Pain.
Spring Mist awoke on his bed, twisted in his sheets. His house was dark, the sun having set a while ago. He had no idea how late it was, nor did he care at this point. It couldn’t be that late anyways, as somepony surely would have found him when he didn’t show up for his shift at the tower. Or maybe not. Mist couldn’t think straight, the haze of disappointment and sorrow dulling everything except the pain that came with it.
Mist dragged himself out of bed and stumbled around his dark house. He lit his horn and found his way to the bathroom. There he stood and looked at himself in the bronze mirror. His eyes were red and puffy, bags hanging underneath them. His hair was a mess, matted in places and sticking out in others. His face looked old and worn, and he carried himself with a slump. I look awful, he thought to himself. Unable to stand the sight of himself, he moved to his tub and filled it with water. He then used his magic to heat it to a more forgiving temperature. Mist then slid into the wooden tub and soaked himself.
He lay there a while before he decided it was probably best to get to his shift. Mist pulled himself out of the tub and dried himself off. He sauntered into the other room and donned his barding. He had a small debate with himself about whether or not to bring his studying gear, but eventually decided that he would need something to keep his mind occupied, and studying the night sky may prove therapeutic.
With all of his things gathered, his saddlebags on his sides, Mist trotted though the door and out to the street. He saw that the moon was high in the sky, telling him that he was only hardly an hour late for his shift. Regardless, he moved at a regular pace in the direction of his tower, reaching it a few minutes later. Mist entered the tower and, as per the norm, a fellow guard was sleeping at his table. In fact, Mist had really only seen him awake once or twice. In three years of guarding at this tower. Mist chuckled a bit, surprising himself. Perhaps he was on the way to recovery yet. He then climbed the steps and pushed through the trapdoor to the roof. There sat Rainy Shores, still as stone.
“In all the years I have known you, you have never been late to a shift. Early, many times. But late, never. Something terrible must have happened,” Rainy Shores said without moving.
Mist instantly felt guilty. “Not so terrible,” he began, “I was –” he sighed, “I was rejected from the Royal Guard.” It hurt just to say it, he voice catching as he spoke.
“Oh,” Rainy Shores said, “I’m sorry, Spring Mist. I know how much that would have meant to you. How important it was.”
“Well, it is what it is, I suppose. I just failed. Simple as that.”
“Oh come now, Mist. You know as well as I do that things are rarely that simple. We learned that lesson together long ago.” Mist couldn’t argue. It was true. Most things were not that simple, “And who knows? Perhaps there is a reason for it, maybe another plan in store?”
“You are right, Shores. But it’s still so hard. It was a dream, and it was shattered. It hurts, I’ll admit.”
“Of course it does, Mist. But that’s what you use to make yourself stronger.”
“How?”
“Learn from it. Improve yourself. But keep doing what you are good at, and you will find a way.”
Mist cringed a bit at those words, the same ones uttered by Captain Black Stone. But they sounded less bitter coming from a friend. And much as it hurt to admit, Black Stone was correct.
“I should stick to what I’m good at,” Mist said quietly.
“Now don’t let that keep you from having dreams. Find a middle ground.”
Mist smiled at Rainy Shores’ wisdom, “You know, a pony could forget that you are only a scant few years older than me, Shores. Too clever for your age.”
“Hmmm. Well, I learned many things many difficult ways. You learn from it,” said Rainy Shores nonchalantly, “Now, would you like me to stay and keep you company?”
Mist was grateful for the offer, “Thank you, but I think I shall be fine. I need time to think about things.”
“Very well. Good night, Spring Mist,” Rainy Shores said as he walked to the trapdoor, “Just remember, you will find the right way.”
“Thank you, friend.”
“Any time. Happy guarding. And good luck,” The trapdoor shut behind him.
Mist exhaled, always pleasantly surprised at his friend’s wisdom and kindness. It was funny, really, at first glance and under most circumstances, Rainy Shores seemed gruff and uncouth. But if found in the right circumstances, he was unfaltering in his kindness to other ponies. Mist stood and stared at the trapdoor through which Rainy Shores had disappeared, thinking fondly of his friend, thankful for having him there.
Mist then proceeded to carry out his duties. But this time, Mist decided to actually stand guard for a while. He looked out into the night. Trees surrounded the town, stretching out in all directions. To the south, the forest ended at the base of a small mountain range. To the west and north, after looking past town, the trees extended as far as the eye could see, their line only occasionally broken by hills or small mountains. To the east, the treeline stopped at a vast, empty plains land. I wonder what’s out there? Mist thought to himself. In the same direction, slightly north, was the large range of mountains, on the edge of one perched Canterlot. Mist could not see it in the dark distance, but he knew it was there.
Mist watched the forest, eyed the road out of Everfree. Nothing moved, there were no creatures, no ponies. Mist took in his surroundings and found solace in the still of the night, the cool air soothing to the nerves, the gentle twinkling of the stars and the shimmer of the moon welcome companions. Mist breathed deep in the dark and set himself to work.
His various belongings scattered themselves into their usual places, books scrolls, quills and ink, telescope, all settled in their second home. Mist loved this tower. It removed him from the world, allowed him to be a part of his own, and truly take in all there was on offer. After a moment’s thought, Mist put away his books. He kept his writing tools on hand in case of anything interesting, but his references were gone. For the first time, Mist was just going to enjoy the night, take in its sights, enjoy its splendors, not study it, nor reference it. If he was going to see something, he would record it of his own volition, he would discover everything in the night anew, create his own constellations, make his own theories and hypotheses. Like an explorer in a new land, the night would be his to uncover and find its secrets. The idea excited Mist, and he quickly pointed his telescope in a random direction.
Looking through the lenses, making adjustments, Mist looked into the sky, seeing stars of various colors, forming lines between them, creating a map, painting pictures. Everything was new and fresh, exciting, thrilling. Mist felt a breath of air fill him with wonder. He felt like a colt, remembering the first time he had seen the night sky and fallen in love. The feeling like none other, when a pony discovers what they love. No cutie mark appeared for him that day, but it pointed him in a direction. As he looked through his telescope, time became meaningless, a far second to the things he could now see.
Mist gazed in awe at the sights the night sky beheld. Looking at one patch of empty sky in the right way revealed far more than the eye alone could see, opening a world beyond comprehension. But Mist began to notice something odd, something definitely out of the ordinary. The night sky, while usually still, seemed to be flowing like a river or a sea, churning and twisting. The stars remained constant, but the space around them was definitely moving, almost as if alive. Mist thought perhaps he was just growing tired, his vision becoming shaky with fatigue. But he felt wake and alert, physically and mentally. Looking again at the sky, Mist saw still that it was no longer static.
Mist backed away from the telescope to clear his head and record some thoughts, but before he could move too far, he caught in his vision the form of a pony. With wings and horn. Dark as the night itself, hair painted with stars, covering the front of the telescope. A familiar pair of sad eyes looked at him.
Princess Luna.