//------------------------------//
// Introductions - What Lies Beneath - Part 1 
// Story: The Student of Sun and Shadow 
// by Journey Blue 
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What do you do when the price of salvation is what you cherish most? This is not some mere philosophical salvation, mind you, but the safety and well-being of the countless living today and in generations to come. What do you do? 

The answer is quite obvious really: you pay that price—everypony would pay that price. Even if that pony possessed but half a heart, that beating half would compel them to make the sacrifice.
 
And everypony else would be saved—hurray.
 
But then what? Do you feel the joy of the triumphant hero? Do you feel the appreciation of those you saved by your selflessness?
 
The answer is no.
 
Despite your efforts, despite the price you have paid, they will never know the sacrifice you have made on their behalf. Nor will they love you for it. They may even come to hate you. Hate you because, for a time, their lives were in your hooves. That, for a time, you controlled their fate for them, to protect them, to save them. Yet because you are not Celestia, you are not worthy.
 
In the end, the only pony who pays, is you. And you are left with nothing. Nothing but the satisfaction that you are a good pony. And how does it feel? Is it satisfying?
 
… No, I thought not. There is no joy to be had from your feat of character, from your self-righteousness, because in the end you did not make this choice willingly. It was made for you. Despite the lives you have saved, you are rewarded with only regret and self-loathing because, with the exception of a select few, you care not for a single one of them. You would like to think you do, but you never have, and never will. And yet you are always doing what these other ponies want. Always doing what Celestia wants. But never what you want. And look where that has gotten you. What you wanted and what you cherished most have been taken away from you, and that is your mistake.
 
A mistake you have made quite often.


 ~

 
The Castle of the Two Sisters, a once majestic and awe-inspiring structure, now lies ruined and forgotten in the depths of the Everfree. Yet, even in such an advanced state of dereliction, it is no less impressive. Though sight of it no longer provokes the same warm reverence as it had so many centuries ago, it is certain to incite the tingling chill of trepidation. The arches and buttresses that once held up the grand sweeping ceilings of its great halls now lie bare and exposed, yawning outwards like the gaping maw of a predator—or perhaps, the opened ribcage of its prey. The two remaining spires—their weathered marble darkened and discolored by the mists and dampness of generations, their surfaces pockmarked by lichen and infringed by the forest's unruly vegetation—stand as towering and decrepit obelisks: proof that not all past follies can be erased with time.
 
Lying before the castle, a deep and jagged ravine—so angular and ragged are its peaks and contours that it seems less like a formation shaped by nature, but a great schism gouged into the earth by the claws of a titan. It is in this ravine, beneath the castle ruins, where the entrance to a cavern lays.
 
Where one would expect to become engulfed in a chilling blackness upon entering, they are instead met with a soft radiant warmth. Up the walls are exposed veils of amethyst that shine violet with the ambient magic that saturates the cavern, and scattered across its ceiling cling colonies of glowworms—their pulsating blue light glimmering surreally overhead. Rimstones cover much of the cavern floor and in their water-filled basins grow vibrant pink lotus flower forever in bloom—their rich fragrance mingling with the subtle odor of moist earth and cool air. Closing your eyes and relying on smell alone, you might fancy yourself standing in the newly flowered grove after the first spring rain following the Winter Wrap-Up. The quiet peace held within the cavern remains unbroken but for the occasional hollow echo of dripping stones. Such is the place the Tree of Harmony calls home.
 
At its base, seated before its phosphorescent roots, is Princess Twilight Sparkle. She has come before the Tree of Harmony to gather her thoughts, to free herself from frustration, to seek solace. Standing in the tree’s presence, in the cavern that is both a sanctuary and an oasis from the chaos of the forest and the chaos of one’s mind, Twilight is once again granted a sense of awareness and clarity that has so often eluded her in recent days.
 
She hopes to finds answers. Answers that will help her understand the enigma that presents itself before her: the box that has become her every obsession.


~

 
She scoured through every book in Ponyville in a mere fortnight, yet found not a single passage or line that shed light on her endeavor. She considered returning to Canterlot to search through its archives, yet was reluctant to do so. After so many months, she was back in Ponyville, back with her friends, and she was loath to leave again so soon. The Canterlot Archives were immense, and to continue her investigation there would undoubtedly require a lengthy duration.
 
