Luna’s moonlight was no comfort to her, nor was it a burden. It was her duty, and a reminder, and it was, is, and would be without her. And yet she felt somehow suffocated by it as she knocked on the door to Celestia’s chambers.

“You may enter!” rang out from inside, and so she did.

It was a large, circular top of the tower, a flawless mirror of Luna’s own chambers, albeit with a brighter color scheme. Luna observed her sister silently; Celestia’s back turned to her as she gazed through a telescope at the boundless stars. They were without number, but either of the princesses could name countless plethoras of them, draw subtle constellations out of their tribe. It was the blessing of living beyond comprehension—and as that is a blessing, it is also a curse, for from time to time they would lose a star, forget a constellation, and lose themselves.

And as their memory died, so did they. Luna referred to it as the immortal death: the decay and fall away from what they had once been, forgetfulness creeping up on them, stabbing their memory, mutilating their past and by result their present. As they had lived ten thousand lifespans, so too had they died as many times, over the centuries, no, millennia, they knew not when; they knew not themselves, lost to the vagaries of time. Like the poisoned shard of an assassin's blade the bleak white death hunted and haunted them. It was the curse of an eternal tabula rasa.

Luna sighed. We fought it, as we hath always fought it, as we always shall fight it. With discipline and unity, with love and sacrifice, headlong we charged into the bleakness…

The words were hollow. They fell apart.

The grace that unified them had shattered like the stained glass windows that towered throughout the palace, and it had been drenched anew in sorrowful shades: not a color of brilliance remained. With the wrenching apart of their unity they had lost their stability. With the obliteration of their fellowship, numbing sleeplike forgetfulness had soon followed.

All of these ashen thoughts smoldered in Luna's mind in the instant it took for Celestia to begin talking.

“If it’s one of the nobles’ councils again, tell them they can wait until morning. And tell them that means to send no delegations to Princess Luna as soon as I tell them to wait, she’s overburdened as it is.”

“We hardly think so,” Luna said, the barest hint of a smile gracing her worry-drawn face.

“Luna!” Celestia spun about, tangible blush crossing her cheeks. After so many thousands of years, Luna was still the only on able to embarrass her, if only slightly. “You could let me know it’s you, at the least.” She smiled contentedly and moved towards her sister, but stopped curiously when she noticed Luna had not moved from just inside the doorway.

“Is something the matter?”

Luna closed her eyes, refusing to turn her head away. She knew the moment was coming, it had to pass, it must pass; she had to say it. She could no longer protect her dearest sister from it. If only the moment could pass without the pain—but she knew she would only cause greater agony if she hesitated any longer.

“We have not been completely honest concerning the Nightmare.”

Quirk was silent for a long time, and then spoke without ceasing.

“It was a blood-red moon at dawn, a sailor’s waking nightmare. They say that a red moon at night is a sailor’s delight; red moon at morning, sailor’s warning. That doesn’t even begin to describe the terror of it.”

“Our father and mother were aboard a ship, far from the coast, our mother long since pregnant with us. Why their location would be a ship for this, I haven’t a clue. They were rovers, see; they never stayed in one place for long, and we never have either. Except for Canterlot, perhaps. We haven’t had the fortune to perpetuate our stay there as you can see, but enough about that.”

“The ship had taken terrible damage in a late-night gale: She had lost her mizzen-mast, her rudder chipped against a sand bar, the bottom fifth of the lower deck was waterlogged, there were little provisions to be had and the fresh water had been contaminated. When the crew of the ship woke that morning, they crawled out onto the decks and starkly observed that the few assigned to night duty, the captain, and the first and second mates, had all taken the lone lifeboat and abandoned ship without troubling themselves with the rest of us, like the damned cowards they were.”

“The remaining sailors lined up on the railing in the silhouette of the red morning-moon, observing it with a lack of worldly interest, resigned to their fate. They all knew it was coming. None of them wanted to give voice to what was about to happen, so none did.”

“We wished not to concern you among all of your troubles, and so we did not tell you. It was only a suspicion that we once had, and no sure thing. But it is tangible and present in them.”

“So the Nightmare doesn’t need a trigger mechanism?” Celestia asked, seeking confirmation of the dreaded fears. She paced about as Luna stood still in her elaboration; she was clearly anxious to work on some solution.

“It does not. As inherently unstable as they are all—as both of us are—we fear they are even more so. And we fear that this knowledge they have gained will weaken their resolve against it.”

“Our troubles coalesce in an untimely fashion. Perhaps our enemies have found a mutual agreement?” Celestia stopped her pacing and looked directly at Luna, who was still and stiff. Deep thoughts had rallied grim emotion in a manner that did not comfort Celestia in the least.

