The cell door slid open, and Dusk was greeted with Smiley’s slightly unnerving face. With a nod and a wave, he was escorted out to the belongings area. He retrieved his torn vest and cloak, as well as his satchel. He then walked up to one of the prison item exchanges, requesting for his blue quill and black inkwell.
They handed them to him, and his made his way to the exit, still escorted by the guards. While he waited for the guards to suit up, he took off his prison clothes and replaced them with his normal ones. Torn though his garments were, they were his, and they were comfortable. Soon, the guards were ready, and they placed a set of cuffs around him.
The warden came out, saying that he hoped not to see Dusk again. Dusk smiled and nodded back, actually certain he wouldn’t be visiting the prison in the near future. With a calm gaze, he walked out, accompanied by his guards.
The sight of the earth stallion being escorted to the castle did cause somewhat of an uproar in the streets. Some ponies, empathetic to a fault, hastily asked what Dusk was doing in cuffs. The guards answered in gruff tones, telling them that Dusk was being brought to his trial. Naturally curious, they asked where the trial would be held, and soon, a whole army of mares and stallions were making their way to the court.
Dusk sighed. He didn’t want an audience, but he could already guess that there’d be no stopping them from viewing his trial.
The fancy homes in front were soon replaced with the looming castle, though this time, Dusk felt less apprehension. Almost eagerly, he made his way up the steps, pulling the guards with him.
“Excited to return to jail?” one of them asked.
“Nay, guard. Excited to leave,” he said, almost like he was admonishing him. His tone, active and alive, perfectly masked his slight unease.
The doors were thrown open, and Dusk entered the great hall. The sun shone through the tinted windows, illuminating a clear path on the red carpet. He followed the light to the intersection, boldly turning left. The crowd of ponies could be heard outside, clamoring to be an audience to the trial. The guards held them back, assuring them that they would ask Celestia for permission. Another guard accompanied Dusk to the courtroom itself.
With the guard’s lit horn, the doors were pulled open, revealing the already full court. Princess Celestia sat in the judge chair, with Luna before her. The jury booth was already filled, and the Bearers sat nearby. Hearing the doors open, they looked up. Most had a surprised expression when they saw Dusk standing there, seemingly undaunted. Celestia looked somewhat amused.
“Dusk Prosa,” she greeted with a nod. “I trust you rested well?”
“More than I have for the past ten years, Princess,” he answered. “Good morning, Princess Luna,” he greeted.
Caught off guard by his sudden joviality, the Princess of the Night could only nod in response.
“Your Highness?” the guard asked. At Celestia’s nod, he continued, “There is a throng of ponies outside who wish to view the trial.”
Celestia was silent for a moment, before smiling softly. “I suppose they’d be curious as to why a simple earth stallion is causing so much of an uproar. Allow them entrance, guard.”
He turned, trotting back over to the entrance. A few moments later, the voices from the crowd grew louder and closer. Soon, what seemed to be the entirety of Canterlot approached, awed at the prospect of seeing an actual trial. The nobles were just as surprised to see the ponies, though Blueblood had a sour expression on his face. He whispered something over to Fancy Pants; the stallion responded by giving him a swift knock on the head.
Dusk chuckled, and Blueblood glared daggers at him as he rubbed his head in pain.
The ponies of Canterlot took to the pews and seats, all quieting up once they were all seated. They waited, looking apprehensively at the court, as Celestia looked around. The guards behind closed the doors, keeping them in.
“Well, now,” Celestia said after a moment. “I believe we are ready to begin. Is the prosecution ready?”
“Yes, sister,” answered Luna.
“And the jury?”
“Yes, Your Highness.”
“Very well. Dusk Prosa, please take the stand.”
He nodded, carefully trotting over. He avoided looking at any of the witnesses, though he was tempted to half-smile for Rarity. After all, had she not arrived in the jail with the Crusaders, this wouldn’t be happening.
He faced forward, standing tall and proud, ready. Before Luna could say anything, he asked to say something first. It was granted, and he peered all over the room, looking into each pony’s eyes. For a moment, nothing was said. Several ponies found themselves shrinking under his gaze; the vibrancy and life in his eyes was near-unnatural.
Finally, he spoke: “Ponies of this court. Today is the day that Dusk Prosa dies.”
Confused murmurs rang among the crowd and jury, but Dusk ignored them, choosing instead to face Luna. With a simple nod, he told them he was ready.
Celestia banged her hoof. “The trial of Dusk Prosa, investigating his potential involvement with Opacare Prose’s disappearance, is now in session once more.”
The trial started off mostly as before, with Luna presenting the facts of the case. A paper was handed over so that she could give a brief summary of the witness accounts, as well as a quick overview of the events from yesterday. Afterwards, she placed the paper down, turning to Dusk.
“All of this, brings us here today, Mr. Prosa,” she addressed, as cool and calm as her night. “You were able to prolong this trial with your charismatic voice and charm, but I assure you, that shall not work today.”
Did she just compliment me? “And I assure you, I have no intention of hindering our progress.”
She nodded. “So long as you keep your word, we should have no problems.”
