The first time Twilight Sparkle died, she screamed. It was an ugly, ear-splitting sound, somewhere between the yowl of a cat and the screech of grinding metal. Her eyes clenched shut, she screamed and screamed until her cheeks went blue, until her entire face trembled, until her voice sputtered out and faded away.

Knees wobbling, chest heaving, she edged open an eye—and froze.

Tirek was gone. Ponyville was gone. Her friends, the mountainside, the blood red sky, all of it—completely gone.

In their place: white. Just white. A blank, featureless void stretched out in all directions, and for a wild moment Twilight assumed she had fallen into a snowbank. But August had only just begun, and she didn’t feel cold at all. In fact, she didn’t really feel much of anything. No aches, no pains.

Hadn’t Tirek just thrown her into a mountain? And then there had been that awful searing pain in her chest... where had it gone?

She took a step forward on shaking legs, craning her neck to look around. Yet, the void didn’t change, didn’t move, didn’t react to her in the slightest. It just existed.

“Hello?” she called in a raspy voice. “Is anyone here?”

“Yes.”

Wings flaring, Twilight spun around and prepared a magical blast. At least, she tried to; no matter how hard she pushed, her horn wouldn’t light. She swallowed and squinted to see ahead. “Who’s there?”

A few yards ahead of her lay a small table, on top of which rested a large teapot and two small mugs. And behind the teapot sat something else.

‘Something else’ was the most detailed description Twilight could give the thing. Taking a few steps forward, she stared and tried to examine it—but she couldn’t focus on anything, it seemed. The creature behind the table had every feature and no features at once. Just looking at it made her thoughts fuzz over, made her head pound.

“Hello!” it said, twisting its maybe-face into a maybe-smile. “Come! The tea is delicious.” Its voice was even stranger than its looks; when it spoke, Twilight heard hundreds, thousands, millions of voices at once. Not layered on top of each other, like some sort of bad monster movie, but just... at once, filling her ears like cement. Her headache grew stronger.

Twilight regarded it with narrowed eyes. She held her glare even as she sat down in the small wooden chair on the other end of the table. She kept her lips sealed.

The creature lifted the teapot and filled both its and Twilight’s mugs. It took a long whiff of its brew. “Just lovely. Don’t you think so?”

“Where am I?” Twilight asked.

“Ah, getting right to the point, I see! Not a surprise, coming from you.” The creature took a sip of its tea. “You are currently in many places. In a chair, in front of a table, in the universe—”

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Twilight growled. “The last thing I remember is Tirek pinning me against a mountain. He came charging at me, we impacted, and now I’m here.” She glanced around the void again, an uncomfortable feeling crawling over her coat. “What’s going on?”

The creature gestured to the cup in front of Twilight. “You should drink your tea before it grows cold.”

“I don’t have time for tea! Tirek is in the middle of destroying Equestria, destroying Ponyville, and I’m the only one who can stop him!” Twilight leapt up from her seat. “Every second I’m here is another second for Tirek to hurt my friends. I need to save them!”

“How can you save your friends when you are dead, Twilight Sparkle?”

Twilight went stock-still. She mouthed the word—'dead.' “What do you mean?” she asked, her words slow and shaky. She whipped her eyes around the void, trying and failing to find something to anchor onto. “What are you talking about?”

“You are dead.” The creature tilted its head. “Was that not clear?”

“You’re lying.” Twilight took a step back. Her mouth was drying out. “I’m not dead. No, no, I’m not. How could I be? I was fine just a minute ago!”

The creature put its tea down. It stayed silent for a moment before meeting Twilight’s eyes again. “Would you like to see?”

Twilight took a breath. “See what?”

The creature raised a limb, and Twilight screamed again. Her vision was gone, replaced by an image of herself, impaled on one of Tirek’s horns. His horn tore through her chest, ripping out bones and veins and organs. Blood poured from her gaping mouth. Her face held no expression.

“Stop!” Twilight cried, falling to her knees. “Stop it!”

The image faded, and the creature came back into view. “I’m sorry,” it said, its voice soft. “I did not mean to upset you. I am merely showing you the truth. Now, if you would just sit—”

“I’m dead?” Twilight’s breaths became gasps. “Oh, goddess, oh, goddess...”

