A worried question from Twilight reveals one of Equestria's best-hidden lies.
A worried question from Twilight Sparkle reveals one of Equestria's best-hidden secrets, one that no pony could possibly imagine. After all, a truth that turns all of Equestrian history upside down is not to be trifled with. But maybe Celestia hasn't learned her lesson.
"Princess Celestia?" Celestia; startled out of her day dreams; blinked. She fixed her eyes on Twilight's face. It was worried; inquiring. A look she knew very well; though she saw it rarely.
Twilight was never one to run to her for guidance. She saved that look only for the most difficult exams, the most puzzling, completely unsolvable problems.
She couldn't really think of any unsolvable problems off the top of her head. Of course, she could come up with dozens of tricky or challenging situations; corrupt nobles; the next visit from the Saddle Arabian dignitaries; the effort, time, and money it would take to repair the damage caused by Tirek's rampage; among many other things.
She'd wager that Twilight could come up with a dozen unsolvable problems. And list them.
Twilight was like that. A worrier. An intelligent worrier. But still a worrier.
"Yes, Twilight Sparkle, my most faithful student?" she inquired. Her voice was rich, smooth. A hint of playfulness lurked there.
"Oh, Princess Celestia, you don't have to call me 'your most faithful student' every time you speak to me!"
Celestia smiled. Yes, she knew she didn't have to, but she also knew that Twilight felt a great burst of pride whenever she heard Celestia praise her.
Twilight loved knowing she'd been good, done the right thing. It soothed her worries.
Doubtlessly those worries gnawed constantly at her. It was an unfortunate thing, that worrying of hers.
It clouded her head, made her panic. Panicking was not good for a princess.
It was a flaw. An imperfection.
The only thing that quieted it was praise. And those breathing exercises Cadance had taught her.
And, of course, friendship. Friendship wiped away all of Twilight's imperfections. It was how she had become a princess in the first place.
Her mind was drifting. Back to Twilight.
"Twilight Sparkle, I'd stop calling you my most faithful student if you stopped calling me Princess."
Twilight blanched, shocked by the very idea.
The words "Princess Celestia" to her didn't just mean her mentor, weren't just the title of most wonderful teacher she'd ever had.
To Twilight, "Princess Celestia" was an idea, a dream. Power, organization, kindness, guidance. It had a ring of omnipotence to it, something beautiful and unreachable.
Celestia saw Twilight's plight, and rescued her.
"What were you going to tell me, Twilight? And why insist we talk in my private study, without any guards?"
Twilight glanced around nervously. She seemed to scrutinize every nook and corner in the room, as if she thought there were invisible enemies hiding all around her.
If so, they had plenty of hiding spots. The study was pristinely tidy, but immense.
Hidden behind pairs of carved oak doors, bookshelves taller than Applejack's trees were arranged around the room, standing neatly against the light pastel walls.
The long length of red carpet in the middle of the study led to its main fixture, the desk.
The desk was enormous, not only to fit an alicorn of Celestia's size, but also to hold the stacks of papers that she dealt with every day.
A stained glass window behind the desk let the soft light of dusk slip in, turning it into a softly glowing monument to education.
It depicted the founding of the very first institutes for magic, hundreds of years ago.
Celestia had once been head of her own private school for gifted unicorns. She had long given up her headmistress position at the school, leaving its workings to her past students. Although she still allowed the school use of the palace, the study was detached from it.
It was now a place for her to work on official documents at day's end, when Luna's Night Court was in session.
Twilight finally spoke.
"In the light of all the physical damage Tirek caused to Equestria, I've been using all the spells I know to make sure he didn't leave any magical destruction."
Celestia was alert, attent. Twilight must have found it...but how could she?
"I've discovered something very strange, Princess. An enormous spell, encompassing all of Equestria, and even beyond!"
"Why, Twilight, that seems rather unbelievable!"
"I know! It's impossible! But it's there. I almost didn't find it, it was so well hidden. It's full of magical traces, and they all seem to interact with each other to form a kind of...shield.Except it's not a shield.
"The best comparison I can make is of changeling magic; or what I gleaned about it from old notes in the Canterlot Archives. It's vaguely like the spells they use to hide their hives, but very different. The caster obviously used entirely different magical planes...and it's just not possible!
"I've checked every relevant book the Archives have, and I've reread all of Starswirl's notes! And I've found nothing! Nothing! Not even in the notes! And they're about the size of a set of encyclopedias!"
Twilight's voice had gradually continued rising, and now her words betrayed signs of a panic attack in the early stages.
