The Sun and the Stars: A Twilestia Prompt Collab

by Fuzzyfurvert

293. The Year of the Bleeding Sun: Despondant by Knight of Cerebus

by Knight of Cerebus

***

Stage Four: Despair

The eighth month of The Year Of Bleeding Sun was famous for its storms. The enchanted volcanic ashes of Widow’s Peak had percolated into the water table by that point, and they turned the monsoons black with their staining. Under the cover of the angry grey clouds, the world became still darker, and the starvation that had been growing across Equestria reached a crisis point. The world was dying, and still Widow’s Peak howled with dark spirits and ethereal lights. It was in the fourth and final week of this eighth month that Her Majesty paid visit to the weather council and taught them a spell that would shape the history of Equestria across the next five hundred years. She taught them to control the sun.

“We all felt sick to our stomach when she arrived,” claims chancellor Cloud Break, “the room smelled like sulphur. She was missing a wing, I know that, but somehow she still flew to us. She was...her mane was on fire, or maybe it was glowing, but either way it was red. She had black bags under her eyes, I think, but her face was hard to see. The eyes were yellow, and there were some sort of marks on her chest and brows. She spoke to us in a rasp, like she was in a wind tunnel, and when she did smoke came from her mouth. She told us “we needed to save Equestria”, and then that “she could not do it herself”. And then she touched one of us with her horn, and it glowed bright red, and then he fell to the ground. It was an hour before he came to. By the time somebody thought to look up, she was already gone.”

Celestia watched the rolling skies. She saw the dark yellows and greys of the fields below her. It was only now, only as she saw the lights of fire and riot from the Crystal Empire and now that Cadance and Luna had stopped coming, that she could see what she had truly done. She had not honored the death of Twilight Sparkle. She had not honored the life of Twilight Sparkle. She had certainly not saved Twilight Sparkle. Only now did she finally realize what the bridges she had burned truly meant. Only now that she was truly watching the wastes did she realize what she’d done.

She knew at last what she needed to do. She closed her eyes, forcing the magic from her horn with grit teeth. Power flew from her body in every direction, and she used it to help however she could to end the wrongs and suffering her life had lead to. Torrents of gold magic broke the black storm clouds. Sweeping serpents of glimmering light snaked into the lifeless crops, raising them again. She shone her horn with the power of light again, and the cities torn apart by starvation and fear stopped in awe. The sun peeked out from behind the retreating wisps of ghastly black, and Celestia settled herself. Things were at last returned to normal. Except that there was no normal left for her. She felt her power ebbing, and she looked at the vault where what remained of the best part of her life lay buried. She looked at the tombs beneath, some full, some empty, all of them marked by carvings from along the mountainside. It felt empty, sick and hollow. She knew it, too, needed to be destroyed. The sounds of happy memories made sick with repetition still echoed from Twilight’s chamber. Celestia gave a smile, for the first time in almost a year. “I love you,” She said, her voice breaking, and then she brought a tendril of white magic down upon the tomb of Widow’s Peak. The mountainside crackled with power, and a landslide of rock fell along the slopes of the stony pinnacle. White fire purged the tortured volcano of its dead. It was not a stolen sun that burned the mountain to the ground, cremated the life and times of the ancient monarch. It came from the core of her being, and Celestia’s heart went with it. The mountain shone with blinding light, and then, in an instant, it was gone.

To her satisfaction, she felt weak. Peace. But she was not done. No others would suffer by her. The sun would rise again. She spread her lone wing, and let her failing magic take her aflight and towards the city she had loved and hated so very much. Celestia took flight, and at last she went home. Her visit to the weather ponies was brief, but meaningful. They would remember that moment for the rest of their lives, and with it they would remember the spell. Only one more place for her to go, and then at last she could be at rest. Luna was not in her bedroom. Rather, she was in her sister’s bedroom. Celestia peaked through the curtains. Philomena was not in her cage. She held to a dark breast, asleep upon an empty bed. The two of them clung together in cold, pulling sheets of another, missing pony to her. And it was then that Celestia realized that grief was not a single loss. She reached out a hoof--it was bent and scarred. She touched her sister--rough and clumsy. She kissed a brow--her lips were ash and lonliness. And yet. And yet. And yet Luna still smiled. She still curled in her sleep, and she still hugged the bird closer to her breast. And, sure enough, the shivering that had tremored through Philomena’s feathers moments before stopped. Because, Celestia realized, the world rippled around her. Her grief was not solitary and she was not alone. It was, of course, too late a realization. Her abuse of her life-blood caught up with her. Weak hooves failed her, and then her sister was rushing to cover all of her vision. She landed with a heavy thud, and then the world was blackness, and all she could hear was the sound of her name echoing.

She woke to blinding light.

Author's Note:

Stage 3 can be found here.

Comments

[Hobbestc]

This series is brutal. Need more.