You shut Advanced Magical Theory with a contented sigh, setting it down gently on your nightstand.

Of all the authors you’ve read over your life, you can’t help but keep coming back to Starswirl. You’ve already been through Volume VII at least a hundred times, but can anypony really blame you? The way he wove tales of his life into his instructional material was just… Ugh, you could read it forever.

Which, judging by the amber glow being cast across the oaken walls of your bedroom, you very nearly did. And so closes another perfect Sunday; reading, organizing, and some good old rest and relaxation.

You hop to your hooves off of the side of your bed, the floorboards gently creaking under the pressure of your landing. You stretch out your back legs, throwing your head to the ceiling as you feel your withers pop a few times. Gosh, you must’ve been in bed for a good while. Normally, you’d feel guilty about being a lazy lump, but surprisingly, there wasn’t much to do after the festival. You’ll have to thank Mayor Mare somehow for overseeing the cleanup for you. Maybe some cupcakes from Sugarcube Corner as a friendly gesture?

A yawn forces itself out of your lungs as you traipse over to the staircase, making your way down to the living room to start making dinner. The rest of the house bathes in the same golden light from your bedroom; the wooden fixtures appear almost luminescent.

Unfortunately, you’re too distracted by your grumbling stomach to pay proper attention to the decidedly wondrous lighting.

Hmm… What to make? You had a hayburger yesterday at the fair, so you’ll more than likely keep it relatively light tonight. Maybe you’ll make the same kind of salad you made for Anon this morning? Ah, but you’ve had that a few times this week already…

Oh, what the hay. You can’t beat a classic.

As you retrieve the ingredients from the fridge with a smidge of your magic, you find that your thoughts start drifting toward Anon. Rather, they’re drifting toward his absence.

You turn to the clock as you levitate a sizable bowl over from one of your cabinets. Quarter to five, it reads.

Absent-mindedly, you begin combining the ingredients, not really paying attention to the order in which they fall in.

He still has about an hour before dinnertime proper, so you’re not overly concerned, but you still feel a pang of worry when you let your thoughts wander. In a futile attempt to rationalize the situation, you weigh the length of the train ride with the timing of both his arrival and the rough distance from the train to his former offices, doubling that to account for his return trip.

Oh, yes, and the pizza that he said he would bring back. That has to add another fifteen minutes at least, given how popular the establishment is in that part of town.

Still, all of that together, it only shakes out to about seven hours in total if everything goes well. Given that he boarded the first train at around nine this morning, he should have been home forty-five minutes ago, if everything went to plan. You inwardly staunch your overly worried conclusions about what might be holding him up, remembering Princess Celestia’s advice about remaining in the here and now in stressful situations. After all, plans almost never happen perfectly, do they? Maybe he had some trouble with his old boss, or the pizza place was busy, or his return trip was delayed…

You suddenly become very aware that you’ve been standing still, staring at the countertop, for several minutes according to the clock on the wall. With a quick shake of your head, you get back to throwing the salad together, pouring in some sauce before grabbing a spoon and stirring the contents into what ultimately becomes your dinner. You drag a stool out from under the island, promptly sitting down and placing the bowl in front of you.

There’s no need to worry, Twilight. He’ll be home soon, and then you can give him the letter that Celestia-

The front door crashes open and bounces off of the adjacent wall, revealing a sweaty, panting Spike, a slightly scrunched scroll with Celestia’s insignia in his right claw. His sudden, boisterous arrival very nearly sends you reeling off of your seat, but a quick shift of your weight forward prevents your fall.

“Twilight?!” he calls out in distress, not having seen you yet.

“I’m here!” You reply, leaving your dinner at the table and quickly trotting into the living room.

Spike locks eyes with you, and up close, you can see that the depth of his concern is packed intensely within his downturned brow. You get as close as you can, checking him over for any injuries. A onceover doesn’t reveal any, but you can never be too careful.

“Spike, what happened? You look like you’re about to faint.”