Another one! Celestia had hoped that Twilight had grown out of full-blown panic attacks, if not the actual panicking and worrying.
Yet another defect in something seemingly flawless.
"Twilight, what you've told me is very important. But I don't think you have a reason to worry just yet."
Celestia smiled at Twilight's puzzled face, with it's deeply furrowed brows.
"What do you mean, Princess? Were you previously aware of the spell? How could you be?! Did I miss something in Starswirl's notes?"
"You could say I was aware of the spell...and no, Twilight, you didn't miss anything in Starswirl's notes. My source of information comes from a legend."
"A legend?" asked Twilight doubtfully. She had almost never known Princess Celestia to be wrong about anything, but she didn't view fairy tales and bedtime stories as accurate sources of information.
"Yes, Twilight, a legend. Like the legend of Nightmare Moon."
Twilight immediately quieted. Celestia's solemn words had convinced her, at least for the time being.
"Can I learn what this legend is about?"
"Of course, Twilight! It'll take a while to tell it all, though."
"Tell? I thought I was going to read it. Somepony wrote it down, right?"
"No,Twilight. What I've pieced together to form the tale has never been written down. You will find no mention of it in any document the Canterlot Archives contains. Not even in Starswirl's notes." Twilight blushed as Celestia gave her a kindly look. Then she leaned forward in her wooden chair, trying to focus on the mare on the other side of the desk. And Celestia began.
Once upon a time, there was a race of immortal beings. And they were perfect.
They lived in a world that both existed and did not exist; a dream world.
No one knows quite what they were, but they were beautiful and powerful. Their eyes were full of divine light, their coats shimmered and shone like so many stars.
They knew nothing of evil, or the bloody battles that result from it.
They went where they would, and all of creation knew it. They ran across the whole universe; it was theirs. The stars sang to them, and the winds danced to them.
And they were one; strong and unified.
But all dreams, especially the perfect ones, are haunted by nightmares.
At first it was not a nightmare. No, nothing like a nightmare.
In the beginning, it was a great fog, a mist, a place where nothing had been made.
After more than an eternity of running, they found it.
They were disturbed by it; by that strange thing that had not been there before.
They tossed their astral manes and stomped their shining hooves, and felt uneasiness at it. For if they, who were perfect, could not name it, it could not be good.
And so they ran again, hoping to leave it behind, to abandon it to the rest of creation.
But it ran with them.
The nothingness, the misty gray bleakness, took form and began to run with them. It was their form it took, or what the nothingness could make of it.
For it was not beautiful; not perfect. It was faded and crooked and smudged. It was the grayness of a bleak wind; of fog. No, it was not perfection.
And they shuddered, and continued to run, faster now. They wished the nothingness would disappear, and they wished it with their whole godly being.
And so they ignored it; tried to pretend it did not exist. And they kept their eyes looking only forward while they ran; so they would not see the nothingness behind them.
But the nothingness would not be ignored.
It ran faster than them all, and it blocked their path.
And the beings reared in rage, and their powerful forelegs shattered the stars to pieces.
And still the nothingness did not move!
They demanded it to speak, to tell them why it had persecuted them across the whole world.
The nothingness did not speak.
No, it showed.
And the beings saw the first spirits, the first dreams, the first nightmares. All were the nothingness' children.
There were as many as there were grains of sand on a shore, all young and newly born.
And all imperfect.
They were only jumbled wisps; ideas; their ethereal bodies were a mismatch of every substance the beings had ever seen.
The nothingness' children were even stranger and more demented than the nothingness itself.
And the beings could no longer take it; could no longer stand this blatant, blasphemous insult to all things perfect and beautiful; to them.
And they took to battle for the first time, and the world trembled at their rage, at their power, at their sheer equine beauty, even when madness was in their bright eyes.
But the nothingness, it did not accept justice, could not follow even a divine will.
And it showed its true colors, the colors of a pitch-black night, the colors of hatred and evil.
It rushed upon the beings, and the same madness was in its eyes. It crashed down on them, a roaring tide, and for the first time, they knew death and pain.
But the beings were in the right, and they could not fail. They tried to tear the darkness apart, but it would not yield.
And so they extracted their vengeance on its children, on its nightmare-spirit-dreams, and tore their fragile bodies to pieces with their hoofs; their hard, hard hoofs.
And they were one, and glorious.
And once again, they ran from it, but now they ran victorious.
The darkness could only hiss evil words to them, for it could not run after them and leave its children; who were now like splinters of broken glass, now like drifting smoke.
