Vi utskrippken metha Stor Swysti del Genthaft?
(How to describe meeting Star Swirl the Bearded?)
Ight biltha oum gylek trotten inne sollastlaet del unthe tieth. Dunung wier vythe foalasi, ab naernaven eftar alt. Dunung wier messen jev dae oum klefen eveg wier, nakounen nanavaft wier gennaven vys glouma gestrin.
Del sollast es stor. Usatien thouth majenaft, Sollastbreken.
(I imagine it was much like stepping into sunlight for the first time. Something we all experience as foals, but forget with age. Something we would miss if it was ripped away from us, unable to recall we had known this darkness before.
The sun is a star. Use your creativity here, Sunburst.)
Sunburst’s creativity was indisposed.
A sudden stuckness arrested him as he pored over these new pages of manuscript. Alone in his home study, candle wax pooling in chambersticks around his desk, he was bereft of Stygian’s responding voice to all the questions he wanted to ask aloud.
It was discomforting, verging on this time in Stygian’s life where he believed he was entering into a new and permanent happiness. Stygian may not know how this book would end, but both he and Sunburst knew the conclusion to his beyond a decade-long chapter with Star Swirl.
Sunburst was swift in jotting down the translations of Stygian's Old Ponish.
Star Swirl the Bearded was a venerable stallion. He was also the first stallion to show me kindness…
I never imagined a pony could be equal parts wise and mighty. He was my inspiration…
I thought of Anvilhorn. Not often, but I thought of him. Would he dare describe Star Swirl as weak for being a scholar? Star Swirl could not wield a sword, but I saw him fell trees with his magic…
Star Swirl and I spent many hours in conversation. He showed me how to map the stars. The world turned, and I always knew where I was. At all times, I was content in his…
Sunburst’s neck prickled. He read the line again.
Vaere, ight oum halenkalm nythra hert hight luzkounaft.
It was evident Stygian intended to conclude with ‘I was content in his warm presence.’ And yet, the translation was uncertain.
In Old Ponish, ‘hight’ was equivalent to New Ponish’s ‘warm’ or ‘hot.’ It could be situated in many contexts: temperature, tenderness, anger, liveliness — or the quality of being attractive.
‘At all times, I was content in his attractive presence.’
Sunburst reached for his mug of tea that accompanied him throughout this long night of translating. He gulped the remainder of its contents, the dregs rough in his throat.
A portrait of Star Swirl the Bearded used to hang in Sunburst’s dorm room at Celestia’s school. He was the apotheosis of unicornhood. You wanted to step into his hoofprints, or if failing that, walk in step beside him. At least, that’s the attitude with which ponies hung his posters.
When Star Swirl was presumed dead, he was everything and nothing. He was lionized and crassly joked about. His image was spoken to in hushed reverence and scribbled over with overlarge glasses and rude iconography. Time made him an object.
In his real and breathing presence, Sunburst did not step into his hoofprints. He barely matched his stride. Yet being near him in those slim hours leading up to the Pony of Shadow’s defeat, he was absorbed by Star Swirl’s force of will. He saw in him what Stygian beheld for so many wondering years. A powerful, older unicorn stallion who intoned unwavering commands, uniting his friends against a common enemy — an attractive presence indeed.
But not a kind one. His star was not a sun. It was distant and searing, a pinprick in the vacuum of space.
Sunburst wrote that down.
He rose from his desk stool, crossing the floor on legs that had grown stiff from hours of sitting. He trotted to his bedroom, finding the oval brass mirror from one of his rewarding antiquing excursions. Sunburst and his reflection came within an uneasy distance of one another.
So many unicorn stallions of his generation grew out their beards and donned celestial cloaks. It was the unspoken uniform of Celestia's school, inspired by the stallionity Star Swirl represented. One who was wise, to conquer accusations of frailty, austere to conquer accusations of emotionality, and magically vigorous, to conquer accusations of impotence.
Sunburst was learned, but not wise. He was pedantic, but not austere. And he was vigorous only in his ability to speak for hours on subjects of his immense interest.
His coloration was vivid and lacked mystique. He was all soft edges under his hide. His beard never filled in past the end of his chin. How ironic to ever picture himself as an esteemed wizard.
‘You look good like this.’
Stygian had, after all, said this when his robe was removed.