“Let us hope not. If you insist on having Twilight prove herself, we may find ourselves an element short should this growing crisis erupt.”

“Twilight must do what she is able to and more to prove herself. I am confident in her abilities.”

“And if her best is not enough?”

Quirk shifted, and his expression grew harder.

“But they were sailors, tough to the last, and they would fight till the silt and grime of the sea floor had swallowed their bones. Our father would always fall silent here—shift around a bit. His eyes would stare at the fire, his gravelly voice absent as the pop and crackle filled the void. I can still feel the cold still air on our backs, glare and heat on our faces. In the firmament stars would be shining, but no light would pass beyond our sphere. It was as if the world had faded away into his telling—and in his solitary recollection we could not tell whether he felt sorrow or pain, but we knew one thing for certain: he had lost friends on that ship. His silence spoke volumes on that matter.” For a moment, quiet reigned in their telling as well.

“Our mother,” Tick now carried the narrative, the slightest hint of reluctance remaining as he spoke, “had gone into contractions that morning. She had been taken down below-decks and was attended to by the only other mare on the ship, who was as young as she.”

“An hour and a half after that fateful morning, scarred by a moon, the ocean had so far remained a placid flatness—grim anticipation was the order of the day for the sailors, occasionally pierced by a cry from our mother below-decks. It was a bad omen, they swore; they were unsettled by her cries, but they did and could do nothing about it. What little they could do to prepare, they did: testing the integrity of the remaining masts, sealing the deck, pumping the lowest storerooms despite the compromised nature of the hull. Feebly, the wind was going. It was only about three knots, and our rudder threatened to fail even in that calm.”

“The sailors started to curse the calmness, but our father did not. He stilled his tongue lest he tempt the unknowable wrath of the sea-storms. They were so unsettled by the apparent fallacy of their predictions that they began to mutter amongst themselves at the folly of this constant preparation when they could be devising means to escape from the near-derelict vessel.”

“Soon enough, their preparations became necessary, for a great black storm arose on the horizon…”

“We cannot launch ourselves into the breach on both matters. Since you insist on sending her north to join Cadance, which we would strenuously ask you to reconsider, you will likely be on watch and call should any further disaster occur. Therefore we would not be able to oversee the hunt for these artifacts, as both of us could not be absent from the palace at the same time.”

“Twilight will not fail. If you must, you could delay your expedition with… you said his name was Tick? Tick, until Twilight has assisted Cadance.”

“We do not approve of this plan. Neither of these conflicts is ignorable: although we concede that Sombra is a more direct threat, The Nightmare is more likely to imbed itself and be vastly more difficult to eradicate.”

“Would a day or two of delay consign us to an untimely fate? Considering how you have the only two cases of exposure quarantined, it seems to be under more control than the dissolute mess we made of Sombra.”

“We find us repeating ourselves, both of us. The Nightmare does not have any prerequisites, but these concepts of malice Tick has unearthed act as a catalyst towards its end. The danger is not in the pair alone, but in the countless remaining records. We cannot both be absent; we know well why. Despite Chrysalis still recovering, her spies remain adept at infiltration and Discord is as alive and virulent as ever; he will no doubt seize the opportunity to break his prison.”

“Sombra is still the more pressing threat. He must be dealt with before Cadance is consumed.”

“These crises are upon us NOW!” Luna boomed, slipping into her authoritative voice. “Neither can be defeated without the breaking of the other!”

“Luna—” Celestia was beyond concerned now; Luna was in a rage that threatened action.

Luna continued, her voice a stage whisper, almost hissing. “And if you insist on sending Twilight alone, she will not succeed. She cannot embody all of the virtues of Harmony. And if she falls into the Nightmare by means of Sombra, then the cycle of Elements will be broken and we will be utterly lost. You are playing not just with our fates now, but the fates of all we hold order over.”

Luna stopped; she saw the look of Celestia and the features gave her pause.

Blood gone completely, her eyes had fixated horribly on Luna’s. The stricken, numbed expression shocked Luna into stopping—but then she spoke. Her voice trembled, a true whisper, with sorrow and grief of the ancient ages of their eternity forced through it. There was no recourse—there could be no recourse—Luna was frozen as she spoke, the haunted misery seeping through from one mind into the other until she understood the words, understood the nuances, knew the irredeemable meaning of her phrase, but all too late, all too slow under the grim and darkening room.

“Since when did we have fates?”

Luna was hushed, and she took too long to respond. There was a shadow growing around Celestia’s eyes.

Quirk clearly enjoyed reciting their tale. His narration increased in energy and complexity even as Tick kept a wary eye on their enthralled audience.