But the darkness screamed and cursed all the louder for it; and without them knowing it; evil touched one in their midst, and began to flow in that one's blood.
And they ran, perfect and unified.
Until the contaminated one stumbled.
The were shocked, startled by this imperfection. And in a moment, something horrifying happened.
The being's body wasted away, melting like a candle, and his remains split into three.
Three little imperfections.
All three were small and stunted; ugly. One flopped about in mud; one clung to weak breezes; and one channeled weak, piddling little amounts of the magical energy that the beings were made of.
Once more, the beings were fated to destroy, and destroy they did. In moments, the things that were grotesque caricatures of foals were mere memories.
But it was far too late. Evil had run with them, had flowed in their veins, and they could not shake free of it.
Their foals were no longer perfect, but the same stunted weaklings as the contaminated one had become.
And the foals that were not completely contaminated were still imperfect. They were tall and thin, pale. The rich colors of their parents were only faint shimmering hues in them. They were hybrids, half-breeds.
And the beings saw their foals, and they felt cold, fearful. And so they battled for a righteous cause; to destroy all of contaminated, mare, stallion, or foal.
They were killed and quarantined and the beings were all panicked, and they were no longer one.
No, they were a jumbled, confused mass; all fighting each other for the noble cause of keeping their perfection intact.
And the darkness found them, and suckled its new children with the blood of their cosmic battlefields. And they grew up dark and twisted, and when old enough; hunted the beings.
The nightmares rushed to the kill, dark apparitions that they were. The spirits bounded behind them, claws glittering, baring their fangs and screeching. And dreams ran cautiously behind them, sweet illusions, but for their anger and hatred.
And when the darknesses' children all mingled, hybrids burst onto the battlefields too; things that shifted their shape, and sang alluring songs, and lived in shadows.
They only hunted imperfects, for they could not catch the perfects. And they grew stronger and stronger; taking the imperfects' weak magicks for their own.
The beings who were still perfect were now few. But they realized that they would disappear entirely if the darkness' children continued to gain strength from feeding off imperfects.
If they grew too strong, they would destroy the beings.
But what could they do? They had tried to stamp out the imperfects, and had not succeeded.
They despaired at their fate, and at the inevitable death of all perfection that would follow.
But a wise stallion among them had a plan.
They did not necessarily have to destroy the imperfects; he declared. If they were only led to some remote corner of the universe, the darkness and it's children would follow.
But the imperfects were like rocks, the beings cried, they needed others to move them. Left to their own devices, they would stumble all over the universe.
They needed one of the perfect beings to lead them. But none would go.
If they went, they would go as sacrifices. They might last long enough to take the imperfects away, but the imperfects' evil would eventually find them too, and they would become imperfects.
The stallion snorted with contempt. The imperfects did not a true being to lead them. They only needed some pony more powerful than them.
And he led his half-breed foals before the other perfects. They were young, very young.
They verged just on the edge of perfection; lithe and glowing. But they were not made of star-stuff and magic, like the stallion, like the perfects.
Evil was in their blood too.
It might not contaminate them. Or it might.
Did it really matter?
They were well suited for the task of leading a numberless amount of dangerous half-wits across the cosmos, and that was that.
No time was to be lost, agreed the beings. They drove the foals on to a battlefield, and with a stomp of their hooves and a curl of their lips, urged them to run.
And they rose upon their thin legs and ran, ran desperately, with the occasional stumble.
None looked back.
But they all heard a loud snort; the stallion's only farewell to his children.
And they continued running, until they could no longer see the beings and their perfection.
They saw only the cosmos, a great, bloody battlefield. The bodies of the fallen lay draped on the ground, and they nimbly leaped over them.
The dull-eyed imperfects saw them,and blindly began to follow them, moving in one great herd.
And the darkness saw them too.
It felt no pity or compassion. It was bitter; twisted. It was not enough for it to stunt foals, turn them imperfect.
No; it had to kill them as well. Divine justice worked that way.
It set its children upon them, and they rushed forward, a wave of acid.
The darkness' children grazed the foals' flanks, barely bloodying them, only catching the weakest.The foals were just too fast, only a smidgen too powerful to escape obliviation.
The imperfects, though, were the ideal prey. They could do almost nothing to the darkness' children; they were powerless.
And the darkness' children tore them from limb to limb, their insides becoming their outsides.
The foals would run for thousands of years; the imperfects with them, and the darkness' children following behind.
They ran for so long that the purest foals became imperfects; until there were only two left, and only a few hundred imperfects.
The two foals realized they could not run forever. The elder barely knew her own name, the younger even less. And they were both exhausted.
