Faith waited eagerly at the back of the line, bouncing more than walking with every step. She was surrounded by a world of other chattering fillies and colts. Ordinarily she might’ve loathed hearing their constant jabbering about their chances and what color they’d be sorted into—but just now, it had its purpose.

Faith’s world was utterly dark, the darkness of something that had never known light. Indeed, “light” was itself just a word to her, a word that translated roughly to heat.

Faith was blind.

But she was also a bat, saving her from being left to the cavern-rats and the cold.

Don’t be so dramatic. You’re the First Commander’s daughter. You’d have an Invalid’s bed and a life of stealing resources from Moonrise, giving nothing back.

Instead of all that, Faith heard the space around her. The Academy’s entrance steps were made from flat stone, with a metal railing off to one side that she occasionally touched with one leg to reassert her bearings.

“Dust Storm,” called a voice from the front of the line. “Time for your assessment, get in here.”

Please. Everypony knows Dust Storm will go Blue. Just give her the spot already and let the rest of us try.

“I’ll see you Reds later,” the pegasus said, spreading her wings in a noisy display of feathers, before prancing up the steps and vanishing into the Academy with a click of the metal door.

The crowd moved forward. There weren’t as many of them as any of their parents hoped for, so even at the back of the line Faith wouldn’t be waiting forever. The moon was a harsh mother. Roughly half the fillies and colts born around Faith’s own time had lived this long.

“Faith!” Arclight’s voice called from behind her, quieter than most ponies spoke. But he knew how much sound mattered to her, and had long since learned to be as quiet as possible around her. Even so, she heard his hoofsteps, and knew when he would be within reach. She knew to expect the slight embrace.

He lowered his voice to a whisper, speaking right into her ears. “You could’ve gone first. Buck, your mom probably could’ve made you skip this whole thing. Why are you waiting in line?”

She sighed. Arclight couldn’t understand. “Because that’s what ponies do. We wait in line, we get our assessments, we get our apprenticeships. We don’t cheat our way into things we don’t deserve.” She spread her wings preemptively, settling a hoof on his shoulder. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Arclight. You deserve that Blue. You tested early, but it’s fair. I get it.”

He grunted noncommittally. She’d been right. “Mom and Dad wanted me to invite you over for dinner when your test is over.”

“Are we celebrating? Or mourning?”

Arclight shrugged, which she could only hear thanks to the sound his blue necklace made when he shook it. Well, she assumed it was blue. Like light itself, the colors meant little more to her than the ranks they implied. “Dunno yet. But I’ll be waiting right here until we can find out. Tell me when you know, yeah?”

Dust Storm emerged from inside with a shriek of glee, zooming through the air so loudly that Faith didn’t even duck to avoid her. “See ya later, Reds! Except you, White.”

Faith couldn’t see who she might be pointing at, but she didn’t need to be able to see to guess who it would be. There was only one pony in this group Dust Storm would dare insult that way, and that was the one who couldn’t see her do it.

The line moved forward again. At least the most unpleasant pony waiting ahead of them was gone, giving her a little peace. “How’s the Arcanium? Is being a wizard’s apprentice everything you dreamed it would be?”

He followed her up the steps. “Being tired all the time isn’t my favorite. I love books as much as the next pony, but… I wish we didn’t have to be locked up in the Arcanium all the time.”

Faith grinned. “Just practice your air-spells and teleportation. When I’m on the surface crew, I’ll need a good partner.”

Arclight winced. She couldn’t see it of course, but she could hear it in his voice. “I don’t think… Faith, have you thought about what you’ll do if you don’t make Blue?”

“Because I’m not good enough?” She spread her wings, puffing out her chest and baring her fangs at him. “Don’t sound like them Arclight. There isn’t a better flyer on the moon. There isn’t a better geologist. I can learn twice as much by touching metal as these other ponies can learn with their stupid eyes.”

Arclight backed away. “Alright, alright! I’m not… I’m not trying to argue with you, Faith. I’m sorry.”

“You should be.” She folded her wings, falling back into line.

“I’ll be waiting when you get out,” he said. “I still want to be friends when you’re done, yeah? No matter what happens.”

She swore under her breath, glaring in his direction. At least, she assumed that was what she was doing. It was really just a word, like so many others.

The line ahead of her finally dwindled, and she stood at the top of the stairs. She fiddled with the empty lunarium links of her necklace, each one waiting for an achievement medal. And of course, her color.

Finally the door opened again, and Silver Needle’s voice called from inside. “Faithful Gale.” She stopped in the doorway, and Faith nearly walked into her. She hadn’t flung them open to wait for the others. She kept her voice low, sympathetic. “Faith, you don’t have to be here.”