“I am,” he struggles out between breaths. “I had to run all the way back here from Rarity’s.”

You frown; the Carousel Boutique isn’t exactly close to the library in terms of the town’s layout.

“Why? What’s going on?”

You can’t hide the growing pit in your stomach; your voice wavers ever so slightly at the apex of your sentence.

“You-”

He takes a second to catch his breath, leaning against the wall by the door as he does so.

“You should read this,” he says, shakily holding the letter out towards you. You quickly envelop it in your magic and bring it in front of you, unrolling the letter in the process.

Twilight,

Alarm bells immediately ring out in your head. In your years of tutelage, she’s only been this curt with you on three occasions, all of them about something grave.

Your presence is needed at Canterlot Castle. Due to the time-sensitive nature of the situation, I believe it best to explain everything once you arrive. For now, know that Anonymous may be in danger.

Wh-

What?

I’ve sent a personal carriage for both you and Spike that should arrive within an hour or so. Bring overnight necessities; it will be late when you arrive, and presently, I do not know how long you will be here. Stay safe, both of you.

Your faithful teacher,
Princess Celestia

…

Your blood runs cold.

You don’t-

He…

What?

He was… just here.

What happened to him? Did he make it to Canterlot? No, no, if he… if he somehow-

No, no, no, you just got him back. He was just here, and-

…and these runaway thoughts aren’t getting you anywhere.

Hold it together, Twilight. Focus on the things you can control.

You re-roll the scroll and set it on a nearby table, taking a deep breath and shutting your eyes as you do so. No time for speculation; root yourself in the here and now, just like she taught you. Another deep breath enters your lungs as you open your eyes.

You can do this.

You turn back to Spike, standing at the ready now that he’s regained relative control of his lungs.

“Let’s get our things packed. Only the essentials this time, alright?”

Your voice still comes out a bit shaky, but you have no time to worry about delivery. He nods and runs off to your bedroom, wood steps creaking the whole way up. You almost trot up after him, but the open door to Anon’s room catches your attention. Even though it’s your home, it feels rude to just leave it open like that, his business visible to the world.

You head over and make to shut the door, but stop midway as you glance inside. The bed is made, but the sheets are ruffled just a bit. Just as well, his suitcase lay open, clothes within lightly messed with as if he had pulled today’s outfit right from the top layer. The light from outside is dulled as it’s parsed by the closed curtains, the room resting sleepily without its owner.

If you can help it, it’s not going to stay like this.

Gathering your inner resolve, you gently shut the door, the click of the latch ringing throughout the living room. As you trot upstairs to get your things ready, you try to channel your mentor and save the what-ifs for another, more appropriate time.

---

Toothbrush, shampoo, soap, hairbrush, Spike’s deodorant, an emergency book… Everything looks like it’s in order.

From across the room, three solid knocks ring out from the front door, yanking you from your troubled thoughts. You disembark from the couch, Spike following close behind, as you let your saddlebags slip over your withers. Trotting over to the door, you briskly open it with a brief flash of your magic.

Beyond the threshold stands a pegasus donning the traditional Royal Guard armor, eyes steely and serious as he looks you over. The sun dipping below the horizon in the distance makes it a bit hard to maintain eye contact with him without burning your retinas.

“Miss Sparkle?” he inquires stoically, befitting most of the guard’s you’ve known in your life.

“Yes, that’s me.”

You try your best to sound cordial, but it falls flat given the circumstances. The words come out rushed, and a tad exasperated.

“Your transport is waiting for you outside,” he explains flatly. “Are you both prepared to board?”

“We are.” You look over to Spike, who nods at both you and the guard, before facing him again yourself.

The guard nods, then steps aside to let you through, holding a hoof out toward the idle carriage and its team of pegasi guards.

“Right this way, then.”

You oblige him, heading over to the ornately decorated vehicle and hopping inside without delay. Were it not for the dire situation, there’d be quite a bit of fanfare from you about riding in Celestia’s personal carriage again.

