“If you need anything else, Your Majesty, please let me know.”
“Thank you, Urgent.”
The unicorn guardspony bowed and closed the door behind him, leaving Celestia alone with only a blanket, a pot of tea, and silence. Her inherent regality was nowhere to be seen. Where she usually carried a graceful smile, there was only despondency. Her eyes shone not with defiance, but were clouded by the same weary shadows that lurked about the edges of the room. The moonlight that filtered weakly through the large windows did nothing to comfort her, serving only to remind her of her newly doubled responsibilities. The events of a few nights before – her victory – her defeat – still weighed heavily upon her, and would continue to do so for a very long time.
She would have sat motionless for perhaps hours more, had not the gentle caress of steam on her chin caught her attention. She looked at the murky water blankly, as if oblivious to its nature or purpose. With a slight yellow shimmer, she lifted the cup from its saucer and took a half-hearted sip. The warmth tickled her throat as it traveled down, but was soon consumed by the cold pit of her stomach, leaving her as empty as before. She sighed, and set it down.
Clink.
The china echoed forlornly, but it was soon followed by a second, just-as-quiet sound.
Clop.
Her brow furrowed. The door was still closed. The windows were barred. There was only one pony that that could be.
She looked up. Sure enough, stepping out of the shadowy corner was a figure that she had somewhat hoped she would never see again, but who, in that moment of loneliness, was detestably comforting, even though his disposition was gloomier than hers – if that was even possible.
Upon meeting her gaze, he shifted uncomfortably and looked away, not willing or, perhaps, able to break the silence. She, on the other hand, was more than willing.
“Why are you here, Phobos?”
He opened his mouth as if to speak, but all that came out was a hopeless sigh.
“If you’ve come to apologize, then –”
“No,” he interrupted. He sighed again, and continued wearily. “No, I know I can’t possibly apologize.”
Celestia was taken aback by this newfound admission of guilt. Phobos took the chance to choose his next words carefully. Though he had gone over this conversation dozens, perhaps even hundreds of times in his head, the script had already escaped him.
“I came to say goodbye.”
“Goodbye?” Celestia had thought that the time for goodbyes had long since passed.
“Yes. I thought you would like to know that you’ll never see me again.”
She hesitated, highly tempted to simply say “Good. Get out.” and resume her moping, but what remained of her curiosity nagged at her.
“Where are you going?” she asked cautiously.
“Away,” he answered simply, his eyes not moving from the floor.
Celestia had somewhat expected an apology of one form or another, as unhelpful and untimely as it was. After all, she was the only other alicorn left, now that Luna was… gone. He would no doubt be seeking companionship. But he wasn’t. He hadn’t come to ask for forgiveness and place – at least, not yet – only to bid farewell, although where Phobos had any intention of going, Celestia hadn’t the vaguest idea. He had spent his whole life caged up in Olympus, but there was nothing left there now. He would be hard-pressed to survive anywhere.
“I, uh… I brought you some… parting gifts,” Phobos said nervously.
He lifted off a saddlebag and levitated it over to her, setting it down gently. It didn’t look very full. Celestia gave it, and him, a curious look. He managed to force his eyes to meet hers for a brief moment before they flitted away again, skittish, even though her gaze was now more confused than angry. Celestia decided that there was no harm in seeing what he had brought her. She pushed aside her tea and brought the bag closer, flipping it open.
There were no jewels, or trinkets, or keepsakes inside. Only two raw, string-bound tomes stared back at her, their front pages blank.
“I was never much good with titles.” Phobos chuckled half-heartedly.
Celestia cocked an eyebrow. “What are they?”
“The larger one is… predictions. Prophecies. Everything I managed to transcribe from the Legacy.” He laughed quietly, a small smile creeping onto his face. “It’s funny, actually, I – I managed to solve the Watcher’s code, and…” He raised his head. She was not as amused.
His face falling once more, he cleared his throat. “And the other…” He glanced at the book. It looked meager and pitiful next to its hulking brother. “The other… is my story.”
