Chapter 1
It all started with a drawing on the wall.
Illuminated by firelight, apocryphal and primordial. Faded paint on stone. As much a stain on time as a stain on a wall of a cave. A dark, ancient red on earthy, orange rock.
“What could it mean?” She whispered.
Smoke was quickly filling the small space. It was between drawing breath or utilizing the dim firelight to observe the strange figure just a little longer. The pair already made their choice.
Smoke was beginning to occlude their vision, turning their eyes to painful glass and their throats raw and old. Shadows flickered around the figure like lightning from a coil, almost making it seem three-dimensional. It was mesmerizing. The light added movement to dimension. The paint bounced on the wall as if laughing at their puzzlement. Mockingly. Frustratingly. Cryptic.
She turned to him, “We have to tell the Geríne about this.” Her brow was hard and her eyes were full of determination.
“I know. This is beyond our grasp.” He stood staring at the wall, the smoke stung his eyes but he would not let the pain turn his gaze. So many questions shot through his mind simultaneously. A few asked louder than others. Why me? Why now? What are we supposed to do? He had faith that the Geríne would know what to do. They always knew what to do.
The Geríne had lead the herd for as long as anypony could remember: their wisdom immeasurable, their age incalculable, their magic indispensable. Very little magic was left in the land and most of it belonged to them. It was deep and grand and terrifying and ancient, but at the same time motherly and comforting. Nopony knows for sure where the Geríne came from.
Some say, long ago, they fell from the sky in a dazzling flash of light and came to rest in the same spot where they can be found today. Others say they came during the Earthly Storm. Still others say that they have always been and always will be. No matter what anypony says, they were undoubtedly great and powerful.
Quickly, the fire was extinguished leaving the two in pale, gray light. The mouth of the shallow cave looked like a black, vertical pool evenly dispersed with gleaming, twinkling, beautiful diamonds. If you stared long enough you would be rewarded with the solemn recognition of a falling star.
* * *
The pair stepped out onto the steep incline where, hours earlier, Mirage had been drawn up into the cave. Though perhaps “drawn” was too mild a word. Foreign magic had gripped him by his horn and dragged him up the incline into the cave, leaving his hooves to trail behind him tracing a narrow path in the sand.
Now, the land was dark and the stars were bright. The air, like the sand, was cool and still. From their vantage point high up on the cliff wall they were able to see the distant irregular shapes of a village, their village. Dia followed close behind Mirage as they descended, her hooves starting miniature avalanches with each step down the long slope.
“We must talk about what happened in the cave. The fire. How do you feel?” She gazed straight ahead at Mirage waiting for a reply.
“Tired. I had always imagined magic to be something like a liquid with the wielder being a vessel which, once filled, is left to brim over with excess. I never would have expected that instead it steals from a unicorn, leaving one stupefied and vulnerable.” Mirage stared at the sand beneath his hooves, unsure whether to feel shame or pride.
“Besides the Geríne, as far as we know you are the first unicorn in a thousand years to have used magic! Yet you only feel tired? Surely there must be something else swimming around that pointy head of yours. Pride maybe?” She cocked an eyebrow.
With that, he was able to choose the emotion which would fill his head until he was able to hold council with the Geríne. He looked back at his friend, her sandy colored coat nearly white in the starlight. He inwardly scowled at her enthusiasm for this...incident. He knew she had respect for the gravity of what had just happened, they merely had different ways of exhibiting it.
He turned his head to look out across the land. Even from where they stood most of the way down the sand-slope, he was able to see for miles. He and Dia were two small nothings on an incomprehensibly vast ocean of sand. This was the world as they knew it. Sand stretching endlessly into infinity. Mirage and Dia were desert-ponies, just as all ponies were desert-ponies, trapped in a world of heat and sand and bones. He looked up to the Mare in the Moon, still rising, for guidance. That was east, that was where they must go to rejoin their herd.
“Of course I have emotion, but it is not pride I feel. Dia,” he stopped and turned to look up at her on her elevated position higher up on the slope, “you must not tell anypony about what happened in the cave.” He paused and stared deep into her violet eyes, “Not even the Geríne.”
She returned his stare. Both ponies wore stone masks and neither moved. “I think you are wrong to keep something so pertinent from them,” there was a long tense moment where nothing was said. Dia maintained her resolution as she scanned Mirage’s deep blue eyes. In them she saw no intention to blanch and renege on what had been said. She looked to his legs for any indication of uncertainty, but saw only four columns of stone. Indeed, it seemed that not even a single hair of his chestnut coat had been willing to sway in the open air. Despite his current resolution to withhold information from the Geríne Mirage was a smart pony, and it was more than just the innate intelligence bestowed upon all unicorns.
