In Spirit Golden

by Meridian Prime

Burning Eyes

They came in the night, in the creeping hours before dawn. No sound, no warning—one moment we were safe in our halls, the next our friends and comrades fell on us, only to fall themselves.

We drove off those we could, but I know some still lurk among our number. The formels are jittery as much as they try to hide it. They’re struggling to keep the tiercels in line; they can’t assuage a fear they themselves are so clearly suffering. I cannot say I blame them.

I know not what these creatures are, but their eyes burn with a pale and sickly flame. There is something missing there, a great and awful emptiness that haunts my dreams far more than any battlefield that I have ever known.

— Excerpt from the journals of General Aquilus Featherfall of Griffonstone, circa. 241PC/237MI (Post Condita and Metá Idrysi, respectively old Unicornian and old Pegasic for ‘post-Founding’; the Pegasi Clans took a little longer to join the emergent Equestria than their ground-tethered fellows.)

---

“What is it that you do, Miss Loom?”

The mare blinked at him, feathers rustling slightly, and cocked her head slightly to one side. “Why do you ask?”

He hummed tunelessly, a shoddy accompaniment to the rustle of brush on earth as he deftly etched symbols in the dirt, a smooth line of paint left behind in the grooves. “You mentioned ‘molding’ ponies, before. That strikes me as a somewhat unusual occupation for a textile worker. Almost as much as magical researcher.”

She snorted softly. “You’d be surprised.” Her mouth pulled into a grimace, and she clacked her teeth once, twice, before pulling a hissing breath in between them. “My talent is actually a little more abstract. Seeing how something pulls together, the big picture so to speak. It just so happens that I got it while playing with a dress my mother was tasked with fixing.” She watched him for a moment, as his magic delicately moved the brush through whorls and symbols. “After that, the other foals became so easy to read. Trying to gain attention, to save face, to make friends. Eventually, even the adults were an open book.” She shrugged, the slight smile back on her face. It disturbed him a little how real it looked. “It’s not difficult to make a living in the capital with skills like mine. Smile at the right stallion, go to the right parties…” Gossamer laughed. It rang through the small clearing like the chiming of a bell. “I had them all wrapped around my smallest primary.”

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, diligently continuing his work. They sat overlooking the valley, hidden just out of sight, but afforded a magnificent view of the town below. Curls of smoke trailed off into the pale sky, and a sea of evergreen stretched up into the clouds on the peak opposite. Little dots, barely recognisable as ponies, could be seen drifting between the thatched roofs below. The silence fell around them like an old cloak, broken only by the chirping of birds, and the rustle of the brush.

“What will you do?” she asked abruptly. Solar Swirl glanced over at her, but her gaze was locked on some point in the distance, staring out across the valley. “After we’ve done it.”

He huffed. “If we do it. I’ve known failure in this endeavour one too many times to be quite that confident.” She looked at him now, a faintly annoyed slant to her face. His mouth twitched, the beginnings of a smile forming before he forced it back down. He held up an appeasing hoof. “But, if we do it—well.” The smile this time snuck past his awareness, his face softening as he contemplated the potential of victory. “I’ll go right back to the academy, and rub it in Agister’s stupid face.”

The sun shone down, as Gossamer Loom laughed once more.

---

“Star Swirl please, just come have some food. You haven’t left this room in days.”

Not even a glance. His attention remained fixed on the papers in front of him, the quill held in his magic’s grasp scribbling furiously. “Later. I have to finish this.”

Celestia barely withheld a frustrated whinny. “Why?”

“Because it’s important!” he snapped, finally looking up to glare at the young alicorn, “This magic could be the key to—”

Celestia cut him off, shaking her head. “No, I mean why does this matter to you so much? You are the greatest spellcaster of our age, of any age! It would be one success among hundreds. Why this project?”

Star Swirl’s glare softened a little, his frown turning thoughtful. With a sigh, he set his quill down, and turned to face his visitor fully.

“My cousin,” he said at last, almost reluctantly, “Solar Swirl.”

Celestia blinked. “...You have a cousin?”

Star Swirl stood, pulling at his cloak with an absent agitation. “Yes. Older than me, spent time in the academy before it shut down. A genius, by all accounts. Staggeringly gifted in all aspects of magic.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Sounds a little familiar,” she commented dryly.

The corners of his mouth tugged upwards, but there was no joy in it. “He was renowned as one of the greatest of our age. And then he turned his mind to bond magic.”

Despite herself, Celestia leaned in. “And? What happened?”

“He became a laughing stock. Got in a fight with Archmage Agister, declared that bond magic might hold the key to power undreamed of, and stormed out. Spent the rest of his life delving into its secrets.”

Celestia frowned slightly. “But I’ve never heard of him.”

“Of course not.” Star Swirl’s smile was bitter. “He died in obscurity, his name disgraced.” He laughed slightly, a mirthless sound. “There isn’t even a grave.”