“Everypony has fears. Everypony must face them in their own way. But they must be faced, or the nightmares will continue.”
—Princess Luna

“Do you remember what you said to me when first met, Morning Star?” Jinn asked, leaning up against his figure and pressing her snout under his chin. “You said it wasn’t proper, and then two Evenings later, here we are again.”

The two of them sat at the back of a large crowd. The inch-deep water of the cael rippled around them at the slightest movements. Masked by the shadows of a scaffold, the glint of their slit eyes was the only evidence they were there at all. The circular, earthen walls of the Tsairse stretched out and around to encompass them and the community as a whole, bottling them up and reaching towards the cusp that seemed so impossibly far away. But still, the Evening Moon crept over the hole above and shone down majestic light on them all, giving a brilliant silvery aura to the walls and the drapes and the tops of everyone’s heads.

The Tsair could be seen on his small platform in the middle of the gathered crowd, his voice hearty and strong as he addressed them all. Some Tsairzions watched quietly, while others were in idle conversation, simply enjoying one another’s company. The clinking of clay mugs and the occasional laughter could be heard over the chatter. Small fires plotted around gave the cael the same warm vividity of day but with the cool safety of night, and they also gave fresh color to the Tsair’s graying fur, and his fangs glistened with every word he spoke.

But they all went practically unnoticed to the two sitting the furthest away.

“How could I forget?” Morning Star said, and he nuzzled her in return. “The Evening communion was about to begin. I thought it unfortunate and downright wrong for there to be no room at the front for a mare like you, and that you would be stuck for the next couple hours by my side.”

“I think we both knew there was plenty of room to sit elsewhere,” she teased. “But do you know why I chose to risk my reputation and my very name to come back here? To be with you?”

The Tsair continued on with his obligatory spiel, highlighting community triumphs and tragedies for the past semiannual, while making promises and predictions about the next, boosting morale regardless of who was paying attention. He made sure to look over every one of the Tsairzions, from every stallion and mare, elder and infant alike. Then, finally, he passed his eyes to the scaffold in the distance, and his features briefly turned downward before moving on.

Morning Star caught a glimpse the gesture before turning back towards the love in his embrace. “Because you really like making your father angry?” he said and hummed.

She giggled. “Not even the Tsair could get in the way of what makes the Tsairse so special. Friendship, community...”

“Tradition...” he said, and for a shared instance they held their breaths. After the pause, he added, “I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you, actually.”

She smiled knowingly. “For choosing you?”

“For giving me a chance,” he said, and he kissed her on the tip of her nose. “I’ve always been an outcast, and in many ways I still am. But ever since you bothered to talk to me, ever since you found the moxy to withstand my presence, everyone else has come to not block me from all life. I honestly thought you were possessed when you wanted to sit by me all those Evenings ago.”

“It was the Evening Moon,” she said, her smile softening. She glanced up towards the cusp, where the same Evening Moon continued to crawl over them. It wouldn’t be long now before its image filled the space completely.

She sighed happily and rested herself against Morning Star’s chest. She said, “It’s no secret it gives life to all the Tsairse, or that it’s a symbol of hope and longevity. But we mustn't forget that that will only continue if we, like the stars beyond, live in harmony. So long as we all love each other, and don’t hate, I just know our future will be forever bright.”

There was another pause. The noise of the crowd was starting to dwindle and Tsair’s words started to register to them all.

He gave her a curious look. “So, you walked up to me not for my sake, but for your own?”

Jinn giggled again and kissed him on the chin. “Perhaps at first, but things quickly evolved from there, didn’t they? I wouldn’t change any of it, not even for a touch of the Evening Moon Herself. You’re one of a kind, Morning Star. I love you.”

He wrapped his leathery wings around her in an embrace and nestled his head against hers. “I know,” he said, “and I love you.”

With those words, everything finally settled down. The rest of the crowd silenced themselves and all attention was now centered straight on the Tsair right as his speech ended. Then, he murmured something unintelligible and lifted his hooves towards the cusp. The Evening Moon finally filled the entire cusp, lighting the whole Tsairse to its fullest. At last, the Evening communion could start. And so the Tsair began his sermon to all, and as was tradition, he led all the Tsairzions in prayer.

---

“What do you wish for?” Morning Star asked.