Until this very moment both ponies trusted each other intrinsically. Dia could never recollect a time when they were at ends like this. Mirage was right, however, that Dia understood the gravity of the situation and she knew that if she were in his position she would have ultimately made the same decision and that any efforts to dissuade him would be fruitless. Where others saw obstinance in him, she could only see steely resolve. “But,” she continued, “I trust your judgment, and will refrain from offering to the Geríne what is not mine to give.”
Though he did not let it show, Mirage felt a wave of great relief coat his body.
As far as anypony knew, the Geríne were not omniscient. Nopony had ever tried to lie to them, but he was confident that they could be deceived. He did not feel good about this deception, but he did not know what would happen to him if anypony learned of their experience in the cave.
He was glad to have Dia’s oath of silence, he knew she would never lie to him just as he would never lie to her. If the Geríne found out, they very well may see fit to do away with him entirely. Besides, it was not only for his life that he feared. Dia was in the cave too, his eyes were accompanied by hers as they gazed at the paint on the wall. They were equally guilty and he felt responsible for Dia since it was him that was dragged into the dark recess, and it was she who followed merely out of fear for the life of her friend.
Now he smiled to hide his dark thoughts, “Thank you.”
They reached the bottom of the hill and continued eastward towards the village. It was not a far walk and they would be back long before morning. The cave’s close proximity to the village made it all the more mysterious as nopony had ever mentioned seeing it before. In fact, if it were not for the large waves of sand upon which the two now traveled, the cave would be within sight of the village.
The pair chose not to move quickly and instead elected to walk at a casual pace side by side. Neither had any desire to hasten the inevitable confrontation with the Geríne and the village had never been a true home to either of them anyway. Mirage spent the walk carefully choosing the words he would use to describe his experience in the cave. Making sure to omit any that alluded to the spell he used to kindle the fire which made the painting visible.
Now he realized just how difficult this omission would be. Of course the question of sight would come up, how could it not? They would ask him, “Mirage, how were you able to see a small, crimson figure inside of a cave after midnight?” He would just tell them that he had brought flint and tinder in case he and Dia got lost in the dark. This was not uncommon and was actually advised to anypony traveling after dark. Alright, he decided, that is what I will tell them.
Dia flipped her golden sun-bleached mane. Her mind traveling backwards, in the opposite direction of Mirage’s. She decided not to worry herself over their inevitable future and instead focused on trying to interpret the drawing they saw in the cave. It was very simple, eerily so. It was a drawing of a pony, but this fact alone was not disturbing or even startling. Ruins were common in the desert, a pony could hardly walk in any direction without stumbling upon one. It was even common to find art inside of these structures. Art depicting various scenes of ideal pony life long past, or just paintings of things the artist thought pretty.
The wall pony was neither of these things. It was crude and rushed looking. Not fine art at all. It was isolated, found in a cave which, a few days prior, was not known to have even existed. A cave wall was a far cry from the massive, elaborate buildings relics were common to. But the many characteristics the cave art lacked were not nearly as disturbing as the details the apparently rushed artist thought important enough to include. First, the pony was not whole. It was divided diagonally down the middle by a long, thick line. Second, the pony was not a normal desert-pony. It was thinner and taller, and possessed both wings and a horn.
The pony on the cave wall was divine.
The certainty of these details she found much more terrifying than the possibility of punishment for having observed them. “Mirage, what is your take on this sequence of events? The explosion, your magical re-enkindlement, the painting. It all means something, I am sure of it!”
“We will know after our council with the Geríne,” he deadpanned.
“No, I want to know your opinion! You were the one touched by a goddess today. The one unicorn who, after a thousand years, has finally had their magic returned to them! Surely you must have formulated some theory? I know that our walk in silence was not so you could think of nothing for two hours.” She turned her head to him, expectantly.
He did not answer immediately, but decided to be the voice of reason for this discussion. “We do not know that it was a goddess who drew me into that cave.”
“But your magic! And the painting! It must be a sign that we are not forsaken after all! If it is not a goddess as you say, then what is it?” Dia asked feigning confidence.
Another pause in the conversation, then a slow intake of breath. Mirage knew that she was just as terrified as he and that this misplaced optimism was just a pointless effort to look for alternatives to what they both knew to be true. Mirage once again looked to the Mare in the Moon. He looked deep into her eyes for answers or direction but saw nothing but empty, white terrae.
