The Human That History Forgot

by Avox

WAS

"Why what, buddy? You're going to have to be more specific than that."

He hangs there in limbo for a moment, not sure of where to start. "Um... why do you have to watch over... it?" he asks, his voice cracking a tad at the end of the line. He sounds just as confused as I am, and the thought is strangely comforting.

I can't help but visualize an innocent, eleven-to-twelve-year-old boy with scraggly blonde hair—old enough to know, but not quite old enough to understand.

"Because I have to. You will too, in due time."

"But why?"

"Because that's the way it is, and the way it always has been."

I can sense that the adolescent is still unhappy with that answer, and that he wants to ask again but doesn't out of respect. The elder of the two must sense it as well.

"Celestia assigned the title of Guardian of the Upwalker to our ancestors many millennia ago. The duty was passed down generation after generation to me, and once my time comes, I will pass it on to you, just like you will pass it onto your own son."

"I think I get that," the smaller one says. "But, like, why did Celestia assign your great great grandpa dude the job in the first place?"

"Not to keep the Upwalker in," he says slowly, enunciating each syllable. "It's to keep the ponies out."

My eyes bulge out of my head. Ponies? As if this wasn't already strange enough...

Not of my own volition, my head slowly pokes around the corner. Sure enough, there sit two ponies—one sporting a short, stubbly, gray beard, and the other standing at half his height with a surprisingly well-kempt head of hair.

I try my best to contain my surprise as I pull my head back behind my little alcove. I know I should have expected it, but still... I mean, of all creatures, ponies?

"But why would we need to keep the ponies out?"

"Though it isn't malevolent, the Upwalker looks... different than us ponies," Stubbles explains. "Taller. Skinnier. More lanky. It's intimidating, to put it simply, and it's in our nature to defend ourselves against the unknown, especially in the case of something as awkward and creepy looking as the Upwalker. Should the Upwalker manage to escape the catacombs and reach Canterlot, heaven knows what they might do to it."

The smaller one blinks twice, a frown worming its way across his face. "But that's not very nice."

"Exactly. That's why we need to make sure it doesn't escape, and make sure that this stays our little secret. Nopony else can know; it's too dangerous."

The silence stretches thin, though it isn't uncomfortable like it was when I was traversing the caverns of the underground mountain. The little pony is deliberating, unsure of what to ask next. A million questions still burn within him—as they do within myself, a kindred spirit—but he is unsure of how to articulate himself.

Eventually, the words find themselves. "Why is the Upwalker here in the first place?"

Stubbles shrugs. "Some say that Eternity wove all her different universes from the same thread of time, and that the Upwalker—along with the sole pony existing in its world—are the bridge between the two that keeps us from crumbling into dust."

Once again, Not-So-Blondie blinks twice, though this time it's out of confusion.

Stubbles laughs. "Don't think too hard on it. It's just a theory, after all."

"...But there has to be some sort of definite reason, right?"

"All we know is that once every half-century, the Upwalker awakes, almost always amnesiac. It is confused and lost, and it's my—our job to make sure it makes it back to bed safely for its next hibernation. Sometimes its a male, sometimes its a female. Sometimes its an adolescent, sometimes its an elderly person. Heck, my grandpa told me that that one time, it was an elderly man who aged backward."

"B-but..."

"No buts. That's really all there is to it, I promise you."

His face scrunches up. "That doesn't make any sense, though."

"It doesn't have to. We just have to do our jobs, and everything else will sort itself out with time," Stubbles states, an air of finality in his voice.

The boy isn't quite done yet, though. "...Why do you think the Upwalker is here, Granddad?"

"Personally? It's kind of strange, but I believe the Upwalker is here simply to allow us to wonder why the it's here. Gives us something to kill the time with, you know?"

"Huh?"

Stubbles sighs, letting out a low chuckle. "Think about it. When all is said and done and I eventually kick the bucket, nopony will truly remember me—even memories fade with time. It's just an ode to the fact that nobody ever truly leaves a permanent mark on this world.

"You see, when I was your age, I was naive. I figured that there had to be some sort of "why" behind it all—why else would anyone or anything have bothered putting us on this big slab of rock in the first place? But then I realized that there really isn't a reason. And then it hit me that our purpose is having no purpose."

It is clear that the child was lost, but he still nods his granddad on anyway, enraptured by his wild hoof gestures and charged words.

"Time is a construct of the sapient mind," Stubbles continues. "We exist because we were told to. Same with the Upwalker. It's our sacred duty to live, and that's exactly what I intend to do. Everything else I do, everything else I experience—it's just an added bonus."

"W-wow," the boy mumbles.

Stubbles nods, one side of his mouth pulling up into a smile. His heart isn't in it, though.

"..."

"..."

"..."

"Hey Grandad, do you know what the Upwalker looks like?"

"Well, in maturity, they're usually about twice our height."

I glance over at them, then back down at myself.

Check.

"Hair only grows on their heads, armpits, and crotch."

Once again, I look down at my own naked body.

...Check.

"And they have these weird, horn-like appendages called phalanges protruding from both their neck-hooves and ankle-hooves."

I crack a smile at that, rolling my eyes.

Check, I suppose.

"Wow, that sounds really cool! I hope I get the chance to see one sometime soon," the boy cheers, full of untainted childlike bliss.

My heart stops in my chest.

Anchors drop in my belly.

All hell breaks loose somewhere within the confines of my mind.

Suddenly, I know what I must do.

I slowly pull myself to my feet, knees shaking twice as badly as before. Left, right, left, right. I trudge around the corner and out into the light of the cavernous opening. The sunlight is blinding, and I raise an arm to shield my eyes. I can sense their eyes settling upon me, and I can hear their jaws hitting the floor. I only wish that I were able to see the accompanying looks on their faces.

Eventually, my eyes adjust to the light. Now that I can get a good look at them, I drink in the sight of the strange equines.

Stubbles' mane is mostly gray, peppered with the occasional sprinkle of white or black. His coat is a grayish-blue, and reminds me of faded denim jeans. His eyes, contrary to both his coat and mane, burn a fiery orange, and their still alight with the youth his body no longer has.

His grandson's mane is bleach white, which is stunning in contrast with his crimson coat. His eyes are a deep sea blue, full of the same curiosity that is more than evident in his voice. He stares at me in wonder, his tail swishing from side to side in anticipation.

I open my mouth to say something, anything, but no words come. A small, wimpy croak pops from my throat instead, but it's still enough to break them both from their reverie.

Stubbles turns to his grandson, laughing with the cozy, friendly warmth of a family sitting around the fireplace on Christmas, wrapped up in blankets and munching on freshly made cookies.

"Buddy," he says, grin growing ever broader, "today is your lucky day."