—
“What did you like the most about Star Swirl?”
Stygian’s eyes were swiveling back and forth at a steady pace, reading over Sunburst’s recent translations as though entranced. He blinked, lifting his head. “Sorry, what was it you asked?”
Sunburst swallowed. He could rescind the question. He didn’t. “Just asking what qualities you admired in Star Swirl, that’s all. Er — in case there was anything you forgot in your notes.” A shrinking press of his glasses followed.
There was a gentle rustling as Stygian turned over the page before him, as though to eliminate distraction. His tail flicked, the bobbed bristles striking the plush rug.
“Admired, in the past tense, is accurate.” A heavy sigh rattled him. Stygian turned his doleful eyes on Sunburst. “Because when I think of him now, all of it once was, yet no longer is. Star Swirl was kind. He was a mentor. He was…” Slowly, Stygian’s ears lowered. “Somepony who had been in the world far longer than I who looked upon me as though I were valuable. That is what I hoped to convey in my notes.”
Stygian must have been on the cusp of eighteen when he met Star Swirl, stumbling into his own adulthood while Star Swirl wore his as effortlessly as his impressive beard. Across that chasm of time, the old unicorn somehow saw past its distance and beheld the young stallion on the other side as though he were special.
Throughout Stygian's description, Sunburst held his gaze. “I think I can understand that feeling.”
“However…” Stygian’s jaw trembled, judging the direction of his words. “Star Swirl is not the only stallion who has been exceptionally kind to me.”
Sunburst’s heart was pumping as though having run for miles. He was sitting perfectly still.
Stygian cleared his throat. “Of course — there was Rockhoof, and he was like a brother. Patient and protective to all who knew him. Flash, too, was a true companion, always spirited for friendly competition, though much of it was expressed through jocular taunts. In any case,” he exclaimed, an octave above his usual dulcet tones, “if your curiosity has been satisfied, I really should put forth my best effort to finish reading these pages before the day comes to a close!” He chuckled, the untuned instrument of his laugh sounding as though it popped a string.
“Right!” Sunburst agreed. He pulled a page to himself, wrinkling it beneath his hoof, before shaking his head and jerking it into the air with his magic. “I’ll just make a quick note of what you said! About Star Swirl! And the other Pillars, of course…”
After a prolonged few minutes of awkward reading, there was a perfunctory knock at the door, which swung open before Sunburst could offer his invitation. “Hey Sunburst!” Starlight trotted inside, already changed out of her headmare attire. “Ready to go—?” She halted, blinked, and cheered, “Stygian!”
She hurried to meet him, bending to nuzzle his ear, which left him awed. “I didn’t know you’d still be here! Sunburst told me he’s really been enjoying working on your new biography with you.” She pressed a hoof to her chest. “I am also very eager to read it when it releases, but no rush, of course! Translation takes time and all that!”
Stygian stared at her with wide, rounded eyes, as though he perfected the quintessential look of bemusement a pony could hope to express. “Why, thank you. I’m flattered,” he said with a little smile.
Starlight grinned before turning to Sunburst. “Anyway, sorry for interrupting. I thought you both would have wrapped up by now.” She fixed him with a pointed stare.
“By now?” Sunburst tilted his head. “What do you mean— Oh, sweet Celestia!” He clapped a hoof to his forehead. “The Ponyville Autumn Equinox Festival! That’s tonight!”
Stygian’s head tilted to follow Sunburst’s frenzied scramble around the office, collecting papers and shuffling them toward his desk. “Sorry, Starlight. I didn’t forget! I just got so engrossed in my work,” Sunburst panted.
“Forgive me, as well.” Stygian got to his hooves, looking between them. “I wasn’t aware you had a prior engagement.”
He moved toward the door, but Starlight crossed his path. “Stygian, you should come with us! Maud and Mudbriar will be meeting us there, and I’m going with Trixie, so Sunburst can… he’ll need somepony to talk to!”
Sunburst’s head darted up from behind his desk. “It’s not like I won’t talk with the four of you!”
“I am glad to know the Autumn Equinox is still a celebrated event,” Stygian remarked. A tender sadness shaped his expression. “The Pillars and I used to join with the towns we helped as they ushered in the harvest season with food, music, and merriment. I assume that is all still done as well?”
