Chapter 19: Enter the New Era

There Celestia stood, at the top of Central, her whole body burning with magic. She was nothing but a large white light now, too bright to even glance at, and yet Caughlin could not pull herself away. She could feel herself going blind, but yet there she was, her eyelids torn between instinct and will, her pupils shrinking the smallest they had ever been as they tried to pick out the last traces of her foal - or what was left of her.

"Ultima."

The aura that engulfed her distorted Celestia's voice; it came out much louder, more lower, and more crackly than her already imposing tone, like static electricity.

Caughlin's throat had long been drained of words or the strength to deliver them. Her hooves were rooted in the ground; her mind was blank; the heat from the spell was searing her face, but she didn't care. She did not even have the spare thought to attempt to will herself to move.

Everything had gone wrong, and there was nothing she could do anymore but watch.

The burn of spent adrenaline kept Caughlin's mind fogged as they shuffled through the list of post-victory priorities. The first was what to do with Discord. Fuhrich suggested cautiously that he be carted back, escorted by half of the team, to provide twenty-four hour supervision at all costs. Nopony opposed. The ponies of a stronger disposition salvaged beams and hinges from the guillotines and crafted a wagon; Caughlin would have appreciated the ingenuity and engineering skills, if not for the double whammy of nausea and weariness her body was reeling from. There was something more stirring underneath the sickness, but she was past caring. All she wanted to do was get a drink, a long, hard drink, and pass out.

There had also been discussions about what to do with the survivors. This she tuned out almost flawlessly. Celestia was there, and so was Luna. Doubt regarding their judgement would have to come later; as wrecked as their magic and bodies might be, at least their souls were intact. They would surely oppose taking the easy way and disposing of them, as Fuhrich would certainly suggest.

Nightmare Moon. Nightmare Moon! Luna had installed something like that in her, something possibly irreversible, and behind her back, too. Since when? Caughlin cursed herself for being so naive. Her coma, her time off, her days spent on basic work, all of it was carelessness, a time for Fuhrich to act out every whim and fancy of his. Celestia's indoctrination, and now this.

Luna was pacing about a lot, Caughlin noted. The aura about her thrummed incessantly, and with it, the air of irritation. It was in her look and in her pace. It could be because of the release, for there was no other plausible reason; whatever the case, it made Caughlin annoyed too, and guilty for feeling annoyed.

Her foals had just saved Equestria. There would be no more death and suffering, no more scalpel showers or barren lands. Discord was sealed away, and the potential for the future was unlimited. But the grand opening of the new era wasn't dispelling her worries in a grand beam of light and hope that pierced the heavens, nor was it the overwhelming river of pride that drowned out her fears.

She was drained, irked, and for some reason, filled with cold emptiness.

There were plenty of good reasons for that, if she looked hard enough. Discord easily made up half of those. It would be so easy to just pin the blame on him; she had the scientific knowledge to back it up. The things he had done to her mental state, the cold touch of his claws, it could all very well add up to her current situation. But that was turning a blind eye to the truth, a truth that she would figure out when she had the energy to - if she wanted to - a truth that she was not sure she wanted.

It was their choice. Nopony had forced them to do what they did, she knew. Celestia and Luna were all grown up, and had acted accordingly. They had weighed the benefits and disadvantages of their options, surely, before agreeing to - she couldn't think of it any other way - sell their souls, and it wasn't like Fuhrich of all ponies had strong-armed them, because he couldn't. They were the two most powerful magic powerhouses on the surface of the earth.

They shouldered great power and now great responsibility, no doubt to increase as the days went by, and the world was to be reconstructed. They would go on to spearhead great things. It was their destiny. They were living it here and now.

And yet...

Perhaps, it was precisely because it was their own choices that landed them in where they were now. Luna, with that... thing inside of her, and Celestia, under Fuhrich's command...

No matter. That was unimportant.

They were flying now, at least technically. Caughlin had been bundled into a stretcher, supported by two pegasi. She wasn't complaining. She would probably drop out of the sky after the first stretch, if left to her own emptied reserves. She tried to relax, staring at the gloomy skies above, until the weight of it all finally crashed through the bastion of her mental state and rendered her poor mind unconscious.