“Yes I do,” she argued, standing alert. “I’m ready to prove myself worthy of the Night Princess’s glory. I’m ready to lift Moonrise with my hooves, as those before me have lifted.” She recited perfectly, keeping the anger out of her voice as best she could. She thought she did a pretty good job.

The door rumbled open. “Inside then.” Silver turned, her hooves moving swiftly off into the Academy. Faith followed quickly behind, barely needing to squeak to see her way forward. She’d been coming here every day since she was old enough to study a craft.

They passed through a massive entryway, where metal plaques of achievement surrounded a statue twice as tall as she was. Faith slowed just a little, listening to the reflection off the pony’s massive form. Stone armor carved a face she had barely known. Covered with scars, with only a single wing on his right side.

First Commander Iron Quill, watching over Moonrise in death as he had done until the end of his days. I’ll make you proud, Dad. You’ll see. She swept her wing against one of his carved legs as she passed for good luck, then hurried to catch up with Silver.

They went all the way to the gymnasium for the test, a space so large that her voice could barely show her the other side. She could hear the nearer hazards all the same—rings, and pillars, and simulated craters of sand.

Faith found the little metal line where the course began and stopped to stretch. She was more than ready for the flight, but that didn’t mean she was going to begin without proper preparations.

Needle’s voice came from a dozen paces away, concerned. “Faith, what are you doing?”

“Preparing for my evaluation,” she said simply. If the evaluator was going to hold to strict ceremony, then she could do that too. She stood up straighter, spreading her wings to either side. “My name is Faithful Gale, and I am here to petition the Master of Labor for placement among the Blues, to serve among the Dustwalkers. In their ranks, I will use my hooves to lift Moonrise, so that one day we might have our vengeance.”

The Master of Labor stopped walking, drawing in a sharp breath. She didn’t say anything for almost a minute, before making her way back in halting steps. Finally her breathing was only feet away, practically within reach. “Faith,” she said. “It’s noble how much you want to serve Moonrise. But you ca—”

“My name is Faithful Gale,” she said, a little louder. “My name is Faithful Gale, and I am here to petition the Master of Labor for placement among the Blues, to serve—”

She felt a hoof settle on her shoulder, silencing her. Like all of the first generation, she had to reach up to Faith’s shoulder, even though she was old, and Faith was young. They were all short like that, even her father. Even her mother. Only the princess was taller than the average filly.

“Faith, you can’t do this.” She spoke a little firmer now, without the gentleness that had made her so easy to interrupt before. “It’s good that you want to serve so well. Moonrise will make use of your talent and resourcefulness. But the purpose of the colors we wear isn’t to decide the quality of food we receive and the bunks we sleep in. They’re an honest assessment of what we can actually accomplish. So resources aren’t wasted.”

Faith sniffed, feeling the beginning of a tear trickle down her face. She wiped it quickly away, hoping Silver Needle hadn’t seen. “Among the Dustwalkers, I wouldn’t waste anything for Moonrise. I wouldn’t shatter glowstone, or drain electricity, or—”

The hoof rested on her shoulder again, twisting her slightly to the side. Silver Needle’s voice came from very close this time. “That’s not true. The Dustwalkers risk themselves on the surface, Faith. Your own life would be in constant danger there, as well as the life of your partner. You could die.”

Her voice cracked, but she didn’t stop now. This was her only chance to be assigned a proper color. She wasn’t going to give up. “I’ve studied since I was a foal,” she said. “I know the dunes, I can fly better than anypony, I know how to find metal worth bringing back, I—”

Silver Needle cleared her throat, silencing her again. “If Iron was still alive today, he would never let you risk your life like that. I know this is hard to hear, Faith, but… the greatest service you can give to Moonrise isn’t to bring metal to smelt, or building the Dustmine. Your life is itself valuable. Ponies see you, they see your determination to survive even while broken, and they know they too can survive. You’re Iron Quill’s legacy. That’s all we expect of you. And maybe to produce an heir for Quill’s family, when you’re older. That’s it.”

Broken. That’s all we expect.

She was certainly crying now, there on the starting line. She could hear the obstacles waiting for her, and the sky without a ceiling far above. It called to her, even if she would never see it.

“S-so…” She cleared her throat, glaring down at the Master of Labor. Or at least, where she thought Silver Needle would be standing. “That’s it, then? I just… eat Moonrise’s food, breathe its air, and… let somebody buck me when I’m older? That’s it?”

“You don’t have to say it like that,” Silver Needle said. “Your life is irreplaceable, Faith. Every day you’re inspiring the ponies of Moonrise. But... there are other things.” She held up something, two pieces of metal. It sounded like lunarium. A color pin, meant to go on Faith’s blank necklace. Of course she couldn’t see the color on it. “It would be improper for Quill’s daughter to be less than purple. With this, you could take up Runecrafting in the Arcanium.”