The two sisters summoned every ounce of magic within them, and cast their first spell; hoping desperately that it would work.
And it did.
It was a blast of pure, undiluted magical energy. It lit up the skies for a brief moment, then disappeared.
The foals and the darkness, along with its children, were nowhere to be seen."
The study became silent as Celestia stopped talking.
"What did you think of the legend, Twilight?"
Twilight grimaced. "Do you want the truth, Princess, or..."
"The truth,"stated Celestia, quite firmly.
"At best, this is a bedtime story for little fillies, if a horrific one.
"At worst...it makes absolutely no sense! It's full of absolutely impossible things, it certainly doesn't seem to have any credible sources, and it looks like the ending was never determined!
"I'm sorry, Princess Celestia, but I have absolutely no idea how this connects to a potentially dangerous unidentified spell. "
"You've criticized the legend for its unreality. Does that mean you think the events in it happened differently? "
"H...happened?!" Twilight sputtered. "Princess Celestia, none of these things could have happened! With all due respect, they don't have an iota of historical accuracy! The whole story sounds like the ravings of a mad pony!"
"Oh, yes?" Celestia's voice suddenly became colder. "Then I must be a mad pony, Twilight Sparkle."
"Princess Celestia, what..."
"I've sometime wondered myself, though."
"Princess Celestia, what in Equestria are you talking about?"
"Eyewitnesses."
Twilight drew in a few shallow breaths. She needed air...
She felt a panic attack, building up inside her. Her mouth was dry, and she was totally confused.
If her life was a book; this would be the part where she'd be completely dumbfounded at the general out-of-character feeling.
Something was very, very wrong here.
Celestia watched Twilight start hyperventilating. Her faithful student had also been so neurotic...
But now was the wrong time to care. She had to brace herself.
The truth would have to come to light.
"Princess Celestia..." choked out Twilight.
The sun was a symbol of truth, after all, shining light on everything. A beautiful light.
A perfect light.
Celestia rushed over to Twilight and thumped her on the back.
"Twilight! Breathe!"
Twilight gave a couple of weak rasps, and wheezily began to breathe again.
Covered in spit, a wave of worry suddenly washed over Celestia. What if Twilight hadn't been all right? What if she had continued choking?
It would have been all her fault if Twilight died.
Deep breath. In, out. Strong, solid. The truth still had to come out.
"Twilight, where do you think I got that legend from?" she whispered.
Her voice was calm, gentle.
Twilight must be kept calm. There was no telling what she'd do if she panicked.
"I thought it was some flea market "historical story" the Archives managed to pick up..."
Twilight coughed once more, and shakily got up on her hooves.
"The legend is nothing but the truth."
Celestia said it calmly, plainly, as if she was stating a simple fact.
Twilight was silent. She had just spent, what, five minutes trying to contradict and it had done absolutely nothing.
She might as well listen. It was Princess Celestia, after all.
"The legend tells of two sisters finding a place for ponies to live in." Celestia continued.
"But you and Princess Luna weren't born yet! The three tribes didn't even exist!" Twilight interjected.
"What makes you think I wasn't alive then?"
"There's no mention of you in any historical document, and anyway, the three pony tribes discovered Equestria."
"I'm not saying Luna and I discovered Equestria, Twilight. We only found the place the three pony tribes originally lived in."
"But if you and Princess Luna were alive then, why were the three tribes at each other's throats? You taught me about friendship. Why not them?"
"I said we were alive, Twilight. Alive does not necessarily mean conscious.
"The blast of magic in the legend drove away the darkness, but it nearly destroyed both Luna and myself.
"We were blasted deep, deep underground, barely breathing.
"It took nearly a thousand years in our coma-like state for us to recover.
"Rather amazingly, the ponies formed their own civilization without us. The effects of the blast even meant they forgot us and their origin, although not entirely.
"The banner of Equestria does have us on it.
"We went out into the world, and from there, you can find plenty of historical documents to confirm our existence.
"Especially in Starswirl's notes."
"But...what about the "darkness"?"
"The blast was the "shield" you found. It trapped the darkness inside Equestria and the world around it, while simultaneously weakening its power."
"Why is there evil in Equestria, then? Things like Tirek, Discord, Chrysalis and Sombra?"
"The darkness was severely weakened, but it did gain strength from the inherent evil in ponies.
"All of the incredible amount of disasters that befall Equestria are a result of it, although I don't think they have any connection to the Motherland anymore, or are even aware of its existence. "
"...'inherently evil'? How can that be true? And what's 'the Motherland'?
