Returning Home
I walk through the plain of eternal sand, my hooves crunching down upon the cracked and arid ground.
At one point these lands had been fertile, with productive farms, bountiful orchards, and pleasant little homes dotting the landscape.
Now all that remains is this wasteland and the sun above.
This is my home.
I think so anyways.
When the whole world is left baked and barren, navigation becomes rather difficult.
Difficult, but not impossible. The rivers may have dried up, but their beds still cut lines through the landscape, allowing me to follow them. When the rivers fail, I can always use the towering mountain ranges to orientate myself. If both the mountains and rivers abandon me, then I can always rely upon the stars. After all, generations of adventurers had used them before.
I crest a nearby hill and my theory proves correct. While the lands below are just as dead as what I left behind, a single artificial structure remains.
This is rare, extremely rare. The only buildings that can endure nature’s continuous abuse are bunkers, bastions, and castles.
A castle such as the crystal palace on the horizon.
I descend the hill, entering the boundaries of what had once been Ponyville.
My journey is not easy, but necessary. As my desire to come home is overwhelming.
The memories of this place are dim, but as I approach, they return with surprising clarity. They are enough to make me a smile.
It’s nice, I’ve not smiled in so long.
Something to my left catches my attention. It’s a pile of rocks, probably the remains of some stonework foundation.
I can feel some sort of strange attachment to this debris.
Why are these rocks so important?
Then it hits me.
This is Sugar Cube Corner, or what remains of it. This was Pinkie Pie’s place of employment. I can remember her working here and throwing parties.
There were so many parties back in those days, and I kick myself for not attending every single one.
How short-sighted had I been?
I can also remember Pinkie’s ability to make such a diverse array of baked goods. There had been cakes, muffins, bagels, breads, and, of course, cupcakes. She made so many different variants of that little dessert, including a red velvet one I remember being especially fond of.
By the gods, how long has it been since I last tasted red velvet? 300, 400 years? Yet my memories of it are still so strong. I can practically taste the flavour, this nearly palpable sensation which dangles before my senses like a word on the tip of my tongue. However, at the last moment, my brain denies me and I’m left desperately wanting.
Memories can be such a tease, at times.
So, I ignore them and continue forwards, heading towards the area of town where pegasus homes used to be anchored.
My gaze instinctively goes towards the sky, scanning it for a familiar estate.
Yet, there is nothing there. No clouds, nor even the blue of the sky that used to hold them. There is only this raw blackness in which the stars, sun, and moon all battle for dominance. This provides me a constant view of the heavens which should’ve been impossible. Yet, it is now all too familiar.
What happened to the blue?
I vaguely remember the details of some paper discussing how heightened solar activity would eventually strip away the atmosphere bit-by-bit.
That must’ve been it.
Just another of those little science facts I used to love.
Gods, did I ever miss reading. I nearly miss it as much as red velvet, Pinkie Pie, blue skies, and…
I continue forwards.
It doesn’t take long before I find myself under where Rainbow’s house used to be. To the untrained eye it looks like another barren patch of land. Though, with my memories, I can accurately recreate the scene.
For example, I can remember just how gaudy Rainbow’s place used to be. It was practically a manor fit for a queen and somehow it ended up in the hooves of a weather pony. Still, in this day and age, I’d love to see something a little gaudy. It’d really make my day.
Though, if I were making wishes, I might as well go to the extreme and wish to have another visit with the pegasus. She may have been stubborn, but she was also brave, bold, and confident. It was these traits which gave her friendship such a cherished position in my heart.
If seeing her home would make my day, then hearing her voice would probably make my century.
For a moment, I desire to fly into the empty sky. Though a part of me knows that’s impossible. The atmosphere is so severely depleted that it struggles to carry a few grains of sand, let alone the heavy weight of a full grown alicorn.
This must’ve been how Luna felt, when she was on the moon. No wind to fly, no air to breathe, no atmosphere to carry a conversation. It’s torture, but if she could endure it for a millennium, then so can I.
I stand there a moment longer, watching the sand feebly billow past.
Is Luna even still alive?
I shake my head. That’s a problem for another day.
Instead, I continue into Ponyville.
I can’t help but take note of just how little remains. Besides my castle, there is nothing more than various piles of boulders left behind by ancient stonework foundations. If my memory recalls, Ponyville was a town mostly made from wood, hay, and plaster.
All thing which burn rather easily, in the fires of the rapidly expanding sun.
On a positive note, at least the lack of atmosphere is actually allowing things to finally start cooling.
I snort, or at least the closet I can manage without air.
What a wild world, where I consider that a positive.
