The Student of Sun and Shadow

by Journey Blue

Introductions - What Lies Beneath - Part 2

It is midday, the sun directly overhead. A little filly laden with a book-filled saddlebag makes her way through the Canterlot Gardens, heading for the hedge maze. The gardens are the little filly’s favorite place in all of Canterlot and, for all she knew, all of Equestria. She follows the paths as they meander through corridors of roses, by ponds of giant goldfish that shimmer brilliantly under the water’s surface. Flowered fountains split the sunlight into a prismatic array with their sprays of water, and statued memorials honor those lost in battles once fought and now long past—forgotten by all save one.

Commissioned by the nobleponies of Canterlot in celebration of the bicentennial of the Celestial Reign, the Canterlot Gardens was, from the beginning, a work of art. Over the centuries that followed, by the efforts of countless gardeners and artisans alike, it was made into a marvel. A marvel that Princess Celestia herself proudly had no hoof in creating beyond being a source of inspiration.

However, this is not entirely true—as the gardener Silver Shears once told the little filly, in conspiratory manner so forced and obvious that it elicited a giggle from her—Princess Celestia did, in fact, help create part of the garden: The Garden Labyrinth. As he had told her, making the maze the filly’s most visited location in the garden, the labyrinth was designed and partly crafted by the Princess herself, and it was, in every sense of the word, enchanted.

The labyrinth is the largest part of the Canterlot Gardens, expanding well into the mountainside surrounding the Canterhorn, and designed with geometries and spells that make it impossible to truly know where you are going, but always ending up where you want to be. Some spells will make you turn right when you thought you had turned left. Some will send you in circles until you performed a task: crossing the path only by the stepping stones, tossing a bit into a fountain and making a wish, or facing the Green Pony, the spirit of the garden—thought to be a dryad or woodsprite—in a game of wit, usually a riddle. Yet, were you looking for an exit, it is always right around the corner.

The maze is perhaps evidence of Princess Celestia’s more capricious side.

There is one enchantment, rumored to exist but never proven, said to trap two ponies who enter the maze together. These ponies, these two unknowing lovers, would wander the labyrinth side by side, unable to find their way out until, either prompted by some insight, a moment of courage, or the same statue of two lovers embracing that these two keep seeming to pass—they admit their feelings for one another. Then, with a kiss, the way out is revealed and the two ponies that entered separate, now leave together. So goes the rumor.

Whether such an enchantment exists within the labyrinth, by Princess Celestia’s hoof—or more likely, her niece’s—is up for debate. Were you to ask Silver Shears what he thinks, the old stallion will likely tell you to visit the maze, on Hearts and Hooves Day, and find out—wink wink.

However, our filly is not looking for a special somepony, but for a special place. A quiet place. One to read her books away from the hustle and bustle of the castle and the noise of the city. She passes between the statues of Victory and Knowledge, flag and scroll in respective hoof, and enters the maze, never slowing from her brisk trot. She knows her way through the maze, even if she does not know her actual destination.

Following along the right side of the maze, tracing her hoof along the hedges lest the maze try to deceive her, she arrives at a lakelet. Instead of trotting along the banks, she leaps across the small body of water, from lilypad to lilypad, careful to land only on the ones with an odd number of blossoms. The lilypads are massive, almost as large as the goldfish swimming beneath, and can hold a full grown mare. But the pads with an even number of blossoms would sink under the weight of even a filly as small as herself. Yet it is essential to cross via the lilypads rather than go around—you would find yourself back where you entered otherwise. In the past, it took the filly some time to figure this out, and several attempts to cross the pond—fortunately the goldfish were skilled lifeguards.

She successfully crosses the pond—the goldfish would applaud her had they the hooves to stomp—and continues on her quest. A northward wind blows, cool not cold, and channels through the twists and turns of the labyrinth, carrying the garden’s fragrance in its wake. Save for the rustle of the leaves and the wind’s murmur, no sound reaches the ear.

