PaP: Bedtime Stories

by Starscribe

Saving Time

Across all her many years, Archive met many refugees she helped cope with their new lives. But alicorns were still just individuals, however powerful they might be. Her guidebook had already been completed, and the spell cast to send the many copies of it forward.

Even though she couldn’t care for everyone, there were some lives Archive simply could not leave to the indeterminate whims of time. She built a house, kept it the way she remembered it, and that worked pretty good in the end.

But there was one man she knew wouldn’t be coming back there, because he had already died. During the vast gulf of time between the Event and Archive’s ascent, her father had arrived, lived out his days, and died. The Archive found his memory in her mind, just as she had the memories of so many others.
This knowledge left her conflicted. In some ways it was a relief—her father had abandoned their family during her adolescence, and left her poor mother to take care of Alex and her two siblings on her own. But at the same time she remembered the man he’d been before that, and so she could not decide.

Archive was a powerful Alicorn now, with even more powerful friends. She was at that moment waging a war of emancipation across the globe, destroying the folk-religions that had proclaimed all refugees to be the cause of all misfortune, and freeing the captives. But she couldn’t quite devote all her attention to that, not with him in the back of her mind.

So she found Oracle, the first male Alicorn in all the world. He reacted to her arrival with his usual resentment, grumbling about having more important places to be.

“I need to pull someone out of time,” Archive explained, when she’d finally settled him down and assured him that she would not need to view the future today.

Oracle dropped his tea, and the liquid spread slowly away from him along the floor of Alex’s sitting room. Like all the floors in her great castle, it was metal, and she didn’t worry about cleaning it. “You need to… what?”

“You heard me. I need to pull someone out of time.” Her horn lit up, and she levitated over a large printed sheet with all of the information Oracle would need to tie a sympathetic connection to her father. “You will probably need me to be here for the spell. I’m his offspring, so that’s an intimate connection you can—”

“No,” Oracle levitated the sheet back. “Impossible.” He raised his voice, cutting her off. “I’m not being metaphorical here, Archive. I’m not some starship engineer. When I say it’s impossible, I mean impossible.” His horn glowed, and the whole world was swallowed in a dark illusion. Archive saw as few ponies could comprehend—though time was not her area of power, her mind could at least see what might drive lesser ponies insane.

“There is not some infinite series of parallel worlds for me to take what I will. There is one universe.”

“I know that!” she insisted, glowering at him. She couldn’t help but feel a little self-conscious to be asking for something so selfish. But maybe he hadn’t noticed that. “I’m not asking you to undo a whole civilization. Just… whip out that time machine, take us to eighty-eight, and let’s bring a pony back with us.”

The illusion around them showed the room they were sitting in, as an infinite series of undulating cross-sections. Archive suspected that Oracle’s perception of time was more advanced, that he didn’t have to represent the higher-dimensional space in three. But she’d never know for sure. Time magic was out of her reach.

“Across an infinite time horizon, even the infinitesimally small aspects of the universe have an impact on all other events. This pony… whoever he was… he had his life. He touched the ones around him, whenever he ended up. Taking him would mean stealing those experiences. Friendships, lovers… children, maybe. Erased.”

Again Archive opened her mouth to argue, and again Oracle cut her off. “And then those people, they went on to have an impact on many other lives. Looks like over two thousand years ago… you know how many generations that is? How many ponies can connect back to this one?” He smacked one hoof on the tea-table. As he did so, his broken glass lifted from where it had fallen, and the liquid poured back inside. Steam began to rise from it again, and Oracle returned it to his magic.

“Two thousand years equals all of them. That’s more parents than there are ponies living right now. Taking even one pony out of the timeline is impossible. The paradox that would create projects such vast energies forward that they cannot be overcome—the universe protects itself. I couldn’t save this pony for you even if this wasn’t an entirely self-interested mission. If he was our only hope against Charybdis, I couldn’t save him. And we both know he isn’t.”

Archive wanted to argue. But Oracle was right.

“You’ve already got so much more than the other refugees, Archive. You have a family member. How many have that chance? Be content that you at least have the power to know that information.” He nodded down towards the sheet in front of him. “I know your powers. You remember him. What more do you want?”