For the rest of the trip, Caughlin did not leave her airborne hammock. She slept most of the way, for a given value of sleep; the restless lethargy, as much of an oxymoron as it sounded, kept her in what she recognized as a form of personal hell. She would dip in and out of awareness to hear the flapping of her bearers' wings, the gentle hush of wind, the rustle of mane as she curled and straightened her back, and then, after hours, not hear. She would feel cold and shiver, but never sneeze - she did not drink enough water for that, on account of usually not being awake when rations were handed out. How the rations were given out was a point of mild interest; as far as she could tell, they had never landed. This was true. Fuhrich, Celestia, Luna, and the severely injured were to head to what remained of the Order without stopping, borne on the backs of a small force that replenished its strength by changing shifts with fluid ease. Caughlin noticed as much without being told. After all, when the bright red mane tickling one's hooves vanished the next day in favour of a sensible aquamarine crew-cut, there wasn't much explanation aside from a change in shift.

The pegasi who carried her spoke little. That was fine. Caughlin didn't have much to say.

Even so, rest was rest, and Caughlin felt well enough to fly for the last leg as the city outline came into view. She did not fly with the alicorns who led the way, but opted to hover above her stretcher, just in case she were to cramp up or somesuch.

As the deserted city came into view, so did a rippling, murmuring, blinking sea of ponies.

There had been a moment of silence as they landed, and Fuhrich stepped forward, flanked by the alicorns, to receive one of the ponies from the crowd, who had extended a hoof. There had then been cheering, a thunderous storm of whooping, shouting and stomping. There had been flowers. There was been water. There had been hugging and kissing and the stench of sweat. It was, as with almost everything, all a blur when Caughlin tried to recall it.

Later on, via the first newspaper ever to be established in Equestria, Caughlin would read the exchange Fuhrich had had with the pony, a certain Mooncast who had been Acting Mayor of Central in his absence. The short of it was that the ponies of the Order had decided to stay and await Fuhrich's return, and would have no other leadership but him to rebuild the world. Moonshine passed the reigns graciously, and was awarded the post of Assistant Mayor. The second page was devoted to Fuhrich's own speech, which he gave not ten minutes after landing. It was everything a returning speech should be. It mourned losses. It highlighted victories. It promised hope, redemption, the future, and called for all ponies to rally in unity. "The best," Fuhrich had so emotionally bellowed, voice trembling like the las leaf of autumn, through the speakers which carried his words all across the city, "is yet to come."

The cafe was well-aired, possibly due to the gaping hole in the roof or the multiple smaller ones in the windows. Most of the glass, plaster and thatch had been swept away, though the ground was still grainy with sawdust. Amazingly, the electric fan still worked; wobbling dangerously, grimy with black mould, its blades swung from the ceiling, casting a very localized tornado upon the centre of the space. Between the counter and the rows of ale kegs was the shopkeeper, wiping ceramic bowls. He cast an eye toward them every now and then, but was largely ignored.

Caughlin took a deep sip of coffee and sighed. It was the first one she had had today, and she needed it.

"You look pleased," snorted Pickedum, taking a gulp of her own, only to slam the mug back on the table hastily, tongue out. "Argh!"

"Too hot?" smiled Caughlin, as her vision brightened, and she took in the streams of sunlight coming from the closest window, which was nothing more than a frame in its current state.

Pickedum nodded and began stirring the mug with a vengeance. "Since when did you have a tongue of steel?" she asked. "You used to demand your soup at 35 degrees Cel, no more."

"Since a long time ago," said Caughlin, clenching the mug. It was comfortingly warm. "Lost most of my taste some years back." She took another sip and raised an eyebrow. "Village coffee's one of the few things which I actually can taste."

"Oh dear," said Pickedum. "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," said Caughlin, waving a hoof. "Stuff happens. Either way, I've learnt to really appreciate the spirited foods in life. Like chilli, that stuff's great."

"Gosh," said Pickedum. "I'll be sure to ask the cook to put in extra salt for you for dinner."

"What? No. That's not necessary. Extra salt's bad for you. Raises the blood pressure. I'm sure your mayor duties give you enough of that." Caughlin finished the cup and waved at the shopkeeper, who nodded. "Although you're doing a fine job, it seems. Everypony seems happy."

She turned to look at Pickedum, who was peering through her spectacles as if trying to read data off her face.

"What?" asked Caughlin warily.

"What?"

"No, what?" Caughlin shook her head. "No, but seriously. The ponies seem to be happy, everypony's got a roof over their heads and working in the fields. It's a good job as far as I can tell."

