Canterlot Castle was truly a work of passion and art: elegant towers of polished marble rose from the mountainside, topped with glistening spires of gold and gemstone. Gilded gates secured the estate from the city, ensuring protection but not losing any of the flare. Platforms of clay, rock, and brick supported the massive structure, raising it high into the sky and above the innermost parts of the city. It could be seen for miles, and that was by design.
Gardens of enchanted beauty flanked all sides of the property, giving the imposing castle a much-needed whimsical aura. Pristine hedges and flowers of all kinds could be found here. It was no wonder the grounds were such a popular tourist hot spot.
Within its polished walls and immaculate halls, décor and beauty were a long-suffering partner to the grounds outside. Grandiose staircases, too-large paintings, and far too many potted plants inhabited the sparsely populated corridors. The hallways ebbed any and all harshness of the outside world, bathing all those who enter in a comforting embrace that most found hard to describe.
This was a place of harmony, of peace. It stood as a beacon of hope for all of ponykind, to all those who were willing to let themselves truly see it.
Even still, some pains prove too much for it.
Deep within the castle, in the Archives of the Ancient Magics, there is a soul who is overcome with pain, though she would never admit it.
Twilight was surrounded by books once more. Atlases, almanacs, and encyclopedias were strewn carelessly about the floor of the room like leaves in Autumn, each of which were defiled by scribbled notes and dead ends. Some were ancient, some were contemporary. Most provided nothing new.
She had lost count of how long she’d been there hours ago, when she lowered the Sun for the night. This did nothing to bother her, of course—she was too preoccupied with other matters.
Hours of research had given her very little as a reward. As with most legends, the location of the valley from Friðr’s Guardian was never documented, but it was made worse when promising leads only gave vague guesses in the end.
She shouldn’t be surprised by this, she told herself. Legends were fickle things—they rarely remained consistent, especially when they were as old as this one.
Even still, Friðr’s Guardian proved to be unique. As she dug deeper into the Archives, she uncovered more and more information about it, though much of it was repetitive and led to nothing new. However, much of the information seemed to remain consistent across most accounts.
Page after page, she searched. Book after book, she read. Hour after hour, she grew tired and frustrated. Still, she found nothing new or promising.
No green valleys.
No bountiful beauty or ancient flora or fauna. Nothing that seemed to match the admittedly vague description found in the legend.
Grunting, Twilight looked away from the book in front of her. Peering around the circular room, she once again began to search for relevant books. The large bookcases, normally filled to the brim with texts older than she was, now lay empty. She must have gone through the whole thing multiple times already.
Maybe I missed something, she thought, disappointed at the sight before her. I must have.
Resting on her haunches, she closed her eyes to think, bringing a gilded hoof to her temple. The cold metal stung against her fur at first, jolting her back to reality and momentarily breaking her from the task at hoof.
Rarely do Twilight’s thoughts wander too far. They did wander from time to time, though.
Now they wandered to the events of today, much to her dismay. Thoughts of Luna, of Celestia, reigniting the spark within her. Thoughts of Spike left that spark a mere dying light.
Spike …
Twilight kept her eyes closed, biting the tip of her tongue a little too hard. She winced as the pain was followed by the sharp, metallic taste of her blood. Not much, but enough to feel.
Though she was ashamed of it, Twilight had pushed him out of her head, hellbent on finding answers. No pony had come to bother her, so it seemed Spike had done as she asked. That only made her feel worse.
Sighing, Twilight made a mental note to apologize and make it up to him later. She was still too busy, too much had to be done.
Twilight turned around to face the still lit pages of the book she had been reading, her moment of unproductiveness having passed. The light flickered unsteadily in the slight breeze that wafted around the room from the window above, which spanned the entirety of the top of the room.
Moonlight poured through the decorated panes of glass, cascading down into the circular room and painting it in a cool hue.
Shadows danced around the room as the air forced the flame to shift and turn to an invisible tune, one the Twilight watched intently for a few seconds. She hummed along with it, mulling over the night’s research in her head.
