Seventy Four Days (The Tyrant King)

Seventy four days.  Seventy four.  She had kept count, scratching tallies onto the cell wall, next to the tallies of all the ponies before her.  Those other patches used to comfort her—they reminded her that she wasn't the first, that others had survived before her, and that lent her strength.  They were also comforting because each one eventually came to an end, after which she imagined the pony was set free.

But over time, her tower of scratches grew larger and larger, and now it dwarfed the patches around it; now she loathed those tiny patches, the ones left by ponies who had only been captive for a few weeks or a month.

And the more she thought about it, the more she began to doubt that ponies were really set free after the final tally.  She had an idea as to what really happened, something to do with the ropes hanging outside the dungeon, the ones she saw when they dragged her in.  But that couldn't be right—that couldn't be true.  Those were just there to intimidate captives, they had to be.

She sighed, and used the edge of her empty water bowl to add the seventy-fourth mark.  Then she sat and stared at her collection, knowing that somewhere in there had been her birthday, somewhere in there had been the summer solstice celebration.  Each mark looked the same—just as each of her days were the same, full of nothing but fear and loneliness and an occasional meal.  Each day blended into the one before it, until freedom felt like just yesterday; but then one day she would eat her stale bread and think “They used to give me rice and beans, I miss the rice and beans,” and she would realize how long it had truly been.

There was a rattling on the cell door, and she looked up, startled.  She had already received her two meals for the day.

She retreated back into the corner, unsure what to expect.  She wondered if she had just scratched her final tally without knowing it.

The door swung open with a screech, and she peered suspiciously into the darkness beyond.  She couldn’t make anything out, but after a moment she heard a low grunt of protest.  Then a figure flew through the doorway and into the cell, landing upon its side with a harsh thud.

The door slammed shut once more, and everything was quiet, save for the labored breathing of the pony upon the ground.

Nova stayed in her corner and eyed the newcomer with more suspicion.  He remained motionless, though his chest rose up and down in heaves.  He didn’t seem dangerous.  She cautiously stepped out from her spot and moved around him to see his face.

His eyes were shut tight, and his features were stretched in pain.  His coat was a peaceful blue, which nearly seemed to shine in the barred rays of light that fell over him like glowing zebra stripes.  But the most striking thing of all was that he had no horn.

He was a fellow Corik.

Nova was at once both thrilled and saddened.  Thrilled that she now had a companion, somepony to speak to, somepony like her.  Saddened that the unicorns had taken another prisoner of her race.  Wasn’t it enough that they had won the war?  What good did taking a prisoner do them now?

She watched while he continued to take in sharp breaths, and a righteous fury rose within her.  Why the violence, why the pain and death?  What had the Coriks done to deserve this?  It was sickening.

The fury gave way to a deep, unquellable grief—for her land, for her race, for the cruelty that ponies could have against one another, and finally for the figure on the floor before her.  Though she didn’t yet know his story, in him she saw every casualty of the war, every innocent life ruined by a conflict that nopony seemed to understand.

She reached out a hoof and stroked his strained face, which relaxed at the touch.  His eyes slowly peeked open, green as an olive branch.  He must have seen the worry in her, because his mouth turned up into a weak reassuring smile.  Then he closed his eyes again.

Nova, once again alone now that the blue pony was sleeping, gave herself a little smile, though the sadness still pushed against her chest as if trying to break free.

She went back into her corner, where she curled up, and, after one more glance to the newcomer, drifted off to sleep herself.

***

In the darkness of night, with only the stars to illuminate the damp cell walls, a dim light began to grow from within the blue pony.  It was as though his coat were translucent, and from within him emanated a little azure sun.

Nova did not see how the walls of her home and prison for a moment turned as blue as the sky.  Had she been awake, she might have thought of the decorations that kids made for Hearthswarming Eve by putting a candle inside a milk carton.  Instead, she slept, her golden fur blanketed in blue.

The light within him soon began to fade; they slept then under nothing but the stars.

***

When Nova awoke, the blue pony was sitting with his back to her, staring out the barred window.

She sat up and yawned, ignoring her grumbling stomach.  “How are you feeling?”  He didn’t look injured.  She had been worried, especially after hearing his harsh breathing the night before, but that seemed to have passed.

“I need to get out of here,” he said, then turned to her.  “How long are they going to keep me here?”

“That depends.”  She wiped her eyes of sleep.  “What did you do?”

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion.  “Do?  I didn’t do anything.  At least, I don’t think I did...”

She let out a tired breath.  That’s what she had expected.  “Neither did I.  Welcome to Dressage, where you’re either a unicorn, or imprisoned.  Let me guess: you’re a refugee from the war, and you stumbled through Dressage in search of shelter, where they grabbed you.”

“Well, sort of,” he said.  Nova waited for him to elaborate, but he just sat there, staring through the ground.

She sensed there was something strange about him, but she couldn’t tell what.  It was like she was talking to a sleepwalker, or to somepony who had just woken up and wasn’t sure where he was or what was going on.

“Sort of?”  She moved to sit next to him and wrapped a hoof around his shoulder.  She, too, remembered waking up in a cell, alone and confused.  “Tell me what happened.”

He grinned sheepishly at the gesture.  “Two nights ago, I arrived in... Dressage, you called it?... I was exhausted, and barely conscious.  A kind old pony took me in for the night, and fed me.  But in the morning two ponies burst the door down and took me here.  I think they took the old pony who helped me, too.”

Nova nodded, but on the inside she began to bubble with that old anger at all the injustices of the world.  “That’s awful.  The unicorns have been taking Coriks as prisoners of war ever since the fighting began.  They don’t call us prisoners, though.  They call us ‘suspicious individuals,’ and keep us penned up.  But prisoners is what we are.  I can’t believe they’re still taking us even after they’ve won.”

The blue pony glanced around at the stone walls surrounding him as if seeing them for the first time.  “I can’t be stuck in here.  There must be a way out.”

