Remember the Moon

by Leviathan

Prologue

The Moon hung over the land, reflecting a beauteous silver glow across the countryside. The thick jungles and woods were bathed in the dim light, some spots having starlight cast upon the centermost areas while leaving some zones hidden away, unlit and enigmatic. It was a magnificent effect, truly. But, the light shining off the Moon was still only a reflection, a stolen glow taken from its sister form, the sun.

Under this glow, west of the capital city of Canterlot lay a forest. A dark, twisted forest that perturbed even the most logical of mindsets. Within this foreboding timberland lay a wind-blown grove. How it remained wind-blown when surrounded by a canopy of trees was a mystery. It was the sort of mystery one would rather dislike decoding.

In the center of this grove was a clearing. Grass stretched long and high off the ground, engulfing any of the smaller woodland creatures wandering through. In the middle of this clearing was a unicorn, encircled by grass but not covered by it or even in contact with it. No, the grass seemed to be making note to avoid this unicorn, in fact.

It bent away from this foreigner, allowing her room to breathe and even lay down a few essentials on the ground. She was cloaked in a veil of black, for the rite that she was about to perform was not one she wanted her identity attached to. Quite the opposite in fact.

This unicorn encircled by grass, in a small clearing, in the center of a grove, surrounded by woodland, west of Canterlot, did not want to be known. What she was about to do disgusted her, made her sick, how could it not? But she had to do it anyways. She had no other option. Not anymore.

With heavy breath and eyes that threatened to overflow with the burden of tears she poured out the contents of her bag upon the ground. She threw the objects from her bag into a circle, the first part of the ritual. Do not be mistaken, though.

While several of the things she laid upon the ground could be considered artifacts others were common, you could go so far as to call them junk. So what could a cloaked mare be doing standing in the middle of a group of items whilst deep within the darkness of this evil woodland? Could we assume that her intentions are less than righteous?

Perhaps yes, perhaps no. The cloaked mare began to whisper into the wind, not in modern Equestrian, but in an ancient tongue, one long-since forgotten by the world. The artifacts responded as if beckoned by some unknown force. And perhaps they were. They rose into the air, without so much as an aura surrounding them.

This was not telekinesis that caused the items to rise, but something far greater, far more powerful than such a simple spell. The mare was lost within her incantations, oblivious to the world. A strange, unnatural wind began to whip up around her, causing the grass to sway in the wind and the leaves of the trees to be torn away.

A sickly green glow began to surround the circle, cutting off the blades of grass that had dared to lean inwards towards the epicenter. It emanated a soft glow akin to that of an oil lamp. The winds had begun to attack the glow, leading it in different directions, slowly molding it into the shape of a sphere around the cloaked pony.

Still she remained. Her voice lost no strength as she continued the strange language, nor did it gain any. To say she was without fear would be a lie, however, considering the very nature of what she was doing. She feared for what lay in store upon the completion of the ritual. Determination and misguided love just happened to beat her fears back.

The sphere started to constrict, slowly pushing inwards towards the mare. The green currents running through the orb picked up speed, guided by a force more than just the wind, more than just magic. The transparent sphere gained substance, obscuring the mare from vision as it solidified.

Smaller and smaller it became until it reached the point where it seemed as if the mare would most certainly be crushed. There were no screams as the force reached its threshold. No shouts of pain or cries of agony, just the scent of fear, resolve, and determination in the air.

This mare had known what awaited her should she perform the spell, and she was prepared to make sacrifices. She had been building up the courage to perform the task for weeks, thinking that it was her only option left. To her it was all that was left to be done.

It was all that was left that could be done. Not for her, but for her family. Even if it meant her family would not see her again. Even if it meant she would not get to see those she loved grow out of the ashes of her sacrifice.

Unlike the noble phoenix she would remain ashes, forever and always, simple dust in the wind. But she did not care. She had long since abandoned the idea of self-preservation in favor of the idea of an altruistic philosophy.

That is why she did not scream. That is why she did not moan as she felt the energy closing around her body. That is why upon seeing the presence that she had been so tenderly trying to bring forth she did not cower. That is why she faced the monster with her head held high in preparation for the end.

She was ready. To her, eternal damnation was but the price to pay, but a means to an end. An end she so foolishly thought would be realized with her little ritual. She believed herself to be the coordinator of this scheme, the mastermind behind its construction. When in fact, she was little more than a pawn to this game.

She should have been afraid of the what she saw. She should have feared and dreaded the arrival of the presence she had wrought upon the world. Instead she remained hopeful of the future, ever faithful that her will would be realized.

However, she was not blessed. The heavens had not smiled upon her fortunes, and instead of meeting a creature that could help her, or at least intended to help her, she met something else entirely. Something that cared not for her pleas or her needs, but only one thing. Itself.

She met a being focused upon survival, intent upon living forever and ruling over its own domain. Her meeting was with something that her nation would likely refer to as evil and depraved, perhaps even demonic. In her end, she had met me.

Who am I, you ask? The real question is what am I. And what I am, is hungry.