I was trying to forget. I couldn't.
When I closed my eyes, that terrible memory lingered before me. Priestess Nichts lay on the glowing cave floor, caked in that horrible, translucent substance. Through the gaps of her charred fur I could see black skin. Legs dislocated, bending in impossible angles. I saw the redness in her open flesh, but there was no blood pouring from her wounds. She deserved it, though, didn't she?
And the others. I let the monster get them. I pushed them into the pit. But they were murderers. Weren't they? There was no time to think. They wanted to kill me. I was defending myself. I'm not a murderer. I was defending the foal. But weren't they Nichts' victims as much as Blossy?
Blossy. If it hadn't been for Trixie... I was going to... I would have....
"Twilight?"
I looked up from my cup of tea. Fluttershy sat across the table, giving me a concerned look. The others were eyeing me as well. Rarity seemed, perhaps, the least surprised.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Fluttershy asked.
Okay? I thought. How could I be?
She's still looking. I need to say something. I have to calm her down.
"Yes," I said. "Everything is just fine." My cheek hurt when I smiled.
"I'm sure she's just tired," Rarity said. "Being called to Canterlot on such short notice only to be sent away again must have put a strain on her."
"Oh!" Pinkie glimmered. "What was it like in Manehatten? Did you have fun?" She seemed ready to burst.
"Hold your horses, Pinkie," Applejack calmed her. "It was a royal assignment. Straight down from Celestia, isn't that right, Twilight?"
"Doesn't mean she didn't do something she likes," Rainbow said. "Manehatten's a big place. Sure she could find something to do."
Applejack shot her a scolding look.
Rainbow shrugged in response. "I would've," she said.
"Twilight usually takes things more seriously than you do," Applejack said.
They were practically doing the talking for me. It gave me an opportunity to lay back and enjoy the evening. A breeze brushed my mane gently. The weather was nice. Much better than Horsmouth. I liked being home again.
I had no intention of telling my friends about that place, of course. I wouldn't honestly answer a single question they would pose. Knowing I would have to straight lie in their face didn't help to cheer me up. Knowing that they cared enough to ask, on the other hoof, did. I was glad to have a place to return to. Couldn't imagine how Trixie coped, being constantly on the road.
And besides, I'd grown good at dodging unwanted questions. It didn't even feel like lying any more.
I looked up at the early evening sky. The stars were, one by one, slowly but surely appearing. When I listened just right, past the banter of my friends, I could hear the sound of animals moving about all around the cottage. I realised, then, that I never really appreciated Fluttershy's choice of habitat before. It was nice, just sitting outside. A mosquito buzzed by my ear and it twitched reflexively. I didn't mind.
It brought to mind how I hadn't noticed a single one back in Horsmouth. I was under the impression that they liked humidity.
No, Twilight, I stopped myself. Forget Horsmouth.
"I'm still worried about that scar on your leg," Fluttershy said, dragging me back into the conversation.
Her mention of the bite made it hurt again. It must be a mental thing.
"She must have fallen down the stairs," Rarity said to Fluttershy, looking my way for a second. "She gets ever so clumsy."
"Yeah," I said, nodding. "Stairs. Fell." I shook my head clear. "Really, it's fine."
"Know that I think 'bout it," Applejack cut in, "I don't think we ever thanked you, Twilight."
I blinked curiously. "Thanked me? For what?"
"Oh, you know," Rainbow said.
"No," I said. "I genuinely have no clue. What did I do?"
Pinkie snickered. "Don't play dumb, Twilight, you can't do it."
She clearly found the situation much more amusing than I did.
"Thanks for fixin' Rarity," Applejack said. "You thought we didn't notice, her being so down and all, and then suddenly she's fine?"
"Yeah," Pinkie added, "Rarity told us all about it."
I looked at Rarity. "You told them what?"
Luna said she'd blank her, though. She shouldn't remember I helped her at all.
Rarity was red with embarrassment. "I'm very sorry, Twilight. They were incredibly persistent."
Rainbow puffed out her chest proudly. My jaw was agape.
"You... did what?" I tried to keep calm and look for the right words. "You told them what?" I repeated.
This must be a misunderstanding. I'm just overreacting. Calm down.
"I had to tell them about the rats," Rarity said. "How they wouldn't let me sleep. Made me climb the walls, the little rodents."
"No wonder she was so secretive about it," Applejack said.
"Rats in Rarity's beautiful Carousel Boutique," Rainbow chortled. "That's one for the ages."
"She told us you invented some wowy-zowy new spell that helped you find them," Pinkie said.
"I know we agreed to keep it between us, but...." Rarity said, rolling her eyes, subtly sending me a knowing look.
"Rainbow managed to get it out of her," Applejack said. "Poor Rarity couldn't lie to us to save her life."
Applejack's naïveté was nothing short of adorable. Like she hadn't known her for years. I forced a laugh before taking a sip from my tea. "No, I guess not."
The situation was suspect. All Luna had to do was remove the memories of a night or two from Rarity's mind. I knew for fact she could do that. But inventing—and implanting—new ones? I shuddered to think of the prospect. Whatever the case, there would be no point in it now; Luna had no reason to bother, if she could, if she would.
Yet the other possibility was no less puzzling. Had Luna not blanked Rarity, in the end? Has she decided to spare her, as she spared me, or has she simply not got around to it yet? If it was so, then in light of Rarity's recent lie about the whole affair, Luna would now need to go deeper into her mind to truly erase the incident and all related events. She would need, perhaps, to go after the rest of my friends, too. Just thinking about how deep that rabbit hole could go was making my head spin.
