Act I, Chapter I

Author's Notes:

It is recommended that you read on a darker setting such as Ultra Dark to better fit the mood of the fic. It's not a requirement, but it aids in the atmosphere and tone of the story.

Before beginning this adventure, I would like to take this moment of preface: thank you for giving my story an opportunity. I would also like to thank the two artists who've done the art for this fic—Skyeypony and Sh1ve—Dusk_Writer for pre-reading the chapters I've done, and my bestie who so kindly gave me advice during the development stages.

I won’t spoil anything, but this story includes a lot of themes about deities, pantheism, spirituality, entheogenic and near-death experiences, the nature of consciousness, the sort. They're obviously not the only things this fic is about, but they are central ideas. I understand that some of you who’ll read this are agnostic/atheist. I respect you and your beliefs, even if I consider myself a spiritual person despite not believing in religion.

I love you all regardless of your beliefs! Despite the glaring differences we may share, despite the conflicts that may arise, I enjoy being open with everyone and their opinions. I only implore you do the same with me and this tale I’ve concocted—ponder on the questions that lay beneath these words and rhymes, cognize the patterns that may or may not even be. There are many riddles out there we don’t understand; the only thing we have is each other. I don’t know about you, but that’s something I've come to not only accept but embrace.

Enough of the talk! If you spot any spelling/grammatical errors, do PM me! Now, sit back, relax, and let the tale unfold…

The universe is not outside of you.
Look inside yourself;
everything that you want, you already are.
—Rumi

If there was a god, he would speak to me through the whistle of the wind, the ruffle of leaves, the waves of the ocean. If there was a god, then he would live amongst the trees.

Feather Dew has always believed that there was something more. There was a primal force in this universe and planet that bound everything together. He wasn’t sure what it was; sure, there were religions and all, but he always found them to be too specific, too encompassing. He wasn’t certain if any god out there could be found through religion alone.

He wondered if this concept—God—would even give him any answers at all, would give any answers to the other creatures that might be out there in the cosmos, as a matter of fact. It just seemed too easy for the “creator” to come down and simply tell his creations the meaning of life and existence itself.

And he felt the slight breeze hit his neck, flicking his mane. It reminded him of touch, a faint whisper. He wondered if something out there talked to him that way. Maybe God liked talking to his creations through his other creations. Perchance this entity preferred to touch all living things through other living things.

Feather Dew shared that sentiment: the wind was a living, moving thing. He wasn’t sure how he got to that conclusion, but a strange part of his mind kept on telling him that the wind is the vessel from which God imparts his omnipotence to everything. The wind is the glue that sticks everything together. The wind acted as if it were conscious, a living being that watched over the Divinity’s creations between the heavens and the seas.

And between said heavens and seas were trees, conquering the kingdom of land. Some trees were small, some were large, and some were so massive one would wonder if any creator out there forged it specifically to be his throne, a gateway between this world and the next, a loft close to heaven.

The trees in the distance reminded Feather Dew of that sentiment, and he truly pondered on whether these trees were made to be that tall so mortals such as himself could feel a little closer to the heavens, the sky. They were uncountable, stretching from one end of the horizon to the other whence they appeared in front of him and his companions.

Feather Dew was glad that he wasn’t alone when he heard it was time for him and his group to pack their things, beginning their traverse through the rainforest to reach their destination. Even in the daytime, there was something about the rainforest that called to ponies and everycreature alike, as if it were the light of an anglerfish in the abyss attracting curious but naive prey, miles and miles down in the ocean.

The Amarezon was, in a lot of ways, exactly that: a deep, seemingly never-ending ocean. It was dark, even during the day, containing flora the size of small buildings and exotic beasts that were so out of this world most wouldn’t even recognise the vast majority of them, let alone their grisly visages—the final thing one would’ve seen before inevitable demise.

Looking at the edge of the rainforest was like looking at the edge of the world and the beginning of a new one. In fact, it seemed that there was only once solace that could help distract one’s fears looking through the veil.

“I like the wind and how it goes through my mane.”

Feather Dew heard a mare speak from the group. He agreed with her words very much. He felt the wind she spoke of as well, felt how it softly caressed his grey coat. The wind itself was soft spoken, and yet it seemed to keep changing directions every time it came. The wind was something that seemed to be everywhere and yet could only be noticed when one was paying close attention.

I wonder how the forest makes wind, the pegasus mused to himself as the wind played with his mane once more. Pegasi do make wind, albeit it’s more of a byproduct of all the other things that they do such as herding clouds or releasing rainbows. He assumed it came from the trees and birds—the trees making the oxygen and the birds spreading it around from the flaps of their wings, a primeval cycle of nature.

The wind, as if reacting to them, wooshed and moved to another direction, as if to say, I’m moving on from the lot of you, or, I have to be somewhere else.

And as the group moved on, Feather Dew looked up to see the sky through the forest canopy as best as he could. The forest was starting to get thicker, a far cry whence they were only moments ago. Try as he might, hard as he may squint, he could see not even a tuft of cloud. We really are in the middle of nowhere, aren't we?

He stopped for a second when he felt a tingle on his hooves. It was as if nature was speaking to him again, through the slight gust that brushed his face and the small dance of a stray strand violet mane on his muzzle. It surprised him somehow.

If that truly is Nature talking to me, then what’s it trying to say?

The grey pegasus pressed on and found himself with his companions once again. As he settled in, Feather Dew kept his words to himself as he overheard an interesting conversation amongst two mares.

“Have I told you the effects of the brew? I heard that they often see jaguars in their experiences and stuff. I haven’t seen them, though.”

The other mare snorted, although it wasn’t truly mean spirited. “I’m not so sure about that. Maybe it’s something they focus on out of proportion compared to the other things that they see during their hallucinations.”

“Well I don’t know, Star. I just thought of it and it just seemed really strange to me. Why would ponies hallucinate jaguars out of anything? Isn’t that weird?”

The mare named Star stopped to get forest debris off her hooves, much to her dismay based on her grimace. “I don’t know, either. It must be a strange thing, you know. Out of all the ponies that know about this, it should be you.”

The other mare heartfeltly chuckled, jabbing a hoof to her chest in a playful manner. “Hah, right. I have done this a few times. You know the story: I was feeling really down, I heard of this stuff from my friends, and I decided to try this out for myself. It’s a bit inconvenient that I have to go to the jungle for it, but it’s whatever.”

Now Star looked curious, as was Feather Dew. “Now that you say that, curiosity is getting to me. I wonder, what would you tell me about this brew? Even if it’s just one thing?”

And the silence that came after her inquiries was a bit disconcerting to him. Now the other mare was looking out into the distance, apparently thinking. Star must not have wanted to be rude, for they kept walking despite the lack of a reply coming from her companion. That seems odd; I wonder what she’s thinking.

He knew this brew was no joking manner. The concoction in question, called Ohteotl, contained magical elements that can induce interesting effects and hallucinations from what he had read prior. One of the most interesting magical hallucinogens out there, and it’s made from a plant, he half-joked, half-described. That’s what it was. An entheogen from a plant.

How do they even discover stuff like that, let alone brew the thing?

“Everycreature, we are almost there!” yelled a friendly voice with a strong accent. Feather Dew must have gotten used to walking despite having the ability to fly, and it seemed that everyone else was panting a bit when they heard the guide’s words.

It was understandable, though, for the jungle was beginning to not only get hot but humid. For the other creatures, he didn’t know how uncomfortable it must be for them as all he had to do was periodically readjust his wings to get specks of forest bits and sweat off him.

It’s getting dark and we’re going deeper and deeper, the pegasus thought, and it’s really something to see all types of creatures here. They were mostly ponies in the group, but there was also a minotaur, what seemed to be a changeling couple, a hippogriff.

I knew Ohteotl is all the rage these days, but I wonder if it’s starting to get too popular, the pegasus concluded as he scanned the rest of them. We’re all here to experience the same thing, though. That’s the point. What’s it really like to take?

“It’s like seeing yourself out of your body.”

Feather Dew and Star looked at her with the perks of their ears.

“It’s like seeing yourself out of your body, Scarlet?”

The other mare—Scarlet was her name—gave her a cool breath and a chuckle. “It really is something, Star. I... it’s something that I can’t necessarily explain well. It’s like being in a dream and how you can’t remember it really well after you wake, but in that moment it’s the realest thing in your life. It’s like peeking at the next life.”

“Hm. It is an odd thing, yes, you’ve told me. I... I just hope I get to see something new if what you’re saying can apply to me.”

Scarlet's expression turned wise. “I wouldn’t say you would see something new, I would say you’d look at things differently.”

“We have arrived, everycreature!”

Disrupting, the group looked to where the guide pointed.

It was a sight to behold the more it was looked at. The spot was simple yet fascinatingly delightful. Nestled amongst the trees were little huts peppered in nooks and crannies in places with no forest flora; at the center of it all was a large, central hut. All of the structures in the retreat were either made of wood or dried leaves: wood for the support beams and walls, dried leaves for the roofs. Torches and orange lamps peppered the area, giving it a cozy glow—the warmth of flames.

But what the real kicker was the large clearing adjacent to the area of the huts. There was a waterfall flowing water into a brilliant, aquamarine blue pool. The ochre cliffside the waterfall poured down on was carved beautifully, no doubt from the flow of water over countless years. There were even hammocks and vines hovering above the water from tree branches to let anypony lounge under the shade of the sun and the cool of the water all day. It’s rather quiet, this place, Feather pointed out. It really does look peaceful.

As the guests oohed and ahhed, some letting the tension of travel out of them through pleased sighs, the guide let himself smirk a little. “Ah yes, how tranquil, is it not? Come now, let us settle our things and relax in the shades.”

The guests were shown to their individual huts and around the retreat. While the other guests had no problems being pampered by the caretakers, Feather Dew felt anything but when his assigned caretaker attempted to spoil him rotten.

It was already awkward enough when the caretaker mare tasked with his well-being asked what massage he wanted out of twenty-seven different options, but it became even more so, to his dismay, when she asked if she wanted to fix his belongings even though they were barely anything to begin with.

“Ah, it’s okay. I can sort all my stuff just fine.”

“If you insist, good sir. If you want a massage, come to me.”

The mare with the admittedly cute accent, though, left him be, and he was glad that he could be left alone for a moment, keeping note of that one massage that actually sounded interesting to him. I remember having bad times with hotel staff back in Califoalnia. He visibly cringed at the thoughts resurfacing. Don’t mind all that, now.

After all, that’s the reason I’m here, right? To let this stuff go and gain a new perspective. To find something in me I’m not even sure I understand.

He sat down slowly inside of his accommodations, taking in the deep atmosphere of the Amarezon properly for the first time. Feather Dew felt a tad uncomfortable sitting his rump on what were essentially dried leaves, but he didn’t move an inch save for scratching his violet mane with golden stripes running its length when it strayed once again.

How dumb of me for losing my hair ties the moment I try to fix my mane on the train, he calmly yet begrudgingly admitted to himself. Maybe I can ask the mares for ties or something.

Feather Dew internally found it a tad funny.

And yet he let his mane flow down his cheeks, in front of his purple eyes. This was a really long trip, but it’s barely getting started. I already feel tired, he admitted to himself. I just hope it’s worth being here.

Feather Dew then tried to say something, anything, but found that he could only focus on his breathing now.

Then the gust came back. Was it trying to interface with him, and if it was, what was it trying to say? It was like the wind was trying to mimic the movement of his chest going up and down, slowly coming to sync with it, like two synchronous metronomes beating as one on a table or the seconds hands of two clocks eventually ticking together.

Like two ponies coming together and having their bodies close, starting with different heartbeats but eventually, given time, beating as one in complete harmony.

There was a stillness in his heart he couldn’t assimilate, a song of unbeknownst melodies causing a stark but comforting silence that made the world move even the tiniest bit slower. Was this what the wind was speaking of? Did it know something he didn’t?

He puckered his lips and shook his head at the thought, letting himself return to reality for the moment. Feather Dew decided to regain cognizance by looking at his belongings.

There wasn’t much: a saddlebag filled with some of his personal info, a notebook, a pen, an instant camera, film, and a few photographs he brought along when he felt the need to look at them. He learned that in Ohteotl retreats such as this, material possessions were of little importance.

That’s what they all say, don’t they: why even try to bring things from this life when you can’t to the next?

The aura of the rainforest turned from dangerously beautiful to just dangerous. The sun had set a few minutes ago, now plunging the massive rainforest into the twilight. The stallions traversing through knew they only had a few precious minutes before the sun and its light would completely fade away and night was to settle into what was, for all of them, the most dangerous adventure of their lives.

The Conquistador amongst them scanned the forest for something, anything strange or lethal that may be lurking in the shadows. “We only have moments to spare,” he barked to his men, stoic, “then we’ll have to go back to camp.”

And he found it rather pleasing when nopony rebuked. A few of them had hesitations on doing this conquest. It was clear in their faces that this unforgiving environment was starting to get to them, an unforgiving part of nature so large yet stowed away—undiscovered for so long.

Coming back to the camp safely was the one thing everypony agreed with.

The Conquistador took a moment to gaze up as best as he could through the forest canopy. He had never seen trees this large, leaves so massive, and the bugs! The bugs in this place were absolutely enormous! He thought that his local pub was loud during the week-ends; the bugs in this place buzzed and chirped louder than even the hollering of drunk stallions. He swore he would try to get a few of them back to show the king when he arrived home.

He hoped it would be the least interesting thing he would show the monarch, though. Who knows what other kinds of secrets this forest had in store? It was going through an entirely new world where the bugs don’t care about you and the animals don’t care about you and the trees blocked most of the radiant lights of any star in the night sky.

“We’re going back,” the Conquistador calmly told his men. “The sky is turning dark. I don’t want us all to be here for long.”

And as they turned to return to their safe space, one of his men spoke, “I wonder if we’re ever going to find it, this place the natives speak of. I want to see all the treasures they say they have. To see if it’s real.”

The Conquistador commented, “Patience is key, Arctic Ace, but until somepony finds it, it’s only legend.”

He and his men spared not a moment to return to camp. And as the air filled with relief, the Conquistador wondered if this place they were seeking for truly was real. Until then, like he said, it was only the makings of a legend. He hoped it was more.

The sun was obviously lower now compared to when they had arrived only hours ago, even under the obscurity of the forest canopy. The guests had many wellness activities they could attend to this fine evening: swimming, lounging on tree branches and hammocks, massages, yoga. It was not only an Ohteotl retreat, but a wellness retreat, too.

I didn’t know yoga could be so hard!

Feather Dew wiped his back with a towel after the admittedly good cleaning he had by a small stream nearby. It turned out that there was a pathway around the waterfall and cliffside that led to a quaint stream. The water that cascaded down the pebbles and rocks were incredibly clean and clear to the point where he even took a small sip to quench his thirst.

I thought yoga was supposed to be relaxing. He returned his thoughts to the yoga session. Maybe it’s just my state of mind. After all, yoga was supposedly all about breathing and good posture. Or maybe it’s just not for me.

Then he remembered what a mare who was by his side told him. Don’t be tense. Relax, but know that you are in control of your own body. He kind of appreciated her wise words, and he admittedly felt good the moment they wrapped up, feeling his core most especially.

They’re right; I really should focus on my core more than wings, Feather dew quipped. His employment required him to have a sturdy body and the endurance of migrating birds, though perhaps he should lay off focusing on his wings and work on his torso.

But the pegasus didn’t have much time to think about that. Not now. When the sun set, it would finally be time to do what they had all come for, the elephant in the room.

He put his towel down by the fresh, wooden bed, and peered over his belongings one last time by the small table. I’m not allowed to bring anything with me inside: no cameras, no writing materials, nothing.

Feather Dew made his way to the door frame, although he paused for a second.

The wind. He felt it come back to him, washing him over and sounding like the subtle crashing of waves. His soul felt the slightest bit stranger at that moment, as if a string wrapped around his heart was tugging from an unknown object in a removed plane of existence. Was it a premonition, a prophecy? He looked back at his room one last moment before finally taking his leave.

Act I, Chapter II

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The once relaxed mood of the visitors was replaced by an uneasy feeling in the air: fear, doubt, seemingly looking for a way out, even if it was just a glance. As suspected by Feather Dew, none of them brought their belongings. The only thing they were bringing into this rabbit hole was themselves, at the end of the day.

Even the minotaur looked unnerved, tapping the sides of his waist with his hands.

The group was being led by the guide again, slowly advancing their way through the dank rainforest. With the sun now gone, the only source of light was the guide’s torch and a few light spells from the unicorns amongst them. Other than that, they were surrounded by an absolute, unfamiliar darkness.

At the very least we’re going down a trail. It would have been oddly horrible if there wasn’t one. Secretly, he knew everycreature with him agreed. The atmosphere around them was harsh but strangely complacent. It didn’t help quell their trepidation.

The insects were louder than he ever could have imagined. The constant whine of what he suspected were crickets was absolutely deafening in certain moments. There were buzzing sounds emanating around them at all times, and it didn’t help when the distant sounds of beasts in the night periodically called—to them, hopefully not.

“Do not be afraid, everycreature. The forest is louder than one might suspect, but we need not fear.” The guide must have known about the tension of newcomers—most of them were. It was almost as if this was merely his daily recitation, an everyday thing. “We are close now.”

Feather Dew tried to take his words to heart, keeping his hooves near his body as he treaded along the forest floor. He tried to make it methodical, keeping a rhythm in his mind—dodging his hooves around the occasional bug or weird looking plant or just anything he couldn’t see clearly in the dark.

How do ponies even go through all this rough jungle, let alone live here?

The guide turned around. “And we have arrived!”

It was more stunning than the retreat whence they came.

With less flora in the area, the guests could see trees even larger than the ones they had traversed through. There were torches on the ground that glowed a brilliant gold; lanterns hung from the tree branches like pinpricks on a black tapestry. The pièce de résistance of it all, though, were the treehouses situated high on the trees. Rope bridges connected all of the treehouses together like the cobwebs of a Star Spider, giving the impression it was a growing organism.

There was a contentedness, a peace that washed over the visitors at the sight of this oasis in a desert.

The guide pony gave them a moment before continuing, “we will be headed upstairs for the preparations of Ohteotl. If you need assistance coming up, kindly ask.”

They followed their guide to the wooden stairs that began from the base of one of the larger trees among the bunch, the treehouse of this one being particularly larger than the others and situated near the center of the complex. Slowly, the visitors began their ascent, off the security of the ground and into the world of the Amarezonian tree tops.

Not wanting to be rude, he let the other visitors go before him, the pegasus expecting himself to be the last to climb.

Until he met her again.

The pale blue earth pony he met while doing yoga stared back at him.

And he stared back.

“You first,” he said.

“Nah. You go.”

Feather Dew waited a moment. Shooting down any response he had for her before it even came, he relented by stepping on the wooden planks, climbing a few steps. Feather Dew heard her hoofsteps follow him as they both started to scale up the stairs winding around the large tree.

“So, what brings you here?”

He looked back at her when she spoke again, a question this time. What brings me here? “I came here to unwind. Stuff’s been kinda down lately at home.”

She didn’t seem so convinced by the expression on her face, though she seemingly did have the courtesy to move on. The mare gave him a simple smile. “I’ve been here once, a few months ago. To be honest, it was kind of horrible the first time.”

He was a bit surprised at that remark, and his face reflected that. “Really? What was it like?”

The mare seemed to notice her own lack of self-awareness as she blushed a bit. “Ah! I didn’t mean it that way. I was just saying what came out of my mind, that’s all.”

They stopped for a second. The lanterns were closer to them now, shining orange hues down the two ponies. “It’s okay. Anyway, you were telling me what it was like?”