She turned away, facing the audience and the court as a whole. “Citizens of Canterlot, we are here today to discuss Dusk Prosa’s supposed involvement in Opacare Prose’s disappearance. You are all up to date with what has happened thus far; hence, I ask that we move quickly onto Dusk’s account.”
“Granted,” Celestia said, staring down at the stallion. “Remember what you said, Dusk Prosa. No hiding behind words.”
He nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in his throat. Luna nodded to one of the scribes, silently ordering her to keep careful track of what Dusk said.
No hiding. No masking. Just the truth. They need to hear it. I need to hear it. For their sake, for mine, and for what I have fought for for ten years… No holding back.
He released a breath, feeling his heartbeat. It was slow, steady, comforting, and he suddenly felt extremely in tune with himself. For a moment, time seemed to stop, as he thought about all that had happened, all that had occurred; every moment, every pony, every choice made, that had brought him here. He reminded himself of Raven Lock; he reminded himself of Opacare. He reminded himself of Jade Sonnet, of Grifford Finch, of his past, his present, his future. He reminded himself of the three fillies he had come to care for, and for the town that had become his second home.
Finally, he was ready. He looked back up, staring Luna straight in the eye, eyes flashing as brilliant as a pink, morning sun.
He began with an introduction.
“As you are all well aware, my name is Dusk Prosa. But I believe that, in order to understand what has been done, what I have done, and what I intend on doing, you must first know of where I come from.”
He looked around, seeing that he had commanded the entire court’s attention. Even Blueblood seemed interested in his speech.
“I was born in the city of Manehattan, twenty-eight years ago, to two Earth ponies. My father, Diei Adminium, and my mother, Luxi Grace, were both social workers in Manehattan. They worked to improve the lives of ponies everywhere, large and small, from foal to horse.” He closed his eyes, seeing their faces once more. “Even when the city seemed too stubborn to be saved, my parents never gave up trying. My father sometimes was known as the Adjutrix—Helper—because he was always trying to improve a pony’s life in some way.”
“Could you tell us what they look like?”
“Father was a light-grey, with navy highlights, and he often wore his mane long and down his neck. Mother was a gunmetal color; her baby-blue mane was cropped short, as she had to often deal with the grime that the city sowed.”
Noting an odd detail, Luna asked, “‘Was?’ You mean to say—”
“Yes.” Dusk looked away, feeling grief wash over his heart. “My parents have passed on. They left me when I was but fifteen.”
The ponies gasped at this new information, but Dusk did his best to push away their sympathy. Focus on the story, he thought, looking back at Luna.
“You have my condolences,” she said.
“As well as mine,” Celestia added. “But, please, when you are ready to continue…”
After a moment to gather his thoughts, Dusk spoke once more. “My parents were very popular with the slums ponies, and helped several poorer residents start their lives anew. With their determination, they transformed some of the slums into clean, habitable places, helping many families along the way. But they weren’t always popular with the city’s legislation.” At that, Dusk’s voice grew colder and angrier. “In my younger years, I didn’t quite understand what was going on. Nor did I understand the numerous letters that my parents got, the threats of running them out of the city, the warnings to stop.”
Celestia nodded. “I remember that time. Manehattan had some rather corrupt ponies in office. It was only recently have we begun a new age in their law: a cleaner, brighter age.”
Dusk frowned thoughtfully. “Though these threats and warnings did their job, unnerving my father and sometimes making my mother cry, they held strong. Not backing down, they continued their work, saving every pony they could and providing them with any help. They partnered with other relief organizations, even becoming co-leaders of the Manehattan Progressives. In doing so, their reputation and fame grew, making them harder to pressure.” His frown vanished, replaced with a small, victorious smile. “The politicians in power couldn’t hope to try anything drastic with them. Having fed off of the weak and poor, using them to their economic advantage, the fact that these former downtrodden misfits of the city were slowly becoming more and more civilized was a huge blow to their advantage. Had they done anything remotely threatening like, say, try to kidnap their child, riots would have occurred, destroying whatever power they had over the city in a matter of months.”
“They seriously wanted to kidnap you?” Rainbow spoke up, surprised and shocked.
Dusk nodded. “Though, I am thankful that they didn’t. If it wasn’t the city that would age against them, it would have been my mother rampaging after them. My father would have, of course, followed—albeit at a safe distance.”
His words, despite the bleak exposition, did gather a laugh out of several ponies. The humor was dark; but Dusk didn’t seem at all offended.
“Throughout my adolescence, I was noted for being not like most foals my age. I had begun talking a the early age of fourteen months, speaking full sentences in only another six months. By the time I was five, I could speak about as eloquently as a third-grader. In school, the teachers were quick to notice my… uniqueness. While other foals were out playing with blocks and cubes, I would sit in the back and read the shelves. Sometimes I would read one full book; other times, two.”
He shook his head ruefully. “It was then that I acquired my first insult. Some foal had decided that I was a good enough victim, and used the oh-so-wonderful term, ‘bookworm,’ in hopes of disheartening me. Naturally, I thanked him.”