She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. She shook her head once, trying to clear it. “So… maybe creating a giant paradox that rips the universe apart wouldn’t be a good idea. What about something simpler. Could we… find an exact year, an exact place? And could you send me back?”

This time she could read Oracle’s face. He didn’t even have to open his mouth for Archive to know the answer. “Lots of things could happen, Archive. Whether they are wise… I am less convinced.”

It was just a matter of bargaining after that.

“But you know this is unfair,” Oracle finished, once they had finished making arrangements. “Using Imperium for personal satisfaction. I guess it wouldn’t be the first time…”

“For any of us,” Archive whispered. “But no, you’re right. About everything.” She rose to her hooves, vanishing away the lunch arrangements with a brief flash of magic. “You’re new at this, Oracle. I’m not. I’ve been helping other ponies for so long that I’ve seen whole civilizations rise and fall. Every now and then, we get to help ourselves.”

Travel through time was a terribly costly spell, and the ingredients to cast it had to be indirectly created through careful magic over decades. But eventually the task was done, and it came time for Archive to collect on her spell.

She had other preparations made by then, of course. An illusion that would make her look like a nameless fictional unicorn version of herself, so that she wouldn’t attract suspicion if anyone saw her. Lots of research to make sure that she wouldn’t be interacting with anyone of historical consequence. Other than her own body and a watch she’d bought off a refugee, she would bring nothing back with her. Even the smallest object might be some kind of anachronism.

“I’ve had an awful lot of time to think about this,” Archive said, shifting uncomfortably on her hooves and looking up at Oracle. Unicorns were shorter than Alicorns. “If I can’t bring him back with me, then… why can I do anything at all? The logic you used when we spoke about this last time, wouldn’t that prevent any kind of time travel ever?”

It was just the two of them, together in an ancient monument high in the hills. There was already an opening here, a portal. Currently it had no end, but it would soon.

The moon shone bright overhead, so bright that she needed no spells to help her see in the gloom. Though the objects of spellcraft scattered around the circle of standing stones did not make any sense to her, so it wasn’t like she needed to see them.

“You wouldn’t understand,” Oracle said. “If you make me explain, I will tell you why and you will be dissatisfied.”

“Tell me anyway,” Archive said.

“Because the only events you can cause while traveling through time are the ones that have already happened. They were always part of the timeline. In a way, that makes them inevitable. And if you think that proves there’s no such thing as free will, and that even the greatest minds are deterministic, then you know why I sleep so poorly.”

Maybe on another day that kind of question would’ve given Archive some serious pause. But she’d come for another reason today, and her mind spun with it. “So when I asked you to do this for me, you looked back through time and saw I already had,” Archive supplied. “But didn’t there still have to be an original timeline where I—”

“Stop,” Oracle barked. “You want a spell, or do you want to debate the existential questions inspired by it?” He didn’t wait for her answer. “I have questions too, Archive. Like, I’d love to know why you didn’t use your magic to do this. Can’t you call on the memories of dead humans? And this pony… he’s a dead human.”

“Because…” Archive hadn’t expected that question. “That isn’t the same as talking to the real thing.” She gestured impatiently towards the portal. “Go on, Oracle. I’m tired of waiting. You have centuries to lecture me when it’s over.”

"Then listen carefully," Oracle said, his voice suddenly commanding. "You have until sunset for your vanity project. Don't try to circumvent my spell, it won't work. I already know what you'll do."

And just like that, she was there. There was no transition, exactly—none she could perceive. Lonely Day was not gifted with perception of time, and hadn’t ever been able to make sense of it even with sincere attempts to study.

She found herself on a dirt road, one she recognized from her study of the geography and what she had gleaned from memories of others who had lived here. She found a farmer rolling a cart of unhusked corn down the road, and waved him down as politely as she could. With his directions, she was able to find the right road, the one that would take her to the tavern that was her destination.

“But I wouldn’t go there, young miss,” said the elderly stallion, adjusting his massive sombrero to better hide form the sun. “It’s not a place for a pony like you. Rough folk go there, maybe not so kind to young mares. If you go North for a little way, you’ll reach Smithfield. Much more respectable folk, if you catch my meaning.”

If it hadn’t been for the ancient accents, the old wooden carts, she might’ve thought she’d only been sent through space. But she could still feel the light touch of a spell all around her, so subtle that it was never quite within reach. It probably would’ve been screamingly Obvious to Oracle, but he hadn’t come along. He wouldn’t need to. When sunset came, the spell would end, and that would be that.