“Of course! It wouldn’t be a festival otherwise.” Starlight laughed. “There’s going to be local vendors, too. One of which is an — ahem — antique tent somepony really wanted to see!”
“I’m done! I’m ready!” Sunburst hustled out from behind his desk, adjusting his robe with his magic. He came up beside Stygian, resting a light hoof on his shoulder. “I’d love for you to come as well. Only if you want to, of course!”
Stygian chuckled. “It sounds lovely.”
“That’s good! Because, we surely have earned a break.” Sunburst sighed. “You and I have spent a lot of time cooped up here lately.” In the last month, his eyes were fatigued from beholding nothing other than the interior of his school office and his own study. Both of which were suffused with the stuffy air of academic rigor, as though his written words themselves drifted about the room like dust.
Stygian himself appeared as stiff as paper. Sunburst envisioned him joyous under the orange harvest moon, galloping across the crunching leaf-litter to point out a recognizable artifact among the antique tent. Breath billowing in the frigid air, eyes bright and curious, tasting fritters and pumpkin pie, a beating heart in the lush present.
Sunburst smiled. “You ought to experience Ponyville on a special night like this.”
—
“You kept me waiting for a full ten minutes!” Trixie, as ever, presented herself with no small amount of camp. She tossed a hoof over her forehead, wilting. “The Sad and Defeated Trixie is heartbroken. Surely by now the fair has closed down. And she wanted so badly to see it with her marefriend.”
“It’s barely even sunset!” Starlight exclaimed as she galloped full tilt at her. Trixie yelped as she was embraced and slammed into a pile of leaves, a flurry of giggles rising from where the pair disappeared. Maud and Mudbriar were beside them, awaiting staid for the arrival of their party near the edge of the school grounds.
Maud asked in her usual flat tone, “Is there something on my dress? You’re staring.”
She was addressing Stygian, whose open-mouthed scrutiny was assessing Maud and her coltfriend. He jerked to look at the leaf-flecked heads of Starlight and Trixie who reemerged with raucous laughter. Sunburst had spent enough time with Stygian to know when a cautious debate was being conducted behind his eyes.
“You’re all good, Maud,” Sunburst filled in. He gestured grandly to Stygian. “This is my friend, Stygian — soon to be publishing his fourth book! I don’t believe you’ve met before. Stygian, this is Maud and Mudbriar.”
“Technically,” Mudbriar’s hoof lifted, “while we may not have met, we do know you.”
“Starlight told us a lot about you.” Maud approached. She sniffed the collar of Stygian’s cloak, her expression unchanged. Stygian quailed, drawing a hoof to his barrel.
“Hm. Limestone,” she remarked. Her long eyelashes descended in a slow blink. “The dust on your cloak. It’s limestone, with traces of calcium carbonate.”
“You have an impressive nose.” Stygian was still darting astonished glances toward the grinning Starlight and Trixie, the latter pulling the former to her hooves. He leaned back on his haunches, brushing his collar. “It’s likely embedded with dust from Hollow Shades that not even the most acerbic soap could wash out. The columns there were usually formed from limestone.” His shoulders rounded. “If you forgive my asking, what has Starlight said of me?”
“All good things, I promise!” Trixie chirped, trotting back into the circle. She shook herself like a dog, ridding her coat of remaining leaf flecks. A twig flew from her mane and Mudbriar followed its path into the bushes as though it were a shooting star.
Starlight was still effervescent as she followed behind. “Like Sunburst told you, you have friends in Ponyville. I’m sure we’ve all said at least once, ‘When is Sunburst going to get you out of his office and properly introduce us to you!’”
Sunburst snorted. “Well here we are, introductions made. I hope that’s not all we’re good for!”
“Of course not.” Trixie came to Starlight’s side, exchanging a roguish glance with her. “You’re good for getting out and living a little.” She gestured at Stygian. “Plus, I can’t wait to see his reaction to trying the spicy fair food.” She snickered, tail snapping behind her as she turned to head off.
Stygian frowned, raising an eyebrow. “Such a fate continues to befall me at your bidding.”
“Don’t let her convince you into anything. Funnel cake seems more to your liking,” Sunburst advised with a nervous chuckle.
