Dreamwalker

The device was buried under countless millennia of history—the mountain, the castle, the cloth-covered artifacts stacked carefully atop it. Perhaps it was older than all of them.

The artifact was about as big as me, made of gold and brass and covered with ancient runes whose meanings were lost to all but the most studious of scholars. It was spherical, flat on the bottom and resting on a simple wide base. A small protrusion on top looked as if it might press inward like a button, but nothing else gave any clue about what it did, or just how much power was inside it.

I knew its purpose.

It was my duty to know.

I ran a hoof along its side, still perfectly preserved by magic.

After a short but heavy hesitation, I reached up and pressed down on the single moving part.

It didn't click like a button or switch. It didn't have any resistance at all. And it didn't stop.

My hoof fell into the machine as if it was empty air. But I also could not pull it back. Anxiety threatened to become panic, but then the device got smaller. It shrank and shrank, until I could lift my hoof with it attached, and then it disappeared into me entirely.

The base, a flat and featureless circle of brass, was all that remained.

I didn't feel any different.

A light shone to my sides. Turning to face a potential intruder, I saw nopony, then realized the light was coming from my cutie mark. It shimmered just like it had when I first got it, then faded.

It looked the same to me, but I realized that I could sense the change.

I had been granted the power of a dreamwalker, something ponykind hadn’t seen in… well, I didn’t know. Centuries, at least.

I was now truly the Princess of the Night, and the sole guardian of the dream realm.

Entering the dream realm, I found, was now as natural to me as breathing. I felt almost possessed by some nameless ancient wizard, the first dreamwalker, guiding me.

Magicks as old as time itself ripped a hole in the fabric of my reality, providing easy access to the hub of my new domain.

Bright lights floated about like soap bubbles floating on a calm day. Each one represented a pony's dream. And instinct told me which were nightmares.

Those would have to come later, however. I wanted to start simpler.

I chose a filly's dream of a beautiful moonlit bay.

As soon as my hoof contacted the dream bubble, I was there.

The stars reflected on the water, distorted pinpoints shimmering on a calm surface. I felt my hooves partly sunken in the soft sand. I smelled the salt and rot that the breeze carried in from the sea.

I had never been to a beach before, but I knew this was just how it would have been. Every detail was much more real than the broken fragments one would experience in a dream.

The device made me feel at home in what would surely otherwise be a chaotic jumble of emotions, details, and nonsense.

I walked along the beach, closer to the water where the sand was wet and squishy but solid enough that I didn't sink into it.

I stopped, gazing out at the vast ocean.

Looking up at the moon, I had an idea. If this was a dream, then surely I could have some measure of control over it. And with a simple spell that I did not fully understand, the moon was now a light blue to match my mane.

"What are you doing?" a voice said.

It startled me, and I turned to see the young filly whose dream I was visiting.

"Worry not, young one. I am simply a figment of your imagination," I said. It was silly, but it seemed to work.

"Okay," she said. She trotted away, her white coat looking almost as dark blue as my own in the altered light.

Moving inland, I came upon what must have been her house, tucked away behind a small sandy rise. Her mother was in the kitchen preparing dinner, but she didn't seem to notice me. Though, I felt as if I could have been noticed if I wanted to.

I was the most powerful being in this world.

Her bedroom had shelves and boxes of toys–countless exotic creatures that the most creative storytellers had dreamt up. It reminded me of some of the things I had grown up with, and I smiled.

"Why are you in my room?" the filly asked.

She had snuck up on me again, and I adjusted my earlier assessment . Perhaps the filly truly ruled this world. After all, I was only visiting here with magic created by mortals. It was powerful magic, but likely no match for a pony that could be a god inside her own imagination.

"I am here to show you something," I said.

She said nothing, simply tilting her head curiously.

With little effort, I brought her toys to life. I lifted them, gave them direction, and let them dance around the room.

She giggled at the display. Up and down they went, perhaps moving to the rhythm of some unheard song, playfully spinning and striking poses.

I stayed with her for hours, playing and learning about my abilities.

Her mother never finished making dinner, but that's just how dreams are sometimes.

A bright beam of sunlight stabbed its way down from a high window, through the stale castle air, brightening up a red patch of rug in front of my throne.

