The world outside the window was every bit as bleak and unappealing as what was found inside. A city cloaked in drab grey mist, blanketed in fog, and shrouded in a perpetual sense of hopelessness. Yet, for all the awfulness found outside her window, it was better than the misery found inside the house. With a turn of her head, she surveyed her room, but there was nothing to see. Just a tiny room with bare floors, no bed, no blankets, no anything, and a window with no glass. Not even shutters.
And she was supposed to be grateful for all of this nothing.
Again she had been lectured. Lamp had but one job—and that was to live up to her namesake. To stand in one spot when told and keep the darkness at bay, because the darkness was scary. The shadow of Nightmare Moon remained in the darkness and many claimed that they could still hear her maniacal peals of laughter coming from unlit corners. She had failed in her job—her one simple job—and the lady of the house made her feelings known. Lamp had no gratitude, it was said. No appreciation for all that she'd been given.
But looking around her empty room, she wasn't sure what she had.
The master and the lady of the house weren't particularly cruel, not like previous caretakers. But they had no real kindness. They loved and doted upon their own foals, but not Lamp. She was little more than furniture. A light. She could fill the room with a warm glow. Why, she could even change the colour of her light, something that she'd never seen another unicorn do. If that made her special, she certainly did not feel that way, given her circumstances.
Did she really want to return to the world outside the window?
A world of hunger and desperation? Canterlot was a city too busy growing to be much else. It was supposed to be a shining beacon upon a mountain, a light to cure darkness-plagued Equestria—but it hadn't quite lived up to its promise. Canterlot Castle was still under construction; she could see it from where she sat looking out her window. It was a place of mud, of filth, a hazardous maze of chamber pots carelessly emptied out of second-story windows, a place of danger in every shadow-shrouded alley. Canterlot was nothing at all like the Everfree. But the old capital was now little more than a ruin and a grave where a nation founded by two sisters lay buried. It was a place that Lamp could barely even remember.
It was a fabled place, one of story and song, a place of beauty and light.
Or was.
Her parents were there, in the Everfree. In the city that now belonged to the dead. Just two among the many. She couldn't remember the cataclysmic events of that night, for she was far too young. What little she could remember was the darkness, the omnipresent inkiness that devoured everything. It was dark… and then it was not. Lamp could remember the light—her light—and the stygian terror could not exist where she shone so brightly.
No one had brought her food and she wasn't supposed to leave her room. Her stomach growled like a caged beast. There was food outside the window—food that could be stolen. Taken. There were merchant stalls left unwatched by careless, unattentive vendors. Getting caught meant dealing with the Watch… and potentially ending up back here, in this place, or another one just like it. Lamp was, in the words of the Watch, a repeat offender. A feckless felonious filly, a frequent flippant free-spirited filcher of fruit. She only had so many years left to get sorted out because there was no leniency for adults.
There were mines beneath Canterlot. An endless maze of crystal caverns filled with riches. Some called it the Underworld. The ponies sent there were never seen again, so it was said. Lamp suspected that she might end up there, in the Underworld, and if she did she wouldn't even have a window to look out of. The lady of the house liked to remind Lamp that she was bound for the Underworld if she didn't change her ways.
Bad ponies lived in the darkness… exiled away from the glorious sun.
There was no worse fate than to be cast into the darkness, though sentenced to servitude was a close second. The glassless window beckoned and the dirty, dingy city outside held promise. If nothing else, she could at least score a free meal. Afterwards, she might sneak back in, or she might not. Maybe she could leave Canterlot altogether. Find some other city, perhaps one free of the Watch.
Anything was better than remaining in an empty room, with an equally empty stomach. With a weary-but-resigned shake of her head, she clambered for the window. It was a narrow thing, but she was a skinny filly, and would be for the immediate future if she didn't eat better. The skies promised rain and dense, soupy fog hid the peasant stables from view. Looking down at the walled garden below, she suffered a moment of intense dizziness as everything slid in and out of focus right before her eyes. This was quite a drop, but not the worst she had suffered. Wedged into the window, she had to wiggle-wiggle-wiggle until her fuzzy rump was free, and then she plummeted to the ground down below.