I couldn't very well ask Rarity what she truly remembered, now, could I? And indeed, whatever the truth, it was likely in both our best interest that I did not bring it up. If Rarity lied to protect me, I decided, so be it. If it was conjured-up memories that she was now regurgitating—whether the creation of her troubled mind striving to fill in the blanks, or the product of Luna's colourful imagination—then, as well, so be it.
The only thing I could be certain of, in that moment, was that whatever happened, I was responsible.
"It was no problem, really," I finally said. "Just doing a friend a favour."
"Well, it was a great favour," Rarity said. "Oh, and have I told you yet? Opal's returned as well."
"Really?" I asked. "That's good news. Where did you find her?"
"She turned up at Sweet Apple Acres. Achin' for a bathin', as Applejack put it."
"First rats chase her away from home," Applejack chortled, "and then Winona chases her up a tree. Poor thing."
"She's fine now, of course." Rarity nodded. "We all are. Just in time for the gala, too."
"Oh, the Grand Galloping Gala!" Pinkie shouted excitedly. "I almost forgot, Twilight. Our tickets arrived while you were gone. I've got yours right here."
Pinkie reached into her puffy mane and began rummaging about. After a short while she pulled out a golden ticket and leaned over the table with the biggest smile on her face, handing it to me. I wasn't even surprised.
"Thank you," I said. "You know, I keep forgetting about the gala, with all that's been going on lately."
"It's gonna be super amazing though," Rainbow said. "At least is should be. Cadence's hosting it this year, you heard about that?"
"Of course," I said. "Only reason I'm going."
"Well," Rarity said, "it shouldn't be too difficult to top last time."
"I hope Cadence is ready," Applejack said. "There's only a few days left, after all."
"You needn't worry," I said, lifting my cup. "She's been preparing for ages. I'm sure she—"
"Twilight, please!" Fluttershy burst, standing up and leaning on the table.
Everypony fell silent. I put my cup of tea down. When she saw the looks of the others, she snapped her ears back and slowly took her legs off the table.
"I, uhm..." She looked at me sheepishly. "I'd like to talk to you in private, maybe?"
I raised an eyebrow. She looked away for a moment, then back at me again. I sighed, standing up.
"Excuse us," I said to the others.
Fluttershy opened the door of her house and beckoned me inside.
"I'm so sorry," Fluttershy muttered as she closed the door behind us. She pulled the curtains on the windows together to keep out the prying eyes of Rainbow Dash.
"What is it, Fluttershy?" I asked. "Come now. You can talk to me."
"It's... it's not about me, Twilight. It's about you."
"What's about me?"
She pointed a hoof at my injured leg, looking away to hide her eyes under her mane. I sighed deeply.
"Fluttershy, I told you, it's nothing. You really shouldn't worry so much about a little scar."
"B-but I noticed how silent you were all evening," she stuttered. "Since you returned from Manehatten. I just...."
"Please," I interrupted. "If I say it's fine, it's fine."
"Y-you sure about that?"
"Yes."
I turned for the door. Fluttershy didn't move. Just as I put my hoof on the knob, she spoke again.
"You know I work with animals, right?" she whispered.
I took my hoof off the doorknob and looked at her curiously. "Of course."
"I mean I... I can recognise a bite wound, Twilight."
I looked at her in silence.
"I also recognise that that's not from an animal," Fluttershy finished, pointing at my leg again.
I took a deep breath, lifting my other hoof. "Fluttershy, please, calm down."
"Manehatten, Twilight?" she asked. "Is that why you're so distant? Please, if somepony... if you were...."
She turned away completely, sitting down on the floor and hanging her head. I walked up to her quietly and sat down beside her, putting a hoof around her shoulders. Her face was completely hidden by her hair. I put my other hoof under her chin, lifting her head gently. When she finally opened her eyes and looked at me, I shook my head.
"Don't worry," I soothed her. "Nothing happened. Believe me."
"What about your leg, then?" she whispered.
"Don't worry about it. Please. Everything is okay."
She seemed to be on the verge of tears.
"Thank you for asking," I continued. "Listen, how about we call this get-together off, for now? You get some rest. And I'll go and get something for this wound. Would that ease your mind?"
She nodded silently.
"I'll go and tell the others," I said, standing up.
Ruining your friends, one by one, I thought as I walked for the door. Two down, three to go. You're such an amazing pony, Twilight.
My lack of sleep was once again beginning to take its toll. I hadn't slept since that short night in Horsmouth. When Trixie dropped me off at the edge of Ponyville in the early afternoon, I head been eager to return home and just collapse onto my bed and spend the next few days in a coma. Pinkie spotted me before I could reach the library, however, and so a grand reunion was in order.
Now, with that done, I could finally get some rest. Spike was in the library, of course, taking care of business in my place again. He, too, was overjoyed to see me. "How was it?" "What did you do?" "Is everything okay?" "What's with your leg?" His questions were as numerous as one would expect. Answering them felt like a chore.
As much as I hated to admit it, something was abundantly clear: we've grown apart, Spike and I, over the past four years. Occasions such as this, however, also made me feel that I was the only one who really noticed. That, in turn, only made me feel even more guilty. This night just keeps getting better.
I did manage to excuse myself after a few minutes of being questioned; I really did need the sleep. The creaking of the stairs as I walked to my room made me think that the great oak itself was welcoming me home after a long trip. I swung the door of my room open with an exhausted—but nonetheless forceful—kick.