It was always odd to see somepony else sitting on it. Sometimes it was entertaining, as many ponies would fantasize about grand feasts or wild parties. This one was different.

He was a stallion, wearing my crown as they usually do in such dreams, holding a golden goblet and laughing.

Next to my throne, I saw myself. Or, what used to be myself. Strands of my light blue mane hung over lifeless eyes. A second goblet lay on the floor before me, with spilled red wine staining the rug a subtle shade darker.

This stallion couldn't see the real me, even standing in the same room.

In the year I had been Princess of the Night, I had learned many tricks to alter dreams. While the dreamer themself could truly be a god in their own world, that required them to be lucid. Otherwise, I was in full control.

With time, I could draw out their memories to learn more about them, including their names or where they lived. This was the first time I intended to learn both.

I had seen assassinations of myself before, and while at first they horrified me, I realized that most of them were not enjoyable for the dreamers. Some assassinations were nightmares born of guilt, some were incidental in a dream that clearly was not to be taken literally.

This stallion, however, was a plotter.

I had tracked him down through the castle's network of spies. They had caught wind of real plots to assassinate me, and even a small group of conspirators was a threat to be taken seriously.

So, I investigated.

Just outside the castle, I found his home–dreams did tend to be neatly organized in that sense–and I searched it.

Sure enough, in a locked chest in his bedroom, there were worrying documents that had been stolen from the castle. Lists of ponies in my employ, their wages and estimated loyalty, how close they were to me. Just what a would-be usurper would need to know.

With more than enough evidence to send this traitor to the dungeon for life, I exited the dream.

Over the next several years, I foiled countless plots against the throne. Some tried to be clever once they discovered that I was a dreamwalker. They tried sleeping during the day, but I became unpredictable in my routine. They learned techniques to have dreamless sleep, but that only created suspicious void bubbles in the dream realm. Nopony could best me. The guilty no longer had any time or place to hide from me. I earned a reputation. I was respected.

I looked down from my balcony over the city of my sleeping subjects. Ponykind had not known such peace in any of their lifetimes. I knew, from their dreams, however, that they did not appreciate the work I did. They did not understand.

Too many nightmares involved me throwing innocent ponies or their families in the dungeon. I only pursued the guilty, however. No matter how much they cried and begged, I had seen their truest desires.

Every pony in the dungeon was a traitor.

"Your evening tea, Your Majesty," my loyal servant said from behind me.

I returned to my chambers and lay on my bed. Lavender tea. Simple, yet perfect. I sipped it just as I had every night for many moons.

Perhaps there was some way to convince the families of the convicted. Nopony could believe that their mother, father, husband or wife was guilty.

I sipped again, and the gentle flavor relaxed me.

Some dissenters had been created directly by families' lack of faith in my methods, and on more than one occasion, I had to imprison family of other traitors.

Another sip.

It was necessary. As long as I never created more enemies than I could handle, I could lead ponykind to great prosperity.

I finished my tea, then set the cup back on the tray. "You are dismissed," I told my servant.

He made no move to take away the tray. Suspicion crept into the edges of my mind, but I could not scrutinize him closely—his face was half-hidden, turned down with his mane covering his eyes, as my servants would often do around me.

"I said–" I was interrupted by a cough. Then a choking heave as my body tried to reject the tea. The final word I could manage was "T-traitor!"

He looked up at me. I knew him. I had known this stallion to be loyal to me. How had he–

His eyes. They were darkened by what looked to be more than a week of sleeplessness.

"So, Princess," he said, spitting out the second word with hate, "it seems your cruel reign is finally over."

I wanted to ask him why. The last dream of his that I had visited had been nothing notable. No sign of treachery. How had he become disloyal?

"I neither know nor care who takes the throne now. Not as long as I get my daughter back."

Daughter? How could I have convicted somepony while missing such a close relationship to a servant of mine?

How had I been so careless?

And he was wrong. Wrong! I only pursued the guilty! His daughter must have been guilty. But I couldn't speak, and my muscles were getting heavy. I only moaned out a regretful cry of despair.

It was certain, then, that I was going to die.

But I wasn't dead yet.