He paused, letting the scribe finish writing. A few ponies looked incredulous to what Dusk said, but several were utterly enwrapped in his tale. Their looks made him slightly uncomfortable; though fame was not something he was unfamiliar with, he did not actively seek it out, and often shunned from it when given the chance. Nevertheless, after the scribe had finished, Dusk continued his story.
“Similar tales continued throughout my early years of education. I was the most advanced in my classes, and the teachers dutifully noted this. So much so, that when I was ten, I discovered that the schools of Manehattan could offer little more for me, in terms of educational experience. My teachers, knowing this, surprised my family with a letter of recommendation.” He grinned, reveling in the memory. “Would it be so arrogant as to say I expected this?”
“What did the letter consist of?” Luna asked.
“I was recommended to enroll in a school in Canterlot—specifically, the School of Excellence.” He looked at Twilight, seeing her surprised.
“You went to my sister school?” she asked.
“And a good eight years before you enrolled in Princess Celestia’s School of Gifted Unicorns,” he added. That made her frown, as she realized just how old Dusk was compared to her. Odd how, despite Dusk being twenty-eight, one would think he was about the same age as any of the girls. Perhaps he had some unique physicality that kept him young-looking.
“I spent five years in that school, learning everything I could. In the midsts of my studies, I met four other ponies who would later become my friends. I believe we are acquainted with a few of them?”
“You mean Raven Lock?” Luna asked.
“Correct. But also his late wife, Jade Sonnet.” He glanced upward, sifting through his memories. “She was a lovely mare, with an even lovelier voice. Out of the four of us, she had earned her mark the earliest… what was it; seven years of age?” He shook his head. “She and Raven met through me, and they dated throughout the remainder of their time there. And though I was a cold stallion, a loner, they still warmed up to me, and I to them.”
He purposely did not talk about the fourth pony, choosing instead to elaborate on what he learned in school. The school offered classes to all three kinds of ponies, though several classes had pegasi, unicorns, and earth ponies working together. Dusk attended numerous seminars, and found the art of language to be the most interesting. In between his growing interest in language arts, he learned chemistry, biochemistry, a bit of forensics (which would later be expanded upon when he worked with Raven), as well as other miscellaneous classes. He was among the top of his class.
The scribe worked diligently, carefully writing down everything Dusk said. The scratch of the quill was like music to Dusk’s ears, and he was half tempted to bring out his own quill and start writing. An odd quirk, certainly, but one that Dusk treasured. He made himself wait, though, knowing that now wasn’t the time.
His voice turned from a nostalgic tone to melancholy as he transitioned to his fifth year in Canterlot. “I was the highest scorer in the school, and had already numerous schools and companies asking me to work with them. But I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do after school; a part of me wanted to follow in the footprints of my parents and be a social worker, but I had learned in the past that such a role was not befitting of me.” His unnatural coldness to foreign ponies had met him with severe criticism. “I could not have anticipated how mother and father would lead me down my chosen path.”
Voice pained, he recalled, “I got a letter. It was from one of the largest hospitals in Manehattan. They said…” His voice faltered and he had to look away for a moment, fighting back tears.
Celestia waited for him to recover, not interrupting nor forcing him to continue.
“… Sorry. It’s been… so long since I had to think about that letter. Aevitas. Forever.” He sighed. “It is peculiar how even after all this time, the pain remains…”
He shook his head, focusing his best on that day. “That letter… it concerned the well-being of my parents. Little details were given, but there was a clear message there: they were sick, and they were in the hospital. I talked to my teachers, and they allowed me leave. Raven and Jade also came, having finished their own studies for the year and wanting to support me however they could.
“I arrived at that hospital. Those walls, they were white and pure; but I had a feeling that behind them was the blood of ponies in terrible pain. I remember that the sounds of the hospital became blurred as I was lost in my worrying thoughts. Raven had to guide me to the room where my parents lay.
“They… weren’t well.” Dusk swallowed. “They were skinny, even though they were being fed amply. Their limbs were contorted; bones, morphed; and they were in clear pain. My father could barely look at me without wincing in intense agony.
“The doctors told me that they were suffering from a rare disease. One that Manehattan had not ever encountered in the past. Generally, the disease was found in poorer areas of Equestria, where the risk of infection and gene-related ailments are more common. It was too late to try and treat them; they were dying, and there was no cure.”
“They suffered from the cancerous-thalassemia red blood cells?” Luna asked.
Dusk nodded, his eyes closed and breathing slow. “Had we seen the signs before, maybe ten years ago… they might have survived. A blood transfusion, that late in their lives, would have done nothing.
“My parents, however, decided to impart a few more words to me. My friends had tears in their eyes as Diei and Luxi spoke to me. Father told me that he was sorry he couldn’t see me become the stallion he knew I would become. Mother was sorry that I had to see them like this. But…” He gulped. “They were the most remorseful, when the doctor revealed another result.
“I had the disease. I had the cancer-thalassemia mutagen. I was going to die.”
He opened his eyes, feeling suddenly tired. “The doctors gave me less than ten years. I wouldn’t live to thirty.”
He fell silent, the only sound being the scratch of the quill. Dusk rubbed his satchel, finding some comfort in the material and the weight of his items.
