Light Flow's head hurt.
It was a burning, pushing pain; and it filled his head with hot fire in great flowing streams. It felt like somepony had lit a bonfire in his skull, trying to smoke his brain from its hole.
Did that metaphor make sense? Probably not.
He groaned in pain, and sat up in his desk chair. His-
Wait a second... Hadn't he just been in this scenario?
He blinked his eyes groggily as he stared around at his dimly lit surroundings. He seemed to be in his cellar, though he couldn't remember ever making his way down. Had he been sleepwalking again?
He turned around in his chair to look around the room. Something felt strange, but he wasn't sure what it was.
All the normal things were there: the dark stone walls, the closed cellar door, the small freezer he had bought; everything was in its place, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
So why did he feel so.. displaced?
The wooden chair creaked softly as he turned back around to stare blearily at the objects in front of him.
His old-fashioned lantern sat warmly on the desk in front of him, helpfully lighting his surroundings for him. The wick burned merrily as the small fire leapt and played in the air, casting dancing shadows on the darkened walls. A beautiful performance, and he bore sole witness.
He loved that lantern. He couldn't ever imagine buying one of those normal electric lanterns, what would be the point? He had a wonderful lantern that worked perfectly, and it wasn't going anywhere.
He had often wondered if he should upgrade it, but seeing it lit like this only strengthened his resolve to keep it. The old-timey charm was just too enticing.
He stuck his tongue out between his lips slightly, and let it sit there as he tried to assess his situation. There was something strange going on with his mind. It was as if there was some sort of fog obscuring his thoughts, preventing him from starting any sort of advanced...
Advanced...
Uh... There had been an end to that sentence a second ago, hadn't there?
He blinked lethargically as he tried to reconcile his normal thought process with his new, less active one. What was the matter with him? It was like everything was moving in slow-motion or something.
The fire burning in the lantern reflected asymmetrically across his glassy eyes, and he closed his eyes momentarily to clear his vision of the flickering light.
Everything felt wrong. It was like his entire world had been shifted an inch to the left, and he was left half-sitting in air.
His focus gently crept to the other object on the old desk in front of him. It was a medium-sized, cardboard box. It was quite plain, and he couldn't see any distinguishing features on its surface other than a messy scrawl on the top.
An average, everyday box. Nothing special or noteworthy about it.
He squinted at the brown surface as an unfamiliar feeling shadowed itself over his emotions. It was cold, yet hot at the same time; and it made his throat crumple and bunch in displeasure. The contradictions were messy and unorganized in his brain, and they burned like acid as something else began to overtake him.
The box... Something about it tickled the back of his memory, but he couldn't quite...
......!
His eyes widened as his mind cleared. His headache vanished in an instant as the metaphorical fog lifted, and he gasped in surprise at the sudden clarity. It was almost as if he had been quickly and rudely dunked in freezing cold water, and the shock had both literally and figuratively woken him up.
The box! He had received another box in the mail from his mysterious benefactor! How had he forgotten?
He breathed deeply with a look of wonder on his face. He forgot things so often, but never something on this scale. Maybe this was the tipping point in his solo back and forth on whether he should see a doctor?
He slouched back in his chair as the obtrusive thought made its way forward.
Maybe tomorrow.
He kicked the unwelcome idea to the back of the line as he tried to recall what had led him to the cellar. He was obviously here to open the box, but what came in-between?
He had woken up in his desk chair, yes. He got mildly upset at ruining Big Mac's book, even though it was incredibly trashy. Seriously, he would never understand any form of romance, not even when it was in books.
Somepony was knocking at the door, he could remember now. His head had hurt so bad, he was ready to start tearing other ponies' heads off.
But... there hadn't been anypony at the door, had there?
His head was still so jumbled, even as his wits gathered themselves. Shattered recollections and vague flashes of potential events meshed in unseemly ways, forming incomplete pictures that just didn't look right.
He closed his eyes and brought a hoof to his head. Why was he remembering Rainbow Dash? Was she there?