It felt good to run amuck on the cobblestone streets once more. Lamp was hungry, but she was free. She walked with her head held high, deftly dodging all of the questionable bits of mud and not-mud that lay in steaming heaps in her immediate path. New towers grew like trees, with every bit of land staked out and ready for construction. Burly earth ponies hauled immense stone blocks while pegasus ponies hauled in chunks of ice—which unicorns would melt into water so that mortar could be mixed.
There was a profound sense of hope in the construction, a feeling that, even if things weren't great now, they would be fine later. When? Probably when Lamp wasn't alive. New streets were being laid down. Not just any streets; there were promises and assurances that these very cobblestoned arteries that connected to the heart of the city would be here a thousand years from now. That was the big promise, the reason to strive, to struggle, and to continue. Everything accomplished now would one day give Equestria, a nation still in its infancy, the glorious future it deserved.
Princess Luna's betrayal, Nightmare Moon's assault, it had wounded them, but it was not their end. While many of them were gone, Equestria itself survived. It was said that as long as there was a Princess Celestia, there would be an Equestria. While all of this sounded good, it was all just words for Lamp, who had more pressing concerns. She lived in the now. Equestria might be a wonderful, magical land later—but Lamp was hungry now. Lofty speeches and passionate promises did nothing to fill her belly.
There were eye-catching bits of colour amongst the grey and filth. A red and white striped awning here. Flags fluttered atop brass and copper poles. Shops with inviting windows. There was so much to see and to do—but one had to be careful. The Watch was out in force, no doubt looking for troublemakers, miscreants, ne'er-do-wells, and pilfering pony plunderers purloining precious perveyed prizes.
But those prizes were well guarded.
Market Circle was packed with the Watch, some of which were on patrol, while others stood guard at every entrance. Going in meant getting pinched, because Lamp was a foal without parents, and unattended foals were not welcome in the marketplace. She had circled several times, patiently patrolling the protected perimeter, but found no means of entrance. Still, she enjoyed herself, being out in the open once more, being free. There were other markets, other places, but the pickings might not be quite as fine. The peasant quarter had dreadful food.
Unsatisfied with what the situation had to offer, Lamp began to plan a heist.
Overhead, the sun flickered briefly, then dimmed. Like all the other ponies around her, she tilted her head upward to peer at the subdued sun, but did not stare directly at it, because she knew better. The sun did this quite a bit; at this point it was a common occurrence. A daily event that always caused a pause. Weakened, the sun did not shine as bright, which meant that it was cooler, which in turn meant that things didn't grow quite as they should. Before Nightmare Moon, the sun was strong, powerful, green things grew, and it was warm. Alas, Lamp only knew this from stories told to her. A weak, shuddering sun was all she knew.
Unlike the other ponies around her, Lamp understood the sun's condition. She could not say why, or how, but she had a profound understanding of how light worked, and the sun was just another light, albeit a rather powerful one. When she was sad, or moody, or sulking, her own light grew weak and did not shine as bright. She had to be happy for her light to shine—though anger also offered truly spectacular illumination. Lamp knew that the Princess of the Sun had to be unhappy. Hurt. Heartbroken.
And so the sun suffered.
So too, did the peasantry, from the looks of things. The peasant stables were communal. These buildings were not built with permanency in mind. Everything was ramshackle, crooked, and appeared ready to collapse with but a gentle breeze. Lamp had herself a better look around, because it had been awhile since she'd come to this part of Canterlot. The labour market was in full swing and a sizeable crowd of earth ponies performed feats of strength in hopes that they might get hired.
Beyond the labour market was the peasant market. No sign of the Watch. Not here. Lamp might have been an orphan, but she was a unicorn. As bad as things might be right now, a better life was sure to come later—though she could not say how or why. It was just one of those things that was assumed. Even poor unicorns, the non-nobles, were well off. They weren't peasants. This didn't feel very fair, but this was the way of things.