Friðr was some sort of omniscient being, akin to a deity of some sort, Twilight thought, furrowing her brow in concentration. Much like the Tree of Harmony, it wanted to help those in need, but it seems as though it possessed more than a borrowed conscience and body; it was clearly very powerful but seemed hesitant using that power for conflict, even when it came to self-defense. All accounts and instances of the legend depict it as a simple tree, though species of tree varied greatly.
The garth in which Friðr resided was said to be attacked by a king and his army, but the only accounts I’ve found only mention that the army wore dark armor and seemed to move as though they were possessed. The king himself was never described, only mentioned when needed. It was as though the scholars at that time were afraid to speak of him.
Twilight’s head had begun to pound steadily, though it was still a dull ache. No army she had read about recently was depicted in similar fashions as the legend. It was as though the entire army, not just the king, had disappeared without a trace following Friðr’s spell.
What troubled Twilight even more was the fact that all the texts contradicted on a simple detail: when the battle actually took place.
She had spent three hours on piecing together a timeline from the suggestions and theories of the authors. The only time this could have occurred was well before the days of Celestia and Luna, or even Discord. Thousands of years, in fact.
At first, Twilight seemed skeptical of this. Very little of the history predating the Sisters was known, but she had found so much information regarding this period to be when Friðr existed. Countless journals and essays preached that this event not only happened, but that it was of the earliest times of ponykind.
Some, she had found, event suggested that Friðr’s spell led to the Sisters in some way. Twilight wanted to disagree with this especially, but she found that neither Celestia nor Luna had spoken about their beginnings often. When they had, the stories were extremely vague, so much so that Twilight remembered very little about them.
Twilight’s face fell at the thought of the Sisters’ stories. It had been so very long since she heard either of them speak. Her ears fell, and she let out a long breath.
She longed for the nights with her mentor. On particularly cold ones, Celestia would make hot coco and invite Twilight and Luna for a night by the fireplace. Some of Twilight’s favorite memories were made during those nights, where stories of adventure, love, and sorrow would be shared between the three of them …
Even more so, she longed for the nights with Luna. Twilight shivered at the thought of her embrace, only adding to her grieffully tuned moment.
“I can still fix this,” she reassured herself, but the words were hollow and lifeless. It was an empty promise, one that was made to be polite but not necessarily meant to be fulfilled. It did nothing to help ease the lump in her throat.
Twilight shook her head slightly, blinking rapidly. It was time to get back on track.
Cold … Twilight thought, unable to let it go. Something was off here.
Cold … Friðr’s spell was said to erupt into the sky in the form of a pillar of blinding light. A spell like that would take immense amounts of magical energy. Whether or not the intent of the spell would be to harm or help, that kind of energy being released would disrupt the entire climate of the surrounding area, leaching the magic of the area to power the spell …
Twilight stopped in her thoughts, eyes going wide as she began to understand. Leaching that much magic, coupled with millennia, would leave the environment scarred beyond belief. It would be utterly unrecognizable.
“Oh my …” Twilight began, her voice steadily rising as she spoke. She ran for the doors, throwing them open and galloping into the dark hallways. “Spike!” she called, running to the dragon’s quarters. “I found something! I actually found something!”
Twilight, despite her attempts not to, couldn’t help but feel something she hadn’t in a long time.
In the shadows of the moonlit hallways of the castle, Twilight Sparkle had hope for the future. Though the chances were still slim, she would take it.
She would take anything at this point.
In the tallest tower of the castle, Spike sat perched on the edge of the balcony, peering out over the city’s glorious lights. He loved this spot mostly for the fact that it gave him an undisturbed view of his home. It was truly a sight to behold, one that never failed to brighten Spike’s spirits.
He still missed Ponyville, but he quickly pushed those thoughts aside
The cool nightly wind flowed across his scales, lulling him into a sense of security that he had missed over the past months. It pulled at him, beckoning him to cross the barrier of the railing. To be free.
As he had done many times before, Spike refused—at first.