She seemed to quickly move on from her kerfuffle, moving her navy mane with silver streaks by a flick of her head. “Yeah. It felt bad at first. I almost threw up the first time. But you’ll see how the brew works and all.”

The two ponies continued through their ascent. “I guess I will. I just hope it goes well for me.”

The mare snorted wistfully. “It’ll be fine, you don’t need to worry. This is a tea we’re talking about, not alcohol. You gotta let it take a hold of you and guide you through.”

“And I’m assuming ‘through’ means myself?”

She smacked her lips and looked pleased. “Smart. You might just know more about the nitty-gritty than I do, that’s for sure.”

“Maybe.”

The two finally reached the top of the staircase. He realized that from up here, he could look out into the vast darkness that was the rainforest beyond them in all directions. It was as if this was the center of a very lonely universe, a single torch in a world without fire.

The mare suddenly caught his attention by saying, “We can appreciate the scenery when the brew hits, trust me.” With that, she walked away, entering the large wooden structure to leave him to his senses.

The forest was starting to feel disconcerting to him when he was left alone: a large, black, empty void that crept up his heart. It was a silence that couldn’t be replicated through any other means, a quiet that only the Amarezon rainforest knew. There were angels and devils, beauties and beasts, auguries and false prophecies out there—surely watching, obscured. Did they study him much the same way he's unknowingly studying back?

“I will.”

He turned around, leaving the scenery of the dark-bathed Amaerzon behind through the wooden frame and cloth veil.

Feather Dew found himself in a large, circular room—larger than what he would’ve thought—with everycreature shuffling around, trying to find their place. In the center were a few ponies—presumably the Shaman and his assistans—conversing with each other by a large pot. It was the elephant of the room, that simple pot and what it contained.

He also noticed that there were sheets laid all round in a circle, and each sheet had corresponding tissues and buckets. She really wasn’t kidding, wasn’t she? Feather Dew has heard that Ohteotl could cause vomiting and the likes due to its high acidity, but he didn’t know it could be this bad.

Speaking of the devil, he noted when he spotted her. There she was, sitting on a sheet and waving at him. The mare pointed at another sheet adjacent to hers, right by the edge of the structure where they could look out through large openings and see the great rainforest and all its sights.

He sat down on his sheet and tried to relax a bit.

Breathe.

“They’re about to call us to take the drink any minute now,” she said to him, albeit it could be more to herself. “We’re just waiting for everycreature to get settled in.”

The room had a painfully obvious nervous energy to it, even more so than before, to the point where Feather Dew wondered if the air would eventually become viscous. He spotted a few guests nervously looking around and outside through the windows. He even noticed that the mare’s tone started to get a teensy more serious when she said that bit of info just recently.

The heat of the jungle weather was gone now—it was cold to be up amongst the trees. Feather Dew smelt the musk of the Amarezon flora, no doubt the wind up here carrying along with it the scents of the exotic rainforest.

“I didn’t tell you,” she started from beside him, “why I asked you that question a while ago.”

He recollected their small talk. “’What brings me here?’”

“Yes. It’s important to have a clear goal going through this stuff, you know. I really want you to understand that.” The mare massaged her hoof with her other one while she was talking.

Feather Dew gave her a simple nod of agreement. “Gotcha’. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Everypony! We are about to begin.” All attention in the room turned to the Shaman, who spoke in a dignified manner. “But before we start, I have some reminders to bestow upon all of you.

“The mantra here to remember is to ‘Drink, don’t think.’ If you hear us call all of you to return for another round of Ohteotl, and you have the ability to do so, then you will do so. Understood?”

The room nodded in agreement.

The Shaman then smiled. “Good. Please make a line so we may begin.”

So the congregation of guests began to form a line in front of the Shaman and his elusive pot of brew, his assistants opening the pot to reveal it to the first few in front. The mare stood and made her way to the line, but Feather Dew stood still and looked weary as he watched the first pony drink the brew, cringing and coughing a tad.

“It’s okay, c’mon. We’re gonna do this.”

Feather’s focus turned on the mare as she glanced back at him. He couldn’t help but stand up and follow her to the line. “Yeah. Thanks.”

And with her content nod, the two stood in line, slowly moving along as more patrons took in the brew and returned to their respective positions. With her being in front, both of them were getting closer and closer to the lingering inevitability of the mysterious entheogen and the visions came forth.

Feather Dew tried as best as he could to empty his mind of floating thoughts or bad memories and tried to think of her kind words and the mantra the Shaman shared with all of them mere moments prior.

Drink, don’t think.

It was her turn to take in the drink. How did time move so fast? She took her cup of the brew and swallowed it in one go with a smack of her lips. She brought the empty cup with her as she turned to return to her place, casting him a final glance.

Feather Dew stepped forward, repeating her kind words and the mantra again in his mind. He reminded himself of the reason he was here in the first place.

A new perspective.

The Shaman picked up a ladle with his hoof and stirred the pot of brew before scooping up the liquid and pouring it into a cup. He set the ladle down, offering Feather Dew the brew of Ohteotl, once and for all.

The pegasus took the cup from the shaman and downed its contents. He started to make his move to return to his place before he started to really notice how it tasted.

It was not good at all. It reminds me of diluted oil! And he felt his nose feel runny as the drink seemingly arrived in his stomach. The after taste burned his throat and the roof of his mouth, reminding him of how certain spices would do the same. Arriving at his place, Feather Dew sat down on his sheet in quiet anticipation and waited.

And waited.

What’s going on?

He turned to her, “I don’t want this to sound condescending, but I don’t really feel anything.”

She was playing with her cup and set it down when she heard his remark. “Oh, trust me, it’ll get real trippy soon. Just wait for the magical stuff to kick in and you’ll be in for an interesting ride, to say the least.”

The mare then looked out through one of the windows. “You can walk around and stuff, actually, if that’s what you’d like.”

Feather Dew did notice a few of the visitors get up and start to wander the complex. He was surprised they allowed that, and yet some of the guests did indeed go up and start to find their spots or just wander. It was a pretty night, after all, and he could look out at the sky and be in the presence of the breeze once again. Curiosity got to him as he wondered what these treehouses held. He stood up.

“Yeah, I think I should try to get some space.”

With that, Feather Dew walked out another exit whence they came from and found himself in front of a bridge of ropes and wooden planks.

Letting his mind ponder, he decided to use the bridge instead of flying. Who knows what could happen when I start to fly while I’m high as a kite?

As he started to cross the narrow bridge, Feather Dew started to feel the dizziness get to him. It wasn’t anything overwhelming, but it was definitely noticeable. It didn’t help that the bridge slowly swayed left to right and back again as he shifted his weight from one hoof to another.

He felt the wind playing with him as it softly slapped his own mane against his cheek. Halting and holding on to the ropes for support, he let out a breath through his nose to help him concentrate on his balance.

Feather Dew looked up to the stars. He could see them glimmer—white pinpricks across the black tapestry that was the night sky. He saw the brilliance of the moon; he realized how large it was. He realized and knew that somewhere, somepony else was looking at the same moon, too. What did they feel? Who were they?

That’s when it started to happen.

The moon started to shift slowly, its texture surely spinning in on itself like contorting fabric. Then it spread like a mutation, the sky bordering its edges spinning along with it. Feather Dew watched as the moon began to move itself through the night sky. It was as if the sky was a viscous pond, rippling as the great celestial object made its way across the night.

He blinked and let out a surprised sigh. Holding onto the ropes, he shook his head and steadily made his way across the bridge until he was on the other end, a firm platform again. The pegasus made his way through the entranceway.

It was a nice place. This was what looked to be a bar, although it was deserted. There was no ceiling in this particular treehouse—only a platform—and lanterns hung from tree branches. It seemed that one might fall off the edges if not careful enough, albeit there were ropes and wooden fences that acted as safety measures.

What caught his attention were the presence of hammocks and potted plants that hung from the branches along with the lanterns. Finding a hammock near the edges of the treehouse, Feather Dew reached up and with an oomf, rolled into it with little grace. He quickly settled into the hammock he was in; he found the idea rather cute, actually.

He gathered himself by tucking his wings under his torso. He looked up, glad to see that from this angle, the sky was clear from the obstruction of twigs and leaves.

Stars. They appeared, and they truly were beautiful, beyond life itself. A strange sensation washed over his soul, the foreboding the constellations would speak to him, sing him songs about himself, sing him songs about the heavens and trees.

But nothing came.

And he was just laying there, gazing up at the endless expanse. His dizziness was definitely more noticeable now, and the uneasiness was only beginning to get to him. He held his hooves together and clutched his stomach, allowing tufts of purple mane to rest on his forehead, flowing down the sides of his face.

He sat there for a few moments. A few moments of stillness.

Where are we?

“Good sir, the second round has commenced.”

He looked down from his cozy spot to see one of the caretakers look up at him, formal in her tone. Her head was tilted in cute anticipation.

“Ah yes, I’ll be going.”

It was definitely a tad awkward how the mare tried to help him down even though he could do it perfectly fine by himself; the whole situation was more complicated than it needed to be. His vision starting to look weird definitely didn’t help him.

Random swirls started to appear in his peripheral vision. As he made his way through the bridge once more, he swore he could catch hallucinations lingering just out of reach. They were fast, like shadows from around the corner that always seemed to be one step ahead of pony instincts.

Picking up his cup from where he had left it and giving his mare companion a smile, Feather Dew patiently waited in line until it was his turn.

Is it just me or are the minotaur’s horns snakes now?

Feather Dew found himself in front of the line. The Shaman poured in the brew for him when he offered his cup. With a quick sip, he downed the liquid for the second time that night.

That’s when things were starting to get really strange.

The pegasus was now struggling to go through the bridge. Feather Dew’s senses were bearing the assaults of lights and sounds. Geometric patterns started to crystalize and materialize around the edges of his vision, looking as if he were looking through some odd, magical eyewear. The shapes shifted and pulsed, and it made crossing the bridge worse as he swore he saw the ropes of the bridge turn into slithering serpents.

He yelped a tad as he almost lost his balance, his wings thankfully being fast enough in shifting his weight in time. That didn’t stop his breathing that was rapidly quickening by the minute, though, and the pain in him started to burn. His chest ached. Everything was starting to hurt.

The patterns looked as if they were sneaking their way into reality, disturbingly trying to replace themselves with the real world. That all changed when he shut his eyes closed.

He immediately decided open eyes were for the best, especially while crossing a swaying bridge.

You can do this, he encouraged, to the stars who were listening, to himself, to anypony that could hear him. You’re more than halfway through.

And the figures and shapes pulsed in and out of existence, vaporizing into the nothingness before coming back to invade his thoughts, his view. His hooves felt sensitive to the touch and started to swirl and dance around. Was that in his mind? Or was he actually doing that?

In a panic, he quickened his pace until he reached the end of the bridge. Did it really take that long to cross the bridge or was he just crazy?

Maybe crazy.

Hastened, Feather Dew found the hammock he was on moments ago, lifting himself up and letting out a hazy grunt as he rolled into it. The pegasus straightened his hind legs and wings, resting his head down onto the soft fabric once again.

He put both of his hooves on his chest, feeling the beating of his heart, his own body, his own vessel. Was this life? Or was life more than a heartbeat?

And it seemed his heart replied by slowing down. Feather Dew let his breathing take him over as he felt the sensations all around him heighten. The stars were starting to spin now. Or were they? He wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure of that. He just wasn’t sure anymore.

What was going on? What is going on with me? He silently asked the stars for an answer, asked the heavens and whatever god may be up there for any answer, asked nature and her benefactors for a sign.

Nothing.

He muzzled his face against the fabric, his mind numb.

Is this.. life? Death?

Feather Dew glanced at the sky again. His eyes widened at the sight. The swirling of the stars started to quicken, the hallucinations of shapes and patterns along with actual reality starting to merge into one. And the more he stared at the heavens, the more he questioned if what he was seeing was actually real, for he could no longer tell if it wasn’t.

He was alone in his own mind.

The pegasus felt the cool of the wind once more as it soothed the curves of his barrel, his messy mane. It brought him back to when he first came here, how he arrived in the seaport, how he and his group first congregated, how they started their trek to the retreat, how the wind played with her mane, and how it played with his own.

He remembered what he said earlier in his hut: After all, that’s the reason I’m here, right? To let this stuff go and gain a new perspective. To find something in me I’m not even sure I understand.

And then he remembered what the Shaman told all of them before the ceremony started: Drink, don’t think. He remembered how nice it was for her to encourage him to come with her and take the brew together.

Together.

It was a weird thing to talk to others. How in a world so large almost everycreature had the capacity to talk to one another, to understand each other. There were just some concepts that anycreature from any society understood—universal truths. How did those come to be? How could a world be so lonely yet be so connected? How could he feel lonely?

With a final exhale, he closed his eyes.

And it was real.

He saw great moving stars that pulsed out and spun around. He saw entire buildings change color, morphing into forms that surrounded him. He was in a room within a room. He saw the inside of a box that couldn’t be opened. He heard whispers which weren’t said. He saw inside of himself while looking out into the vast expanse that laid before him.

Great serpents of unimaginable patterns and complexity interlaced within themselves. They flashed and morphed into different colors, out of reality. They seemed to be the building blocks of the universe, the thread of a cloth that was creation itself. Then the serpents congregated as one, forming themselves into innumerable squares in a grid-like pattern.

Feather Dew realized he was falling through said grid, and he couldn’t feel his wings.

Great structures of pillars formed around him. Statues formed that didn’t seem to be physically possible—statues of alien worlds. He passed the hums and bellows of beasts. There was a ringing in his ear as he kept on falling. The ringing sounded like it was dropping in tone, but it seemingly never did—it went on and on and on.

He kept falling faster, yet as he looked around, he observed that it was as if he was falling slower. Feather Dew heard the loud hums of a hidden god, and the structures around him halted as he approached a sprawling forest of crystals.

The crystals grew closer and closer, but farther and farther, and as he sunk into one, he realized that he was falling into it again—falling into the same crystals. He fell, and fell, and fell, and he spun, and spun, and spun, in what seemed to be an eternal loop, an eternal damnation.

The ringing in his ears grew so loud that he couldn’t even hear himself anymore.

All things eventually do come to an end, though, and the ringing eventually faded away. What was left? Feather Dew found himself in front of a small, green sapling.

He saw how the leaves of the young tree moved ever so slowly. It was a growing thing, and it was moving. He felt how the air brushed through its leaves, how the roots kept its small form to the ground, how it slithered in motion as it grew. It was living and breathing.

He felt how the small sapling took in each water molecule from the ground, how it took in the carbon dioxide during the day and how it released oxygen in the night.

The tree was larger now, having a much thicker trunk. He felt the vibrations of each molecule in the plant and how they were all different from each other. They played. They danced. It took in the light of the sun. It took in the nutrients of the soil. It took in the magic that floated around everywhere. It gave and it received.

He then saw each individual cell of the tree and its constituents, how they multiplied, how they kept growing bigger and bigger until the tree eventually grew so large it casted a shade, sprouting fresh fruit. It was weird. It was once such a small thing, and now it had a massive trunk, with these massive spindly twigs and branches that reached outward and upwards.

He felt the grass under him. It was a living thing. The grass was a living thing. There were living things inside of him. This was all alive. Everything was vibrating, and everything was alive.

Until it was not.

The tree withered away from what it once was, a husk of its former glory. It’s spindly branches were made more visible due to the lack of leaves, the coloration of the wood fading away. There was only one way to say that this tree was once a living thing.

A single fruit hung from a branch. It seemed to be the last bastion in a kingdom already lost, a city fortified to keep itself safe from danger that surrounded it. But what was the purpose of being alive if nothing else was?

And so with the help of the wind, the fruit fell to meet the grass and dirt.

The wind. Was it truly a living thing, too? It was sometimes warm. It was sometimes friendly. Oftentimes it tickled one’s mane, and other times it was a storm that destroyed everything in its path. The wind came from trees, and trees grew because their seeds got carried by the wind. Could one exist without the other? What would happen if one disappeared?

Sometimes the wind was cold. Sometimes it just wasn’t there.

Feather Dew laid on his side. It was a cold night, but there were barely any gusts. He was a pegasus, and so, in a way, he was used to the harrowing cold that would render earth ponies and unicorns shivering, uncomfortable. But even this cold seemed to pose a challenge for the colt.

That was not the strange part, though.

He didn’t do anything about it. Feather Dew’s comforter was below him, his front hooves tucked in front of his chest, his wings folded neatly to his sides. The young boy just stared in front of him, observing as much as he could under the scrutiny of Luna’s moon.

His heart was heavy, and yet he could not move the more he stared. Somepony else was across his bed, and they stared back at him with the same awe in his eyes, the same accepting calm.

Feather Dew was looking at himself.

The other Feather Dew looked just like him, with the same innocent mirth in his eyes, the purple mane with the yellow streaks, and the grey coat, and the wings that were tucked in his sides. Feather Dew slowly took his front hooves and hugged his hind legs with them, making a fetal position.

The other Feather Dew did nothing.

How could he know if who he was looking at was Feather Dew? He knew that he was the real Feather Dew. He remembered the things he did: his first day in school, his first time drinking coffee, the first time he let his mane grow long and the first time he had to learn how to tie it himself. He was Feather Dew.

The other Feather Dew did nothing.

And he was made aware of the slight tickle of air in his throat as he breathed in and out, the pulse of his heartbeat bringing a pause, a stop before a grand augury. With every beat, his heart sent out pulsating tingles that radiated from his center, shivers that slightered through his limbs.

With every beat, Feather Dew felt his doppelgänger get closer, and at the same time, get farther away. The pillow on his head was soft, the gentleness of his comforter. There was a heaviness in his eyes as he stared back, but he blinked not even once.

Feather Dew did nothing.

The two stared at each other for what seemed to be an eternity. Who was real? Were they both real? Were they both fake? How could one convince the other that he was the real Feather Dew? Feather Dew himself knew that he had always been the real Feather Dew. Yet was that enough? Was that enough to prove his individuality?

His focus went back to his breathing as he shuffled. Feather Dew tried to not fight that growing existentialism inside of him. Sometimes, the only thing one can do to confront the things one feared was to embrace them, not fight them. Sometimes, to stop thinking was the best one could do.

So he closed his eyes.

He kept trying—kept trying to let go of any thoughts that entered his mind. Every time an idea or memory snuck its way into his consciousness, he simply shoved them away and moved on. The only thing that mattered now was his breathing.

He breathed in, then he breathed out.

He breathed in again, then he breathed out again.

Feather Dew felt something on his cheek. It felt like a small breeze, a breath, and it was warm and gentle.

He breathed in, then he breathed out.

Feather Dew felt something on his cheek once more, but this time it wasn’t a breeze. It was something solid. It was soft, and it caressed his cheek so gently he wondered if it was actually even touching him. But as it let go and caressed his cheek once more, he knew very well that this was real. It was touch. It was a fuzzy sensation that spoiled him. It was wonderful, like a mother’s soothe.

He let out a hum, and the kind caress suddenly stopped.

He breathed out, opening his eyes.

And she was beautiful.

Her single visible iris pierced his own, a red so bright it seemed to be forged from fire.

And that’s when Feather Dew realized he did indeed recognize her, but only from his dreams.

Act I, Chapter III

View Online

They didn’t find anything again, and it was rather unfortunate. They were all rather quiet about it and spoke not of their disappointment, but the way the air thickened around them like honey made it obvious that they were either way. The Conquistador and all his men secretly agreed amongst themselves that something inside their psyches made them hope that they could find it, that it was just in their grasp.

The stars were out once again, although faint. The sky was a deep blue, like the sea when it was nighttime. He and his men were well familiar with the odd feeling of the sea and its darkness during the night. They knew that not even Luna’s moon or Celestia’s sun could illuminate the staggering darkness of miles upon miles of water.