She passes by many a fountain bench and shaded pavilion suitable for reading, but not quite to her standards: she has an important test coming up, the most important in her life, and she refuses to settle for anything less than the best. At each of these locations, she would stop a stare around—at the bench, the fountain, the pavilion, then the hedges, as if it were a single entity—with a knowing look that said: you can do better.

She knew it, and the gardens knew it. But these are not gardens, and it is not the Green Pony that watches her with amusement.

She trots down a winding path that forks, taking the left—or perhaps it is the right—and enters into a clearing overgrown with grass as high as her head. Wildflowers of every color poke out from between the blades of tall grass, and thistles loom in abundance—their thorny pink flowers towering above the surrounding vegetation, seeming as though in their rightful place. A short distance into the clearing, the thistles grow into a dense thicket that connects the hedges to either side of the clearing, forming a solid wall of prickly greenery. The sight is unlike anything the filly has ever seen before, especially not in Canterlot. It is unusual, strange… otherworldly—both frightening and enthralling her.

She crosses the clearing with tentative steps, making her way through the tall grass to the thistled wall. At its base she finds a smooth slab of stone; in the polished tilt of its surface reflects the sky and the inverted flowered tops of the thistles. Inscribed beneath the flowers, in lettering that the filly first thought to be written in the sky, is a riddle. The Green Pony wants to play it seems.

Keeper of the Sun

I’m the sea above the Sea

Speak my name to me

The filly had to admit; the Green Pony was getting good—she might have to stop and think about this one.

Let’s see: keeper of the sun—that’s Princess Celestia, no doubt. Sea above the sea, sea above the sea…hmmm. What do you see above the sea?… Of course! The keeper doesn’t mean the princess, it means—

“The sky. You’re the sky,” she addresses the riddle stone, its polished face bearing the sky’s image. Yet when the stone remains unchanged, she wonders if she was wrong.

Speak my name to me… Ahhh. Well played Green Pony. Well played.

The filly looks up to the Sky, pointing for emphasis, and names it, “You are the sky.”

The words on the riddle stone shimmer, then fade. The thistles sink into the ground until only their flowers are visible above the grass, and the ones in front of her disappear entirely—the wall of looming thistles becoming a corridor of flowers. The path before her is opened to what lies beyond.

It is a meadow, or at least that’s the best she can describe it.

Meadow was not the first word she used to describe what she saw. The first words were actually spatial distortion. Words a bit advanced for such a young pony, yes, but she is a learned filly for her age. She knows what they mean, and spatial distortion seemed a pretty accurate description. The meadow, if you could even call it that, is far larger than the entirety of Canterlot and the Canterhorn.

The rippling sea of pale-green grass that lies before her stretches onto a horizon of towering clouds. Wildflowers grow in abundance and there are thistles here too, along with other weeds. Yet their presence in no way mars the field’s beauty but adds to its lushness. The air carries the playful scent of sun-dried petals, daisies, and a hint of river water. Over the wind’s murmur she hears the gurgling of a small brook hidden amongst the tall grass.

She stares with perplexed awe; she knew the labyrinth was large, massive in fact, but to hide a meadow this size would have to be the work of an advanced and powerful enchantment—one that nopony could pull off. Except, perhaps, for Princess Celestia herself. Was it possible the little filly by chance or by intention, stumbled upon the princess’ secret spot? Her hidden sanctuary?

At this the filly hesitates—if this is a secret spot for the princess, then she might not take kindly to somepony just trotting in. But then, why did the labyrinth lead her here? Further, what if Princess Celestia often visited this place? And, what if Princess Celestia found the little filly diligently studying for her test, the very one to get into the princess’ own school? Might this help her get accepted? Or, might the princess even talk to her? What if the princess even helped her discover her cutie mark?