Carving the same shapes into bits of metal all day, every day. Never stand on the surface. She tensed, retreating from Silver Needle. Back towards the obstacle course.

“I still think… I could test into Blue, Master Silver Needle. If you just… Can’t I take the test? Even if you don’t let me ever apprentice with the Dustwalkers. Wouldn’t it be better for Iron Quill’s daughter to test higher? You could testify that you saw me complete it with your own eyes! I’d be even more of a… whatever I am. A tool. I’d be a better one.”

Silver was silent for a long time. Her hoofsteps circled around Faith, though she couldn’t see what the mare might be doing. Finally she cleared her throat. “I’ll never let you onto the surface,” she said flatly. “Do you understand that? You’re blind, Faith. You’re a danger to anypony who serves with you.”

She nodded weakly. “Is there any danger to letting me take the test? I fly these obstacles every day. It’s a little late to stop me now.”

Another pause, shorter this time. “I suppose there’s no harm. I’m sorry I can’t give you any more, Faith. We’re all heartbroken you can’t fill your father’s hooves. But nopony here doubts your loyalty or dedication to Moonrise. You don’t have to do this.”

“I do,” she said flatly. “I can’t make you let me out, but… I want to test into Blue.”

Needle fiddled with something. Objects moved around inside a container, and a quill tapped on paper. Real paper, which was never wasted on Moonrise. This was her score, the most important score she’d get in her whole life. “Very well. Listen for the whistle, you have two minutes to fly five laps of this course in total darkness. Every lap you fail to complete will penalize you ten points. Every object you touch will penalize you five points.”

She blew the whistle.

Faith hesitated for another moment more, startled by Needle’s sudden change of heart. She’d nearly given up by now. Her whole life was nothing more than a demonstration to the other ponies of Moonrise. She might as well be a mural painted on the wall—another thing that Faith couldn’t read.

But she could fly. She took off with a single smooth leap, spreading her wings and gliding forward through the air. She didn’t bother keeping her squeaking down anymore—Needle had said she was in darkness, where any bat was expected to use these senses.

Where other students might’ve had to struggle to find their way, Faith was no worse off than she’d been before.

She nearly smacked into the first pillar, right in the center of the lane. This isn’t supposed to be here! She veered to the left, through space that should’ve held a ring. But there was no ring, and a slope of sand approached rapidly on that side.

They changed the course for my test. She climbed as high as she could, cresting the dune and scattering dust behind her. The far wall approached rapidly at this speed, and she caught herself with a spin through the air, before narrowly missing several rings suspended on thick rope. At least those were the same, even if they weren’t where she expected.

With each obstacle, Faith sped up. There was a flat wall crossing half of the return lap, waiting for her to smack into. She peeled around it, dodged another pillar, then dipped low for a few more rings.

First lap finished, no penalties. She sped up around the second one, not needing to call as loudly to dodge the dangers she knew would be waiting for her. Up around the bend, around a pillar, and so on.

She landed after her fifth lap, a full three seconds before Needle blew her whistle. She grinned, shaking some sand off her wings.

“Fifty points,” Needle said, scribbling onto her notepad. “We’re very impressed, Faith. Let me just give you your—”

“No!” she squeaked, louder than she probably should’ve. Needle might be shorter than she was, but she was still the Master of Labor. She could give her a lifetime of mucking latrines if Faith really pissed her off. “I mean, fifty points isn’t enough for Blue. Let me finish.”

Needle drew in a sharp breath, then scribbled something on her clipboard. “Very well, Faith. This way.”

They crossed the rest of the gym, to a row of low tables. The tools of many crafts were arranged here, Faith used the edge of a wing to touch them as she passed. A runecrafting station, a loom, a fire pick and lead-twine for metalcraft. She took the warmth coming from further away to mean that a forge had been erected here, or maybe a glassblower’s station.

She ignored all of them as they settled at a table covered with a sheet of soft velvet. “Before you are all six primary metals,” she said. “Show me copper.”

Faith squeaked, listening to the placement of each lump of metal. They’d done nothing to make the shapes suggestive, they were each rough spheres, pitted and lumpy from impact on the surface. She touched each one with the back of her wing, then licked the one she suspected to be sure. “Copper.”

“Correct. Show me lunarium.” They repeated the process for iron, lead, and gold, before she asked, “Show me tin.”

There was only one lump left, but this time Faith hesitated. She tilted her head slightly in confusion. “Tin isn’t on this table, Master Needle. This is…” She nudged it again with her teeth. “I don’t know what this is.”

Needle scribbled something. “The craftsponies call it True Lunarium. I’m not fond of the name myself—it’s a mouthful. Somepony suggested solarium, but then the princess gave them two months hard labor. So probably not that either.” She turned away. “I suppose you’ll insist on testing with the survival gear as well. Follow me.”