Alas, fate conspires otherwise.

Once you and Spike are comfortably nestled inside, the pegasus who greeted you closes the door of the carriage and addresses you once more.

“Weather permitting, the trip will take about an hour and fifteen minutes. We’ll initiate takeoff in just a moment, ma’am.”

“Thank you.”

The guard bows slightly before moving to rejoin the rest of his flying team, all talking amongst themselves. You lean into your seat for a moment, closing your eyes as the back of your head hits the velvety cushion behind you. As good as you think you’re handling the overall stress, this is the part of the process you were dreading since the moment you read the letter.

The wait.

For a little over an hour, you won’t have anything to do but speculate, hypothesize, and worry your head off. Maybe it’s good to get it all out now, as opposed to bottling it up until you reach the princess? Agh, but then it might spiral out of control, and by the time you’d arrive, you’d be a few steps away from a blubbering mess.

“Are you okay, Twilight?”

Spike’s question stops you from getting too carried away with your thoughts. You turn, and he’s looking up at you, his expression clearly conveying his own inner battle to remain level-headed. The last thing you would want to do is feed into that.

“I’m alright, Spike. Just… staying level headed, you know?”

“Yeah, I understand.”

You look out of the other side of the cabin at the passing ponies in the street. Some steal glances at you and the carriage. Some gawk openly, wide-eyed with the realization of whose chariot this is. Others, still, mind their business as they go about their ordinary day. You wish Anon was one of them.

“What do you think happened?” Spike chimes in softly, bringing your attention back to him.

Your gaze drifts away for a moment. What happened, indeed…

“If Princess Celestia herself is telling us about it, I can’t even begin to venture a guess.”

You sigh deeply, attempting to expel some of the nerves keeping you riled up.

“Whatever it was, I just hope he’s okay.”

---

Hooooooly fucking shit, your head is pounding. Good god, that is not pleasant.

The numbness in your body slowly gives way to an unbelievably intense ringing in your right arm, as well as the throbbing sting of cuts and bruises littered… well, judging from the pain, everywhere.

The rest of your senses start to come back online one at a time, delayed no doubt by the sorry state you’re in. Wherever you are smells burnt, and that’s putting it lightly. It’s as if you huffed a bag full of glowing cinders from a trash fire.

…Oh, fuck, is wherever you are on fire?

When your touch returns, it replies a resounding ‘no;’ it’s decidedly warmer where you’re laying, yes, but it’s not on fire. Taste creeps in, and suddenly, you’ve got a figurative mouthful of iron and saliva. You spit, and it clears up just a bit. Luckily, you don’t feel any loose teeth or gaps where one is supposed to be, so you’re probably fine in that regard.

All you can hear is steam, the sound of wood settling against its will, and a far-off pair of voices that you can’t quite make out yet. At last, your eyes come open, and you’re greeting a face full of felt seating.

You go to sit yourself up, but are met with a vicious series of aches and pains radiating from various locations on your body, stopping you midway. Your arm is still ringing, but it’s not in any special kind of pain; more than likely, you just hit a nerve extra hard or something. You don’t know, you’re not a doctor.

Instead of getting up all the way, you shift your torso slightly to face away from the seat. You’re greeted by the once-beautiful train car you were riding in, now tilted at an odd angle and in ruins, everyone’s luggage strewn about the cabin. A glance downward reveals that you’re laying on the floor in the aisle, textured walkway digging into your ribs, which protest the obstruction fervently.

Summoning all of your strength with a strained groan, you fight against the aching pains and sit yourself up, shifting some glass around on the floor as you do so.

A look down at yourself, palms held up to your face, reveals that whatever the hell happened roughed you up quite a bit. Your clothes actually took a good bit of the damage, but they’re utterly filthy now; all you feel underneath is undoubtedly a good bit of bruising. You’ve got a decent cut on your left hand, but it’ll be fine for now. Nothing that some medicine and a bandage won’t fix.