“Their final request for me… was for me to try and help Manehattan any way I could.” His breath caught as he remembered his mother’s pained gasp. “They knew I didn’t have the heart to be a social worker; but they knew I cared. And they only wanted me to try to help those in need.”
He became silent, lost in the pained memory, as the court looked at him in sympathy. It didn’t matter that Dusk was accused of something morbid and macabre; losing one’s parents at a young age was something no one ever wanted on any one else. Even the hardiest of Canterlot’s citizens had the decency to sympathize with the stricken stallion.
After a few seconds passed, Dusk continued his tale.
“I stayed in that hospital for the remainder of the week, my friends also with me. I tried my best to comfort my parents, recalling all the joyful times we had. Fleeting, but still memorable.”
Luna had to ask what they all dreaded. “And… what became of your parents?”
His voice grew small, unconfident, shamed. “They were on life support for a little while. But… I learned that they wouldn’t survive off of it, and they’d be in constant pain. My parents asked me to do what I thought was right. After a week passed…”
A breath hissed through suddenly dry lips. “I… unplugged them from the machines.”
Another silence, even heavier than the ones before. Dusk felt tears gather at the edges of his vision, and he wiped them away, stifling a sniff. Stay strong, Dusk.
Luna spoke up, breaking the silence. She had a stoic expression on, mirrored by her calm voice; but Dusk could tell that there was a sliver of emotion in her gaze. “Dusk, I understand that you are in a deep sense of pain. But I ask that you try your best to continue the story.”
Dusk looked at her, before nodding.
“I left the room in complete shock once the act was done. I slumped against the wall, a hoof covering my face. I hadn’t cried in years; but it seemed that all those held-back tears were finally flooding out. I sat there and cried for nearly an hour. When I was done, I was completely exhausted.
“Jade and Raven walked out, and they were shaky and tearful. They couldn’t look at me, but I could tell that they, too, were just as hurt. I watched them go, numb…”
He stopped, going back over his memory.
“I heard another stallion crying. He was from another room. I wasn’t sure why, but I got up and went over to that room. Was it morbid curiosity? A desire to comfort somepony else? I am not sure. Either way, as I entered, I saw him.
“He was a brown earth pony, about my age. His Cutie Mark was a circle outline with a nine-pronged star in the middle, representing order within a habitat. He glanced at me, rushed over, and gripped me in a tight hug. He was the fourth friend; the one who had left the school a few months back. Family matters, apparently.”
“In that room, I quickly understood what those matters were.”
“A light, blue-grey stallion was on the bed, weak and struggling to breathe. Still, though, his eyes lit up in recognition when he saw me. Even in his waning state, he still had the strength of a thousand ponies in those eyes. His mark was of an upside-down triangle, with a horizontal line running through the middle—a symbol of stability. He was my friend’s father, Atticus Poise—and he, in many ways, was my foster uncle.”
The name sounded familiar to several ponies, though none could pinpoint why.
“He couldn’t talk with the breathing apparatus attached, but with one hoof gently holding his son’s, the message was clear. Just as my friends saw my parents convey their love to me, I saw my friend’s father convey his love to his offspring. I saw their pain and regrets and sorrows. I saw respect, fear, and sadness.
“I learned from my friend that his father was involved in a bad accident. He had pushed another pony out of the way of an incoming, out-of-control trolley that had jumped free of its rails. He had crashed through the window and out the back, knocking out the driver pony as well. The driver had minimal wounds; but Atticus suffered bruises, cuts, broken bones, and trauma to the head and chest.” Dusk clenched his eyes shut. “The state I saw him him—bloody, broken, beaten—was just as bad as seeing my parents in their pain.”
“Atticus moved his lips, and I read them: ‘Save this city.’ His son nodded, before we had to leave for the doctors to treat their patient. Atticus would not survive the rest of the week. My friend made the same decision as I did.”
He sighed. “In that sense, the two of us had bonded more than we had ever had in school. It was a grim bond, born out of tragedy. Yet, we were friends; best friends; nearly brothers, in that regard. And while we did not say too much afterwards, we understood what we wanted to do—and how to fulfill our parents’ wishes.
“At least, we thought we did. Though I am unsure…” he whispered, more to himself. The scribe dutifully wrote that last part down nonetheless.
“Who was this friend?” Luna asked. She had a curious and surprised look, and Dusk guessed she had already figured it out just from the mention of the father. He sighed, knowing that some of the court would not believe him.
“You know him as Mayor Grifford Finch.”
Predictably, the court roared, shocked beyond belief. This accused murderer was friends with the beloved leader of that city? And had known the family for a long time? It was near unthinkable that he would have any sort of connection with the mayor!
“Blasphemous claims!” Blueblood exclaimed.
“I wish it was,” Dusk responded, his voice hard once more. His expression revealed he was not comforted by this fact; rather, he seemed even more perturbed.
With a bang, Celestia managed to dissolve the resulting chaos, assuming an authoritarian tone. “Order! Dusk, this is surprising. Grifford Finch has never mentioned you in any of his writings or speeches, despite you obviously having a close relationship with him.”
“He had reason not to,” Dusk responded evenly.
