Twilight Sparkle bursts through the library door, carrying naught but slumped shoulders and a drooping face. Spike, initially combing through a row of books on the shelf, turns to face Twilight’s panting, exhausted self. Puzzled, he approaches her, wary of the rainwater dripping off of her and splashing on the floor in torrents.

“Twi?” Spike asks, putting a claw to his mouth in worry. “You’re not looking too—”

Twilight blinks once, and soon after begins swaying in front of the library’s doorway. Spike lunges over and holds out his claws, and soon after they cushion her fall—her eyes close, and her muscles relax.

“T... Twilight, can’t...”

Twilight’s eyes open briefly, just enough for her to see the way as she lifts herself up. When she finds herself in the middle of the library, she collapses, and within moments a loud snoring escapes her.

Spike brushes himself off and walks to the front door, sighing as he closes it. “Let’s get you to bed, Twi. Can’t have you sleeping on the cold, hard floor.” He moves next to Twilight, and begins prodding her along. A snort comes, and a disgruntled Twilight reluctantly lifts herself up once more.

“Sorry, Spike,” Twilight says, shaking out of her trance, “it’s been a long day. You know about the volcano that erupted a few days ago in Western Equestria?”

“Think I heard something in the newspaper, yeah. Did you go there?”

Twilight nods her head, and walks over to the nearby window. Outside, it is still pouring rain. “There was so much destruction, so many families that needed guidance after their homes had been destroyed... and yet, I can’t get something out of my head. I should feel bad for them, but everything seems so normal to me.

“The ground I walked over was fertile, Spike. I could see where the lava had flowed from the volcano, and already new life was springing up in its stead. I know how this all works, but to see it happen and to consider its effects... it’s interesting.”

Spike curls his lips—pondering, he walks over and stands by Twilight’s side. “It’s something to look at for sure, Twi. It’s everywhere, not just at that volcano.”



At the top floor of Ponyville General, a stallion with coarse brown skin lies in a bed, staring into the deep blue eyes of the young mare standing next to him. He reaches out with a hoof, and it is met with her own. The two share several seconds of complete stillness; for a moment, it is eternal. The smile on the stallion’s face begins to fade and his eyes lower to the ground, as both ponies are quickly sent back to reality.

“I... I feel it in my bones,” the old pony says, ending with a bout of hoarse coughing. “It’s coming, just as I knew it would.” As he spoke, keeping his hoof glued to the other pony’s, she frowned and allowed a single tear to escape her closed eyes. “No, there is no need to cry. I’ve lived a good, long life. I can't end it smiling when you're crying, now can I?”

The mare sniffles and then nods her head. “N—No. I want you t—to smile forever Grandpa... but I don't want you to go!” she says, more rushed and loud than before. “Why are you leaving me?”

“Your father takes good care of you, doesn't he? You don't need an old stallion like me hanging around, sitting at home, taking up space and doing nothing.” Grandpa breaks from the mare's hoof and reaches to her face, just out of his reach—she moves closer, and he caresses her face. “I've said it a million times, but you have your mother's beautiful eyes...”

“Mommy...” The mare sniffs and blinks rapidly; under the bright hospital lights and through the layer of tears, the stallion's figure reflects in her eyes. “Mommy is still sick, grandpa. I need you here—”

“No, you don't,” Grandpa says sternly, reaching over with all of his strength to place both of his hooves on her shoulders. “You and your father are strong. Just keep... keep on...”

Grandpa's muscles relax, and his hooves slowly move back to his body to rest on his chest. His movements move at a snail's pace, his chest breathes in a miniscule amount of air and wheezes it out, and his eyes glaze over the ceiling as he looks up. The mare begins to breathe heavily and raises her two front hooves onto the bed. “Nino,” Grandpa says somberly, barely able to pronounce the word with clarity, “it's almost over. Please... please do not cry. I'd hate to see such a sight in my last moments.”

Once more, Nino nods her head. She brings her two hooves over his body, resulting in a loose embrace between the two. Grandpa reciprocates, and smiles as he closes his eyes. Tears flow out of Nino's eyes and land on her grandfather's neck, but his surprise is quelled when he sees the smile on her face.

“Please... just keep smiling, Grandpa,” Nino pleads. “I'll keep fighting for you.”

“And I'll be watching over you from the stars.”