Yes... Yes, it was Rainbow Dash, wasn't it? She had played a prank on him, as usual.
He sighed in irritation as the memories flowed cleanly through his head. That do-nothing pegasus with the incredible skills had knocked on the door and waited for him to come out. Then she dropped a flowerpot on his head like the public menace she was.
That's why he had taken a shower, everything was becoming so clear now.
But when he had come out of the shower, there was a box sitting in front of his still-open door. Right in the entranceway, like it had been there all along.
Wait... why had he left his door open?
He hemmed for a moment, rubbing his hoof on his head in careful circles as he tried to recall the day's events. Everything was always just on the tip of his tongue, right out of reach.
Why was his head so intent on playing keep-away with him? Didn't he know he had better things to be doing?
Was it... because of Applejack? There was something about Applejack, wasn't there? He was pretty sure he had spent some amount of time doing something related to Applejack.
She... she had come by to deliver some apples?
That sounded like something she would do. She was thoughtful like that, and she knew how he could forget to eat.
And while she was there, she... had accidentally broken a bowl? So she cleaned it up?
Yeah, that sounded right. She threw the debris out into the forest, but she left the door open.
That made sense.
The tension in his posture bled off as his head slotted itself back into place. It was all clear now. His memories were clear, and so was he.
He leaned his head back onto the uncomfortable wooden back of his desk chair, and he stared up at the stone ceiling above him. He was pretty sure it was directly underneath the wooden floors of his house, though he had no idea whether that was safe or not.
He studied many things, but architecture wasn't one of them. Maybe that could change? It was usually pretty fun to pick up new topics, though not always helpful.
He wasn't sure how his knowledge of herbology would ever be of any use, but strange things happen every day.
He blew a soft breath out of his nose as more memories took their place. Piecing themselves together perfectly as the entire picture formed. Quite satisfying, like a good puzzle.
After his visit with Applejack, he had taken the box down to the cellar. It was an ordinary trip, and he had made his way into the cellar with minimal difficulties.
The lantern and matches were right where he left them, and the cellar was soon lit perfectly.
He had taken a moment to stare aimlessly at the things in the room, before taking the box to his desk.
The key was....
Oh! The key was right there, next to the box. It was sitting there the whole time, how had he missed it?
He shook his head as he stared at the small, silver object. Applejack often told him he would forget his head if it wasn't attached to him, and he was beginning to think she was right.
Nothing wrong so far, but how had he fallen asleep?
He clicked his tongue as he stared vacantly at the wall. He supposed it wouldn't be the first time he had passed out without warning or recollection of the event.
Par for the course, it seemed.
He smiled slightly as his eyes came to rest on the box again. He leaned forward in his chair, and stared dumbly at the object. He was so excited to open it, no wonder he hadn't wasted much time talking to Applejack. She seemed a little hurt that he had shooed her away so fast, but that was okay. He could easily make it up to her later.
He chuckled softly as he reached a hoof out to the container. He took a moment to rub the side of the box fondly as he pondered the potential contents.
Was it another book on theory? That wouldn't be very exciting, but it would be immensely helpful. With enough information and time, he might be able to reverse-engineer the spells on his own. Now that would be special.
Of course, it would be the kind of achievement he could never tell anypony, but he would know in his heart that he had done something incredible.
His eyes grew unfocused as he lost himself in the possibilities.
Light Flow, the master of Necromancy. Legends say that he was so skilled in the art, he found a way to perform Necromantic spells without ever actually learning them.
Known as the 'Undying Scholar', his knowledge of death was so encompassing, he apparently found a way to kill the Immortal Princess of the Sun. The Holy Princess would never allow such knowledge, thus leading to an inevitable conflict between equals. The two enemies locked themselves in a stalemate, fighting for days on end, before eventually agreeing on an unsteady truce.
Light Flow would spare the Princess, she would do likewise, and they would never interfere in the other's affairs.