The sea was something that absorbed light itself, taking it in but not letting it out. It was home to creatures that would never see the light of day. It was an abyss. That was what the Conquistador thought flying through the sky must be like: there were indeed stars, but oftimes they seemed so far away he wondered if their presence even mattered at all.

His men were starting to chatter as they neared their camp and the village they were by. The locals here were friendly, but other than using a translation spell, they couldn’t understand them well. When they first trekked into the forest after they set up camp several days ago, they were suddenly weary, begging them not to go. Now the Conquistador’s stallions and he himself knew why they shared that sentiment.

But go they did regardless, coming back empty hoofed once again.

The bugs were—as always—ridiculously loud. They just didn’t seem to stop. The creepy crawlies were always out of sight; the Conquistador could never actually see them, though their loud noises made it clear that there were many of them, easily outnumbering any pony army in all of Equus. It was fascinating, how there were things so present but invisible at the same time—mirages, reflections, as if a hallucination.

Then he heard another noise, but this wasn’t from a bug. It sounded larger. It was a growl.

It all happened very fast, and it ended as soon as it started.

A roaring black panther came out from nowhere, suddenly lunging at one of the Conquistador’s men. There was loud shouting, and the unicorns quickly pulled the unfortunate fellow out of the jaws of death as he was put into an abhorrent shock. The Conquistador brandished his double-handed sword, ferociously standing face-to-face with the melanistic jaguar.

The black beast roared at them ruthlessly, the Conquistador holding his grip even tighter as a response. Fortunately, with a short growl—what seemed to be a snigger—the jaguar stepped back and quickly fled. And all was suddenly still, as if nothing had even occurred. Aside from the harsh breathing of the wounded stallion, the night was silent save for the bugs and rustling flora.

The bells rang, and their ringing could be heard from all across the treehouse complex. The chatter of guests could be heard; they held interesting conversations. They talked of the things they saw, the things they heard, great beasts that came from other dimensions, of large spaces, of shifting deities and animals.

They relived the battles they’ve won, the battles they’ve lost, the people they loved, and most importantly, themselves as individuals. And the once nervous energy that dominated the air was easily forgotten as the patrons took their veils and opened them, seeing through the other side for the first time in their lives.

The experience Ohteotl brought was strange, but it showed one one’s self without the obscurity of societal norms and internal boundaries, whether intentional or not. It was a night of strange revelations, both good and bad, like the return of a God to his men.

And then there was Feather Dew, who lurched over the edge of the bar area, vomiting harshly.

It was like a daze at first, like a dream, because he couldn’t remember much. He couldn’t even remember how he got off the hammock and found himself leaning on the edge of the wooden fences that stood between him and a rather large fall.

I really should have brought that bucket with me... He could only think of his regrets for a second before his stomach grumbled and he unfortunately started to vomit again. How can the pony stomach hold so much stuff, anyway?!

“Even my first time wasn’t this intense. What were you eating to hold that much stuff in you, a cow?”

“Oh, no.” He shook his head in denial as soon as he recognized her voice. It felt bad. It felt awkward for her to see him like this. It was kind of funny, though, and so he tried to play it off. “For your information, the buffet they had back in the retreat was quite good. I don’t recall myself getting five plates of delicacies yesterday unlike somepony else.”

And Feather Dew allowed himself to smirk a bit as the mare blushed slightly. “Hey! It was my cheat day yesterday! You know how good the ice cream here is with the exotic fruits and the cute, little umbrellas and stuff.”

He chuckled at that, finally feeling his stomach at peace from the hell he experienced only minutes ago, still leaning on the fence. “Well, you seemed to be having a better time than I am. How’ve you been?”

She put a hoof on her lips as she chuckled, as if remembering something. “The name’s River Moon, by the way, but you can call me River. I forgot to tell you when we first met.”

Feather Dew was suddenly embarrassed at the fact that he didn’t formally introduce himself to her. “Ah, my name is Feather Dew, but most just call me Feather.”

She nodded. “So, Feather, to answer your question, I’ve had the usual experience tonight. You know, meeting with the elves and the aliens and stuff.”

Feather blinked. “The what?”

“Aliens, duh. That’s what I see whenever I take it. I see some flashing patterns and stuff, and then I meet the aliens.”

“That’s... a blunt way to put it, I suppose. How do you even know they’re aliens, anyway?”

She chuckled. “Aliens mean anything not of this world. Aliens don’t necessarily mean weird grey looking things that come out of UFOs. What did you see? I bet you saw some really crazy stuff since it was your first time.”

Feather Dew looked out into the forest canopy, barely seeing a thing through the black treetops. Even Luna’s moon and stars seemed to only help a bit in illuminating such an expansive blackness. Feather tried to remember what he saw.

He couldn’t recall much. He did remember falling and falling, and he remembered the pulsating energy of molecules. Feather remembered feeling strange from the touch of grass, from the touch of all living things in the world.

Touch. He somehow remembered touch, a caress so gentle he wondered if it truly came from a mother’s love.

“I can’t really remember much of the details, but I remembered what I felt.”

She sat down beside him, as he did too. “Yeah, there’s a lot of that. Strange, isn’t it? You get to retain your feelings but not the memories.”

“Yes, that’s exactly what it’s like! It was just so odd. It really was like being out of my body while seeing inside of me at the same time.

“I remember feeling like I was falling, then I felt the vibrations of... things? Living things? All things? It felt strange to touch the ground. Then I remember...”

He truly remembered what he saw. That eye. It was red, and it conveyed an emotion he didn’t truly understand. What was that? Who was that?

“You remember?” River Moon prodded him. She was now giving him her undivided attention.

He shrugged it off instinctively. “I... I’m not so sure. I can’t really explain it. But I feel it. It’s like I was being... watched? Is that the best way to describe it?”

“I don’t know if that’s the best way to describe it if I don’t know what it is, chief. But I do kind of understand what you’re saying.” She looked up. “C’mon, it’s like two in the morning and we should really be headed back to the retreat by now. Don’t want them to get worried about us now, do you?”

Feather did like the view. He too liked the wind up here, but in the end, he had to relent; it was getting late, after all. “Yeah, we should go.”

With River Moon taking the lead, Feather Dew turned his view from the jungle treetops. He could only make it two steps before the wind came back with a low whistle, sending a chill down his spine. He froze as the adrenaline suddenly coursed through his core, through his limbs. He felt the heartbeat pulse in his hooves.

It’s like I was being watched. An eye. I saw an eye.

Am I being watched?

He left before anypony could even answer.

The grass tickled his neck and it made him quiver. It made him shiver at the thought of odd spiders and centipedes crawling on his back, entering his ear and coming out the other side. It was a ridiculous thought! But he thought of it anyway because of the way the soft but sharp blades of grass rubbed his neck and back.

What time is it? He didn’t even notice any clocks being used out here, and it was no wonder. The ponies here lived such simple lives; it was as if time didn’t matter to them. He heard that the ponies here didn’t even care for the portions of their ingredients when they cooked; all that mattered to them was how it was cooked.

In retrospect, it must have been a good life. Sometimes the world out there could be moving so fast, too fast. Large metropolitan areas were gaining steam in their developments and general populations, but there wasn’t anything wrong with taking a step back, right?

He grabbed the cup of beverage by his side, giving it a light sip and setting it down carefully on the grass. It was a rather exotic taste, but from what he gathered it was quite simple. It’s called Caldo de cana, if I’m not mistaken. It was made from running peeled sugar canes through a pressing machine, and its taste left the impression of fireworks of sugar in his mouth.

He let out a relaxed sigh and placed a hoof under his head, supporting it and looking at the stars. Absent-mindedly, he started to count how many there were, connecting dots and letting the constellations come to him. I don’t come to the constellations; they come to me.

“I didn’t know where you ran off to after we returned. I thought you got yourself into trouble!”

He scoffed, not peeling his eyes away from the heavens above. “I can take care of myself, y’know. I’m not that far away from the retreat.”

He heard her harrumph and lay down next to him, presumably looking upwards as well. And Feather really expected her to say something to him—anything, really. But it seemed she shared his sentiment: letting the silence get to them and allowing themselves to rest.

Feather Dew looked to his side and saw her eyes dance as she traced the stars; they seemed to be a bit confused as they moved around quite erratically.

“I can teach you,” he said simply.

River Moon turned at him. “You can teach me what?”

“I can tell you don’t really know what you’re looking for, am I wrong?”

She shrugged complacently. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. I didn’t really look into astrology and stars and stuff.”

“I think the word you’re looking for is astronomy, but that’s okay. I can show you the basic stuff first.”

She smiled rather peacefully at that. “Where can we start?”

Feather pondered at that for a moment. Where do we begin, she said. “I think the first thing we do is to look for the northern star, and to do that we need to find the Big Dipper.” He scooched a tad closer to her and pointed up to a cluster of stars. “See that group of stars over there, the one that looks like a frying pan?”

She nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I can see that. It does actually look like a bent frying pan.”

“Okay, so we found the Big Dipper. We’re gonna look at the edge of the frying pan—the side without the handle—and we’re gonna make a line that crosses the two stars that make that edge called Dubhe and Merak. D’you understand what I’m saying?”

River took a moment but then she agreed. “Yeah, I see it now.”

“Then we extend that line going up until it hits Polaris, the northern star. Do you see it?”

“Yeah, I do see it now. That is quite a bright star.”

He nodded. “Yes. That’s Polaris, the northern star. It’s very close to true north and travellers use Polaris to determine whether they’re going the right way or not. I see it as a basis for finding other things in the night sky.”

“I have heard of ponies using the stars for navigation, yeah. I wondered how long it would have taken to figure all this stuff out. I know we have Princess Luna and all, but still.”

Feather pondered at that thought and came to agree with it. It must have taken quite some time for the ancients to figure out astronomy, yet alone teach travelers to use it in their sojourns to distant lands. He wondered how they even discovered these methods in the first place, how many times they’ve failed.

“It must’ve taken a long time, yes. It’s crazy how ponies from back then had this knowledge—most especially those who knew not of the princess—yet alone try to see if it actually works.”

“I can imagine some ponies have died out in sea or in the middle of the desert trying outdated techniques; that’s why we know this works, y’know.”

He blinked. “Because they lived.”

It wasn’t a question. “Because they lived indeed.”

They gazed out into the heavens once again. It was a perfect night to look at the stars, for there weren’t even clouds out to stifle the view. And this particular evening was interesting: the sky had the slightest tinge of blue across its expanse, like it was fashioned in tweed.

“Are you okay? You seemed to have a bad time back there.”

Feather was surprised by the question, though he calmly turned his head, meeting her eye to eye. “I’m fine. It was a bit of vomiting, you know, the usual.”

River snorted. “This was your first time doing this and you call it the usual?”

“Well, that’s what you said!”

“Whatever. You were just tripping out of your mind like... bonkers. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look that crazy while they’re high.”

Huh. “You saw what I was doing?”

She scoffed. “No. I just saw how much you vomited and how you were swinging on the bridge like a maniac.”

He allowed a solemn expression to grace his face. “You saw me cross the bridge?”

River Moon shuffled from her place, setting a hoof under her head. “Well, yeah. I saw you cross the bridge through the windows after the second round of drinks. You paused and then you were swinging so bad I was about to come up and help you, but you sped off and so I decided to just let you be.”

Feather Dew didn’t know how to feel about that. “You were about to help me?”

She let out an expression that said well, duh! “Of course I was about to help you, why would I leave out a friend like that?”

He didn’t even think of smiling at that, and yet he did through instinct, proudly. “I didn’t know I would be earning a friend I could get high with, but now I realize this trip really was worth taking.”

River Moon put a hoof over her muzzle and gave a lighthearted giggle—not a slight chuckle at a witty remark, but a sweet giggle. “This is definitely a trip worth taking, Feather Dew, but I wonder if you think being high off your mind was worth it.”

Feather knew that that was merely a jest, but he seriously considered it. Was it worth taking in the brew and seeing those things, feeling those things? It didn’t feel as if he was being thrust into something new because he was already familiar with some of the things he saw, and yet it was a completely new point of view.

That’s valuable to have, and that’s sort of the point, he said, and he repeated his thoughts to her.

“What’s valuable to have?”

“To have a point of view,” he explained, and further, “I saw many strange things, and yet I know that it made sense in an odd way. It’s all so very odd because it was like a dream. I retained my feelings but not so much my memories.”

“That is a good way to put it, yes.”

“And I also felt my... sensations being taken to the next level. It’s like one of those insects that can’t see; we know how to perceive this world through sight, but when you look at those insects it’s like, these guys just can’t imagine what it would be like if they were to suddenly gain the ability to see stuff.”

“Good analogy. You seem to be a smart one, not kissing your flank or anything.”

He made a sound with his lips that imitated the exhale of a balloon. “I’m not that smart. I should really tell myself to stop caring about that stuff, anyway.” He didn’t intend to sound that sad, but he was! It didn’t feel good at all.

River Moon and Feather Dew held a pause together for a moment until she spoke up again. “Hey, it’s okay. You’ll eventually find your peace with that. I barely know you, y’know? But I can understand that there are some things you’d rather live without.”

And Feather Dew allowed himself to breathe again as he gazed at the moon, contemplating on her words. “Thanks, by the way. Not just for saying that just now, but for being with me through this trip we’ve had.”

“It’s no problem, bro. I just like tagging along with anycreature I can tag along with. Who knows? Maybe I can finally have the adventure of a lifetime.”

He giggled a bit, ruffling the feathers on the tips of his wings. “An adventure of a lifetime?”

She clapped her hooves together. “Well, yeah. You know, it’s like those stories of finding the lost city of Maretlansis or the haunted tombs of ancient Pharaohs in the Valley of Kings.”

Feather Dew was slightly taken aback. “Those tombs are haunted?”

River Moon allowed herself to smirk slightly, looking as if this was the moment her whole life was leading to. “If you’re ready to get into it, well, it’s gonna be a rabbit hole so deep you’ll wonder if you’ll end up on the other side of the planet.”

Feather Dew resisted grinning as the insidious idea planted itself in his brain. He feigned shock, stating, “the planet is flat, though...”

“WHAT?!” River Moon practically erupted; birds from the tree canopies jumped out and flew away. “You believe Equus is flat?!”

He went into crisis management mode as her shock didn’t seem to subside. “I was only joking, of course I believe Equus is round! That’s the craziest thing to believe, like, ever. It was a joke.”

River Moon crossed her hooves and pouted, although from his position, he could see her concealing her small smirk. Then she chuckled, and Feather allowed himself to chuckle as well at his own brilliant impromptu.

The two leaned back on the grass, and Feather Dew started to count the stars in the heavens above once again. He wondered if there was any god watching over them at this very moment. If there was, then he would thank him for making the clearest night sky the both of them had ever seen. As for their wonderful conversation? They only had to thank themselves.

Act I, Chapter IV

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The lamps dotted around the place were of an orange hue, and it plunged the home into a brilliant glow.

Yet the lights were not that strong—not at all—only adding to the comfortable mood that complemented the mahogany furniture and floor. It was a simple yet elegant place, the conversations of the party-goers reflecting the sentiment.

Those conversations being shared were jovial, with the occasional laugh and snigger, but everypony was soft-spoken and moderate. There was no clamor; there was no fuss, and the talks drowned out into incomprehensible background noise as Feather Dew proceeded through the room with a mindful amble.

It felt good to have his white and black striped socks on as they made contact with the polished wooden floor. His hooves slid a tad whenever he took a step, but it was frankly comfortable to have them on either way. And with the atmosphere the room held, it made him feel a tad closer to home.

He was also wearing his black long sleeve, imparting a warmth that allowed a contrast from the slight chill in the air. It matched the mood as the other guests were wearing either white, black, or modest colors such as brown and cream. The whole event itself seemed so perfect it was as if it was choreographed: the colors of the party-goers’ clothing to the house and even the lighting. He was glad of this. It was picture perfect.

“Hey, Feather! Come sit with me.”

Feather recognized that voice immediately. “While if it isn’t you, Rainbow Dash. How are you this fine evening?”

Feather Dew sat his rump on the brown recliner and felt the cold of its texture as he allowed himself to ease into it.

“Doing fine, I guess. I haven’t been doing a lot and things haven’t really changed, anyway. How ‘bout you?”

Feather considered this for a moment. “I’ve been looking into some things of my own. One of them is this sort of tea called Ohteotl. Have you heard of it?”

“Ohteotl?” Rainbow looked rather confused at that. “Never heard of it. Oh! Does it have something to do with those ancient cities you sometimes talk about?”

He nodded curtly. “It kind of does, actually. It’s this crazy brew made by some ponies who live in the Amarezon rainforest that gives you hallucinations and such. They’ve been making it for hundreds of years, from what I’ve heard.”

Rainbow scrunched her nose. “So it, like, gives you hallucinations? About what?”

Feather tried to think of how to explain it to her. “Loads of things; I heard that ponies see jaguars; they see flashing lights and colorful patterns; they even see memories stuck inside of them. I read in a book that it’s like when you’re in a dream and you don’t even know what’s real anymore, but you’re fully awake and aware of what’s going on. It’s hard to exactly define.”

“Like when you’re in a dream but you’re fully awake. Huh. That does sound kinda weird.”

“It is completely weird. The whole thing is rather strange. What I’m trying to tell you is that it’s one of those things you only get if you’ve been there. You understand what I’m saying?”

“I guess, yeah. And I’m guessing you’ve tried this stuff before?”

Feather Dew responded immediately, “I haven’t, actually. I’ve only been reading about it, but I want to try it someday. I’ve been searching for how to get into these Ohteotl retreats and such so I can try it myself, y’know?”

That was when Feather noticed these three ponies talking to each other a few meters away from him. Two of them were facing his general direction, sitting on chairs and chatting cheerily. But the third pony was sitting on the floor, her side being all he could see. Her flank was covered by a white skirt, the mare’s front hooves tucked neatly in front of her.

And while Rainbow Dash was rambling on about some other matter Feather Dew couldn’t care about at the moment, he realized that the mare on the floor wasn’t necessarily talking to the other two. Actually, he didn’t notice her mouth move at all. It was as if she were a ghost, the two ponies next to her seemingly not regarding her existence.

Then the mare turned her head, and as if knowing where he was, immediately locked sights with him.

Her face was obscured by a mask. The two held their breaths as they continued to stare at each other. Her single visible eye burned a flaming red so vibrant he swore it drowned out the rest of the lamps in the room, an exorbitant contrast from the abyss that gloomed her face’s veil—it was as dark as a non-existent, starless sky.

River Moon and Feather Dew were at the bar area again. Same as yesterday, it was empty save for the two of them. Feather eased his back into the hammock he was in, feeling his spine stretch. He admittedly was starting to feel more relaxed now that he knew what to expect and the fact that his “first time” anxiety had been alleviated.

That’s what River moon told him just moments ago: you were nervous during the experience and that’s understandable, but try to relax and let the brew take your hoof, ‘kay?

She does have a point about that. Feather Dew realized that he had been too nervous during his trip last night to truly experience the entheogen and its full potential. He had to let it take his hoof, take him to an adventure, and let him see for himself what’ll happen.

Whatever happens, happens.

And so Feather Dew allowed the brew to whisk him away, take him to an adventure into his own psyche and possibly beyond.

The effects of the first round of brew were more pronounced now compared to the first round from last night. He recognized the intricate webs of patterns and shapes that took form around him, and he swore that the hammocks and tables and chairs and sky and everything were starting to melt, to be one amongst the many moving webs in his vision.

Let the brew take your hoof. Don’t fight it.

That’s what one of the Shaman’s assistants told Feather Dew mere moments ago. And he could see why he would advise the guests because Feather had noticed that this time, the brew of Ohteotl was slightly more viscous and darker in tone compared to last night’s brew. When he had gulped the liquid down, he felt it burn his throat just a bit more.

