“They say dreams are only real as long as they last.
"Couldn't you say the same thing about life?"
-Waking Life
CHAPTER ONE
Year 185: When did it all begin? It’s like trying to remember a dream when I think of home. A dream where one day, my eyes will snap open, and I find out the nightmares in the wastes were nothing but nightmares all along. One day, I’ll no longer wake up to the sounds of someone screaming or shouting or crying out in absolute terror. Instead, I’ll wake to a warm nuzzle and a whisper. My name will slip from their lips - they’ll call for me, but they won’t call High Kingdom. No, I am not High Kingdom in my dreams about home. And I’m not from the wastes as everyone else knows it.
I hail from Stable 12, found within the rolling Broos and the surrounding sierra known as the Prancesylvanian Valleys. Son of the overmare Blessed Wind and the highstallion Sun Rise, it’s needless to say I had a zealous youth envied by most. And damn did I know it. With the overmare teaching me how to fly, and the highstallion showing me how to soar, my ego skyrocketed. I had the chance to touch the peaks of mountains years before pegasi my age could lift four hooves off the ground, and I loved it. I was convinced ponies would sing songs of the heights I flew, not the speeds that I fell. If they sang songs of me at all.
All of my early life I spent in the snowy valleys of Prancesylvania, resting among the mountains and clouds. Sounds pretty great, if you ignore the fact that Prancesylvania is a desolate place; the only ponies around come from my Stable, and are few and spare in number. Rarely anyone left the home valleys because of what - no, who we were. One-wing pegasi. My kind is incapable of flying on our own accord, requiring reliance on each other to fly. As a result, members of my Stable never strayed too far from home. Generation after generation of my kind kept closely knit; not only was it a matter of survival, but sanity. As long as we had each other, our spirits soared. In isolation, we’d be no more full than the hollowed trunks of leafless, dead apple trees that dotted the mountain sides.
Leaving Prancesylvania was blasphemy. There was nothing beyond the edges of the valley - that world had long gone and withered. We were taught of rotted lands and lifeless hills. Here, in our valleys, there was life. There was food and there was warmth, there was kindness and love. Every pony knew every blade of grass that poked its way through the icy ground, of the mosses and the lichens that they relied on to survive. The only thing every pony knew more than the caverns and clouds was each other - no pony was spared of attention, every name common on every tongue. We had our habits and traditions held dearly between one another, from the first spring grazes to the last fall leisures, that were held on to even harder into the long months of winter. Always, we cloud cleared in teams and slept in herds. But of all the things we did as a unity, the most endearing and symbolic, had to be flight.
Flying played an important pinnacle in our lives, not just for practical reasons, but personal. It’s tradition for every Prancesylvanian pegasus to create a strong bond with another pony. Not in the love or marriage sense (though often, it can lead to both) but in a fellowship sort of way. Every Prancesylvanian pegasi, when they grew old enough, would seek out and find another pegasi that they felt they could share each other’s souls. Granted that each were of the proper right-left wing combo, they would join together in wings, and spend most of their lives working together. We termed this strong bond between a pair of pegasi as Wing Partnering. While you could take flight with any pony in Stable 12 if you had the proper wing combination, your Wing Partner was your ultimate second wing. Wing Partners never abandoned each other. It was unheard of to have a ‘second’ wing partner under any condition - whether or not one’s wing partner was tough to get along with, or died. They were the pony that was your best friend for life, someone you trusted more than your mother, your father, or even your own lover.
Sure, every pony had many good relationships among each other in the valleys, but having a wing partner was always the most special. While secrets are frowned upon in our community, Wing Partners had a saying - just between us and our feathers. Wing Partners kept a few things between each other every now and then, a white lie or two, little things you’d never share with anyone else. Maybe it was simple gossip, maybe it was a special place where the water runs over crystal just right, maybe it’s an extra carrot or two snuck out from the winter storages. With such attitudes, secrets seemed innocent like that. Not like secrets at all. But though my mother preached and my father prayed that all the good of Celestia’s grace spare us, it’s easy to forget keeping just a single secret’s enough to cost any pony the world. Especially when you’re with the pony you’ve shared a whole life with.