With the adventurous wonder and curiosity that so easily fills the young mind, and so easily forgotten by the old, the little filly leaps into the meadow, venturing out of her memory and into another’s. She disappears amongst the tall grass and wildflowers, as if swallowed by the rippling garden, as if shepherded by the thistles into its wild heart.

Perhaps she was.

~

In the middle of the meadow, atop a small hill, a little filly rests in the shade of the apple tree, its curved trunk and low hanging branches a shroud of pink-white blossoms and alternating leaves. Her legs are tucked under her, and in the grass before her, a book soon to be read. It is quiet here, with only the sound of the wind. Soft and fragrant with wildflowers, the breeze brings the sun’s warmth into the shade where the grass is cooling to the touch.

For a time, she continued through the grass, now twice her height, clueless of her bearing, and looking for something to judge her location by. She paused once to grasp the oily leaves of an herb she recognized before moving on—the pleasant smell of rosemary now on her hooves. She spotted what at first looked to be a flowered shrub. As she drew near, the ground sloped upwards, the grass beginning to thin, and she saw that the shrub was a low hanging tree—an apple tree in full bloom. She hopped through the grass towards the tree, the grass parting into a clearing atop a small hill. At its center was the apple tree. Once at its base, she scrambled up the slanted trunk to the tree’s top, and looked around. From her perch, for miles all around, she saw an endless flowered sea.

Overhead, the sky is a clear blue, save for the crisscrossing veils of teal magic that, from afar, resemble a dome of cracked glass. Spatial distortion, the filly thinks once more. Clouds tower on the horizon—every horizon, and the sun above swims warm and free.

From the shade beneath the tree, the filly looks out into the meadow with its rippling grass and many flowers and colorful weeds painting the rolling fields in a spotted pastel. She imagines Princess Celestia walking across this green sea of color. She imagines the princess gliding towards her through the meadow’s tall grass with the ease afforded to by her long legs, and the grace of a swan through water. To see the princess would be a dream.

The field ripples in green waves, the breeze slipping under the tree as she opens her book. Blades of grass tickle her legs and light flickers through the leaves. The wind rustles the pages of the book, flipping them in a whimsical manner, until they are held still by a pink glow. She fusses over her book. The sun laughs in a lyric melody.

The laugh, soft and lifting, lingers on the wind like the sound of rain and fills the meadow like the hymn of a choir. The filly stops searching for her lost page—they were all blank anyway—and looks up to the sky, enraptured by the sound.

Sunlight fills the meadow, flowing from the sky in a radiant stream. It encompasses the tree-adorned hill and covers the meadow in a sea of light. She stares into the light, mesmerized by its beauty, yet her eyes are unharmed by its intensity. All around the sun ripples and roils, sings and swims.

Then the sun speaks to her, and the dream is complete.

~

Greetings little one,
Welcome to this, our garden.
Is it not lovely?

The sun speaks, its words sweeter than honey as it flows in and out of the meadow in a ribbon of light.

“Yes, it’s very lovely,” says the smiling filly to the sun, and without thinking she adds, “and so are you.” The filly’s face reddens. No, no, no—did she just say that aloud?

A musical peal of laughter plays on the wind, sharing in the sun’s mirth.

Such a joy to hear.
What is your name, little one?
How have you come here?

“I’m Twilight Sparkle,” says Twilight, her blush forgotten. “I was… looking for a place to read my book and I…” she taps her chin, “sort of… wandered in.” That sounds about right, thought Twilight, but she said it like a question. She was sure she had been wandering the gardens. That was what she recalled.

Welcome, young Twilight.
Such a feat to wander here.
You are quite gifted.

Delighted by the sun’s praise, Twilight giggles and taps her hooves together. The sun, her princess, had complimented her.

Rare such company.
Your presence is most welcome.
Will you stay awhile?

Twilight stares at the sun for several moments while her thoughts tick and click, comprehension processing like slow clockwork. “You want me to stay?” she says at last.

Yes, little Twilight.
So few have visited us.
None since Selene.