But Twilight was saved from having to leave Ponyville at all by a letter, from Princess Celestia, suggesting that she might like to continue her search in a place much closer to Ponyville—in the Library of the Two Sisters.
 
When she first laid eyes on the vast, and vastly forgotten library, her hopes had been high. Here, before her, was a window into the past—knowledge long forgotten in the minds of the present. Knowledge preserved in yellowed pages bearing a sweet almond scent, written in old ink—black if made from charcoal and acacia gum, or red if made from rust and palm resin. Aged wisdom sealed in aged material.
 
Yet in the days and in the weeks that followed, through the countless scrolls and texts read, for as grand her efforts, she found nothing. At least not what she was looking for. She did find many a book that, under different circumstances, would have pleased her immensely: books of spells and incantations she had yet learnt, untold tales of heroic ponies and their adventures, original editions of classic works of literature, and historical accounts that predated the founding of Modern Equestria. But, as fantastic as these texts were, they did not aid her in her search. With each day that passed, her frustration grew.
 
Now, in the early morning as the sun begins to dawn, yet another night wasted in the library, after ruining a priceless tome in a regrettable fit of agitation—thrown against the weather masonry, its pages spilling out—Twilight decides it is time to get some fresh air. She is growing stir-crazy in the must and mildew of the old library.
 
Removing herself from the stone table that she has remained bent over for most of the night, she stretches and walks over to her saddlebag to inspect her remaining provisions. They are sufficient to last her for another day or so. Along with the generous supply of apples, Applejack also offered Twilight a spare nap-sack, saying, “If yah gonna be campin’ out at that there castle again, yah might as well be doin’ it right.”  Twilight was reluctant to accept, out of modesty, and because she did not want to be tempted away from her reading when she began to tire. Now the prospect of unrolling the nap-sack greatly appeals to her.
 
From among the apples, Twilight levitates out a Granny Smith, and bites into it—the zing of the apple’s tart flavor leaving her mouth tingling, and loosening the weight that clung to her head and eyelids. She trots out of the library, all the while absently munching on her apple, and by the time she finishes it, she arrives at the castle’s entrance. Tossing the core into the bushes that line the steps, Twilight surveys the forest before her. 

A thin fog rises up from the gorge, hanging knee high above the path leading away from the castle, and empurpled by the morning light. It rolls gently in the breeze that picks its way through the trees and through Twilight’s mane. It feels good to be outside and moving her legs.
 
But where to go? Back to Ponyville? That would be a far way to walk only to have to come back later. A stroll through Everfree perhaps—would that not be exciting? Foalish perhaps, even for a princess as powerful as you, but exciting nevertheless. Why not follow your thoughts? See where they take you.
 
Letting her hooves take her where they may, Twilight soon finds herself, yet again, before the Tree of Harmony. Her visits to this place became more and more frequent as her frustration continued to gnaw at her. But with each visit to the cavern, its calming effect began to wane.

Now, as she looks up at the tree with tired eyes, her frustration ebbing only in the slightest, her thoughts wander onto darker topics.
 
In its trunk, in each of its branches, lie the Elements of Harmony. Physical proof of the bonds that once tied her friends and her together: their friendship made manifest. It was the Elements that first united her with her friends. It was the Elements that helped them face the trials of Nightmare Moon, and Discord. It was because of the Elements that she first realized her potential, and, ever since, the Elements were a tangible and powerful source of affirmation.
 
Now they are gone.
 
Taken from her grasp. Taken in order to stop the encroachment of the Everfree, and save the Tree of Harmony. Yes, it was necessary. There is no question. But why did  it have to come at the cost of something so precious? So precious to her. All she is left with now is a library full of moldy books, and a little box she cannot open.
 
She stands before the tree, trying to gather her thoughts, thoughts that defy her. The cavern’s humid air feels thick in her lungs and, the damp floors of her mind sprout doubts like toadstools. Dread gathers within her as the shadows gather around her. Twilight watches as the cavern dims, and as the darkness grows dense. Above her the flickering light of the glowworms peek through the enveloping blackness like stars in the night sky. It is as if dawn is becoming undone; as if the day is slipping back into night; as if it were a dream she once had. But Twilight knows this is not a dream, nor had it been before.
 