"But the storm-"

"Ah." Caughlin nodded sagely. "Did anypony get hurt?"

"Well, no," admitted Pickedum, "but they might have! I mean, I should've made precautions for it, an emergency fund, pegasi patrol, or something!" Her eyes were now fixed on the bark-like table surface, and her breaths became sharp. "The Gentles' roof is completely gone, half the cows have ran off, and we don't have enough gold to buy the materials..."

"Pickedum," said Caughlin, reaching over to lay a hoof on her shoulder. It made her uncomfortable, but she tried to swivel both her eyes to meet her gaze. "That's all right. You can fix it. That's what you're here for, remember? It's just a matter of time. It's no problem."

There was a napkin next to her refilled cup. The shopkeeper was already back behind the counter.

Caughlin picked it up, examined it quickly, found a passably clean corner and dabbed the mare's eyes with it.

"You've handled worse," soothed Caughlin. "Storms come, but they also go. Organizing things is what you're good at, and your town needs you. So don't worry about it. I know you can do it."

"Caughlin..." sniffed Pickedum. Her shoulders jolted with every sob. "There's... there's families, and f... foals, and winter's coming s-s-soon, and if we don't get the walls patched up, they'll f-freeze..."

"Which is why you need to fix it." There they were again, back in the underground laboratory, after a particularly hairy experience with Discord, or a failed experiment, or a nasty accident; there was the voice, calm, warm, gentle, believing. "You can do it. I know you can."

For a few moments, Caughlin sat there, stretched across the table, rubbing Pickedum's shaking shoulders gently, sniffing the coffee, listening to the dying sniffles. This much had not changed - poor Pickedum, ever both bright and dreary.

"I'm sorry," murmured Pickedum at last. "You came to visit, and I end up like this..."

"No," said Caughlin. "There's nothing to apologize about." She gave a little pained smile. "What's family for?"

After morning tea, Pickedum rushed off to the office to draw up a set of recovery plans, and Caughlin wandered around, soaking in the sights. Neighbury was, like its partner initiatives, a strategic town along the Steelbone mountain ranges, fairly young in its establishment as the nation of Equestria expanded its borders. It was a mining town which produced coal and iron ore; its residents were the poor but honest kind, large, burly stallions weighing a hundred stone and their wives and children. The little details of the town fascinated Caughlin: for instance, the doors were taller and wider; the walls were often hewn stone, a byproduct of mining; the air was slightly smoky as lunches were cooked; children played outdoors all day, wrapped in rough cloth. The hail from the storm had melted completely, leaving the ground muddy and pocked with pools, the surface rippling every so often as thin, stick-like insects dipped in and out of them.

It was hard to believe that all of this had once been grassy hills, but that was progress.

Pickedum had been the spearhead of said progress, and it warmed Caughlin's heart to see how far she had come. From raising the first houses to digging the first mines, and all of the logistics - disgustingly complicated logistics - in between, Pickedum had the first and final say, and a good deal of the running about too. She had done all her work with the assistance of a couple of greenhorns, one of which couldn't take it and had herself transferred back to Central, and the other of which was currently in hospital, having sustained a heavy blow to her head in the storm.

Before arriving in Neighbury, Caughlin had already paid visits to Freohead, Hoofington, and Marmalade Cove, all under the mayorship of promoted former R&D members. She still had two more towns left on her list. Six in total, not counting Central. The rest of their family had either retired or passed away, and were untraceable either way, scattered across the map.

There was a faint "Wh" at the end of the list, which she had written, remembered, then rubbed off with one of those amazing little blue erasers that removed ink.

As her hooves sunk into yet another puddle, and a few more villagers cast yet more glances to her - always to her eyes, which she replied with no more than smiling nods - she let her mind drift. How long had this town been established? Four years, she remembered. Shortly after Caughlin's appointment to the Cabinet, when she would have made the most of having Pickedum as an assistant. She heaved a sigh and walked on.

It was all but a distant dream, but the short of it was that now she was free.

All those years ago, not one week of returning to Central, by virtue of right, Caughlin was appointed to the administration group simply called "the Committee", chaired by Fuhrich and staffed by a select few, including Celestia and Luna, but they had never attended a single meeting in Caughlin's two-year tenancy - they were tasked with scouring the soil for any remaining traces of Discord's corruption, and were sent in opposite directions to work, and that was, admittedly, more important. It was the first form of pony government in Equestria, and she did feel honoured to be part of it at first.