“Please,” the creature said. “It is not so bad!”

“Not so bad? Tirek killed me, and it’s not so bad?!” All the color had left Twilight’s face, and tears formed in her eyes. “I’m Equestria’s only hope! The Princesses entrusted me with their magic, and I failed. Tirek’s going to hurt everypony, going to destroy everything... and my friends”—a choking sob rose in her throat—“what about my friends? Or my family? What are they going to do? They’ll all be tortured, all because of me!”

“No, they will not.”

“Why not?” Twilight choked out. “What’s going to happen? Who’s going to help them?”

“You will,” said the creature, “once I send you back.”

“Send me back?” Twilight repeated. She blinked a few times, her frantic thoughts trying to piece themselves together. “You... You would do that?”

“Would I? I’m afraid I must, my young friend!” said the creature with a chuckle. It leaned forward in its seat. “It is not your time to die, Twilight Sparkle. It is, however, your time to live.”

Another round of tears spilled down Twilight’s face. She stepped around the table and pulled the creature into a hug—its body felt like static. “Thank you,” she said, holding it tight. “Thank you, thank you!”

The creature seemed to go stiff under her touch. “It is my pleasure. Now, please: sit.”

“But what about Tirek?” Twilight asked, pulling away. “I need to go stop him!”

“I have paused time in Equestria. When I send you back, your body will be repaired—you will be reborn, hale and whole and good-as-new. You are in no rush.” The creature simpered. “And besides, it can get quite lonely here. Why don’t you keep me company for a bit?”

“Of course. I guess I owe you that much, huh?” Twilight asked. She sat back down. Her limbs still trembled, and it was all she could do not to drop the cup of tea when she picked it up. “You’ve saved me from death, and you can stop time. Who are you?”

The creature paused before saying simply, “I am.”

Twilight waited for more, but when nothing came, asked, “You are what?”

“I am.”

“You are...?”

“Yes,” the creature said. It sipped its tea. “But I suppose that may not be sufficient for a mare of your stature. So, perhaps I should take on one of the many names those who I have saved have given me over the years. Why not, say, Atman? That seems fitting, no?”

“Atman.” Twilight repeated, turning the name over in her mouth a few times. The word had no meaning to her, but still she nodded. “Alright. What are you?”

“I am.”

Twilight bit back a growl. “Why did you save me?”

“I already told you. It was not your time to die, but your time to live.” Atman smiled. “I’m afraid I cannot state it in any simpler terms.”

“You said that you’ve saved others. Does everyone get a second chance like this?”

“That would depend on your definition of ‘everyone.’”

Twilight frowned. “Would you do this for, say, any random pony I see on the street?”

“I don’t believe in the concept of ‘random.’”

“Would you do this for every living being on the planet?” Twilight asked, making sure to enunciate every syllable. “Pony, griffon, changeling, whoever. Do you save everyone?”

Atman thought for a moment. It nodded. “Yes.”

Twilight’s smile returned. “That’s amazing! You can help so many ponies, stop so much sadness... but wait.” Twilight furrowed her brows. “If this is true, and you save everyone, how have I never heard of you? This sounds like it should be a well-documented phenomena. Am I just going to forget about all of this once I go back?”

“No, no. You will remember me.”

“Well, why have I never heard of you? Wouldn’t someone say something?”

“They do not remember me.”

“So, am I special?”

“Perhaps. But then again, everyone is special.” Atman smirked. “Depending on your definition of ‘everyone,’ of course.”

Twilight felt her headache growing stronger. “You know,” she said, managing a smile, “mares don’t typically go for ponies who are too cryptic.”

That got a laugh out of Atman. “Is that so? Well, it is a good thing I don’t care, then!”

Rolling her eyes, Twilight took a long swig of her tea. Much like Atman’s voice and body, it seemed to taste of all things at once. It was like the universe itself had been ground down and poured into a cup. Its warmth spilled over her bones, sending a sigh to her lips.

“I suppose it’s rude of me to look a gift horse in the mouth like this,” Twilight said. “But when I get back, you can be sure that I’ll be writing some sort of report on this. It’s absolutely amazing!”