The door leading to the balcony also stood wide open, letting in the cool air of a young night. I didn't bother to close it. Throwing my black bag carelessly in the corner, I crashed into the bed. It wasn't made. I didn't care.
Silence.
Away from the whirling sounds of Trixie's unreal machine, away from the lovingly annoying chatter of my friends and the buzzing ambience of the evening town, I lay on my bed. The only sound that entered my ears now was that of my breathing. With nothing to distract my brain, the burning pain returned in my scars.
After a while, I reached forward clumsily, pulling a decorative cushion closer. I slowly lifted my head and then let it fall onto the cushion. A rush of cold chilled my body. Pulling up quickly, I found a rasp lying on the cushion. A simple, metal rasp, with an old wooden handle. I furrowed my brows. What's this doing here? No, hold on. I've seen this before....
The door creaked behind me. I turned around just in time to see a familiar, grey-and-white stallion closing it.
"Omen?"
His apparent ability to appear in my room without my notice was much more disturbing than it was surprising; indeed, last we met, that mammoth of a stallion had demonstrated his habit of being where he shouldn't be. Fine, I figured, I'll play along. If I cannot keep Omen from forcing himself into my life, I might as well go with the flow. So long as he seems harmless, anyway.
"What do you want?" I asked, hopping off my bed.
"A pleasure to see you too, Miss Sparkle," he responded in his usual, playfully condescending tone. "Word of advice, you may want to keep your voice down. We don't want to rouse the dragon below, now do we?"
As much as I hated his attitude, I had to admit he was right. I wouldn't have wanted to explain the presence of a mysterious stallion in my room at such a late hour to anypony, and especially not to Spike.
"I'm in no mood for your games, Omen," I whispered, walking closer. "What do you want?"
"Straight to business, I see." He grinned. "I like that in you. Very forward."
"Do not make me ask again."
"Oh, lighten up." He waved a dismissive hoof. "Is that any way to greet an old acquaintance after such a long trip? Though I must say, I am definitely glad you still remember me. And considering that I don't seem to have Luna's dogs sniffing after me, I'm going to assume you believed my words after all. Am I right, Miss Sparkle?"
"I did not make that choice lightly. Do not overestimate my faith in you."
He smiled cheekily, walking around me and hopping onto my bed. As he sat down, the bed creaked under his robust size; for a moment, I was afraid it would snap in half. Omen himself didn't seem to notice, or particularly care. He only looked at me with the anticipation of a little colt expecting a bedtime story from his mother.
"I'm all ears to hear the tale," he said.
I sighed. I couldn't decide whether it was wrong or strangely appropriate that the one pony I'd reveal my secrets to was a complete stranger.
"Intriguing," Omen said. "And your report, you haven't written it yet?"
"No," I answered. "Trixie should still be under the impression that I will, though."
"And the townsfolk?"
"She said they have no clue what happened. Total memory loss for the past weeks."
"So Luna should remain ignorant of the events in Horsmouth."
"For a while, at least. I fully expect her to mine the minds of some citizens, looking for the odd scraps of memory. She's going to piece it together, given time."
"Are you certain you're going to stay quiet? It will get you in trouble."
"Are you trying to awaken my conscience, Omen?" I raised an eyebrow. "As I recall, you put the bug in my ear to begin with."
"You don't trust her. I'm sorry to hear that. I only wish the best for all of us, including her."
"So you tell me, then," I asked him point blank. "Do you believe there's a chance that Luna is really behind this all? Would she give her hair to some lunatic to make monsters?"
"And then send you to find that monster? No point in that, now is there?" He put a hoof to his chin, thinking for a moment. "Unless she was feeling guilty. That could mean she's struggling against herself."
"Or perhaps she wanted me to die."
I said that last sentence without much thought; a reflexive response to feeling threatened. Omen's eyes widened as he raised his brows in surprise. His expression reminded me that perhaps I shouldn't let my mouth work faster than my brain. By this point I was already feeling terrible about it.
"That is... a serious accusation," he said. "It would make sense, however. She couldn't bring herself to blank you, but she doesn't want you probing around. It would be a logical solution. Well, logical for an insane mare."
I really did not need that validation.
"Whatever the case," he continued, "we must tread lightly. And quickly."
"What is this we, now, Omen?"
"Take this as a compliment if you wish, Miss Sparkle: you are important. And, I believe, I know just how to continue."
I sighed deeply. I didn't like that word, continue. Ordinarily, I wouldn't have had a problem; chasing monsters and hunting cultists had long been my way of life, after all. Yet now it was different. It wasn't the cultists that frightened me, or their rituals, monsters, sacrifices, but the looming shadow of Nightmare Moon—of Luna—over it all. Meddling with wild theories of conspiracy and fallen princesses wasn't what I signed on for. After Horsmouth, I just wanted out of it, all of it.
For the first time that night, Omen appeared serious. He stepped off the bed and walked up close to me. As he looked into my eyes, I couldn't help but take a step back in fright.
"Miss Sparkle," he whispered, "you do understand the magnitude of what's happening, don't you?" He paused for a moment, letting his words sink in. "If Princess Luna is losing herself again...."
"You needn't lecture me," I responded, pushing him away. "I realise what's at stake. With all due respect, I think I know more about Nightmare Moon than you do, Omen."
He smiled. "Perhaps you do." He turned and walked several steps before looking at me again. "What is the issue, then?" he asked.
"The same as ever. Who are you? You cannot reasonably expect me to trust you before you answer that. You come to my town, you show up in my room, you climb into my bed, and then you would have me follow your instructions in a matter that is admittedly beyond the understanding of either of us. And you're asking me, what's the issue?"