She did. This time was a little harder for her—the mask and goggles Dustwalkers wore on the surface had to be applied and removed within a short window of time, one hard to reach when she couldn’t see what she was working with.

But she kept working, until her suit was on, and she could start performing the various Dustwalker rituals required for a bat who wanted to ever visit the surface. There were knots to tie, filters to change, signals to send… and then she was finished.

“That’s a final score of… ninety-four,” Needle said. “Congratulations, Faith, you’re Blue.”

She opened her mouth to cheer, but before she could even move, she felt a hoof settle on her shoulder again, pushing her down. The adults of the first generation might be short, but they were also incredibly strong, even the ones who weren’t earth ponies.

“Look at… right. Well, listen to me. I’m giving you this charm, but you need to understand. I’m giving you this with my words of apology. You will never walk on the surface. Your life is too precious, and your deformity is too severe.”

“But…” She probably should’ve kept her mouth shut, but now that she’d made it this far, she couldn’t. She deserved to speak. It was her right, dammit! “But I’m Blue.” She reached out for the charm, Needle pulled it away.

“That’s a bucking piece of metal, Faith. The colors are pointless—they’re a way for us to make sure that nopony’s labor is wasted, that’s all. There’s nothing sacred about a piece of metal.”

“I’m Blue,” she repeated. “That means I can do the work of my tribe. I can be a Dustwalker.”

Master Silver Needle sighed deeply. “Quill would’ve been less tolerant of this stupidity. He… he understood. Your life is more important than the ore you could ever find. I’m the Master of Labor, Faith… and I’m telling you right now, I will never give you a Dustwalker shift as long as I live. I won’t even let you bucking apprentice with them. If you fight me on this, I’m going to take this charm and toss it into the furnace!”

Whatever argument she might’ve been about to make died in her throat, turning into a half-strangled sob.

“That’s better.” She felt something settle into her hoof—a circle of lunarite warmed by a pony’s touch.

With one shaking hoof, Faith reached up and secured it in place on her necklace, clicking the clasp through the center link of her necklace. For all the good it did her. Her charm might as well be white.

“It’s amazing what you can do, despite your deformity. You’re an example to all of Moonrise. Lord Commander Chain Mail will probably give you a bucking speech. Take the honor you’ve won today, the proof that in a kinder world, you could’ve been a Dustwalker.”

She turned to leave, without waiting for formal dismissal, without waiting for anything. But Needle stopped her. “You’ll have the next lunar day to celebrate your appointment, along with all the others. But when your time of rest is over, you’re going to accept the apprenticeship in Cozen’s shop. Just… look on the bright side. Your little coltfriend is working there too. You can spend some time together. Get started on that heir early.”

Talk that might’ve made her cheeks flush with anticipation filled her with disgust when it came from the Master of Labor. Faith turned and ran from the hall, and this time Needle didn’t stop her.

She passed her father’s statue in tears. It didn’t matter that she couldn’t see his face, she knew he’d be glaring down with disappointment. She imagined his words, spoken in that ailing voice she’d known since birth. “So what if the universe gave you a deformity? Who are you going to cry to, the princess? No. You’re stronger than that. You reach out for what you want, and you take it. Nopony is going to give it.”

I tried, Dad. I really tried. She reached the outer door, shoving her shoulder against it and stumbling out the steps. She nearly fell on her face, but of course the moon gave her plenty of time to catch herself, turning a fall into a few indelicate bounces.

“Arclight? Arclight?” She stopped at the bottom, calling desperately. She was crying, but she didn’t quite have it in her to care. “Arclight, did you leave?”

Something touched her wing, a gentle hoof. She spun furiously, and nearly struck out at her unseen attacker—until she realized the obvious. Arclight’s voice. “Faith?” His hooves echoed lightly off the stone as he moved closer. “Faith, what’s wrong? You…” He hesitated. “Buck me, you did it. You’re Blue.”

She shook her head vigorously. “I’m nothing.” I will never give you a Dustwalker shift as long as I live. “It doesn’t mean anything. It’s all just pretend.”

Arclight flung one leg around her shoulder in a quick hug, squeezing her tight. She didn’t have the strength to resist, emotionally or physically. “Hey, Faith… why don’t we go home? My dad will be mostly finished with dinner now, I’m sure. He always cooks interesting things.”

She nodded weakly, feeling warm tears streak her face. But she couldn’t even bring herself to wipe them away. “That sounds… that sounds good,” she said.

Some part of her, a distant part by now, reminded her of something else. If anypony knows what to do about this, it’s Cozen and Sylvan Shade. Or her mother, but getting Penumbra to notice her was harder than getting time with the princess.

Gritting her teeth, she fell into step beside Arclight and left the Academy behind.