The question remained in his head, bouncing from wall to wall growing louder with each percussion, then what is it? Like a broken record it repeated over and over until he wanted to scream to relieve his skull of its claustrophobia, then what is it? Finally, he chose to say what he knew she would never say. What is it? The phrase that had been in both of their minds since they left the cave. What is it? The thing Dia refused to believe was true. What is it?
“It is the end of nights.”
Mirage stared straight ahead and did not alter his steady, deliberate pace. Dia let her head sink and now looked not forward, but down to the sand.
* * *
They were almost to the village, the details of the small grass huts clearly visible. Soft light could be seen pouring out of their entrances, giving the illusion that each shelter was floating. A whole community floating on an endless plain of ocean-like desert. The pale moonlight which was projected onto the side of each hut added to this sense of ethereality as the long shadows were akin to tethers keeping each of their respective shelters firmly anchored to the ground and preventing them from floating off forever into the violet expanse of the infinite night sky.
To Dia, the moonlight always made the village look like a ghost town. This is the thought which now entered her head and caused her to smile at the grim, ironic humor. This was the last known village of pony-kind. The 500 or so beings which resided here were ghosts of a once great civilization and, like ghosts, were cursed merely to exist until the time for them to vanish came.
Currently, the village was filled with laughter and movement. Ponies moved from hut to hut or just stood in front of their homes making small talk with neighbors. Everypony knew that ponykind was quite near its end, but this thought rarely entered a desert-pony’s mind. Life in the village was peaceful and happy, everything that could ever be needed was provided through the magical influence of the Geríne.
The ground beneath the village was carpeted with soft, green grass perfect to eat or just to rest on. The grass was not wild either, but always kept at a perfect length. The settlement was also randomly dispersed with the grandest, healthiest apple trees ever to have existed. The apples that hung from their branches were the largest, the most red, and the most succulent apples in Equestrian history. To the immediate south of the village was a large, clear pond filled with water that was always cold. Here, in the village, the grass, the apples, and the water were magically replenished so that nopony ever went hungry or suffered from thirst.
Nopony was ever sad, in fact, lively music could be heard coming from many huts every night. In desert-pony society, the burning Sun was hated and avoided as much as possible. From their perspective, the Sun existed only to steal water and inflict horrible pain. Consequently, desert-ponies were nocturnal choosing to sleep through the day and use the night for cordial socialization. As such, Princess Luna became their primary divinity in opposition to the universally despised Celestia.
After all, it was Celestia who a thousand years ago tried and failed to bring about eternal day. She had succeeded, however, in suspending the Sun long enough to scorch Equestria: boiling the oceans and causing them to rise into the atmosphere, reducing fresh-water outside of the village to mere myth, and turning all but the most resilient plants to ash. It was Celestia who made the Earth barren and inhospitable to all but the lucky few desert-ponies protected by the Geríne’s powerful enchantment.
It was Princess Luna who after a long hard-fought battle gave everything to wrest control of the cosmos from her mad sister and restore the balance between day and night. Celestia’s insane bid for power which destroyed the world and Princess Luna’s valiant yet unsuccessful effort to stop her from doing so were never forgotten, even after a thousand years. This is why Mirage looks to the moon for guidance and this is why you would never see a desert-pony outside in the heat of the day.
Now the pair made their way deeper into the village. Nopony in the village disliked either of them, they were liked well enough and nopony would have the audacity do downright ignore the two, nopony ever shouted invectives or refused to hold conversation with either of them and when in conversation they were treated much the same as anypony. It was how they were treated out of conversation which was different.
Most of the ponies chatting outside the huts ceased their conversations to give them wayward glances as they passed. Some of the nicer ones would offer a polite nod of acknowledgment in exchange for the same. Hate was not the motivation for their frigid reception. It was fear. Both of their cutie marks were considered unusual among desert-ponies.
Mirage and Dia’s friendship began because they both existed outside the realm of normalcy. It was this isolation from the average pony that nurtured and strengthened their bond. Indeed, it was rare to ever see them apart. Dia’s cutie mark was a mystery and a frequent subject of conversation among the gossipy ponies in the village. Whenever she passed not wearing the shawl she intentionally donned to hide her flank, somepony would inevitably say, “There goes that one. A strange one, she is.”