Jinn smiled, as if she were a breath away from answering, when it caught in her throat and she slowed to a stop. Her face twisted into curious thought as Morning Star stood right beside her, right outside of a massive hollow. Drapes centimeters thick hung over the entrance, certain on suppressing the harmful rays of noon. But it was night, so the Tsairse was alive and there were no rays to be had, so all the drapes did was muffle the chatter and laughter. Nonetheless, he voices of the Tsairzions inside the hollow leaked through, blurred together, and drifted over their heads. One Tsairzion walked out of the hollow with a clay mug in his hoof, blushing drunk, and he meandered on by the two and off into the cael.

Morning Star watched him go, seeing the ambient light of the stars above shimmer in the ripples. The gentle sloshing of the drunkard’s hooves became indistinguishable from all the other Tsairzions milling about their nightly lives.

Suddenly, Jinn grabbed his hoof and pulled him off into the cael. He jumped forward to avoid tripping, withholding the urge to catch himself with his wings.

“Where are we going?” he asked. He almost couldn’t hear himself over the loud splashing they were making as they hurried across the cael.

If Jinn responded, he didn’t hear. Her alabaster tail tickled his legs as she led him to one of the many trees scattered around the cael. The trunk sat a good meter above the shallow water, where its gnarly roots tangled with each other and dug into the ground, like the whole body was sitting above a porous hill. Moss clung to the exposed roots and small bushes pocketed the immediate area outside. He glanced up briefly at the branches to see if it was bearing any fruit tonight, but there was none he could see, or at least if it had it was all picked already.

Jinn ran straight up to the great tree and after taking a pause to look around, she practically dove into a bush directly adjacent to the tree. Morning Star was yanked down and again barely caught himself, and he was quickly dragged into the bush after her.

He reappeared on the other side on a patch of dry dirt. He found he had to crouch or else he’d bang his head on the underside of the roots, and that’s when he realized he was under the tree. The roots created a veritable cocoon that only let in the faintest amounts of light. Jinn was on her stomach, peering through an opening until she was satisfied nobody saw them run in here under this tree.

“Where are we?” Morning Star asked.

Jinn quickly hushed him, then said in a whisper, “Somewhere secret,” she said, turning back around to face him. “I found this place when I was filly, and whenever I wanted to get away from it all, I ended up in here.”

“Is this where you run off to?” he asked, glancing around the cramped place. The dirt suckled the water from his hooves.

“Sometimes,” she replied with a smile. “But it’s a secret. You can’t tell anyone about this place, okay?”

“Of course,” he said with a nod. “But uh, why’d you take me here?”

“Because I want to tell you what I wish for,” she said. She lifted a hoof as if to touch him but hesitated. “Even though we are together, there’s still some things that just aren’t proper, things that definitely wouldn’t okay for the Tsairse to know, let alone my father. But tradition is something Tsairs keep very close to heart, and it’s no secret he’s already allowing too much with us. Were he to know what I really feel...”

“I understand.”

She chuckled. “I know you do, but there’s more I want to say, more I want to do. But...” She sat up and cupped her hooves over her chest, her head just barely brushing against the ceiling. “We all have hopes and dreams, don’t we? Every Tsairzion. We live, laugh, and love. I’m sure we all dream big, beyond the limits of our imaginations, even. But there are things that just, realistically speaking, could never be achieved.”

Morning Star inched towards her and delicately wrapped a wing around her, like some delicate flower. Jinn’s smile return as sincere as ever, and she glanced down at the dirt and said, “I’m sure I’m not the first to think this, but ever since I first saw the Evening Moon as a young filly, I’ve always wanted to touch it. To reach out to our Goddess and feel Her tender caress. It’d be enlightening, you know?”

Morning Star smiled bittersweetly. “We feel Her grace every night—everyone. Even if the Evening Moon only comes every semiannual, you know She’s there every night. And in the end, when we move on, everyone gets to meet Her.”

Jinn snorted, stifling a laugh. “Well, yes, I know that. But that’s so...” She rolled her hooves. “...so plain, so inevitable. When we die, there is no sense of wonder. Everything becomes known and eternal. But what I want is to experience that mortal wonder, that mystification. I want to touch the Evening Moon while I’m still alive, still breathing, still able to be confused.”

