At some point, Inverno didn’t bother to count how long it’s been. Each morning he would wake up at the hole in the roof where the sun came in before rolling out of his makeshift bed. He would give out a yawn that would echo throughout the empty Opera House. He was grateful that after Canterlot was abandoned, they still left behind the set pieces where he could make a home. Ghost-like, he would engage in the same routine that he carried out yesterday and the day before that. After waking up, he would light up a fire in a soot-covered metal bowl where he would warm up and have breakfast out of a can that he would cook in. Usually, soup as they’re easy to find if they haven’t been opened or contaminated. Then after that, he would gather up his things to search the city for a couple of hours.
As far as he was aware, he is the last pony to live in Canterlot. Every time he stepped outside the Opera House into the delipidated city, he felt like a ghost. Roaming through the streets, between the ruined towers of a once golden metropolis. Usually, it’s quiet, say for the sounds of birds and the wind that blows through. Sometimes his mind would fill the empty streets with ponies and creatures back in the old days. Back during a time when everyone thought all of this would last forever.
He sighed. At times the loneliness gets to him. Not that he wasn’t used to it, but he wished that ponies would be here again. He wondered if there really ponies are still left beyond the overgrown walls, that they had reconciled since the… incident. For all he knows, he could be the last pony in the whole world, but deep down, he refused to believe that. He of all ponies knew that ponies have survived many worst conditions and they could adapt to anything. If there were other cities or towns out there, perhaps things won’t be so bad but…
Shaking his head, Inverno stopped for a moment to squint his eyes to make sure where he’s at. Over the years his eyesight had gotten significantly worse. Things have become blurry, ever blurrier to the point he could only see a few inches in front of him clearly. He knew that for his age, he was going blind. But blurry, he reason, was still better than seeing nothing. And squinting, he checked to make sure he was in the right place.
“…. Alright, I know I’ve been into that house…” he muttered, barely seeing the smashed window in a brick home that had purple chipping paint. The house in front of him had a wooden door, red brick, and unbroken windows. After checking to see that the front door was indeed locked, he picked up a nearby heavy rock in his hooves. “Well, let’s see what you have…” And threw it at the window, smashing it.
For him to survive, he had to break into the old houses in hopes to find something in them. After all, it’s been years and years since anyone had dropped everything and left the city, so it was unlikely that anyone was going to complain. But crawling through the window and taking care not to cut himself on the glass, he entered inside the dust-filled house and began searching.
First, he looked for food – especially anything that was canned or preserved in some way. Rummaging through pantries and kitchens for anything that hadn’t gone bad, exploded, or would have decayed a long time ago. He looked for cans that haven’t bulged, and jars that were sealed tightly, and when he did find them, he would place them in a saddle bag.
Next, he looked through the house to see if there were any tools he could use, any sort of clothes that would fit him like coats for the winter or boots to tread through flooded areas. He would also look for useful things like matches, kerosine oil, first aid kits, or maybe tools like a screwdriver or a hammer.
Last, but not least of all, he would search the house from attic to basement to see if he could find any sheet music. Any at all. It didn’t matter what it was, a song, a violin lesson book, a collection for piano – whatever he could find to add to his collection. Because of this, he would need a very important job.
By noon he would return to the Opera House where he would have lunch. And once finished, he would head down to the lower levels. With only a lit kerosine lamp, he navigated down the crumbling stairs, through hallways, and into the basement level where his workshop lies. Ever since Canterlot was abandoned, Inverno had set up an important task. There is a spacious room where he lit whatever candles remaining was a library of every piece of music he could find. Like that from his foalhood, he would copy out whatever music there was. Writing down symphonies, musicals, pieces for solo instruments to songs. Piecing together whatever readable scripts there were and, at times, trying to remember how they went.
And near the evening, he would go to the other side where he would record his findings on an organ of his own design. From whatever batteries, electric equipment, and blank disk records he could find, he would record every piece that wasn’t his collection – even give his voice when need be. Because he knew that while he may not live forever, the records he’ll leave behind will still preserve Equestria’s musical past. Just like how he kept the Crystal Empire's music when he was a child.
It is when he gets to record that, even for a minute, would feel like he’s back in the old days again. Memories would come back to him from his mom and dad, his baby sister, his wife, and the golden days of the Opera House where he would sing or conduct an orchestra. A time when there was an audience in the seats, and when he reached the end, he could still remember the applause that would make him get up to take a bow. Only now when he would reach the end of every piece, all he would hear is silence.
Still, despite being alone, there was one saving grace. Even after magic had disappeared from Equestria, he still retained the one trait he had since he was young. He can see music. As long as he could remember, whenever he plays on something, or sings, or hears someone play, his vision would give way to a vision. Nowadays, it’s his only comfort, his only entertainment. When he plays, he’s treated to places and times when the world was young. Back when ponies fell in love, expressed despair, joy, still contemplation – but hardly alone. Even in the bleakest of pieces, he could find, he was still grateful that at least he got to see characters play out their parts up to the end.
But once all was recorded, he would scuffle back up to have dinner. And after that, sometimes he would read books, and other times when the sky was clear and the night not too cold, he would look out at the stars until he felt tired. He would go to bed on stage to do it all over again the next day.
There were days when he wondered about going outside of the ruined city. If ponykind was still around, surely they would have made settlements somewhere out there. Yet, when he climbed to the top of the highest place of Canterlot to scan outward – all he could see for miles is a dense forest. There wasn’t any sign of anypony out there. He never saw a trail of smoke from a campfire. He never saw anyone use the old roads. No one except the birds overflew the ancient city. At times he would wonder where in Equestria would anyone be. That is if they’re still out there.
There were days that were hard for Inverno. Given his old age (he lost count a long time ago) he often questioned if there was even a point in preserving all this music. Or even keep living in general. There were times when he would spend hours staring down an empty street and simply imagine it was populated with ponies. Other times he would go visit Canterlot Castle in a certain room where he would remember the happiest day of his life – his wedding. He would remember his wife. Her face. Her voice. But would have to stop because remembering the rest would make him cry again.
Such days went on from one to the next. From season to season to season to season. He didn’t expect the remaining of his existence to change. He never expected there would be anypony left alive in the world that would just happen to find Canterlot. He didn’t expect anything would happen as long as he was alive.
That was, until one day.