Once upon a time, thousands of years ago, the alicorns ruled the world. They traveled all across the land – to the dancing shadows of the forest glens, to the secluded caves of the lofty mountains, to the bright oases of the barren deserts. They protected all that was innocent and good. They served the light in the light, and they fought the darkness in the shadows. Those were the golden years. The halls of Olympus resounded with the sounds of joy and peace, and the songs and stories of greatness and victory rang throughout the world.
There are no songs anymore, and this is not one of those stories. The golden years became dulled, tarnished, and distant too long ago for any to remember. Whatever weight of greatness our people once proudly carried upon their backs crumbled into dust and ashes in tandem with the pillars of our home. This is not a story with a happy ending, where the villain is defeated and true love is found, and everyone lives happily ever after. This is my story. The story of the last days of a crippled race. The story of the final conflict between a dying good and a beleaguered evil. The story of one who bore witness to the end long before it happened, and could do nothing to stop it. It is the story of two births, a handful of lives, and the deaths of many, including, very soon now, myself. Like any proper story, we will start at the beginning, but there are two things you should know before we do.
The first is that all of this is my fault. It was a hard lesson for me to learn – one I still have not yet quite accepted – but raging against the universe, with all its miniscule machinations and devious devices, can do one no good. Fighting against the untouchable is futility, but battling that which is close to you can be therapy. Placing blame helps to ease one’s pain, and if any tangible entity can truly be said to be to blame for the tragedies that have filled my days, it is I and I alone. This is my legacy.
The second thing you should know is that none of this was preventable. Certainly, I could have gone to Luna and helped her realize her place and duty, averting her fall and banishment. I could have stopped Fauna when I had the chance, and prevented his sacrifice and transformation. But if there is one thing I have learned in my time on this world, it is that fate is an unbeatable foe. Destiny is just one of the world’s innumerable limbs. When you struggle against its clenching fist, you are only moving yourself closer to where it wanted you to be – and if, through your biting and kicking, you are ever truly able to escape its grasp for even the shortest time, there is no scale that can measure the punishment that it will rain upon your doomed head. This, too, is my legacy.
Now, as promised, we begin at the beginning. Our stage: Olympus, grand bastion of the alicorns – once a city of arches, castles, and fountains – now an expanse of ruins, rubble, and, since I know Flora would disapprove of me calling them weeds, unruly plant life. Our players: a great warrior, a clever mender, a weak child, a hidden shadow, and a beautiful angel. All of them, save for one, stand together in a forlorn and empty room. All of them, save for one, bear witness to both an end and a beginning. All of them, save for one, are blissfully unaware of the years to come. And finally, our first words – my first memory – the first words spoken from a father to his newborn son.
“He’s very…pale.”
That should tell you something.
“And so scrawny.” The voice that spoke was deep and resounding, and came from an alicorn who stood almost a full head taller than any of the others gathered in the room. Everything about Bellic glowed with power and strength, from his burning blue eyes and trailing, dark-red mane, to the muscles which wreathed his black-furred form like so many slaves, bulging and strained under the furious weight of their grand idol. He was a stark contrast to his son, the newborn foal which lay curled and shivering under its mother’s wing in the hay at his hooves.
“Yes, it’s very strange,” said the one to his right, an ash-gray male of much shorter, slighter stature, though he held himself with no less height or strength. His cutie mark was a caduceus, the two serpents twirling around each other all the way down each of his rear legs. At his hooves lay a jumble of small pots and bowls filled with potions and salves he had prepared for the event, though he had not needed any of them. His furrowed, disapproving dark-green eyes led the pale blue light of his magic across the form of the shivering foal, dissolving the last of the blood and phlegm. “His amniomorphic readings were well within normal levels…”
“It’s fine, Hippocrates.” This voice was lighter and smoother, if shaky and weak – the last of the contractions had faded only minutes before. Serena, too, was nothing like Bellic; but where the foal’s pale, veined features seemed to speak of sickness or, in the worst scenario, deformity, hers spoke of beauty and grace. Her peach-tinted curls fell from her head like a flurry of leaves in autumn, and her smile was more soothing than any balm Hippocrates had to offer. She had eyes that could have caused a raging storm to blush in childish shame. It was no wonder that she was the only one who could keep any sort of reign on the tempest that was her husband.