“It’d be one heck of a journey,” he said in agreement. “A legendary feat. Though, I must admit, I don’t think that little wish is worth so much secrecy. I know I’ve dreamt the same before.”

“That’s just it. I want to touch the Evening Moon” she mumbled, turning her eyes further away. A second passed before she clarified: “But I’d have to leave and go beyond the cusp. And for that, my wish, is for you to take me there.”

Morning Star jolted upright and banged his head into the ceiling. His wings snapped shut, causing Jinn to flinch.

He stammered. “I-I don—can’t, I can’t do that!”

She shushed him. “I know that,” she hissed, “and I’d never make you.”

“I might be able to fly you around the Tsairse,” me muttered. “But even then, we’d be—”

“I know, I know,” she said, drawing her legs in. “You’re not allowed to fly.”

“Sometimes I do,” he was quick to say, but immediately felt a pang of regret in saying so. Yet he continued in a whisper and said, “In my hollow. Sometimes in the noon when everyone else is asleep, I just like to hover or bound between walls. There’s not much room, but there’s more than enough to get off the ground and move a bit.”

“Not like that, though.” She sighed. “I know you’ve thought about flying through the Tsairse. Goodness, I bet you’d be able to make it to the cusp.”

“But I can’t.”

“I know that,” she said. “Tradition. Panic. Omens. Whatever reason my father comes up with to keep your grounded. I wouldn’t put it past him to want to clip your wings, and I’m sure he regrets not having done so at birth. I mean, the rest of us don’t have them. No Tsairzion has ever.”

“My mother fought hard to prevent that from happening, bless her soul.” Morning Star glanced out through one of the slits in the tree roots, looking past the leafs of a bush, and into the rest of the cael. The shallow water was had lost its ambient, lightless black. And it was noticeably becoming quieter too.

“You’re one of a kind,” Jinn said, and she snuffled, slowly turning back towards him. “It feel bad for you, really. I think now, more than anything, all I wish is for you to fly.”

“And I wish we could stay here longer,” he said, gripping her by the hoof and pulling her into an embrace. She squeaked with surprise as Morning Star wrapped his wings around her and hugged her tightly. “This cycle’s ending and noon is coming,” he whispered, nuzzling her cheek. “I love you, Jinn. You’re so kind and selfless, but we need to get back to our hollows before the rays come.”

“There’s still a bit of time,” she whispered back. “I told you my wish. What’s yours?”

He smiled in return. “Mine’s already come true.”

---

“I figured I should warn you,” Jinn said, resting her hooves over the wooden railing and gazing up at the stars. “My father got into a heated discussion with some of the harder traditionalists, about us. They don’t like that we’re seeing each other.”

“That’s not exactly news,” Morning Star mused, glancing down towards the cael far below. They stood right outside the entrance to his hollow, on the relatively thin scaffold that wound around the inside of Tsairse like a screw. The incline was gentle and hardly noticeable because of the sheer width of the Tsairse’s diameter. Along the path, drapes hung over the entrances of every hollow, some larger than others, some closer to one neighbor than the one before.

Morning Star’s hollow was near the topmost portion of the scaffold, and being so far from the cael, it hardly ever got adequate repairs. The wood panels of the floor were dry and often creaked, the trusses that held it up were thin, and he always had the sense the railing would pull right out with much force at all. It made him anxious to see Jinn leaning on it so carelessly.

He placed a hoof on her shoulder to pull her back. “Jinn...”

She grabbed his hoof with hers and sighed. Slowly, she turned her eyes towards him. “I don’t think anything’s going to happen, but I... I think it might be best if we stay away from each,” she said, “for just a little bit. Until they cool themselves down.”

He frowned and tightened his grip on her hoof, and so did she. “Maybe we could talk to—”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said. “Their skulls are too thick for their ears, Morning Star! You know this. They’ll never listen, and the only thing that’d change would be tighter restrictions. We aren’t even allowed in each other’s hollows, for goodness’ sake! I don’t want to barred from you, I don’t want to never see you again!”

“It’s okay,” he said, and pulled her near.