Rather than walk the rest of the way, Day teleported in short jumps, crossing miles in an instant until she reached the crossroads where the one she had come to see had spent much of his later life. At least from what she’d seen—she hadn’t tried to find his memories. Except for his face.

The Rusty Flagon had a huge metal cup welded together on top, probably made of an ancient pre-event corn silo. The squat building was much of what she’d imagined—dirty, bleak, and surrounded with burly stallions and the sort of mares you paid by the hour.

She approached with confidence, ignoring their stares, though there was some distant part of her that still wished for some human clothing. Particularly around people like this, who reminded her so much of the advantages of modesty. But this was the wrong time for clothes, and the wrong place. They only wore hats in summer here, except for the working women.

“Well look at that,” called an earth pony stallion with a pile of cones as his cutie mark. “Fresh blood. Somepony’s lost, eh boys? I think I should show her around.”

“I think you’ll forget about me,” Day muttered, her horn glowing faintly. And just like that, they did. She shuddered to think what these ponies might do to any other girls who came this way—but hopefully they would get good advice and stay away. She couldn’t kill ponies here, any more than she could save them.

To her surprise, the matron inside was a sturdy unicorn mare, with bright red mane puffed high above her head and a horn that looked like it had been bruised and mended so many times it was almost as crooked as a changeling’s. She levitated a cigarette down into an ashtray, then looked up as she entered. “You’re lost, kid. Best get more lost before somepony notices.”

Do I really stand out that much? Day liked to think she knew ponies and humans pretty well, but she hadn’t anticipated this. “I’m not worried about them,” she said, though there was no spell this time. “I’m looking for a pony. It’s…” there he was, in a back table by himself surrounded by a mountain of empty flagons. “Him.”

The matron followed her gaze, then sighed sadly. “Not much I can do for you there, filly. Or him. Whatever he owes you, you’re not going to get it. Just do yourself a favor and let him drink in peace.”

“If I could…” Day muttered. “I won’t hurt him physically, I promise. And I’m not interested in money.”

“Let me see into your saddlebag…” demanded the innkeeper, stepping out from around the bar. There was no trace of shame in the request, or even an apologetic look.

“I’m not here to kill him,” Day levitated the bag open, showing her its contents. Not poisoned blades, not much of anything really. She carried them because it would’ve seemed even more suspicious to those on the road if she didn’t have possession’s while she traveled. “And besides, I can see you’ve used your horn a time or two. You can’t hang a unicorn’s weapons on a peg.”

She chuckled dryly. “Some have tried. Fine, fine. Waste your time if you want to. But you should know that Solomon was a friend of mine, once. I won’t abide you killing what’s left of him.” She tapped her horn with one hoof, as meaningful a gesture as brandishing a gun. “I don’t know how sent you, but you should know the flagon is neutral ground. No violence in my shop—none.”

She walked past the innkeeper, headed over to the table. Then she levitated every single empty glass out of the way, stacking them neatly on a nearby table so the matron could collect them. More importantly, they were out of her way. Too bad she couldn’t do anything for the smell.

“Hey dad.”

The pony was a unicorn too, as it happened. Soft green like she usually, but with a brilliantly orange mane. In the way of ponies he didn’t look to be even to middle age yet—but in many other ways, he looked worn and ragged. His mane was patchy, his coat unhealthy and unbrushed. His horn had gotten some kind of oil on it, and he hadn’t cleaned it off. And the smell… of all the spells to invent, why had nobody ever come up with one for BO?

“You know I built this town?” said the stallion, the worlds fumbling and merging together in a crude drunken slur. It wasn’t even mid afternoon yet. “I feed them. The irrigation… I designed all of it.” He lifted the last of the flagons—the one that still had some liquid in it and thrust it towards her. The alcohol inside might’ve smelled good, under different circumstances. The flagon at least knew how to brew. But smelling so much of it here, Day couldn’t enjoy the craft.

“Yes,” she said. “It’s quite impressive.” She didn’t listen to him much for the next few seconds, just hearing that familiar voice. It had been so long since last she’d heard it, that it was only a distant blur in her memory. But not an entirely unpleasant one. The man who she’d known so long ago had been a better one.

