In a moment of blind rage and jealousy, Prince Eternus killed the mare he had professed to love.
Though I do not mean to diminish his crime, had it ended there the world would perhaps be largely unchanged by it.
But his fall was not yet complete.
The sun was low in the sky when Prince Eternus faced the results of his actions. Meadowbloom, dead, at his hooves.
Some say he was overcome with remorse, and wished to atone. Others say he was driven mad with power, and sought more. Some believe he feared punishment, and sought to erase his crime. We will likely never know, but for my part I believe that the foolish prince simply still had not learned how to take “no” for an answer, not from anypony, not from First, not even from himself.
On that evening, the world would be broken. Prince Eternus not only abandoned his duty, but turned directly against it. With all his power, and all his will, he created a new magic. A magic that was never meant to be. A magic that would tear down First's law and shatter the very foundations of reality.
A magic,
to bring
her
back.
The Primus Resurrection. The Great Necromancy. The Death Prince's Final Work. To the reapers, it is best known as “Eternus' Folly”.
Countless ponies since that day have attempted to re-create the spell. It is an act of the most utter foolishness. Never mind the consequences should they succeed, or the risk they incur, they all seem to forget: Eternus was high among the most powerful beings to have ever walked this world. His power rivalled that of First herself. His talent, his experience, his very being, was devoted utterly to the mastery of life and death. Yet even for him, with all his power and all his talent, to achieve what he was attempting, to pierce the veil and bring a departed soul back from beyond, simply could not be done…
…without paying a terrible price.
When the first sigils of the spell began to form, the magic stole the strength from his limbs, and he fell, kneeling, to the ground before her.
When this did not stop him, the spell stole the air from his lungs, leaving him gasping.
When this did not stop him, the spell stole the warmth from his flesh, leaving him shivering.
When this did not stop him, the world began to shake, and the spell stole the sight from his eyes, leaving him blinded.
And when this did not stop him, the spell stole the very beat from his heart, the life from his chest, killing him utterly.
(“Oh come on! Don't stop to sip your tea, dickhorn is dead, what happened next?”)
The spell killed him, yet this, too, did not stop the Prince's will.
The fabric of the world began to unravel. Destiny fractured, the veil split. In the heart of this magical storm, the spell tore into the Prince's spirit, even as it clung to this world. It tore the memory from his mind, fractured his psyche, scattered his very self. Yet even this did not stop the Prince's will. When naught but magic and will remained, themselves transmuted into to the spell itself, as if in one final vengeance, the spell tore the flesh from his bones, leaving naught but polished bone.
Prince Eternus, first of the guardians, keeper of life and death, was gone.
The sun's last rays were swallowed by the horizon, and the world was still once more.
In the twilight, Meadowbloom awoke, to find the Prince's skeleton, still held together with the last remains of his magic, kneeling before her.
Meadowbloom awoke, but not only her…