The rest of the Committee set to work drawing up plans - plans for infrastructure, plans for growth, plans for farms, plans for laws. The Constitution, the heart of what would be Equestrian law, took two weeks to prepare, and not one of those days passed without somepony shouting at Caughlin. Quite a few times it was the other way round, too. After all, she did not share the generals' ideals of what Equestria was or should be. Where they saw ponies dying, ponies training, ponies learning military discipline, Caughlin could only see Surprise, huddled with a faceless family in a dirty tent and shifted away every two weeks.

Fuhrich, surprisingly, was quite passive, until against all odds he voted in favour of Caughlin's propositions. He had done so with that small smile of his, as obvious as day in the small, fourtieth-storey office they held their meetings in; the generals fell in line with blank expressions, and their two-against-nine minority morphed into unanimous support at the request of a final confirmation.

Something in that meeting had stirred up Caughlin's memory, and she finally realized what it was that had been bugging her ever since she returned to Central.

As soon as the session was adjourned, she ran to the apartment block she was staying in and knocked frantically on Sky Singer's door - she remembered it so clearly, her hooves clapping down the silent hall and her eyes stinging from fatigue. The mare in question walked out, looking drowsy, and received a mouthful of paper for her troubles.

"Caughlin?" mumbled Sky Singer, blinking. Even in her underground days, Sky Singer possessed unusual calm and collection, always easing into events with that sleepy grin of hers. Caughlin had never seen such a consistently well-rested mare in her life.

"Chew," said Caughlin, panting. She noticed how the ink on her hooves, still wet, left a smudge on the doormat, and tried to stand on it as inconspicuously as possible.

"Mmm?" The confusion in her eyes was parting through the haze of fresh consciousness, but she was already obediently munching. "Strawberries?"

"Yeah," said Caughlin. "Thought it might make it better."

"Still tastes of paper," Sky Singer somehow managed to say with clarity.

"Sorry," said Caughlin. There was a brief moment before she added, "I'm, ah, sorry for calling you out so late."

"It's nothing," murmured Sky Singer happily. "But what's all this about?"

"Any moment now," whispered Caughlin.

"Hmm?" Sky Singer asked, before the answer struck her.

There was a small fizz, like an old can of soda being opened, and Sky Singer's eyes widened briefly. She spat out the paper, which had turned blue, and watched the wad, mouth agape, with flat disbelief.

"Uh," said Sky Singer.

"Uh indeed," muttered Caughlin, frowning heavily. She could feel her facial muscles tightening into a grimace, and she shut her eyes to think. Slowly, as the results sank in, she loosened up and slumped on the floor, burying her face in her legs to hide the giggle forming in her throat.

"Caughlin?" said Sky Singer warily.

"I'm... I'm fine," said Caughlin. The giggle had turned into an enormous pressure welling in her chest, and she was not sure which she wanted more: to scream or to cry. "And so... so are you."

Fuhrich's memory hex was unique. The thaumatic energy harnessed its own leyline, and its signature was, as such, definitive - testing for that signature was the only thing required, unlike general spells which were powered along the more common leylines and often got jumbled up in one another, making distinguishing difficult and repetitive. With the right adjustments, runes could be programmed to read the presence of Fuhrich's spell and react in a rudimentary manner, often the changing of colour. Deciphering the code was a project Caughlin had taken to before their fight with Discord - she couldn't remember when, but all of the notes were there.

Blue meant absence. And the paper Sky Singer had spat out was blue.

The memory hex was no longer in place.

The next day, Caughlin organized a quick get-together, and quite a few of the family met up in a cafe for tea. A series of carefully-worded questions, vague enough to avoid suspicion, indicated that they still could not remember much, but by then who could blame them? It was well over ten, fifteen years, possibly even twenty now. Nopony had bothered to keep count. Not when the very existence of tomorrow was as uncertain as the exact number of digits of pi, with Discord around.

But that was then, and this was now. It took Caughlin a while to accept it, but eventually, she did. Her family was free from the mind control, and they were all safe, sound, and happy. That was plenty good enough...