And he could still feel the burn in his throat right now, in fact. He felt some sweat in his back as he leaned his spine into the hammock he was on, panting a bit.

“Is it just me or is it hot tonight?” River Moon herself sounded a bit drowsy, and he wasn’t sure if she was speaking to him or not.

“It is quite hot tonight. I’m having a slight sweat myself.” He hoped that was a good enough answer for her, if she was asking him at all.

And she made a deflating noise with her lips as she let out an exhale. “I’m starting to see some weird stuff right now. Woah, Feather, you look like you’re floating!”

“I am?” She is definitely, absolutely high off her mind right now. But to be fair, I am high off my mind as well...

Feather tried to settle into his hammock more comfortably, splaying out his wings to let whatever air came to them cool him a tad. It was in this position where he could feel his chest beat against the hammock, feeling the tension of the cloth from his body weight as his heart reverberated peacefully.

The pegasus tried to focus on his breathing. He found that breathing was key. Breathing allowed one to control one’s self and helped manage energy. River Moon told him a while ago that athletes controlled their breathing not just to keep their bodies in control, but their minds, too. You can’t have one without the other, and breathing affects how you feel.

How I feel. Feather kept that in mind.

He closed his eyes.

Feather Dew was thrust into a tapestry of unfamiliar sights, and yet he’d sworn he was living through one of his past lifetimes all over again. The buzzing of ancient bugs came in, flapping their wings and shaking his eyeballs slightly. He felt the weight of his stomach. It was as if he was looking at all things, and yet it was an endless expanse so large it would make entire planets shudder.

The tapestry was starting to escape him as a water droplet hit the pond, its echoes seeming to go on forever and ever.

Water. He saw the molecules of water within himself and realized how much water was inside him. The epiphany came to him: he was practically made of the stuff. He felt his blood surging constantly throughout his body and realized how much liquid made up him, his vessel, his being. In a way, he was more liquid than solid.

And he sensed another water droplet hit the pond once again, and he shuddered as the pond cascaded small waves that started from that insignificant, little drop of water.

But was it really insignificant?

Feather realized how even the smallest of butterflies can cause the largest of storms, how the throwing of a simple pebble to the ocean’s surface could lead to the largest of tsunamis. It made all the big actions he committed to in his life feel insignificant and the little things he’d done in his life feel more important than ever at the same time.

He realized how long his heart had been beating for. To think that for his whole life, his heart had never stopped, never hiccuped, never made the slightest mistake. Even the smallest of errors could potentially change his life forever. It could even kill him! That such an important thing could carry on for twenty-four hours a day made him a little more thankful that he was still alive.

And Feather was also breathing. It accompanied his heartbeat. It allowed him to take in oxygen and allowed him to dispel carbon dioxide. This was happening all the time. He had been alive for this whole time. One cannot have one without the other; perhaps it was one in the same.

His heartbeat quickened a tad as the self-awareness of itself came to him. The advice bestowed upon him rushed back to quell his heart from beating any faster. Let it hold your hoof. Let it take you on an adventure.

So he decided to let go and allow the odd tea to take him somewhere else. To help it, Feather slowed his breathing and let his heartbeat drop even more so. He felt his chest expand when he breathed in, and he felt his chest contract when he breathed out.

Trying not to rush his respiration, Feather still felt the pulse in his neck and his hooves. He allowed his limbs to relax and let his whole body settle itself in as he concentrated.

That was when Feather felt the slight tug of something in the distance, as if it were a ship heading its way to a lighthouse. And he felt the vessel move further away from him as he lost his concentration slightly.

Breathe, let it take you. Feather Dew focused on controlling himself. Breathe. In and out. Through the nose. Composed.

The object was headed closer now, but even that didn’t matter to him much at the moment. He had to slow down, it’s the only important thing to do now. Feather put himself in a trance, letting his thoughts fade away as he granted himself the stillness that was needed for this to work.

In and out.

He kept at it until the metaphorical ship was finally by his side. Feather knew it was there—he could feel it—but it gave no sign of its own presence: not a bellow of its horn, not a wave from its captain, not even stallions fastening its ropes to the dock to secure it in place. There was only silence. He wanted an answer, so he opened his eyes.

Her pose was intimidating, but it was regal, graceful.

What he first noted about her appearance was that she was wearing a serpentine mask, completely covering the area of her left eye and her left cheek. A rich, encompassing darkness, that was what he would describe the hole which in her other eye would have been, an empty point of space no star dared reside in.

The mask shone brilliant hues of green, giving the appearance of veins coursing through its entirety. What he too noticed was that the edges of the serpentine were crooked, uneven. It was incomplete and broken.

She merely peered at him, her one visible eye emanating a haunting calm. It burned that familiar spark, and it was as if her iris contained solar flares of Celestia’s sun herself. And her bottom eyeliner and articulate eyelashes gave him the expression that he was looking at royalty. The mare was suspecting something from him. Her mere presence demanded that he offer her what she exhorted. But what did she seek? It was a steely gaze of a girl who had been to Tartarus and back a thousand times.

The mare had the loveliest green mane with a pink strand and azure accents, tied to a bun; it shone like the purest of Amarezonian emeralds and aquamarine. Her coat was an orange with her four legs a pale cream. She had the whitest silk skirt he had ever seen, obscuring any cutie mark the mare had. Feather Dew noticed the large Aquamarine gemstone that hung from a golden necklace wrapped around her neck, refracting rays of light in all directions.

He also noticed the golden mane and tail ties that glittered under a seemingly non-existent light source, and how could he not mention the diamonds that made up her earrings! Her pair glistened to the point that if he were to move even an inch, the rays of light that refracted from them would twinkle a million times over, contesting even with Luna’s constellations.

Feather needn't move an inch, though, because she moved herself. It was an inch closer to him. Just an inch. And he tried to concentrate on easing himself as his breath stopped itself for a moment. The pegasus was put in shock as the mare observed him silently.

And it did seem to be an eternity that passed as Feather Dew was simply astonished at what was happening. Silently amazed. He couldn’t think of the words. What could he even say?

The world knew not of the silence between them.

“I had to let go to find you. I had to concentrate on my breathing to come to you. I had to ease myself. I only saw you for a moment the first time. But now, I don’t know if I found you, or if you found me.”

Feather’s breaths were slightly ragged, soft whispers, gentle nervousness under the simple study of the mare. The emptiness made its way inside of him, and Feather Dew felt the pulse in his hooves again, the adrenaline coursing through his veins and arteries.

The mare casted her glance down, her ears dropping slightly. He didn’t know who she was, but she had been imparted a great sorrow. It was all so real. This was real. There was something broken about this mare he didn’t understand.

Feather couldn’t understand her pain. He didn’t know who she was, what her story was, even her name! All he could see was the mare’s chest expanding and contracting, much like what he had been doing this whole time. Feather Dew was certain she was alive.

“It was a quiet night. Silence is the loudest scream, after all, and so throughout the nightfall, I felt the screams of the air as it refused me my solace. My peace.”

Fear. Anxiety. Numbness. And the silence in him, the calm in him. It was familiar and horrifying. And yet he knew that she was pulling him closer, whether intentional or not. Her voice belonged to that of an angel’s.

“And what did the air scream of?”

The mare blinked, her elegant eyelashes flashing. “The air begged to live another sunrise.”

A stallion who couldn’t protect his men was not a stallion at all. The quote rang in the head of the Conquistador as he and his men rushed through the forest flora, the wounded Lightning on the back of two stallions who galloped together side-by-side.

As the Conquistador ran alongside them, he tried to keep his hooves as quiet as possible. He didn’t know why—out of instinct, perhaps? His subconscious told him it would help hide him from predators, although a twisted part of his psyche kept tickling him, saying: all the predators already know where you are.

It was a rather disturbing epiphany that had come to him: any predator in this damned rainforest must have already known where they were this whole time, how fast they were advancing, how defenseless they truly were. Any beast that roamed an environment this unforgiving must be unforgiving, too.

The trees eventually thinned out, the flora becoming less abundant as the group passed through the threshold. In the distance was their camp and the homes of the locals; it was a sign of familiarity, hope and relief. What separated the ponies and their safe-space was a field, and so they ran across it like their very lives depended on it.

They were on their final leg of their unfortunate but short sojourn, yet the Conquistador and his men felt such an immense fatigue it’d make one wonder if they had just traversed the whole Amarezon non-stop. It was a miracle, the Conquistador thought, that all of them were still alive.

Only halfway through, the Conquistador noticed torches in the distance that moved closer to them. The locals must have noticed their troubles from even the distance between them, and it wasn’t long before they all met.

The locals immediately noticed the poor stallion on the back of the pair, who slowly put him down to the grass from their backs. Lightning looked dire. He had a large gash on his torso where flesh was torn off, and he was bleeding immensely, even if he had a cloth haphazardly wrapped around the girth of his stomach. He had a claw mark on his cheek as well, still bleeding drops of blood that reflected the glow of torch fire.

The unicorn under the Conquistador and another unicorn from the locals casted spells, the lights of their horns inter-joining in the air between them. The unicorns went back and forth in what seemed to be a hasty recollection of events before they both cast the spells off.

The unicorn stallion looked at the Conquistador. “I told her that we got attacked by one of those black panthers. They’ll care for him immediately.”

“Tell her that we greatly appreciate that. We have to hurry.”

With a nod, the two unicorns communicated again with their rather ingenious translation spell. After that was finished, the unicorn mare gently picked the wounded stallion from the ground—careful not to hold him where his injuries might hurt—and slowly started to lift him into the village.

Telling the rest of the stallions to go back to their camp, the Conquistador and several of his chosen men followed the locals as they were brought deeper into the village. Local ponies looked on as the conglomerate advanced, giving full on stares to weary glances as they noticed the red that stained the otherwise white cloth wrapped the stallion's waist. The said cloth sagged slightly at the weight of the blood that soaked it.

It wasn’t long before they eventually reached a simple hut with a banner that waved in the wind, showing symbols the Conquistador couldn’t cognize. He assumed this was either a rudimentary hospital or a doctor’s home as the unicorn mare knocked on the door rather hastily.

Out came an elderly unicorn stallion, still built like he was only young, and the two exchanged words. He nodded in understanding as the unicorn mare supposedly elaborated their circumstances, waving her hoof at the wounded stallion still levitating in the air from her magic. The elder opened the door to the building wide open once she concluded, allowing the unicorn and the stallion still in her grasp inside, the Conquistador and his men following.

To be fair, the inside was larger than what the Conquistador had originally assumed, with odd bottles of liquids and strange metal tools and knives littered around randomly. For a doctor, he would have expected more cleanliness on the unicorn elder’s part.

This was no time to worry of such trivial matters, though, as the attention of the Conquistador was broken from the surprised yelp of his wounded Lightning as he was set into a sheet on the floor, hay presumably under it for cushion. He let out a pained grunt; the unicorn local let out a squeak and what was presumably an apology in her native tongue, a grimace on her face.

The doctor bent down and slowly unravelled the cloth wrapped around Lightning’s belly. It looked like he was struggling to even stay awake as he swore under his breath and clattered his teeth.

The doctor observed the wounds for a moment before closing his eyes and emitting a spell from the tip of his horn, his blue aura wrapping itself around the wounds. The aura suddenly flashed white and faded back to the same blue. He levitated over a cloth from one of the closets behind him—not even taking a second to look back—and slowly started to soak up the blood that made a mess of itself on the sheets and the wounded’s coat.

Amazingly, Lightning didn’t react in pain, and he seemed to be the most surprised out of all the foreigners in the room at the sight.

Anesthetics with spells, but how? We could barely do magic of that level for surgical procedures back home, let alone for somepony who is still conscious. The Conquistador and his men watched in awe as the elderly doctor cleaned up the wounds and prevented said wounds from bleeding any further.

He took another cloth from another closet—once more without a glance—and said some words to the unicorn mare. It seemed to be a command for she carefully lifted him again from the sheet a couple of feet in the air. The doctor paused for a moment, looking around his wounds and torso one last moment before stepping closer.

Slowly, but without hesitation, the doctor wrapped what was indeed a gauze around his belly. The unicorn elder was careful in his manner of wrapping, going so far as to double check any seams that may appear or any gaps from the edges of the gauze. The meticulous process took a while, but when he was finally finished, he stepped back and allowed the mare to set him down carefully on the sheet.

He levitated over one of those peculiar containers—this one shaped like a pyramid—which contained a green liquid. The elderly unicorn took the cap off and offered it to the stallion. Lightning looked a tad wary but relented anyway, downing the liquid with a quick gulp. The stallion set the container down and let his fragile body ease into his sheets.

The doctor exchanged some words with the unicorn mare; she then nodded to the Conquistador’s stallion, reigniting their translation spell to exchange a few words. Once they were finished communicating, he looked back to the Conquistador.

“He will give him a medicine to help him with the pain and relax,” he informed. “It will be several days before he can be in any condition to leave, let alone move.”

This was not a good situation, but it could have been much worse. “I understand.” He thought for a moment. “Tell her to say we thank him, and if he wishes for anything for his services.”

With a nod, he quickly relayed the message to her, and she relayed the message back to the elder. The doctor suddenly gave a deep laughter; it reminded the Conquistador of his youthful self, when he was once a spry lad with a suave voice and playful charm. He said words with his native tongue, pointing at the wounded Lightning who seemed to be paying rapt attention.

The look of surprise hit the Conquistador’s unicorn stallion as the mare relayed the message to him; he looked at him with a quaint expression.

The Conquistador raised his eyebrow. “What is it?”

He cleared his throat before he started. “The doctor says we need not pay him, for we have already paid enough for meddling with the rainforest.” He pointed at the wounded Lightning much the same way the doctor did.

Act I, Chapter V

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It was a delicate morn.

The sun rose, and it banished Luna’s stars into obscurity until the night and the moon would return once more. For the meantime, the great object began to dominate its kingdom, a sky golden and pure as the laughter of children. Rays of light rotated around the celestial orb as it climbed its way higher up the heavens for all to see.

Feather Dew liked the mornings. He would describe himself more as a night owl, but he loved the tender moments before a sunrise as the atmosphere of a late evening remained, a window between light and dark, the hint of the star’s light on the horizon. He also longed for the smell of morning grass, wet and new, fresh, as if looking forward to seizing the day.

And he too ought to look forward to seizing the day—or rather the moment—but a strange emotion bubbled inside of him. As he wandered the halls of a treehouse, slow in his gait, he couldn’t avoid that nervousness that seemingly haunted him, following right behind his back, as if a ghost.

He tried to distract his mind from its own thoughts by observing his surroundings, but the universe seemed unkind to him, for the more he became aware of the world around him, the more aware he became of himself.

Feather was—admittedly—a tad nervous. That feeling grew the more steps he took, the closer he got to his destination. What would he even tell the Shaman? He didn’t know if he had all the answers or if he was even going to know what he’s pondering about. He’d probably see me as a bit of a loon. Well, to be fair, he is the one serving the entheogens all around.

No, actually. I suppose it’s not fair for me to say that about him. I don’t want to be rude. Who knows what kind of stuff he’s seen or knows?

The pegasus continued to wander the treehouse—sunlight filtering through periodic windows to meet with aged wood—until he came across a mare who seemed to appreciate the sun’s warmth, basking, her head perched out a window. She had her wings splayed out in apparent relaxation.

“Um, excuse me, but you are Solar Ray, right?”

The mare tucked her head back indoors, casting him a glance before her eyes lit in recognition. “Yes, I am. I assume you are Sir Feather Dew, am I wrong?”

Flattered he was at her calling him a “Sir,” but he pressed on notwithstanding. “Yes, I am. You can just call me Feather, by the way. Can you please take me to the Shaman now?”

“Why, of course I can, Feather. Right this way.” She waved at him with a flick of her tail as she rounded the corridor corner, Feather following her lead.

He noticed she was humming merrily as she trotted her way through the treehouse, the two finding themselves crossing a rope bridge. Feather was amazed at how calm she seemed while moving her way through the wooden planks below her, barely even taking a glance to look at her hooves despite the sway of the mercurial structure.

Arriving at another tree house, Feather noted that this was much smaller than the others but much more elaborately decorated. He noticed motifs on the walls, a few paintings here and there, odd instruments and maps littered amongst the wooden furniture of the hallway they traversed through.

The pair arrived in front of a door with some symbols engraved on it Feather couldn’t understand.

“I have brought you to the Shaman’s room.” She turned and knocked on the wooden door thrice. The two paused for a second before the mare spoke up again, “That means the Shaman is ready.”

Feather was confused. “But he didn’t answer the door, though?”

Solar Ray gave a simple nod. “He tells us when we are disturbing him. Trust me, no reply means that he is ready.” Without even giving him a chance to think of her words, she grabbed the doorknob and twisted it, opening the door for him to enter.

Well, here goes nothing. Thanking Solar Flare for her time, Feather Dew crossed the threshold and was immediately blanketed by a pacific tranquility.

What he first noticed was that this room was an open space; there was a large opening that reached ceiling to floor at the edge of the area, between solid footing and a presumably large drop. He did notice ropes that acted as a safety measure, though, as to not let a careless soul plummet to an unfateful demise.

The second thing he noticed was all the bookshelves—a few by the walls, a few at the center of the room. There were tables placed strategically throughout the space, books left open on their surfaces, bookmarks peeking out both open and closed pages. Those are a large number of books to be keeping track of.

The ceiling was covered by beautiful sheets that danced in the wind, and Feather Dew thought of himself as dumb for not even considering the idea before, much less notice them sooner. Hey, those look cool.

“Ah, welcome. I see you have noticed my sheets. I like them too. It moves with the wind and reminds me that it is alive.”

Feather turned his head to see the Shaman, giving him a courtly smile. He didn’t have his regular clothing on—it seemed to be for ritualistic purposes only. Feather let his mind off that, though, for the Shaman said something more interesting about the wind.

“You say the wind is alive?” That’s an interesting thought.

“Why yes, of course. I do believe that the wind is alive. But I have these sheets up to remind me that the wind is such because we often forget it even exists at all.”

“That is very true,” Feather Dew responded, seemingly out of instinct more than actual thought, glancing around. “The wind can sometimes be forgotten.”

The Shaman agreed by nodding, stepping to his side. “People forget that the wind exists because it is invisible. It cannot be seen. It can only be felt.” Feather walked with him as the two headed to the edge. From here, Feather Dew could see the large expanse of the Amarezon rainforest as clearly as he could see it.

The shine of the morning was still only young. From this view, the flora and trees didn’t completely obstruct the views below the tree tops, and so Feather could clearly see the Amarezon floor from here. It was a snapshot of a much larger picture, a perfectly composed portrait of a seemingly never-ending world.

The Shaman turned to him from the forest view. “I know you have come to seek answers. What is it you want to ask me?”

Feather answered quickly, “I wanted to ask you about your ancestors. Your ancients.” He wanted to start simply first, and what better way to start a conversation but with the pride of one’s people?

“Ah yes, my ancestors. Quite controversial, from what I have heard, but I respect them nonetheless. What do you want to know about them?”

Feather stopped for a moment. He didn’t know where to go from here; perhaps he only thought of how to start the conversation as opposed to the conversation itself. Stuttering a tad, he said, “I want to know where your brew comes from.”

The Shaman regarded him. “My brew? You’re interested in the origins of the brew?”

“Yes, I am. It’s very fascinating, Ohteotl. I wanted to know where it came from, and what better way to learn it from than from the ponies that actually make it?”

And it seemed the Shaman was pleased with the statement for he gave a smile, sitting his rump on the floor. Feather sat down as well to be respectful and to maintain the same eye level with somepony who was clearly older than he was.