"You've trusted me in the past," he replied nonchalantly. "Why stop now?"
"That does not answer my question, Omen."
"In a situation such as this, Miss Sparkle, you take what you get."
If it hadn't been for Spike being below, I'd have been yelling at this point. But alas, I wasn't allowed to. So I resorted to the other end of the spectrum, and instead refused to say one more word. Omen stared at me inquisitively for a while. It wouldn't coax a response from me, however.
"I am a friend," he finally said. "A friend of yours, and of Luna's. That's all you need to know for now. I wish to help."
I tilted my head questioningly.
"You mentioned one Monsoon Descent. Some pegasus noble, reputed to be from Commander Hurricane's line. They referred to him as a prophet, correct? And he took part in the creation of the monster of Horsmouth. To the best of your knowledge, he's currently in Cloudsdale. Isn't that right?"
I nodded slowly.
Omen took a few steps closer again. "I know him."
I had been to Cloudsdale in the past. Just before Rainbow Dash performed a sonic rainboom at the Best Young Fliers, my friends and I paid her a visit and wished her the best of luck. We even visited the Weather Factory; I remember I was quite amazed by the hoofmade snowflakes. The city hadn't changed much since then, yet this time it was, somehow, different.
Reminding me of fresh snow, the plush clouds held my hooves softly, my cloudwalking spell working its magic once again. Almost exactly a day after my meeting with Omen, I stepped out onto a ledge overlooking the flying city. As the Sun set beyond the horizon, I marvelled at the expertise of the city's architects. I will not pretend to be an expert on cloud-engineering, but even I could tell that what I saw was something special; something you couldn't see on the ground.
Horsmouth needed the steep slopes of the Teeth to climb into the air. Cloudsdale, for all intents and purposes, was made of air. The cloud I stood on was a landing platform for flying carriages or rented balloons: a simple pony's way of reaching the sky. The multi-layered city was laid out before me with all its vast drops and heavenly heights. Scattered in the air were innumerable clouds big and small, houses and shops and towers standing on each, connected by white bridges and arched walkways to cater to any visitor who might not possess the gift of flight. Save for those bits of courtesy, however, the city had clearly been designed with wings in mind.
The clouds moved and collided, attaching and de-attaching to and from one another. Bridges formed and crumbled before my eyes. A patch of cloud rose from below, coming to level with my cloud, and I stepped over, putting my faith into the city's creators. Surely the clouds will not separate while somepony crosses from one to the other.
The cloud then moved again, taking me with itself, soon arriving at the what looked to be the centre of the city in all three dimensions. Gift shops greeted me from every direction, begging me to buy a souvenir of my time in the flying city. I proceeded past them, walking from cloud to cloud, content with merely committing the sights to memory.
During my previous visit, I never stopped to consider that Cloudsdale was a real city. Ponies worked in Cloudsdale, that much I knew, for how else would Equestria receive its supply of rain and wind every day? Indeed, the Weather Factory was just ahead, still churning out rainbows as the night began. The chromatic liquid spewed high into the air from the many chimneys, leaving a cascading trail of colour in the sky as the city flew above the land. But only walking past, looking at how the enormous city surrounded and engulfed me, did I come to realise that ponies really lived in Cloudsdale.
Down to my left, an enormous cloud held what appeared to be a residential area: many streets stretched beside and above one another, slanting and turning in odd ways. Indeed, the complex below was more reminiscent of a spider's web than your usual city; the many walkways served as the web itself and the homes as the trapped flies. Above to the right, cloud-towers reached high into the sky, twisting and bending in impossible angles.
It was that transitional period, again, between light and darkness. For some ponies, the day was ending; for others, it was just beginning. Looking one way, I saw a suited pegasus hastily loosening his tie as he fell gracefully towards the block of cloud-houses. Turning the other way, I saw a group of teens flying around white pillars with dark bottles in their hooves, laughing and yelling with and at each other. I wondered whether drinking and flying was a socially accepted hobby for young pegasi.
I let the kids have their fun, continuing on my way towards the higher parts of the city. I thought I could discern a pattern in how different buildings looked. The higher I was, the more extravagant they seemed. Rather than a single cloud housing many homes, many buildings now seemed to have their very own patch of cloud.
Clouds seemed to allow for otherwise impossible shapes. Some houses seemed to have rooms that weren't attached to the main architectural body, instead simply floating beside their respective buildings, or sometimes circling around them gently so as to cradle whoever is inside; a stark contrast to the simple cloud-apartments I had seen on lower levels. Dimmed lights escaped the white walls, and this scattered light blended with the night's rapidly encroaching darkness, creating an eerily beautiful city-vista.
Indeed, the gradual change from the low-class areas to higher ones was fascinating.
And there, somewhere between rich and poor, taking up a moderately sized cloud, was a small bar with a tacky neon sign up top. The ambiguously named "Lose Tavern" soaked up the best of both worlds as pegasi from all walks of life gathered there for their nightly drink. I heard what sounded like live music emanating from within; a catchy tune, but not interesting enough to entice me inside. I leaned against the wall beside the entrance and awaited the arrival of my accomplice.
At the edge of the cloud, a lone drunkard in tattered clothes appeared to be physically beating himself up, punching his own face repeatedly before kicking his legs out from under himself. I could only shake my head in puzzlement.
"Takes all kinds to build a world, doesn't it?" came a booming voice from behind me.
I turned my head towards Omen. "Do you enjoy sneaking up on ponies?"
"It is rather amusing," he said. He then looked down at his hooves, shifting his weight around a few times. "What do you know, you really can make the spell last over a day. You never cease to impress, Miss Sparkle."