The truth was that she was quite charming and ponyable and it was her cutie mark and nothing else which made her a pariah. Different though it was, nopony could deny that her cutie mark was strangely beautiful. The cutie mark that caused her to be so alone and regarded in whispers was nothing extravagant or complex by any stretch of the word, it was just a white dot surrounded by a ring of rainbow colored cloud.
It was not feared because it communicated anything of a nefarious intent or betrayed a maligned personality or anything of the like, it was feared because it was vague.
It was feared because it was nebulous.
Mirage attracted negative emotion from the village ponies for much the same reason, for his cutie mark was also vague. Though this is not exactly accurate. It was not his cutie mark that was vague, but his lack of a cutie mark. Mirage was a stallion with a blank flank.
Mother Nature bestowed upon ponykind many irresistible instincts. The instinct to eat when hungry or to drink when thirsty. The instinct to propagate and to protect their young. But nothing is more basic or more innate than the fear of the unknown and Mirage was “the unknown” incarnate.
Ponies evolved along with the ability to know exactly who a pony truly was at heart by merely glancing at their flank. Purpose, life’s most sought resource, for ponies was clear and defined. Mirage presented to them an enigma. This is what made others uneasy whenever they were in his presence.
If cutie marks were symbols of undeniable truths, then the absence of a cutie mark must represent a hidden penchant for dishonesty. He was the one closed book amidst a sea of black ink and ivory. The one stallion in existence who could act impulsively and was not bound to walk any path. At least not one that was plainly visible.
For destiny had managed to escape him, but he could not escape destiny.
Once deep within the village the pair stopped in the large clearing that served as the commons. At the center of the commons was their destination, the small thatched dome which housed the Geríne. The field was full of desert-ponies of every race, their coats no longer the familiar pastels of equine antiquity, but varying shades of soft brown or dusky orange. One thousand years’ worth of generations in the desert had caused ponykind to lose its soft, prismatic variety in exchange for more dull, earthy tones.
Nopony in the commons was alone and the air was buzzing with chatter. A first time visitor to the village may have noted the striking absence of fillies and colts darting about amidst the crowd. There were no high-pitched screams of childish elation. No games of tag being played. And no schoolyard rhymes being sung loud followed shortly by uncontrollable laughter. This is because the village had no young.
Sterility was another consequence of living under the protection of the Geríne. It was assumed they had done this because 500 ponies were just not enough to reignite an entire civilization. They were now too few to return from a bottleneck as severe as this without horrible, lasting repercussions to the species.
The Geríne knew this.
This was not a decision they had made lightly and was, in fact, one of the most recent developments in the village. The ponies that lived now were the last children and their parents had been the last mothers and fathers. Still, the desert-ponies were happy to live out the rest of their days in this utopia. Billions of ponies all across history did not live as well as they did now.
Many of the standing ponies moved aside as the two passed creating small gaps in conversation as they went. Now near the hut of the Geríne at the center of the field Mirage’s mind buzzed with apprehension over the coming hours. Dia had like-minded thoughts. Could they really lie to a creature so powerful and get away with it? Is it possible the Geríne already knew what they were planning? Was deception truly the best course of action?
Mirage and Dia kept walking, wanting to put the hut far behind them as quickly as possible. Being only halfway across the commons they still had to cover the same distance they had already come to make it to the other side. With the hut behind them and out of sight the apprehension lifted almost immediately. The rite required to summon the Geríne necessitated the procurement of certain items. Fortunately, they were common to every desert-pony homestead and not at all difficult to acquire.
* * *
Reaching the edge of the field, Mirage turned with purpose to Dia, “I will get the flint and tinder. Meet me back here in thirty minutes.”
“Alright, be quick.” Worried agitation was clear in her voice.
With that the two separated somewhat uncharacteristically. Mirage, wanting a rare moment of solitude before the ritual, walked back into the residential area alone. He hastened his pace, considerate of his friend’s feelings and started to make his way towards home. His altered clip caused a refreshing breeze to curl through his white mane. He took a deep breath, savoring the cool night air and traced a long, meandering path between the apple tress as a concession for his speed.
Is lying to the Geríne about the fire spell truly prudent? It was the question of the day it seemed. He utilized the short walk home as a time for last minute contemplation. If I do not lie it is possible that Dia will be punished as well. He looked at his hooves as they moved up and down, pretending to actually consider honesty as a viable option. I cannot allow that. He looked back up with renewed resolve, narrowing his eyes. If the penalty for somehow gaining the ability to harness magic is death surely lying could not make our punishment any more severe. Mirage’s thoughts came to a mental full-stop. Could it?