“I’m sorry,” she said, after a few seconds. “But I can’t talk to you like this.” Her horn glowed, and a second later so did the flagon in front of her. Bubbles fizzed off the liquid, frothing over the side for a few seconds. Then it settled down, and the liquid inside went clear. She pushed it over to him another second later. “Go on, here. You missed one.”

The stallion took one glance at the offered flagon, and didn’t seem to notice anything strange with it. The barkeep did, and Alex could feel her eyes on them. But she didn’t care if they were being watched anymore. She didn’t actually interfere, just made a meaningful gesture. But Alex wasn’t worried—she wasn’t here to attack one of the barkeep’s best customers.

The stallion coughed once, his eyes narrowing. “This isn’t no…” he trailed off, blinked once, and burped loudly. Alex’s nose wrinkled at the smell, but it didn’t last long.

The Stallion’s eyes lost their gazed expression, he stopped slouching in his chair, and seemed to see her for the first time. “What…” he dropped the flagon on the table. “Where am I?” He looked down at the cup, and its perfectly clear contents. “What is this? Who are you?”

“Aqua Regia,” she said, nodding towards the flagon. “Alchemists call it the universal mercury, or they will. Once they discover it.” She kept her voice down, still avoiding his eyes. There would be no counting on his drunkenness to hide obvious details from him now.

“Whatever it is…” the stallion lifted the flagon, taking another sip. “I must owe you a great deal for it. I can’t believe it. I haven’t felt this good since I was a child.” He set the empty flagon down beside her, grinning from ear to ear. In its way, that hurt more than just seeing his pain. “What kind of drug is it?”

“It isn’t,” Alex answered, raising a hoof. In all the years of her long life, the signs of the bar-patron had never changed. Her father’s energy had ensured that they were attracting a lot of attention now—several patrons were eyeing their corner now, apparently drawn by the stallion’s unusually loud speaking voice. “It’s medicine, a cure. Well… more like a treatment.”

“For pain?” asked the stallion. He turned over the flagon, draining the last few drops. “It works fantastically well. I don’t feel anything from my back anymore, or my chest, or… it’s so quiet.” He looked like he was about to cry. Seeing it almost made Alex break down too.

“This mare bothering you, Sol?” The innkeeper asked, balancing her tray carefully on her back. There were two flagons on it, both apparently filled with ale. “You want I should send her off.”

“God no, Ivy. I didn’t know you’d hired a doctor, but I’ve never met an animal better in this wasteland you call a world. Whatever medicine she gave me, it’s even better than what they did for me back on Earth. Give her anything she wants.”

“Really?” Ivy, apparently, set the flagons down on the table between them. “You don’t sound… you sound yourself again, Sol. I think I’d like to see this medicine.” She eyed Alex’s saddlebags meaningfully.

Alex didn’t hesitate, pointing her horn straight for both glasses and concentrating again. An incredibly complex spell—it had taken months to master the first time. But now it was second-nature. With full glasses, Ivy and Solomon both recoiled as they began to froth and boil. A foul-smelling odor emanated from them as the numerous impurities boiled off. Then they settled down, becoming totally clear.

Solomon reached for the nearest of the flaggons, but Ivy stopped him with a hoof. “Wait, Sol.” Her eyes were still watching Alex, full of suspicion. “I want her to drink first.” She levitated Sol’s glass towards her. “From yours.” Her horn glowed a little brighter, and a knife lifted right out of her belt, stabbing the table near her. “I insist.”

“There’s no need for that, Ivy,” Solomon said, her voice pleading. “Please. She’s already helped me.”

“You’re not yourself, Sol,” Ivy said. “I’ve kept you alive this long, old man. Trust me on this.”

Alex levitated the flagon to her lips and took a long draft, pouring in the air so Ivy would see. Aqua Regia burned as it went down, even when it had nothing to heal. But even so, she felts its effects. The tiredness of her hike vanished, even the smell of road-sweat vanished from her coat. She started sweating ozone for a few seconds instead, then nothing. She set the glass down, a third drained. “Like that?”

Solomon reached eagerly for the other glass, and Ivy stopped him again. “Wait. See if anything happens to her.”

“Nothing will,” Alex sat back, entirely relaxed. “It’s not to hurt the man, Ivy. I would never do harm to him.”