“And you, Bellic,” Serena said, turning her gaze upwards, her smile slightly amused. “Don’t you have enough brutish sons already?”
Bellic snorted with disgust, tossing his head and looking off into the distance. “There will never be enough.”
Admittedly, there was not much distance to look into. The group was arranged in the corner of a small, plain stone-brick room with no windows and a single square doorway. Wrought-iron torch sconces clung to the walls by the last, rusted vestiges of their bolts. Most were still grimy with soot and ash from their last lighting, but at the moment they all stood empty, like desperate hands grasping for purpose in the cramped air. The only other decorations were a table in the corner, covered in mortars, pestles, and bits of plant matter in various states of dehydration, the multitude of shadows that stood in wavering vigil around the room, and the haphazard arrangement of candles that created them, which stood on the floor supported only by the hardened remains of their predecessors. The ceiling was sagging noticeably, since the supporting cross-beams had decayed into dust years ago. Whether it was sheer luck, their own magical auras, or some innate quality of the land that kept these areas of the castle from collapsing completely had been a matter of much idle debate between Oranos and Hippocrates.
The room was part of what had once been a three-tenant suite on one of the lower floors of the castle, but Hippocrates had long since converted it into his home, office, and clinic. He shared the quarters with his son Sanarus, who was currently asleep in the bed next door. Hippocrates had been worried that the labor would wake him, seeing as he had spent the better part of the day tending to the injuries Ignus and Aeros had sustained on their most recent expedition, but Serena was stronger than that – not to mention that this was her fourth and, by far, smallest child – and the foal, though breathing, as he had already checked several times, had yet to so much as attempt to utter a single sound. The child’s skin was so pale as to be nearly translucent, and this, combined with its unusual silence and the expression of discontent on its face, gave the unsettling impression that this was a child who, perhaps, had not been meant to be born.
“Well,” Hippocrates said, standing up straight as the last vestiges of the birth disappeared in an azure shimmer, “The child is, obviously, slightly deformed, but it’s nothing a year or – two, at most, of regular therapy won’t fix.” Serena looked down at her newest youngling with no less love for its defects. “All that remains for now is the naming.”
Almost in unison, the three of them looked towards the doorway.
“Dissimula?”
It was an invitation, not a question – there was no doubt that she was there, because that was where she needed to be. Such was the way with Dissimula, as it had been with all the alicorn seers, all the way back to the First Watcher. She entered, pulling back her hood with a rosy glow.
Dissimula was quite plain when compared to most other alicorns. Her coat was a somewhat bland light gray. She kept her long black hair woven in a single french braid that started at her hairline, and was fond of wearing a rough brown woollen cloak. But behind all her apparent plainness lay the things that made her what she was. Everything, from the way she carried herself as if following the guidance of a stage director, to the way her rose-colored eyes were always hooded with knowingness, to the way her ever-present smile lay at some inscrutable point between smugness and conspiracy - all of these things created an air of mysticism about her, as if she alone could see the roads which those around her walked.
Hippocrates bowed respectfully, and stepped aside. Bellic, too, stepped aside, but the only sign of respect to be had from him was a cold, distrustful stare. Serena simply returned her smile warmly, and looked down at the child in wonder, imagining the bright futures it had in store.
Wordlessly, Dissimula approached and knelt, looking over the foal’s ghostly features with something akin to curiosity. Then she closed her eyes, bowed her head, and touched her horn to the center of the foal’s forehead.
I do not know what or how much she saw then, or had already seen before entering that room. Whenever I asked, she was always infuriatingly vague about how much a seer can see. What I do know is that this moment is one of the few I can remember where Dissimula loses her smile.
