In Spirit Golden

by Meridian Prime

Too Bright

Solar stepped back, eying the painstakingly traced runes critically. Finally, he gave a satisfied hum, tucking his brush back into his saddlebags with a faint, sparking flourish.

“It’s done.”

Gossamer jerked up, head whipping away from the book she had been immersed in for the last half hour. “Truly?” she breathed, a crooked and startlingly real grin stretching over her features. Snapping her book shut, she trotted over, neck craning eagerly as she surveyed his hornwork. “The alignment there is… no no, it’s right…” Her grin widened as her eyes roamed the small clearing. “I think you’ve got it.”

He scoffed. “Do you think me an amateur? Of course I have. I’m no second year apprentice, to foul up something as simple as ritual frameworks. Have a little faith.”

She chuckled, eyeing him teasingly, fondly. “Ahhh, of course. My mistake.” He coloured slightly, her teasing grin only growing. “Well then, oh grand sorcerer—what now?”

Ignoring the discomfiting heat in his cheeks, Solar Swirl straightened. “Now? Now, we wait.”

---

Late that night, in the darkness on the edge of town, the ritual began.

They did not speak as they readied to cast the activating spell. There were simply no words that needed speaking. Solar Swirl looked out upon the array that might help him complete his life’s work, and locked eyes with the mare that sat at its centre. Then he lit his horn, and cast.

The ground lit up, symbols gleaming with silvery light, and Gossamer instantly stiffened, eyes staring up and out into the darkness.

“Oh,” she said softly.

“What?” he asked urgently, “What is it?”

She smiled a strange, lopsided smile. “I can touch it now,” she exhaled, “I can feel it.”

“Show me!” he demanded, eyes darting around, as if he could somehow catch the magic in the air. Then, suddenly, he could. He barely noticed as the air left his lungs.

All around them, stretching through the air and on into the horizon, glowing threads of golden light filled the sky. It was as if the stars had thrown out ropes of brilliant light at each other, and down towards the earth. Following the threads down, his jaw dropped.

The small town, dark and empty but a moment ago, was lit up even brighter than the heavens. Ropes threaded from house to house, and in each dwelling a golden, shimmering ball of light—he looked down. His body shone.

“Oh Elysium,” he whispered, a feeling he did not recognise stirring in his chest. He thought it might be reverence. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yes,” he turned, blinking in surprise at the faint voice from behind him. He’d almost forgotten about his companion, but there she stood, barely visible through the golden glow, threads of light emanating outwards just like him, just like everypony. “It really is, isn’t it,” she said absently. Through the blinding glow, he could just about make out her face, her eyes locked on the threads.

Her lip curled.

She reached out a hoof to one of the threads, and pulled.

He blinked, gaping, as with a firm tug the golden light went taut—and then snapped.

“W-what are you doing!?” he cried out, leaping towards her—but he stumbled as he hit the edge of the still active array, the barrier spell he had weaved in to prevent accidental error stopping him short. He watched in disbelief, and then horror, as one by one the golden threads connected to her silently vanished—and the shining light of her soul grew dimmer and smaller. Finally, without the slightest sound, the last one dissipated into the cool night air, and Gossamer stood alone.

The self-inflicted damage had not been kind to her. Her unnatural beauty was gone, gleaming coat now a dirty grey, wispy blue hair turned a stringy unhealthy looking green. And yet he could make out easily, in the dull shine of her broken soul, a broad, beaming smile.

Gossamer Loom had almost never stopped smiling over the last few days. For all that, he had never seen her look so happy.

“I’m free,” she breathed, eyes wide. She chuckled a disbelieving laugh.

“Why?” he whispered. He stood rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away from the awful sight in front of him.

She smiled. “I can understand it now. I can control it. And I want no part of it.” And with a terrible wrench, she pulled the light from out of her soul.

She screamed. For a moment he could barely look at her, the once comforting glow now the dying, desperate burn of a supernova. And then, all of a sudden, it was gone, and the sheer wrongness of it brought Solar Swirl to his knees.

The world twisted around her. All around him he could see the glorious golden light, but in her was only absence, and it burned. His mind screamed at him to run, to get away, away from this abomination that used to be a mare, but his limbs locked in place, his breath tightening in his chest. It was as if something was sapping the very strength from his bones, the light from his soul—and horror filled his veins, as he realised that his light was growing dimmer. A pulsing, cancerous thread, flowing from him and out into the void ahead. And then the runes of the array sputtered out, the lights all disappeared, and he collapsed to the ground.

“Well now. I wonder what I should do first.” The words came to him as if from afar, his head swimming, his body numb. “I suppose I’ll start with this town. Oh, but don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten about you, my dear partner.”

Distantly, he saw Gossamer approach—she looked withered, pockmarked and burnt, fur gone and skin black. Her smile was all teeth. Her face lowered to his own, and he knew no more.

---

Harpers Ridge no longer exists. There is little trace of what was once a small but relatively prosperous mining town in the north-west of Equestria. An abnormally large clearing lies hidden among the pines, only the occasional glint of metal hinting at old structures, buried by time and nature. Faint patches of discoloured, rainbow stained earth are the only remnant of the ethereal cloud homes of long-dead pegasi.

Like many other settlements that existed in the post-Founding, pre-Discordian era, little historical records remain. A census here, a casual reference in ancient and crumbling court documents there…

But there are two things that set this otherwise indistinguishable settlement apart from the many others abandoned during Discord’s reign. Two specific issues that scholars have pondered and argued over for centuries.

Firstly, in the last great census before the rise of Discord and the fall of the First Equestrian Republic, there is no mention of Harpers Ridge. While its history can be clearly traced back for nearly forty years in various documents and logs that survive, for no discernable reason this nondescript little town disappeared a full two years before its many contemporaries began to fall.

The second issue is a little more controversial. Many scholars are loathe to recognise it—after all, unquantifiable things are often disdained by the more academically minded. Still, it cannot be denied. No traces of magic remain, no mysterious curse prevails—and yet every single account of visitors to the onetime site of Harpers Ridge tells the same story.

That to walk through that clearing, is to walk with despair.

Author's Note:

I spent a long time messing about with the placement of bits and bobs with this story, and I'm not entirely sure how happy I am with the final result, but I think I needed to get it out there.

I would greatly appreciate any feedback you can give.

Also, as always, have the song I based it off of. Fair warning, there will be some tonal dissonance here:

Comments

[Lainofthewired]

That was a fun read

[____]

excellent work! such a tragic end for poor solar swirl