Many moments pass, and the embrace is loosened. One pair of hooves falls and lands softly on the bed sheets, the other doesn't let go.







An infant foal lies, snoring ever so quietly, in a hospital bed. It is wrapped in soft, baby blue blankets. Two ponies, one a mare dressed in a wrinkled white gown and the other a stallion in a messy black suit, stands beside the newborn. They embrace once, then return their gaze.

“She’s beautiful, honey,” the stallion says. “Everything we could have hoped for.”

The mare smiles, then leans over to kiss the filly’s cheek. “I am so happy to finally meet you,” she says. “Haychuck is glad to meet you too. He’s your daddy!” She closes her eyes, and a sigh soon escapes her lips. A hoof is quickly put on her shoulder.

“It’s okay, Rosaline. She’s here, and nothing is going to change that.”

Rosaline nods her head, and caresses her daughter’s thin, stringy mane. She smiles and turns to Haychuck—a tear forms in her eye. Distressed, Haychuck rushes over to embrace Rosaline once more; this time, the grip is much tighter, and Rosaline fails to hold back a rain of tears sobbing their way into Haychuck’s shoulder.

“Everything is as it should be, there is no reason to cry.’ Haychuck tightens his grip. “You don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

A noise—exactly what, the two could not make out—comes from the crib. Rosaline’s tear-stained face brightens up, and rushes back to the bed to investigate. The filly’s eyelids were struggling to open, but a sliver of blue shines through and comforts her mother. Her limbs stretch and reach out, latching on to nothing but air.

Rosaline smiles and picks up her daughter with one hoof, partly supported by her shoulder. With Haychuck’s aid, she walks over to a nearby chair and sits down—soon after, she cradles the baby with both of her two hooves. The filly’s eyes open wider, and soon her bright blue eyes are clearly visible to both parents.

“She has her mother’s eyes,” Haychuck says. “It took so long... and yet, it was well worth the wait.”

Rosaline could not speak. All she can do is look—and smile—to the new life sitting cradled in her hooves. She could finally start over.



A disgruntled grey stallion, wearing a tattered, sweat-stained suit over his back, sits at the Applespice Café with a tall mug of apple cider in front of him and a weathered black hat angled down to cover his eyes. He takes a careful sip of his drink, taking care not to angle his cap high enough for his eyes to be visible.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” the waitress asks, wearing a polite smile next to the stallion.

“No, that will be quite alright,” the stallion replies, speaking in a vaguely foreign accent masked by a certain roughness that matches his attire. “This cider is enough for me, thanks.”

“Alright! Don’t hesitate to call me if you need me—I’ll be walking around the café for a while!”

As quickly as she had arrived, the stallion meets once again with an atmosphere of isolation—just as he wants it. The café is at a dull roar, most of its occupants keeping to themselves several tables away. The stallion takes another sip of his cider.

A light sound of pit-pattering scurries towards the pony, soon followed by a somber, quiet voice. Through the bottom of his cap, he can see his visitor’s hooves, four trembling brown limbs short enough to make up two of his own.

“E-Excuse me, sir,” the voice says, pausing and waiting until he receives a nod in reply, “b-but I am in need o-of something to eat or drink... please, please! I’ll take anything that you can spare!”

The stallion raises his cap ever so slightly, now catching sight of a young colt staring with deep, brown eyes. He peeks out to the rest of the café, where the rest of its residents stare with contempt at the lad. He pauses for a moment—the boy is not one that he normally talks to, let alone share stories with.

He’s perfect.

“My name is Cerulean, sir,” the stallion says, lifting his cap higher and pointing a hoof to the seat in front of him. “Please, have a seat.”

The young colt raises his eyebrows, and hesitantly stumbles over to the seat. “I... I’ve never been called a “sir’ before, sir. You don’t need to—”

“No, please. You’re my guest.” Cerulean lifts his hoof and shouts: “Waitress! I think a round of apple cider and a hot meal would do well for this young colt, here.”

“...My... my name’s Olive.” Olive blushes. “This is awfully kind of you, sir.”

“It’s my pleasure, Olive. Odd name, I’ll admit, but I’m sure it has a wonderful backstory.” Cerulean smiles a toothy grin. “I’m always willing to hear a story after a rough day.”

“What happened to you?” Olive asks. “You don’t sound much like us folks in the streets.”