Something hard bumped into her, and she broke out of her reverie, consciousness rushing back to the town road of Neighbury to look up at a burly stallion, light brown coat stained with soot. He had, despite his hardened jawline, bulging muscles and menacing pickaxe across his shoulders, soft eyes, which regarding Caughlin with as much insulted rage as a rabbit might regard a nice little flower.

"Sorry," mumbled Caughlin, and stepped aside, briefly catching an "'skay" as she quickened her pace a bit.

For a while, the tints of budding grass between stones and earth and snow were all she saw, a blur of colour blended with the laughter of children. Time seemed to slow. Her heartbeat grew louder, slower, pumping in her ears with stubborn determination. Then she took a deep breath, and the shapes and borders of tangibility reasserted themselves, and she could feel the cold again.

Her lip curled, and she sucked on it. It was dry and slightly cracked, judging from the sensation on her tongue, but she couldn't feel much of a sting.

She wondered where Celestia and Luna were, and whether it was cold over there. Whether they could feel the cold.

Oh, but of course they could. They were stable, thaumatically and most other kinds of -ly. And they were not old.

On better days, Caughlin would think wryly to herself that the six years she had spent in government had aged her to who she was today, but she knew that wasn't the case. She was objectively old. Never mind the fact that she could qualify as a collector of old-sounding titles, from (former) Senior Executive to Mayor to - and she had a soft spot for it after all those years - (former) Head of the R&D Department of Equestria. Or the fact that she was a mother of two grown mares, which would make anypony feel old.

Only Sky Singer knew about Caughlin's list, and she had asked: "What are you going to do after you've visited all those places?"

Caughlin had replied honestly, "I don't know."

A week later, they came.

Caughlin was in Pickedum's office, helping her to dust her folders, when a slam rang out from downstairs. There was a flurry of scuffles and the creak of floorboards, and then the doorway was filled with white alicorn.

"Celly?" started Caughlin, dropping the duster and stepping back. The last time she had seen her was five months ago in Central, just before setting out on the pilgrimage. Celestia's coat was brushed spotless and her ornamental horseshoes and tiara were gleaming with polish. The sight of her in full height was astounding, especially in the confines of the aged office.

"Caughlin Mare," said Celestia, with lofty eyes and imperious tone, "you are under arrest for high treason against Equestria's government!"

Caughlin's mind went blank. There were no words she could say; she had trouble processing the words she had been given as it was.

"Celestia," she could hear Pickedum squealing, "this isn't funny-"

"Silence, citizen!" boomed Celestia, giving her wings a flap. The mound of dust Caughlin had swept up whipped into the air. "Or you will be charged with impeding justice!"

"I don't care!" Pickedum's voice was steadily building up into a scream. "Celestia, all of this is nonsense! Are you even listening to yourself?"

"Guards," said Celestia, the moans trailed off amidst heavy scrabbling, a few thuds, and the occasional clink of metal. She focused her gaze on Caughlin once more. "Resist, and force will be applied."

"Celly," managed Caughlin when she found her voice. "What is this?"

"You," repeated Celestia, with definite annoyance in her voice, "are charged with high treason against Equestria's government. You have been found guilty of plotting the murders of Equestria's prime minister, and its princess." At the last word, her voice faltered slightly. "We found the plans in a secret area in your old apartment, as well as correspondences with fellow rebels. You will come quietly to receive your punishment."

In response, Caughlin simply frowned and stepped forward, looking full in Celestia's face. She looked dead serious, but the way her pupils jolted at the last moment betrayed something underneath. She was as far removed from her old self as possible; it was almost as if she was acting like a stranger.

"What on earth are you talking about, Celly?" she asked.

"Don't call me that!" bellowed Celestia, so loud that Caughlin's ears rang from recoil. "You're supposed to... you're... you..."

"I?" asked Caughlin helpfully.

"Don't lie to me. I saw the letters with my own eyes. The recorded conversations... your voice..." Celestia shut her eyes, as if trying to remember, or perhaps forget. "You... You said I was too dangerous, you said that you wanted the power, that you would have me dead than stay in the government..."

"I said no such thing," said Caughlin sternly, "and you're not why I quit my job. You know that. I told you why."

"No," said Celestia, and despite her swallowing hard, she still couldn't keep the tremble in her voice. "What I know is the truth. And now what you need to know is justice."

Her expression hardened, and it was quickly wiped out by the flash of bright light that followed.