“She’s a doctor,” Solomon provided, helpfully. “They take an oath not to hurt anyone, you know. The Hippocratic.”

Ivy shook her head. “Not so. I watched her come in, Sol. She picked up the wrong kind of attention, and blasted them with dark magic so fast they didn’t even blink. Just turned and left her alone like she wasn’t even there. Ain’t no trusting yourself around a pony like that, nor anyone else.”

“Then trust this,” Alex turned her head, glaring at the innkeeper. “This man is Solomon Haggard—my father. I have very little time here, and if you waste any more of it, I’ll…” she trailed off. What would she do? Hurt a pony who had only been trying to protect this sad, wrung-out version of a man she’d once respected? No. She couldn’t do that. “be upset.” She finished lamely.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Ivy took a step back, glancing between the two of them several times. “Wouldn’t you know it. I didn’t know you had a daughter, Sol! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Solomon’s expression no longer seemed boiling over with excitement and relief, however. He’d frozen still, the flagon of Azoth in one hoof and his eyes never leaving Alex’s face. Maybe he was seeing the same family resemblance she was. “It was… a long time ago,” he said. “You know… the Event. No one gets their family back. There’s… all those years to cross.” His eyes no longer moved to Alex, gliding around her more than focusing on her. “I must be a lucky man.”

Alex could hear it in his voice—he was on the edge of tears. She couldn’t hear that sound without crying too, but she tried to block it out.

“I’ll leave you,” Ivy said. “But on your way out, miss…”

“Alex,” she supplied.

“Right. I want a word, miss Alex. About your father’s accommodations.” She left.

But that had only confused the poor man. “Alex,” he said, glancing briefly down at her flank, her side. Sniffing the air. “Not Elizabeth?”

“Nope,” she grinned sheepishly. But this wasn’t nearly as embarrassing as it had been with her mother. That was a mare she respected, this… well, he was more like the memory of someone like that. “The Event changes all of us. Some more than others, some less. For us… well, we have a lot in common. The spell doesn’t actually do that—it’s simple coincidence. But it’s true.”

“Us…” he repeated, staring down at the drink, obviously wanting more of it. How much pain are you in that a pint wasn’t enough? “Your mother? She’s alive too? After all this time…”

“Yes,” she said. “And no. She wasn’t yet, not now. I wasn’t either. I got murdered by a sea monster maybe… five hundred years ago? Something like that. But I’ll be back soon.”

“That made no sense,” Solomon said, and there was something like a familiar smile on his face. “You aren’t dead, unless… unless I am. And you’ve come to take me to heaven.”

“Nope,” she said. “But it’s closer to that than you think. Remember Back to the Future?”

“You built a time machine?” Now he sounded doubtful. “What instrument did you play in high school?”

“None,” she responded instantly. “I took piano lessons when I was in kindergarten but I quit after a few months. I never even had one recital.”

Solomon’s eyes got wider. “It really is you.”

She nodded. There was some crying then, some things Alex hadn’t ever expected to see or hear again. She found herself forgetting the broken man she’d seen only a few minutes before. This was a memory of something better, all over again. This was her purpose as Archive, boiled down into a single person’s life.

The only difference was that the Event hadn’t been the thing to ruin Solomon’s life. He’d done that all by himself.

“Time travel, huh?” He asked, as soon as all the tears were over. “You’re from the future. Which means… the Event didn’t let us see each other. I’m going to… spend the rest of my life here, never see my family again.”

You didn’t see us when you were alive, she thought bitterly, but didn’t actually say. She had so little time left now, a few hours at most. She wouldn’t waste them with spite, even if the things she might’ve said were all true. She nodded gravely. “Except maybe my little brother. I haven’t found him yet, so it’s possible you do. But… I wouldn’t count on it.”

“Then let me come with you,” he said. “Wherever you’ve stashed this Delorean, there’s got to be an extra seat. I’m sure the future needs a public planner, an electrical engineer, or a chemist. These primitives are so backward I’ve heard them talk about burning people who don’t speak their new bastardized language. Maybe they’ve already started doing it in other places.”