I stepped away from the wall and walked to the edge of the platform. In the distance, a lone cloud floated above the city, perhaps even higher than others, giving foundation to a large building. That was the private home of Monsoon Descent. The mansion wasn't the biggest building I had seen in the city, yet its elevated status was a clear indication of its importance. Or, perhaps, its owner's self-importance.
Omen never revealed much as to how he knew Monsoon Descent. All he said was that he visited him once, a long time ago, regarding a small matter "not entirely unlike ours." Every time Omen refused to give me a straight answer, my conviction that I was walking into a trap only strengthened. Even so, that somehow seemed preferable than accusing Luna of propagating murder again. Perhaps I had lost my mind.
"Are you sure you wish to accompany me?" Omen asked. "I can do this on my own."
"I bet you can, Omen. But I want to be there. I need to be there."
"Why?"
"Because I want to prove you wrong. I want to see evidence that Luna is entirely innocent. That the crazies of the cult are just that: crazy. And I'll beat that confession out of Monsoon with my own hooves if I have to."
Omen raised an eyebrow. "And then what?" he asked plainly.
"Then?" I asked. "Then... I'll turn him in to Luna. That's the best thing to do."
"Considering what you told me, about the children of Horsmouth, you are being awfully generous. I thought you'd like to handle the matter differently."
"You have your standards, and I have my own. I suggest you remember that going forward."
"I will, Miss Sparkle."
With that, we began our way towards the mansion in the sky.
We arrived on the cloud-island in a flash of light.
While Cloudsdale buildings were famous for their elongated forms and high towers, the floating mansion took up relatively little vertical space. This discovery helped put my mind at ease; I had been previously afraid that navigating the interior would prove challenging, considering my bothersome lack of wings.
The mansion stood at the middle of the cloud; the rest of the island was filled with statues glorifying Monsoon's bloodline. White patches protruded from the floor, twisting into different shapes. These cloud-memorials were enormous depictions of warriors and great commanders, towering weightlessly above the visitors below.
Brandishing large spears and swords and old battle-armour, they were reminders of the warring ages long gone. Under the rule of the Two Sisters, few were the pegasi still proud of their murderous heritage. This vulgar display of power spoke volumes about the owner of this private palace.
As we neared the mansion, I noticed that the lights weren't on inside, save for a single, small window on the top floor.
"So, no staff, you say?" I asked Omen. "Not a single maid or servant?"
"None that I know of," he replied. "Monsoon is far too proud to let anypony touch his family's legacy, save for special occasions. He attends to the home all by himself."
As we reached the main door, Omen motioned for me to walk around the building; he would get inside on his own and open a window for me. Just how he intended to do that, he wouldn't reveal. In the end, I had to follow his instructions, going around the back of the mansion. Two turns to the left, at the third window.
The way pegasi blended traditional architecture with the clouds still amazed me. The walls of the mansion were made of some solid cloud hard enough to stop one from pushing inside. The window by which I stood, however, was made of glass, much like one you'd find on the ground. I tried looking inside, but it was far too dark to make anything out. I tapped a hoof impatiently, kicking up a misty patch of cloud.
The window opened for me, and a dark-grey hoof reached out to help me inside. Closing the window behind myself, I cast a spell to create a small orb of light, bright enough to light our way but dim enough not to shine through the walls. We were, I discovered, within a large room filled with bookshelves; Monsoon's private library. Omen sent me a smile.
"I figured this would be the place you'd like to see first," he said.
"Very considerate of you," I said. "Do you happen to know where he keeps his copy of Compiled Confessions of a Cultist?"
"I'm afraid I don't. But I think you will find that their choice of reading can reveal a lot about a pony."
I'm also a librarian, you know. "That so?"
"Consider this, Miss Sparkle: it's the middle of the night, and we're dealing with a pony who clearly doesn't care much for security. So long as we don't make too big of a commotion, we have all the time to look. Even if we find nothing of value, we can... go exploring in relative safety."
"Relative, huh?"
The ball of light I created flew up high and began to float slowly around of the room, scanning the interior. I saw that the room was an elongated rectangular shape with bookshelves lining the walls and a long table in the middle. Unlit chandeliers hung from the ceiling. A large, ornate door stood at the far side.
"You watch the door," I instructed Omen. "I'll look around."
The orb descended and came to float beside me as I began inspecting the shelves more closely. For the sheer amount of books in that room, the topics were nowhere near varied; all of them seemed to have to do with the study of history. Organised not by author or title, they were arranged instead in chronological order, as relative to their specified era of interest.
I found books talking about the times before the Three Tribes, then the rise and rule of Commander Hurricane. There were accounts from dozens of different historians related to life in those ancient ages, and I found many a tome describing old politics. Then there was the Long Winter, the time of Windingos, and founding of Equestria.
I picked out books from the shelves at random, opening and turning their pages in hopes of finding something of value. No matter which book I picked, it appeared they had been read cover to cover multiple times; I recognise a well-used book when I see one. Curious were also the many hastily scribbled notes I saw written on random pages. See this book, page that, look at this, compare that, find it here, contradicts that, can't be right.... Numerous such notes had apparently been left by Monsoon Descent to himself. Clearly, the stallion had spent a lot of time researching the past.
"How old did you say he was?" I asked Omen, putting a book back to its place.
"Definitely older than you," he replied, "but not ancient. I can't give you an exact number."
"Hmm," I pondered.