Twilight’s eyes widen, sparkling with sunlight as her face lit up. The princess invited her to stay. No way would she refuse such an offer.

“I’d love to st—” stay as long as you’d like, she was going to say, and, unbeknownst to her, it was fortunate that she did not. What cut her words short was a small red spark that bolted down her horn: a quick burst of magic recoil that sent a sharp sting through her head, and then spoke in a reprimanding voice.

Make no promises while there, Princess. Lest you become trapped in this creature’s fantasy.

“—I… can stay for a little while.” She finishes and rubs the sides of her head, bewildered. Her magic had backfired before, and, even with extensive practice, it would still on occasion. This time had surprised her though, more than the others. It had been different. She had not been using magic, none that she knew of, and she had heard a voice—but perhaps that was her imagination. But whatever the reason, she soon does not care. The sun is speaking to her again, and it is a voice she would much rather listen to.

Care for a story?
They are many that we know.
Ones found in no book.

Twilight's ears perk up at the word book, and she looks over at her own book laying in the grass to her side, its white pages open and without text. But it is just a glance before she is looking back to the sun, excited and curious. “I’d love to hear a story,” she says.

Then one you shall hear.
Oh, but there are so many.
Which one should we tell?

The sun ceases its flowing, becoming still and calm, as if in contemplation.

“How about your favorite?” says Twilight, and the sun ripples and laughs its melody—a sound that always left her feeling elated.

A wonderful choice.
You wish to hear our favorite?
It’s about apples.

“Apples?” says Twilight, a bit bemused, but the sun ignores her. It settles into the tall grass, circling around the tree-adorned hill. The grass and flowered thistle rise about the pooled sun, as if a marsh of music and light.

Four daughters there were—

—the sun begins, as four figures rise from the light, and the story comes to life.

~

Four daughters there were

Beautiful and powerful

Nature’s heiresses

The eldest of white

Wings of iridescent dawn

Crown of stars adorn

She, the far-shining

Gold was honored in her name

It lusters her light

Second, the wisest

She saw through lies many truths

With shining grey eyes

Bright and effulgent

Memories were her blessing

Words were her domain

Third, fiercest of heart

Her love made the land grow lush

And the young grow strong

She of many names

Farmers and Shepherds praised her

And many still do

The Fourth was youngest

Her heart the wild storm and sea

She voiced their music

In wind-swept pastures

She first painted the Night’s sky

And sung woeful songs

The Three spurned the Fourth

Who sent their labors awry

Reshaping their work

Born of Sea not Sky

The Fourth shared not their sire

Nor The Three’s desire

She took the Day’s crown

To paint the Night in her light

Light he so adored

The Fourth created

Gibberish and Poetry,

Twisting Wisdom’s words

The Third fear her most

For the Fourth bore a wild heart

She was Love’s refute

Too lively is she

Sending our labors awry

Thought the elder three

Quiet she must be

To calm her heart’s storm and sea

Thought the elder three

So they took her voice

So she’d be calm and quiet

But left her laughter

And calm The Fourth was

With no voice to stir trouble

But how the storms brewed

“Disgrace them I will,”

The Fourth thought so angrily

And laughed like thunder

With this she sought out

The meadows of evening fruit

The silver apples

Picked for a purpose

The apples would grant a wish

But if as a gift

So The Fourth picked one

‘As a gift for the fairest’

She thought while laughing

This apple’s power

Could make even goddesses

Jealous and petty

She presented it

To the three elder daughters

But said not for who

She could only laugh

As they read the apple’s script

‘To the fairest one’

Each was beautiful

As were all of Nature’s young

But who was most fair?