Twilight watches with neither surprise nor fright, but with the acceptance of the condemned: the expectation of the inevitable. Even before she relinquished the Elements, before the Everfree grew beyond its borders, before Celestia and Luna were taken and the land cast into perpetual twilight, she felt that nagging doubt—that she was deluding herself into foalishly believing she possessed something more than a spiraling lack of control. She has magic, she has books, she has her friends, so wouldn't she soon have her answers? Yet, instead of answers, all she found were more reasons to question herself, and she knew it was only a matter of time before she was once again paid a visit.
 
The shadows encircle her and the tree, the glow of the tree forming a barrier of teal light, wherein she stands, and where the shadows, no matter how emboldened by their master, will not venture. Twilight stands near the border where light meets dark, the shadow she casts in the light of the Tree of Harmony, falling short of crossing over. There she waits calmly—trying to compose herself—for King Sombra's arrival.
 
Shadows are his calling card, but he needn't them now, not when she herself sent the invitation.


~

 
Behind Princess Twilight, the Tree of Harmony rises from the earth, the Elements shining like beacons in the night. Before her, standing just outside the light’s impasse: King Sombra. He looks at Twilight with smug composure, his royal crimson cloak and wrought iron barding breathing power.
 
“Good morning, Princess.” His tone is level and cordial, as if greeting a friend, and he gives her a polite nod.  

Twilight responds coldly, “I thought I made it clear that I wasn't interested in your offer.”
 
“Oh rest assured, Princess, you were quite clear.” He emphasizes the last words by fixing her with his sightless eye—the one that she had taken—now a pale orb that glows with the purple miasma it once wept. She averts her gaze, looking anywhere but at that eye. Its stare seems to touch her, causing her hair to raise—on the nape of her neck, across her barrel, down the length of her legs—as it traces her body. Twilight tucks her wings tighter, suddenly feeling exposed. She finds that she cannot stand to remain still.

She turns and begins to stroll along the perimeter of her lit enclosure. Counterclockwise, so that as Sombra mirrors her movements—like her shadow beyond the light—she is saved from having to look at his marred eye. She is careful not to let her own shadow cross beyond the light. Not that she believes it would be a grave mistake, but would rather err on the side of caution—lest it comes back to bite.

Then again, they are in the presence of the Tree of Harmony. Though she is encircled by shadows, she has the tree’s protection: they are on equal hoofing now. Perhaps things will be more civil this time. She will still tread carefully, but she need not be so on edge, nor fill her mind with pointless worry.

Twilight steals a glance at Sombra, examining him for something that would betray his intentions. She knows what he wants from her: her cooperation. He wants her to accept his offer—as a means to influence her, no doubt. This means that she has, to an extent, some control over him. Not much, but enough to make him predictable.

As she appraises King Sombra, she notes certain aspects about his bearing and appearance. He is tall, much like her brother, Shining Armor, perhaps taller, yet not as built. Through his cloak and barding, Twilight can tell his body is sleek, possessing a lean strength. He walks smoothly, with calculated steps such that, though his gait is notably longer than hers, it falls in perfect sync with her own. Inspecting his mane, she notices that it still possesses its ethereal quality—roiling and rippling out into the surrounding darkness. This makes Twilight begin to question his appearance: he is, despite his character, not unpleasant to look at, but, given his lack of a corporeal body, she wonders to what extent he can alter his appearance.

Then, when Twilight turns her attention to his face, she met his maroon eye looking back at her, and she promptly looks away—her face flushing with the humiliation of having been caught staring. To her side she hears a faint sound of amusement.

“Why are you still here?” she speaks harshly, not looking at him.

“I suppose,” he begins wearily, “that I owe you an apology. I daresay things got out of hoof when we first spoke.” Words come slow and airily.
 
“Out of hoof…” she repeats quietly, and stops.
 
“Out of hoof?!” She turns sharply to face Sombra. “You tried to kill me!” Though not shouting, her voice reverberates loud within the darkened cavern.
 
Sombra is neither stunned by Twilight’s outburst, nor by her abrupt hostility. In fact, he seems rather amused by it.
 