Cold. Biting cold. In her hooves, around her mane, her neck, her belly. All over, she was shivering. Under different circumstances, this would have been a good thing, but now it only served to put her on edge. She next tasted her lips to find it dry and covered in salty, stony grit; she spat it out hurriedly and got to her hooves.

All around her, the colours glazed and swirled, and Caughlin could only breathe deeply and blink until her vision returned to normal.

She was standing on tiled ground, drenched in the orange and shadows of the early sunset. It took her a while to register it, but only one place had been so singularly unique, the way the shadows crawled and how the sun seemed so off-level.

She looked up to see Fuhrich and Celestia standing some ways away, watching her. She looked behind her to see the civilized world spread out at her hooves, masked in the towering shadow of the building they were on.

A few feet away from the balcony was a glass of water.

"We thought you might be thirsty after the trip," said Fuhrich on cue. "That's for you."

Caughlin walked backwards carefully, her eyes not leaving the pair. She reached for the glass and very deliberately poured the contents on the floor. Fuhrich shrugged.

"It was clean," said Fuhrich.

"Which is more than can be said for you," said Caughlin. "You have a minute to explain just what the hell is going on. Celestia!" She moved closer and shifted to the side so that their figures partially blocked the soaking red sun behind them. "Explain yourself!"

"No," said Celestia, stomping a hoof.

"No?" Caughlin frowned and looked at Fuhrich, who was impassive. "What do you mean, no?"

"You heard the charges against you. You know why you're here," said Celestia coldly.

"No, I don't!"

"Oh dear." Fuhrich finally moved to speak, taking his steps slowly, dramatically. Strutting. "Allow me to enlighten you then." He made a gesture to clear his throat, even though there was probably nothing in there. "We found, Caughlin, a set of plans outlining the means to dispose of Celestia by disrupting her characteristics during the solar eclipse. It was in your old apartment, and it was signed in your name. Are you aware of this?"

"No," said Caughlin, as the nerves in her brain began to surge with dread. "You know damn well I aren't."

"We also found letters addressed to the former members of the R&D department, asking for their help in executing the plan," continued Fuhrich. "Are you aware of this?"

"No!" shouted Caughlin. She shook her head furiously, ad felt her blood boiling. "No, because they don't exist! Celestia Mare, I don't know what you've been hearing, but whatever this rot is, none of it is true!"

"You are correct," whispered Fuhrich with a smile. "None of it is true. But Celestia believes it to be so. Oh, how long I've waited for this moment." He turned to glance at Celestia, who was standing stock still, expression unreadable in the harsh backlight. When he turned back to face Caughlin, his horn was aglow. "Simply put, dearest Caughlin, I've won."

"What," seethed Caughlin, bracing herself, "do you mean?"

"Oh, don't worry," smirked Fuhrich, and as he walked closer, she realized that he did not look as if he had aged one bit. True, he still looked senior, but not as ancient as he should have been. But where age would have mellowed his features, there was instead a deep, dark hunger lining his mouth, his eyes, his nostrils. They flared, burning with dark vitality, but the thing that said it all was that smile. That unchanging smile that she had seen for the past few decades, in so many circumstances, yet always the same. That evil smile.

"Allow me to show you a relic," said Fuhrich. His horn glowed briefly, and a necklace materialized itself. It was a simple thread-and-pendant affair; the pendant was a small black crystal, its details obscured by his shadow. He lifted it with a hoof wistfully. "But first, some magic theory. Tell me, Caughlin, do Discordian abilities work now that Discord is gone?"

"Of course not," snorted Caughlin. "Now that reality isn't unstable, we can't render it anymore as we please..."

"Not quite true," said Fuhrich, taking a step forward. "What makes reality unstable? What gives us our extraordinary powers? Discord's essence - discord itself." He hummed to himself, seeming pleased. "For centuries Discord has stretched himself to and fro across the face of the earth, and he leaves a bit of himself wherever he goes. Think of it like skin flakes, or dandruff. Such is the case, and why Discordian abilities are so widely spread. The... the prerequisite, the gateway to our powers is in the very earth itself."

"Which is why you had Celestia and Luna go everywhere to temper the magic of the world."

"Also not quite true," grinned Fuhrich, and now his smile was widening to an extent she had never seen before. "No, I had them do that as part of an experiment. You see, what we discovered is that the ponies themselves are marred with discord." He turned to the balcony and swept across it with a leg. "Even though we swept the land clean, there were still traces of the gateway. And those traces were highest in Central itself, the most densely populated region in Equestria. You and I are tainted with Discord's essence; you and I and everypony ever in contact with Discord contains his propensity for chaos."