Content that you’re mostly alright, you realize something that should’ve been glaringly obvious from the moment you opened your eyes.

All of the passengers are gone.

Before you can even begin to try to wrap your head around that, the two voices from earlier steadily rise above the ambience of the ruined train, leveling out as barely audible.

“…give me, Grand Vizier! The arcane circles we weaved should have been enough to cover the entire distance!” The first voice - a young male, most likely - is panicked, almost frantic in tone.

“Cease your obsequious groveling, child. We are here now because of your oversight, and must deal with the hand that fate has dealt us.” A soft, elderly man’s voice quickly cuts the first off, impatience dripping from every word spoken.

“How far are we from the town?”

“W-well, since most of the teleportation circle activated, we should be within… f-five miles, give or take a few.”

Hold on, are these the people you saw outside of the train when all hell was breaking loose?

“Is your locator attuned to the outpost?” Another voice chimes in, this one female, maybe middle aged.

“Y-yes, your Grace. The attunement was a simple matter.”

“As simple as the teleportation circle?”

“M-m-much simpler, your G-Grace!”

Silence follows; these definitely sound like people who would kidnap a fucking train.

What do you do, though? Do you sit here and wait for them to leave, or what? You’re not charging out there. If they plucked a whole train away to god-knows-where, who knows what other kinds of freaky shit they could do?

“Still,” the female voice continues, “despite this setback, we are fortunate enough to have intercepted our quarry all the same.”

“Indeed, your Grace,” the older male agrees. “Our benefactor will be pleased.”

Yeah, fuck this, you’re grabbing something you can swing just in case.

As quietly as you can, you shimmy along the floor, avoiding the windows as you pick through the various debris and belongings for anything even slightly resembling a weapon. From underneath a loose coat, you spot a broken-off piece of the steel railing from the wall. It’s not much, but it’s something.

You try to take it as silently as possible, but when you do, a hidden suitcase that was dependent on its support clatters loudly onto its side.

“It seems you’ve missed a passenger or two, Virtue,” the older voice scolds.

“My apologies, Grand Vizier… I could have sworn that was all of them. I’ll go look again to make sure!”

Fuck’s sake, you’re doomed.

Unless…

Wait, no, this could actually work to your advantage.

If you can get the jump on the suck-up and give him a good one right in the head, you might be able to use him as leverage against the other two. That, or they could just fry the both of you. They didn’t seem to care too much about the guy.

…

Oh, to hell with it, you’re not about to have their figurative boot on your neck. In for a penny, in for a pound.

You shimmy on your knees closer to the open train door, stopping just shy of revealing yourself and readying your makeshift club for the hardest swing of your life.

Oh, wow, you’re trembling pretty hard.

Okay, you’re… actually afraid.

You could actually die here if you mess this up.

Nerves be damned, you steady your breathing and focus on what you can control. That, of course, being the arc and power of your swing. You can hear him drawing closer; the pace of the gait can only mean he’s a quadruped. The arm holding the club adjusts accordingly for his anticipated height.

The steps draw closer.

You think of your friends back home. Of the sisters, of Spike, of Twilight…

Closer still.

You wish they were here.

Closer.

Your breathing stops.

Right outside.

Your grip tightens; you rear back.

The steps culminate as the assailant steps through…

…the next door over.

Huh. Guess the echo in here is bad.

You get a brief look at him; unicorn, sky blue coat, light blonde mane. Covered in what looks like ceremony robes. That’s all you get to take in, though, before he notices you crouched up against the wall, yelps, and blasts you with something that hits you square in the chest. You shout, too, but there’s no pain; fearing the worst, you look down at yourself once more.

There’s… no wound.

You’d breathe a sigh of relief, but you’re feeling rather tired all of a sudden.

Actually, you’re downright exhausted. If you could just… maybe…

The metal railing clatters back to the floor, sleep taking you before you can even finish falling over.

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