Their battle was legendary, and its conclusion even more so. None had ever come close to besting Sol Invictus, and none would ever reach Light Flow's achievement in merely checking her.
From then on, Light Flow was forever known by the title: The Shadow in the Daylight.
Okay, maybe that was shooting a little too high.
The daydream slowly bled away as his head switched tracks to more tangible futures.
As much as he would love being the pony who managed to reinvent Necromancy, he would love it even more if it was just a spellbook. He had been dying to actually perform some real magic, rather than just reading about the concept.
Not that he was bored with what he had, far from it. He revisited volumes one and two of Necromancy for Foals quite often, and they were always a delight to read.
But the information within had become stale, and he was eager for more. He just wanted to know everything about Necromancy. It might've been his cutie mark talking, but he honestly thought it was the coolest form of magic by far.
As far as he knew, no other school of magic did anything like what Necromancy did. Rewriting life itself, changing the variables of a pony's soul, and creating possibilities that nature herself had passed over?
Incredible. Simply incredible.
He sighed dreamily as he stared longingly at the box. Why was he still waiting? He was sitting around thinking about it, when he could be tucking into whatever tome was contained inside.
He must've been insane, because everything he did was just plain crazy.
He lit his horn, and extended his magic towards the box. Last time, he only had to try to pull a corner off; so hopefully this box had a similar trigger, because he didn't really know anything about magical seals.
Basically, he was at the whim of the sender; though that wasn't anything particularly new.
His magical grip pinched the edge of the box, and he took a moment to breathe. He was ready, this was happening.
He pulled.
The box instantly lit up in a very familiar... white glow?
He frowned, and scooted his chair away slightly as the the box glimmered with subtle white light. This wasn't right. The first box had lit up with a brilliant golden glow, glowing bright enough to nearly blind him. This box was just glowing with a plain white light, which was very pretty and cool; but it wasn't anywhere near as awe-inspiring as the first phenomenon.
It didn't even burn his eyes, he could stare directly at the light with no problem. The gleam from this box didn't even come close to stacking up against the last one. It was almost like comparing the sun to a regular light, or a fire.
Or the word 'gleam' to, say, the word 'radiance'.
He felt the cool light on his fur for a moment, before the glow slowly died out. The top of the box seemed to waver, before shimmering out of sight.
And that was it. The light burned out with little fanfare, and he was left sitting in front of an ordinary box that was now missing its top. No grand lightshow or flashy performance, just a glowy box with a disappearing lid.
That was... okay.
Sort of, maybe. He didn't know, was it? He had just expected so much more out of the experience. The first time he had been struck nearly silent with awe, and the mystique of the event was something that had kept him up for many nights afterward.
Seeing something so... lame, just kind of ruined it.
Was it wrong to feel disappointed? Probably.
He sighed as his face set itself in a melancholy expression. He was still excited, sure; but it was somewhat overshadowed by the lackluster performance of the box.
Why was this one different from the last one? They were identical in every way except for the light, so why was that different?
He didn't know. He just didn't know.
He needed more information.
He scooted his chair towards the inert box laying on his desk, wincing slightly at the sound of wood scraping against stone. His headache may have magically disappeared, but sound had a way of amplifying in small, enclosed spaces.
His ears laid themselves on his head as he peered closer at the open box. It was absolutely identical in every way to the other one, there was no doubt. Although, while it may have been visually identical, there was something unseen bothering him.
His nose crinkled as a very strange scent made its way around him. It was definitely coming from the box, but he couldn't imagine what was causing it. He had never seen, or smelled a book like this; and he was starting to doubt the contents of the package.
The smell wasn't immediately recognizable, but it was making him sort of uncomfortable. He wasn't sure why, but it just set him on almost imperceptible edge; as if his body was actively rebelling against the very idea of the scent.
His nostrils flared as he breathed deeply to take in more of the smell. He really wanted to figure this out, but it was just so hard. It smelled kind of... burnt? Kind of like an overcooked meal, or the remnants of used firewood? Was that it?