My wing partner was perhaps the prettiest, calmest, and understanding pony in all those acres of undesirable, icy Prancesylvania wasteland. Her name was Wind Glass, and she was a mare three years my elder. She was modest, but never hid her magnificence when it came to displaying her talents. Wind Glass was a piece of Heaven that had witnessed what perfection was, and gave it to the rest of us in what little bits and pieces she could; little charms that hung on the bare tree branches and sang when a breeze visited by, clay shaped into hoof sized ponies, oddly shaped prisms that cut light into rainbows. Her father was a furnace worker who ran the fires that we used to repair tools, smelt down old scraps, and - in a more romantic, less survival based aspect - provided kiln for clay crafts and heated glass. Wind Glass learned well from her father the art of smelting sand scraped from barricade bags deep within our Stable, her craft finding little rival, but inspiring many onlookers. Art among us was always religious, always had a deeper meaning. We took it seriously as beacons of faith, and so Wind Glass became a mare of faith itself. Her cutie mark came well before mine - a shape of a glass heart with the torso side’s half blowing away in the breeze. Which made me jealous, of course. It would be long before I got my own.
When we joined wings, it was the happiest day of my life. I, at the tender age of twelve, and she at the so much more matured age of fourteen. She was a late bloomer when it came to flight, and I an early one, so everything worked out perfectly. Watching her spread her powder blue feathers, the light shining through her white blue wings, so delicate they were like ice crystals hung in sunlight. And then taking off, the stumbles and wobbly see-saw of flight not even mattering because our first flight was flawless. I never felt so close to heart to someone in my entire life. To soar with another in wing, my mother had once told me, is to soar with another in soul.
I dream about that first flight with Wind Glass, the first time I flew with someone who was neither my mother or father. My heart still flutters thinking about it; even when I’m on the ground, all I have to do is remember and I’m in the clouds with her. I wouldn’t mind if life stayed so plain in these valleys, so simple, because spending time with her was all the excitement I needed. All I ever needed for a life was captured in those moments. And as long as I had Wind Glass by me, I never imaged these dreams in these valleys would end.
But I was never a pony with a good imagination.
It’s been five years since our first flight, and in recent days, those dreams have been harder and harder to dream about. I had watched Wind Glass grow to be the beautiful pony she is now, but in the past months, I’ve watched her turn into a deeper, darker soul as well. Nowadays she broods so much, asks for so much more alone time, sometimes disappears for a day or two without a word. When she speaks, she keeps her words kind... but sometimes, she just doesn’t say them kindly. Sometimes, she was annoyed. Other times, she was anxious. Like there was something on her neck, maybe a spider, maybe worse, pulling at her hairs. She didn’t smile quite like she did in the old days, didn’t quite glow. Alone, when I spied her from a ledge when no one else was looking, she had a bitter look stuck to her face. I confronted her about it a few times. I even got mad. But it’s impossible to stay mad at Wind Glass. Her eyes begin to tear, and... I don’t know. One glance from her just fills me with cold water, washing away all my bad feelings, and I forgive her. I love her too much to be mad for long.
It’s been three days since her most recent absence. And sure, it’s not the first of a long string, but it struck me as the oddest. Usually, she would return without a word, milling with other ponies, impartial to my existence. It was up to me to find her, to say Hey, I missed you grazing over the Broos, even if she had no reply. But this time, she found me. She sought me out personally by the snowy meadows, where blue green grass had begin to tuff through the white powder in ignorance of frost. She had a smile on her face. A grin. Something strange shined in her eye when she talked to me that day.
“I have something I want to tell you, just between us and our feathers.”