“Whatever you think is best,” Atman said. It reached forward and touched her hoof. “Now, as much as I would love to spend eternity with you, I’m afraid that all things must come to an end. Are you ready to go back?”

“And kick Tirek’s butt?” Twilight asked with a grin. “Of course. And I promise you: I won’t be back here soon.”

Atman clapped its hooves. Hands. Appendages. “I trust you!”

The white of the void grew blinding. Twilight cringed and threw her hooves over her eyes, only to find that her hooves had disappeared. The white expanded over her body, wiping it away like an eraser. Twilight shouted, but it didn’t stop.

The last thing she saw was Atman waving her off.

---

The second time Twilight Sparkle died, she gave an order.

“Run!” she cried, throwing out a hoof. “Get out of—huh?”

She spent a few moments looking around the void before she laid her eyes on the familiar table, and the familiar teapot, and the familiar creature sitting behind it. “Oh, Celestia,” she murmured. “I’m...?”

“Dead?” Atman called. It raised a mug into the air. “Absolutely! Now, come! I’ve prepared a fresh pot, just for you!”

Twilight wandered over, taking care to keep every step steady. The blankness of the void bore down on her, wrapping her in its nothingness. Her breaths were still shallow as she sat down and grabbed her cup of tea. “Hi,” she said, trying to catch her breath. “Sorry. Just kind of shocked.”

“Well, death is often shocking,” Atman said. “Do you at least remember what took you out this time?”

“Yeah,” Twilight said. She tried to fold her wings. “The girls and I had been called to this small mountain village in Eastern Equestria. The town was being threatened by avalanches and landslides, so Celestia had us go to help evacuate them. We were heading down the mountain with a group of mares and foals when an avalanche hit. And then...” She covered her mouth with a hoof. “Oh, no.”

“There was a filly,” Atman continued. “She stood in the path of a boulder.”

“I yelled at her to run, but she just stood there, and the boulder was coming, so I”—Twilight swallowed—“I ran forward and pushed her out of the way. The boulder killed me instead of her.”

Atman shook its head. “Not exactly. You were both hit. The boulder killed the two of you instantly.”

Twilight almost choked on her tea. “What?”

“Would you like to see?”

“No!” Twilight shouted. She took a few deep breaths. “No, no, I just... You just caught me off guard. I was sure that I had saved her.” She looked down to the ground, ears flat—but only for just a moment before smiling. “But wait! Last time I was here, you said that you save everyone. She’s gonna be fine!”

Atman nodded. “I do save everyone.”

“Wonderful! Atman, you are such an amazing... whatever you are!” Twilight chirped. She gulped down her tea. “So, how long has it been now? Thirty-five years or so? How have things been since last time I came around? Anything exciting happen?”

“It has been quiet. Nothing to report.” Atman leaned forward and crossed its fingers. Claws. Hooftips. “But what of you? Did you follow through with your plan to tell the world of my existence?”

“I did, but...” Twilight leaned back and rubbed the back of her head with a hoof. “It was weird. I wrote my report in a few days and told Spike to proofread, but he only got a page in before he said that he had a massive headache and couldn’t understand any of it. I figured that he just had a cold or something, but then I gave it to Celestia, and she said the same thing. She asked me if I was developing a new area of academic criticism.”

Atman didn’t respond.

“Luna said the same thing. So did Rarity, and Cheerilee, and even my parents!” Twilight crossed her forelegs. “When Pinkie read it, I asked her to describe what she read, and she told me, ‘It’s like reading every book at once.’” Twilight tried to look Atman in the eyes. “And, to be quite honest, I think I get what she means.”

“But not everyone had this reaction,” Atman noted. “There was one outlier.”

“Discord,” Twilight said with a nod. “But even he wasn’t too helpful. He read one sentence, then threw my report on the ground and started laughing. He kept going like that for about five minutes before he told me to give you his regards and left. Whenever I tried to bring it up again, he would just dodge my questions.”

“Mhm. You must send him my regards as well!” Atman said.

Twilight stared. “Atman, what are you?”

“I am.”