And lost her smile she had. In fact, the slight frown she wore on her face as she lifted her head was as close to an expression of panic as Dissimula had ever come, and the three of them noticed it instantly. Eyes widened in anxiety and faces became creased with worry as the world held its breath, waiting for what she would say next. Dissimula appeared deep in thought, contemplating some unknown problem to which only she was privy.
“His name is Phobos,” she said, after a painfully long pause. “He is to become the next seer.”
The atmosphere of the room relaxed somewhat, but not very much.
“Why do you look so serious, then?” Hippocrates asked. “Surely the seer line continuing is a desirable thing.”
Bellic smirked. “Perhaps it’s professional jealousy.”
Dissimula gave him a cursory glare. “Don’t insult that which you don’t understand, Bellic.”
With one hoof, she pulled back her cloak, and with her magic, lifted out the solitary object that had been hidden beneath it – a thin band of gold – a choker – inlaid with a single, raw, blood-red garnet. Thought it was far too big for the foal’s neck, she clasped it there anyway – and with a bright red shimmer of its own, it shrunk to fit snugly around him.
“What is that?” Bellic demanded.
“It will protect him,” she responded simply, “Both from enemies and from himself.”
“Himself?” Bellic scoffed.
She sighed “The magic of a seer is very unique. It...changes you, in ways no other magic ever could. Being exposed to it too early in life can blur the lines between vision and reality, and harm the seer’s mind.”
“Like Preven the Mad,” Serena said. Besides Dissimula, she was the only one present who gave much attention to history.
“Exactly.” Dissimula nodded in her direction. “When I was young, I wore the necklace until I was ready to deal with my abilities, and Phobos shall do the same. It will grow with him, and when the time is right, I will remove it – but until then, his magic shall remain sealed.”
“Wait – you mean all of his magic?” Dissimula’s mere presence had been enough to anger Bellic, and this turn of events was not helping his mood.
She met his blazing eyes fearlessly. “It is the only way, Bellic, and it is for his own good.”
“That will make treating him more difficult…” Hippocrates murmured, but none of them took notice.
“And what about the good of the rest of us, hm? You say that trinket will protect him, but who will he protect? What tasks will he do? What use will he be against our enemies?” Bellic was moments away from attacking her, but as was becoming normal in these kinds of situations, Serena intervened.
“Please, Bellic.” She looked up at him beseechingly. “If Dissimula says it is necessary, then it is necessary. He will find a place.”
Bellic looked between the two of them for a moment – Dissimula stoic and unyielding, Serena stern and imploring – before snorting viciously, flaring his wings, and storming out of the room, growling under his breath. “Mares.”
The three of them sighed in relief. Bellic had been increasingly agitated in the weeks since Gaia’s death, and besides forcing Ignus and Aeros to train to within an inch of their lives, he had had no real outlets for his rage. Even Oranos had made some effort to let go of the event, but if Bellic was known for anything, it was his ability to hold on.
Dissimula stood up very slowly, as if she had taken on some unfathomable load in the moments since she had knelt down. She continued to gaze at the child for some time, studying it like a sculpture that was alien, and yet somehow familiar. Eventually, she turned to leave.
“Tell Bellic that if he has any further questions, I will be in my room,” she said shortly. Hippocrates hummed in acknowledgement, though distractedly. He, too, was looking intently at the foal, mulling over adjustments to spells and the extra herbs he would need Flora to grow. Just as Dissimula had set one hoof through the door, a question suddenly came to him.
“Dissimula,” he said, looking to her. She stopped.
“Why ‘Phobos’?”
There was a long silence. Dissimula seemed to be carefully choosing her words – or perhaps it simply pained her to answer – but eventually, she spoke.
“Because when the time comes – when I remove the necklace, and teach him to open his eyes…” She looked back at them slowly. Her face remained neutral, but the distress in her eyes was disturbing.
“He is destined to fear what he sees.”
This is my legacy.
I am Phobos, the 12th, and last, seer of the alicorns. I am the third son of Bellic the Black and the fourth son of Serena the White. When I finish this writing, I go to face my ending and my death.
And I was destined to fear.