“Doesn’t that make Grifford a suspect?” one audience member called out.
Dusk turned sharply, glaring at the source. “No! Grifford would never do that! Despite everything—” He cut himself off as the pony shrank back under his gaze. He heaved a sigh. “At least, the Grifford I knew wouldn’t… Nevermind that. Finch and I… we grew farther apart in time.”
“Continue your story.”
“… I made a drastic decision to leave the school. I had experienced enough to graduate two years earlier, but I had stayed to be with my friends. I cut my further studies short, to my eternal chagrin, and traveled back to Manehattan to fulfill my parents’ wishes.
“Raven and Jade remained in the school for a number of years, though we did communicate from time to time. Grifford returned to the city only a year after me, to take care of his father’s ‘business.’” He spat the word like it was a curse, though nopony understood why.
“Three years passed. I had not gotten my mark yet, and my inability to fully realize my parents’ dream was frustrating. Eighteen years old, blank, and unsure what I wanted or needed to do!”
“And you never got your mark?” Luna asked.
To her surprise, Dusk shook his head. “I never said that.”
“But you’re still a blank flank!” Blueblood attested.
Dusk glanced back at his flank, seeing the pewter color still there. He sighed. “So it seems.”
He turned back to face Luna. “Three years I spent, wandering, confused, worried, and angry. I wanted to do something; anything. I remembered my studies back in Canterlot; they primarily focused on writing and the arts. I thought that I should try that. Perhaps some answer would come in the form of the quill.
“And so, I wrote. And I found something truly amazing; the pain of my past was leaving just as the ink became attached to the paper. Each stroke and each letter and each word resulted in less pain and torment. Words became paragraphs; paragraphs became pages; and pages became a novel. I realized that I was happy; I felt productive, energized. As I looked over the manuscript, I realized I could do something with this. I could help my parents in my own way: a creative way, one that I could call my own. One that could help.”
He paused, letting the scribe finish writing before continuing. “I sent that manuscript back to the School of Excellence. It was an essay and a story at the same time. It detailed my thoughts and ideas, my pain, my growth, my epiphanies, the dream of my parents, and what I wished Manehattan to be.”
He closed his eyes. “This is the 1035th age of Equestria, I just realized. It’s been ten years since I wrote that document. Since so many aspiring students gazed upon those words and worked for the betterment of the city.”
He opened his eyes, a soft smile on his face. “I called that manuscript Electiones Faciums—the Essay of Choice.”
He saw Celestia and Luna’s eyes widen in realization. Twilight as well had a look of complete shock. The others were less surprised, more on the line of confused. The jury booth and the rest of the court exchanged murmurs that could only be described as random and disbelieving.
“Y-y-you wrote that?” Twilight stammered. “B-b-but—”
“But it was written by a pony by the name of O.P. Not my initials, I know. But they are for a certain author.”
Slowly, the audience was beginning to understand what he meant. He, however, was not finished; there was still one final detail to establish.
“I met Opacare Prose around the same time I sent that manuscript. He and I were kindred spirits, sharing similar goals. We wanted to better the city, and we realized we could do that through our writing. And so, we worked together, in that sense. We wrote stories and novels and sent them off. Mere weeks later, we got letters of publication. The first story we wrote was published and was a hit with the entirety of Equestria.
“I got my Mark soon after I wrote the Faciums. It was a blue quill, with a black inkwell, highly reminiscent of the tools I had used to write that first tale of splendor. And it was the same as Opacare’s.”
Reaching into his bags as he ignored the growing cries of the crowd, he pulled out the signature items. He placed down a piece of paper and, the quill in hand and dipped in jet-black substance, began to write.
The court let out gasps of awe as they saw Dusk’s flank glow and vibrate, no longer hidden. Several recalled that the Marks of ponies were magical in nature, reacting differently but still arcanely with each pony. The glow was evident of the Mark working its magic; and the sparks that flew from the quill, speedily moving, added to the fact.
“I have a gift for writing,” Dusk said as he wrote. “I always have. It’s the one thing that I knew would give me away, should the opportunity present itself. Which was why I masked the Mark with a special substance—the layman call it Illusionary Mud. I came across it during one of my courses in chemistry, you see. I memorized the formula, and made it so that it wouldn’t easily wash off and could perfectly conceal what I needed to hide.”
With a swipe of his hoof, he wiped the Mud away, but his flank still glowed. “I stand here, accused of killing that stallion. But fate had a different plan. He and I would hide. He would vanish, I would help him; he would be gone, and I would survive. His disappearance was for my survival.
“But I didn’t kill him.”
He knew it was near-unbelievable. Continuing his tale, he elaborated to the actual disappearance:
“We left for the same reason; we needed to hide. Something had come up, something dark, something sinister, and if we were to stay, many ponies would be hurt.” He glanced away. “Jade was the first casualty; Raven the second. We did not know who would be third. Our presence stirred up trouble, and I did not want to cause to anypony’s death through my actions.
“We did the only action we thought we could do, to ensure their safety; we vanished.”
“Prose was the one who vanished,” Luna said.