Caughlin bit her lip. He had a point, but what did this have to do with anything? Maybe if he talked long enough, he might forget himself, and Caughlin could barrel him over the edge...

"You are special," said Fuhrich, and now he was just a few steps away from her. "You are amazing, Caughlin Mare. You have undergone such amazing transfigurations and evolutions that you stand alone in the hierarchy of ponykind." He looked almost sad, the way his eyes drooped and his voice melted. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever had the pleasure of meeting, and we could have done so much together..."

"What the hell are you talking about?" hissed Caughlin, stepping back. "Start making sense and I'll let you leave with just a broken rib."

"The Discordian essence within you is strong," said Fuhrich, "and so is your grasp of leylines." He laid a hoof on his heart. "You contain also the essence of Earth ponies and pegasi, giving you unparalleled control over the elements - and I am certain that somewhere within you is the root of your horn." He stood up straight and raised a leg to the skies. "Given enough time, you could very well recover your powers and gain so much more, and because the alicorns were made, tempered to be pure without inbred chaos... You could surpass them as well, since you have that unlimited potential of chaos. And what would I do if that happened?"

"I don't know," shouted Caughlin. "I don't know what the hell is going on!"

"You do!" Fuhrich hissed. "You are brilliant and you've come so close so many times to thwarting me! If you regain your powers, all will be for nought! You will ruin Equestria!"

At that moment, Caughlin lunged forward, catching him in the neck like a shot. The next moment, she found herself paralyzed in mid-air, surrounded by a golden glow.

"No, no, I cannot let you do that," muttered Fuhrich, getting up and pacing about in circles. "All of this, all of this will come to fruition, it must. Equestria will rise again, and the world will be at peace." He stopped, took a deep breath, and when he spoke, it was in his usual, grave tone again. "Do you know what it takes for peace?"

"I'm certain it doesn't involve you," shot Caughlin.

"You are wrong," replied Fuhrich. "I am the only one who can achieve the best for Equestria. I have lost my family, my only son, and so I know loss. I have fought. I have rallied, and failed, and watched countless ponies die. While there are many that understand how to achieve peace, only I have the power to do so."

In the distance, there was a faint rumbling, like heavy machinery moving into action several kilometers away. Aside from the rumbling, the only sounds now were their breathing and the whisper of wind, as the sunset slowly gave way to night.

"Tonight is a full moon," said Fuhrich quietly. "Now that it is positioned favourably, it will be our anchor for the spell that will free the world. You have designed a decageas before. Now, you will witness the greatest spell in the history of ponykind: Ultima." He trotted forward, each step heavy and even. "Celestia will activate her final release and power up the spell that will scour all ponykind of the Discordian essence. Then, she will fire a spell that revives them with fresh memories, fresh, untainted memories that will allow them to live in harmony."

"You're insane," Caughlin said at last. "Scour? Revive? It almost sounds like you plan to wipe out all life."

"Put crudely, that is what we are going to do," said Fuhrich, nodding. "We are going to wipe out all life and revive them, but cleansed. This is the only way we can remove Discord's influence for good."

"You're insane," repeated Caughlin.

"No, no," said Fuhrich. "I am simply doing what must be done. For the good of Equestria."

"Celestia, are you even listening to any of this?!" screamed Caughlin. "He's going to kill everypony! Your family, your friends! And you're just going to go with it!"

"She won't hear you," said Fuhrich. "She is under my control now."

"That's nonsense. Your powers don't work on her."

He lifted the pendant once more. "This," he said flatly, "is a drop of Discord's blood."

The gears in Caughlin's brain fired up and whirred. "No," she whispered.

"Yes," nodded Fuhrich gravely. "The sheer strength of essence in this crystal has multiplied my powers a thousandfold, and is the only way I could possibly wish to liberate the whole of Equestria at once. You'd love it," he added. "Instead of endless oppression and death, the ponies of the world will now believe in some wonderful folk tale about pilgrims and ice things called 'windigos', and how the ancestors of ponykind set aside their differences and banded together to escape and live in harmony. With such a beautiful history carved into the culture they think they have, the propensity for harmony will be so much more higher. Don't you get it?" He lunged forward, snout pressing against Caughlin's. "Ponies will never trust each other with this kind of history. History has taught them to fight and to war, not to hope. But by changing history, we change culture, and we change the future. Don't you get it?"