When I reached the books about the time of Nightmare Moon, I finally found something that didn't quite belong. Among titles such as "The Myth of the Mare in the Moon" and "The Elements of Harmony," one tome stood out. I pulled it carefully from the shelf to take a closer look. In such a deliberately organised library, why would a book seemingly more related to medicine—"Illnesses Throughout Equestrian History"—be placed right here?
"Found something?" Omen asked.
"Perhaps," I said, walking to the table and putting the book down.
The title of the piece wasn't at all deceptive. It was a simple catalogue of medical trends as they appeared in history. The table of contents was peculiar; Monsoon had apparently underlined a single line there, and followed up by placing three exclamation marks beside it. The line simply read "Insanity."
I turned to the listed page, and found it crossed out by several long lines of heavy ink. From what I could still read, it defined vague concepts such as "madness" and "insanity" by strict, scientific terms and applied those definitions to symptoms one might find today. I turned the page, only to find more of the same: entire pages were crossed out, crinkled or outright torn. It wasn't until the very end of this segment that I found an untouched page. On this last page, there was a small mention of the origin of the word "lunacy." The author claimed that the word sprung into common usage sometime before the end of the First Era of the Two Sisters, thereby placing it not long before Nightmare Moon's banishment into the Moon.
Folklore has it—or so the author wrote—that there was an odd spike in "insanity" in those years. Ponies exhibited symptoms of schizophrenia or multiple personalities, and many unicorns talked about unusual magical surges, and casting spells without meaning to. There was a passing mention of how the ponies of the time attributed the phenomena to different magical creatures; tales of vampires and werewolves spread like wildfire at the time. This rapid escalation of hysteria ultimately resulted in the death—by way of either murder or suicide—of hundreds, many a witch trial, all before peaking with the Longest Night and slowly settling after Nightmare Moon's defeat.
I looked up from the book. "There are dark times coming."
"What was that?" Omen asked.
"It's what you told me when we first met. That this is what you've been hearing: that there are dark times coming."
"Well, some of my acquaintances do have the tendency to exaggerate things."
I didn't answer him. Instead, I rushed past many shelves, skipping over a millennium's worth of history until I reached the end: present day. What I found at the very end of the shelf weren't history books, but scraps of papers, letters and newspaper clippings. The stack lit up in purple light and flew from the shelf, scattering mid-air. One by one, they passed before my eyes.
First, there were the letters. Monsoon Descent had apparently been exchanging mail with several ponies across the country. There were letters from major cities such as Las Pegasus, as did I find ones written by ponies in small towns like Dodge Junction. And, of course, I found Mayor Bloomingshine's letters from distant Horsmouth. All of them spoke about a sudden onset of mental troubles; nightmares, paranoia, and at times outright hallucination. All around Equestria, ponies were being affected by this psychological plague.
The ponies didn't seem to know about the others, yet I began seeing a pattern in their replies to Monsoon Descent. From the look of it, he had asked them all the same, or at least similar, questions, like a scientist conducting an experiment without the subject's knowledge. The letters stated, in almost all cases, that the symptoms have been there for a long time before, albeit they were largely ignorable, only increasing in intensity throughout the past few years. Curiously, it appeared that it was Monsoon Descent who reached out to all of these ponies, not the other way around. How he knew about their troubles, I had no idea.
These discoveries were as interesting as they were troubling. Yet they weren't what I was looking for.
Omen shot me a concerned look. "What is it?"
I ignored him still, turning my attention to the newspaper cutouts that swirled around me. Headlines and articles, each no older than four years, showed themselves to me one by one.
Colt Jumps From Fifth Storey in the Manehatten Times; Young Couple Goes Missing from Colthagen Weekly; Mare Claims She's Seen Ghost in Fillydelphia Daily News; Trottingham Filly Ravaged! Animal Loose in City?; Mass Hysteria in Manehatten Leaves 3 Dead.
Many unexplained events have happened in Equestria's major cities, it seemed, all within that vaguely defined spectrum of four years. Yet amidst all this, Canterlot remained awfully quiet. I knew, however, that I would find at least one headline from our great capital. It took me some more shifting through the papers, but I finally got it. All other scraps of paper lost their purple glow and fell to the ground. I didn't bother stacking them up again.
"Mother of Two and Lover Murdered in Crime of Passion!" I read the headline aloud. "Husband Commits Suicide," I read the subtitle.
"Miss Sparkle...." Omen whispered cautiously.
"So this is how the world remembers it," I said. I promised myself I would be strong, yet my voice cracked as I spoke. I didn't like that. "This is the oldest. It's just like you said in Ponyville. They were the first."
As he walked closer, Omen picked up some of the papers from the ground and looked them over. "It's been happening everywhere."
"But you said it yourself!" I snapped. "Everything is pointing towards Canterlot. Your... contacts, whoever they are. And then these, these reports of, of things happening everywhere but there."
"The eye of the storm."
"Eye of the storm indeed." I sighed. "But why them? Why my parents?"
"Make no mistake, I definitely understand that you're upset with what happened. But in the grand scheme of things, your parents were just that: the first. It could have been anypony."
"It's significant," I mumbled. "It has to be...."
"You're looking for a conspiracy when coincidence is explanation enough."
"Look at this!"
The copy of Illnesses flew up from the table and levitated towards Omen, showing him the page on "lunacy." He skimmed the segment, then looked at me as the book returned to the table.
"If this book is to be believed," I explained, "then all of this has happened before. Right before...."
Omen took a deep breath. "Are you suggesting that Nightmare Moon is indeed returning?"
"I don't know what I believe any more, Omen. I don't even know what my questions are."