I looked up to where she stood above me, my body resting against the ground. Wind Glass’ wings were folded, no longer held to the sun the same way I had remembered so many years before, so long a bitter taste ghosted my tongue. She stopped making her little charms the same way she stopped holding her feathers to the light. I missed those clear little pieces of glass that made rainbows and sang in the breeze. But the way she spoke to me, the way her neck bent to face me, muzzle to muzzle...
“Where have you been?” I rose on my front hooves into a sitting position. Whatever daydream I had dispersed, a yawn escaping my lips.
“Somewhere. I found something, and it’s really important. We need to go right now.” She gestured her head behind her, towards the direction of the Stable, “I promise, it won’t be long.”
“Some of the fillies have just started flying, though. Look; it’s Soft Song and May Flower.” They were so tiny in the distance, their shapes low to the meadow’s ground. “They look so pretty together.”
“There’s always new fillies up every year.” Sigh. “Nothing new about it.”
“But everything’s so new about it. Don’t you remember when we first flew?”
“Just like yesterday.” Wing Glass’ tone was flat, uninterested. Her eyes rolled, “It’s hard to forget.”
I grunted, rising to all fours, “More than just a little hard to forget.” Try the most important memory of our lives. “So what’s so big this time around?” I had to admit, though, I was curious... what could be so big that Wind Glass needed me so suddenly?
We trotted across the meadow, the mountains around us cupping the scape with it’s many fingers of peaks. A river ran somewhere along this meadow, shallow and ebbing just below a frozen surface. Days in this meadow were always lazy days, where the wind was gentle and the sun was bright. A few weeks from now, when it was a little warmer, carrots could be found nuzzled by the river’s side, and yellow flower heads popped up between the pebbles and snow patches. I couldn’t wait for those afternoons and evenings. Life here was always peaceful, but perhaps the most peaceful on those carrot-filled yellow daisy days.
The Stable opened up northeast of here, as well as a few caves and little rock niches. Not everypony lived in the Stable; in fact, not many ponies did. Instead, the Stable was used for storage, since it was always dry and a large gear door could be rolled shut when a bad blizzard rolled on through. We had some technology, just the basics like heating, water, and lights. Out of all the doors, only the front door was powered, and it was almost never closed, except in the case of extreme emergency. Growing up, fillies were told never to rely on Stable technology, or any technology besides hoof-made axes and buckets and shovels and so on. Never know when it could backfire. Anyways, it never paid to be too lazy - hard, honest work was a cornerstone of our lifestyle. The older I got, the more clear it became that our resistance to using technology is what makes us so... ‘pure’. That’s what life is called here - pure. My mother prays it, by father preaches it. I don’t quite understand what it means. It just is.
Only the front rooms of the Stable were ever used. No one liked being so deep underground in the cramped hallways, or the confined rooms. It was just... unnatural. You could get lost down there, so far away from open air and free skies. Heavily used cave systems had holes set in the ceiling or walls for quick escapes, but the Stable only had one exit and no windows. A pony or two occasionally wandered deep into the Stable to satisfy curiosity, but no thirst for knowledge could keep them underground for more than five hours at a time. It was so narrow, so cramped deep down there.
Wind Glass and I passed a few ponies on our way, most busy doing chores or passing along messages. A flap of wings went off behind us, and I turned to see a brilliant pale violet pony take off with an emerald partner, a green arm around the violet pony’s neck. Sky Tide and Vale Flower. The mares rose and headed straight for the skies - no doubt, they were setting out to clear the last few clouds that caused yesterday night’s flurries.
My mother - Blessed Wind - was waiting by the Stable entrance for someone. Something urgent must have been amiss, the corner of her mouth pulled back and a left hoof tapping. She’s never been hard to spot; a long silver mane that hung around a sky blue...
“Stop.” Wind Glass hushed me, ducking her head down. “Wait a moment. And don’t look so brilliantly obvious.”
“About what?”