“No, no, I get that. Well, I mean, I don’t actually get it, but I know that’s your answer.” Twilight sat up straight and gestured around the void. “Why can no one else remember you, or even learn about you? What makes me so special? Did you choose me?”

“You are no more special than any other. It is merely your turn to experience the Three Deaths.” Atman watched Twilight’s ears prick up, ready to listen. She would have taken notes, had she access to magic. Atman poured Twilight another cup of tea as it said, “Every creature in existence experiences the Three Deaths at some point. Twice they will die before their time comes, and twice they will be returned to life. It is merely the way of the universe.”

“Twice?” Twilight asked, wings drooping. She sighed. “I’ve only got one more life left, huh? Looks like I better start being more careful.”

“Perhaps, but shouldn’t you always be careful?” Atman asked with narrowed eyes. “If you knew you had three lives at the start, would you have been wasteful with the first two? Life is too precious to be abused like that.”

The slightest chill ran down Twilight’s neck at the edge in his voice. Forcing a smile, she picked her mug back up. But before it could reach her lips again, a small thought bounced across her mind. 

“Wait,” Twilight said, frowning. “If everyone experiences the Three Deaths, that still doesn’t explain why I’m the only one who knows you, or can learn about you. Surely somepony else has gone through this by now.”

“They have!” Atman said. “Just not in this Round.”

“Care to explain what a Round is?” Twilight asked with a snort. “Or does it ‘depend on my definition?’”

“A Round is the lifetime in which you experience the Three Deaths,” Atman said. “Everyone has a Round—past, present, and future. Everyone goes through the process of dying twice and coming back twice.”

“But that’s not true! I know it’s not true.”

Atman smirked. “I never said that everyone has a Round at the same time.”

Twilight put the tea down and cursed under her breath. “Atman, y’know, I really can’t stand how obtuse you’re being about all of this. All I want is to understand! Help me understand!”

“Perhaps some things are not meant to be understood, Twilight Sparkle.”

“I can’t agree with that,” Twilight said, shaking her head. “That goes against everything I’ve ever believed.”

“And what of this?” Atman flicked its eyes around the void. “Does this align with your beliefs?”

Twilight sneered. “Fine. If you don’t want to explain it to me, you don’t have to. Just send me and the filly back, and I’ll drop it.”

“The filly won’t be going back,” Atman said.

His words hung in Twilight’s ears for a moment as she tried to process them. “What do you mean?” Twilight asked. “You said that she died, right? Why isn’t she coming back?”

“Unlike you, it is not her turn to experience the Three Deaths. It is not her Round. She has died, and will not be coming back.”

“But that...” Twilight said, flapping her lips wordlessly for a moment. “What’s stopping you? You don’t have the power to bring her back?”

“Of course I have the power to revive her.”

“Then do it!”

“No.”

Twilight stood up. “You have to!”

Atman tilted its head. “Why?”

“Because you have to! You said that everyone gets a second chance at life. You have the power to save everyone! You can’t just let her die like this!”

“Yes, everyone does get a second chance. Everyone goes through the Three Deaths at some point.” Atman drank its tea. “But for this filly, that point was not now. It was her time to die, and not her time to live. I’m sorry.”

Twilight tried to spark her horn, but her magic still didn’t work. So instead, with her face contorted into a deep scowl, she lifted the table and threw it to the side. Dark brown tea spilled across the pure white ground.

She grabbed Atman’s shoulders and pulled him close. “She was just a filly!” Twilight shouted, mere inches away. “Six years old! How could it be her time to die?!”

“Why not? Foals die everyday, Twilight Sparkle. Some even younger than her.” Atman scratched its head. “I don’t see the problem, really. Did you even know her name?”

“Taproot,” Twilight growled. “Her name was Taproot. And the problem is that I get to go back, but she doesn’t!” Twilight tightened her grip, and lightning poured into her veins. “It’s not fair!”

“Life is often unfair.”

“That’s not an answer!”

“You didn’t ask a question.”

Twilight screamed and threw Atman to the ground. His ethereal limbs spilled out in all directions. Muttering curses and hexes through gritted teeth, Twilight tried to walk away—but found herself rooted.