Cerulean dusts off his shoulder and inspects his ragged clothing. “A scuffle, of sorts. I don’t normally get into fights or anything.”

Olive ponders for a moment, then smiles. “Maybe talking about it will make it easier to move on from today?”

“No no, I’d rather not bore you with my silly stories.”

“I insist, sir!”

“Do you know much about office politics, and are you at all interested in them?”

“...No,” Olive says, lowering his head.

Cerulean’s face begins to redden, and his muscles tense up. “I mean, why in Equestria should there be precedence to customer satisfaction over sales? Clearly we’re only out to get everyone’s money—why don’t we just get rid of the entire paper industry and just steal from everyone?”

“Sir?”

“Ah, I do apologize.” Cerulean takes a deep breath in, and lets it out slowly. “Like I said, been a rough day. It was a silly thing at the office, and my anger already got the best of me today when I met a few ruffians out on the street. Woke up this afternoon in the dirt next to a childrens’ playground—can you imagine that I didn’t have a single bruise on me? For an unlucky day, I seemed to have lucked out there. To be completely honest, I don’t remember it all too well.”

The waitress comes with a tall mug of cider, and quickly leaves and returns with a plate of warm mossgreens—grease-soaked mosses covered on a layer of mixed flower pâté. Olive’s mouth waters, but he quickly turns to the stallion seated opposite to him, busy taking a hard swig of his cider.

“Thank you, sir... but aren’t you going to eat something?”

After finishing his mug, Cerulean lays it down, licks his lips and smiles once more. “You seem like a nice kid. I underestimated just how tired I was a few minutes ago; I’m likely to crash at any moment. I’m afraid I’ll have to go home and sort some affairs out before hitting the sack for the afternoon—but, before I go,” he adds, digging a hoof into a suit pocket with a small hole sticking out the front, “I think you would enjoy this.”

Cerulean removes a small brown pouch, and tosses it over to Olive. Confused, the colt begins scratching his head as he stares at the bag—when he looks back up, Cerulean is walking with a confident stride out of the café, leaving only the bag and several golden coins on the table.

“...Huh?”

“Ooh, he left a nice tip,” the waitress says, collecting the coins from the table and laying a fresh newspaper on it. “Was he your dad?”

“No, ma’am. He seems like a kind soul.”

“Well, he paid for the newspaper. It’s all yours, I guess.”

The waitress leaves to another table, and the smell of the mossgreens soon overwhelms Olive. Excited, he digs in—he glances at the newspaper, though, and notices a familiar figure on the cover. He read: ‘Papcorp Executive Cerulean Shine Disgusted With New Management!’, and the figure in question made him raise both eyebrows.

The mossgreens were quickly forgotten as the bag of mystery lies on the table—what could an executive, with loads of money and seemingly oodles of values and morals, possibly have put in that bag?







A younger colt, wearing nothing but dirty rags and a cap improvised from a cooking pot, stood in the Applespice Café, breathless at his opportunity. He has been given a bag filled not with money, but with a simple key and a note detailing ‘451 Green Crescent’ on the front.

The colt was sitting wholly in shock. Had Cerulean been planning on giving this to someone the whole time? Why would he be doing this right after he quits his job?

The food forgotten, Olive rushes out of the café, desperate to find the address on the note. He looks, and he looks, and he soon finds a small house on a peaceful Vanhoover road matching the address a kilometer or so away from the café. Excited, he dashes to the door, fits in the key—a perfect fit. He looks around in excitement at his surroundings—the windows, the lawn, even the curtains inside the house lined with perfect nylon. A perfect fit for his family, and a new beginning rises from a bitter end.

Olive questions again why this all happened to him, but he knows.



Spike nudges his friend as they stare out the rain-spotted window, offering her a smile. “Things end, Twilight. I’m sure you know that, and it’s good that you take notice of what happens next.”

Twilight smiles, then turns back to the window. In a quick moment, she sees her own reflection staring back at her—through the blurred glass, she could see the Twilight outside appearing to frown. “A new beginning forms with it, Spike. A lot of things are related, and they might be happening far away from each other—but each has an end, and each has a beginning that comes just as quickly.”

Spike chuckles. “I think that’s enough philosophy for one day—sleep time. Weren’t you feeling exhausted and aching for sleep just a minute ago?”

Twilight smiles as she stares at her spotty reflection. She knows why.