“There isn’t.  Not unless they release you.  There are guards all throughout the building, and the prison is laid out like a maze.  Not to mention their magic protections.”

“Magic?”  He stood up and tapped his hoof against the hard stone wall, as if testing it for something.  “No, no magic.  They don’t have magic anymore.”

“Of course the unicorns have magic.  Magic is what makes them unicorns.  That’s like saying pegasi don’t have wings.”

“No,” he said, taking his hoof down from the wall.  “They’ve run out.  There’s none left.  Trust me, I know.”

“Well, magic or no magic, there’s no getting out of here unless they release you.”

There was a rattling outside the door.

Nova jumped up and turned to her companion, frantically motioning for him to back away from the door.  They both moved to the back of the room, where she held a protective hoof out in front of him.  He turned to her, surprised by the gesture, but she was staring intently at the door, upon which a narrow slot slid open.

“Prisoner thirty-four, I am here to inform you of your sentence,” a gruff voice said from beyond the slot.

“That’s you,” Nova whispered.  “I’m thirty-three.”

“My name is Ebb,” he said to the door, hoping he sounded as defiant as he intended.

“Thirty-four,” the voice continued, “I am here to inform you that unicorn law for the treatment of suspicious individuals, as decreed in the Maneforth Convention by the King, states that such individuals are to be held for no longer than five months after the end of conflict, or sooner if the appropriate bail is paid, or if an agreement between the two warring parties is reached.”

“Five months?” Ebb whispered, mostly to himself.  “I don’t have five months.”

“However,” the voice continued, stretching the word out with great emphasis, “due to your special conditions, which include: one—your disturbance of the city of Dressage; two—your suspicious means of arrival to the city of Dressage; and three—your identification as a Corik, our former enemy—we are extending your sentence indefinitely, or until you are no longer considered a threat to our peace.”

“Indef...?” Nova’s eyes widened in horror.

“Listen,” Ebb said, as reasonably as he could, “you need to let me go.  You don’t understand.  There’s more—”

“Thirty-four,” the voice interrupted, “as a representative of the King and his Government, I am obliged to warn you against begging, as it will only make your punishment worse.”  He paused, and Nova felt the air turn sinister.  “But the King’s not here right now, so I don’t need to be so polite: speak like that again and you’re no longer a prisoner of war—you’re a casualty.  I’d see to it myself.”  He paused again, and there was an odd sound, like that of a steam engine backfiring.  Nova realized it was a sob.  “My best friend was killed by one of you gutless Coriks.  Using your metal toys to fight for you.  Despicable.  Well, we beat you at your own game, didn’t we?  Our magic beat your steel.”  Then came the revolting sound of the guard spitting on the ground in disgust, followed by the even more revolting sound him blowing his nose.

“As for you, Thirty-three: you’re free to go in four days.  Unless I find you associating with this cretin.”

Then the slot clanged shut, and the voice was gone.

For a moment, they both sat in stunned silence.  Then Nova’s protective hoof wrapped around Ebb's shoulder in comfort.  “Don’t worry.  I’ll get you out of here somehow.  They can't keep you here forever.”

He shook his head.  “Thanks.  But you said it yourself: there’s no escaping from here.”  He gently pulled her hoof off his shoulder.  “I’m Ebb, by the way.”

“I’m Nova Blare.  But you can just call me Nova.  Listen, Ebb—”

“Nova.”  His voice was so calm—a departure from the worry they had both expressed moments ago—that she paused immediately.  “Nova.  I like that name.”

She smiled.  It was a meek smile, the smile of somepony who had been alone for months—he remembered the tally marks on the wall behind her, row upon row upon row.  Seeing that smile made him realize just what type of hardships she had surmounted, and filled him with a pride that she hadn’t let it beat her down.  She hadn’t let it kill her spirits.  Maybe she was what he needed.

“Nova,” he said again.  “I need you to do something for me.  I need you to tell me everything.  About the war, the Coriks, the unicorns, everything.  Can you do that?”

She blinked.  “You... really don’t know?  You’re...” she squinted, as if trying to see something beyond the range of normal vision.  “...You’re not a Corik, are you?”

“We can talk about me after.  But right now I need to know what’s happened here—all of it.”

She stared at him a moment, searching for something, but not sure what.  “Okay,” she finally said.

“The first I ever heard of the war was the day the recruitment officers knocked on our door...”

She told him that her brother was drafted.  She told him how the day he left, he promised it would be nothing dangerous, it was just for training.  She told him how for three weeks there was nothing—no letters in the mail, no news of battles, no burning cities.  It was almost like there was no war at all.  She began to think maybe everything would be fine.

Then, Greenwood, the city only six miles from their hometown of Cobblestone, was struck down.  They could all see the pillar of smoke in the distance.  It burnt for three days.  There was word of an evacuation—but where was there to go?  Nowhere.  So they stayed, and hoped that war would pass them by.

But it didn’t.  She told him how she woke up one night to screaming and the smell of smoke.  Outside, ponies were running through the streets, glowing an eerie orange from the flames that ate right through the city hall.

She ran, taking only enough time to grab her emergency kit—the one she had felt so silly making, as if war could ever come to Cobblestone.

She told him how she wandered through forest, lost and alone, for two days, until she saw lights in the distance.  A city.

A unicorn city.

It didn’t matter.  She was freezing, her food nearly used up, and she prayed that the civilians of the unicorn city would be just as disgusted with the war as she was, and that just maybe somepony there could give her shelter.

She told him how a unicorn just outside the city walls took pity on her and snuck her in by covering up her hornless forehead with a cloak.  He gave her enough food to last a few more days, and a bed to sleep on for a night, but then kicked her out the in the morning.  There were severe punishments for harboring enemies, and he had a family to care for.  He apologized over and over, but in the end he still slammed the door on her face, leaving her to navigate the foreign and hostile unicorn city all on her own, with nothing but a cloak to protect her from discovery.

