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// Epilogue: On a dusty bookshelf 
// Story: Unkind Kindness 
// by jnzsblzs 
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Some who are reading these pages may wonder what they might be doing in a book about the novel British trade regulations under Queen Victoria. The answer is simple, this is an obscure place. However it’s somewhat more than that. When whosoever finds this, it is my most sincere hope they will understand the monumental implications of my words. Therefore I’ve chosen a place nopony other than the most purely intellectually inquisitive would ever look for anything.

Until recently I would have never thought I would write these words down, but ever since my ninetieth birthday my health has been rapidly deteriorating. Feeling the soft arms of death wrap around my back as we slowly waltz into my coffin, I’ve started to feel the urge not to take this final secret with me. Contrary to romantic ideas however, the fear of death does not beget bravery, hence this roundabout way of preserving my knowledge.

Not exactly fifty years ago we were losing a war against a foe we could no longer even pretend to hope we could either overpower or pacify. Amidst these desperate times, Princess Twilight came to me with an idea. Rather, it was more of an idea of an idea. While our dwindling military couldn’t surmount any sort of offensive, our intelligence service found a possible weakness in their defence: It seemed feasible that our special agents could capture the Fallen Element of Harmony: Fluttershy. The question was, should that daring undertaking succeed, can we do anything with the reunited Elements?

Bothering with a lowly theorist like myself might seem far fetched even in the times we lived, but confidence was of the utmost importance. Thus the idea couldn’t have been circulated to the wider scientific community in search for an answer. However the princess read one of my earlier work on the topic, which theorised that the power of the elements were in fact not tied to any sort of intelligence as the prevailing narrative of the time would tell you, but to the bearers themselves. The spirit of harmony of course existed and it was undeniably an intelligent and self-conscious being, which possessed a certain amount of power, but whatever connection it had to ponykind, it was severed with the departure. For our purposes it could be viewed as dead. But had it ever been able to control the unimaginable powers of the elements itself, it would have never needed to choose the bearers as it had every so often. If you, my reader, subscribe to the idea of intelligent creation as I do, you can view this as a universal system of checks and balances. One voice guides, six hooves act.

Ultimately therefore our task was straightforward. Capture Fluttershy and convince her to act in unison with her former friends and in accordance with the will of the late Princess Celestia. Easier said than done, this would have spelled the end of our plans, had it not been for the single most intimidating pony I had ever had the privilege to meet. The head interrogator of the former ESS, the agent I only knew as “Comet”. Fitting name for such harbinger of doom. He was able to spin a web of lies in which our hopeless butterfly could only make one choice, one that today stands as the starting point of our calendars.

Regrettably what neither my terrifying co-conspirator, nor me and not even the princesses could see was the most basic of truths. Ponies were creatures of harmony. Once we murdered one half, and made an unholy mockery of the other, they suffered. What came after is well recorded in the history books. The death of the princess, followed by strife, infighting, the dissolution of Equestria into whatever many countries by ponies who saw themselves bigger than everypony else. Constant fear, and struggle for survival. The more I think the more I’m convinced that it all stemmed from the same act. Even if I thought we were doomed the moment we severed our connection to this mysterious Spirit of Harmony, I’d still be solely responsible for the death of ten billion humans by formulating the spell that was their downfall. Hardly comforting, even for a lie.

Such is my secret, dear reader. Sadly, however I cannot impart my name to you for I’m fearful of what vengeance the immortal memory may enact on my family should it ever learn I’ve put these words to paper. At least that is what I tell myself in order to justify my cowardice. In a misadvised moment of honesty however, I must tell you, I have long been undeserving of the name my parents bestowed upon me. I never could live up to it unlike so many throughout our history. Today marks the date I can finally shed this false identity, to die as the person whom I always meant to be. For I am:

The Architect of Destruction.