And so they were cursed

Each with petty vanity

As was The Fourth’s wish

Long did they argue

Until even Father Time

Too grew impatient

“Enough!” He proclaimed

"This matter shall be settled

By the Prince of Lore"

Time sent for the prince

Who had aided him before

And had earned his trust

Wisest in the land

Shrewd of mind, strong of body

The Proud Prince of Lore

Summoned to Time’s court

Came the wise prince of mention

As Time’s chosen judge

Given the apple

Time bid him choose as seen fit

And left him to be

So the wise prince stood

Before the elder daughters

And said to The Three

‘Prove you’re the most fair

In beauty and of virtue

And the apple’s thine’

The eldest spoke first

‘I will grant thy great power

If thy chooses me’

The second spoke next

‘Endless knowledge will be thine

If thy chooses me’

The third spoke final

‘Or a bride of thine choosing

If thy chooses me’

The Fourth said nothing

But sat watching and laughing

Beside the daughters

Power the Prince had

All princes had great power

Of mind and magic

Wisdom he cared not

For he was the wisest prince

Learned already

Yet loved he pondered

As it tempted him greatly

For loved, he was not

The Fourth laughed again

Now at the Prince’s turmoil

If only she knew

Wise prince was proud too

And wanted not The Third’s help

For courage he had

Holding the apple

He said, “To the fairest one”

And chose the youngest

Silent was the fourth

Silent were all the daughters

Pleased was Father Time

Given as a gift

The apple’s curse was undone

By the Prince of Lore

The Fourth left smitten

With apple and silent sea

By the Prince of Lore

~

One by one the figures sink back into the meadow, the youngest with her apple lingering the longest. Twilight waits for the sun to continue, but when the sun begins to rise out of the tall grass, she realizes that the story has concluded.

“Wait! What about the prince? Did she love him?” asks Twilight. To her, the story wasn’t finished, and she wants to know how it is supposed to end.

Loved and hated Him.
He who had captured her heart,
Who had calmed the Sea.

“So she did love him?”

Their love was legend,
And made even goddesses,
Jealous and petty.

These words the sun sings with a somber note, hinting at things unsaid.

“Were they happy in the end?” Twilight inquires once more.

For but a short time.
But that is another story,
For another time.

“Awww.” She pouts and looks to the sun, with pleading eyes. But she knew it was no use—the princess hath spoken.

Time for us to part.
But before you go, Twilight,
We’ve a gift for you.

A small strand of light traces its way to the tree’s enclosure and stops at its edge. Twilight looks up, following the path of the light, and spots a large golden orb in the branches above.

“An apple?” Twilight says, puzzled and slightly disappointed, and the air is again filled with singsong laughter. The branch, whereon the apple grew, is more slender than the other branches, and it bends under the weight of the apple, bringing it within Twilight’s reach. Standing on her back hooves, Twilight grasps the branch and uses her weight to pull it down further. Sitting on her haunches, holding onto the branch with one hoof, she reaches for the apple with the other. But she pauses before touching the apple. Had this been any other fruit, an orange for example, she would likely not have hesitated. But this is an apple, and the sun’s story has made her wary of apples. Perhaps her princess is testing her.

“Is this like the apple for your story?” questions Twilight.

No, if not picked so.
If it is picked and then shared,
A blessing it grants.

That’s right, the youngest daughter had picked her apple to make the others ‘jealous and petty’, and it had done just that. So if she picked the apple to be shared with a friend, and shared with the princess, then wouldn’t that make them friends? A blessing it grants.

Twilight grasps the apple.

Then another thought occurs to her: what if she picked it for something more?

Snap. She lets go of the branch and it detaches from the apple. It pops up into its original position, rustles for a moment, and then is still.

She looks at the apple in her hooves and sees it is not golden like she first thought. It is yellow with an odd and beautiful luster that glitters and glows, reflecting the light of the sun, and a light from within. It is a large apple, not the largest she has seen, yet it possesses a ripe weight. The aroma from the apple is faint and only hints at what it tastes like. Yet it makes her mouth water.

There is a flicker of light, and Twilight’s attention is drawn away from the apple to the strand of light at the tree’s edge. It loops in a beckoning motion, and Twilight approaches the edge of the enclosure to meet it. There, she sits on her haunches, studying apple in her hooves, and begins to puzzle over how exactly she is supposed to share it.