She told him how, on her way out of the city, she was stopped at a checkpoint, where a guard ripped the cloak from her head.  Not even an hour later she was in that cell.

She told him how nopony was quite sure how the war started, or what it was about.  Nopony knew what the goal was, or what there was to gain.  But they all knew what there was to lose, because so many of them had lost everything: homes, family members, cities.

She told him how the Coriks had been winning, until the unicorns crafted their enormous living clay beast, which stomped through their cities and had no weakness at all.

She told him how the unicorns and Coriks had made peace for many years, and it was only once the unicorns’ king rose to power that the animosity bloomed; she told him how King Hornfire didn’t trust the Coriks, and how his fear fostered a growing hatred, and that in the Coriks he saw a threat that wasn’t real, and made an enemy out of a friend.

She told him everything she knew.

At the very end he sighed and rubbed his forehead, a gesture of heavy weariness.

“War,” he said, though mostly to himself.  “I should have known.”

“What do you mean—”

“Listen.”  He held a hoof up, interrupting her for the second time.  His voice was suddenly urgent, the weariness gone in a flash.  “Nova, you’ll be free in four days.  Where will you go?  What will you do?”

“I... don’t know...” For three months she had prayed for freedom, but as each day had gone by her hope dimmed a little more; by the seventy-fifth day, she had nearly forgotten what the fresh air smelled like, and she hadn’t considered what she would do if she were set free.  “I’d find my brother Ember, I guess; he must be worried sick—they haven’t let me write to him, or anything, so he doesn’t know where I am...”

“Nova,” he said, nearly breathless in his mounting excitement, “what if you could change everything?  What if you could make the fighting stop, not just now, but forever?  Would you?”

She blinked in surprise.  “Well, yes, of course!  But—”

“Because if what you say is true, then this isn’t over; as long as the king has his power, the wars will never stop.  Even if he’s defeated your ponies, the Coriks, he’ll find others.”  He stood and started pacing back and forth across the cell.  “No, the fighting won’t stop.  The unicorns were never meant to have a king who rules through fear.  And once there are no more ponies to fight, there will be civil war, and the unicorns will fight amongst themselves. History repeats.”

“Ebb, I’d do anything to stop the fighting, anything to save our ponies from dying out.  Of course I would.”

He stopped pacing, and their eyes met, but he looked away, down to the floor.  “It’s too late for the Coriks, Nova.  I’m sorry.  We can’t change the past.  But we can make sure the future is different.”

The pain in her chest, the one that flared in agony whenever she thought of her home or her brother or her burning city, swelled into an all-consuming ache.  “So... it’s really happening, then?  The Coriks are going to die out?”  For some reason she thought of her grandmother, who used to tell her stories of times long ago, when the Coriks had first come to Equestria.  She tried to imagine how an entire culture could cease to exist, how the stories she knew and the ponies she had met would one day be forgotten.

“I only know what you told me, but if what you told me is true... then yes, it seems that’s what will happen.”

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she felt a pain that very few individuals ever feel—a completely hollow sadness, a sickening type of loneliness that not even a hundred years in a cell could match.  She felt the pain of being the last of her kind, one of a dying number, the last leaf on a wilting tree that had grown and prospered for centuries but was now violently and pointlessly cut down.

Ebb wanted to comfort her somehow, but there was not much he could do—no pony could quell a suffering like that.  So he turned his head down in somber respect.  “I’m sorry,” he said.

She wiped her eyes and sniffed.  Inside, she felt something stirring, like the beginning of a transformation.  The grief that had run through her like a thick and viscous oil was suddenly ignited into something even more powerful: an anger, a righteous fury, which she could hardly contain.  The tears that streamed down her face now were born from this outrage and passion.

“What can we do?” she asked, nearly shaking from the power of these new emotions.

“Nova, I’m sorry—nothing can be done to save the Coriks.  I know you—”

“No.  What can we do to end it once and for all.”  It was hardly a question—it was a demand.

“We can take down the king.”

“How?  You’re stuck in this cell, until they decide to let you out, which could be forever.”

“Yes, but you’re not.  You’re free in four days.”

“Me?  What could I do to take down King Hornfire?”

Ebb studied her intently.  He needed to know he could trust in her absolutely.  He needed to be sure she could handle the responsibility.  It was risky, but he had no choice—and his intuition told him that she could handle it.  She was perfect.  It were as though fate had locked them up in that cell together.

“There is something you can do.  But... it would require great sacrifice on your part.”

Nova smiled grimly.  “I don’t exactly have much to lose.”

“Your brother?”

Her smile vanished, and she flinched, as if he had slapped her.  “I told you how I never heard back from him,” she said, looking down.  “That was a lie.  He’s dead.  He was in Greenwood when it fell.”  It was the first time she had said this aloud, and the first time she had admitted it to herself.  For seventy-five days she had to pretend it wasn’t true, because otherwise the pain would have killed her, it was too much to spend every day alone with a wound like that.

“Nova...” Ebb didn’t know what else to say.  He moved to wrap a hoof around her shoulder, but she pushed him back.

“I’m fine.  He’s gone.  There’s nothing out there for me, not without Ember.  Whatever sacrifices it will take to make things right... I’m willing.”

“Good.  The King’s tyranny will end, and the unicorns will be free again.  Their magic will return, and balance will be restored.”

Something about that last part, about the magic returning, confused her.  What did that have to do with balance and order?  She was about to ask, when just outside the door there was an enormous clanging sound.  They jumped, spinning around to face the clamor.

“HERESY!” screamed a voice from beyond the door.  “PLOTTING!  TREACHERY!”  The door swung open, and an enraged guard stormed into the cell, clad in metal armor and decorations.

Nova turned to Ebb, face stricken by panic.