No, it was more subtle. He didn't think he actually had any frame of reference to adequately describe it, it was so foreign.
He didn't know how to feel about it.
He shook his head slightly as the weird smell swirled around him. No matter which way he turned, the olfactory menace would find its way back to him; like a cockroach sneaking into the smallest crack in a wall. There was just no way to prevent it from squeezing in there.
Okay, he needed to snap out of it. Sitting around guessing smells was a spectacular waste of time, no matter how interesting or disconcerting they were. There were far better ways of deducing, not to mention far less strange ways.
He eyed the open top of the box with what was absolutely scientific curiosity. If he wanted to know what the smell was, the solution was simple.
Hypothesis: there was something in the box that was making the smell.
It was time to test.
He lit his horn, and hefted the box in his magic. It wasn't as heavy as the first one, but volumes one and two of NfF were both pretty beefy books; and it was hard to compete with the sheer size of two beginners' level tomes on magic.
The box leveled out with his head, and he turned it towards him slightly. He could see a faint sliver of brown peeking out, as well as a much smaller vein of faded white.
The brown was probably the book, while the white...
He stuck his tongue between his lips as he carefully grasped what felt like the edge of the colorless object, and felt a smile creep along his face as he levitated an envelope out of its strange-smelling confines.
He set the box back down on the desk while keeping his eyes trained on the letter. Situations like these called for a specific order of events, and a proper decorum. A letter should be opened before the present, and a note read before a book.
As much as he didn't care, he knew Rarity would approve of his actions.
He pursed his lips as the thought made it way forward. He wouldn't be surprised if Rarity had just sneezed or something. She always seemed to know when ponies were talking about her, or looking at her, or thinking about her.
He shuddered slightly, before turning his attention to the envelope in his grasp. It was a very familiar sight, one he had seen quite often, actually.
He had studied the letter quite often over the years, in no small part due to his dwindling amount of things to read. He had practically burned that envelope into his head, and he could tell at a glance that this one was very nearly identical.
It wasn't quite like the boxes, which were two absolute copies of each other; but it was similar enough to the other envelope that there was very little doubt as to who sent it to him. It had the same dryness, the same flowery pattern, even the same scent of dust; though it was mostly overpowered by the other smell.
He had come up with a number of theories about the envelope's strange condition, but they all seemed pretty off base. The post office hadn't been much of a help either, and any clues they offered were likely unimportant.
So what if this kind of envelope was only used a very long time ago? The sender must just like old things, which he could absolutely relate to. He would probably use these envelopes if he had a surplus, though he didn't actually ever send any letters.
Still, maybe he could rack up a collection.
He filed a mental note away to file the envelope away, and turned it over. His eyes narrowed as he took in the generic, unbroken seal on its back.
That was odd, the first letter had been open when he received it.
His mind flew into a frenzy of accusations and whispers, but he quickly suppressed the activity. This was lending credence to one of his many paranoid theories about the letter, but it was impossible to know for sure until he opened it.
He had to see the letter, the actual letter with the words on it. If he was correct...
He quickly and messily tore the seal off of the envelope, along with a large chunk of the back. He winced internally, but pressed forward. If this was what he thought it was, then something was seriously wrong. Ruined antiques were the least of his concerns.
He flipped the tab open, and his heart picked up speed as he caught a glimpse of faded white paper.
His head shook from side to side autonomously, and he subconsciously muttered words of denial under his breath.
He tugged it out with little concern for its safety, frantically searching for evidence to the contrary of what he was seeing; but his eyes weren't lying to him, and what he saw was absolutely real.
The paper was old. It was old, and wrinkly, and dusty, and smelly, and old.
The paper in the first one had been brand-new.
His eyes fluttered closed as something small inside of him shattered. His breath hitched as the very old paper dipped low in his magical hold.
Someone had tampered with the first package.
He took deep, heaving breaths as multiple things in his head collided at once.
What did this mean? Who did this? Why would they do it? Who could do it?
