confirms unapologetically. The fire at her hooves withers ever lower. “Those who prove themselves worthy, who will not abuse their position, have been granted Life. Celestia needed that mothering instinct, compassion, and a desire to see her little ponies succeed. But they could not be her ponies, not then. Do you believe you have a better solution?”

“Well,” Doug stalls, wondering what ‘Life’ means. Exceptionally long life? Not aging? True immortality? “Does there need to be a limit?”

“Say you allowed two foals per alicorn,” Harmony offers. “Not too many, right? But then, after nine years, those two, now grown up, demand their two apiece. And so on. With enough seed - and who are you to deny them? - then after a mere seven hundred years they will have converted the entirety of Equus into alicorns. Two hundred years more and they will have consumed the Sun. After five millennia they will have reconfigured every molecule in the universe into alicorns.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Doug asks, not sure if she’ll take that as a joke or not.

He senses a twinkle of eyes, or maybe it’s his imagination. “Only if you believe in limiting the number of creatures who embrace Harmony.”

And now Doug isn’t sure who is joking. Is she implying that death is also designed, to make room for more creatures to embrace (or reject) Harmony? Even Discord seems to go along with their tenets, at least for now. But if there was a creature who lived forever, who ultimately never accepted Harmony…

“It is possible,” Harmony contests, “for everycreature to be tempted by what they desire most - what they really, truly, desire - and for all to choose to follow Harmony, and for it to be a true choice. But as for your foals with the alicorns…”

“No!” Doug blurts out, spreading his arms wide. “Take me instead! Please, leave them alone, give them a chance!”

Harmony laughs. “So quick to sacrifice yourself! You are much like Mi Amore Cadenza in that regard. But, if you are not present, who will ensure the alicorns are raised properly? Not pampered and indulged, admired for whom they came out of, but who prove they deserve the power they are born with through their good works. For if they do not, then they shall give up that power, and for an alicorn that means death.”

“I’ll do it,” Doug states, grateful for the opportunity. “Anything at all.”

“Mm.” Harmony seems to smile. “It seems like you haven’t exactly been fulfilling your name.”

Doug frowns, puzzled. “My name?”

“Doug Graves.” She motions at his feet. “How many graves have you dug?”

“Just one,” Doug admits with a sigh. “After Applejack informed me the bones and organs were also valuable, they got packed and sold alongside the rest.”

“Mm, but Doug Grave doesn’t roll off the tongue as well.” He gets the distinct impression the hooded figure is winking at him. “And how many have you sired?”

“Foals?” Doug has to do a quick count. That’s probably a bad sign.

“All,” Harmony clarifies before he finishes.

“Eight foals with twelve more on the way,” Doug says, feeling overwhelmed at the admission. He really signed up for more than he could chew. At least he wouldn’t be doing it alone. “Three diamond dogs. Thirteen changelings at various stages of development.”

“Hmm.” If the invisible occupant wasn’t grinning, Doug would eat the cloak surrounding it. “It would seem you are far more suited to growing new things than putting the old to rest.”

“Hey,” Doug contests, though amiably. “I nearly got everypony killed.”

“Nearly,” the voice confirms. “Not quite the same, as all those living ponies would attest.”

“I happen to be a deft hand at digging,” Doug swarthily confides, “after all those years at Sweet Apple Acres.”

“You also buried the castle I so elegantly designed.” A sleeve raises to tap at the tip of an invisible face. “Such a mismatch cannot go unacknowledged.”

She draws up, standing imperiously. The fire at her hooves is nearly out.

“No longer shall you be known as Doug Graves. Instead, you shall be known as Doug Gardens, for the plots you have prepared have grown into verdant gardens. Indeed, any earth you dig shall bear the seed which is planted in it.”

Doug’s face scrunches up as the cutie mark finally burns away completely. “Isn’t that backwards? And-”

He awakens back in the stadium.

“-Already something that happens!” He looks around. The four alicorns and Shining Armor stand around him, relief slowly washing the worry on their faces, while Grogar and the others stand motionless a ways away.

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

…If it was a test, did he pass?

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