“It’s not,” she grumbled, nevertheless she welcomed his embrace. “They fear you because you’re different and, quite frankly, have something no one else does. You have wings, and in all reality, I think what they fear the most is that you leave the Tsairse at any moment. Excuse yourself from this... this pit. I don’t think I’d blame you if you did.”

“As if I’d want to,” he said, failing to hide a smile. “I love you, Jinn, and I’d never leave you or the Tsairse behind. I’m as loyal to our Goddess as any other Tsairzion, and not even the Evening Moon Herself could drive me away from life and home. And honestly, I’ve always thought the cusp to be too far away, anyways.”

She snorted. “You’re too humble for your own good, you know that?”

“And you like to worry over nothing,” he said. “Watch, I bet you’re exaggerating this whole thing more than it has any right to be.”

“I’d bet my father’s watching us now,” she whispered.

They paused, toying with the thought between themselves without ever saying a word. As one, they turned their heads and looked over the side of the scaffold.

Down below, the cael water shimmered with faint reflections, rippling around as Tsairzions walked to and fro. Others walked along the scaffold, going between hollows or simply standing at the edge—much like they were—and making idle conversation with each other. But one particular section stood out, where a small group of figures stood huddled together, gazing back up at them. The Tsair’s bright silver mane stood out from all the others, and after another second, they quickly huddled back together and walked into the nearest hollow. And for just a moment, the ambient noise was noticeably louder.

Jinn sighed again and turned away. “I know my father will try to keep them at ease, but he’s the Tsair. I know it won’t take much to sway him.” A pause. “I’m sorry, Morning Star, but I can’t risk it. We’ll be better off if we stay away from each other, if only for a little while.”

He said nothing and sat down, looking distantly out across the Tsairse.

Jinn looked up and clicked her tongue. The stars were beginning to fade and the sky was losing its darkness. “It’s almost a new cycle. Noon’s coming,” she said. “I should get going to bed, and so should you.”

“I know,” Morning Star mumbled. His lips twitched and then he said, “I love you, Jinn.”

She giggled. “I know,” she said, and leaned for a brief kiss before departing.

Morning Star watched her go until she was out of sight. He continued to sit where he was until the walls became bright and a soft burning sensation fell on his head, and only then did he stand up and walk back into his hollow.

---

“Morning Star!”

Morning Star jumped awake in his cot, startled, and barely had the time to register Jinn as she leapt into his hollow and threw herself on top of him. His eyes were wide and she embraced him tightly, burrowing her snout into his blankets over his shoulder. He tried to push her off but his legs were stuck beneath her.

“Wh-what are you doing here?!” he yelled, awkwardly trying to squirm away, but her grip was set like iron. His wings found purchase, however, and he was able to pull himself into a sitting position with her hanging by his neck. Then the horrific scent of singed hair reached him, and he blanched. “Jinn!”

Not a second later, the drape that protected his hollow from the harsh rays of noon flew open and a cloaked figure burst into the hollow. Jinn squeaked as the violent light flashed over them, doing her best to cover him. Another figure tried to enter but the first quickly pushed him back outside and hissed some words. He drew the drape close and removed his hood, revealing a short, silver mane.

“Jinn,” the stallion began, but was immediately cut off.

She turned her head and barked, “No, father! I will not let you separate us!”

The Tsair stamped a hoof in the earthen floor. “Jinn, this is not up for debate!” he growled. “The Tsairse has spoken and—”

“No!” she cried again. “No they haven’t! The voices of a few narrow minds does not outweigh hundreds of Tsairzions’!”

“If you want to hold a vote, fine,” the Tsair grumbled. “But I can guarantee you everyone will see the same.”

“Because they’re afraid of being called outcasts for wishing different than what our people have adhered too for centuries!” She sniffled. “We all have different colored coats and eyes and the same teeth and pray to the same Goddess. Why can’t you just let us be?”

“Our tradition has not changed for hundreds of semiannuals, ever since the Evening Moon birthed us into Her earth. I will not let us risk our values because of some minor altercation.” He frowned. “I’ve allowed this to go on for too long already, and I see the error in doing so. You’ve become corrupted by this anomaly,” he added, waggling a hoof their way.

“Love is not corruption,” she said. Morning Star’s wings drooped, and he tried to fight her shaking and calm her, but it was of little use. Droplets formed in the corner of her eyes as she said, “Neither is our friendship or community.”