What had they done?
He could feel his eyes misting a little, and he sniffed loudly as he reached a hoof up to wipe at them. What was he going to do?
This... this could ruin everything. Literally everything in his life. Who knew how much of his information was false, or worse: harmful? What if everything he had learned was a lie? All of it fed to him by somepony who had hijacked his entire dream for some unknowable purpose.
What was he supposed to do now?
His breathing began to even out, though it was still extremely jittery. He crossed his hooves over themselves, and held his own body as he shivered violently.
It was such a cold feeling, but it stung in his veins all the same. It spread through his body, sapping his warmth and energy wherever it went.
It felt horrible.
So, he was panicking. He could recognize that, thanks to his experience with the event. He needed to calm down, and think rationally. Spiraling never solved anything except more of the same. He would have to dig himself out of this pit, and fast; or else he would sit around, stuck in his own mind until Equus froze over.
First, he had to establish safe ground. Something to stick himself to if he failed and his world completely crumbled.
He had this box, that was a positive. There was little to no chance that this one had been tampered with, or at least not noticeably.
He squeezed his eyes shut, and cursed at himself. What was wrong with him?!
No, this box was fine. There was no chance that anypony else had gotten to it first. He was the first one to open it, and the contents were as real as he was.
Okay, he had a safe space, what next?
Calming down, minimizing the damage.
It probably wasn't as bad as he thought. He was just blowing things out of proportion as usual, and he just needed to remember that reality was never as cruel as his imagination.
He could remember a time where he had obsessed endlessly over something he had said to Applejack in passing, because he was sure he had inadvertently ruined their friendship and she would never want anything to do with him ever again.
But it had turned out that Applejack either hadn't heard him or didn't care, because the next time he had seen her, she acted like nothing had happened.
This was probably just like that. Just because everything he had received from the first box could have been a lie, that didn't mean it was.
What was there to tamper with, really? The books themselves were almost certainly correct, since he had personally observed several things noted within them. If the books were forgeries, then they were damn good ones.
His knowledge was probably safe, so what about the letter itself? The contents of that letter had shaped his thoughts and decisions throughout his life, so it would obviously be devastating if any part of it had been fabricated, right?
Oh, did he mean the letter that called him a monster, threatened to have him killed, then insinuated that his life could have been much worse?
Maybe it wouldn't be such a bad thing if it was fake.
He snuggled into his cloak as his hooves tightened around himself, and he breathed a shuddering sigh.
He didn't want the letter to be fake, though.
The harsh words and imperceptible prophecies meant so much to him, they were almost as precious as the books themselves.
He felt a lump grow in his throat, but he swallowed it back down. He was already having a breakdown, he didn't need to start crying on top of all the other stuff.
This funk clearly wasn't going to go away anytime soon, it was just too much to handle all at once. He was going to have to function like this, as hard as it would be.
He stared blankly at the paper still held in his grip. It was a little more wrinkled than before, likely a side-effect of the pony holding it having a part of their worldview shatter, but it was still together.
Maybe a little light reading would occupy his fragmented mind?
He could see the thankfully-familiar messy scrawl on the front, and it brought a small amount of comfort to him. Just a tiny feeling of warmth in a vast tundra.
Hopefully, the actual words would act as fuel.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Light Flow.
I wish to begin this letter with something altogether alien, and untoward of me. Something that, for all the ponies who know me, none can say they have wrested from my lips with nothing less than the most backhooven and incorrigible effort.
I wish to apologize.
I can already hear your unbridled jubilance at my admission of fallacy, but do not be so hasty; for this apology is related to something that has yet to come.
In my old age, and to my utter shame, I seem to have grown quite daft.
My original intent was to have several necessary tomes sent to you at various critical points in your life, in the hopes that a familiar voice and a guiding hoof would keep you from the path of darkness; but in doing so: I have made a critical mistake.
Truly, I am the greatest fool of all to have not seen this coming.
My direct intervention in this matter has caused yet another fracture, and a new, major future to form. One which I am both unworthy, and unable to see.