She could feel the tears streaming from her eyes. “I tried,” she said, voice desperate. “It isn’t a machine, it was… like a demigod of time, if you like. I can’t tell you much about him. But he won’t let me bring you back. When sunset comes… I’ll get sucked back to the present—my present, anyway. And I won’t be able to bring anything with me.”

“Oh.” He settled back against his chair, and she could practically see the weight crushing down on him. All the time you could’ve spent with us, everything you could’ve done—and now is when it hurts you. “Magic sure is unfair, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “In more ways than you know.” She pushed the glass towards him. “Please, go ahead. Nothing to be ashamed of in drinking this.”

“In front of you? My own… well, daughter?”

She nodded. “It’s not a drug, not a drink, it’s an alchemical curative. Think of it like… a healing potion. One that won’t be invented for… I honestly have no idea. Someone came up with it while I was dead.”

That was all the leave he needed, because he started drinking again. And with each sip, she could see the curative working. Fur growing back, mane regaining some of its luster. One foreleg held at a bit of a limp straightening out. You’re like… a festering pile of disease. How much do you need?

Another two pints, as it happened. The body knew when to reject the stuff—it would start burning then, filling the air with the same ozone smell that she’d experienced. It wouldn’t hurt if you kept going, but it would waste something incredibly valuable. “And anyone can just make that?” he asked, his voice sounding even stronger than before. “Just point your horn, and…”

“Unfortunately not,” she said, cutting him off. “The process is so complex I’d run out of time just explaining it to you. Most of the potion produced in my time is made alchemically—the process is extremely expensive and the machines to make it don’t now exist. But there are few imperial spellcasters who can do it. Mythic Rune, obviously. Isaac. Sunset… maybe two others.”

“I have no idea what that means,” Solomon said. “But it sounds like… sounds like you really went places in the world, if in the future you’re traveling through time to give me some medicine. I can’t tell you how different I feel. I won’t need to drink again after this, Alex. It was only for the pain… and I don’t feel any pain.”

When have I heard that before? But she wanted to believe it anyway, even if she knew it couldn’t be true. It never had been in the past, anyway. Somehow he always ended up in a place like this, with his life ruined. And this time he wouldn’t have any old friends or family to rely on. “I guess so,” Alex said. “I’m… it doesn’t matter. I just want to help you. I won’t get another chance to do this, so… anything I can tell you, I will.”

“What happened to civilization?” Solomon asked. “All the people… everyone here has their own stories. But I don’t believe what they say. It couldn’t be true. God wouldn’t let it happen.”

Alex shrugged. “I can’t speak for God, we don’t talk much. But I can tell you…” and she did. She didn’t have a memory crystal, so she couldn’t show him. But she could explain things simple enough. “I used to have a library, you could’ve gone there to read about it. But it’s all ashes now. That city burned down after I left it.”

“So it isn’t true what some of them are saying, about us… a story is going around now, about how we left-behinders are like… little gods, fallen and cast out after a war in heaven. There are some preaching about what should be done with us. But most of the older generation doesn’t listen closely to what they say. But I worry about how things might be like for someone who shows up fifty years from now.”

“You’re right to worry,” she said. But how much could she say? Oracle hadn’t been specific about that. Now that she thought about it, she found the lack of restrictions rather… strange. He’d been so precise about everything else. Cut down every solution she could think of to bring her father forward. Shot down stasis spells, and teleports, and wormholes, and everything else. So why not restrict what she could tell him? “If you ever move from here, you shouldn’t tell them what you are. The safest thing for you to be is uninteresting. All their tests to identify you are lies, so don’t be afraid. Just lie better than they do. You should be good at that.”

They spoke for a few hours—about all the things Solomon had accomplished here. He repeated the same story Ivy had given her, about how he had been the one to set up the irrigation, and he was the reason that the struggling farmers now had enough food for everypony. She told him as much as she could about the Event, and the things she remembered about this period. But compared to any other slice of time, there was so little. She hadn’t been alive to remember this, so she had only what she’d picked up from other survivors since.

She gave him the best advice she could, told him where he could expect the nation to start from again, and everything else she’d rehearsed. It was the best toolbox she could construct under short notice, given she wasn’t allowed to bring anything with her.