Dusk looked at her pointedly. “And with Prose’s vanishment, I appeared and disappeared,” he answered vaguely. He glanced around. “I never killed anypony. I never have and never will. That I can absolutely promise. And I know why.”
He finished writing, the sparks falling to the side of the podium, flashing multi-colors brilliantly, like a rainbow of the written art. He held up the paper proudly, letting the awed court gaze upon the words that were written.
“Ego Opacare Prose.”
With those words read, his flank flashed again, blinding the majority of the room for a few seconds. When they could see again, they saw what Dusk had spoken of: a sharp, blue quill pen, crossing in front of a black inkwell, pulsating in the morning’s glow.
“I am Opacare Prose.”
At once the entirety of the court—guards included—erupted. Ponies rose from their seats, some tempted to start cheering, others willing to start throwing. Twilight and her friends did their best to the audience down, but they could not placate themselves. Wide-eyed, they stared at Dusk—Opacare—and saw him as a complete stranger, not the mysterious stallion they had, paradoxically, come to know so well.
The jury was in an equal state of disorder. Blueblood spluttered something incoherent, while Fancy grinned from ear to ear. Most of the nobles shared confused and utterly astonished looks, though some were tempted to start joining in on the cheering.
Irons was the most erratic. He stood, roaring and laughing at the same time, spouting incomprehensible nonsense.
The stallion on the stand knew he had glossed over several details of his story. After a moment of waiting, with the cries eventually waning down as they noticed him standing still, he looked back at Luna. He was surprised to find her with a hoof on her mouth. Glancing up at Celestia, he saw a similarly shocked expression.
“N-n-no w-w-way!” Rainbow stammered, flying over to him. “Y-y-you’re him?!”
He nodded.
“I-I-I don’t believe it! Prove it!”
“And how shall I, Rainbow Dash, the ‘biggest fan of Trent Collins the Human?’”
She blushed. “How did—”
“I did receive your letters from time to time, praising the Trial by Fire series of books. Though, I was quite surprised to hear from a Daring Do fan.” He smirked somewhat. “I didn’t think Miss Dash here liked those children books.”
Rainbow couldn’t tell if she wanted to squeal in delight or punch the stallion for making fun of her. Either way, she flew away back to her stand.
Celestia cleared her throat. “T-this is a rather… interesting turn of events. But… nopony has ever seen Opacare Prose before. And you say you are him…” Glancing at his flank, then at his eyes, she examined every bit of detail he had presented. For a moment, the silence grew enormously, weighing heavily on the shoulders of all who watched.
Then, just as suddenly, Celestia broke into raucous laughter. Luna gave her older sister a confused glance.
“S-sorry,” she apologized, blushing. “It’s just… I never expected this type of outcome ever occurring. Really, I thought Dusk would confess to being the killer.” She looked at the stallion with a sense of awe, and he felt a surge of pride in knowing that he had tricked the Princesses. “Never in my years has a pony gone so far as to craft a new identity to escape his old.”
She frowned. “But that begs the question. Why?”
He looked back at her, his voice as calm as he could muster. “The missing author, found; the stallion, gone. But that wasn’t the end of the tale, now, was it?”
Their attention was entirely transfixed back onto him. Like a true storyteller, he gathered their attention with his words.
“In the time after I became an author, some events transpired that caught my attention. I was asked to return an old favor for an old friend, just a year after my parents’ deaths. That friend, was Grifford Finch.
“He had taken over his father’s ‘business,’ and wanted to know if I was interested in a job. Even though I was a successful author, the job didn’t pay the bills, so I gladly accepted, not knowing what I was getting into.” He sighed. “From an outsider’s perspective, such a business would have seemed benevolent. I myself thought that for the first few years; indeed, it was only until my early-to-mid-twenties that I realized the truth.
“Grifford’s father, Atticus, was part of an organization of ponies operating in Manehattan. They were dedicated to overthrowing the corrupt politicians that had long plagued the city, using every bit of advantage they had. The organization was large and had many members, as well as several positions for delegating what the organization would do.”
“This organization… you speak of it like it was something bad,” noted Luna. “Why is that?”
He sighed again. “It… it wasn’t supposed to be bad, in the beginning, I don’t think. The intentions were pure and clear. But… some things changed.”
He looked at the two Princesses. “Are you aware of the period between AOE 1026 and AOE 1029? Specifically of events that occurred in Manehattan?”
Celestia nodded. “I remember. Historians called it The Great Upheaval. Corrupt politicians were being exposed and quickly being removed from office.”
“It was more than that. It was an entire reform movement that sought to change the very foundations of Manehattan. Ponies had grown to realize just how corrupt the city was; the higher-ups, the rich, the politicians, were all taking advantage of the middle and lower classes. My parents’ nigh impossible work in the slums was evident of this, and there were many more cases of the rich abusing the poor. Rights were obstructed; basic welfare denied. It was truly a dark time.
“But out of that darkness rose what some ponies would call a light, had they been there to see it. From the outside, it looked like the citizens of Manehattan had gotten tired of the politicians of old, and simply overthrew them. But in reality, it was much more complex.
