//------------------------------//
// Chapter 1 
// Story: The Clover Chronicles 
// by Sollace 
//------------------------------//

It had been ages since that fateful day. Cover The Clever could not fully remember exactly how it had happened. One moment he had been standing in his room, reviewing his notes for the next day, checking figures and ticking boxes for his master, Starswirl. The next, he was suddenly here, falling through a vast column of swirling energy.

At fist he had been afraid. He feared for the inevitable end to his fall, but it had never come. He just kept falling.

As the minutes turned to hours, the hours to day, days to- He became over taken with boredom, though his surroundings were beautiful, and indeed he entertained many fantasies about their origins, he eventually drew tired of the ever unchanging landscape.

And so, the soul-crushing boredom began. It slowly ate away at his mind until there was nothing left but insanity. But even that, after a while, becomes boring. There is only so many ways one can imagine death. Though, by far his favourite was the most amusing in his eyes; a sudden splat after a many centuries long fall. The pavement, or what have you at the bottom of this magic pit, would be painted crimson. Starswirl would be standing nearby, covered in a visceral splattering and watched in horror as there was nothing left except, perhaps, for two eyeballs bouncing his way as Clover had long since decided that, should he see such a thing coming, he would angle himself such that his head were the last thing to meet.

Thus the boredom resumed; Clover chose not to be insane any further, choosing a more constructive pursuit of his time. He began to study what was around him, which after many years, and many long calculations, he identified to be not a simple hole, or a path through simple space. Instead what he found was far more profound, this ‘tunnel’ he had chose to call it was in fact a type of temporal rift. And the swirling energies around him formed a very distinct pattern, one that would repeat every so few centuries.

For example, he twisted himself around and caught the glimpse of a ring of energy around the tunnel as it passed him by. That was rung one-hundred-and-twenty-seven-B.

Clover rolled back over to look to the other side and continued his thought, That means we should be seeing Princess Celestia’s inauguration coming up on the left right about... Now!, and so there it was, a brief flash as the image of a young Celestia standing in front of her throne kneeled before a noble-mare. Not even a moment and the image was gone, carried away as the walls of the tunnel whipped past.

Of course that’s not all, with every cycle a new rung is added, a new moment in time. But none of it is really unpredictable, with a simple thirty-six degree polynomial integral he- Wait, something’s different. Clover had caught something out of the corner of his eye, That was rung one-hundred-thousand-eight-hundred-and-forty-seven. That’s not right, and indeed, there it is again, and again.

The temporal vortex had become compressed, severely. Clover watched as the cycle repeated itself in quick succession, not the hundreds of millions of years like it had always done, but on the matter of minutes. Every pass was different but it always returned to the same moment.

Clover swung himself across the time-stream inspecting the rungs. There was a powerful magic at work here, one he had not seen since- Starswirl, that fool. What has he done this time?

Indeed it was the same spell he had remembered from before, the one that had trapped him here outside of time. But this was slightly different, likely modified in some way since its initial trials.

Clover twisted over himself and swung down a side tunnel, and floating near the wall he ran a hoof through the energies. An image quickly appeared and Clover struggled to see what was inside. He made some adjustments and the image cleared, it revealed a brightly lit bedroom, the walls were pink and mostly bare. A small satin dressing table stood against the wall to the right, on the left was a rather luxurious bed, and in it laid a small form. A filly slept soundly curled up in the covers, but the magical energies swirling around her was very strong. She was clearly the focus of the spell.

“What are you doing... She is but a filly.” Clover dismissed the image and sped forward. He once again turned to view. This time he had a vantage point outside; it was night, and they were surrounded by a dark forest. The filly had erected a tent near the entrance to a large cave and was walking inside.

From this point Clover could not see inside the cave, so all he could do was to wait. After a short few minutes he felt another surge of energy and saw the filly get flung out of the cave into her tent, and then the zipper was shut tightly locking her in. Then the image came to an abrupt end, and Clover felt the streams shift once again. She was returned back to the beginning of the loop.

Clover flipped back through the tunnel and returned to the main stream to resume his thoughts. Whatever Starswirl is doing it cannot be good. Messing with time is a dangerous pursuit and I can’t let him subject one so young to his experiments.

But what could he do? Clover had been trapped in this space of millennia, even with what he had learned he’s never been able to do more than just observe. Then something occurred to him, something he’d considered many a time.

Clover took a sharp turn down a nearby passage, and then one more to the left. He came upon another tunnel and watched the moments as they went by. One particular moment caught his interest, rung zero, he likes to call it. The exact moment he was ejected from the normal progression. At that exact moment the fabric was weak and allowed the minute possibility of returning.

He’d done the calculations many times before, the chances of a paradox were immense, and he may well wipe himself from existence if he were to attempt such a jump. But it was certainly worth a try, for if he remained here it would be just as good.

Not wanting to wait for the moment to come again, Clover took a side route back some and returned to the tunnel. Now, I just have to… Clover watched the rungs closely as they flung past, minus-three-thousand, two, one. He jumped at the rung and plunged a hoof into the stream. His entire body began to burn forcing tears to his eye but he pushed through. The resistance of the tunnel suddenly broke away and turned into a surging pull. No turning back now.

Clover’s entire body tumbled through the wall, a torrent of energy washed over him as he passed and came into a new space. Unlike before, the tunnel was nowhere to be found, just a mass of chaotic static assaulting his sense. He dared a glance and caught sight of what might be a teacup floating past him before it was instantly gone, and Clover came through the fogs into a vast empty space. All around him he saw streams of energy twisting and turning indefinitely, each one carrying a different version of himself, some twisting and retching in insanity.

There was a bright flash and Clover was overcome with a slight weightless feeling, the tunnels around him retracted and fell away into blackness. Then Clover felt something he hadn’t experienced for a long time, his lungs were burning aching for air. Air bubbles floated past him in the darkness and Clover thrashed around to get his bearing. He swam upwards, he hoped, and came to a hard surface, some kind of rock blocking his way. Fighting off the slight light headedness, Clover lit his horn and focused on moving the rock. It shook slightly and began to roll out of the way. Unable to wait any longer Clover burst through the surface and crawled to the shore letting the rock tumble to the side.

He lay there for ages breathing heavily, it had worked, but Clover did not know where he was, or when. After catching his breath, he turned to look at his surroundings. Clover was in some sort of cave, overgrown with vines, and lying beside a small lake.

Cover got up and looked into the pond to inspect him self; he looked ok, wet, but ok. He’d long since lost his robe, either torn off or eaten in his fits of insanity but it was hardly a big loss. A new one can easily be acquired should the need arise.

There is now a far more important matter at hoof than fashion. He had to find the filly, the subject of Starswirl’s experiments before it was too late, Sweetie Belle, he faintly remembered.