“I heard your conspiracy!  It’ll be your head for this, Thirty-Four!”  The guard swung around fiercely from Ebb to Nova.  “And you!  Indefinite stay!  You’ll never feel freedom again, you scheming wretch!”

Ebb’s mind worked frantically, scurrying to find a way out.  They couldn’t take down the guard—he would easily overpower them.  And soon more would come.  He turned to Nova, who was sneering rabidly at the guard, nearly as frenzied as the armored menace himself.

There was only one way out.  He hadn’t had time to tell her about himself, about what he was, and about what she would have to become in order to restore balance to a teetering world.  And he never would.  She would have to discover all that on her own.

He put both hooves on her shoulders, then closed his eyes and began to focus.  The guard’s voice faded, gradually replaced by a drip drip drip like a leaky faucet.  That drip was once the sound of a roaring ocean tide, and he desperately hoped it would be again as he reached out to flip some unseen and instinctive switch.  Something

(purple clouds)

began to change.

Suddenly she was there, too.  He could feel her.  She was confused (?? ?), and a little (!) frightened.  He sent out a wave of reassurance, to let her know that he was (↓ ) there and everything was okay.  She responded with relief, but also bewilderment.  A moment ago she had been staring down an enraged guard, and now she was unplugged from that plane, stranded in some other zone of existence where sight and sound and scent meant nothing.  It was like the world had been replaced by the darkness she saw when she closed her eyes, an emptiness that somehow still had colors and shapes.  Purple clouds against a black sky.

He radiated ((((((())))))) as much compassion toward her as he could, mixing in some comfort, like an embrace.

There was nothing from her for a long moment.  Then, a question (☄ ???), timid but earnest, and a little frightened.

He responded (♒ ) with the negative, and he felt some relief from her.  But he was running out of time, and knew that he couldn’t afford to comfort her any longer.  The inner realm of thoughts and feelings couldn’t protect them forever, and he had already begun a process that could only be stopped if she decided to resist.

He reached to his neck and began unfastening the cloak that hung from it (a metaphor—that's what it was.  How fitting that the realm of thought and mind would deal in metaphors).  Nothing was physical, everything was thought, but he knew that the cloak was beautiful, made of a shining golden fleece that undulated on its own in mesmerizing waves and crests.

The knot slid apart, and the cloak fell off his back and into his hooves.  He felt naked without it, and realized that he would never again feel the rush of energy, the smooth soothing exodus of water that was refreshingly cool but also warm with life.

But he knew his time was through, and he reached out blindly (⇝) for her presence, grasping in the emptiness for a moment until he brushed against her waiting and anxious essence.  He took the cloak in his hooves and spread it over her back.  The moment it made contact she jolted, surprised by the rather pleasant sensation of smooth and warm silk wrapping around her.  He sensed her apprehension begin to fade, and finished tying the knot around her neck.

Immediately he felt a tugging sensation, one that pulled at him gently but insistently away into the void.  Nova emitted a wave of distress (!!♯!!) as she felt him begin to slip away from her.  He wasn’t sure how to respond.  His job was over—that world had no need for him any longer, and began to push him out like a foreign invader.  Or perhaps the next world began to pull.  It didn’t matter.

What mattered was that he was receding fast, leaving Nova behind to pulse like a strobe light with panic, confusion, and fear (؟!!?¿¿؟??).

She could feel him growing farther and farther away, until the only trace of him were two thoughts that came in weak and muddled by static.  However, she could still make them out: one was a farewell, bittersweet and rueful.  The other was warmer, and felt much like the amazing cloth upon her back—she didn’t have a word for it, but it contained some amount of faith, an emotion that said “Everything is as it should be, and everything will be well, as long as you do what feels right.”

Then the emotion faded, leaving nothing but a reverberation of ruefulness to comfort her in the unending darkness, the no-pony’s land where he had taken her to pass down what had been his for so long.

The emptiness was terrifying, the silence unnerving.  It was like she existed in a universe that contained only her and nothing else.  If she didn’t leave, she feared she would go insane.

She opened her eyes.

The guard was still there, but he was no longer shouting.  Instead, he was staring at the ground, wide-eyed and mouth agape.  She followed his gaze and saw Ebb upon the floor.

With trembling legs, the guard took a step back.  “What have you done to him?” His voice shook almost as much as his legs.

Nova fought against her confusion.  She was confused by the guard’s panicked expression; she was confused by the strange vitality that coursed through her, a vitality that replaced the aches and cramps of living in a stone cell for months; she was confused by the motionless Ebb upon the floor, clearly dead; but most of all she was confused by how she didn’t feel any sadness for him—at least, not the type of sadness one feels for a pony who has passed away.  She felt sad, but it was the type of sorrow one feels at an untimely parting, nothing like the harrowing grief she had felt when the note came in about her brother.

He didn’t tell me what to do next, she thought.  He didn’t get a chance to say what his plan was.  But when she looked up from Ebb’s peaceful—yet empty—body, she understood exactly what to do.  The guard was gone; in the distance she could hear his hooves clopping against the stone floor as he sprinted away, running either out of fear or to get backup or both.  It didn’t matter, because in his panic he had left the cell door open.

She took one last look at the body of her ill-parted friend.  His beautiful blue coat was somehow duller, and she realized that she didn’t feel grief because she knew that the body was not Ebb—Ebb was somewhere else, somewhere she couldn’t see, and the body was just a heavy thing he had left behind. Despite this, the sight of his once lively self lying so still upon the floor made her chest ache, and she fought the urge to cry.  He had been her one friend in those long and frightening days, even if she had only known him a short time.  He had dispelled the loneliness that ate at her for three months.  But she knew he hadn’t made such a sacrifice for her to stay and get captured by a guard.

She turned away, staring down into the dark and seemingly endless corridor ahead.  Then she ran.

***

The city of Dressage was never meant to be the capital of a kingdom.  The city of Dressage was never meant to be any sort of capital at all.