Memories rushed through her mind. So many ponies dead, dying. She had never seen a single one come back. Neighbors killed in accidents, old classmates who took their own lives, soldiers killed in wars... no one ever came back. Dead was dead. She stood alone.

“Why won’t you save Taproot’s life?” Twilight asked again, head falling low. “The Three Deaths, time to die, I know. But none of that makes any sense! I don’t get it!” She shot him a glare. “How can I be the only one who lives? Who are you to decide who lives and dies?”

Atman lifted himself up. “I am.”

Twilight leapt forward and cracked a hoof across Atman’s face. A buzzing jolt ran along her skin on impact.

Atman grunted and stumbled a few steps backwards. Massaging its face, it said, “You know, if I could feel pain, that could have really hurt!”

“Good!” Twilight yelled, voice quivering. Her eyes stung. “You deserve it! I take back everything I said about you being wonderful, Atman. You’re a monster! A monster!”

“Yes, I suppose I am,” Atman said, nodding. “But I am also a pony, and a griffon, and a changeling. I am many things, Twilight Sparkle. I am.”

“You’re insane, that’s what you are.” Twilight wiped her eyes, but the tears kept coming. “Nothing you’ve said makes any sense. You keep contradicting yourself, and what hasn’t been contradicted I know isn’t true! You’re a maniac pretending to be a Goddess!”

“I am.”

Twilight lifted her head and screamed. There was no echo.

“I still don’t quite see the problem,” Atman said, taking its seat once again. “It’s rare that the creatures I save ever have qualms about being revived. I’m saving you, aren’t I? Be grateful!”

“I’ll never be grateful for someone—something like you,” Twilight said through shaking breaths. “I never asked for any of this. I don’t deserve any of this!”

“So you would rather I had left you to die at Tirek’s hands? You would rather Equestria be destroyed?” Atman clicked its tongue. “Not even Celestia was this huffy during her Round. She took my help without question!”

“She’s been through the Three Deaths...?” Twilight asked, eyes widening. She furrowed her brows and thought for a moment—but soon shook her head and glowered. “No, no, you’re lying! If Celestia had experienced this, she would have told me! And besides, I know her. She would never accept something as awful as this!”

“Would she not?” Atman asked, scratching its chin. “I think you might not know your precious teacher as well as you might think.”

Twilight spread her wings. “Don’t you dare talk about her that way.”

“Whatever the case, it’s time for you to go back,” Atman said. It smiled. “And I would take a moment to prepare yourself: Taproot’s mother saw her be crushed. She’ll be quite upset.”

Twilight lunged at Atman.

Atman clapped, and the void engulfed her.

---

The third time Twilight Sparkle died, she made a declaration.

“I hate you, Atman.”

A few yards away, Atman chuckled. “Hate is a strong word, you know.”

“Strong, yes. Fitting, even more so.”

Twilight kept her head high as she trotted over to the familiar chair, to sit with the familiar creature. Decades had passed since their last meeting, and Twilight had long since adopted the flowing, ethereal mane and longer horn of her fellow alicorns. Her limbs were long and graceful. The deep lines on her face showed the wear and fatigue of a life well-lived, while the light in her eyes showed the wisdom that came with it.

There had been no murder this time. No accident. No bloody death, no tragedy. Twilight had passed away in her sleep, wrapped in soft silk sheets. She was over one-hundred years old.

“I must admit, I’m disappointed,” Atman said, preparing Twilight’s drink. “I had hoped that you would come to understand my point of view by the time we had this meeting.” It paused, its smile shrinking. “But I suppose you were quite busy.”

“I tried to keep track of every creature that died,” Twilight said, bowing her head. “Death records, obituaries... I read them all, every single day. I had officials in Yakyakistan and Griffonstone send me their death records, too. For ten years I locked myself inside, away from all of my friends, my family. I spent every hour of every day learning about all the creatures who lived around me.” She bared her teeth. “All the creatures you wouldn’t save.”

“Did you learn anything?” Atman asked.

“Yes. I learned that even the smallest, simplest life has value. There’s so much that goes on without us knowing, without us seeing.” Twilight closed her eyes. “That’s what eventually made me come outside: I realized that I wanted to see these lives firsthoof, not just read about them. I spent the rest of my life traveling the world, making more friends than I ever had before.”