“For years, I would learn, this ‘light’ had been gathering information on these politicians, intending to use it all to completely ruin their reputations and run them out of office. Charges on bribery, blackmail, embezzlement, and some even murder were among the list of grievances. This organization that I speak of was the same one that Atticus Poise was a part of—and the one that his son took charge of.
“It has no official name in the history books. But members call it the Family: a large-scale network of ponies working to rid the city of Manehattan of its corruption and lies.
“And I… I was a member.”
He sounded ashamed, like he was confronted by a grim reality he had never wanted. Intrigued, Princess Luna gestured for him to continue, after letting him take a moment to compose himself.
“Grifford put me in as what was known as a comminator, not to be confused with the word common. In fact, the very nature of that word is the exact opposite of the word it is sometimes mistaken with. Comminatoris were rare to find, I learned, because not all ponies had the stomach to do what they did. Grifford had seen me confront many bullies in the time we had schooled together; and he had seen my anger up close personally, when he had made a callous comment about Jade. He concluded that I had a natural talent for the job, and was not deterred when I told him that I had found my true talent in writing.
“‘You can be a writer and a comminator,’ he had told me.”
“What’s a comminator?” Rainbow interrupted.
“It means intimidator in Latineigh,” Twilight explained, looking at the stallion with more concern.
He continued his story, “At first, I believed him. The Family’s goals mirrored my own to a degree; all we wanted was to save the city, through any means necessary. To that end, we used whatever resources our members offered. Some were great lawyers; others, great investigators. My role was more personal and more hard-hitting, however; and it was not an easy role to fulfill.
“The job of a comminator was to intimidate stubborn, corrupt ponies into giving up their positions. Through methods of fear and/or torture this was done, all in the name of the people.”
“Torture?” Luna questioned, at once alarmed.
“To an extent, yes.” He flinched, recalling a memory. “I… I had to waterboard a particularly stubborn stallion once. I didn’t get too far into the procedure; he relinquished his power after a few splashes. But I was horribly terrified by what I had done.”
“And yet, you kept doing it?” Celestia asked.
He nodded, ashamed. “I thought it was necessary. And I was good at what I did; I rounded up more politicians and corrupt ponies than any other comminator. I didn’t want to let my friend down, either.”
“That is absurd!” a pony cried out from the crowd. “Mayor Grifford Finch would never allow such terrible actions to be taken!”
“The Grifford I knew all those years ago in school certainly wouldn’t. But… his father’s death changed something in him. He became more driven, more angry. He and I went down similar paths, and had both found an alternative. But our perceptions were largely divergent in the end…”
He paused, catching his breath. He had been talking for a long while now.
“My work was well-respected within the Family. When I turned twenty, I was promoted to a new position, one unique only to me. It was called the Comminator Protos: the Prime Intimidator. It was not a position to be taken lightly; with it came the risk of detection, perhaps even elimination.”
He was about to continue, until Celestia stopped him with a questioning hoof. “How did you get away with all your acts without being thrown out?”
“I used the same substance that marked my Mark: the Illusionary Mud. Those times, I produced a larger batch, and made it a different color that would alter my appearance. I could be a brown stallion one day; and a light-blue stallion another. With each mission I was presented, I used a different disguise to be somepony else.” Celestia nodded at his explanation, letting him continue.
“I was the Prime Intimidator for about a year. But it was then that things… changed. I had written several books now—you may know a few of them? X25 was my first delve into the science-fiction genre.” A few murmurs of recognition were heard. “Soon after that story was published, I was called away for another mission of intimidation. I assumed that it wouldn’t be anything too drastic.” He sighed bitterly. “Of course I thought wrong.”
He turned away, seemingly unable to meet the Princesses’ or Twilight’s and her friends’ eyes. “The mission was to enter a home in a small suburb. We had data that suggested that the home in question was the local meeting place of a crooked bank owner who was accused of embezzling thousands of hundreds of bits. Grifford had told me that this mission was among the final steps to getting rid of the corruption in Manehattan, and at the time I had agreed with him.
“So I entered the neighborhood, in the dead of night, disguised as something truly horrifying. The usual methods of the comminators, I was told, had done nothing, so I was tasked with breaking the corrupted pony by any means necessary. I decided to become a creature that would inflict nightmares on even the hardiest of ponies, and so disguised myself as a great demon from Tartarus. I walked up to the house, wearing the horns and covered in red Mud, with special contacts in so that my eyes appeared pupiless.
“I picked open one of the side windows, and slipped inside, thinking that the room would be the stallion I needed to apprehend. Instead, I landed in a place that I never expected to find myself in. I was in what appeared to be a foal’s room, with a nearby crib in the corner and a baby sleeping in it. I was shocked, not expecting to find a child here.
“Yet my luck was not poor enough. There was a slight tap on the door, and the knob turned. Before I could react, a little unicorn filly entered, carrying a glass of water. Even in the darkness, she could see my outline. Her mouth gaped in shock as she dropped the glass. I stared at her, not realizing that my contact lenses were glowing, making me look like a true demon. I had no idea what to do; I had not anticipated meeting a child. I could guess, however, what her reaction would be.”