As they approached the festival grounds, scents from the delectable fried fair cuisine filled the air. Up ahead, ponies were sizzling morsels of dough in oil and crushing vats of apples underhoof. A mellow amber glow cast between the tree trunks, a melding of the low sun and strings of glass globe lanterns bordering the path to the heart of the revelry.
Mudbriar and Maud made for silent company. Starlight and Trixie walked the path flank-to-flank, their private conversation susurrating just below what was audible. Stygian’s watchful eye remained on them.
“How are you doing?” Sunburst was compelled to ask.
Stygian blinked. “I’m well, thank you.” He smiled quickly, but it waned. “Though, a part of me feels I’m in a dream.”
Sunburst asked, “A good dream, I hope?”
Again, Stygian’s eyes trailed to Starlight and Trixie. “Yes. A good dream.”
Beside him, Sunburst caught Stygian shivering. Neither his meager cloak or lean build could insulate him from the autumn chill.
“They should have hot apple cider at the festival,” Sunburst leaned to tell him. “Since, you looked cold.”
“Yes, well,” Stygian laughed between chattering teeth, “we can’t all be as big and warm as the sun!”
A small sun may as well have manifested in Sunburst’s belly, the way those words affected him. They also made Trixie cackle from up ahead where she was evidently eavesdropping.
Sunburst shook his mane. “Here,” he said, unclasping his wizard robe. Its teal starscape drifted above Stygian to envelope him. It nested over his own threadbare cloak, closing loosely at his chest. “You need it more than I do.” Sunburst smiled.
Stygian’s hoof traced the clasp in silent awe. It then reached to gently grasp Sunburst’s shoulder. “It’s all right for you to be without it?”
From the way Stygian’s observant eyes traveled to Sunburst’s cutie mark, then to Starlight, Sunburst knew he wasn’t fretting over him catching a chill.
“Of course it’s all right.” Sunburst resumed trotting in step with Stygian. The hem of his cloak brushed Stygian’s fetlocks, but otherwise, the robe’s color and character complimented him. Sunburst said, “After all, it suits you.”
Stygian chuckled. “I am no wizard. But… thank you.” His steps became fluid, no longer stilted with chilled jitters. And for a discreet moment, Stygian’s snout inclined to touch the inside of the high collar, his chest rising and falling with a serene breath.
The warm center in Sunburst’s stomach grew.
—
Reaching the festival, their group of six split off into a trio of pairs. Maud flicked her ear in the direction of a gem vendor and Mudbriar wordlessly followed. Starlight and Trixie pranced in the direction of a mare selling corn dogs. And Sunburst set off in the direction of the antique display, Stygian racing behind to keep up.
“We’ll meet you over there!” Starlight promised. “But Trixie said she needs a snack first!”
The antique tent boasted two broad tables, arranged with a melange of curated artifacts adorned in gilt and polished woodgrain. Inside, it smelled strongly of resin and old paper. Sunburst set upon the relics like a starved pony at a lavish buffet.
“Look at this phoenix feather quill!” Sunburst’s questing hoof trembled over the bright carnelian feather resting in its stand, itching to ignore the ‘Please Do Not Touch’ placard below. “Ponies used these to send clandestine messages to one another in war times. It’s said the magic of the phoenix itself is transferred to the words written with this quill. Any message penned with it will ignite and flake off into ash only a few minutes after the letter is opened.”
Beside him, Stygian beamed. “I used one, once! During the Pillar’s rescue of a band of merchants enslaved by Diamond Dogs, I thought of employing a phoenix feather quill to covertly communicate help was on the way. The disappearing messages prevented the Dogs from knowing of our plan to liberate their captives.”
Sunburst’s eyes gleamed in the tent’s lantern light. “Stygian, you’re incredible! What an act of heroism!”
“Well, I wouldn’t go so far as to say that.” Stygian ran his hoof along the packed earth below. “I wasn’t the one who fended off their captors. Nor did I break their shackles.”
“Now who’s being humble.” Sunburst nudged him. “Your role was instrumental.”
Their admiring gazes coursed through the tent with unceasing vigor. Sunburst put forth a dedicated effort to break away from the captivating ancient treasures and periodically check over his shoulder for Starlight and Trixie. As he did so, it wasn’t his friends he noticed.