He shook his head, his determination to protect his friend outweighed his doubt and he quickly pushed this thought to a place where it was impossible for it to ever influence his judgment again. He was near his hut, small-talk and laughter could be heard emanating from the adjacent shelter. He buried his envy and entered his home.
* * *
Dia stood now alone in the crowd at the edge of the commons feeling scrutinized and naked. She was never able to feel comfortable in a crowd, and these feelings of discomfort were magnified with her cutie mark being unconcealed. Suddenly everypony’s conversations were about her. Snippets of chatter produced by a nearby congregation of ponies floated into her ears without context. “Funny…she….Why… bothersome… Name?” Followed shortly by hearty, unbridled laughter.
The logical part of her brain told her that it was unlikely that the conversation had anything to do with her. But that other part of the brain, the one we oftentimes assign far too much authority, began saturating her mind with the black, hurtful lies we paradoxically choose to believe despite their obvious falsehood. And as we all know, the moment one gives these thoughts any credence is the same moment they have us ensnared. She steeled herself against these imaginary invectives, sacrificing yet another soft, pink piece of her heart for another bit of stone. There was very little space left for the stone to yet consume. Abruptly, Dia left the crowd in search of her shawl.
* * *
The interior of a desert-pony’s home was spartan, lacking everything but the bare essentials which, being the occupants of a utopia, were few. To Mirage’s left was his raised grass bed with fur comforter and to his right was a simple, rustic table. His shawl was thrown carelessly atop the bed; perfect for extra warmth at night, in case he decided to turn in early and easily accessible during the day for when he needed it as protection from the Sun.
One clay carafe, two small clay mugs, and a pair of saddlebags occupied the space on top of the table. Rings left by the three vessels occupied nearly every square inch of the available surface area. Concealed behind the head of the bed, at the opposite end of the hut, was a large, rectangular chest. The chest held a mess of baubles Mirage had salvaged from nearby ancient ruins and other items far more likely to be utilized by a pony living in the desert wastes. But without a doubt the most notable thing in the hut has yet to be mentioned.
Directly across from the entrance, mounted inside of a crooked display and suspended on the grass wall by a string and nail, was the oldest artifact in the entire village. It predated a time long before the Earthly Storm. Far older than Celestia’s world-ending sororal conflict. Even older than Nightmare Moon’s defeat at the hooves of the element-bearers. Passed down through generations of fathers to reach its final resting place in the utopia at the end of the world was a long and elegant sword.
* * *
Dia weaved her way out of the crowd and into the huts. She took long, slow breaths. Out of the crowd she felt far less scattered. The deep breaths helped to clear her mind of its dark clouds and return it to a state of balance. As she walked she took the time to admire Princess Luna’s night.
They never were quite the same, she supposed it was a talent unique to a goddess to be able to produce novelty indefinitely. The night air to Dia was both a potion and a poultice, at once able to relieve tension wherever it embraced her and able to restore her tumultuous soul to a state of cessation with every draught.
She did not know if everypony felt this, but it seemed to her that each night’s air was a different philter imbibed with a completely new emotion. Dia flared her nostrils and filled her chest. Tonight she was feeling, anticipation? No, no, no that was all wrong. She took another breath for confirmation and received the same result. I could die tonight! Why would Princess Luna create a night laced with, of all things, anticipation!?
She took a brief moment to contemplate this mystery but quickly surrendered and chalked it up as another one of those unfathomable divine machinations.
She continued walking and plucked a low hanging apple from a branch with her teeth as she went. She quickly recognized this as a mistake, however, when she realized that without the use of her forelegs she was just left to walk through the village kind of awkwardly sucking on an apple half protruding from her mouth. She spat it out and laughed.
* * *
Mirage found himself staring at his family’s sword. He could not figure out what about tonight made it look so alluring. To him it was such a familiar object. However, “familiar” is often erroneously used interchangeably with “commonplace” and this blade was anything but.
The broad, curved metal glistened as if it were freshly polished, the leather which spiraled with bronze around the hilt lacked any discernable signs of wear or rot, and the silver quillons which extended from the sword and curved in opposite directions looked as if they were forged only a night earlier. The blade looked sharp enough to cut through unrestrained hair and the gleaming emeralds embedded at the end of each quillon were said to hold magic.
He tore his eyes away from the wall and walked over to the chest behind his bed, remembering why he originally returned to his hut. He released each of the three iron latches and plunged in. As he shifted its contents from side to side he thought about the scimitar’s previous owner.