“What you saw was—oh, how did you put it—but the petty trickery of a mere shadow: a rather sophisticated illusion, but nothing more. You were never in any real danger. I simply wished to get your attention, to have you listen to, and take what I had to say seriously.” He pauses, looking over at her, Twilight glowering at him with a look of disdain.

Glowering, yet listening.

He continues, sounding almost apologetic. Almost. “I will admit my methods were a bit harsh. But you wounded me with your condescension. Such behavior is unbecoming of a pony of your stature.”
 
He is baiting her, and she bit.
 
“Oh that’s rich! Coming from you of all ponies! You dare lecture me? You, who are but the scum of Equestria!” she snaps back at him in a manner not so dignified.
 
“Come now, Princess. One would hope that you could be more gracious when presented with such a generous offer?”
                    
Twilight has to bite back her response, keeping her anger from boiling over. He is toying with her. Just toying. That is  all he is truly capable of, and words are his only weapon. He has no other means to get to her.
                    
Yet he is getting under her skin with such ease.
 
Her words are calm when she next speaks. Calm and saturated with contempt. “Your offer was no more than lies. An act of deceit. You wish to trick me, to control me, to make a puppet out of me, and enslave me like you did with all of the ponies in the Crystal Empire.”
                    
Once again, he seems all too entertained.
                    
“That is where you are wrong, Princess,” he says, smiling, his pointed teeth showing. “I was not lying. And never once did I try to deceive you. I wish to make you a queen. My Queen. And I am offering to teach you magic that Celestia could never understand. Secrets that Celestia could never know. But you can. You have that potential. The potential to be greater than Celestia ever could. A potential I would help you realize. That is what I offer you.” He pauses, then, “And the offer. Still. Stands.”
                    
Twilight doesn’t reply, caught off guard by the conviction with which he spoke. She struggles to come up with a response, to give a rebuttal. But no words come. Not wanting her silence to betray her, she opts to look upon the Tree of Harmony, and turns her back to Sombra.
 
A Twilight stands with her head held high, her regal demeanor speaking confidence. A Twilight stares into the distance, as if lost in thought, and bears and air of mystique.

A Twilight sits with her back to the dark king, her head held up to the light of the Elements, wings loosely furled at her sides, trying to command her thoughts. Hoping that, at the least, her inactions will be misjudged as indifference.
 
“No,” she finally says, shaking her head. “That is not what you offer.”
           
“Is that so?” he says mockingly.
            
“What you offer is a curse. You would have me forsake my friends, forsake Celestia, and forsake what I have worked so hard to achieve. And for what? Power? Prestige? What use would I have of them? What need?”
       
“What makes you think I would have you forsake anything of the sort?” he says—calm, yet stern.
            
“What?”
            
“You think that what I offer comes at a cost? A sacrifice?” His tone is condescending.
            
“Of course it does,” Twilight says, now agitated.
 
“The only sacrifice you need make, is the acknowledgment that there are aspects of this world that Celestia’s light does not reach. Cannot reach. Places that she fears to tread. Knowledge that she fears to pursue.”
            
“And I wonder why that would be,” says Twilight sarcastically.
            
“Care to find out?” He smiles wily.
            
“What? No. Never,” she stammers.
 
“Now that cannot be right. Twilight Sparkle—the Twilight Sparkle—would never turn her back on an unsolved mystery.” Again, he was mocking her.
 
Twilight chooses not to dignify a reply; instead, she walks towards the tree, ignoring King Sombra. For a moment, all is silent.
 
Then a voice from behind her: “I suppose it is understandable that you doubt my sincerity, it is only right that I first earn your faith.”
 
“As if that would ever happen.”
 
“I would not be so certain, Princess. You need not rely on trust alone to know what I tell you is the truth. There is proof. Proof that you have in fact been left in the dark by your dear Celestia.”
 
Twilight flinches at the last words, and she is certain Sombra has noticed. There is a certainty to his voice that fills her with unease. And curiosity.
 
“And what proof is this?” she says, trying not to seem eager.
 
“Why not look in front of you. Tell me what you see.”
 
This confuses Twilight, yet she does as she was asked.
 
“I see the Tree of Harmony.”
 
“What else?”
 