“Should we just cut it in—” she begins.

The stand of light moves with such speed that to Twilight it looks like a flash. With a quick loop and flick it cuts the apple in half. Then, hooking the stem of the apple, the light carries off the top half, leaving Twilight with the bottom. In the center of the apple’s cross-section, is a star.

A star… she remembers a star: The Star. But from when, from where, she can’t recall. Yet does remember something—a riddle:

What is a little red house,

Too small for even a mouse.

No window, nor doors, for none reside

But the little star that hides inside.

Her father had once stumped her with this riddle. The best she had been able to come up with was a jewelry box, like the mahogany one her mother owned. When her father had finally told her the answer, Twilight had proclaimed, “What star?” believing herself deceived. At this, her father had taken an apple from their fruit bowl and had cut it in half. Not with a lateral cut, like her mother would, but with longitudinal one. True to the riddle, there was indeed a star, made by the seeds in the apple’s core.

The apple Twilight now holds has been cut the very same way, revealing the star in its cross-section. But this star is not made by any seeds—at least none she would recognize. But she pays little thought to the star as her attention is drawn away by the apple’s smell.

It smells like many things—foremost, of course, being an apple. Yet so too can she smell cinnamon… and roses. In fact, she can smell every fruit, spice, and flower that she has ever tasted and enjoyed: grapes and strawberries, a hint of mint and rosemary, daisies and clovers. She can even smell crystal berries, but Twilight cannot recall ever having tasted crystal berries, or hearing of them. Yet the apple still bears their scent.

Twilight stares at the apple that smells of more than an apple, at the star that is not a star, unaware she is beginning to drool, and wonders what a fruit, of such exquisite aroma, must taste like. She proceeds to take a bite and—

Foal! Open your eyes! It is not just the apple but the act of eating that holds power! Everything in that world holds power! Every object! Every act! Every word! Look around, Princess!

—and she tries to scream. Instead she chokes and drops the apple in a fit of coughing.

Crystal berries, she thinks, crystal berries grow in the Crystal Empire. She has eaten them before, once when she had gone there to visit Princess Cadence. They were perhaps the most delicious berries she has ever tasted, and she had brought some back for Pinkie Pie to use in a recipe. It had been only a month or so ago, and she can still remember the taste of the berries so clearly.

But that wasn’t right, that had never happened. There was no place she knew of called the Crystal Empire, and the only Cadence she knew was her foalsitter, who was not a princess. Nor does she knows of anypony called Pinkie Pie. Yet, somehow… she does.

She looks around and spies her book left forgotten in the grass. Its pages are blank. She could recall the pages once being full, when she had pulled the book from its shelf. Yet now these pages are all empty save for the ones she saw when she flipped through it, which are now illegible. But why? Had she pulled a bad book from the shelf?

No, she realizes, it is because there is no memory of that book here, and a strange certainty grips her. One she does not understand.

She knew that there were holes in her memory, parts of her memory she could not access. She could only recall everything that happened before entering the garden maze and up to this point. Because that was when she had entered the meadow.

She knows this, but does not know why.

It is like a veil has been placed over parts of her mind, like the kind placed over paintings or statues in museums that are not up for display. Through these veils you could make out the shapes of whatever is underneath and could guess as to what is hidden, but you could not actually see what they are. Several of these veils have been thrown over Twilights memories; she can tell that they are there and guess as to what they contain, but she cannot actually see them. Cannot remember them.

Remember? But remember what? Had she not just been walking through the Canterlot Gardens? That had felt normal, perfectly normal. Even stumbling upon the overgrown parts of the maze did not strike her as odd. She remembers that happened to her quite often when she was a filly—

Yes, when she was a filly, but she is not a filly now. At least she is not supposed to be.