I opened a rift to the dream realm below me and fell into it.

"You can't hide there forever!" he shouted after me, and then the portal was shut.

Delirious and dying, I saw a vaguely familiar sight. A bubble of light that was a window to a beautiful moonlit beach.

With titanic effort, I reached out a hoof to touch it.

"I remember you," the filly said. She was almost a mare now. "You're the Princess. But I saw you here before."

I was standing on the sand, just as before, looking out over a lovely bay lit only by a pale moon and dim stars.

I nodded. "Yes, it has been some time, but that was me."

"Why are you here? I'm no traitor."

I grimaced. "No, I know."

"Then why are you here? My mother says that everypony that dreams about you ends up in the dungeon."

I hung my head. Had I really been that bad? Was this what all of the common ponies thought of me? Was this paranoia so widespread?

But surely if I didn't do my job as I had, then I would have fallen victim to one of the hundreds of plans I stopped personally. Surely.

I wasn't as certain as I was ten minutes ago, however.

I looked out to the bay. With no good answer, I said "The moon is beautiful, is it not?"

She nodded.

"You seem to enjoy the night," I said.

She nodded again, but I could feel suspicion growing. I saw and felt fear coming from her.

"I did, as well," I said. "But I don't think I do, anymore."

She was dangerously close to becoming lucid or waking up, and either one would ruin my final hope. I temporarily rendered her dreamless, so that I could work safely. Her body fell over in the sand, trapped in a comatose stasis.

Next, I distorted the perception of time's flow, stretching it out as much as I could. One second in reality might be days, weeks, or years to us, for all I knew. I had never tested the limits of the machine's power. Of my power.

I crafted a new world, then. It took days to sow the seeds that would become a new Equestria. The power I had was indescribable, to make an entire world in such a short time, but in this place, I was limited only by thought itself. And I could see that it would be… real. As real as the sand I had first felt on my hooves all those years before. As real as the salty breeze.

As real as I needed it to be.

I visited the beach again, when I was content with what I had made.

The filly was on her bed, just where I had left her, never having moved a muscle. An idea struck me, then, when I saw her toys. These fantasy creatures did not need to be mere fantasy anymore. So, I sculpted and molded them into races that would coexist with ponies, then I breathed life into them—dragons, griffons, changelings, yaks, crystal ponies, and countless others.

With them planted in the new world, I returned once more. Her white coat matched her bedsheets, but her light pink mane reminded me of the gentle shades of a twilit sky. I owed my final chance at life to her, and I certainly could not leave her like this. As the two most powerful beings in this dream world, it seemed fitting for us to rule it together. And we had never had a Princess of the Day before. We would raise and lower the sun and moon ourselves, and I would reign over a simpler dream realm, with far less power or responsibility. Far less paranoia. It would serve only to help our subjects. And we would not be gods.

I took one final walk along the beach before I destroyed it. Then, I moved her to a large bed in our new castle.

With everything prepared, I remade us both as young fillies.

I looked again at her, with her moon-white coat, and I remembered when I had changed the color of the moon. She had looked so much like me in that moment. And, perhaps, she was also much more like a younger me than I presently was. A pony who truly loved the night.

A night that I no longer cared for.

The filly slowly disappeared in the gloom as her coat and mane darkened. My own hoof, I could see, had sprinklings of white on it that grew until the whole thing was the color of fresh snow. And in my peripheral vision, I saw my mane brighten to a dull pink.

It wasn’t a conscious decision, but I didn’t undo it. Deep down, I knew it was right. This filly would certainly be a better Princess of the Night than I had ever been.

The final change I made to her was to erase all memory and knowledge of reality and replace it with something new—simple memories of us together as sisters playing, squabbling, and giggling. This would only last while the dream lasted, but how long that would be, I did not know. Years? Centuries? Millennia?

Eventually, my body would die or she would wake up, and that would be the end of this world.

It no longer mattered.

With a heart full of hope for a new future, I removed my own memories. They disappeared from my mind, like bursting bubbles. All of my successes and failures simply went away as my past was erased until, finally, I had only the vague notion that there was something I had forgotten.

But it was late now, and I was tired.

I slowly climbed into bed with my sister, Luna, and went to sleep.

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