The sound of raindrops fills the forest. Each clear crystal drops from heaven, soaks into the soil. A calm stretches out in all directions. A light breeze stirs the fabric of my clothes. The world around me seems to empty into nothingness.

In these years short after war, we wallow in our apparent frailty. Blood-stained hooves traced trails of burgundy, fleeing wraiths’ intangible wrath. And we asked: How long must we be subject to every hour’s cascade of arrogance? How long must we enact the same violence over the same violet path?

I look over the white grasses and gray trees. Black pine cones smolder on the branches. The blues of the sky have peeled back, revealing a jet backdrop. Silver wisps snake across it. A stench clings in the air, sulfur and smoke.

I walk to a bleached trunk, stiff grass crackling beneath my feet. Reaching out to touch the papery bark, I stop myself. With a quick glance left and right, I turn my back on the tree and walk away. Not yet.

The trample of our enemies made ample jovial commotion, yet the thunder of their forces, the immanent destruction of the moon’s hope, clouded every morning horizon. To what deep burrow, to what new land of spring clover and honeycomb could we run? Now to deepen the Styx’s crimson rivulets is the only reason we wish to raise the sun.

The strap of my banjo's carrying case bites into my shoulder. My hand reaches out to adjust it. An ache runs down my spine.



I find myself walking. The images of the forest pulse and fade. I don't know why I walk. The leaves flicker. I never know. Shards of light cut through the air, illuminating chalky dust stirred in the air by my breath.

Roads, rivers of dust and gravel, wind and intertwine. Memories shimmer in the haze of heat. Lifeless trees give way to ashen buildings, gutted; faint traces of habitation all but wiped clean away.

With a lick of the lips, I press on.

---

A lack of harmony between ponies will aid their escape.

"So cold..."

Cadance looked at the tombstone. Even under the shade of an oak tree, the sun beating down on the green grasses, something cold grew in her. A cruel smile twisted her lips.

The Order of the Day is its opposition; Disorder shall have its place in the halls of Sovereign. Each force that withholds the great bodies of the skies, pillars of ancient origin, remove from this world all our fleshly pain. Invocation of ruin will lead only to ruin.

"Cadance?"

She glanced over her shoulder. Celestia frowned behind her. She took a step forward.

"Yes?" Cadance turned back to face the grave.

"It isn't healthy to brood over this all the time. There was nothing you could have done."

"Don't you think I know that? If I can't save those I love, what's the point of being its personification?" She began to walk away.

"It wasn't a matter of 'saving' him, Cadance." Celestia bit her lip. She hardened her glare. "You knew from the beginning. He knew too. Stop blaming yourself for what you have no control over. Such a guilt complex is unbecoming of a queen."

"A queen?" Cadance sneered. "Don't think you can throw on me all the responsibilities you and your sister didn't want to deal with." She narrowed her eyes.

"You know better than any pony why we couldn't. Don't you understand that you're the hope of Equestria?"

"Equestria needs to pray for a new hope, then." She trotted off before Celestia could reply.



"She's not herself." The window curtains of their private meeting room swayed in a faint draft.

"But what can we do, Sister?" Luna furrowed her brow in thought. "This thing is eating her, weakening her—" She paused. "Killing her."

"We can't." Celestia put a hoof to her sister's shoulder. "This is a fight Cadance must fight alone."

"What kind of attitude is that to have towards your own protégé?" Her tone harshened. “Are we not the Sun and the Moon?" She lowered her voice. "There is something we can do. Surely?"

Celestia looked over her sister.

"Possibly."



"Princess Cadance?" The gray guard knocked again on the door to Cadance's personal living quarters. "There's a summons for you from Princesses Celestia and Luna. Can you open up? Please?" His armor clung more heavily. "Cadance?"

The door opened a crack. "Yes?"

"Follow me."

Our temples lie in bloody ruin by the hands of Evil’s jealously. The priests of Soleil cowered behind their brother’s impiety. No god nor demon nor beast of burden can escape this reality, save through death, the only remedy.

Echoes of small talk bounded down the halls from the congregation of ponies in the throne room.



Death. War. Famine. Suffering. There was something to be said of those who live with death breathing down their necks. There was no greater terror than pain. Or fear. Or love. Maybe it said something about their endurance—our endurance. No matter, whatever truisms came our way, we will rise.