"You're despicable," said Caughlin. She would have spat in his face, but the magic held her tightly. "That's not peace."

"Perhaps not," conceded Fuhrich, easing up. "But it is the closest we have to it." He looked up at the skies and nodded. "It is soon. Celestia-"

There was another rumbling, this time right underneath them, and then a yell and a heavy thud as Celestia was suddenly knocked down. Her horn flared up, and the light revealed Luna, decked in armour and the form of Nightmare Moon, her horn also ablaze with a dark glow that seemed to warp the space around it.

"Mother," panted Luna. "When I heard from Pickedum I rushed over as fast as I could..."

"Princess Luna," rallied Celestia, getting up into a defensive stance, "you are under arrest for high treason and aiding a public enemy! You are advised to submit, or necessary-"

"What's gotten into her?" snorted Luna, rolling her eyes. "Mother?"

But Caughlin was already across the floor, grappling with Fuhrich, whose horn was flickering green and black.

It was so simple. All she had to do was pummel Fuhrich into the ground, and possibly destroy the crystal, and -

"Activate release nine-nine-nine!" wheezed Fuhrich, aged hooves scrabbling and just barely brushing Caughlin's hooves away from his face. "Celestia, this is a direct order! Activate protocol five-seven-six!"

"Yes, uncle Fuhrich," murmured Celestia, and the floor lit up with red lines.

From the corners of her sight, Caughlin saw how the lines curved into circles, how the small squiggles formed signs, symbols, words...

"Activating protocol five-seven-six," rang Celestia's voice, almost robotic in how casual it sounded.

The lines flared up even brighter, blanketing her vision with burning red, and Caughlin could see Luna's face twist into panic as her wings spread out but failed to flap...

"I am sorry, sister," Caughlin somehow heard, as the light swallowed up the last visible corner of her eldest foal.

There was a scream, and the light vanished, taking Luna along with it.

It was just the three of them now.

"What... what did you do?" Caughlin whispered hoarsely. "Where's Luna?"

"She has been banished," said Celestia, head bowed. "Uncle Fuhrich predicted that Luna might return to commit treachery, so he planned a forced teleportation system in advance. Using the Messinger-Hayley runes, combined with a standard-"

"Shut up, Celestia!" roared Caughlin, charging up to her. "I'm asking you where is Luna!"

"She has been sent to the target destination," said Celestia quietly, failing to meet her eyes. "The moon."

"The moon?" Caughlin stared at Celestia, who was still looking at the floor. "The moon?" She looked up at the object in question, unveiled and lonesome in the sky. "The moon? What do you mean, the moon?"

"Celestia," coughed Fuhrich from behind, "release nine-nine-nine!"

"Affirmative," said Celestia softly, and her body glowed pure white.

Before Caughlin could do any more, an immense pressure flattened her to the floor. She heard hoofsteps slowly trot to her side, and then his voice:

"This is it, Caughlin Mare. This is the dawn of the new era, and it will be the last thing you see."

"Ultima."

As the light engulfed her, Caughlin closed her eyes, and, for the first time in a long while, let go.

There was the sound of a stone plopping in the water, and then a warm, warm sensation, like somepony hugging her, and the next moment, Caughlin was crying.

The light faded. Caughlin's eyelids still burned red and black, the shapes twitching like bacteria.

Luna... Celestia...

It was still unbelievable, even though she had watched it happen. Wiping out the entire race? Ressurecting them with false memories?

And yet she could still feel herself crying, and that tight, almost constricting hug. She couldn't remember the last time somepony had hugged her, but it was comforting, even if it made her cry. She buried herself in it, wrapped her arms around it, immersed herself in that grasp.

There was no thoughts. There were no monologues. There was no imagery, no memories resurfacing, not even tangible emotion. There was simply the urge to cry, and it took over her completely.

When what felt like hours had passed, she opened her eyes, and eased back.

"Hi, Caughlin," said Whooves. He began to sniffle, and his eyes watered. "I... I promised myself I wouldn't cry, but..."

The hug tightened.

Caughlin never found out what the end of the sentence was, but that was fine.

There was nothing else to say.