“Our brew has been passed down from generations to generations. Once, in the great city-states such as Tetzpono, priests would offer this brew in ceremonies. Ponies today may think of Ohteotl as something that represents death, the end. But our ancestors looked at it the other way around—they saw this brew as a supplement to living.”

“I haven’t necessarily thought of it that way before. You are indeed correct. Ponies look at this beverage as if it were some glimpse into life after death, but your ancestors saw it more as a supplement for improving their lives.”

The Shaman nodded. “Yes. But as generations passed, and with the fall of our great city-states and populations in general, Ohteotl has been struggling to survive for centuries.

“Nothing can last forever, and even Ohteotl itself has been scrutinized and doomed to the history books.” The Shaman waved a hoof at the numerous bookshelves and books laying here and there. “I wonder if it’ll even be around after a hundred years.”

“Well, that is very unfortunate. It’s just a wonder how an experience so profound and life changing as this can be so relatively unknown to most of the world.”

“It’s because ponies don’t believe in it anymore. They don’t believe in us anymore. With the advancements of the world you live in, it’s a wonder we’re still around this whole time. People change, and traditions and languages live, thrive, then die out.”

Feather suddenly felt sad, and even guilty to an extent. “I have thought about our technological advancement, but I haven’t thought of the fact that there are folks out there that don’t believe you. It’s out of ignorance, I assume.”

“It is, and there’s the factor that a lot of ponies don’t know about us in the first place. We are the old world. We are the world that has left its prime long ago. It happens to all civilizations. Some are just born into ones that are in their highs, oftentimes not.” He gestured to his own being.

“I do understand.” The thought then seeped into his mind suddenly, and he realized what he was truly here for: to ask him the question that has been nagging him since last night. “I wanted to ask you something else, though. The real reason why I am here.”

The Shaman’s ears turned in curiosity. “What do you want to ask of me?”

Feather Dew hesitated for a moment before continuing. “I saw something in my experiences that I can’t explain. It’s as if it’s telling me to do something; that I have a purpose I have yet to fulfill. Is it... accurate to say that my psyche is telling me to do something?”

The Shaman turned to look out the window, sighing. “I honestly do not get that question often, funnily enough. Our guests always speak of their experiences as something of an epiphany. You’re one of the rarities... Actually, I don’t recall asking for your name.”

I always forget! “Oh! My name is Feather Dew. What’s your name?”

“Ochre Meadow, but you can refer to me as Ochre. As I was saying, you seem to be a rarity. Everypony else realizes the secrets their minds keep, but you seem to be more... confused. It seems that you are confused. Tell me, what’s bothering you?”

Feather Dew hesitated again. Did he truly want to tell the Shaman about what he saw? About her? What would that even mean? Would it be insincere but in his right to not tell him the whole truth?

“I... I kept seeing this pony. She... I don’t know if she reached out to me or if there’s something in me that reached out to her, but I do indeed see her. It was real. I can’t explain it so well, but it’s like I’m a celestial body coming closer to another celestial body because of gravity.”

The Shaman didn’t reply, nodding his head as if to say keep going.

“I saw many strange things, visions of snakes and molecules, but that seemed to be the strangest out of them all. It was just this mare I kept on seeing. I felt her touch, and she was... really gentle. She had the loveliest voice I have ever heard. It felt so grounded. It felt real. I don’t know why I see her, but I do! I feel like in some way, she sees me, too.”

“It is all real, Feather Dew. What we experience in this world is only a facet of the sum of reality. There are things we cannot sense, dimensions we cannot interface, and emotions we cannot even begin to describe.

“What I tell you is this; you have to figure out the reason yourself. There is something within the both of you that draws you both together—a connection. You have to figure out why that connection is there. Did she do something to you or did you do something to her? Ask these things to yourself, and oftentimes we can’t have all the answers. All you have to do is be mindful and keep looking, keep going.”

“I try to ask myself. I ask myself whether or not these visions even matter. I... I feel like it does, y’know. It’s like I’m bound to her in ways I don’t completely understand.”

“Oftentimes, it does not matter where one comes from. You need to understand her impact on you, because you have been shown that in some way, she is of great importance. Feather Dew, this girl, does she truly matter to you?”

“I... I dream of a lot of things. I like dreaming about feelings more than anything else. I’m not sure why, or if I just remember those dreams better than all the others. I like the fuzzy feeling of barely remembering a dream, though, but having the emotions sort of retain. It’s something that I can feel in my heart, the nervous energy on my hooves pulsating outwards.”

He felt nervous and yet familiar with what he was talking about. Feather was trying his best to hold it together, forget about his anxieties for a minute and just breathe and let the words come out of you, Feather. If it’s not for you, then it’s for her. You can do this.

She blinked. The mare had a blank expression on her face as she stared at him for a moment. “Dreams. It is such... a strange thing. To think that one falls asleep and is suddenly transported to a whole new world sounds absurd.”

Feather Dew expected for her to say something more, but alas, she paused and seemed to wait for him to talk again. This is what he noticed when she talked to him: she didn’t do it much at all. It made him uneasy to be put in the spotlight, but he knew he needed to be patient—for the both of them.

“It does sound absurd, but it is something that happens to us. The thing is that we don’t necessarily remember them well. We sort of wake up and it slowly starts to escape us. What some of us remember is how it feels, though. There’s this strange sensation specific to that moment, when we wake up. It’s... it is as if there were a cup full of water that is so close to spilling, but it never seems to.”

The mare stood a fair bit away from him, and it made him sad somehow. He had been, admittedly, very committed to this subject matter, and so he found it easier to talk about. But it was as if she were a boulder that just wouldn’t budge, an immovable rock on an uncaring beach that seemed to be frozen since the beginning of time.

It was as if the mare was a scared dog that needed comfort but didn’t trust anything or anyone to even come close to it. He wanted to get closer to her, but he knew he needed to set his boundaries, both physically and metaphorically.

She blinked again, and he truly did wonder if it was out of hesitation, overthinking, or boredom. Somehow, he thought of the latter as the worst option: it would be tragic if that were the case.

“I... understand that feeling. It’s the feeling of anticipation without knowing what to be anxious about or if there is even a threat at all.”

He allowed himself to beam at his success, their success. “Yes! It’s precisely like that. I have a hard time understanding how to describe it to ponies; my metaphors and descriptions change all the time, but that’s the feeling I get.”

The mare suddenly stepped a tad closer to him. “It’s... to define is to limit, and dreams seem to go even the limits of the mind itself.”

Feather expected her to add to that comment, but she merely rescinded, tucking her front hooves together from her sitting position. He sighed a bit. Try hard he can elaborate, and determined he can be, but if she wanted not to communicate, then it would be all over. He needed ideas. Feather thought of how he could try to revive their dying conversation.

What if I try to tell her one of my dreams? She could even pick! He lauded his own quick thinking with a simple smile as he explained, “How about I try to tell you one of my dreams? What kind of dream would you like me to tell you?”

She thought of it for a while, putting a hoof under her chin in contemplation. It seemed she wouldn’t answer at all until she declared, “The strangest one.”

“The strangest one.” He absorbed her request into his mind, looking around his brain’s inner bookcases for any strange dream he might’ve remembered. What was the weirdest dream I’ve ever had? He could talk about the dream wherein his mom thought he was his father from being drunk, or he could talk about the dream where everything was upside down and sideways; he could even talk about that dream of him at a party...

No. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t. That would be rude. It wouldn't... it doesn’t... that doesn’t sound like a good idea for now. And so he shelved the idea in a bookcase in his brain, satisfied that he stopped himself before he went with it. Who knows what could have happened had gone with it?

Another idea popped into his head and Feather suddenly remembered the details of a memory that came to him. “I’ve thought of one. This dream is particularly strange to me because it was so random.

“There was no sun, and yet it seemed to be the afternoon. The sky was clear. I was outside, wandering between buildings on the sidewalk. I saw no one else around; there was no sign of any wind. I couldn’t see any signs of life at all: no sounds of the marketplace, no hollering, no clatter of hooves, not even the chirps of birds or the buzzing of bugs.

“I kept walking and walking for what seemed to be an eternity until I eventually arrived in front of a rather comical sign.”

“What did the sign say?” The curiosity of the mare made her head tilt to the side a tad, her ears perking.

He let himself a small smile. “It said, ‘This is your longest dream: 5 hours, 27 minutes, 42 seconds.’”

She scrunched up her nose. “That... seems quite... strange?”

“But let me go further. That’s not the most random element of my dream. The most random thing about my dream was that everything was green tinted, and I only realized everything was green tinted after I read that sign.”

The mare seemed to try to piece the puzzle together. “The epiphany only came to you once you read the sign. What happened after that?”

Feather shrugged. “I realized I was dreaming and immediately shot awake. To be frank, I was really confused when I first woke up. It’s as if my mind was playing a sick joke on me, though.”

“You had an interesting dream. I cannot recall having a dream that interesting, myself.”

He nodded. “I understand that some ponies cannot remember all their dreams. If you think about it, everypony seems to forget more dreams than they can remember. Who knows how many dreams we’ve had and what they may contain?”

And a certain sorrow washed over her by that statement, though she attempted to shake off the sentiment as quickly as it came. “I... wonder that, too. How we are thrust into a wholly familiar but unfamiliar world that... we let go.”

“We let go?” Feather was confused by that.

It seemed that he activated something inside of her that he didn’t quite know, didn’t quite understand. It was the face of recognition that graced her face, a lapse in her mood at the mention of Feather’s words that made him uneasy.

She elaborated, a soft but strong tone in her voice, “I... We forget. We forget dreams and the lives we lived in them. We often forget the wonders we see and the ponies we have met. There are special moments that get lost to the sands of time that cannot be taken back. I... It is hard to let go if it means so much... but...

We both know it happens anyway.”

Feather felt a pang of sadness grow in him as she recoiled slowly, possibly from her own words. His heartbeat quickened. “Hey, I... understand that. It reminds me of the saying, ‘The important things are always the hardest.’” He wanted to say more, but he didn’t know what. There were things bubbling inside of him he couldn’t fully cognize.

She seemed to have dropped the subject as she only sighed.

Her already obscured visage became even more so as she turned away, glancing downwards. The mare’s ears drooped and she fluttered her eyes closed. Even during sadness, there was a beautiful gentleness to her. The only way to know if she was even alive was through the presence of the fall and rise of her delicate chest.

He didn’t know what to do. It would be rude to go up to her and just pat her on the back and say ‘Everything will be fine,’ would it? They had barely known each other in the first place; he had to remind himself of that. But what else could he do, just stand there and let her be that way?

It seemed to be the answer for now, not saying anything. Sometimes the best thing to do was to do nothing at all.

“I won’t ask anything more from you,” Feather only said, her ears perking from that. She said nothing else.

And the two sat in complacent silence, feeling some energy force them apart, like magnets facing each other with the same poles. She was right. Silence was the loudest scream there was. It crept up between them and pushed the two apart.

It was agonizing. Feather felt like he could have done more in their conversation, could have done something else. He didn’t know what made his heart thrash in his chest, the change in her tone of voice or the static void that was taking over his hearing.

What now?

“Will... do you want to come back?”

And at that moment the static void departed, her words echoing in his head. Do you want to come back? It surprised him, the fact that he somehow expected the question yet knew not of how to respond. It was as simple as a “yes” or a “no,” but Feather knew that things didn’t quite work that way.

When she looked back at him, she seemed to have a regret and a hope: a regret that she may have said things that scared him, put him off, drove him away; a hope that despite all of that, Feather would return, Feather would come back, that there would be a next time to yearn for.

Through one way or another, he did also want that.

“Yes.”

The other sentiments he wanted to voice out were most probably for another conversation, another day.

Act I, Chapter VI

View Online

There was a distinct smell to the sea. He remembered how it smelt the first time he had ever come across the shore: salty, with a tinge of exotic algae and seaweed. That’s what he had been told, the seaweed and algae produced these scents as byproducts of their everyday functions. He found it right that the sea would be blanketed by this odor, and there was no better way to revel in its influence than when he gazed outwards—starboard side of the ship.

The Andalusian Empire was great, and they were considered to be the greatest shipbuilders in the world, but everypony knew that no one ship would be mightier than the expanse of the sea. It was truly mind boggling at how much vastness can exist, feeling both full and empty at the same time. The sea was filled with seaweed and algae that went on for miles and miles; who knows what other secrets it held, moreso the ones of legends old?

He took note of where the sky met the sea, seeing how it curved slightly. The sea was large enough that it could show one the curvature of Equus—a tiny slice showing any explorer that the world was both incredibly large yet incredibly small. It was the same emotion when one found themselves on top of Mount Everhoof; they had made it to the top of the planet, and yet the odd feeling of knowing no other peak out there was taller brought a great discomfort, a great yearning to a non-existent goal.

As beautiful as the sea was, it was harsh at other times.

He was called to the deck by their Conquistador, an old stallion who spoke softly yet held a demeanor that could silence an entire pod of hunting orcas. As he spoke and commanded his men to attend to their duties in this time of emergency, the wind was suddenly twice as strong as it had been, and only in mere moments it became even stronger than that. The ship began to rock from side to side, the sky turning a bleak grey.

When he witnessed the sky meeting sea, it too was the calm before the storm.

He was instructed to go down and check for any signs of a hull breach. He was diligent, not a time waster. One by one, going through each of the rooms, he inspected the floors, walls, and ceilings. As he went on his way through his duty, he felt glad that there weren’t any signs of any water coming in.

Until it did.

The sea was becoming more unforgiving, showing its sheer resolve. The ship thrashed from left to right and forward and backwards, and it seemed that it got off the water before crashing back down into it again, slamming its hull into the stormy waves, nature playing with the great object with an even greater power. It proved, once again, that it would best any creation not from gods themselves.

They yelled for his name. He was inside the ship, and he wanted a way out. Some of his crew mates were already on deck, but a few of them—such as himself—were deep inside the quickly degrading structure. Time waited for no soul. He had to bail.

Quickly leaving the room he was in, he found himself in a hallway and ran through the best he could through the water, already two-thirds a foot deep and rising at an alarming rate. Wading through the rumbling liquid, he arrived by a staircase that would lead to the deck before he heard a sound.

A sound that came from a hallway to his left. It was a cry of help.

He stared at the hallway and glanced back at the steps, his hoof already on the railing. He let out a short breath before leaving the foot of the staircase, rushing to the source of calls for a savior.

There was something about plants. They were mostly green things that could vary from being the tiniest of moss to the tallest of giant redwoods. Feather Dew himself had seen giant redwoods during his visits to Califoalnia. They truly were great and giant; an average sized Manehattan townhouse could fit in the base of their trunks! He saw how ponies scaled the height of them like mountains. It amazed him how living things could be that way.

He lazily swung from his hammock—indolent—though he wasn’t at the treehouse complex. Feather hung from a rather long tree branch that extended over the natural pool with the waterfall. He somehow wasn’t anxious at the thought that he could fall into the water and be completely soaked—the light white noise of the waterfall helped him soothe his anxieties away.

Well, save for one anxiety.

He kept being reminded of her, how he triggered something in the mare. It wasn’t intentional at the very least, but the least he could do right now was to feel bad for it. The whole situation was bizarre; they were talking about dreams and his experience with one of his own, and she suddenly had a change of tone and demeanor, a calm yet fiery pertinacity.

Feather was glad the weight of her words hit her, regardless of him being to blame for the mishap. There was something... about that. About her. She was strange, an anomaly, and yet there was something beautiful about the mare he wouldn’t fully admit even to himself. He sighed and tried to let the Amarezonian breeze help him and his thoughts cool down.

It was as if he had left a conversation that never occurred, recalling words that existed not, a weight in his soul that harkened to memories from another timeline. But, though one way or the other, he allowed a small smile. Did he dare to explain any of those things, much less the contentment in his heart when he confirmed he would be coming back?

His moment of solace was interrupted by a sudden jolt that rocked his hammock. It was as if the branch he was hanging on was hit by something, an object. He peered out and turned wide-eyed as he peered at the perpetrator.

River Moon stared wide-eyed as well, a blush on her cheeks as he kept staring at her. He blinked, and she blinked back in response. “I... was trying to find a breeze, that’s all.”

“You could’ve said you were trying to fly and that would have been funnier, y’know.”

And she looked absolutely, adorably furious at that statement. He tried to stifle his laughter by putting a hoof on his mouth, but his moment of elation soon turned into one of absolute horror as he felt a slap on his hammock, and inadvertently a slap hitting his side.

“Hey! Stop hitting me! I’m gonna fall into the water if you keep doing that!”

She stuck out her tongue and made a look with her eyes. “Play stupid games, win stupid prizes!”

Feather Dew jumped out of the hammock, splaying his wings and taking flight. She struck at the empty hammock a few times before glaring at him, Feather hovering at her side with his hooves crossed.

“Sometimes the game is rigged for some of the players to have wings, mind you. Some have horns. Some have none at all. To remind you just this once, I am the former.”

“Racist.”

He was genuinely shocked at that crude but short remark, placing a hoof on his chest. “I-I’m not racist at all!”

She let out a heartfelt grin. “I always get the last laugh, to remind you just this once. And by the way, I was about to dip in the pool but then I saw you hanging around up here.”

The epiphany suddenly came to him. “How did you even get up here without me noticing you?”

She shrugged as best as she could while keeping her balance. “I’m not sure, chief. You seemed to be in a trance as I was scaling this tree. I was about to ask you that.”

“Oh.” Do I really space out like that? In retrospect, he truly had been in deep contemplation, thinking about himself and the mare in his visions. This wasn’t a good place to talk about that, though. “Hold on. Let’s get you down to firm ground.”

Even though she politely refused, Feather lifted her up with his hooves and brought her down towards Amarezonian footing. She mentioned something about the use of better smelling deodorant and you don’t need to hold me like that, you scoundrel! But he couldn’t think about any of those remarks as he realized she was probably about to ask him what he had been pondering on.

Feather tried to think of the ramifications. If that was the case, could he tell her? What would she even say? River Moon would probably think of him as a loon for the rest of her days!

“Hey, Feather. I wanted to ask you what you were thinking about. From the look of your face, it seems serious. Wanna talk about it?”

He hesitated and was slightly jolted at the fact she knew it was grave. It was more than whatever the word “serious” was. It was downright queer.

“I... I don’t know, River. You’d probably think of me as crazy for it.”

She didn’t look pleased with that answer. “Hey, I can keep a secret. You can tell me. And besides, I have seen some crazy stuff myself. Tell you what, I won’t even try to play devil’s advocate for you.”

Feather Dew felt somehow comforted by that. River Moon has been trustworthy to him since they met; he knew that this silly mare could act rather seriously if she wanted to. “You promise?”

“I absolutely promise you.”

The pegasus nodded. He glanced at a row of empty beach chairs lined up by the water’s edge. “Why don’t we sit down and I’ll explain it to you?”

With a nod, River followed Feather, the two settling on two chairs adjacent to each other. They sat down, facing each other with their undivided attention. Feather Dew allowed a silence to come between them for a moment before he cleared his throat and began.

“Well, I’ve been having the usual Ohteotl experience these past few days, with a lot of the same elements everycreature else talks about. But I keep seeing things that are strange in my visions. I... I keep seeing somepony.” The cool of a breeze hit his face as the last of his words reached her ominously.

“You keep seeing somepony?” River Moon was paying rapt attention.

Feather agreed by nodding. “Yes. I keep seeing this mare... but I’ve never met her before. At least not in real life. I... keep seeing her in my visions ever since our first day here, but I’ve only been seeing her clearly since, well, just a while ago at the treehouses-”

“Wait wait wait wait wait.” River Moon cut him off. “You’ve met somepony in your experiences that you’ve never met before? Ever?”