“But still you felt anger,” Atman said.

“Of course I did!” Twilight snapped. “I learned about so many ponies I shouldn’t have had to. The first week, two foals murdered by their mother. The next month, three hundred stallions buried alive in a coal mine. My own father, eaten away by disease in less than a year! On my travels, so much war, so much famine... And all because you wouldn’t save them!”

Atman shrugged. “It was their time.”

“I hate you,” Twilight said again, gripping the edge of the table. “When I opened my front door for the first time in ten years, all I could think about was coming back here and ripping you to shreds. I wanted to slaughter you, to make you pay for all the lives you threw away! All the innocent creatures you could have brought back!”

Atman spread its arms, legs, whatever out wide. “Well, I’m here. You only have one more chance. Why don’t you do it?”

Twilight flared her wings out wide, ground her teeth, stood up from her chair—but didn’t move. After a moment more spent glaring, she forced her eyes down and cursed under her breath. With a heavy sigh, she collapsed back into the chair.

“Because it wouldn’t make sense,” Twilight said, shaking her head. “To kill you would be just another death.”

“I suppose. That is, if you could have killed me. Which you couldn’t have,” Atman said, sipping its tea and earning himself another glare. “I must ask, since I’ve been wondering: you rejected Princess Celestia’s offer of immortality. Why?”

Twilight scoffed. “Even you should be able to guess that. It’s not fair that I should get to live while everyone else dies.”

“Why not? Celestia does it.”

“I’m not Celestia.”

Atman smirked. “In a sense.”

Twilight pursed her lips. “Now that I’m out of lives, am I just gonna have to stay here with you for eternity? Because if so, I might just make good on my threat.”

“No, your Round is almost over.” Atman leaned back in its seat and closed its eyes. “I’m sorry that you couldn’t bring yourself to enjoy my gifts. I assure you that it was not my intention to upset you so.”

“Round,” Twilight said. She repeated the word a few times, rolling it over her tongue like a marble. “I still don’t get it. You said my Round is my life?”

“In a sense.”

Twilight lidded her eyes and picked up her tea. “I’m about to die for good, Atman. You can’t drop the mystery act for one second?”

“There is no act. I haven’t ever lied to you. Every word that’s come from my mouth over these years has been the honest truth,” Atman said. It beamed. “But I suppose it wouldn’t be too much trouble to explain myself bit more. What would you like to know?”

“What is a Round?” Twilight asked quickly, leaning forward. “From what you’ve said, only one creature has a Round at a time. It being your Round means you get three lives, so to speak.” She paused. “Am I on the right track?”

“Yes!” Atman said, raising its mug in a toast. “Now you’re getting it!”

At that, Twilight almost felt dirty. Part of her didn’t want to hear the rationale, didn’t want to hear Atman justify its actions. It took a few deep breaths for her to continue, “What I don’t get is how there’s more than one Round. Are there alternate universes? Are we all just characters in a game? What’s going on?”

“I see it more as a universal reset.” Atman leaned forward in its own seat, looking Twilight in the eye. “One by one, every creature ever to live will have a Round. They will all die eventually, but the circumstances of their death, as well as the life they lived before it, may be different.”

“And once the creature having the Round dies for good?”

“We start over.”

Twilight rubbed her temples. “This is... Goddess above, this is crazy. I can’t believe this. I mean, I can, because I’m sitting here and everything, but... the ponies I made friends with. They’re real. They aren’t just some simulation. This game of yours is screwing with their lives! You—”

“You still have one more question, Twilight Sparkle.” Atman rested its chin on its hands, hooves, whatever. “I know it’s just burning in your mouth, waiting to be asked.”

Twilight let the rest of her screams out in a hissing breath. Then, staring into her tea, she asked simply: “...Why? Why does the world work this way? You said that there are some things aren’t meant to be understood, but I can’t die accepting that. There are at least a million words in the Equuish language; use them. Explain it.”

Atman stared. “Twilight Sparkle, do you believe in fairness? That creatures should have the same opportunities, be given the same chances?”