"The Motherland is the place where the beings in the legend ran. You've been to it yourself, when you became a princess.
"And sadly, ponies are inherently evil. Only the beings were perfect, and ponies have almost no resemblance to them.
"Unfortunately, it's the same with other sentient creatures in this corner of the universe.
"Though they existed previously, the darkness touched them too. Even creatures like griffins and dragons are inherently evil.
"As I've just said, only the beings were perfect. " "B...beings? Perfect?! Princess Celestia, if what you're saying is true, then the first ponies-" "They were nothing like ponies." "Fine! The first equines were genocidal monsters, who destroyed everything in their path that was different from them, and ended up causing untold agony for all of Equestria and beyond!" "They were perfect, Twilight. How could they have been, "genocidal monsters", as you put it?" "Who told you they were perfect?" "Twilight, you would think they were perfect too, if you'd just seen them. They were beautiful." "Beautiful doesn't mean perfect. If I've learned anything, it's that it doesn't matter what a pony looks like. All the things that count are on the inside. "Don't you remember all those friendship reports?" "I do, Twilight. But I also remember all the obstacles you had to overcome.
"Friendship might be a road to perfection, but it's a very long one."
"Friendship is the core of Equestria! The Elements of Harmony-"
"No longer exist. And no pony truly understands where they came from, or how they worked.
"Not Starswirl, not Luna, not even me."
"Friendship matters" Twilight whispered. "It matters more than any pony knows. You controlled the Elements once, with Luna. Haven't you told her about any of this?" "She was far too young to remember." "Fine. You've told no pony this highly-biased legend, no pony but me.
"Why me?" "Because, Twilight, you are almost perfect. With all your flaws, you are Princess of Friendship.
"If friendship is perfection, you're closer to perfection than any pony I've ever known." "What makes you think I won't go and tell every pony? I'm sure Equestria deserves to hear their secret history." "At my expense?" Twilight hesitated, bit her lip. Finally, her brow cleared. She was calm; official, almost. A true princess. "Princess Celestia; you've always told me to do the right thing." Celestia inclined her head in a solemn nod. "You've learned your lessons very well, Princess Twilight Sparkle.
"But I cannot let you speak. I had to tell some pony, for the sake of my peace of mind, but I cannot let you tell others.
"My faithful student, I will be kind to you. I will do what I did to Luna.
"I will erase your memory. For your own good, and that of Equestria's.
"And for mine."
Twilight, though shocked, quickly gathered herself together.
Her horn flared lavender, and she prepared to defend herself against Celestia; her life-long mentor, whom she had only a little more than an hour ago thought perfect.
But Celestia struck first.
Her horn blazed a brilliant gold; the color of the sun; of truth; of divine justice; of perfection.
The burst of magic was blinding; it filled the study, Twilight gave a cry, of shock-
And it was all over.
The light was gone, and Twilight only had a confused look on her face, as if she had forgotten what she was going to say.
Celestia decided she'd spur Twilight's memory.
"And as you were saying, the "shield" is only some magical protection spells cast over Equestria..."
"Really...oh, yes! I remember.
"I'm sorry I got so worried over nothing. It's natural that you and Princess Luna should have defenses up in case something happens.
"In fact, I should have guessed it was you and Luna from the start! The energies carried by the caster's magical planes suggested multiple casters who-"
Celestia, with a smile, permitted herself to interrupt.
"Twilight, as much as I love discussing magical science and theology with you, I'm afraid I have documents to attend to."
Twilight blushed apologetically.
"Sorry, Princess Celestia. I take the right door in the corridor to get to the throne room, don't I?"
"Better safe than sorry, Twilight. And yes, it is the right door. If you're having trouble, summon a guard.
I'm sure your brother would love to help you. And Flash Sentry has taken to asking about you..."
When Twilight finally left the study; the oak doors thudding behind her; Celestia became quiet; solemn.
The dusk had long turned to night. Stars glowed dimly through the stained glass window, and the typical palace chandelier was the chamber's only source of light.
Twilight was right, in a way. Friendship was magic.
It was perfection.
Now that Twilight was Princess of Friendship, perhaps she would spread friendship throughout Equestria, and beyond.
If it was going to happen, though, it would take many years.
If it would ever happen.
But Celestia could wait. She was good at waiting.
What she was not good at was hoping.
She looked through the window; wondering the same thing she had wondered for countless years.
Did my sacrifice really mean anything to you? she mused.
Did they remember her, honor her as a hero, and tell her name to all their foals?
Or had it all been lost to oblivion, to the joy of running?