Visible from the entrance, a colt cupped his snout, whispering to his mother, before jabbing a hoof in Stygian’s direction. He was transfixed as his mother pulled him along, though Sunburst couldn’t discern if this was from admiration, or disquietude. Other passersby’s heads turned as they passed the antique tent, their stares lingering a little too long. Stygian, to his credit, remained ignorant to the gawking. Sunburst moved to block his visibility from the path.
When he turned back, Stygian was standing at the far corner of the tent, staring at a glass display box. Inside was a pretty shawl, expertly crafted with soft, springy animal fiber. It appeared to halo around Stygian's reflection in the clear glass.
Sunburst came to his side. “I always wonder about who these items once belonged to. That's one of the many reasons I love antiques. Each item has a story. In another life, a pony's hooves held it, or,” he inclined his head to the display box, “it kept somepony warm.”
Stygian’s slow breaths left a faint film of condensation on the glass. “I am made to wonder: why was I rewarded with the future — and not any of them?”
Stygian parted his gaze from the shawl in the case. He approached a little equine doll crafted from hay sprigs, twine tying off the ends to form hooves. Stygian touched its round head. “The world has always possessed good ponies. Ponies whose names will never appear in significant texts; ponies whose generational lines will not remember them. All of them had stories to tell. Most of them could have told them better. I think of this, and ask myself, why was I brought here? When I am not a good pony.” Stygian's head fell. “Why is it my story that is allowed to be known?”
Sunburst’s heart twinged. He touched Stygian’s shoulder. "You are a good pony. And your story is valuable.”
“You’ve told me as much,” Stygian murmured. A breathy chuckle left him. “Sometimes, I wonder if your infatuation with the past lends you that unique outlook, a way of seeing things that other ponies do not possess.”
“You’re right. Not everypony thinks the way I do.” He thought in bursts, hooves shaking. “But — minds and hearts can be convinced. Stories taught me that.”
Sunburst glanced at the encased shawl. “Especially stories about ponies who… felt the world was not a place they could live in.”
Stygian pulled tight the edges of his borrowed starry cloak and asked, “What becomes of those ponies?”
“Well, they change the world,” Sunburst said, as though it were easy. “So that those who come after can live in it.”
He was beside Stygian, close enough to gaze down upon the top of his bobbed mane. Strands of early silver shot between the deep teal.
“And, stories aren’t only about the one telling them,” Sunburst continued. “They’re with you, Stygian. Bright Star and Turning Page. And every other pony you cared about whose story I may still have yet to learn.”
He touched his nose to Stygian’s ear and was surprised when a tentative hoof rose to cup his jaw. Sunburst blinked, but closed his eyes as a tremendous sigh left Stygian’s lungs.
The serenity within the tent was broken by foals' laughter. Stygian turned. A raucous pattering of hooves struck the path outside as two colts tussled. One jingled from the bells dangling off his deep blue wizard’s hat. The other growled, his face concealed by a black mask bearing bulging white eyes and the silhouette of a fanged grin, crooked inky cardboard wings tied to his back.
Nightmare Night was fast approaching. These weren’t the only foals in early costume at the festival. They also weren’t the only foals Sunburst glimpsed among the festival goers that were dressed to resemble Star Swirl — or the Pony of Shadows.
With wide eyes, Stygian watched the foals run away.
“The world,” he said, “is a very large thing to change.”
Sunburst supplied a hurried distraction. His horn ignited, magic discreetly slipping into the pocket of his cloak on Stygian’s back. He reached behind Stygian’s ear – Stygian blinking rapidly at his close touch – and withdrew a bit, shining gold in the tent lamplight.
“Sleight of hoof.” Sunburst giggled. “I dabble in close up magic. Anyway, anything you wanted to buy? Whatever you want is on me.”
Stygian’s breath whistled in his throat, not quite a laugh or wheeze. “You continue to amaze me.” He rubbed the side of his neck, then pressed there too long, as though confirming a pulse. His ears were pulled back.
“Sorry, the line was so long! Find anything interesting?”
Starlight pushed into the tent, levitating a half-eaten corn dog. Her sudden appearance made Stygian jump. His jaw clenched, but Sunburst caught the way the ends of his mane quivered; he was shaking.
“We sure did!” Sunburst answered with a chipper effort. “But, you got here just a bit too late. We were actually planning to grab a treat for ourselves.”
He touched Stygian’s shoulder, rubbing in small circles. “How about some of that hot apple cider I mentioned?”