It was always like this: the luring gales would ask him to join them, if only for a while, and he would make them wait. It was a game that both parties enjoyed, though Spike imagined his partner felt a little hurt.
The wait felt more agonizing tonight. The call of the air was harder to resist, harder to keep at bay. He managed somehow, though.
The day was filled with things he’d rather leave behind. Ponies were beyond worried about their ruler, but none more than himself. Something had to change soon, and Spike found himself more and more warry of the change. When it did happen, he was not certain it would be a positive experience.
Thankfully, he had a good excuse for Twilight this time. Even still … things were not well. Nobles were becoming more and more suspicious of Twilight. Of what, Spike could not imagine, but he understood their concerns. He shared many of them.
Sooner or later, something was going to happen, and Spike dreaded it with every fiber of his body.
Spike gripped the railing with both hands, squeezing firmly.
To make matters worse, the voice hadn’t left yet. Somehow, it blended with the air, surrounding him in a cacophony of noise that he didn’t appreciate. At all.
He wanted to tell Twilight but opted against it. She would be in the mood for discussions of voices. Spike thought he was going crazy before, but now? With actual disembodied voices?
He needed a vacation. They both did.
But he did have something that would help him.
In a practiced rhythm, Spike slid his hands across the railing, taking in the friction against his palms. Taking a breath, Spike gracefully pulled himself onto the cool bars of gilded metal.
There he remained, on the precipice. He listened to the pleas of the air and the demands of the voice, hearing them become one. A grin plastered itself across his lips.
Taking one last look at the city below, he closed his eye and let the wind pull him across the edge.
Spike could hear very little, but he could feel the rushing air fly around his body. He shifted slightly, sending himself into a slow spiraling motion and reveling in the flow of air, of freedom.
He fell for what felt like centuries, not that Spike was complaining. He still had about three seconds, and that was not enough for him. He wanted more time.
Reflexively, he extended his large wings, allowing them to catch the rushing air and lift him steadily. In a slow, fluid motion, he brought his extended wings down hard, arching his back to orient himself back towards the sky.
He shot back up, as he had practiced, and began to bring his wings up and down repeatedly. He could hear the displaced air behind him, a sound the soothed him, work to overpower the wind in his ears.
Steadily, he climbed higher and higher into the night’s abyss, his eyes still closed and face relaxed. His grin had long-since morphed into a smile, pure and content.
Spike finally allowed his eyes to reopen, and an expanse of stars greeted him. A shower of color flowed across the sky, seeming to ebb and flow with the air itself. Stars pulsed with a quiet power, and the clouds were not enough to block the display.
Slowing his pace to a crawl, he began to hover in place, taking in the environment around him. Somehow, he had overshot his target; he currently was well above Canterlot Castle’s highest spire. In fact, he was close to the summit of Mount Canter, which Canterlot was constructed upon. The mountain was peaked with a thin layer of glacial snow, which might explain why the air around him seemed cooler than it should have been.
Probably shouldn’t keep my eyes closed that long, Spike thought. Could end badly.
Even still, he wore a proud, smug grin. His flying had come far, that was certain. Breaking his gaze from the sky, he looked to the balcony. A shadow stood where he once was, sending a shiver down his spine for unknown reasons.
“Go to her … tell her. Tell her,” the voice beckoned him. It was patient, if a little firm with its requests. Spike failed to guess the nature of his companion, but maybe Twilight would.
Is that who you want me to tell? Twilight? Spike asked the voice, but he was answered with silence. Fine, be that way then.
The shadow on the balcony hadn’t moved. It seemed to be waiting for him, so Spike cautiously descended towards it.
As he got close, Spike’s wings felt colder and colder. In fact, his entire body was being hit with waves and chill that perplexed him. Squinting, Spike tried to make out any of the features of the pony standing there, but he couldn’t.
Then he noticed something that chilled him more than the air around him: the figure was standing in the moonlight but remained in shadow. It was completely encased in the blackest shadow he had ever seen; it was like the figure actively took light into itself and swallowing it whole.
