//------------------------------// // Ash // Story: My Little Inktober Stories // by SparkleForever //------------------------------// Spike stood over the burning pile of ash, breath broken and heavy. He ran a shaking claw through his head spikes, regretting the day he had ever protested Celestia’s ordination yet feeling relieved that it was over once and for all. He paused to wipe the tears from his eyes. Now he could do what countless generations of dragons before him could do: breathe fire. Real fire. Not the magical kind that kept him on edge, never knowing when a message would gag him. He had regained something that he hadn’t realized he had lost. He was Spike the Dragon, and he was free. ……… Young Twilight stood next to him, and the blurred figure of Princess Celestia towered over them. Spike was merely a hatchling, still exploring the world around him. A scroll was in his claws, and at their urging he burned it, only to be surprised and delighted when it appeared above the princess’ head. He had no way of knowing what it meant. After the enchantment, he couldn’t light anything on fire without it getting teleported directly to Princess Celestia. He learned his lesson early on to not let his emotions get the best of him, and to make sure that Pinkie Pie and her sneezing powder stayed far away from him. For a time, all was well. But then the tide rolled in, and with it came doubts. The first time it hit him wasn’t a particularly memorable day. The burning green flame of dragon’s breath left his maw and the scroll had turned to ash, just like he had intended, disappearing into a wisp of smoke in the direction of Canterlot. Spike had done this countless times before, yet for the first time a feeling of emptiness filled his core. What he didn’t understand was why. He tamped down on the swirling feelings with thoughts about how he was Twilight’s number one assistant, but in the quiet hours of the night it came back. The second time the emotions welled up, he was more prepared. Sleepless nights tended to do that to people. Before he had even finished blowing the messenger flames toward the scroll, he detached himself from his emotions. Turning back to Twilight, he fixed a smile on his face and pretended nothing was amiss. Deep down, however, he wondered: Was this all there was to life? Would he forever be a courier for the crown, never knowing, always waiting for the next belch of dragon’s breath to come? The last time it came, Spike was shaking. They had all been in danger, and he had had no protection to offer his friends. They were safe now, but what if something else happened? As he grasped the scroll a little tighter, the same thought played in his mind over and over again: He had given up his fire breathing without grasping the consequences. Would he ever get it back? ……… Eventually, an argument broke out between brother and sister, between dragon and pony. Twilight didn’t understand, couldn’t understand what he was going through. She tried to reason that it was in his best interest to continue the arrangement, that with enough practice he could control his fire to send things or to burn things at will, but he didn’t want to hear it. That would take years, and he needed to do it now. ……… All around him ashes were falling. Countless scrolls lay at his feet, their ashes oddly satisfying. He had waited for this day for so long, and now that it was finally here… Spike felt whole again. “Feeling better?” Twilight said. She stood on the sidelines, buckets of water at the ready. He turned to her, a soft smile on his face. “Yeah, actually I am.” Remembering all that he had put his sister through dampened his mood. Worry creased his brow. “Hey, Twilight?” “Yes, Spike?” “You know earlier when I called you heartless, I didn’t mean it, right?” “Don’t worry about it. I didn’t realize how important fire breathing was to you. But Spike,” she fixed him with a look, “the next time something is bothering you, tell me right away. I need to know what’s wrong to help you.” “Thanks, Twilight.” Warmth blossomed in his belly and a small flame escaped his snout. A touch of embarrassment colored his cheeks. He promised, “Next time, I will.” Turning back to the pile of ashes, he smiled.