The Star… What about the star? She looks at the apple on the ground, a small bite missing, and at the star in its center. It is not a star, but a flower, a five-petaled flower of shining white light. A flower with five undulating petals that only resembles a star.

No, not that star. The star she had recalled had been a six-pointed star. One surrounded by five lesser stars: five sparks. The Star of Magic—her star.

Twilight stares at her flank, at the very star that has just appeared, in a brief burst of light, uncomprehending. For a moment, she is the filly again, overwhelmed and overjoyed by the appearance of her cutie mark. She is the filly in the garden with her princess, and she has earned her cutie mark—and what a splendid mark it is.

Then she is the filly who is not a filly, and she realizes that she has not earned her cutie mark. She has remembered it. She remembers her test and its chaotic conclusion. She remembers Celestia holding her, telling her what a gift she had and making her most fanciful dream come true. She remembers the morning, days later, before she left to live in the castle, when her father had told her a riddle about apples and showed her a star.

Thunder breaks over the meadow, and Twilight becomes aware that the clouds on the horizon have gathered nearer. They have become black with rain, and lightning dances within them. Their rumble of thunder is proceeded by a deeper rumble, one from the earth beneath the meadow. The air has become cold, the sunlight carrying warmth on longer, and Twilight shivers. But it is a quiet voice on the wind that chills her most.

The mark that your bear,
We have seen it once before,
From our undoing

Wind whispers no melody, and the Sun has ceased to sing and swim. It rises up from the meadow, and Twilight now sees this river of sun for the truth that it is: the flowing coils of a great serpent cloaked in light—a serpent circling her tree adorned hill like a ship lost at sea.

The Sky. Now she knows. The sky wasn’t cracked at all. The teal lines she saw were not the cracks of some magical glass dome, but a network of roots. Tree roots.

From the coiling light arises a massive head and arching neck. It rears up, reaching a height well above the approaching stormclouds, then lowers till it is in front and level with Twilight. Through the radiance, Twilight can make out the contours of its angular face, a face as large as an Ursa Major, and in its face, blazing with greater intensity than the sun, are two burning red-yellow eyes.

You have deceived us.
You’ve kept things secret from us.
You’re not as you are.

Twilight screams and backpedals into the apple tree hard enough for the bark to dig into her coat. The head stops before the tree’s enclosure, as had the strand of light before. Perhaps this tree is protecting her, Twilight desperately hopes just as a long forked tongue shoots out and traces across her body. She shrieks as the tongue makes several quick light touches that sting with cold spasmodic pain. The tongue withdraws and Twilight staggers, her body weak and numb.

The wind hisses.

Yes, we can smell it.
You bear the scent of the Tree.
Its magic’s in you.

Twilight stares into its eyes, transfixed by the power held within them. She recalls the eyes of others: sapphire eyes, bright and piercing; maroon eyes, cold and calculating; slitted azul eyes, hateful and jealous; eyes pink with dawn, loving and sorrowful. Her own eyes, full of fury, full of fear. All embodied in the eyes of this leviathan. Eyes that saw and reflected her own inner turmoil.

Lightning flashes again as the stormclouds begin to tower above Twilight and the serpent of light, forming a great circling column.

You, little Twilight,
Have memories in shadows.
What have they hidden?

Twilight does not respond. She does not know how, nor could she if she did. She has lost the voice to speak, lost the voice to scream. Her legs give out from under her, and she lies prostrate before the great radiant leviathan, never looking away from its burning eyes—cannot look away. Here in the garden of the hurricane’s eye, she stares into these molten depths from which raw emotion pours.

In her mind’s eye, she sees the eyes of five others: green eyes, opened and honest; laughing eyes of sky-blue; teal eyes, timid yet kind; deep blue eyes, soft and benevolent; magenta eyes, faithful and willful. Eyes of ponies Twilight knows but cannot remember. Ponies from memories kept hidden from the creature, and kept hidden from her. Memories veiled in shadows.