Mirage thought about his father from time to time, mostly how much he missed him. With the job of providing for his family being done for him, he only needed to be kind and loving. Mirage remembered feeling great shame as a colt for having a flank so bare, he worried constantly that his father shared his shame. Then Mirage remembered every occasion his father had proven him wrong by holding him and telling him that he would not care if his cutie mark were Celestia herself, he would always be his son.
Smiling warmly, Mirage found the flint and tinder at the bottom of the chest and retreated with both in his mouth. He then walked over to the table and stuffed them into his saddlebags. After he had them secured to his body, he left his hut with one final glance back at his father’s sword promising he would straighten its display when he came back. If he came back.
* * *
Dia took a step into her home. To her left was her grass cot topped with a floral pattern quilt. To her right was a table much like the one that could be found in Mirage’s hut but with two slight differences. First, the carafe and the two mugs were upside-down to keep dust and sand out when not in use. Second, not a single ring could be observed in the wood.
Dia always made Mirage put something underneath his cup whenever he visited, she constantly reminded him to do the same at his own home but he never listened.
A chest with neatly arranged contents resided underneath the table and directly across from the hut entrance were shelves tastefully stocked with chachkies and jewelry recovered from ruins she and Mirage had visited when the whim to explore struck. Her shawl hung from a peg to the right of the door.
She took it off the peg with her mouth and elegantly flipped it onto her back. She then walked over to the shelves and picked up her brooch. After she had fastened her shawl she found herself looking at all of the treasure she had accumulated from the ruins.
Necklaces inlaid with rare gems, earrings set with shimmering diamonds, and tiaras forged from gold and silver.
She never thought to wear them because, besides how much attention it would attract, she thought it disgracious to the jewelry’s original owners. Instead, she decided to keep it all here as her own little panegyric to the end of the world.
Now equipped with her shawl, she walked back to the entrance, flipped up her hood, and went to go meet Mirage back at the commons.
* * *
With the housing district behind him, Mirage took his first step back onto the large grassy field. The crowd was not reduced in the thirty minutes of his absence. He looked left and right as he walked through the crowd, but was unable to find Dia. Finally, after tracing circles in the crowd, he spotted a mare sitting alone with her cloak drawn making shapes in the ground with her hoof.
“Dia!”
She looked up and smiled in relief, “Finally! You took forever!”
Mirage walked closer to where she sat, “Would you prefer to meet death sooner?”
“Why must you be so grim? It is not as if we are facing down a cockacore with only our bare hooves.” She stood up and the pair began to walk to the center of the field.
Mirage raised an eyebrow, “A cockacore?”
“Yes, a beast that is part snake, part chicken, part lion, part scorpion, and part bat. From what I hear they are quite dangerous.”
Mirage looked at her with half lidded eyes and saw the largest smirk of self-satisfaction he was sure had ever existed. “Dia, it is time to be serious. We are the bearers of ill omen. We cannot afford jest.”
“On the contrary, if we are to die tonight then I do not want to depart Equestria looking like that.” She raised her hoof and shoved it in Mirage’s face.
He swatted it away and said with irritation, “What has gotten into you?”
“I am not sure I can explain it. The air… I am…. Take a deep breath.”
He humored her and filled his lungs to capacity. Then let it all out with a single puh.
Dia looked inquisitively at her friend. “Do you feel anything?”
“No.”
“Nothing?”
“No.”
“So you did feel something.”
“What?”
“I asked you if you felt nothing and you said ‘no’, so th-.”
“Dia.”
“Sorry.” She looked down.
The two approached the grass dome. Mirage shrugged his shoulders to adjust his saddlebags and Dia swallowed hard. It was time to face the Geríne. Now it was Mirage’s turn to ask a question to which he already knew the answer. “The magic that enveloped me and summoned me to the cave. What color was it?”
The answer to this question was the true reason why both he and Dia knew for a fact that this was truly the End of Nights. The reason why Mirage knew that leaving the hut of the Geríne did not necessarily guarantee him a long and joyous life. The reason why a part of him secretly wished for a quick death inside the dome rather than live to see the horrors that would soon be unleashed upon the world.
Suddenly he was gripped by fear, moisture started to develop on his brow.
His former determination to survive his encounter with the Geríne started to waiver. The part of him that wanted to be destroyed mercifully and spared having to witness the grotesque, unnatural evil that would soon butcher every living thing in Equestria began to grow. His guts turned cold and his chest tightened as he braced himself for Dia’s words.
“Purple, I believe.”
Luna help us all.