“And you’re sure you can’t explain how you made that drink?” he asked, gazing again at the glass of aqua regia. It wasn’t quite empty, there was still a nice residue on the bottom. But he couldn’t drink more than his fill, that just wasn’t how it worked. “Even if I don’t understand now, it’s possible I would later. If I could find my way to this Alexandria… there may be some there who still understand. Some… scholars hiding out in the ruins, maybe.”

“I… fine.” She pointed her horn at the table, and it flashed briefly. There was a little puff of smoke, and the alchemical state-diagram appeared there, burned into the wood. She had to memorize the whole thing to cast the spell anyway, so it wasn’t as though it were that hard for her. “Here. This is… all sixteen transitions. This will work with a grain alcohol. If you start with distilled ethanol, you can cut out the first three steps.” Ivy wasn’t watching, or else she probably would’ve been furious about the damaged table.

“I don’t know what this is…” Solomon said. “But… I’ll figure it out. I’ll have time, you said. Ponies really do live as long as they say.”

“They can live a lot longer…” she said, her voice becoming pained. “As long as they want, if they’re up for it. But that one’s even harder to explain…”

“You don’t have to,” he raised a hoof. “I don’t think you would’ve come back here to visit me if I was someone like that. Then I’d be alive in your present. We probably would have met a lot sooner, once you… come back to life? I still don’t understand that either.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she said. She nodded all the same. “If you’re… still around, I never found you. But I don’t actually know much about your death, I was afraid to look. But… most unicorns don’t do more than two hundred, maybe three hundred if they’re magical masters. That’s long enough to meet me, but… it would be a helluva trip. Also, I’d be a pretty scared kid when you found me. Right after I came back to life, banished to… well, I already told you enough. I really don’t suggest going there right now, and you’ll have to wait about two centuries before that changes.”

“I can feel it,” he said, his voice low. He stared down at the table, running one hoof along the burn marks she’d made. “I’m not going to be here in two centuries. Even if I could… most people just aren’t meant to last that long. That’s not what God had in mind for us. I haven’t lived… the sort of life that meant I got to be with my family. Maybe if I’d done things differently I’d be with you, your mother… and maybe Elizabeth and Peter too? In the future?”

She nodded. “There’s… some truth to that. The way you treated us… I know the others haven’t forgiven you. I wasn’t sure I would. But I’ve had a long time to think about it. I had to come back here, had to meet you again.” She lowered her head, swallowing. She tried to will her emotions into silence, and it mostly worked. “I can’t help every human who returns. We all come back the same way—lonely, confused, maybe not even speaking the language. But where I couldn’t visit all of them, I could see you. To tell you I forgive you.”

Solomon wept. She gripped his hooves from across the table, waited for him to finish.

“You won’t see any of the others again,” she finally said. “What lies beyond… I don’t know. You’ll know sooner than I will.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “I think I will.”

Comments

[Yami Vizzini]

Think of it like… a healing potion. One that won’t be invented for… I honestly have no idea. Someone came up with it while I was dead.

“I don’t know what this is…” Solomon said. “But… I’ll figure it out. I’ll have time, you said. Ponies really do live as long as they say.”

Freaking bootstraps.... Well, I suppose it will all work out.

[StormySkiesPony]

It's beautiful getting to see Alex taking some Time to take care of her family again.
It is too easy to get carried away with things and forget to take care of yourself, and I imagine a perfect memory doesn't change that much.

[Helium]

One that won’t be invented for… I honestly have no idea. Someone came up with it while I was dead.”

“I… fine.” She pointed her horn at the table, and it flashed briefly. There was a little puff of smoke, and the alchemical state-diagram appeared there, burned into the wood. She had to memorize the whole thing to cast the spell anyway, so it wasn’t as though it were that hard for her. “Here. This is… all sixteen transitions. This will work with a grain alcohol. If you start with distilled ethanol, you can cut out the first three steps.” Ivy wasn’t watching, or else she probably would’ve been furious about the damaged table.

Freaking time travel....
Oracle sounds like a neat character. It would make sense that there would be more then just day ascending. though if his "concept" is time itself that dude could literally live as long as the concept of time exists... Wonder if he's been tempted to look at his own end in the (hopefully far) future.

[MasterNotWriter6626]

Mythic Rune... You gotta be kidding me. I had a double take when I saw that, but Joe was called Mystic Rune. Why so similar? Why does Oracle sound so much like Joe? I feel like Joe must still be alive but I don't know.