“We spend thousands of years getting here,” the little pony went on, her voice only partially muffled by a foreleg. “And here I am, generation three, thinking there’s somehow urgency to solving this mystery. Like generation four couldn’t work it out, or generation fifty million. I bet they could’ve cut through that door with a plasma torch and enough time. Or… hell, through the stone. It didn’t have to be me. But no, I just had to go anyways.”