Spike felt his fear ebb into suspicion. He wasn’t the small baby dragon he once was; he could handle himself.
The air around him continued to grow cold as he approached the figure on the balcony, all the while it simply stood there facing him, unfazed by his approach.
“Twilight? Twilight, if that’s you, this isn’t funny,” Spike called, his voice steeped in his best attempts at bravery. “Listen … we need to talk, Twilight. I think something is … wrong … Twilight?”
Spike trailed off as he finally reached an arm’s length from the railing. Despite his proximity, the figure remained consumed by darkness.
This was not Twilight.
Spike found himself unable to move, but the shadow helped him. Against his own will, Spike was drawn towards the figure by an invisible force. He felt himself climb over the railing to join the creature on the balcony, but he hadn’t made the movements. His body simply moved on its own.
He felt his eyes grow wide as tears began pouring from them. Visions forced their way into his mind, suffocating all other thoughts in a thick tar. All other thoughts were muddled, forcibly pushed back into the deepest parts of himself as new memories took their place.
Spike saw … suffering. He was surrounded by the blood of hundreds—no, thousands. Screams of horror and pain roared within his ears. Bodies were littered around him, all of which lay lifeless. Smoke and embers and burning flesh invaded his nose, stinging his eyes even more.
Spike was forced to his knees, overcome with the memories of thousands all at once threatening to break him. Only then did the figure before him speak in the same voice as before.
“Tell her. We will not ask again,” the meaty voice boomed. “Thy friend must come to us. She will not hear us, but she must find us.”
More memories flooded Spike’s vision. Flashes of green and ice. Sparks of a tree that seemed to peer back at him through time. He couldn’t take much more, and the figure seemed to know this.
“I will … I promise. Just … please, make it stop!” Spike pleaded, his mouth agape as the assault to his mind continued. His chest heaved, straining to quell the emotion and pain he now harbored.
In but a moment, the figured released his grasp on Spike, letting the dragon fall to the ground completely. The memories and pain left Spike as quickly as they had come. Even still, he didn’t dare contend with this thing.
A noise drew the figure’s attention from Spike. It was the door opening behind them.
Spike felt the shadow leave, evaporating into the air and leaving him in warmth.
“Spike, are you there? I’ve been looking, and I think I found something!”
Spike ignored the voice for a moment and tried to piece together what had just happened. You think you found something?
Light flooded the room before Spike as he lifted his head to meet Twilight’s eyes. She seemed much, much happier and energetic than she had been in … months? Spike found it difficult to orient himself, grabbing the doorway for support has he clambered to his feet.
Twilight noticed his struggling, and her hopeful aura waned slightly.
“There you are!” she began, “Oh … Spike are you okay? Did something happen?”
I’m just peachy, Spike thought. Just got a little glimpse into Tartarus is all. You know, the usual.
Spike fought down these comments, not that he had the energy to actually say them. “Yeah … Yeah, I’m fine, Twilight. Just a little tired from the day—”
As quick as the concerned came, it had left Twilight’s face even faster. “Great! I have so much to tell you, Spike. We have to talk, if its not too late for you,” Twilight interrupted, her glee returning in full force.
Usually that wouldn’t bother Spike, but he couldn’t help but shudder at his old friend’s giddiness. Something was just wrong, with everything. The figure didn’t seem to fond of Twilight, but she had to be the one that had to find … whatever that shadow is.
“No, no its not too late, Twilight,” Spike reassured, trying his best to hide his discomfort. “I actually needed to talk to you, too.”
That seemed to grab her attention. Twilight’s face fell for a split second as she tilted her head in confusion.
“Of course, Spike. Here,” she gestured to the door, “let’s talk in my study. All my notes are there.”
The two once again found themselves walking the empty corridors of the castle at night, an occurrence that Spike found to be happening more often. His opinion about the fact had yet to be made.
They walked, alone except for each other.
In the shadows, though, a presence lurked. It watched the two with unblinking eyes.
Time was drawing to a close, and the shadow knew it.
Soon, she would need to decide, and the shadow hoped she chose wisely.