“Not exactly. I’ve met her only in my dreams. I can somehow remember it now. I can sometimes spot her in my peripheral vision, or in the background, or just being there, but whenever I wake up, I just forget it as if it were an insignificant detail. I started to realize more was going on than I thought ever since our first meeting.”

Feather waited for River Moon to reply, but she seemed to be having problems of her own. Her mouth opened and closed slowly, as if she were trying to find the words she wanted to say. Her hind legs fidgeted under her weight as she sat in complacent wordlessness, looking out into the distance.

“River, what’s wrong? Was it something I said?”

“Her eye. It’s red, isn’t it? Her face is covered by a green mask. I remember it. I...” She suddenly turned to him, eyes shocked yet apprehended. Her coat turned the slightest bit pale. “You saw her, too?”

Feather’s heart beat like drums at her revelations, his hooves pulsing like a rapid telegraph sounder. She... “You... you too? You met her? Wearing golden mane and tail ties, a white skirt, an aquamarine necklace, everything?”

She gravely nodded her head.

Feather rested his neck on his hoof. He couldn’t believe it. Feather assumed this whole time that he was somehow communicating with an entity that was isolated to him and only him, but now... She could contact others, and the epiphany sounded more unbelievable the more he attempted to wrap his head around it. How could that be? Frankly, did he even know anything anymore?

“What does she tell you?” River Moon’s voice was a soft sound, a mere bated whisper.

Feather’s mind was trying to process her question, trying to think of how he would even begin to answer that. It was as if he was standing in front of a million options to choose from.

And even if his mind was blank, his words were loud and clear.

“She talked of a quiet night. She talked of silence being the loudest scream. The air begged of... ‘living another sunrise.’”

River seemed speechless herself, staring at the ground in what he assumed was blank desolation.

The howl of the wind interrupted any thought that could form in his head. It washed through him, toying with his mane as it had always done. And yet it was colder than usual. Was that in his head? Another breeze made its way between the two baffled ponies, reminding Feather of the distance being formed between them.

He wondered if it was a mockery by the wind, to come in between them. It was possibly trying to bridge the two together, or to make them grow apart. What was its intent to be here at all?

“She told me something different the first time we truly talked.” Feather snapped out of his blank state and redirected his attention to River Moon as she started, “She told me that the silence was strangling her, like she couldn’t breathe. She said that the most silent times were the ones that made her bleed the most.”

Feather was silently devastated. He let out a ragged exhale, almost sounding like a chuckle—a defeated chuckle of a stallion who has lost to the enemy, silently waiting for the moment he’ll be slain. He moved his hoof to his cheek and rested it there as he was suddenly thrust back in the moment.

He remembered her touch. It was gentle, and it almost seemed to be out of familiar compassion rather than raised suspicion. He then remembered the touch being more grounded but still very much soft. It was stroking him. She was stroking him.

“She caressed my cheek. It was only for a moment, from the first time we met here. But she did! It was so soft at first I wasn’t quite sure if it was even real. But then it came back firmer, realer. I... I wonder why she did that. Why did she do that?”

“Calm,” interjected River, glancing at him. “I... that’s not what she acted like when we first met. When we first met, it was as if she was trying desperately to seek help but didn’t know how. She was like an abandoned animal. Scared. She looked scared, even more so than I was.”

She sniffled, setting her front hooves by the sides of her hips on the chair. “What else did she tell you?”

“’We forget.’ She told me that we forget dreams and the things we see in them. She talked about how people forget the lives we live in them. She said that it was hard... to let go of the things that mean so much.”

“Let go?”

“She got... sad for me saying exactly that. I was telling her one of my dreams and then she started to explain... I can’t remember it exactly. I can’t remember exactly what we talked about before she seemed to realize something that made her space out that way... Then she asked me if I wanted to come back."

He sighed, more heavy than he would have expected. Feather shut his eyes as he reminisced the fuzzy sensation of waking up from a dream, except that it didn’t necessarily feel good. It was as if he was being massaged very gently by the tip of a sharp blade.

Feather didn’t know how to describe what he felt in general.

“Talk to her.”

He looked up from his state, calm but solemnly. “I should have said I was sorry.”

“That’s not what I said. I said you should talk to her.”

He allowed a tuft of his mane to cover his eye and snout. Feather was a tad uncomfortable. “About what?”

“About us.” River Moon pointed a hoof at his chest and then put it on her own. “This isn’t normal. We’re supposed to trip about jaguars and meet with the occasional alien and see flashing rainbows and stuff, not meeting what is clearly the same entity because she can only talk to us one at a time. Something strange is going on. I’m not sure of what it is, but what I’m sure of is that we have to get to the bottom of this.”

Feather felt the anxiety. “How do I even start that conversation?”

River sighed; it seemed she also didn’t know. “I’m not so sure myself, but what I can tell you is this.

“She hasn’t talked to me at all during this visit. Now that I know she’s been talking to you, we can deduce that she can only talk to one of us at a time. It seems like she... comes back to you, somehow. I have a feeling she might be more comfortable with your presence. If there’s somepony to tell her, it should be you.”

Feather Dew realized the weight that was being put on his shoulders. Albeit his subconscious was seeking for any other way, Feather Dew knew she did have a point. If there was somepony to tell her anything, it was him. And yet, despite feeling the pressure of a conversation that has yet to have taken place, he felt rather blessed with the opportunity for it was as if he knew deep within himself that the only pony who could break this to her was... him.

Feather shook his head, trying to shake off the anxiety and heavy sensation in his temples. “You’re right. I somehow feel that it has to be me that has to do it.”

“Yeah.”

He puckered his lips. “And I have to say, this has been a rather... interesting development.”

River Moon awkwardly chuckled. “I- yeah. Actually, this whole thing sounds crazy. An entity we somehow only communicate with through hallucinations. Funny.”

Feather stepped off his chair and sat beside River, finally coming close to her. “I myself wonder if she’s found us or if we found her.”

River Moon and Feather Dew sat with not another word said. He finally had a sort of quiet in himself, but not the same blankness he was hit with moments ago. Feather felt a comforting peace, for he understood that he needed it, they needed it—a moment of interlude before a reprise.

Feather allowed himself to take note of the gentle crashing of water from the waterfall, pouring the aquamarine liquid into the tranquil pool. On the water, he saw several leaves that fell from the trees above wander aimlessly, coursing through the waves with little hesitation and with a great many repose.

He was somehow relieved by the movement of the leaves, and he understood that he needed to reconnect with the world around him, for he had a fear in him that if he didn’t, his soul would start to wane from his body.

Act I, Chapter VII

View Online

The Manehattan Museum of Art was a great juxtaposition between present day and days before. It housed an inordinate number of art pieces, relics that range from odd contemporary paintings to ancient sculptures made by civilizations eons ago and everything in between.

Feather Dew believed that if one wanted to look at snapshots of history, then the Manehattan Museum of History was the place to go, but if one wanted to look at snapshots of people, then they ought visit the enigmatic Museum and the more so enigmatic fragments of chronicles it contained.

Even the museum itself was a strange place, a building belonging to Neoclassicism in the middle of a modern metropolis. Sure, some of the buildings in Manehattan had the charm of being built by past generations, but the Museum of Art always stood out to him with its large arcs and towering pillars; it was as if the structure was plucked from an alternate timeline, a non-existent fantasy world of exquisite taste and resplendent imaginations.

He remembered this striking painting in the museum, one of his favorites: From Heaven He Fell. It was a piece that called the attention of everypony in the room it was in. In the background were angels that seemed to be halfway through the process of turning into clouds, serene and encompassing with the way they all held each other as one. The sky had a certain tawniness that made it seem as if it were the calm sunset of a vague day.

And then there was the subject of the painting itself, in the forefront. The angel looked protective yet ready for assault, criticizing yet beseeching for help, so unbelievably beautiful but hateful. He was a fallen angel, cast out by his god from paradise. The heavenly messenger was also in transition, though different from the others, being many things in that singular instant. Or could he be none of those things at the same time, too?

“There is one thing I’m sure about him, though. He is ultimately a being without hope, full of misery. I look at him and it’s as if he is staring back at me. I see his hooves together, and I don’t know what’s on his mind when he does so. Is he praying? Is he scheming? He looks back at me with his beautiful eyes that radiate both hate and loss. I couldn’t believe it myself. I couldn’t believe such a detestable being could look so alluring.”

She was keen in listening, her hooves on her chest, sitting down as he kept on explaining. Feather Dew was seated as well, quite familiar and focused on the subject matter he was speaking of.

He loved to visit the museum often, so he thought it appropriate somehow to talk to her about his tours and escapades. It was at a point where he could map the inside of the place completely from memory and remember his favorite artworks and their positions. What he would do to gain a chance to walk through those corridors for the first time all over again...

“Sorry I was ranting for a second there. It’s one of my favorite places to visit, the Museum of Art. I love looking at all the pieces there and inferring from them. Sometimes, I only saunter through the hallways without a care in the world, my mind empty, only observing the forest of artwork around me.”

“It is alright. You have a passion for it. I... remember this quote I heard, ‘There is an artist inside every one of us, it only has to be revealed.’ Something of the sort.”

He nodded wistfully. “I agree. Do you have any... pieces of art you like?” Feather wanted to slap himself when he was forced to finish that statement. Would she even know of any artwork, yet remember? I don’t know if an ethereal... entity would know that.

It surprised him when she did indeed answer. “I saw this relief once. It depicted two ponies: one was laying on the other’s hooves, as if dying. It was a captured moment of him uttering his dying words. She looked to be in the action of putting a hoof on his chest, but who knows?

“It is a moment before the end of all moments, before leaving this life... to the next. I often wonder what he wanted to say to her. What did he say to her?”

Feather was pitifully reminded of what he was here for. He stared back at the mare, his mind going blank, though it was incomparable to the stillness of his museum walks: this was unsettling, high-strung. There was a certain numbness that hit the tip of his tongue, as if he were ill.

But he wasn’t ill, and he knew well enough what he ought to do.

What did he want to say to her?

Then it was clear in his mind—clear as day. He felt the solemn silence of a room with no noise within himself, and yet he had not the anxiety of past notions. As soon as River Moon’s words came back to him, he knew for sure that there was little to no escape now. What he wasn’t sure about was how she would take it.

“I have something to tell you.”

And the mare gave him a simple blink of her eye as a response, her eyelashes soft with how they fluttered.

He let himself breathe. “I was talking to somepony. I’ve known her for a couple of days now, and what she explains is...” The mare tilted her head when he drifted off.

Feather swallowed a tad; it definitely wasn’t a good sign that she turned from him, the expression on her face indiscernible. She was inching closer, but inching further away.

“Go on.”

“She told me you were talking to her, too.” Somehow, he physically felt the weights on his shoulders being taken off him as he slumped his back. “She was talking about how you talked to her about... about choking.”

For a moment, she uttered not even a simple phrase to him. Her face conveyed nothing. It was like looking back at a mirror when one was looking for something deep within their eyes, a stare of a soldier who gazed out into the great beyond from the horrors of war, a ghost looking back at their own body.

“She was kind. Confused at first, but kind. She did not want to look like she was taking anything seriously, but I knew that she knew that there was something more. She is a curious mare, and I did indeed speak to her.”

Feather Dew truly hoped he would not push any boundaries. “How long?”

It was the first time he’d seen her sigh. “I don’t know if my perception of time is... different from the lot of you. That is all.”

Feather was trying to wrap his head around the idea. She doesn’t know how long ago she’d last talked to River Moon? And the slight sweat in his back dropped as the questions started to form in his mind. She said her perception of time was different?

He tried hard not to look back at her like she was a wolf in sheep’s clothing, but as hard as he tried, Feather’s heartbeat started to quicken from the adrenaline.

“You... your perception of time is different? How does that make any sense?”

The mare simply turned from him, out of meekness from the look of her face. She put the back of her one hoof on her chest, as if protecting her heart from the inevitable hurt it will have to endure, waiting for the next shoe to drop.

Feather tried to find the right words. “I don’t know what’s going on... I thought that only I could see you, but then I learnt from River Moon that you talked to her, too. We both see you, but that doesn’t make any sense because we’re only supposed to see our own individual hallucinations.

“This is a hallucination... I’m taking an entheogen to help me learn more about myself, to look at things from another perspective. But what I realize is that’s not what’s happening. I...” He looked back at her. It was the first time he seemed to look through her and not the other way around. “Who are you?”

And she looked back at him at the sound of his pleading tone.

“Who are you?”

And he was left defeated somehow when she exhorted those very words, as if she had won this game of chess they were playing. Who am I? The thought rang through his mind. What was he? Did he even have a right to say that he knew who he was when he didn’t even seem to be sure of that himself? He was distant, far, but the question was if he was distant to only her and not to himself as well.

Then it came to him, as easy as a breeze. “To you, I am a stranger. I am what you see and what you don’t see. To you, I am merely a pony who comes to you ever so often. You are running, and I am the lamp posts you occasionally meet. I am like the wind, and I come to you often to remind you.”

“To remind me of what?” Her tone was disheartened and soft.

He didn’t even mean to smile, but smile he did, and it was gentle as clouds. “That somehow, you’re real.”

The mare turned her head to him, and for the first time, her assured nature had been erased like insignificant beach pebbles from strong waves. It was as if she longed to reply from the sentiment of her visage, to give him an honest answer. Sadly, it never seemed to come, and the mare slipped slowly into a subservient silence.

Feather Dew continued, “I somehow know that even if I may be hallucinating all of this or this may be the craziest coincidence of all time, I know that you exist. You’re not merely a facet of my mind or a part of my subconscious machinations, you’re you. You’re an individual with real thoughts and real emotions and real memories and real borders of individuality that separate you from I and you from River Moon. You’re real.”

And he allowed an exasperated but tender exhale to come out of him. Feather let himself at ease, and he was tired somehow.

“River Moon. That is a beautiful name.”

His ears perked at that statement, the epiphany hitting him. “She hasn’t told you her name?”

And she seemed suddenly sad at that, more remorseful than he had ever seen of her. There was not a trace of anger or a glint of annoyance in her expression—only true guilt that resonated in her soul. The mare clashed her teeth shut, shaking her head in despair, looking as if to ward off the demons pouncing her vulnerable mind.

“Are... are you alright?” Feather felt rude, reaching out his hoof. He merely retracted it in meek hesitation at the sight of her faltering, unsure. They were both unsure. They were both unbeknownst. To each other? To themselves?

“I... had I not thought of that? How had I not asked her... realized that before...”

Feather put a hoof on his chest, his mind slow yet somehow scrambling to give her a reply. “Hey, it’s nothing to mull over. Please, take a breather. I know it may seem a tad rude on your part, but what happened happened, right?”

It did not seem to help. Her expression turned even more dejected, disappointed, even the mirth in her eye making it seem as if all the merriment of the world had been taken away. It was the only thing to be heard, her breathing, the rise and fall of her bosom for an indeterminable amount of time.

“The one thing I could have done... I could have done to show her some courtesy that wouldn’t hurt me or bring me back to that awful place again and I didn’t do it. Who knows when I have the chance to meet somepony like her again... to meet somepony like you again...”

“I can’t breathe. I can’t... breathe... It's choking me. Every time I’m alone it’s as if I’m being drowned and...”

Before Feather Dew could respond, she was gone.

The fire crackled calmly, giving a warm glow. Even with the aid of the heavenly bodies of the late sky, the presence of a fireplace was always a plus. It gave light, it gave warmth, and it was a sort of beacon of hope to sojourners present and sojourners past.

When there was a fire, it meant that one could lay down and let oneself be for a moment. It allowed one to take their time in a world that could sometimes be too harsh. It was a sign of peace.

The Conquistador had called all his men ‘round the campfire, and here they were. The fire they had set up was at the center of tents circled around it in such a way to block the disruptful Amarezonian winds from coming in and possibly setting the flames out.

Cold, that’s what they kept being reminded of. How the air could be so humid yet the winds be so chilly was astounding, and it made the presence of the flame more important to them now than ever. They hoped the winds would not turn as strong as they were wintry.

There was a collective nervous energy amongst them, a morbid curiosity as to what the Conquistador would announce. They had obviously not forgotten the elephant in the room; the lack of one of their own. Lightning was wounded, hurt, and the lot of them knew not of his current condition at all.

The Conquistador would answer their inquiries. “I have called you all here because I have been thinking. This all happened very fast, and yet only moments ago had we the opportunity to think things through and to fully absorb what had happened. We can also strategise as to what we will do next.

“Lightning has been injured. He’s being taken care of as we speak, but he is not in the condition to explore and even walk, for that matter. And you all know of my rationale: one for all and all for one. He cannot do this and go out there, and neither will we. We have to travel back home and pray the king will let us return one day.”

There was an indistinct chatter among the men, mostly positive and relieved at his conclusion. He even heard sighs mixed in the conversations of packing things up for their departure and when Lightning would be in the condition to leave—so they could finally be home at last.

One voice stood out from the rest, and it didn’t seem to be so pleased.

“But... but this city! We have not found it yet! Surely we could go back several more times and seek even harder?”

The Conquistador squinted. He recognized that voice, belonging to Arctic Ace. The unicorn stallion was always an ambitious one; he wondered if he were a mother bird swatting her progeny from leaving the nest—unlearned in the skill of flight. It somehow reminded the Conquistador of his younger self: ignorant but wide-eyed in the prospect of adventure.

He sighed. “You know we cannot do this, Ace. One of us is already injured; I do not want to risk us any more.”

Ace shook his head indignantly. “We have already gone so far. We can go back and look for this city, we must.”

His impatience was beginning to grow. “Why, praytell, must we do so, Ace?”

“Because that’s the reason we are here in the first place! Can’t you see, if we leave then we go back achieving nothing.”

The Conquistador’s expression turned severe. “We almost lost one of our men, and you yourself would surely think that having done nothing at all is better than losing him, hm? I am putting my hoof down, for not only your sake or Lightning’s, but all of ours.”

Arctic Ace shook his head in denial, but he knew he got him there. Even the most prideful of all of us have their pitfalls.

“I understand your enthusiasm, Arctic Ace, but you have to let this go. Is this worth more than risking your life, our lives?”

He didn’t answer.

Feather was glad a modicum of sunlight filtered through the great many flora above him, but even so, he had hoped it would be brighter down here. He had learnt that the Amarezon had a great many oddities in its geography: meters deep water pockets that looked to be mere puddles, the many strange flora that littered the vicinity, even the areas of the forest floor so dense one would think it was impossible to traverse, like slicing obsidian with bare hooves.

He was also glad that he had a pathway he could follow. Feather did encounter the occasional vine or fallen tree branch along the way, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t handle. With such a thick forest like this, he allowed his thoughts to come back to a conversation he had moments ago.

The predators of this forest know where you are before you know where they are, the mare in the retreat had explained to him. The Amarezon is filled to the brim with predators so adapted to the environment, it would be near impossible to save yourself knowing you’re already about to get attacked.

That’s a nice thought, he mused ironically, although, to be fair, she did say that the surrounding area of this path I’m following is completely safe. It is safe, right?

As he progressed through the forest’s corridor, finding the occasional weird plant or mushroom, Feather allowed himself to do what he came here to do in the first place: walk, think. The breeze hit his back, and he was a tad surprised by that. The wind seemed to come from above him, somehow passing through the dense tree tops and reaching him, the forest floor.

The wind reminded him of many things. It reminded him of what she said.

I can’t breathe... Who knows when I have the chance to meet somepony like her again... like you again... Every time I’m alone it’s as if I’m being drowned and...

Like you again.

The statement resonated in his mind and soul. She said that as if I’m not seeing her again. Has it been that long since she’s met somepony like me, like River Moon? Who am I? I told her that I was a stranger; I am the light posts and she is the runner. But that’s just what I think. What if she sees me as something else?