“Just a second...” Wind Glass’ eyes narrowed, watching my mother stand around. My mother was impervious to us, staring at the sky and watching ponies clear the clouds, until a reddish stallion walked out of the Stable and remarked something rather boredly. Wind Glass nudged my hind, “While she’s distracted, go.” I didn’t understand the need to be so cautious, but I didn’t argue, following Wind Glass’ steps and slipping into the big gear-shaped entrance. She kept a quick but quiet stepped pace as we passed through the first room of the Stable and into the corridors.
“Where are we going, Winni?” I shook my mane; the Stable was so much warmer than outside, melting whatever stray snowflakes still laid upon me..
“I’m going to show you something. It’s important.”
“Are we going to be down here long?”
“Come on, don’t be a ‘fraidy foal. Aren’t you at least curious about what I’m going to show you?”
“I guess so, a little bit.”
“We’re just going through the atrium. It won’t take long.”
“Atrium?” I never spent much time in the Stable to learn the room names.
“The big room that goes to a lot of the little rooms.” She sounded annoyed, so I didn’t press her much further, instead just listening to her talk, “There’s an overmare’s office that overlooks the place. That’s where I got to show you something.”
Only one pony passed us in the halls, though I couldn’t identify him or her, Wind Glass acting strangely with her insistence on avoiding eye contact. As they passed, we kept our eyes pointing downwards at the metal floor. Wind Glass led the entire way, cutting through the halls without backtracking or even getting slightly lost. It didn’t take long to get to our destination, especially at the pace she trotted at.
“I’ve been in here a few times,” I pipe, “Whenever Mom or Dad need to adjust the lights or heating, they mess around this room. What are we doing up here?”
Wind Glass didn’t answer me, poking around the large, crescent steel desk. She stood behind a machine - terminal, I think - and began pounding away at the keys. As I waited, the lights flickered - they flickered a lot in the Stable - and a nearly inaudible whine came from under the steel panels beneath our hooves.
“Winni... we’re not supposed to mess around the Stable’s technology. If any of the others knew we were down here...”
“You won’t tell the others, will you? They’d murder us if they knew.” Wind Glass looked up at me, those slanted opal orbs pleading, set with those familiar gold sunshine irises, “You trust me, right? We’ve been Wing Partners for years now; you’re the closest pony I have.”
“Of.. of course I won’t!” I tried not to stammer, “Winni, you’re the closest friend I have. I love you more than anypony. I trust you.”
“Good. I’m glad to know this relationship’s mutual.” And she went back to the terminals, hooves clicking keys, doing Celestia knew what on that little machine, I waiting at her side. I didn’t understand the glowing yellow dots and lines on the screen, watching them flash by.
Things were getting along boredly, waiting by Wind Glass’ side in this steel encased room. I wanted to leave. I don’t know if ten minutes or an hour passed when, suddenly, a great whurr erupted from the room. I jumped - that nearly inaudible whine from before grew into a great screech, the room coming to life with great clanging and motion. I cowered, letting out a cry, “Blessed Mare of the Sun, what is that?!?”
“Calm down,” Wind Glass told me. Those eyes of hers, once pleading, narrowed once more. We watched the floor in front of the desk peel back, rigid steps of metal mesh leading downwards into unlit darkness, “Follow me down.”
Don’t get be wrong - I’m the explorer type. I like adventuring. See some nice hill over a few mountains? I’ll go there and check it out. But down there... into that dark cramped passage deeper underground? Still, I didn’t want to refuse. I followed her down.
As we walked, lights lit up by our feet. I gulped, I’m not a ‘fraidy foal. Nothing bad’s going to happen, I’m with Wind Glass, and I trust her. I trust her with all I know... but...
“Where are are going?” I wanted to stay close, but I kept my distance, trying not to cling to her side like some little foal. She was my elder, though; it was hard not to be a foal around her.
“Remember what our mothers told us when we were growing up?”
“Don’t fly against the wind when you can fly around it?”