Malignitas has sent his hordes of Nástrond, against whom all Sovereign’s hosts have no power. Bonds, runes and benedicts of unearthly origin they’ve gone beyond. Reveries of peace wilt, the last pedals of the Dragon Heart’s flower.



"How dare you!" She was screaming now. The court of ponies looked on with rapped attention. "You say I'm a corrupting influence. You make a mockery of me." Her eyes hardened. Tears welled. "Betrayal?" Cadance stomped a hoof. "No. No more. I won't allow this." Light, tinged pink, emanated from her horn. "I'm taking it back."

"Cadance!"




The keystones of our mortality, our sentience, are held in hands, puppets of a Heart whose intentions can we ever know? Oceans of widowed tears stretch across our lands. Know this Heart our woe?

---

Weariness takes hold of me. The road leads nowhere. Pain shoots across my forehead. Sitting down, I press my temples until the dizziness calms. The road—

None dare approach to offer aid, fear chills every spine. Every gain is now a loss, vaporous knowledge dissipates. Each life seeks its fire and each divines his allotted sign; all pray to turn the cruel twine of our fates.

No. I'm in the palace garden. Trees and flowerbeds spread out around me. Specks of green and brown drip from the trees. Warm and cool starbursts of color radiate from the brittle flowers.

I stand. The colors drain from the scenery. White noise surrounds an umber moon. A buzzing cuts through me. The entire area is alive with a cacophony of noise. The world throbs white once before fading to semi-darkness. The darkness shifts red, shifts blue, shifts back to monochromatic contrasts.

Feeling my way round the garden, I stumble upon a small fountain and bird bath. The water within is completely clear. Flat yellow sandstone makes up the base of the fountain. Water visible only by the lines of refracted white light upon it jets from crystal fountainheads.

After a moment of hesitation at the sight, I continue on my way. The garden gives way to the large, inky doors of the main hall. Laying my hand on one, I feel warmth flowing beneath the sizzling wood. An odor of decay and must surrounds it, causing me to sneeze.

I give it a tentative push. The door groans. The seared wood turns into rivulets of ash and dust. Clouds of dust billow around me. Squinting, I peer into the hallway beyond. Tiles of quartz and sandstone line the spacious interior. Broken pieces of furniture and torn fabric lie strewn on the ground, forgotten by life and time.

The overturning of epochs immemorial shattered the shields and reinforced garrisons designated for the safekeeping of history’s many follies. Each memory too dire or irreconcilable to our comfortable thinking died an undeserved and unobserved death in the falling archive’s throes.

With a weary cough, I step through the makeshift entrance, dusting off the debris from my wrinkled clothes. It's a slight jog down the overly-long corridor. The remnants of chandeliers idle on patinaed chains, twinkling wryly. The sound of my steps echoes across the walls and ceiling.

An onyx griffon roars in silence. It's poised in purple regalia, gems and scarves. It sits, a sentinel of the ages, guarding the doors to the throne room. After a quick glance in its direction, I step up to the faded golden doors.

I loose the band around my torso and shrug it off. Holding the case of my instrument in my hands, I open wide the doors to the throne room.

Shards of color overlay white tile and carpet. A ghastly mockery of a sun beams outside, shining brightly into the stained glass windows. Two tall alabaster seats stand cast in shadow and pale light.

Is there point to our prolonged stoicism? Is Lunacy worth the requisite toll of soul? How long till Anoia’s Pantheon hears the sounds of our reverence? Spirit our nightmares to your castle hidden in shadow and sky.

I stride to the two monoliths. Ancient power surges around them. I stare in awe. A terrible knowledge broods beneath the surface. After a deep breath, I remove my instrument from its case. Holding it by its teak neck, I bring it to my chest with a sigh. Warmth fills my gut. A coy smile parts my lips.

A quick strum, the ground beats and moves. Three quick notes, a speckling of color lights the thrones. I try a sonorous cord, then a melancholy one. Light and shadow move with quickening pace. The strings become prisms; tendrils of color radiate away, wrapping around columns, furniture, and crawling over the walls and floor.

The alters of our forerunners have fallen to disrepair, disuse. Life no coin or god-like effigy can proliferate nor produce floods our inner sanctuaries, crawls into our citadels. Its souls induce our desecrated priests to their power’s misuse.

Another smattering of notes summons blue and yellow ribbons of ether. Two great unicorns take form, opening wide their eyes and stretching out their wings. More ribbons of vibrant color swirl down to the ground. Winds kick dust into the air. Dusts coalesce into ponies of every color, shape, and size.