“Because our tradition is what holds it all together,” the Tsair said with a nod.

“Jinn,” Morning Star said, tugging at her ear. “It’s okay. I’m sure we can work something out.”

The Tsair said nothing to that, only held up his chin and steeled his gaze.

Jinn sniffled again, and with a little encouragement, released herself from Morning Star and rolled off the cot into her hooves. Morning Star stood up, draping a wing over her back to assist, but she gently pushed him away, hanging her head.

For just a moment, the Tsair scowled a little deeper. “Come,” he said, and he brought the hood back over his head. He reached under his cloak and retrieved another, and said, “There’s much for us to discuss.”

Jinn almost staggered forward, trepidatiously so, but Morning Star kept her going. “Everything will be okay,” he said, reaching for his own cloak hanging on the near wall.

“You’re staying here, Morning Star,” the Tsair said.

He blinked. “What?”

The Tsair flicked the extra cloak and tossed it over Jinn, pulling her his way. “This is between me and my daughter,” he said. “It’s none of your concern. I’ll be back to talk with you later.”

“What?” he asked again, dumbfounded. “How is this none of my concern?!”

“What’s between me and my daughter has nothing to do with you.”

“Father...” Jinn murmured.

Morning Star frowned. “What you mean, this has nothing to do with me?!” he exclaimed. “This has everything to do with me!”

“You will stay in your hollow until I say otherwise!” he barked. “You’d be best to go back to bed.”

“No!” Morning Star said, running up to him. “Sir Tsair, with all due respect—”

His next word fell deaf as his voice was torn from his tongue with a heavy smack, and he stumbled backwards and almost lost his footing.

Jinn gasped and reached up to pull down the Tsair’s raised hoof. “Father!” she yelled. “How dare you—”

“Quiet,” he hissed at her, grabbing her hoof so hard she squealed. He glared back at Morning Star, showing his fangs, and he said, “You will stay here until I say otherwise. Is that not clear?”

Morning Star rubbed at his jaw. The dizziness in his head quickly subsided and he turned up to glare at the stallion, rising up onto his hooves. His wings slowly expanded to full length. “Sir Tsair, let me speak.”

The Tsair said nothing and turned to leave, dragging Jinn behind. He grabbed the drape and was about to walk straight through it.

She squeaked. “Morning Star!”

His wings clapped and he bolted after them. “Sir Tsair, please—!”

A hoof. Thick cloth. Darkness marred by a stinging, pressing red. The world collapsed on top him.

He tripped. Wood breaking with a loud snap. A cry. Open air.

And he fell.

It was all over so quickly he could barely register what had actually happened. All he knew was that he was falling, and his first thought was that it should not have been taking this long. His second thought was a click that brought forth a surge of adrenaline.

His wings fought to expand but he found them ensnared. The heavy drape that had hung over his hollow now entangled him, and he battled with it as he tumbled through the air. A burning sensation bore into him wherever it could as he tore at the drape with his hooves, and an unprecedented light did its best to blind him. But he shoved the pains aside and found a gap in the drape, and threw it off his head breathlessly.

One of the cael’s trees rushed at him. He tried to yell again but his lungs were spent, and he slammed his eyes shut and threw his hooves over his face. There was a resounding series of snaps as he plummeted into the branches, breaking and tumbling his way through them all, until he hit a particularly fat one. He slammed into it, bounced off, and fell the rest of the way into the cael.

He ended up cocooned inside the thick drape, which now protected him from the unrelenting rays of the noon. Dirty water seeped into it and soaked his chest. He moaned, rocking his head gently back and forth until he accidentally submerged his face into the shallow water and gagged. The jolt caused him to slam his face into the muddy bottom before he rose and gasped for breath.

So much adrenaline was surging through him he couldn’t tell if anything was broken. But he didn’t care about that, nor about the cuts and bruises he undoubtedly had. He reached up and pulled the drape off of him, and again faced the wrath of the noon rays. And again, he pushed himself to bear them and rose unsteadily onto his hooves.

He hunched over and greedily inhaled the air. The cael water rippled all around him but gradually came to settle, and he was met with a curious look: his face, but covered in mud. But he ignored himself and peered deeper into the reflection, and saw the cusp above burning angrily at him. He squinted, and saw the broken railing off the topmost section of the scaffold.