She had been told that earth ponies liked living communally, that this was their way, but she wasn't sure if she believed that. Her eyes roamed the crowd, glancing at different ponies gawping up at the sun, some with slack-jawed, wide-eyed expressions. Earth ponies, it was said, had no magic, only industry. Lamp wasn't sure if this was true either. She rather doubted a lot of things adults said, because adults lied.
Adults lied and argued about everything. Like recently, she started hearing that Princess Luna and Nightmare Moon were two different ponies, and that Nightmare Moon murdered the Moon Princess. This wasn't true at all—Lamp knew this for certain—but the adults still bickered about it. The way Lamp saw it, the idea that Princess Luna turned to darkness was an unpopular notion, and so an alternative was offered for ponies to believe in. The trouble was, some adults did actually believe this. Foals might learn it from their parents, and, in time, it might become true—even if it wasn't.
Perhaps the same could be said about earth ponies and communal stables.
Squinting as the sun continued to flicker, the young filly wondered what else might be untrue.
The pegasus ponies lived in the clouds; a city called Cloudsdale, in fact. As for the unicorns, they lived on the mountaintop, above the clouds, in the city of Canterlot. And the earth ponies… most of them lived below the clouds. Lamp—who knew very little—seemed to recall that this is how it used to be for the ponies who had ventured here during the Windigo Winter. Another event that adults argued over and about which the facts were hotly contested. If anything in those stories was true or not, she had no way of knowing—those events happened long before her birth—but what was actually true as far as she could see was that old ways were alive and well.
It was but one of the many things she thought about when she roamed the streets.
The air smelt of the ocean. At least, it smelled the way that Lamp imagined the ocean must smell like. Briny, nose-wrinkling, almost eye-watering, with the faint reek of sewage. She had never seen the ocean, but had heard stories. Endless water as far as the eye could see. All manner of stories were told about the ocean, and the faraway lands full of monsters. The deep water protectected Equestria, so it was said. This was one of those things that Lamp wasn't sure if she believed. During the Windigo Winter, when the world iced over, ponies crossed the frozen sea in search of a new home. So too, did the monsters.
But the stories were vague and something the adults argued over.
There was very little to be found in the peasant market. Mostly pickled vegetables, hard cheese rinds, and the lower crusts of bread. She hated the lower crusts, the parts of bread baked hard as a stone and almost burnt in the oven. The upper crust was golden blonde, light, fluffy, airy, and so much easier to chew. The cheese rinds were the least desirable parts of the cheese, something that no self-respecting unicorn would ever be seen eating.
Yet, she had eaten them.
Slim pickings. Half-empty barrels. Or maybe half-full. It was impossible to tell. There wasn't a lot of it, and alas, poor Lamp felt conflicted stealing away from those who had so little. And what little they did have wasn't particularly nice to begin with. She could not help but feel that they deserved better. Maybe she deserved worse. As bad as it was, she had a room with safe stone walls, a roof that did not leak, and secure stone floors. Though rain did come through the glassless window.
Hunger made one desperate. But said desperation caused no small amount of conflict between her ears and there was a pain just above the hollow ache that was her stomach. She didn't mind filching fine food from her fellow unicorns… but after seeing the sad condition of the peasant market, this felt wrong. Perhaps it would be best if she just went home. The lady of the house would feed her eventually. After the evening meal, there were bound to be table scraps and unfinished, unwanted bits.
She sighed; what was a filly to do?
Again, she sighed—this time louder than her previous exhalation—and this time she leveled her gaze upon the stone-filled carts. These were curious carts, quite literally carts before the ponies. Stone was brought down from higher up on the peak as a shelf was carved out for the city on the side of the mountain. These overloaded carts were heavy, so long teams of earth ponies were hitched behind them, so the carts could be slowed as they rolled down the gentle incline. It was a dangerous process, one fraught with peril. Ropes broke. Chains snapped. Yet, the work went on day after day, and this had gone on for as long as Lamp could remember. For as long as she had lived in Canterlot.
There was no stopping the carts; not until they rolled into their cradle, which halted them.