Stygian gave a jerky nod. Behind his eyes, he was elsewhere.
—
A mare sang a languid ballad up on the festival stage, strumming an acoustic guitar. Ponies swayed below her in pairs, hooves around necks. Dusk was settling, and the glow from the strung globes lent warmth to the blue atmosphere.
Beside a crackling fire pit, Sunburst sat in the grass around a table with his friends, listening to the music. Maud was turning a smooth lump of red jasper between her hooves, Mudbriar still as a log beside her. Trixie leaned back into Starlight’s lap with a self-satisfied grin, her hooves crossed behind her head.
Stygian sat beside Sunburst, a steaming cup of cider held between his hooves. Slowly, he swayed in tempo with the music, his eyes closed. The hard shadows thrown by the fire pronounced his features. For a transient moment, he looked his age.
Under the sweet vocals of the guitarist, Sunburst leaned to Stygian’s ear and asked with a tinge of worry, “Did you enjoy coming here tonight?”
Stygian’s eyes opened, his dark lashes highlighted amber. “Of course I did.” He smiled. “And I’m sorry for earlier. I can’t always predict when… the weight of it all will fall on me.”
“Who could?” Sunburst smiled in return. His hoof raised without any clear direction, an unconscious grasp for the burden still pressing on Stygian’s shoulders. “I’m happy, though. I’m happy that you’re here.”
Stygian chuckled, taking a scanty sip of his cider. “Happy that I attended the festival?”
“About what you said earlier. In the tent.” The wind must have changed; the heat from the fire washed Sunburst’s coat with a directed intensity. “I’m happy you’re here. In this time. I’m grateful to know you.” He extended a hoof, gesturing too swiftly. “And I’m glad you can experience this. Just… the joys of it all.”
Stygian’s head dipped low. He smiled, but the expression was different on him. His brows were upturned, as though bereaved. “Joy is what I missed the most. Not just in Limbo, but when I lived back then. It was a strange kind of missing, because I haven’t known it so purely until now.” He met Sunburst’s eyes, a twinkle in his own. “But in another age, the world will be kind in ways that surprise you.”
Sunburst sat up. “That’s…”
“What was that treat you suggested to me earlier? Funnel cake, was it?” Stygian pressed a hoof to his chin in thought. “I should try some before the night ends.”
“Oh! Of course!” Sunburst sputtered. He rose, leaves shedding from his tail.
“Actually, that sounds great.” Starlight stretched as she slid out from under Trixie. “Come on, Stygian. The lines should be much shorter by now!”
The two of them were trotting down the slope past the throng of dancers before Sunburst could raise a hoof.
“Wow.” Trixie’s voice carried under the singer’s vocals. “You must be some writer, Sunburst. ‘I’m grateful to know you?’ Yawn. Remind me to never hire you as my biographer.”
Sunburst turned to see her reclining in the grass, a hoof propped under her chin. She fixed him with a lidded stare, eyebrows akimbo.
“What?” he shrugged, affronted. Searching, he looked to Maud and Mudbriar, but as ever, they were nonplussed.
Trixie crossed the short distance between them, sitting herself down on the flattened grass Stygian once occupied. “As the esteemed School of Friendship student counselor, I feel obligated to give you some advice.” Her hooves pressed together and she glared at him. “For such a maddeningly obvious pony, your little signals are not getting through.”
Sunburst shook his head. “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”
From across the way, Maud piped up with all the subtlety of a rockslide. “You need to tell Stygian you like him.”
That rockslide knocked the breath from Sunburst’s lungs. He pushed up his glasses, his voice thin as he asked, “What gave you that idea?”
Trixie rolled her eyes. “You don’t think Starlight tells us everything you say during your lunch dates with her?” Her voice took on a nasally affect. “‘Stygian's opening up much more than when we first started. I think he really trusts me.’ ‘Stygian laughed at something I said the other day and it made me so happy.’ ‘Stygian made me lemonade and it was the best I ever tasted!’” She cackled. “It’s really adorable.”
"Starlight..." he hissed. For the first time that night, Sunburst mourned the absence of his robe, if only for his inability to shrink behind its collar.
“Look, I…” He stammered before gaining the wherewithal to find his way back to coherence. “It’s not that simple.”
