The air swirls around the obtuse blade. It makes a distinctive sound akin a whip reprimanding my side. I catch the barely recognizable sword before it tumbles in the floor; I had dropped it in surprise.
I can’t avoid it. I fancy myself battling ancient beasts every time I pick up rusty equipment. There’s some of that scrap around. I feel a little more confident; the reference guide said it and now I can attest it.
I reach for my belongings in the saddlebags. I take out a scroll. My eyes gaze with ease on the rolled piece of paper. There, on the side margin, is written: ‘A journey on the world’s ancient paths: journal, fourth week.’
I made the journal with the specific purpose to confirm the existence of the places mentioned in the book, its eponym. I would have my reservations for a book with such title, but it had gained my trust.
I had almost decided to stick the book to the dustiest place in my library. It would have been reasonable: it read like a work of fiction. However, one centimeter towards the middle I found a reference to a place I believed was known only by my relatives.
I read the passage barely avoiding panic; the author had enough loose screws to reveal the location of the—presumed—oldest chaos scar in the world. Who was she? What was her intention? The author’s intention, that is; I still find her characters ludicrous and unrealistic.
I briefly close my eyes and breathe. There’s no need to get agitated. All is fine. I repeat. Everything is mostly fine. Things that didn’t happen, or have not yet happened, aren’t worthy enough distractions; even if that’s why I’m here.
“Twinkleshine,” I call. No answer. Maybe she went to—wait, I did go by my own, isn’t it?
I left to explore alone while she would keep me informed from above. Theoretically. We don’t have a means of communication. I couldn’t convince Twinkleshine to do otherwise; she insisted on staying on the ground level. When I told her—that hard-headed pony— that we would be staying a bit longer to unearth more knowledge, she berated me on how bad the idea was.
She didn’t leave, though. I believe she shares my passion for knowledge, while being a little less… resolute with underground activities. I should ask her if she wants to join my next expedition when I finish my research here.
A more likely explanation is that I may have paid too well. I didn’t know how much one should pay a guide, and I still don’t.
I will be able to continue in this way only if I find anything valuable. Selling its just a necessary material cooperation to evil. The journey has been pointless in economic terms: a year’s savings gone in nothing but tattered tapestries and rotten weaponry I already expected to find. I let the sword rest in peace where I took it. I had gripped it hard enough that its blade bent. I increase momentarily the brightness on my horn; the sword is heavily corroded. I am able to see more of my surroundings.
It’s a basement of sorts. The space is dominated by wide columns which arch in the top, giving the impression of a vault. There is a lot of echo in this room, which reflects its size. I’m thankful for the moss covering most of the floor as it silences my hoofsteps. It wouldn’t be a rarity to find something lurking in this place at this time of the year.
The moon rolls about North. It is the wildest of times: monsoons, blizzards, sand storms, tornados; everything is happening in the world in at least one place at any given moment.
Even below ground, I can hear—or imagine—the wind spitting pebbles at the river, as if it was raining, in almost complete darkness.
“Two months remaining for the next dusk to lit the Everfree”, I recall I said while we were crossing the river. The castle had been within sight for an hour. I hadn’t wasted time and detailed every possible source of trouble to my companion.
“Just stop with with the half hearted pessimism.” She stated calmly, but I knew I had already weared down her mood. “I have enough worries, thank you.”
“I’m sorry, It’s just I love poetic justice... or tragedy. Sometimes I feel like my life is a tale which will be narrated for times to come,” I said with a smile. “It’s a fantasy of mine.”
We continued in silence, below our pale mulberry shield. We arrived more than an hour after, as we had an unexpected encounter with fireplace material.
Creeping monsters, like timberwolves, are only one reason I’m using the least light possible. The other one is banal: I have spent the previous hours making sure there weren’t any spells protecting the area, a painfully slow procedure. I’m tired, frustrated, sore. Continued magic use does a number on light sensitivity.
The castle has been looted decades, if not hundreds of years ago. It is disappointing. There is only debris of the wonders I could be seeing. The floor is teeming with wooden planks. I pick up one sizable piece and examine it. It is another half-burnt cedar rectangle. It is rough from one side. My best guess is that floor wasn’t bare stone as it is now. From previous evidence, I know somepony had tried to used them as combustible for their campfire.
There was a battle here, that’s for sure. I have found several weapons along some, uh, grisly remains. Most of them were ugly pig iron stuff, I can’t even fathom how bandits manage to use that: it’s heavy, frail and weathers badly.
Then, here in the bottom level, I found genuine steel: "a reminder of times when ponykind had proper furnaces and military. When one would have the chance to have proper education. When you didn’t have to steal from national monuments because heartless usurers." That’s what my third great-grandmother said to her great granddaughter. She had a set of armor of the old Royal Guard in her living room for display.
I myself have retrieved and saved my share of ancient times. I’m looking for objects of the historical kind of value. I’m not a thief: I only rescue history. I like to believe that. There is so much knowledge that has been lost due passage of time, and what remains is perishing right now. I admit there is a lot of value in leaving things as is—ding.
An small enchanted clock in my bag tells me it’s time for Twinkleshine to inform me. I shake it to avoid further noises.
I quickly approach the stairs from the opposite corner, checking my surroundings often. I traverse under several pairs of columns until I reach the end. Had I wandered this far?
I get on the stairs. My hooves make a loud sound against the surface I’m stepping.