His wings twitched.

Thinking quickly, he grabbed the water-soaked drape and threw it over himself. Its coolness suppressed the stinging rays, and when he looked up, his newfound mask also did its best to protect him. But his wings needed room to move. A weight formed in his throat and he swallowed it, and after a few experimental flaps, he lifted himself into the air. Slowly, he rose, keeping himself tall and slender and holding the drape over his head.

Jinn, the Tsair, and a few other cloaked figures were already a third of the way down the scaffold. They immediately spotted him. The figures started shouting, shouting things the Goddess, the stars, about how what they saw before him was clear evidence of whatever claims they had, and about their own safety and tradition.

It all fell deaf to Morning Star. Thoughtlessly, he launched himself at the group, to the gentle figure trying to push herself to him, and the figures responded by brandishing wooden poles and lashing out.

He dodged their swipes and flew beneath the scaffold. Another thought and he threw himself at one of the trusses holding the scaffold upright. Again, and the whole section swayed. The voices shouted again as he slammed into the truss a third time, and the whole thing buckled and snapped. The path above collapsed like a trap door, spilling the figures onto the level below.

Bodies screamed and tumbled and hissed with burning. Morning Star deftly swooped down and plucked a slender figure from the air before she could hit the scaffold, and spared no time darting to the opposite end of the Tsairse.

He lowered them both onto the scaffold, gripping onto Jinn and a tight embrace. Before she could even get a word in he pressed his lips into hers until his breath left him.

“Jinn,” he rasped. “I’m—”

“Save it,” she rasped, wiping the already caked mud from his face with a warm smile. Her next thought was interrupted by the scaffold shaking with a surgency of hooves. She repositioned her cloak and said, “They’re coming and there’ll be no saving us. We have to move.”

“Where do we go?” Morning Star asked, helping her stand. “The only safe place for us I can think of is—”

“Up.”

They stared at each other. The hoofsteps grew more profound and the shouting was returning.

Jinn smirked. “Think you can get my wish after all?”

“I don’t know how far away the cusp is,” he said, and he gulped. “But we don’t have a choice, do we?”

She kissed him before Morning Star leapt into the air, awkwardly holding the drape above his head. Jinn precariously crawled over the railing, and with some words of encouragement, jumped, and he caught her.

There was a furious shout from the group of figures but they were already away. Morning Star beat his aching, burning wings furiously and flew upwards, all four of his legs wrapped around Jinn and hers around his, holding onto each other for dear life. Jinn tried her best to help ease support the drape, but as they steadily rose within the untouched walls of the Tsairse, it became clear to her it was too much.

Morning Star blinked when the weight fell off of him, and then again he tensed with intense pain. His fur hissed and stringed him, but it was fleeting as Jinn quickly tossed her cloak over both their heads.

“I can’t see the cusp,” he rasped, staring up at the fabric blocking his view.

“Doesn’t matter,” Jinn said, and she kissed him again. “Just keep going. You can do it.”

Minutes passed by excruciatingly slow. They eventually came to rise alongside the walls of the Tsairse, with Jinn’s back against it as she occasionally pushed back with a leg, just to make sure it was still there. Morning Star’s wings beat ceaselessly, but by the smell he knew they were dying. He didn’t think how long they’d hold them aloft. He just kept pushing himself until he couldn’t anymore, when the pain became too much and the ligaments under his skin burned apart.

He cried and Jinn screamed, and they both tumbled over. Something soft pushed into his side and then he blacked out.

---

He slowly came to beneath the trunk of a grand tree, with branches that expanded overhead impossibly so and were so thick, he couldn’t see any of the sky. Blearily, his vision returned, and he saw no walls confining him. There was no cot under his back, but instead cool and refreshing grass. He found he was so fatigued he couldn’t move and gazed out, where an expansive, rolling field of grass raced out in all directions.

He glanced up and saw the Evening Moon, and a sea of stars that took his breath away. The Evening Moon shined at him with immense comfort, whispering winds into his ears that he was safe.

Morning Star slowly tilted his head and found Jinn at his side, exhausted and fast asleep. The only thing he could think to do was blow her a kiss, before exhaustion overcame him and he joined his love in sleep.