Sunburst was unprepared for the sadness that washed him at the admittance of that small yet true phrase.
“Stygian says so many things to suggest that I'm the first stallion who’s been kind to him in the modern age. And I try to be, more than I’ve tried for anypony I’ve known.” His mournful gaze fell between the dark gaps in the crushed grass. “I'm trying to show him a kinder world is possible. The one he lived in was cruel to ponies like him. Far too cruel in ways that were both loud, and quiet.”
The slow backward tilt of Trixie's ears was a stiff acknowledgment.
Sunburst continued. “When a stallion loved another stallion then, he didn't say it out loud. He didn't know who was listening. He didn't know if the other stallion himself could be trusted with such a vulnerable secret. There was a subtle language to the negotiations of hated love.” He sighed. It was bitter. “And if my signals have been inconspicuous, it's because I'm trying to speak a language he would understand.”
“I know my history, Sunburst. And that is all very conscientious of you,” Trixie replied. “But if you really want him to believe the world is kinder now, you need to prove it.”
Sunburst’s head hung, his glasses sliding precariously to the end of his snout.
Trixie swatted him with her tail. “Come on, Sunburst! You know I'm right.”
“How is it so easy for you?”
That little signal came through. Trixie assumed a regal posture.
“Well, I'm a performer; a public figure. And now, a counselor, guiding young minds from all corners of Equestria and beyond! Being silent, that doesn't just affect me anymore.” She pressed a hoof to her chest with a knowing smile. “When ponies know I'm a trans mare in a wonderfully happy relationship with my gorgeous marefriend, they feel less alone if they relate to me at all. But of course, I can't imagine a pony who wouldn't want to relate to The Great and Powerful Trixie.”
Her head tossed, the silver crescent of her forelock gleaming. “From the way Stygian was staring at Starlight and I today, we definitely made an impression. Just think about what you could do for him if you were a little bit more honest. I'm just saying.”
Sunburst grumbled, “You're still making it sound easy.”
“Because that wasn't the hard part!" She smacked a hoof to her forehead. "Finally working up the courage to ask Starlight out? That was hard. And it wasn't based on any worry about other ponies judging us. It was Trixie getting in the way of herself. Because, despite my obvious good looks and winning personality, I am regrettably only equine. And just like anypony,” she gripped Sunburst by the shoulders and exclaimed, “I know rejection hurts!”
She let go and a rare softness came over her face. “Isn't that what you’re really afraid of?”
The silent, curious eyes of Maud and Mudbriar were on him, lit from behind by the wavering fire. Yet to Sunburst, their fixed gazes were not unlike the punitive stare of his former principal, leaning over the desk to intone, “I’m sorry, but you’ve failed your final exams. It seems we’ve made a mistake in admitting you.” They were the darting glances from Starlight as he stepped off the train to Ponyville for the first time, primed to chase after novelty rather than allow her enough time in his presence to decide she did not forgive him his absence. They were his mother’s eyes, puffy and red when he visited home to console her in the days after Dad moved out, her words rife with disbelief that love could exist only to be ripped away.
“I know how to make a good first impression,” Sunburst murmured. “But when the future arrives, it doesn’t reward me.”
To Trixie, that must have come across as cryptic nonsense, for she sighed and shuffled back to her spot beside Maud, muttering, “I can’t be faulted for trying,” as she went.
The distant crowd was blurry. Sunburst pushed up his glasses, spotting a familiar lilac coat under the shadow of the stage. Starlight was not in line for funnel cake.
Stygian was with her, a little smear of stars. Sunburst saw his mouth moving, Starlight nodding in the way she always did when she was truly attentive. Their conversation paused, the faraway tension between them sweeping across the grass to strike Sunburst in the gut. Then, Starlight made an exclamation, lunging to wrap her hooves around Stygian in a warm hug. Stygian’s face was visible over her shoulder. His eyes were closed. He was laughing, weightless.
—
“Sorry, took longer than I thought again!” Starlight was giggling as she trotted up the slope, a steaming paper plate in her turquoise aura. She set it down on the table — then jerked it toward herself as Trixie lunged to take a wide bite. They laughed in unison, settling in to share it.