It began as nothing more than a few humble cottages along a river, long before even the Coriks came along.  The unicorns who built their homes there did so because the land was fertile, the air was clear, and there was something about the calm murmur of the river that enchanted them.

The outpost became a town, the town became a village, and then, about forty years after the first cottage was built, the village became a city.  And all this growth, from outpost to bustling city, was the work of one unicorn.

Aura Augury was the first schoolteacher of Dressage.  She arrived around the time the first few cottages were built, in search of a place to study and a place to teach.  After her banishment from Weanington, she was eager for a fresh start, one in which she could practice her techniques more freely.  The University of Weanington had found her methods too extreme—she believed there was much to be learned not just in magic, but in nature; in trees and birds and the stars.

The University of Weaning thought otherwise.  How did birds fly?  Magic.  Why did stars twinkle?  Magic.  What made grass grow?  Magic.  The University would not tolerate any other answers to such simple and fundamental questions.  But Augury, though she was very wise in the ways of magic, believed there was more to the workings of the world than that.  She studied grass and birds and insects, and while she could measure magic in each of them (just as there was a small amount of magic in all living things), she believed that there were better answers to many important questions than simply ascribing everything to magic.

Augury wanted to know why some bird had beaks that were small and sharp, while others had beaks that were thick and strong.  She wanted to understand why sunflowers turned to face the sun, why the northern lights were visible only in the north.  Perhaps the “how” to each of those questions really was simply “magic”.  Or maybe it wasn’t.  Either way, it didn’t matter—she wasn’t interested in the “how”.  She was interesting in the why. If she knew the why, the how would follow.  

In the newly founded outpost of Dressage, Augury was free to study the why.  And what she learned, she taught to her students.  Her first class consisted of just four foals, the only foals in the entire outpost.  Soon, though, her class had tripled, and then became a school, which attracted many of the most curious and intelligent unicorns around, who all wanted their children to receive the best education—and Augury’s really was the best education.  Not only were her methods groundbreaking, but she was as kind and caring a teacher as any student could want.  Her classes produced some of the greatest scientific minds of the time.  Around then is when her school evolved into a full university.  She took the reigns as chancellor.

The University of Nature and Magic became the heart of Dressage, and as the University grew, so did Dressage.  The city expanded against the river, until it became the intellectual center for all unicorns in the northern half of Equestria.

Augury grew old and, in a beautiful and very tearful ceremony, retired.  She lived a humble life on the edge of the city, and died peacefully in her home.  The University built a new wing in her honor, named after her.

Her place as chancellor was given to one of her oldest colleagues.  He had been appointed by Augury herself—he had been one of those first four students, from when Dressage was just a few cottages.  He had watched as she single hoofedly grew a flimsy collection of shacks into what was essentially an empire.  Everywhere he looked he could see how Dressage respected Augury, made statues of her, made holidays to commemorate her, asked for her advice during pressing times.

He wanted to take that respect and turn it into fear.  Respect might earn trust, but fear earned power—and power is what he desired.

And he did it.  It was as easy as he had imagined.  After all, he was extremely intelligent—he had been taught by the great Aura Augury herself!  Over the course of three years he converted his chair as chancellor into the throne of a ruler.  All it took was a little conniving, a booming shout, and an adept understanding of magic.

And so the Dressage University of Nature and Magic became the castle of the King.  He ruled over his subjects with a mighty, yet incredibly fair, hoof.  He was disliked, but not loathed, just as he intended.  He understood how kingdoms fell, he had studied history with Augury—he knew what mistake had brought down King Slyder, King Sunstorm, Queen Chrysalis: they had all overstepped their bounds.  They had all let their ambition consume them, and the fear they used to control their subjects only unified those subjects against them.

So the King ruled with a hoof that was mighty, yet just; strong, yet careful; ambitious, yet reserved.  The King pulled his punches.

Only once did he ever fear a revolt.  It was the day he declared the Augury Wing of his castle—once her commemorative wing in the University—to be renamed after himself.  The backlash had been brutal—many unicorns in the city called it the last straw, the final act of a tyrant.  The King saw the uproar as an opportunity to instill a message: “Threaten the King, and enjoy your stay in the dungeon.”  The loudest protesters were imprisoned, and the quieter ones scampered away with their tails between their legs.

That was the last time anypony openly questioned the will of King Hornfire.

“So is he still the king to this day?” Pinkie asked, wide-eyed, around a mouthful of popcorn.

Dash hovered a little lower, trying her best to keep her frustration in check.  “Pinkie, stop interrupting!  And no, he’s not.  According to the story, the City of Dressage disappeared a long time ago.  Where did you get popcorn?”

“I made it when the story started to get good.  Does anypony want some?”

“Pinkie, cut it out!  I’m not finished.”

Applejack absentmindedly adjusted her hat.  “There’s more, Rainbow?”

Dash tapped a hoof to her chin.  “Actually... no, there isn’t.  That’s the end of the story of Dressage, and the beginning of the story of the star—”

“So!” Twilight burst out, glaring sharply at Dash, while discreetly nodding her head toward Nova.  The mare sat with her eyes squeezed shut in thought next to Fluttershy, the warm flickering of the cottage fireplace igniting her golden coat with light.  “Thanks for the story, Dash!”

“Uh, no problem, Twilight...hey, why don’t we get some hot cider from the kitchen for everypony?”

“Oooh!” Rarity said, suddenly very excited.  “You have cider, Fluttershy?”

“Oh, um, no, I don’t think—”

“Hot cider sounds great!” Dash said, then flew across the room and landed beside Twilight.  “We need to talk for a sec,” she whispered, cupping a hoof against her mouth.

Fluttershy’s kitchen was well removed from the living room, giving Rainbow Dash the welcome ability to speak above a whisper.

“What’s going on here?” she said.  “Why can’t Nova know the story?  It’s almost about her, isn’t it?”