My shame is paramount, and my regret: uncharacteristic.
Due to my foolish judgement, you now trot down an unknown path toward your final future. I have seen all possibilities for you, except for this one, terrifying end.
I have no knowledge of where you are going, but I know that you will do great things, whether they be evil or just.
Yet, everything I have said thus far is, incredibly, besides the point.
The point, as it would be: is that you are in danger.
One week from when you should receive this package, a great calamity will befall the land.
On the one-thousandth Summer Sun Celebration, an unconscionable evil will reign, and Princess Celestia will fall.
The sun will set, and the moon will rise.
But not forever.
On that day, shrouded in the mists and mires of the Endless Night; six mares will take their place in history as great heroes, and return the beloved Sun to its rightful rule.
But all is no longer well with the story, for I fear that somepony has taken a metaphorical pen to the tale.
My sight may have left me, but my senses are still sharp. Something has tampered with the storybook, trying to rewrite critical lines and important events.
The complete loss of our heroes has never before been a possibility, yet now; it is so.
But I am not infallible, as was discussed earlier. It is possible that the tale will end as it was meant to, and all shall be as well as it was always known to be.
But possibilities have never sat well with me.
That is why I have gone out of my way for this long-winded speech about apologies and futures. For obvious reasons, I have a heavy investment in the future as it was foretold.
I need a backup plan.
In the box you have received with this note, you will find three books on the reviled magical field of Flesh Manipulation.
A very powerful, very illegal form of magic; but I know you do not shy from skirting the rules.
If all goes as horribly as reality dares to make it, Equestria will need you. This knowledge alone will not help you to defeat the Queen of Nightmares, but it will help you to survive upon the eve of her ascension to the throne.
If your path darkens in this way, your life will invariably be consumed with strife and torment; and for that, I offer a meaningless platitude.
Hope beyond hope in the depths of your blackened heart that the future stays its current course.
Now, if we could somehow find the point once more: you were likely expecting books more directly relating to Necromancy. To that, I would ask that your entitled mind take a back seat for the moment.
Your books will come, for I have already sent them; and they should still arrive for the moments they were meant. As I said, this future was unseen; thus, this letter was unplanned. This is your second time hearing from me, but it will be my last time writing to you.
Do not grow excited, there will be no heartfelt message from me on the subject of my encroaching death.
I hold no emotional attachment to you, and you should feel likewise. Your difficulties with your own mind notwithstanding: a pony would have to be truly insane to nurture any sort of fondness for one such as me.
I believe I have said all that is required. You know your danger, you know of your future, and your knowledge is secured.
My work is done, and thus, I leave you with a parting message.
On the day of day's end, you must find a mare named Twilight Sparkle. She is the key to Equestria's salvation.
Or, at least, she should be. It is not as if my knowledge is absolute any longer.
It is somewhat humbling.
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Light Flow closed his eyes, and let his horn fizzle out.
The letter and the envelope both fluttered lightly and soundlessly to the floor, as if afraid of testing his straining mind.
He took a deep breath.
And another. And another.
And another and another and another and another and another and-
Okay, he was just breathing deeply; but it was helping to compartmentalize each and every breath.
At some point during the letter, he had stopped shaking, and his eyes had become dry. That was all to be expected though.
Many problems suddenly become less important in the face of all-consuming doom.
Really, he thought he was handling this all very well.
Sure, an evil, apparently moon-themed villain was going to rise to power and take over the kingdom in less than a week.
Sure, he was apparently Equestria's backup plan if six legendary heroes somehow failed to stop the evil.
Sure, he was going to have to endure a life of agony and misfortune if things went badly.
Sure, his new books were on something that was apparently called 'Flesh Manipulation'.
Sure, it was sounding increasingly like his benefactor lived in the distant past and was certainly dead now.
Sure, his benefactor no longer knew what future lay ahead of him.
Sure, he-
Light Flow screamed, as loudly as he could.