Veiled, perhaps, in order to protect her.

Then her thoughts disappear like stars in the morning sun as the creature’s mind invades her own. Twilight’s consciousness becomes an empty stage of burning light with curtains drawn. What is left of her awareness watches on, captive and captivated, like an audience of one, as fire burns through the theatre of her mind.

Then, with one clawed strokes, the curtains are torn asunder, the veils of shadows burned away, and the filly is no more, lost in a torrent of more than a decade of memories.

The filly’s eyes close for the last time.

When they reopen, she is a princess.

Comments

[Journey Blue]

Well that took forever to write.

[treegrowth]

wow, that was intense

[Jman14102]

I must admit I let out an excited "Squee" when I saw that this had been updated.
Twilight's entire dream sequence was brilliant, and the story about the Four Sisters and the Prince of Lore was just great. Was this the "truth" Sombra wanted to show her?

I also apologize for never getting back to you on those messages, life intervened. I'll send you a message later.

[Journey Blue]

5703130

I wouldn't say he showed her. I would say he pointed her in the right direction, and allowed her find out for herself—the hard way.

I'm glad you liked the new chapter.

[Exaxxion]

5703202 This isn't the end right

This is so good but that felt like an ending and as great as it was I don't want it to be because that was so good

[Journey Blue]

5703542

No, it's not the end. These chapters I've been calling Introductions are like Part 1 of the story, Prerequisites being like a prelude. I meant to be on the next part of the story by now (which I plan to call Lessons, as sort of an academic theme), but worldly obligations have delayed me. If you know of any graduating college seniors taking 21 hours in an engineering major, four of which are labs, you can probably understand the nature of such delays.

[Journey Blue]

5704224

That being said, it will probably take some time for me to finish the next chapters.

[Exaxxion]

5704224 preaching to the quire

I wish you best of luck

[Twilight Shine]

I just read this out loud and it sounds amazing. Keep up the great story telling/writing

[Journey Blue]

5706145 It's funny you mention reading this out loud. Prior to writing fiction, the only things I wrote of any merit were publics speeches. One of the reasons for my writing style being the way it is, is because I imagine it being told aloud by a storyteller.

[Twilight Shine]

5707170 well I usually don't read stories out loud to myself., but I just felt like it because I thought it would sound great if I read it out loud, and well it did. plus I like the way u write its just amazing.

[cherry_afterdark]

Can't wait for the next chapter. I loved it

[AAAAAAUUUGGHH]

I had read some of your prior work, "That Which Plagues the Mind," before it had been cancelled. Imagine my pleasant surprise when I found this.

The style that you use while creating this story has an intriguing appeal, as I myself have not read anything with one that is similar. It has articulate depiction allowing for a clearer understanding, whilst also getting to the point. I certainly look forward to the rest of this story, as well as any others, should you choose to create more.

[Journey Blue]

6068809
Ooh, a compliment. Even after all this time, they still make my day.

I probably should have changed this story's status to hiatus , considering it has been 13 weeks since the last post, and I fear I've gotten rusty. But hopefully I'll be able to post one or two chapters by July, along with a few other stories I've been working on.

I've been sort of binge writing since my summer began.

[BlackOblivion]

Now this is a story I can really get behind. You sir have made my day with a novel that manages to hold the attention of my ADD-rigged mind and keep it there, thoroughly enticed. Finally I have found a novel portraying King Sombra in what I personally believe to be an accurate light; a novel that leaves me anticipating what comes next, while also making me think about what everything going on recently truly means for our perplexed protagonist. I simply cannot praise your work enough, and I hope you continue the story to the very end.

[Ice Star]

This is outstanding. Every bit of it.

[Myrandall]

Needs a Cancelled tag.

[Kuunlehti]

More?

[Kuunlehti]

Is that a no?

[PixelMoon]

DEAD.

[thedarkalicorn]

9133420
noooooooooooo!

[cheesegal]

Is this story still happening?