Twilight sat down, hoping the gesture didn’t appear as tired as she felt.  “Rainbow Dash, the thing is... we can’t just tell her a story about who she is.  That’s what the book says about amnesiacs: you can’t just tell them who they are.  They need to discover that themselves.”  She paused, thinking.  “Besides... something happened last night.  I’ll tell you all about it later.”  She stood up to leave.

“No, not later,” Dash said, stepping in front of her friend.  “I want to know about it now.”

“But later I can tell you all at the same time, and—”

“Twilight, you realize I never finished the story, right?  The one I was telling you all the night we found Nova?  That wasn’t the real ending.  You know that.”

Twilight opened her mouth to say something... then stopped.  Dash was right—she had never given the true ending.  Twilight had completely forgotten about it.

“You want to know what really happened?  The pony fell from the sky, and then King Hornfire threw him in a dungeon, and that’s where he died.  The end.”

The room fell silent while Twilight sat in surprise.  “That’s... how the story ends?”

“Yep.”

“There’s nothing after that?”

“Well,” Dash said, considering, “there is a sequel.  It’s about the fall of King Hornfire.  Some pony came along and united all the citizens of Dressage against the King.  It was pretty awesome.  But yeah, in the end of the story... the star pony dies.”

For a moment, Twilight stared at the ground in silent thought.  “Fluttershy nearly died last night,” she said suddenly.  “That’s what happened.”

“What?”

“It’s true.”  Then she told Dash everything.  She nearly broke down at the part where she carried Fluttershy on her back.

When they returned to the living room, Dash was still reeling from the story.  She glanced uneasily at Fluttershy, who was whispering something to Nova.  She appeared unharmed, perfectly fine.

Nova’s eyes were still shut tight.

Pinkie crossed her front hooves accusingly as Twilight and Dash walked in.  “Hey!  I don’t see any cider!”

“Oh,” Twilight said, “well, turns out Fluttershy didn’t have any.”

Fluttershy looked up.  “That’s what I was trying to—”

“Alright, here’s the deal,” Dash said.  She flew up against the ceiling and looked down upon everypony.  “A lot of stuff has been going on recently.  Twilight told me all about it.”  Below, Fluttershy shifted uncomfortably.  “But we need to set things straight, because there’s work to do.”

“Work?” said Rarity.  “Will it involve... sweating?”

“It sure will.  Now everypony listen to Twilight.  She’s going to tell you all what’s going on.”

All eyes turned to Twilight.  She cleared her throat, then took a moment to look at each of them: Nova, who sat leaning against Fluttershy, her eyes no longer shut; Fluttershy, who blushed, but looked back earnestly; Applejack, who rose her eyebrows in curiosity; Pinkie, who took another bite of popcorn and tilted her head questioningly; Rarity, who gave a small and serious nod.  Then she told them what she told Dash, being careful not to mention the Spring or Nova’s real purpose—that would have to wait until Nova was out of earshot.

When she got to the part where she was carrying Fluttershy on her back, Pinkie ran over to the yellow pegasus and enveloped her in a tight hug, and both Applejack and Rarity put a hoof around her shoulder.

In the bright cottage living room, nopony noticed when Nova began to faintly glow.

“...and the best chance we have of restoring Nova’s memory is by taking her somewhere she is familiar with.  That could be the first domino.  And if Nova really does have a connection to Dash’s story, that place is the City of Dressage,” Twilight concluded.  “That’s why we’re going there.”

“Uh, Twi’?”  Applejack had her hoof raised like a schoolfilly.  “Is it, um, far?  Cider season is comin’ up soon, and Ah’ll be needed on the farm...”

“I’m glad you asked, Applejack,” Twilight grinned.  “In fact, nopony knows where the City is.  It’s a lost city.  So I have no idea how far it is.  I mean, if you need to, you can stay here...”

“She will do no such thing!” Rarity said, getting to her hooves.  “If I’m going on an adventure that might involve forests and mud and... ugh... bucolic surroundings, Applejack is coming with!”

“Bacolic whatnow?" Applejack blinked.  "Doesn't matter!  ’Course Ah’m comin’!  Granny and Big Mac will just have to work a little harder.  Ain’t nothing they can’t handle.”

“It’s settled, then,” Dash said, landing on the ground.  “When do we leave?”

Twilight glanced out the window.  “Well, it’s about noon right now, so to make the best time, I’d say tomorrow morning.  Does that work for everypony?”

Pinkie gasped.  “I’ll need to hire a Gummy-sitter!  And cancel all my plans!  Somepony else will have to give sousaphone lessons at the orphanage!”

Applejack’s eyes widened in surprise.  “You do what?”

“It’s called community service, Applejack!  Besides, kids love the sousaphone.  Gotta go!”  In a blur she was gone, presumably to find a sitter for Gummy.

“So, meet here tomorrow morning?” Rarity asked.

“Sounds like a plan,” Dash said.  “I’ll go pack.  Oh man, this could be fun!”  She turned to Nova.  "And helpful to our new friend, as well, of course."  Then she opened the window and flew out with a gust that sent Applejack’s hat flying.

“Too cool for doors now, huh?” Applejack said, picking her hat up off the floor.  “Well, Ah’d better go tell my family the news, and make some sandwiches for the road.  See y’all in the mornin’!”

As the door closed behind Applejack, Rarity turned to the rest: Twilight, Fluttershy, and Nova.  “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow.  But before I go...”  She hesitated for a moment, then ran up to Nova and gave her a tight hug.  “Thank you so much,” she said.  “For saving Fluttershy.”

Nova wasn’t sure how to react—part of her still felt guilty for causing the whole incident in the first place.  Then she felt a wetness on her shoulder, and realized Rarity was crying.  She could only think of dumb things to say, like “It was the least I could do,” or “I was just returning the favor.”  So she said nothing at all, and allowed Rarity to keep embracing her.