He clenched his eyes shut. “Her eyes were… wide, scared, terrified, traumatized, as she screamed. Tears gathered in her eyes as she struck high chord, waking up the baby and giving me a headache. The baby began to cry, and I could do nothing by stare, dumbfounded, at the child’s horrific expression. I heard the parents wake up, and rush to their child. I had not moved, so when they saw me there, seemingly glowering menacingly at their child, they, too, felt fear flood their throats.
“I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned so fast that I seemed like a blur, ducking out the window. I could still hear the filly’s sobbing even as I left the neighborhood and returned to the city.
“I had accomplished my mission. The stallion in that home was convinced that he was being targeted, and promptly resigned a few days later. It didn’t help that his daughter was seeking psychological treatment for seeing something truly unearthly. His family no longer encountered ‘the hellish monster from where nightmares originate,’ not necessarily because he was no longer targeted, but because the monster no longer wanted to target anypony.”
His eyes slowly opened, and he gazed sadly at the ground. “That was the final act for me. I no longer wanted to do this any longer. I began to question whether what I did was right. The filly’s face was in my dreams each night, waking me up in the middle of resting, feeling guilty and ashamed. And, as I read story after story, detailing how the filly was in a dire situation, I realized I had had enough. I donated a number of my funds to helping that filly, remaining anonymous. Then I went to confront Grifford.
“He wasn’t happy that I wanted to go. He told me that once I was in, there was no going back. He did feel guilty for unintentionally harming that filly, though he brushed it aside, saying that it was ‘a necessary casualty.” He shook his head. “He spoke of this like it was a war, not a righteous crusade… And it was then I realized I had lost the Grifford Finch I had known.
“Harsh words were exchanged, but I knew I could not leave the Family. Finch probably would not have acted against me initially, but I knew that several members would not hesitate to attack me or my friends.” He looked at Celestia solemnly. “I had to remain there for seven years. It was only this year that I realized I had to do something. If I didn’t, then…” He gulped, unable to finish the phrase, instead moving onto the final part of his tale.
“I didn’t accept any further missions from that point, though I still remained as the Comminator Protus. A year after I became the Prime Intimidator, the Family’s main goal was nearly finished. Offices had been cleared, and old politicians had been thrown out. The next step was finding the right ponies to fill the vacant positions. I had thought that the Family would let the city decide; but I was wrong.
“The Family used its own methods of intimidation, investigation, and pressuring to force the citizens to vote in several Family members.” He shook his head angrily. “They took the right they had promised to give Manehattan—the right to choose their own path—away, forcing them to follow the road that the Family paved! They were no better than the politicians they had fought to remove!
“I tried to confront Grifford about this, but he would have none of it. He told me he would stick by the Family, just like his father had asked him. And then, he said words that I thought he would never say…
“‘It’s what your parents would have wanted.’”
A frigid silence befell the room, and it seemed that every heartbeat could be heard. Dusk’s gaze hardened in absolute disgust. “Grifford Finch had died, replaced with something much worse. And I would have none of that. I couldn’t. I distanced myself as far away as possible from the Family. Soon, as the years went by, my status as the Prime Intimidator was forgotten. I became a whisper in the wind to the Family, a stallion who had seemingly left the Family, yet hadn’t at the same time. I was still under their web of influence; and I would remain there for the next seven years.
“Only this year did I finally do something. I wanted nothing to do with the Family, and I knew that if I left, I would be followed and hounded; perhaps even killed. And if I told anypony else what I knew, the Family would somehow find them; and kill them.” He shivered. “Nevertheless, I had to try. I made preparations. I contacted Raven Lock, and he agreed to help. We made plans. We put them in place. And, with his help, and after so much time spent preparing for the inevitable uproar, Opacare Prose vanished.
“Some said he died. Other said he simply went away for a while. From his ashes, rose the stallion you see here today. Dusk Prosa rose; Opacare Prose fell.”
He sighed. “But, in the end, it didn’t matter how much planning we did. Raven Lock is gone; presumably the Family got to him. And now, the self-fulfilling prophecy I spoke on earlier today has come true.
“The weapon of truth kills him where he stands, rendering him nothing more than a memory. In his wake, the missing author returns, alive, but not well.
“Today is the day that Dusk Prosa dies, and Opacare Prose lives.”
And with that, Dusk Prosa was truly nevermore. All that remained—or perhaps, returned—was Opacare Prose.
He fell silent, his story finally finished. He indicated to Celestia that he was done.
She said nothing in response, staring quietly down at the stallion before her. Never in her years had she witnessed such an amazing spectacle, nor such a rich testimony—no, a life story.
She nodded, turning to the jury.
“With this new information presented, I grant a brief recess for the jury to come to a conclusion,” she said.
The jury members mumbled amongst themselves. The room was silent aside from that, too taken aback by what the stallion on the stand had said to say anything. Then, after what seemed like forever, with enough tension to crush the strongest of mountains lying on top of the room, the jury came to a verdict. Fancy Pants walked up to Celestia with a stoic frown, and whispered their decision in her ear. She nodded.
“This court finds the accused, Dusk Prosa, in regards to his supposed murder of Opacare Prose, as well as the remaining charges against him…”