She also said she wanted to ask the same thing: who are you? It’s almost as if she doesn’t know any more than I do about that.

Feather Dew stopped by the shade of a tree, taking the time to rest, but mostly to concentrate on his thinking. The epiphany hit him, for he had the time to take in and absorb what she may have unintentionally shared to him—bits of information he found intriguing.

The first piece of information he pointed out—undoubtedly the elephant in the room—was the fact that she got disappointed at herself for not knowing River Moon’s name. She was upset that she didn’t show her the courtesy... she said it was the one thing she could do that wouldn’t bring her back to that awful place. She said something about not knowing how long it would take for her to meet ponies like us again...

The second piece of information he pointed out was that she described what it felt to be alone. She said it felt like she was choking, as if she couldn’t breathe. Being drowned. He was reminded of what River Moon had told him about. She said it was like choking...

The third and final piece of information he pointed out was that she said that time was different to her. All she said was that her perception of time ‘may be different from the lot of you.’ What does that mean? Why would her perception of time be any different from ours?

He shot down that comment immediately, a part of his mind reasoning: what did he know about anything? This was the conundrum he found himself in, as if he were stuck doing a puzzle that could not be solved, trapped inside an hourglass that was merrily making its way to asphyxiating him.

And a strange emotion bubbled inside him at how the rustle of the flora sounded from behind. Feather turned around and found nothing. It was just the wind. That’s all it was. He was left disturbed at how the wind would taunt him that way, but maybe it was trying to tell him something, for he was definitely trying to tell himself things, too.

Feather was forgetting something important.

That face of hers, it was as if she had met the end of time itself. She was scared; that was fear. And what he saw was not a despicable monster or harrowing beasts from the gates of the underworld that would lay siege on all ponykind. What he saw was a pony. A sad, little pony.

Despite the confusion, despite the anomalies that popped up like unstoppable weeds, there was little doubt of her sincerity he found in his heart, and it had always been such ever since he realized the hurt she must have carried.

Hurt. She’s hurt. She’s lonely in a world I don’t think she truly knows, and it’s as if she doesn’t know who she is, too. Does she scare herself? She keeps talking about River Moon and I. It’s as if she and I are the only ponies she’s ever had.

Where do you come from?

Act I, Chapter VIII

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The ship was a large object—and it most definitely impressed the locals when they had first gazed upon its breadth—but it was by no means the largest ship the Conquistador had ever seen. He recalled that moment as if it were only yesterday: he was in his juvenile years on a port, goggling upon a vessel so large he immediately understood why the Andalusian Empire explored as many lands as it did. He was reminded of the quote, “If you want to conquer the world, then you must conquer the seas.”

The Conquistador himself was glad his ship was still intact, no animals having ravaged the secured food supplies and the masts still in their places, untouched. He somehow had the inclination that every time he left his craft, it would somehow disappear—an anxiety that persisted within the depths of his mind. He understood not why he had this fear, but it was a fear he had nonetheless. The ship was most easily his comfort thing.

His stallions had already commenced their routines whenever they departed: set up and fix the masts, check the supplies stowed in the craft’s bowels, check for any interior or exterior signs of any sort of damage and signs of a hull breach amongst many others. One new objective they had was to lift the still injured Lightning aboard the deck; it was made much more uncomfortable because he was still lying on a makeshift stretcher provided by the locals.

Once all that was done, the Conquistador and his stallions thanked said locals for their help through the aid of their translator, the other ponies of the two groups left without any other means of communication simply waving at each other in the spirit of camaraderie and respect.

One by one, they lined up by the vessel, as was with standard protocol. To make sure all of them were here, the Conquistador initiated the head count that was always done before they boarded and went on their way into whatever adventure laid in the horizon.

He scrunched up his nose when he concluded. One by one, he counted again. And then he counted once more rather quickly to make sure his math wasn’t wrong and that he wasn’t having some sort of mild psychosis. There was one missing member that wasn’t amongst them.

“We have somepony missing,” he stated clearly for the others. “Roll call!”

Each of the stallions shouted their names, and the Conquistador needn’t them finish for him to know who was absent as the realization crystallized.

Arctic Ace.

“Arctic Ace. Has anypony seen Arctic Ace?”

They all worriedly shook their heads, and the gossip seemed to commence as the stallions talked amongst themselves in bated conversation. And as the clock kept on ticking, the more time that passed without anypony speaking up, the Conquistador could feel the tingle of the dam inside him breaking apart at last, despite his strong willed nature that had glued it together for so long, the memories flooding him in a great cataclysm.

I’ve lost one, and now I might have lost another.

No concern was even seemingly shared by the Conquistador’s men as their confers grew stronger, turning his back from them, the lightheadedness rocking him to the core. He was an old but sturdy man, though his legs buckled under the weight he felt on his shoulders as he remembered those somber events clearly, as if only happening yesterday.

He recalled his face when he arrived from the stairwell, despite the billowing smoke in between them. The stallion was only a few meters away, and yet it seemed the distance between them was suffice an entire lifetime. He stared at him holding on to the wall for his dear life, an opening behind him torn from the forces of tumultuous tides. It was the gateway to death, the waves the limbs of demons that would drag whomever was caught in them to their surly demise.

Grimacing, he hesitated for a moment at the sight of the smoke.

And he could only hesitate for that single moment before the waves crashed in, shaking the vessel and bringing in the water that took the stallion hanging on with them, sending him and chunks of the wall into the sea. He could hear his drowned screams as he was forced to be buried alive amongst the explorers' past that had been taken by the ocean to be lost forevermore, a watery tomb.

The Conquistador only hesitated for that single second and it was to possibly seal the fate of that stallion for the rest of time. Could he refer to himself as such looking back at those events, a Conquistador—for the failure he brought upon himself haunted him and that lost soul for all eternity.

He remembered his eyes, filled with a stillness in that moment of raucous surfs, those screams. It was as if those pleads of mercy were more real than any vast sea, any explored land, himself more so. Could he have saved him?

The Conquistador swore he heard his unfateful cauterwals once again from the depths of the Amarezon rainforest.

Without another word, he took off. He heard the calls of his men from behind, begging him to come back, begging him that it’s not worth doing. The Conquistador ignored them, their beseeches eventually dissipating into the background as he examined the forest edge that stood squarely to face him.

He paused for a moment, feeling the coax of the wind.

And so the Conquistador ran off into the dense rainforest to find Arctic Ace, not once turning back.

Space. It was dimly lit, and one could barely be able to make out the corners of this undefined place. What shone the dim light was a single bulb that hung from a non-existent ceiling, sterile and dead. One could take note of the minuscule particles in the air floating aimlessly—like bacteria and single-celled organisms flying, forever vagrants. It was as if he was by the only spotlight in an otherwise lonely universe.

Feather Dew wished those minute particles could be compared to microorganisms, for the air was as dead as interstellar space. He could taste it—or rather the lack of it: soulless, as if the magic in the atmosphere that would have given it life had been sucked out by some hideous contraption, devoid of any sense of nature’s touch. It was controlled. It was disgusting.

From behind him he heard a knock, and the door on the odd wall opened to reveal a stallion that donned a white coat, eyeglasses, neck straight and pose firm. Feather assumed he was some sort of doctor. He seemed to be one of those ponies that took things way too seriously. Did he prefer or despise the air they found themselves in?

The stallion levitated a clipboard up to his face to examine the contents of some paper or notes Feather couldn’t see.

“I apologize for the wait, but she’s ready as can be for you to meet. Are you?”

Feather’s mind was as numb as the air around him. He simply replied, “Yes. I am ready.”

The doctor nodded. “Right this way, then.”

Feather hadn’t remembered this place having hallways so tall yet lighting so dim, simple pillars coming up from the ground, equidistant from each other. The pillars and walls were a slate grey, a smooth stone that had been polished but had no distinct texture or unique colorations. Like the air, the building itself seemed dead, too. Feather wondered if the floor held tombs of long lost people unbeknownst to happy endings.

And the two ponies walked through the hallways until they found themselves in front of a metal door. Similar to the other qualities of this place, it was sterile and clean, seemingly having never felt the touch of any pony or knowing the first time it had ever opened before.

The stallion in the coat reached out to twist the undoubtedly sturdy and mechanical-looking handle, and with a firm click, pushed the door open, releasing the threshold. He made his move to enter, silently ushering in Feather Dew.

Light. That was the first thing Feather Dew noted when he entered the room. It was finally light that didn’t make him second guess the things he saw in the darkness he was previously submerged in, but something was wrong.

It still felt dead. It was too even, too fake; the manner it buzzed in gave him the impression that this was merely a mock interpretation of the sun of day and the moon of night.

The illumination was coming from windows that allowed one to look through the other side. As the two strode to the center of the room, Feather noted the strange buttons and magical hologram screens that were neatly arranged in their respective tables, giving him the impression that whatever was going on here was to be measured.

What was being measured, though?

Feather didn’t know how to feel when he looked through the windows properly for the first time, finally regarding whatever laid beyond.

She was sitting in the corner away from him, wearing a straightjacket that completely encased her front hooves together to her torso. Merely staring at the corner, unmoving, he questioned if she knew they were here. It disturbed him, the thought that this mare was simply staring out into empty space—regardless of the fact that he had done exactly so mere moments ago.

“This is a one-way mirror,” the doctor started to explain, motioning to the barrier that separated them from her. “We put her in a room with padding on the walls to ensure she doesn’t hurt herself.”

“Has she hurt herself in the past?” Feather never turned to face him when he asked.

The coated stallion nodded almost instantly. “She’s been hurt, that’s what I can say. I think you would know if she has hurt herself, Feather Dew.”

Feather nodded as he continued to look through the one-way mirror. She was as still as a rock, and Feather swore that if he were to examine her through his peripheral vision, then he would say that she was only a statue, a mockery of the constant motion associated with living things.

“I’ll inform her of some matters,” the doctor said, grabbing a piece of paper from one of the tables and setting it down in front of him. Before Feather could respond, he picked up a microphone and held down a button, beginning to speak.

“Can you hear me?”

The mare didn’t seem to hear his call. Maybe she didn’t bother to answer at all.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

Slowly, she moved to turn around whence she stared, looking straight at Feather Dew. A surge of adrenaline washed over his senses as she now peered into his soul. Was it a coincidence? Or could she see right through the mirror and possibly right through him?

“Yes.”

“That’s good. Now, you realize why you’re here, correct? You’re here because you have lost the capacity to care for your own well-being.”

She casted down her glance, her face and expression indiscernible.

“Yes.”

“Okay. The guards and your assigned nurse will come pick you up to show you your way to your cell. Understood?”

And she didn’t initially respond to that statement, merely keeping her thousand-mile stare at the floor. Feather Dew swore he started to hear voices coming from behind him, whispering languages he didn’t even know, concepts beyond this dimension and his understanding.

“Yes.”

“Hold on.” Feather Dew felt rude to interject, but he had to, turning to the doctor. “Before she goes to her cell, can I please tell her something?”

Raising a brow, he wordlessly levitated the microphone in front of him. Feather stared at it for a contemplative moment before making a shooing motion with his hoof. “I don’t mean that. I want to talk to her face to face.”

He only shook his head. “That’s against protocol. We have these mirrors up so we can observe and talk to our subjects from a distance.”

Feather paused. “I understand what you’re saying, but I’m requesting to talk to her face to face.”

“I know this may be of some importance to you, but please, we can’t risk-”

“But I don’t care about the risks at this point! I want to talk to her in front of me. I waive all liability, I don’t care, I just want to, you know, talk to her in person. Please?”

The doctor held a silent pause, rubbing his nose with his hoof and levitating his eyeglasses slightly. The silence of the room made the air more serious than what it already had been, the light of the room giving an even more deathly glow.

“I suppose. She is in her straightjacket, anyway. Follow me.”

Through a door on the other side of the room, Feather and the doctor found themselves in front of another door once again that seemed to be more reinforced than the doors they had crossed previously. This was a transition, as if an airlock, and there was a tiny window on the door that allowed one to look through and momentarily see what laid on the other side.

The doctor set a hoof on the lock, looking back at Feather for his final reassurance. Giving him a nod, the doctor unlocked the door and opened it slightly. Feather went through the threshold quickly and heard the click of it locking behind him. That was when Feather knew there truly was no turning back now.

She didn’t even seem to acknowledge him, still staring at that chosen spot of hers; it was as if she were peering at the broken pieces of her life. Somehow, he believed he was looking at the hurt of a young filly—and for the first time, too. It brought a heavy weight to his heart.

And so he came closer and closer to her, slowly but surely, one step at a time, until he was right in front of the mare. Kneeling down, he simply allowed himself to bask at the moment, a magnificent desolation between two worlds, two ponies, two individuals. They were here now, gazing at each other’s expressions up close.

It seemed forever had passed until he let out a wordless breath. Even under the obscurity of her mask, she truly did look as beautiful as the most golden of sunrises.

Feather knew he needed not do anything for the moment. There were questions he wanted to ask, things he wanted to be explained. Did it matter? The concoction of emotions stirred inside him, creating a stillness so rare in one’s life it could probably never be replicated again.

A peaceful melancholy, that’s what he felt. It was peaceful in the way it mimicked the embrace of ocean winds, melancholic like the desolation of the deep blue. It was uncertainty, it was the feeling of not knowing what slumbered beneath the waves, a longing for something one knew not they truly wanted.

Feather wished things were less complicated than they were. He looked for solace to their situation, his face reflecting a sorrow, beneath the waves of an imaginary ship sailing the very real expanse of the seas. Now he did want to do something, but what could that be?

He wasn’t even thinking, but his heart knew it was right.

Slowly, he reached for her straightjacket and began to undo it. There was not even a reply from the supposed doctor, and the air was as quiet as her eyes as she expressed an emotion unbeknownst to mortals: a sorrow familiar to those who belong only to splendid fairy tales, an absolution only known by those who knew every single sin they committed in their last hundred lives. The only real things were her and Feather, the straightjacket slipping away into faded obscurity.

Touch. Feather stared when he felt touch. She placed a hoof on his cheek when he had finished undoing her bonds, supple—both her fondle and his coat. It wasn’t the end to their struggles, the answer to provocations, but it was somehow enough. It helped him, and Feather knew it helped her, too. At that moment, he had set her free.

“Before you go, I want to ask you something.”

Her expression softened. “What is it?”

Feather Dew gave her a rueful curl of his lips. “I want to know your name.”

And she let out a tender exhale, placing a hoof on her chest as she continued to gaze at his soul.

“Crystal Jade.”

His eyes were as bright and sad as stars. “And I’m Feather Dew.”

Act I, Chapter IX

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Feather imagined himself in a place that wasn’t a place, a null void neither light nor dark, existing. There was no white; there was no dark; there was no color. That’s how he emptied his mind whenever he needed to do so—swiping away thought from forming in his head for the sake of his concentration. It was a sort of game, letting go of any thought before it could get to him. He was a fortress, blasting down enemies before they could reach his safe space.

The only matter of importance was his respiration. Feather filled his chest whenever he breathed in, his diaphragm contracting as it moved downwards as gently as summer thicket leaves. After, he exhaled, his torso contracting in accordance to the flow all living things abided to, a benevolent breeze. It was a trick he taught himself: no pause ought to be between the inhales and the exhales. The cycles of the two should transition flawlessly as to allow the air in him to truly move. It should be one. It should be together.

She wasn’t here-

Feather instinctively let the thought go before it could materialize and get the best of him. Out of pure instinct, he let the thought go as any other thought he let go prior.

But this little thought was seemingly special, as it often returned as quickly as it came, and this time was no different.

She wasn’t here.

He was glad he pondered not too much about it; Feather had to keep it away for a moment—it was crucial he didn’t get caught in that mess. Feather knew that he couldn’t let himself slip up, for he had the sentiment that this time was of utmost importance. He had to be calm. He had to do this.

Continuing his solemn breathing, his heartbeat shook a tad at the sensation of a familiar tug of that ship once again. Focusing, he shrugged his notions away and pressed on. He should be a room without walls, a door that lead back to itself in an infinite loop.

Feather was glad of it, glad of how calming it was to breathe. Often, it brought him right back to himself in a world that can make one forget who they were. Breathing was existence; it was a delicate balance between the two strongest forces of nature: the heart and the mind. His world would be in chaos had either of the two grow more powerful than the other.

At other times, it was as if he was flying through both an empty and star-laden night: empty in how the wind howled, as if the world were hollow; star-laden in how the little pinpricks reached out and reminded him that existence was larger than he could ever imagine.

A slight tug came from his side once more, and it rattled him from his existence. Feather looked.

It was her again, but he could tell there was something different about the way she was, the way she did everything: her solemn stand, her wise gaze, the silence she imparted. Was he imagining it in his mind, or was there something about the mare that somehow spoke to him in intangible, indescribable ways? It was as if one were to come back to their house and be told that all the furniture in every room had been replaced by an identical copy—an unsettling forebode.

She moved her foreleg to place a hoof on her chest; Feather Dew immediately noted that it made her seem more vulnerable, more protective. It was as if she was protecting her heart.

“You’re different, but the same.” It was all Feather could say, the only words that came.

“You too are different, but the same, nonetheless.” Feather knew not of the emotion she held behind her two masks: the serpentine that veiled half her face and her face itself—an unexplainable expression treasuring secrets as deep as the seas.

“How so?”

“Perhaps it is also me. Before, I only looked at you. Now I see you. Before, it was as if I were merely a blank slate experiencing the world from a slice tiny and insignificant. Now I am aware. Now I know that I exist.”

Feather ruefully agreed. “I’m different because you changed?”

Her expression revealed the wisdom of a hundred lifetimes. “It is the both of us who changed. We see each other, and it is not only who we view who changed, but ourselves. One cannot expect to watch the world move without moving one’s self.”

It was oddly right. Perhaps it could be likened to the universe: a changing, exploring object that wandered its own person, birthing stars and planets and everything that could be wrought in the emptiness of space-time.

God giveth, and god taketh away. It was a strange fear that brought itself down to him. Some primordial force could take her away from him at this very moment, but he considered whether the same primordial force would take him away from her. What if the universe was to take them both from each other?

Feather was returned to the mantra that refused to leave him, and now, the time was appropriate:

“There’s... I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, but there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you for some time.”

She made her expression serious but sincere, placing her hoof down and offering a firm nod. “It is alright. Do go on.”

Sitting on his rump, Feather exhaled shortly, unlike the waves of odd emotion washing over his soul in the hopes of wearing it down completely. “Well, you’ve been in my dreams recently, and to be frank, you’ve been in my dreams for... a long time. Despite that, you’ve been popping up more frequently—more than ever. I... is that something you can control?”

She looked a tad uncomfortable, shifting from her seated position. She reminded him of a puppy caught red handed stealing from the fridge. “Yes. To an extent, it is something I do have control over. I... Sometimes, I haven’t the words to explain, or I cannot bring myself to say the things I mean to say. It is hard, and I do it because...” She drifted off, silent as a waveless sea.

“You feel lonely?”

She exhaled softly and glanced below. And despite her conscious melancholy, her mask and eye gleamed brightly, as if stars in a voyager’s wide eyes heaven-bound.

“I show you things,” she explained, “things that may or may not be intangible. Dreams are my vessel which I express myself in. Dreams are malleable. I wanted to show you... me.”

He nodded. Feather allowed a pause before continuing, “Yes. I sort of get it now. I remember how you would be in my dreams sometimes. The problem is that I forget them most of the time, and my mind brushes it off as some little nitpicking detail I would forget in my next few waking moments.

“I wanted to... I wanted to talk to you yesterday about that, but you weren’t there. You weren’t here.”

Thereupon the mare’s ears slumped, her gaze wavering to the floor, away from a non-existent critical stare of his. It was out of meek deliberation.