“Fairness? Well, of course I do,” Twilight said with a small laugh. “Why do I think I punched you out last time? It’s unfair that I should get to live, while others die.”

“But is it?” Atman asked. “If the Rounds did not exist, this might be true. Some fillies might die at six, while others would live to one-hundred. But with this system, everyone gets a chance at being lucky! Here, you got to live, while little Taproot died. But next time, maybe things will be different! Maybe that little filly will get three chances. Maybe she’ll grow to be a beautiful mare, just like you.

“It’s a fair system, Twilight Sparkle. Everyone lives—and everyone dies. On and on until existence itself runs out.”

“Why does my luck have to make someone else suffer? Why can’t we just all have three lives?”

“Because then you wouldn’t cherish them!” Atman said, frowning. “When you died the second time, you said you would be more careful. If everyone had three lives, what do you think they would do? They would abuse and waste the first two, thinking they have another chance! It would be pointless!”

“You can’t prove that!”

“It doesn’t matter if I can prove it,” Atman said, turning up its nose. “This is how it works.”

“But you treat the creatures who aren’t having Rounds like trash!” Twilight shouted. She slammed her hooves on the table. “They’re individuals, with their own hopes and dreams and feelings. What about them, huh? Where’s their luck when it’s not their Round?”

Atman scowled. “If you don’t get it by now, then there’s no point in me explaining it to you. You just don’t want to understand.”

“There’s nothing to understand,” Twilight growled. “You’re a lunatic. Atman, or Goddess, or whatever you are: you’re a lunatic!”

Atman clapped. “I am.”

“I hate you!” Twilight screamed as the void wrapped around her legs. It crawled up her fur, slid past her teeth and down her throat. “I hate you! I hate you! You’re a murderer, a monster! An absolute mon—”

Twilight Sparkle vanished. As her voice faded away, so did the universe.





















Grasswhistler sighed and let her head sink into the sweat-soaked pillow. Her body shook with every shuddering breath. She gripped the hoof of the stallion at her side—he resisted the urge to pull away—and closed her eyes. The smell of blood and dirt hung in the air.

“Is it over, Dew?” she asked, her lips coated with spit. “Please tell me it’s over.”

“It’s over, Whissy,” Dew Leaf said, stroking her foreleg. “The nurse will be back in just a moment.”

“Oh, thank the stars,” Grasswhistler moaned. Her body begged for sleep, but energy still coursed through her brain. “I don’t know how you convinced me to move out to this dump. I’ll take a unicorn hospital over earth ponies anyday. At least unicorns know what painkillers are...”

She didn’t hear her husband’s response. Darkness coated her eyes, her ears. Her mother had warned her what twenty-two hours in labor could do; if only she had listened. She forced her eyes open, but looking around the small wooden hut this village called a hospital, all she wanted was to leave. Maybe a few minutes of sleep wouldn’t hurt—

“Whissy!” Dew Leaf said, shaking her back awake. “She’s here!”

Grasswhistler’s eyes shot open. She lifted her head and gasped when she saw a mare walk in, a swaddled filly resting in her hooves. The nurse hoofed the filly over gently.

Grasswhistler and Dew Leaf looked upon their child with wide eyes. She slept without a sound, and the slightest tuft of her brown mane poked out of the swaddling. Her olive coat was clear, clean. Everything about her, her entire existence, was fragile and delicate and peaceful.

“Oh, goodness,” Grasswhistler murmured, reaching up to brush a hooftip along the filly’s cheek.

“She’s beautiful,” Dew Leaf added, shaking his head. “Just... whoa.”

“Did we think of a name?” Grasswhistler asked. Her thoughts fuzzed over. “We did, right? Tell me we did.”

“We did,” Dew Leaf assured her, planting a kiss on her cheek. They watched as the filly began to stir, letting out the slightest of squeaks. Dew smiled. “Taproot. We decided on Taproot, remember?”

“Yes, that’s right.” Grasswhistler touched her nose to Taproot’s. “Welcome home, Taproot, my darling.”

Nopony noticed one of the support beams above them crack and splinter.

Atman prepared the first pot of tea.