Industry. The ponies had industry. Lamp watched as the very mountain she lived on was carved up, broken down, and turned into a city on the flat expanse left behind. If one squinted, one might almost see some signs of unity. Pegasus ponies organised things from overhead. Unicorns used beams of potent magic to cut away slabs of rock like slices of cake. Earth ponies lowered the stones down to the city proper and transported finished stones to where they needed to be. Stone blocks, cobblestones, pillars, slabs, arches, and floor tiles.
What future awaited her?
She did not know.
She could not guess.
All she had was her lamp—the magical brands of destiny on her sides that suggested her future purpose—which had appeared when her light pierced that fateful night of darkness, and her wits. The young filly doubted her wits, because her stomach rumbled while she was surrounded by food. What stopped her? She didn't know. Usually, it felt good to steal. It satisfied some deep itch that she could not explain. But not today. Not now. Heists were supposed to be fun. Exciting. Sometimes, there was a bit of sport and a long run. Making off with a load of moldy, rock-hard cheese rinds had no appeal whatsoever.
Overhead, the sun decided that it could no longer be bothered to shine. The flickering ceased and the sun settled into a dull orange glow that offered little warmth and even less cheer. It shone because it had to, not because it wanted to. At least, that was how Lamp saw it. There were nights when she had trouble getting her own light to shine. But her caretakers didn't care about excuses. Failure to perform meant a lecture of some kind. Gratitude, laziness, a lack of appreciation for all the good things she had, which was the same as gratitude, really.
It occured to Lamp that she and Princess Celestia had something in common. They both had to make their light shine, even if they didn't quite feel up to it. Even when they were sad. When the day was dreary and they were in need of respite, they had no choice but to keep the light on. There was a difference though, the little filly knew that. If she didn't keep her horn lit, the room got dark. But if Princess Celestia did not make the sun shine, terrible things, awful things beyond imagination would happen.
The princess had to keep the lights on and she got to live in a castle. She probably had a nice room, with a soft bed, and all of the good food she could eat. Princess Celestia did not have to plan market heists. Lamp on the other hoof had a very different life in exchange for her services. A cold room with nothing in it. She ate scraps, whatever might be leftover after a meal. Her caretakers took her in not out of love, or even kindness, but because there was a belief that every unicorn life was precious. Even a unicorn with multiple arrests before their decade celebration. She would grow up and her magic would serve society in some great way, though nopony could explain how or why.
It was just assumed.
The lady of the house—in rare moments of what might charitably be called equinimity—told Lamp that being young was the hard part. When she was old enough, she could make her own future. Maturity brought freedom. But for now, she had to do as she was told, keep the light on, and for the love of all things good and green, keep her mouth shut. It was said after all, that things could be so much worse. One could be an orphan with no home. No care at all. Lamp had lived both ways, but could not determine which was worse.
With her head angled towards the faded sun, Lamp dreamt of something more, something greater. As awful as life had been, her spirit was still every bit as bright as her namesake. She never had these hopeful moments in the house, in her room, staring out her narrow window. No, these moments only came when she was out and about, on the streets, while hunger gnawed at her belly. Moments like right now. For whatever reason, these instances mattered, these were the moments to live for, and these moments brought out the best in her.
There was just so much potential in times like these.
For a few seconds, she was completely lost to reverie, but the sound of shouting jolted her back to full awareness. At first she thought the shouting was about her, that she was about to be pinched. This had happened so many times now that it was reflex to react in such a way. But she was in no immediate danger. No members of the Watch stalked her. Wary, her eyes darted from place to place as every muscle in her lean, bony body prepared for action—whatever it took to respond, she would be ready.
But she saw no threats. Ears pricked now, she listened to the shouting, to hear what was said. There on the cart road was a colt. He stood there, stupidly, perhaps dazed, and totally oblivious to the shouted cries of alarm. Why did he just stand there? His head was pointed the wrong way to see the danger just behind him, the overloaded cart filled with stone. Nopony moved to save him and the colt did nothing to save himself. Ponies were content to shout at him, but did nothing to remove him from harm's way.
"Well, rotten eggs and princess legs!" Little Lamp felt that such swearing was warranted as she sprang into action. She was closest to the colt, practically sitting on the edge of the cart lane so she could watch the world go by. "Get out of the road, stupid! Move!"