I looked up, closing my eyes for a moment. I took a deep breath and let that last newspaper clipping fall as well. Then I looked Omen in the eye.
"All I know is that the answers won't come from books."
"What would you like to do, then?"
"I want to go exploring."
I was prepared to fight if I had to. I would make Monsoon Descent beg for his life if needed be. Not only for what he's done at Horsmouth, no; when I found the newspaper clipping about the death of my parents, the matter became personal. Why them? Why now? What is he trying to accomplish? I bet he enjoys it, the suffering he causes. These "cultists" deserve no mercy.
I was used to creaky staircases: the dead giveaway of the sneaky intruder. That I could ascend the mansion's cloud-stairs without making the slightest sound was a comforting surprise. What little noise Omen and I did make was muffled entirely by the cottonesque clouds. We passed several storeys on our way upwards until we reached the final level. A single door stood not far from the end of the stairs, with faint light escaping the room at its edges.
Omen looked at me. "Are you certain?" he whispered.
"I am," I replied.
With a deep breath, I stepped to the door and lifted my hoof for the handle. The door opened before I could reach it, and the light flooded out, revealing a pegasus within.
Skin and bones, that's all he was. I was surprised that those thin legs could even carry their owner's weight. His deep blue coat was faded and greying, and his wings were almost featherless. In his eyes, what should have been white was a dark shade of yellow. Around his neck, a strange amulet hung: a small, blue-tinted glass tube. Something was clearly inside, although I couldn't tell what. He tilted his maneless head and gave me a warm smile.
"Mister Descent?" Omen asked, stepping forward.
He nodded at him. "I am." He squinted his eyes. "Is that you, Omen?" His words were sluggish and barely louder than a whisper; whether out of sickness or choice, was a mystery to me.
"It is indeed," Omen said. "Goodness, you've... changed."
I looked at the pegasus before me in confusion. This is Monsoon Descent? This pitiable, sick stallion? Here I was expecting a great warrior, and instead I get but a twisted parody of the ancestors he so glorified.
"And you haven't changed one bit," Monsoon chortled in a waning voice. "But yes, much has happened to me since we last met. I may have let myself go a bit."
He and Omen laughed like old friends.
"Oh, yes," Omen continued. "I hear you're with the wrong crowd these days."
"And just who told you that?"
"She," Omen said, pointing at me, "is Twilight Sparkle. That Twilight Sparkle."
Monsoon eyed me up and down. "Oh! A pleasure to meet you."
He smiled again, extending a hoof. I knocked it away without a second thought.
"Bit of a sour cherry, isn't she?" Monsoon asked, pulling his hoof back.
"She's just a bit upset," Omen said.
"But I'm sure she has a good reason to be here," Monsoon said. "Oh, where are my manners? Come in, come in."
With that, he turned his back and walked back into the room, beckoning us inside. I looked at Omen questioningly; he lifted his hoof in response, pointing at the door.
"Ladies first," he said.
I sighed, entering the room. It was an oddly small space; doubly so, considering the size of the mansion otherwise. A small fireplace burned at the side, venting smoke directly into the sky. An armchair stood by the wall opposite to the door, which Monsoon soon took, painstakingly dragging himself into the seat. Another chair stood just past the door, meant for me, perhaps, although I opted not to sit. At the other side, a desk stood beneath the solitary window. Omen took his place there, leaning casually against the desk.
"So," Monsoon began, "what brings your here?"
"I've been to Horsmouth," I replied. "And I know what you did. You and Bloomingshine."
Monsoon looked questioningly at Omen, who in turn batted his eyebrows at him. Monsoon looked back at me.
"She would prefer the name Nichts, I believe," Monsoon said. Clearly, he knew what I was talking about.
"She will not prefer anything," I said. "She is dead, O Prophet Nie, as is your abomination. What you did to the people of Horsmouth, to the children... have you anything to say?"
He looked down and smiled before responding. "It was a beautiful thing. It proved there is still hope."
"Hope?!" I snapped. "Hope for what?"
"That the Mother might still return."
"Listen to me," I said, walking to him. "You cut that talk out right now, or I swear I'll tear your limbs off."
He leaned back in his chair. "If you really meant that, you'd have done it already." His friendly smile turned into a defiant sneer.
"You're right. I won't." I leaned closer, putting my hoof under his chin. "Not as long as you're useful."
"You should listen to her," Omen said. "Getting on her bad side isn't something you want to do, believe me."
Monsoon continued grinning. "Ask, then."
That little bit of intimidation loosened his tongue. Before much prodding, he proceeded to tell me of his life; how he was born a healthy young pegasus, perfect to perpetuate the well-preserved bloodline. Strong in both body and mind, and of such heritage, his life was to be an easy one, much like his parents, and their parents, going back over a thousand years.
But he was different from those who came before. All his life, he had a way of "knowing things." Lucky coincidences, intuition; it didn't matter what one wished to call it. Such a claim would have been hard to believe, had he not guessed that I, too, had a friend that can apparently sense the future. Much like her "Pinkie sense," Monsoon's abilities were accepted by the select few who even noticed.
It wasn't until around five years prior, so Monsoon said, that he himself started paying attention to his "gift." The news of the changeling invasion shook Equestria, and not long afterwards, Monsoon began being plagued by nightmares and visions. He realised, over time, that these weren't just dreams, but cries for help; that he wasn't the only one suffering. This is what drove him to seek others out. First he only sent out letters, but as the years passed, he felt the need to see these ponies in person as well, travelling across the country. He met the Children of the Night during these years, and it did not take him long to convert to their "faith." As his physical condition rapidly deteriorated, his "other" abilities evolved.