“I see the Elements in the branches and a locked box resting above the roots.”
 
“What about its surrounding?”
 
Where is he going with this? Twilight can sense that Sombra is leading her somewhere, and she dislikes following him. It reminds Twilight of her tutelage under Celestia, when the princess would use questions to lead her to her answer, and Twilight is not pleased with this comparison.
 
“It is in a cavern… I don’t see—“
 
Sombra cut her off.
 
“—And where is this cavern?”
 
Twilight, now further annoyed, delays in responding.
 
“…In the Everfree—”
 
“—In the very heart of the Everfree. Does anything about that strike you as odd?”
 
“… No, not really. The Everfree is home to countless abnormalities. In fact, everything about it is odd.”
 
“Rather chaotic, would you not say?”
 
“Where are you going with this, Sombra?”
 
“Do you not find it strange, that the Tree of Harmony is located in the center of the Everfree? In a forest that is by all means its antithesis.”
 
Twilight has no response. It is something she has not considered, and her curiosity now compels her to ask questions—though, if only to anypony but him.
 
“I suppose…” She says hesitantly.
 
“You would think that the tree’s presence would have brought order to the Everfree. But no, in has done nothing of the sort. In fact, it seems that the forest is growing from the Tree of Harmony. Tell me, Princess: what do you know of the tree’s origins?”
 
Again with the questions. But now Sombra is not merely leading her with questions, but asking her ones to test her knowledge. Well he is not going to get his answer from her, for she has none to give. At least not willingly.
 
“Very little,” she says finally, then a thought occurs to her, and she turns to face Sombra, “But it sounds like you know a good bit. So why don’t you tell me? And why don’t you show me this proof you spoke of?”
 
“Playing dense is unbecoming of you, Princess," he replies scornfully. "You know far more than you are willing to acknowledge. You have glimpsed into the past—that was how you rediscovered the Tree of Harmony. And you know that the Tree of Harmony is not the only thing that rests inside this cavern.”
 
This startles Twilight. It seemed Sombra knew about what she saw with Zecora’s potion. But how?
 
“The proof I spoke of I need not show you when you can see it for yourself. It rests beneath your very hooves.”
 
Twilight looks down at her hooves, then back up at Sombra. “I don’t understand…” she says at last, disappointed at her own ignorance.
 
“You have your own magic, Princess—why not use it? Probe amongst the roots. Tell me what you see.”
 
Reluctant to follow his advice, yet compelled by her curiosity and her desire to prove herself, she turns to the tree and closes her eyes. Her horn glows pink as she projects her consciousness forth into the roots of the Tree of Harmony: simple astral projection.
 
Light and warmth radiates from the roots, and she finds it easier to concentrate—her thoughts calming, allowing her mind greater clarity. Her astral form follows the roots as they spread outwards, weaving in and out of the interwoven network they created beneath the Everfree. The roots spread well beyond the cavern’s confinements, into the surrounding forest. But, whatever the proof Sombra spoke of, it is either not here, or not apparent.
 
“There’s nothing—”
 
“—Look deeper.” The words sounding both distant, and like a whisper in the ear.
 
The roots spread outwards, and downwards, growing deep into the earth. Curving and crossing, the roots spread out and down, like a dome, like a net. Like a cage.
 
Twilight changes her attention toward the area encompassed by the roots, directly below her. At first, Twilight could find nothing—just the cold earth and the trances of magic from the tree. She expands her awareness and swings her attention back and forth through the depths beneath the tree, again, finding it empty of…
 
Something brushes her consciousness.
 
Brushing, then seizing.
 

Twilight's body remains at the base of the Tree of Harmony, bent over in a posture of concentration, while her mind is dragged into the depths below. Coiling around her, its being blocking out the tree’s radiance, an immense and alien mind bears down on her. Its great serpentine form overwhelms her with its mere presence, filling her mind with a cacophony of sound and sensations—a choir of voices singing and screaming, the burning heat of fire and rage, the crushing weight of fear and the ocean depths. Suffocating and yet exhilarating. The leviathan fixes Twilight with a stare, its eyes a yellow and red inferno, and sees her whole. It speaks to her, its smile the subject of nightmares, its words a song that tears at her very sanity.