But the colt did not budge; in fact, he failed to respond at all and did not turn to look at her.
When she was just a few yards away, she reached out with her magic, wrapped it around the colt's hind legs like a glittery, glowing lasso, and with a good, hard yank, she yoinked him away from the danger. An eyeblink or two later, the cart passed by where the colt had been standing, and it was at this moment that the colt realised the danger. Wide-eyed, he made a strange creaky cry, like a rusty door hinge.
Furious, the filly femininely fumed.
"You… you dummy! What're you thinking? You could've been crushed, you idiot!"
Shaking now, shivering as if afflicted by some great and terrible chill, the colt watched as the carts went by, rolling over the very spot where he'd stood just seconds ago. The crowd went back to doing whatever it was that crowds did when things weren't exciting. Wanting some kind of response, Lamp let go of the colt's legs, grabbed him by his head instead, and with a gentle tug, she pulled him around to face her, fully intending to lecture him right into the ground. Why lecture? Because it very much felt like the right thing to do, that's why.
"Hey, stupid!" she shouted. Then with a powerful inhale, she sucked in the necessary amount of wind for a good and proper lecture.
But the colt had other plans. Making what could only be described as a bleating sound, he threw himself at Lamp. Legs all a-wobble, he crashed into her. Of the two, he was the smaller and she was the larger. He was younger, she was older. Still bleating, he clumsily flung his forelegs around her neck, and clung to her whilst sobbing like a stricken sheep. Then, eyes closed, he hung from her neck and did not let go.
Assaulted in such a way, Lamp tried to remove him; she shoved and shouldered, but he was stronger than her. Even in his horrid condition, which she only started to recognise in confusing bursts, the little earth pony colt was far stronger than her. Why, he was nothing but bones and filthy fuzz. At some point—quite recently in fact—he'd taken a direct hit from a thundermug carelessly poured out of a window. To say that he smelled was an understatement. Colts were stinky, that was the way of things, but this colt… phew! The pummeling wallops to her senses caused her magic to fizzle completely, and her horn went dim. Now she was helpless and had no chance whatsoever of removing this horrid thing from around her neck.
More carts went trundling past.
"You could've been squished," she said in a much softer voice than she wanted.
Now she had other problems. Complications had been introduced into her day, with the disgusting dummy hanging from her neck chief among them. A jumble of emotions tumbled around inside her mind all while she breathed in hot, stinky air. She could not recall a time in her life like this one and she decided that she did not like being hugged. Not at all. Not even in the slightest. Her parents had probably hugged her, but she could not remember them doing so. No, her earliest memory was pushing back the darkness when she was still but a yearling. Everything else was shadow.
This… this was awful.
Why did ponies do this?
It was hot, with bad air, it was uncomfortable, and unpleasant. She squirmed, but was completely powerless. When she reached the point where she could bear it no longer, she hollered, "Hey, leggo!"
But the colt did not let go.
"Hey, stupid! Lemme go!"
No response; the colt's forelegs remained locked around Lamp's neck.
"Are you deaf?" she asked. "Leggo of me!"
When he did not let go of her, it occurred to Lamp that the colt might actually be deaf. He did not hear the shouted warnings, nor did he respond to the danger. For whatever reason, he failed to turn around to check behind him. Other things circulated through Lamp's mind, such as the discovery that she did not like to be touched. This had never been a problem before. Her caretakers were not at all affectionate, which was a good thing.
Yes, she concluded, the colt had to be deaf. And so began her other observations. While she was thin, he was starved. She'd never encountered a fuzzy skeleton before, and she didn't like it. He was incredibly filthy, and worse, he had horrible, absolutely abominable breath. The smell was so bad that some instinctual part of her mind suggested that he must be sick in some way—which was all the more reason why she wanted him gone from her neck and away from her. He was clearly diseased.