I move into the centre of town, making my way to my next stop. If my memories are correct then this used to be the town’s farmer’s markets, the premium place to vend foods. I can still remember buying carrots from Golden Harvest, herbs from Rose Blossom, and apples from Applejack here.
Applejack.
The name is enough to trigger a flood of emotions, nearly overwhelming me. By the gods, I miss her. Her honesty, charm, down to earth nature, and most of all, her friendship. This is just another thing to add to my list.
Books, red velvet, blue skies, conversations, fresh produce, flying, Pinkie Pie, Rainbow Dash, Applejack…
All are very important to me, but none the reason for my return.
No, that lies a little farther yet.
I feel a temptation to just get this over with and rip the band-aid off. It seems so simple, as the centuries have only dulled my injuries.
They have, haven’t they?
Instead of answering, I take the coward’s route and detour away from my destination.
My new path leads me towards the outskirts of town. My memories here are strong, recreating roads that no longer exist. So, I can follow them instead of trespassing on properties that have long gone unused. Maybe I’m being weird about things, but I don’t feel comfortable doing otherwise. After all, these lands used to belong to friends and neighbours, and it was rude to come over unannounced.
Within a few minutes, I find myself at my destination. It’s a barren hill, surrounded by an equally dire pasture. It didn’t seem like much, but at one point a tree had grown on this hill and, within it, Fluttershy had made a home.
Of course, she hadn’t lived alone. After all, the mare was far too kind to be by herself, especially when there were animals in need of medical or emotional attention. It was her dedication to kindness that makes me remember her so fondly. Though, it isn’t just her kindness that warms my heart, but other things, like her drawings, her ability to care, and her soft singing voice. It would kill her, knowing that I secretly eavesdropped as she sung those soft melodies, sharing them exclusively with her feral friends. Though hopefully, she would understand. After all, it was memories like that which keep me going.
Speaking of her feral friends, I can still remember the critters which grazed upon the surrounding pastures. There had been dogs, bears, fish, colourful birds, mongooses…
Mongeese…?
What was the proper plural?
I shake my head. Is it really that important?
Suddenly, I feel a crushing regret at taking this journey. All I’ve done is re-open wounds which scarred over long ago. Was the possibility of closure really that important? Was it worth confronting generations of loneliness?
I should turn back now and leave town. Hell, I should just leave Equestria, period.
Who knows, maybe there’s survivors somewhere out there? I’ve yet to actually complete an entire journey of the planet. Maybe there’s some kind of colony on the poles, or at the border between night and day?
Instead, I continue forwards, shaking my head. My disposition towards wishful thinking really should’ve died out years ago.
As I return to town, I consider taking a final detour to my castle.
However, what is the point? I’d only be further delaying what I came here to do. Plus, those empty chambers and echoing halls are little more than monuments to my failure. A castle of friendship lording over a friendless domain.
Instead, I continue into the depths of town, heading towards my final destination.
As I do, my memories become more vivid, more real. I can imagine homes where none exist, I can hear voices in the silence, and I can smell life where scents are impossible.
This was the heart of my domain, this was my home. Not some castle on the horizon but…
I reach the end of my journey. It’s only a mirage, but to me, there is the very real presence of a familiar boutique.
It is here that my memories are the strongest. I can feel the silk of a fine dress upon my fur, the smell of a long-forgotten shampoo within her mane, and the sound of a soft voice whispering ‘darling’ into my ear.
I may have once been the princess of friendship, but the years have only taught me that Cadence’s jurisdiction is far more potent.
Was I crying?
All the muscle movements say so. Though my tears turn to steam long before they reach my cheeks.
It’s all so real. In fact, it’s so real that I nearly succumb to my emotions and take a chance to enter the mirage. I almost believe that Rarity will be waiting on the other side, ready to comfort me.
However, a rational part of brain crushes these emotions, bringing me back to reality.
Instead, I pull out a small brooch. It has three familiar blue diamonds embroidered upon it. An aura of magic surrounds it, protecting it from the harsh world around. It is as vibrant as the day I received it. A gift for our twentieth anniversary.
This may very well be the last piece of fashion in the entire world.
I smile.
Rarity would’ve loved that. I can imagine her discussing such an accolade.
I wish to speak, to tell her aloud just how much I miss her. Instead, I must settle for merely thinking it.
My gaze flicks away from the brooch and my smile vanishes. The illusion of the boutique is gone, replaced by a never ending plain of sunbaked sand.
I miss you Rarity, and I always will.
With that, I place the brooch upon the soil and dissipate my protective ward.
How long will it take to fall to the elements?
Years, decades, maybe even a century?
All I know is that I will be long gone before it happens.
I enjoy one final moment of remembrance. When this passes, I take a tentative step forward.
It is the first of a new journey.