Then Rarity jumped back, like she had been shocked.  “Oh my!” she exclaimed.  “You’re... glowing!”

Nova looked down at herself, and nearly fell over when she saw it was true.  It was very faint, and wouldn’t have been visible if the sun hadn’t hidden behind the windowsill a few minutes earlier—but it was there: a warm and golden light radiated from within her, cloudy, as though through water.  “Fluttershy!” she gasped.  “What is this?”

“I don’t know what it is, Nova, but... it happens sometimes, mostly when you sleep.”  She paused, still enchanted by the beautiful glow.  “You really never noticed it?”

Nova, still staring down at herself with wide eyes, just shook her head.

“You’re full of mysteries, Nova,” Twilight said.  “We’ll get you to Dressage, and there your memory will return, and everything will become clear.”

Nova nodded slowly, Twilight’s voice reverberating in her mind.

Everything will become clear...

...Dressage...

...Everything...clear...Dressage...

Dressage....

Dressage.

***

Dressage was a big city.  Because it grew unexpectedly fast from a small settlement of cottages, it was also a very unorganized city—little planning had gone into the winding roads and twisting streets that ran through it like cracks through a mirror.  As a result, buildings were clumped here and there, streets met in hectic intersections, and even a long-time Dressagian could find himself lost if he traveled too far from home.

There was only one certainty: eventually, all roads led to the University.  Or, under King Hornfire’s rule: all roads led to his castle.

As Nova ran through the city, she did so blindly, hoping that the maze of pavement would eventually lead her to her goal.  The stars above were of no help—the night was overcast and murky, leaving no view of the sky.

She ran with an impossible amount of energy, a soaring vitality that she didn’t understand; nopony who had been caged in a cell for three months should have been able to run so quickly.  But she did.  She had never felt so alive—it was like something inside her had awoken, like she had tapped a well of stamina that never ran dry.  She could feel it flowing through her, pushing her forward down the wet and rainy streets, splashing thunderously through the occasional puddle.  A smile spread across her face, and she began to giggle, and then she began to laugh in earnest—she was free, she could run forever, and somehow everything would be alright.

She didn’t even stop to consider how there were no other ponies in the street, or that such a large city could be so empty.  She didn’t notice the frightened faces in the windows, faces which peered cautiously from behind half-drawn curtains as she ran, laughing.

She rounded another corner, then took a left down a narrow alleyway, and ran through it to the other side.

The alleyway led to yet another street, and it was there that she finally stopped, almost literally skidding to a halt in the slippery wet road.

Because there, maybe half a mile away, beyond the field of stucco houses that rose up on a gentle hill, was the University.  The castle.  It sat atop the hill like a great stone crown, and its walls were illuminated red and white from some concealed source.

“The castle...” she whispered to herself.  That was her goal, that's where the tyrant king must be.  She had no idea what she'd do once she got there, but she wasn’t riding on logic or thought—she was driven by pure emotion, as well as by the mysterious and delicious energy that ran within her.  She wasn’t thinking about the sentry towers or the guards or the high security, she was thinking of Ebb and her brother and her family and friends, and everypony who had suffered from the tyranny within that giant stone construct.

“Hey!” a rough voice shouted from behind her.  “You’re violating curfew!  Nopony outside after nine o’clock!  Come with me, citizen.”

She turned to face the guard, and immediately recognized him.  He was the one who had pulled her hood off when she tried to leave the city.

His eyes widened.  “You!”

She ran.  He followed.  She was fast, still fueled by the immense strength within her, but he had a better knowledge of the city.  Even as she took evasive twists and turned many corners, she could feel him leading her into a dead end.  The sound of his mighty hooves grew nearer, and her options grew fewer and fewer, as soon there were almost no sideroads or intersections.  She could see the tall outer wall of the city ahead, and knew that’s where he was forcing her, that was the wall he would pin her against.

All the while, shadowed faces peered out from the second-story windows above, watching fearfully.

She ran a little farther, and there it was: the wall.  There were no other paths to take, no place to go but to turn around—and that was the direction from which came the merciless clopping of the guard’s hooves, louder and louder.

She continued forward, face to face with the wall.  She threw herself against it, as if she could pass through it, but it pushed back with equal force, unforgiving.

“I’m so stupid,” she said, and began to cry.  Not because she would no doubt spend the rest of her life in a dungeon, but because she had let so many ponies down—she was caught, the King would never fall, his tyranny wouldn’t end until the day he died.

Just then she heard a voice.  But not the guard’s.  It was softer and gentler.  “Hey!  Psssst!  Hey, over here!”

She looked around quickly and saw that one of the doors to the houses along the street was cracked open.  In the crack was the dark face of a pony, who beckoned urgently with a hoof.

Deft “Four-Spear” Dagger came barreling around the corner, running right through an enormous puddle that accented his entrance with an explosive splash.  “Nowhere to run now,” he shouted.  “You little dungeon rat!”

When he noticed she was gone, he froze.  “Wh...Hey!  Where’d you go, you hornless runt?”  He spun around, looking for potential escape routes, but found none.

From one of the many windows along the street, Nova watched.  The house was pitch dark, just like all the others, and though it showed no sign of life from the outside, the inside was warm and smelled of bread and delicious soup.

The mare who had beckoned to her now held the curtain open a small amount for her to peek through.

Outside, Four-Spear suddenly perked his ears and looked up, then slowly began turning in a circle as he stared intently into the windows of the houses around him.  Nova realized he would soon get to hers, but she was too afraid to move for fear that he would see the motion.  So she remained perfectly still, hoping the darkness would be enough to protect her.

He kept turning: now he was glaring to the left of her, and soon he would be looking directly at her.  Nova watched, her heart pounding, but then it became difficult to see; there was a golden glare in the window, as though a light had been turned on in the room.  The world outside vanished, covered by a bright golden reflection—a reflection of herself.