“No, dimwit.” Her tone made me shudder - I didn’t know what a dimwit was, but it probably wasn’t good, “About this valley - about the world - about everything we know.” I paused, stopping to think. The story every colt and filly knew, recited to every foal whose mind wondered past the brim of our valleys we called home.
“We’re the last of our kind.”
“More than that.”
“We’re the last of our kind because we sinned. The rest of us died.” I sighed, furrowing my brows, “A long, long time ago, almost everypony lived in the High Kingdom, a city in the sky. There, no one knew pain or suffering, and had plenty, never knowing not enough. Then, one day, from below High Kingdom came other ponies, different ponies that had no wings and couldn’t join the ponies in High Kingdom. They asked for help because they were suffering in the land below, where the food was scarce and agony grew. But the ponies in High Kingdom refused, happy in their heavenly perch, and the ponies below died.
“Celestia, of the heavens we lived against, saw our sin when we thought all else would be blind. So she did not spread her great wings protect us, but folded them and turned away. A storm soon came, one that nopony could beat back with wings or kick away with hooves. Many of the ponies of High Kingdom fought it, even though it was to no avail. Other ponies saw revelation in the harsh, frigid winds and came to an understanding. For all the ponies in High Kingdom, there can be no redemption. But there can still be peace for their children.
“So from High Kingdom ponies fell, into the same land that they had let the earthen ponies die. And they took shelter in a vault called the Stable, where they sealed themselves deep within the earth, far far away from sky. In the Stable was where the first of our kind began, and when the great storm had passed, they returned to the valleys that the fallen High Kingdom ponies took exodus through. There, we thrived in peace, just as our ancestors had wished, happier on the ground than even those that had been in High Kingdom. As long as we seek a life of kindness, we shall never have to face the regrets of the past.”
We reached the end of the tunnel, facing a large steel door. Wind Glass pulled down a lever, the door opening with a loud screech,
“And you believe it?”
“I don’t like it,” I said, “I mean, it has a happy ending for someone, but not everyone else. They all had to die. But I believe it; it’s the truth.”
“They didn’t all die, though. And it wasn’t the truth - not all of it.” She lead on through the door. I expected another steel encased room, but when my hooves hit dirt instead of metal, I stopped.
The Stable lights were gone down here, instead replaced by round little glass lights the shape of flower bulbs that hung on thin cords. Walls glistened with the tell tale sign of chipped quartz and smooth stone. Once upon a time, this must have been a natural underground well, the air still humid and moss tucked into the corners of the wall, but the water had been drained. Every sound echoed, from the heave of a chest to the smallest whimpers, caught forever down in this little cave of a room. The air was so heavy, I felt like I was crammed into the very chamber of the mountain’s heart, Wind Glass and I deep enough to hear the earth’s rivets and ravines pulse like arteries.
A wooden table stood in the center of the room - how it did so, I did not know, for a leg was cracked and frayed, the surface bent, and green rot infested its feet. An old slab laid on top, some sort of ancient machine that a pony had cared enough for to carry so deep through the Stable and into the mountain. Two round shapes laid on top, a ribbon wound around each with the neatness of precise delicacy. Wind Glass beckoned, an all-knowing smile on her face, coaxing me to come a little nearer with a slight gesture of her lazuli wing.
I didn’t say anything, my lungs cold, my tongue held down by the weight of the mountain above us. And I stood by her, barely hearing anything past the throbbing in my ears. With a whirr, the small machine began.
A voice came from deep within it. “Listen well,” it commands in a vacuum of absolute silence. Only a slight crackle dares to tread, “This is the only time you will hear my voice.”
Footnote:
Level Up! Lvl 1
Curiosity (Lvl 1): Curiosity killed the cat, but it let the pony roll a second perception check! When you fail a spot check, you can choose to roll again once more. You can also reroll current spot checks, whether or not they have been failed. During rerolls, if the score is less than the original roll, keep the original roll. Curiosity (lvl 1) cannot be used while in combat.
Tag Skills!
Mechanics +15
Speech +15