But then she noticed other things, such as the way he shivered. She could feel the grind in his joints. There was a sensation of desperation, a feeling that she understood all too well, and so her revulsion began to turn to sympathy. He was injured, that much was obvious in the way that he did not put his weight down on his left rear leg. Mere moments ago, she had grabbed him by both of his hind legs. Was she the cause of his injury? It bothered her that she might be. He was so thin, so frail, she might have wrenched a joint when she yanked him clear of danger.
Her skin grew cold everywhere the colt touched her, as if he leeched precious heat away from her. She felt the cold of the day, the damp oppression of the fog, and the cruel wind tried to burrow down beneath her shaggy, newly-filthied pelt. The creeping chill outside was no match for the growing cold within. Lamp—little street-smart Lamp—lept to the conclusion that there was no help to be had. The colt needed help—they needed help, because they were in this together. Yet she knew that she could not take him home. Her caretakers would do nothing; they already had one urchin in their home, a source of much consternation.
The crowd would not help. Lamp began to look around her at all of the adults. Surely somepony had seen this colt go by. Surely they had to see his bones, his protruding ribs, the sharp sawteeth of his spine. Anypony with eyes could see that he was starving, perhaps to death—but none had offered to help. Lamp could feel herself being squeezed in some unknown sort of way, a physical sense as well as a metaphorical one. The deaf colt had been ignored and left to fend for himself.
Rather than despair, Lamp grew angry, and what a righteous anger it was. She shivered once—though not from cold—then felt something within kindle. The tiny spark became a furnace, and her fury became an inferno. Her foalhood, such as it was, burned up in the blaze, and in its place was something else, something new, something born of fire. When her horn re-ignited, her brilliant incandescence offered not only illumination, but heat as well, and it was every bit as roasty-toasty as the sun on its brightest days.
What could be done?
What could she do?
Suddenly, and quite without warning, Lamp found herself in a position of responsibility. This was strange and new to her, overwhelming and unpleasant. Whatever was done, she would have to do it herself, and this, more than anything else in her life, scared her. She'd already determined that the grownups had failed in some spectacular way. Because she was a unicorn, she'd been plucked off of the streets. She was given sustenance and shelter, however minimal it was. No such kindness was offered to this colt, no generous benevolence given.
Why?
She knew why.
She knew why.
And so it was that young Lamp—though now perhaps not quite as young, having suffered a moment of rapid maturity—had herself an epiphany. She had some great moment of sudden understanding that connected her to her marks, the brands of destiny that also served as her namesake. Lamps were only beneficial when they lit the way for others. A lamp that shone in empty darkness did nothing, nothing at all. It served no function, no practical purpose. But a lamp that pushed back the darkness so that others might go about the business of living, that was when a lamp truly became a light. She understood that the light relied upon observance for its existence.
With all of this also came a great many thoughts about Princess Celestia.
No one cared. Not a single pony intruded upon their moment. None of the multitude around them came over to check on the colt's wellbeing. Never in Lamp's life had she been so close to another pony—practically overlapping—yet felt so isolated. The way her eyeballs stung made her blink, but she did not cry. Like so many others orphaned after Nightmare Night, she had no tears left. The distance between her and the others around her became inconceivably vast, broader than oceans, wider than continents. She stood alone on a frontier of pococurante indifference.
Not wanting to be like the others around her, Lamp slipped one foreleg around the colt's neck. He practically collapsed against her in response, going limp somewhat, and his bony rump fell to the ground. Unlike Lamp, the colt still had tears left, and they oozed from the craggy crusts found in the corners of his eyes. There would be no going back to her caretakers. Not now, not ever. She had a life to live, if not for herself, then for others. Her purpose had never been clearer, yet she was aware that there was little that she could do to provide for herself, much less others.
The sting in her eyes grew unbearable.
To so clearly understand one's purpose in life, to have such clarity about one's brands of destiny, and yet no clear path forward was a cruel fate indeed. Lamp knew what life expected from her—all of the clouds had parted and she had perfect clarity of vision—but she also knew that what life asked of her was impossible. And so, like so many before her, Lamp found herself living with a conundrum. An enigma. For destiny to have called at such an inopportune moment was a terrible, tragic fate, one that she did not deserve.
Life continued to be unfair and there was nothing she could do about it.