Then Nova hit the ground with a sharp thump.  Her savior stood above her, face stricken by panick.  The tile floor was hard and cold, and as Nova began to get up, the mare pushed her back down again—more gently this time, but still with great urgency.

“Stop glowing!” the mare whispered through clenched teeth.

“Wh...what?”

“STOP. GLOWING.”

Nova, still lying on her back, raised her head up to stare down at her body.  And to her immense surprise, she was indeed glowing—a brilliant golden orange, which radiated from within her like a light through the fog.

“What is this what’s happening to me why am I—”  She was cut off as the mare forcefully covered her mouth and held her down.

“Shhh!  No talking!  And stop glowing!”

Nova saw the fear trembling on the mare’s face and, to her ever-increasing confusion, the glowing began to fade.  Soon it was totally gone, and the room was dark once more, but the pony above her still looked to the window with terror.

Nearly a whole minute passed, Nova on the floor, mare holding her down and covering her mouth.  Neither moved.

“I’m going... to go look... out the window,” the mare breathed.  “Don’t... speak.  And don’t... glow.”

Nova wanted to say that she didn’t know how to glow, and, even more importantly, that she didn’t know how to not glow.  But her mouth was covered, so she just nodded quickly.

The mare slowly took her hoof away and began to ease toward the window.  When she got there she pulled the curtain back half an inch and peered out for nearly twenty seconds.  Nova watched all this with apprehension, but most of her thoughts were focused on another pressing matter:  Was I just... was I... glowing?

“He’s gone,” the mare breathed, dropping her head with relief and letting the curtain fall back into place.  “I don’t think he saw us.  He’s gone.”

She began to help Nova up, allowing her the chance to finally get a good look at her hero.  She had a light red coat with a pumpkin-orange mane and a warm complexion, though in her present state her pretty face was lined with distress and glistening with nervous sweat.

“You were... glowing, dear.  How were you doing that?”

“I don’t know!  That’s never happened to me before.”

“Well, you sure picked a good time to start!”  Then the mare laughed, and, after a moment, so did Nova.  Everything was okay, she was safe in a warm house that smelled of home-cooked meals, the guard was gone.  There was still the matter of the King, and half her mind was still bewildered by the glowing, but she could deal with those issues later.  At the moment, she was interested in meeting her hero.

“I’m Nova Blare,” she said.  “You saved me.  That guard would have caught me.  Thank you, I don’t know what I could ever do...”

The red mare smiled.  “Think nothing of it, dear.  We must all look after one another in times like these.”  She pulled open a dresser drawer and brought out a match, which she used to light several ornate candles on the table.  “I’m Rosemary, by the way.”  One of the candles flickered and died.  She pulled the drawer open again, then shut it quickly with a grunt.  “Out of matches.  Oh well.  It’s been dreadful since the magic disappeared—having to use matches to light candles, having to run gas to use the oven, and all sorts of other things.”  She peered at Nova’s forehead.  “Maybe you could teach me a thing or two, seeing as you’re a Corik.”

“Maybe...” Nova said, not really paying attention.  She was focused on the candle that had gone out, from which rose a thin trail of lavender-scented smoke.  It was so strange how a flame could die so easily on its own, while the two other candles continued to burn.  How could that be?  There hadn’t been a draft in the room.  She wasn’t sure what sparked this strange obsession with the candle, but the more she thought about it the more it intrigued her: one moment the candle was lit, and the next it was not, leaving nothing but that thin line of smoke behind.

Everything around her began to fade, until the world consisted of only herself and the candle.  Then something strange began to happen: in her mind she could see the flame, though it wasn’t really there.  But she could see it, and she could feel it, too—a little persistent heat that radiated off the wick, warming her face.

Then she snapped out of her daze and the world returned to normal.  Rosemary was staring at her, eyes wide with surprise.

“How... did you...”

Nova glanced to the table and saw that the candle was lit again, flickering and dancing along with its two neighbors.

“I mean, there’s no magic!” Rosemary continued.  “How can it be that a unicorn like me can’t use magic... but you can?  You haven’t a horn!”  She raised her eyes to Nova with a sort of reverence.  “Maybe you’re what we’ve been waiting for!  Somepony who can help us!  You could take down the King—after all, you’ve got magic, and he doesn’t!  Nothing could stop you!”

At the moment, Nova felt like a gentle breeze could stop her.  She was exhausted.  The incredible energy that had surged through her before was gone.  She wobbled on her hooves, almost too weary to hold herself up... but Rosemary’s words still invigorated her.  “The King...” she said, yawning, “...we’ll take him down.”

Rosemary fidgeted with excitement.  “Oh, wonderful, wonderful!  You truly are a gift to us!  But it’s late, and we’ll need our energy if we’re to usurp a king!  Here, follow me to the guest bedroom, dear Nova...”

Nova fell asleep within seconds, sinking into the cottony mattress.  It was the first time she had slept in a real bed since her imprisonment.  Rosemary gently pulled the covers over her, then stood back and watched her sleep for a few moments, thinking that she should set out a glass of water next to the bed.  It was so nice to have somepony in the house again, somepony to talk to when the guards were patrolling the streets at night.  She hadn’t yet heard this pony’s story, but she could only imagine that it was awful—how else would a Corik end up in the middle of the unicorns’ capital city?  The poor thing must have gone through hell and back.

Rosemary turned to leave, her own bed in mind, when she noticed that Nova had very faintly begun to glow once more.  The light strengthened, until a beautiful golden hue illuminated the entire room, as though Nova were a miniature sun.

She must be the answer to everything, Rosemary thought.  She must be.  How incredible.  The unicorns’ freedom, at the hooves of a Corik.  If that’s not justice, I don’t know what is.

Then she left, closing the door quietly behind her, and found her own bed—and, soon after, sleep. Next Chapter: The Sergeant (The Storm) Estimated time remaining: 43 Minutes