The grass whispered beside Sunburst and he turned to see Stygian arrive and sit, as silent as a ghost. His horn ceased glowing, a hot funnel cake on the table between them. “Half is yours,” he said, “as a ‘thank you.’ And, because I doubt I could finish it all even if I tried!” He chuckled.
Sunburst’s smile reached up into his eyes. “Thank you for thinking of me.”
In peaceful alternation, they took turns pulling free sweet morsels of dough with their magic, the music light in the chill air. Stygian’s eyes were closed as he ate, hooves tucked below the warmth of Sunburst’s draping robe. Powdered sugar dusted the end of his snout and his tongue poked out gingerly to sweep it away. His eyes met Sunburst’s, creased with silent laughter.
Sunburst took a slow bite, but it wasn’t the cake he was trying to savor.
Dusk melted into night. The dancing crowd thinned and the singer was on her last encore. The funnel cake reduced to powdery crumbs, Stygian was caught between sleep and wakefulness, head nodding into his hoof, his robe rising and falling with slow breaths.
Sunburst crept to Starlight, who once again had Trixie’s drowsy head in her lap. He leaned to her ear and whispered under the bright vocals, “What were you and Stygian talking about?”
Her ear twitched. She tipped her head back. “Nosy Sunburst,” she giggled, and booped him.
“It isn’t my story to tell.”
—
Sunburst walked Stygian home. Ponyville was tranquil at night, lit on every corner, but Stygian had the longest way to go, his path bordering the Everfree.
They talked the whole way there, about the festival, and their ideas, and nothing at all, really. They talked just to hear the lift and fall of one another’s voices.
And too soon, the door to Stygian’s old-fashioned home came into view.
“Well,” he said, like it was the most aching word he could utter, “this is me. But, you already knew that.” He chuckled, turning. “Thank you for accompanying me home, Sunburst.”
Stygian stood in the threshold, hind hooves inside, forelegs on his stoop. Behind him, the dark mouth of his kitchen yawned.
“Of course! Any time!” Sunburst smiled with all of his teeth, pushing up his glasses. He cleared his throat. “So. Uh. I guess I’ll see you when you’ve got the next part of the manuscript ready?”
“Right.” Stygian’s eyes found something of evident interest in his yard. “That should be quite soon.”
A silence enveloped them, punctuated by each of their shuffling hooves.
“Earlier, by the fire,” Sunburst blurted, “you said something that — it was familiar. It reminded me of something.”
Stygian blinked. “Did I? What was it?”
“Inne alt naertrin, del weorld…” The Old Ponish fumbled past his tongue. Sunburst massaged his temple. “I have this antique piece of scroll hanging in my office. It starts with the same phrase.”
Stygian’s big eyes caught the surrounding lamplight with ease. “That’s right,” he said with slow recollection, as though rising into a dream state. “I’ve seen it before. The words must have been in my mind. Their message, after all, is beautiful.”
His slender throat bobbed with a stiff swallow and when he spoke again, his gentle voice was breathy. “What made you think of it now?”
In the wide warm dark, anything could have happened. Sunburst’s breath clouded the air, a sharp and sudden pulse beating in his throat. Sweat rolled down his nape, uninhibited by the cold. He could scarcely see past the rising condensation on his glasses.
If Stygian invited him inside, Sunburst would have dove headlong into that welcoming darkness.
But the responsibility was left to him.
“I…” He gulped. “I must've had translating on my mind, I guess! You know, since we were planning for our next meeting.” He inhaled, taking a step backward. “As always, send me a letter, when... when you’re ready.”
Stygian’s ears drooped like senescing leaves. He blinked, expression flattening. Behind his eyes, he woke up.
“Right. Will do.” Stygian moved to head inside, yet paused. He shivered, and with a dreadful parting, lifted Sunburst’s robe from his back. “Nearly forgot this.”
It levitated in the space between them like a specter. Sunburst took it with a quivering hoof.
“Oh. Right.” Sunburst balled the robe at his chest. “Goodnight, Stygian.”
“Goodnight, Sunburst,” was said like an elegy as the door closed.
—
Sunburst didn’t turn on the lights when he returned home.
Careening through the dark interior, he stumbled into bed with the enfeebled resolve of an ill pony. He buried his head beneath his hooves, robe still clutched tight under them. The soft fibers pressed to his nose.
It smelled like sugar and smoke and apple cider — and something warm he should've had a name for.