“The black wind whirled and the rain screamed and the thunder rolled. The waves crashed, spars and riggings broke, sails howling ripped by the wind. Wills were broken, bodies sliced by air and water, and a mother-to-be cried out. There seemed to be no end to the maelstrom as our ship was tossed among the waves like so much wreckage, so much folly of those who thought they could challenge the ocean’s might. Black and blue and white, water and foam buried the decks as the fire of hope was extinguished. They could feel nothing, nothing, only the icy cold blows of titanic waves and the rough planks they held onto. The freezing water drenched all on deck, sapping the marrow from their bones and the life from their souls. Despair took some; the waves took others. It seemed as if all would be lost—they saw no end to the clouds that had smothered the skies, the skies that were the furnace of the waves, the waves that had enveloped the earth, the earth that had abandoned them to their torments.”

No, no, it was just a slip!

But the words failed to issue from Luna’s mouth as Celestia closed her eyes. Something dripped out of them—but it was neither tears nor blood, and when Luna saw it she backpedaled in horror.

There was a black fluid dripping out of her closed eyes, and it did not fall to the floor, but pooled in the air and coalesced around her white form. In the few instants that Luna was silent, the drip turned to a flood, until rivers of shadow ran out of the eyes that had once shone like the sun.

For every sun, a shadow…

“Celestia!” Luna shouted, fear overtaking her as the opaque blackness began to form a veil around her.

“These are my tears for us.” Celestia’s voice was twisted, a wave of harrowing that shot through the air into Luna’s mind. She could no longer see her behind the shell. The fluid shadow wrapped around, flowing quicker and quicker, neither a vapor nor a liquid. The warmth of the tower was abruptly lost as the vortex took shape of something greater, taller, darker. The virulent poison glimmered distinctly with corruption; like the shadow of death the void in the vision hungered.

“Our unity died a long time ago. There is only one way out. There is only one way to solve the problem.”

Luna stood against the primal urge to fight or flee from the nightmarish vision, shouting against the wind it stirred. “Celestia, withdraw from it!”

All movement ceased, and suddenly all the vortex was silent. The opaque dark liquid had formed a cocoon around the spot where Celestia had stood, but her voice was clear, unmistakable.

“There is no recovery for you.”

And then the blackness rushed at Luna.

Quirk looked at Tick for a moment, as if expecting him to speak, and then spoke up himself when no response presented itself. “But there was a light, and not outside the storm, no…”

She had one chance, one hope—she leaped at Celestia through the veil—

“And the light was below-decks, and the light was of hope and life. It was a candle, sputtering against the darkness; shining its light on our mother:our mother, watched over by the third mate, the only commanding position left on the ship, the only other mare. And though the boat rocked and the walls shook and the waves crashed down and the water seeped, a miracle was taking place. Even in the most dreadful place to be in the world, life continued. It goes on, see, that’s the strange thing about it. No matter how hard the world tried to stop our coming, or so it seemed, we still somehow managed to enter. It would have been so easy for the sailors to give up, for our father to give up: but despite the despair, they continued. It was sad—no doubt, some did not return—but the sun kept shining outside of the storm. For eventually, it did end.”

The next thing Luna knew was that there was no more shadow; the room was brightly lit in contrast to the night outside. She let go of Celestia before she realized that she had been embracing her, and they both fell back. Luna was dazed, uncertain; her thoughts formed no cohesive meaning as she tried to make sense of the events that so rapidly faded from the present.

“No!”

Celestia was backing away, horror apparent on her face. The malefic shadows that had drained out of her were nowhere to be found; she appeared to be in full control of her faculties, and well enough aware of what she had almost done.

“You reminded me of that day—I tried to reach into it, but it still… it was too much—if you hadn’t stepped through, I would have…”

Luna righted herself as Celestia started and stopped, coming to her own senses in a haze.

So this… is this how we looked when we turned?

“Celestia,” Luna asked urgently, “what did you try to do?”

Celestia looked wild, harried by her own mind, and her thoughts indeed whirled about in shock at the insanity of her own actions. “I tried to reach back into the bridge, even though I knew what would happen. I was desperate—I was incensed, and it was unintentional, but I was going—I wanted to…” she looked as if she was sick, horror clearly splayed across her face.

And so our past comes back to haunt us again.

Luna stepped closer, but Celestia could not bear to look at her.

“We think there is a way: it was only a suspicion fueled out of the grimness of the situation, yet it is the only way out of this shadow that runs so deeply through all of us…”

“And when the storm ended, the ship was by the shore—right next to it! The storm had blown us an incredible distance, nearly sixty nautical miles, something almost unheard of. The sailors were exhausted, down to the last about to collapse of exposure, dehydration, and all of those unpleasant things. When our father was about to collapse from those maladies, he heard our mother cry out, but no longer in pain. Forgetting his tiredness, he rushed below-decks to see our mother, holding both of us, the life and the light at the end of the storm.”