The blue and red-violet eyes of the winged unicorns stare down at me. There is trace of recognition in that stare. It accuses. It questions. It wishes for a moment to accept this stranger.

The fingers plucking the strings unwind in golden light. I spare a single tear as a power rises from my heart, glowing, unfurling, reviving. Steel and gold sparks mark my passing. My instrument dissipates into curling rings of smoky mist. The golden glow expands from me at incredulous speeds. I imagine it wrapping around the world, a flaxen aurora. Bright, bright white light consumes my vision.

Crowns are cast away to usher our autonomy, O Death of Monarchs! We’ve etched our motivations into every banner and banter imaginable. Wind’s tide and ocean of sky, with your favor the weary traveler embarks. Shall our quest’s success your fickle cast of lots enable?

A fire catches in my soul. It burns outward, unwinding my chest, my arms, my fingers as they pluck the strings of my banjo.



The apparition disappears just as quickly as it had come. Luna and Celestia exchange glances of anxiousness and excitement. The court ponies fidget and whisper at the sudden silence.

The princess on trial stands still for a long moment before looking down. Locks of yellow, magenta, and purple hair fall around her eyes.

"You're right," she manages to say through gritted teeth, tears, and tightly closed eyes. A trembling travels up her forelegs. "I'm sorry."

Celestia looks down at her niece. Her uneasy frown fades into a smile. "You're forgiven." She reached out a hoof and placed it on Cadance's shoulder.



Magi, ether of Mind and Magic, nexus of elements, guides the noble unicorn, horn fused in alicorn. Tapestries of monsters mythical vast Magi rents. Magi grants us a mind’s use, under her we the quick are born.

Ribbons of purple and red light and dust swirl within the hollow tree. Pages shuffle around and rebind themselves. Shattered window panes mend in their frames. The library is restored.

Twilight looks around, slightly dazed. Spike dozes in a corner. A bird or two tweets outside.



"Only the most fabulous, the most dazzling, the most exotic will do! I know. I know!" Rarity stands in her boutique, consulting with a client. The older mare regards Rarity's clothing line with a skeptical raise of the eyebrows.

"Hm, indeed. Now, what are your finer garments made of?" The mare adjusted her spectacles.

"Oh." Rarity gave a nervous laugh. "Everything from silk to cotton, and only the best of the best. Each piece is chic and unique."




Terr, ether of Earth, toil and strength of Heart, guides those with potent will, honorable ponies. Their fates within Terr earth ponies do chart. Terr must their offerings appease.

A broken gramophone pieces itself back together again. Red, yellow, and blue balloons regain their colors. Wisps of pink dust float for a moment. Peppy music plays. Cake and presents and explosions of confetti follow. The murmur of guests overlays the music.

"Party!" Pinkie Pie dances across the room, awkward stares following her.

"Thanks again for doing this for me, Pinkie," says a pegasus pony by the name of Cloudchaser. "I appreciate it."

"What? It was no problem!" She tilts her head to the side. "Parties are always my pleasure."



Leaves rustle in the wind. Emeralds and beiges and browns drip back into their spots. Apples regain their succulent redness.

"Ha!" At a stern buck from Applejack, a pelting of apples fall into its bin. She takes a breath and wipes the sweat from her brow. The green of her eyes flash. It's been a long day. She sighs and continues bucking.



Pelagia, ether of Wind, Soul and the freedom of flight, guides ponies paced by the beat of storms brewing. Under constellation Pelagia will Pegasi find their plight. Durst you tempt to your side this sign darkening?

The sun shines. Clouds billow. Colors and radiance explode into existence. With a flap of her wings, Rainbow Dash rockets across the skies. Their cerulean returns to them. Shards of light strike around Dash, breaking into more colors.



"If you don't eat, how do expect to get big and strong?" Fluttershy's voice settles back into her house. Angel stares up at her. The other animals are happily enjoying their own meals, save Angel, who refuses to eat. "Please?" The wind whistles through the trees outside.



Igni, who wrought the Dragon Heart, is ether of Fire and wealth beyond that on the Plutonian shore. Igni holds clout akin to Death’s deepest desire. Never align your path against this mark’s war.

Princess Cadance sits in her bed, contemplating the yellow and pink rug in the center of her room.