He confirmed my suspicion that all of this has happened before, before Nightmare Moon's rise and banishment a thousand years ago. In Monsoon's mind, the coming of a "new dark age" was inevitable, and he only played his necessary, "noble" part in the grand scheme. He firmly believed that the "dark alicorn" would rise once again.
Strangely enough, he never referred to Luna, or even Nightmare Moon by name, preferring to use vague terms such as "the Mother." When I questioned this, he explained that the names are irrelevant; that what's truly important is the idea, their concept. The cult revered all alicorns as though they were gods. For them, their very existence was a gift from above, and their "eternal struggle" was romanticised to the point of fanaticism.
Monsoon collected newspapers and listened to the whispering gossips of all cities he had visited. In the end, he traced the string of horrible events all around Equestria to their origin: Canterlot. The brutal murder of my mother and her lover, followed by my father's suicide, seemed to be the catalyst of it all. Or, at least, the first domino to be knocked over. How they were relevant, even Monsoon couldn't say. To him, it never mattered.
All throughout, I noticed how eager he was to answer my questions; far more eager than that slight intimidation would warrant. He seemed to enjoy telling me about his deeds, and I didn't see the slightest hint of fear in his eyes. Either his mind was completely gone, or he knew even more than he was letting on.
The last, and perhaps most important matter to settle was that of the beast of Horsmouth.
"What of the monster you and Bloomingshine created?" I asked. "Was it really made from the hair of Luna?"
"The dark alicorn gave me her hair herself," Monsoon answered, pointing at his amulet. "She wanted us to make use of it. Oh, the things we've done."
I ripped the amulet from his neck and took a closer look at it. Indeed, the thing inside the small tube resembled a patch of hair.
I shivered. Coldness rushed down my spine, making me drop the thing.
"Careful," Monsoon said. "Perhaps you, being a unicorn, are more sensitive to its powers."
Even after letting go of the amulet, my legs shivered and my heart raced. The thing lay on the floor motionlessly, yet somehow invitingly. I was at the same time repulsed and compelled by the amulet. I took it into my hooves again, carefully, feeling that indescribable sensation course through me, mesmerising me with its strength. For a brief moment, I felt more powerful than I ever had. With that amulet around my neck, I thought, I could do anything.
Then I snapped out of it. When I looked at my hooves, the amulet was gone. Omen cleared his throat behind me, putting the amulet onto the desk.
"Perhaps," he said, "this isn't the right time to inspect that thing."
Monsoon was grinning. "See?"
I took a deep breath, denying Monsoon the pleasure of agreeing with him. "The things you've done?" I then asked, quickly coming back on topic. "Are there more beasts out there?"
"As I recall," Omen cut in, "on the night I first met Miss Sparkle, something most peculiar happened, also connected to the Children of the Night. The dead don't usually rise from their graves, do they, Mister Descent?
"Omen is sharp as ever," Monsoon answered. "Yes. It only took a single hair as well. The concoction needed only to be sprinkled into the rain vats over at the Weather Factory. The rest was done for us."
"But why?" I asked. "Why do all this?"
"To show that we could," he replied. "To show the world that the end is near."
"If the end of the world were really to come, I hardly believe it would need your assistance in making its presence known."
"Will that be all?" he asked.
"Are there more of you in Cloudsdale?"
"Not any more."
"Where?"
"Wherever they need to be."
He just wouldn't stop grinning. I was on fire inside. They defile the dead, they murder children and enslave others, and they're proud of it! All I wanted to do was to wipe that smug smile from his face.
"What are you waiting for?" Monsoon asked, looking at my shaking hoof. "You can't bring yourself to do it, can you? I know you want to hurt me. You want to kill me. But I'm not making it easy, am I, just sitting here? Maybe if I fought back, or struggled, just a little bit, then you'd have an excuse. But not this way, and that's driving you mad, isn't it?"
He leaned in close to my face, nearly touching his nose to mine, still wearing that same, arrogant grin.
"You see," he said, "this is why I'm not afraid. You won't hurt me. And you won't give me to your Princess Luna, because you know she knows already. It might be hard to accept, but you'll have to: she's letting us do what we do."
I lifted a hoof. I was ready to ram it into him. One kick would have been enough to break his withered bones, to cave his head in. I liked the thought.
"Even if you brought yourself to it," Monsoon said, "what then? I'm not the only one. I'm not even the most important. All you would have on your hooves afterwards is more blood."
Letting my hoof down, I hung my head in defeat. For all the years that I had spent chasing monsters, it seemed, I never managed to become one.
"The door is still open," Monsoon said. "Just leave. It's the best you can do."
I felt a hoof on my shoulder. I looked up to see Omen. He then presented the amulet to me.
"Indeed, Miss Sparkle. Why don't you step outside for a moment?"
When I looked back at Monsoon, he wasn't smiling any more. Even for the so-called prophet, it seemed, Omen was full of surprises. I looked at Omen again, taking the amulet. He nodded at me reassuringly. I knew better than to ask.
I walked outside, taking one last look at the two stallions in the room. Monsoon sunk into his chair as Omen towered above him. I closed the door behind myself and tried not to listen.
To further take my mind off that matter, I took a look at the amulet again. I found that the underside of the tube could be opened, and so I did, using my magic to carefully take out the lock of hair that was within. I brought the patch to my eyes, inspecting it closely. What I found, however, was more frightening than I could ever have imagined.
For the lock of hair was not dark blue, but pink with a yellow stripe.