“You talked to River Moon, didn’t you? She told me that you came to her and that you two talked. I don’t know what you talked about because I didn’t want to intrude on your and her privacy. All I can say is... this is gonna sound crazy, but...”—his face turned sure, melting into an encompassing compassion—“we’re listening. We’re listening to you. You’re... you’re here.”

“I told her that I was stuck. That I was somehow in a place I shouldn’t be in. I am a fish out of water, a parrot chick in an eagle’s nest. I’m not where I’m supposed to be. I was supposed to move on a long time ago...” She hit the ground with a knowledgeable hoof, sending out waves that reverberated this plane they stood on, representing the border between her and whatever laid on the other side.

And Feather understood somehow. Through means immaterial, indescribable, when he saw those waves emanate from the impact of her hoof, the epiphany arrived as quickly as it was surprising, painful, so obvious it dizzied his head in a never-ending cascade. How could he have been so blind?

I was supposed to move on a long time ago...

“You’re no entity. You’re not special. You’re not quite ethereal. You’re trapped. And you were once normal. You...”

She was neither dead nor alive.

The mare didn’t even seem upset with the bluntness of his outspoken revelation, simply gazing back at him with a bated breath. And Feather Dew stared back, meeting his distorted reflection in her mask, her iris. It was a warped visage of a stallion changed at the revelation that he had been touched by a ghost. It was the revelation that she was beyond the realms of life itself.

“Crystal Jade?”

She replied back softly. “Yes, Feather Dew?”

He was firm but solemnly spoken. “My stars, where can I find you?”

It was fleeting, the moment the fireflies came. They were seemingly in a sojourn: the flying buggers came from one side, flew around at a spot for a few moments, then left to go another way, disappearing into the obscurity of dark horizons. Feather Dew didn’t know that fireflies could fly up this high; he wondered what made them try to wander amongst the treetops.

Perchance it was the wind, or rather lack thereof. It was an especially colder night than most, although it wasn’t due to the presence of strong winds or forest gusts. The critters around seemed to like it, especially the birds. They chirped merrily and constantly in the background as Feather Dew enjoyed the sugary taste of his drink, settling back into his chair.

He was fortunate that there was a bartender that manned the bar now, and he and River Moon had ordered some drinks for themselves. They found it rather surprising that the mare manning the place didn’t ask for any payment; he wasn’t sure if this would be added to their tab or not.

Sipping his cup of Caldo de cana, Feather Dew put a hoof on the rope railings and gazed out into the Amarezonian darkness. He swore he felt a breeze hit the side of his neck as he tried to make out the details of the rainforest edge.

Where could you be?

“I really should have tried this sooner,” spoke River Moon; he turned to regard her. She was drinking through a curly straw from a rather fancy looking glass containing an exotic looking yellow and green liquid, white particles shimmering in it.

“What is that called again? Lula something?”

“Lulada. It’s made of some fruit called Lulo. It does taste both sweet and tart, though—it’s an interesting taste.”

“Ah.” It reminded Feather, that description. Sweet and tart. I wouldn’t describe it as tart, though. More like... saccharine? Bittersweet? Just talking to her would give one a certain edge.

“How would you describe your experiences with her, River Moon?”

“Hm?” She looked up from her drink, contemplating his words. River let her hoof drop on the table, banging it slightly. She puckered her lips. “Hm. I don’t know. She’s kind of a mystery, honestly. I’d like to know more about her.”

The idea planted itself in his subconscious. He found it poetic that this seemed to be a good time to tell River Moon, for he hadn’t done so yet. “Jade. Her name is Crystal Jade.”

River set the drink to the side of the table, not once tearing her gaze from him. Her jaw hung from her head. “She... she told you her name?”

“Through one way or the other, yeah. She told me while I was dreaming last night. I didn’t know how to tell you before, but... but I found it inappropriate—in a way—to tell you that because I hadn’t even called Jade by her name until, well, a while ago. Sorry for not telling you any sooner.”

She scrunched up her nose, pinching her eyebrows together. “Wow. I must be having amnesia or something.”

He flashed a simple smile. “She told me she tells me stuff in my dreams, remember? I dreamt of her last night, and I asked for her name. I gave her my name, too.”

River Moon seemed contemplatively surprised at the development, setting both her hooves on the table’s wooden surface. “Wow... I didn’t think she would have a name. Not to be offensive here, but still. I didn’t even think of it that much.”

“I understand how you wouldn’t have. I hadn’t thought of it as much as well when we first met, too. But she did answer me when I was in my dream, so.”

He remembered that moment clearly. Feather often forgot his dreams as time passed on, but he couldn’t find it in himself to lose memory of this dream, ever. She gave him a soft caress when they had first met, and she gave him much the same once again when they first closed the distance between them in that interlude of solace.

“I still remember it, clear as day. I set her free; she didn’t even fight back. Jade caressed my cheek. She felt me. I came close to her, and she came close to me.”

River Moon rested her chin on her hoof, her foreleg’s knee resting on the table. “Damn. I knew you told me that you could see her in your dreams sometimes, but to think that she would come to you that way? Huh. She really does seem to be lonely.”

And Feather Dew had to agree with her, for as hard and harsh as it may seem. She was lonely. “She’s trapped. Somehow, she’s trapped. I told her moments ago during our trip that she wasn’t some inter-dimensional, ethereal entity. I told her that she was once normal. And she didn’t try to fight that sentiment. I... I think I got her.”

River gave him a grimace, but she could have been giving it more to herself. “That practically confirms my suspicions, then. She’s somehow trapped in some other dimension. Have I explained what that means to you yet?” He shook his head despite getting some of the gist of it either way.

“When we take Ohteotl, I half-assumed that we had our own individual experiences. You have yours, I have mine, and everypony else has theirs. But what I now believe is that she’s somehow... we’re somehow contacting her from this plane, and she’s contacting us from her own plane of reality.”

“Yeah, I understand. It’s like whenever we take the brew, it sort of brings down a ‘filter’ in our minds, therefore allowing us to contact some other dimension or other plane of existence.”

“Yes, exactly. But... How did she get stuck in that place? How can she see us?”

Feather admittedly didn’t have an answer to that. “I’m not so sure myself. I didn’t really want to bring that up. Maybe she got stuck there because of an accident? Some sort of tear of reality? We can only guess.”

River Moon let out an exhale, wordlessly grabbing her drink and taking another sip. Feather assumed she didn’t even know exactly what to say anymore; he couldn’t blame her. She started to twirl her straw out of aimless contemplation.

“It’s just- what are we supposed to do now? We know that she’s somehow stuck, and it’s killing her! She keeps telling us she’s trapped... but where is she trapped? Where do we go?”

Feather gave her a sad smile, allowing a small pause. “She told me.”

River Moon looked up from twirling her straw. “Excuse me?”

“She told me that to find her, we needed to come to her heart.”

“Wait, what? What does that have to do with anything?”

He puckered his lips and grabbed his drink, setting his gaze out into the Amarezon. Feather knew what he had to say, and he felt rather at peace at the thought that they had a beacon of hope they could follow. “I might have an idea where she is.”

River Moon watched him in silence until a part of her brain seemingly clicked, following his gaze into the rainforest. She put a hoof on her mouth at the revelation.

“You... you don’t think that she’s actually out there, do you?”

He looked back at her with that mirth in his eyes. “She told me that if we were to find her, then we would have to go to her home.”

“But... but why there?” Feather was confused at what she was saying. He couldn’t quite wrap his mind around the idea, but it seemed with the look on her face that it was obvious.

She stared out into a direction Feather Dew couldn’t see, a place his mind permitted him not to understand. “I... where I come from, death is not the end. When we let go of this life, we move on to the next. My people say that the city we lived in was the center of the universe, and we can find our way to the other worlds from there.”

He couldn’t believe it, and yet what she was saying sounded so aberrantly asinine that it had to be true. “You’re saying that if I am to find you, then I would have to go to your city?”

She nodded. “Yes, most probably, but... I am not sure if you can find it.”

Feather seemed confused. “What do you mean? It would be hard, but I’m sure that I can get there somehow.”

She glanced back at him. “I am not sure whether it exists anymore. How long has it been? She must have been lost for a thousand years.”

Act I, Chapter X

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Occhiolism.

It wasn’t a real word, per se—it wasn’t even in the dictionary. Mayhaps it had been wrought from the wistful fantasy of a star-struck lover reminiscing of his lost other; words often came that way, through unknown means. It was an obscure term; he had never heard anypony mention it to him before. Perhaps it didn’t deserve his attention.

Feather, nonetheless, fancied its use. Occhiolism: the awareness of how small one’s perspective was in the bigger picture. No matter how grand, how all-knowing, how good, how bad, how strong, how weak, how unfathomable one’s life may be, the individual was forever stuck in their perspective and their perspective only.

It somehow made things more lonely. Everything was small. Everything that ever was, is, and will be, ought meet the same fate: a disappearance, the apotheosis to mere ghosts intangible. Feather knew that even the deities of religion die, falling into the obscurity of conspiracies and fairy tales.

Fairy tales. There’s something about fairy tales that harkened to ponies of young and old, a distant cry that shared with it the lessons of other lifetimes. They talked about distant lands, dragons and damsels, stories of love that went beyond imagination itself. He wondered what it would be like to be in a fairy tale. Was he in his own legend, and was he the knight that would save his damsel in distress?

It was strange. Strange how he had gotten used to tripping, strange how he had somehow gotten used to the idea that presented to him were fragments of alternative realities, ideas and emotions half-forged as if an unfinished incantation. He even somewhat got used to the taste of the Amarezon wind and the bitter taste of the tea: saccharine and melancholic, the tea tasting like jungle dirt and flora.

And yet, despite all that, he couldn’t quite get used to the idea he was thinking what he was thinking.

“It’s my final night in the Ohteotl retreat. I came in here thinking I would come out different, changed. I thought that I would see strange patterns, odd beasts, the inner machinations of myself that even I couldn’t recognize.”

There was a knowing mirth in her mask, the one that was her face. It emanated a rapt attention, a calm stillness, an accepting desolation. Her eye twinkled as much as her aquamarine. Hers was more beautiful.

It was if she were fake, a mere visage. How can somepony look like that? It didn’t make sense despite being the clearest thing there ever was, the way she was, her mere existence. If Feather wasn’t careful enough, he would have thought that she was merely a figment of his imagination, a warped memory of some pretty mare he spotted strolling a street many moons ago.

“And yet I found you. Through some way, I found you. I thought you didn’t exist, like you weren’t real. That maybe you were a botched recollection of mine. When I talked to you, though, I saw something else. You revealed yourself to me. I saw a consciousness beyond myself, an individual with true thoughts and feelings. You’re more, and you’re real. Out there, you truly do exist, waiting to be found.”

Feather allowed himself a sad smile.

“Jade, I want to meet with you. Somehow, I do want to meet with you, and that sounds completely asinine, but that’s my truth. I know I’m coming out of this place with an obligation. To find you, because I know that you’re lonely, and I know that somehow, we only have each other. I have to do this. I can’t be blind. I have to set you free.”

Silence. It was haunting, the idea that it grew between them, the movement of a non-existent breeze washing over these two souls, signifying the distance separating them. It was as alluring as uncatchable shooting stars.

Crystal Jade closed that distance, observing Feather with a newfound fascination. And as she stared back at him, Feather realized she didn’t have the usual stoicism she usually exhibited. Under her serpentine presented a cocktail of emotions: sorrow, with a tinge of hope in her eye, an expression of yearning, and most importantly her smile.

It was the first time he’d ever seen her smile. Small and accepting, sorrowful but at peace. She didn’t even glance down when she held her aquamarine gemstone with a hoof. Feather Dew could see how it sparkled a million times over—the slight twinkle of the sea.

“If you save me, then I will have an entire lifetime to give back to you.”

He could only share her mirth and nod. Feather knew in himself that her smile was enough.

It was hot. The heat of the Amarezon during the day made one wonder if it was trying to cook them alive; it would make one wonder how any creature could inhabit this environment, let alone thrive. The sun in this part of the world seemed to be as physically close to the surface of the planet as possible, for the light it gave was not only warm but bright to the point that it made Feather Dew’s eyes burn.

He was glad he entered his little hut to escape the light of the sun for a brief moment, panting. Feather had only wanted a peep as to what the other guests were up to. As suspected, they were beginning to pack their things, some of them already finished and standing around outside, talking amongst themselves or appreciating the musk of the rainforest atmosphere under a comfortable shade.

Feather knew not how to describe it, the feeling of holding a place dear to his heart when he left said place, despite it being uncomfortable at best and hostile at worst. It was the feeling of when one was saved from being abandoned in a desert, looking back at the harsh hills of sand and odd scorpions, cacti in an accepting contemplation.

When one looked back to where they once were, it meant that they had somehow left a part of themselves there forevermore. And to Feather, he knew that he was not only leaving a part of himself here, but he was also bringing something else out.

It’s a deep seated responsibility. I’m bringing an obligation.

And he knew that this was definitely his obligation—that was one-hundred percent—but he was forgetting something here. I didn’t know what to say to River Moon. ‘Oh, yeah, can you join me in an adventure to rescue a mare trapped in another dimension?’ It sounds like a setup for a joke.’

It was sort of funny—to be fair—from a nihilistic point of view. In a lot of ways, this was sort of funny.

Exhaling and shaking his head, Feather allowed himself to gaze at the smaller trees that peppered the forest floor, examining how the tips of their leaves danced in the wind silently. He saw how some of the leaves transitioned to yellow, how the tops rustled slightly more than the ones nearer to the ground, how their branches waved ever so slightly.

I’ve been thinking too much, he said. I haven’t been able to be myself in a while.

Boredom. It had brought itself to ponies on many occasions, but it seemed that he could tame the beast, bringing himself to it. Ninety-nine percent of the time, it was to be avoided like the plague, for the saying goes that only boring people get bored, right? This was the one percent, though, a moment of heightened awareness of the nature of existence. It was a blessing. It was being himself again. It was as real as tangible clouds on the most benevolent night skies.

Grabbing his saddlebag, he took out one of the photographs inside, setting down the bag and taking a moment to look at it.

Displayed rather dimly was Feather and River in her hut, sleepy but childish expressions plastered on their faces, a seemingly innocuous moment for any outsider.

He knew better, though, and the stars in the background barely did justice to what they had truly done that night: gaze at the stars. Apart from a short conversation about Crystal Jade, they seemingly had allowed themselves to be as silent as existence itself, blending into the spirits of the night.

The chirps of the birds helped him finish the thought. I need to talk to her.

Placing the photo back into his saddle bag and checking his belongings one last time, he set it on his back and secured it, satisfied. Turning to observe the room, he felt an existential contemplation wash over him as he stared at it. The wind of the Amarezon returned to tell him farewell.

Outside, he glanced around and heard the friendly, indistinct banter of the guests talking amongst themselves. The air had an energy that time was about to run out, like being the last few people in a party already mostly over. It was the final day.

Finally sighting River Moon, he walked over to her and gave her a friendly wave. She returned the gesture, briefly going back to fixing a duffel bag she had with her, trying to fix it around her back awkwardly. She also had a smaller bag that hung from her neck, rubbing against her coat in agitation.

“Stupid bag. Well, at least I got all this stuff.”

“Hey. D’you need help with that?”

River regarded his presence by nodding. “Yeah. I thought I could handle the inconvenience of a bag like this one. Who knew quadrupeds could have so much trouble dealing with stuff like this?”

He chuckled as he took a hold of a strap and let it fall under her torso, shuffling to her side and taking the other strap and fastening them together. “It would be nice to have hands sometimes. Why do you even have a bag like this anyway?”

River Moon motioned to the minotaur, speaking to a few other ponies and flexing his biceps and quadriceps. “I won it from him. We had a little competition. Arm wrestling- or hoof wrestling. I dunno what to call it, but it’s whatever.”

Feather looked back at her, blinking. “You beat a minotaur at hoof wrestling?”

She smacked her lips. “Twice, actually. He demanded that we have a rematch and I beat him at that, too. He was quite frustrated after that.”

Girl strength, huh. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the idea. “But... how?”

She puffed out her chest and beat it with her hoof. “Endurance. Strength isn’t everything, you know. And look, some protein and energy drinks; perfect for me!”

He made a move to unzip the bag and found all sorts of energy drinks and protein bars, some garish in the designs of their packaging; there were even messy wrappings presumably left in distraught haste. Who would bring energy drinks to an Ohteotl retreat? And wait...

“River, if he bet all this stuff, then what did you bring to the table?”

And now she seemed embarrassed, awkwardly shuffling her hooves and flickering her tail. She slowly moved her gaze towards him, making an “O” with her mouth with her eyes a tad wide.

Feather jabbed a hoof at his chest in wordless shock, his mouth hanging from his head. “You... me?”

“Hey, to be fair, I knew I would have won anyway! And besides... I haven’t brought anything valuable...”

He blinked, shaking his head. “O... kay.” Feather decided to change the topic. It was time. “Anyway, before we all depart... I have something to ask you because I still haven’t.”

“Oh?” She tilted her head in rather cute anticipation. “What is it?”

There’s no point in backing away now. “Remember when we talked about finding Jade last night? I was thinking about it, and I feel like I have the responsibility to go find her somehow. I...” He laughed uneasily. “Do you want to come with me in looking for her? You don’t have to go or anything.”

River Moon stared, blinking back at him. She put a hoof on her mouth, giggling. “I said I wanted an adventure of a lifetime, didn’t I? Why would I say no to that?”

And Feather smiled back, rubbing the back of his head. “There could be dragons. There could be dangerous beasts and scheming supervillains. There could even be haunted tombs and undead mummies!”

She made a deflating noise with her lips. “That stuff’s on the other side of the world, chief. And I don’t know if there are many dragons here. Though I do wonder where we’ll end up. Where do we even begin in a place such as this?” She motioned all around her, the exotic rainforest only replying with its looming size and impending tranquility.

Feather had contemplated that as well, thinking about where they could get some help or some useful info. He had found it hard to think of many places—it’s not like one could look up how to save a person from another dimension in a book and have a step-by-step guide.

“I was thinking we should go to Bocoltá and see if we can find anything. It’s a bit of a wait by airship, but I think we can make it there in about a day or two, I believe. What do you say?”

River Moon nodded. “Oh, that sounds fun! Y’know, I’d like to see the sprawling streets and colorful buildings they have over there. They even draw on their buildings and stuff. We can even paint ourselves if they’ll let us!” She beamed a jejune smile.

Feather chuckled softly. “It’ll definitely be interesting, to say the least.”

They both sighed. And no words filled the air from their lips.

Somehow, he was okay with this, not having a matter said. Feather felt the background noises blanketing them: the rustling of the trees, the low, occasional howl of the breeze, the chatter of the guests, most of them packed up and ready to leave. It truly was as if they were the last in a party already past its prime.

“Hey, Feather?” River Moon was soft spoken.

He turned to her. “Hm?”

She was serious in her expression, yet her voice was gentle. “I was wondering, what did she say to you?”

He thought about it for a moment, the memories fresh in his mind. “I told her that I wanted to meet her. I told her that I wanted to find her—again. To set her free."

River seemed content with that answer, offering a nod and looking up to the forest canopy, as if searching for some answer delivered from heaven itself. She looked back to Feather Dew with a mature determination in her eyes. “Let’s bring her back.”

He closed his eyes for a second, nodding.

“Everycreature, we are about to depart! Make sure to check your belongings!” Feather and River turned to find their guide amongst them now, catching the attention of the other guests. In response to his commands, some of them put their belongings in order, some started to lift their bags, and others admired the jungle aura for what was seemingly the last time in a good while.

Feather was definitely one of them. As much as he would love to go back, he knew that it would be a good while before he had the chance to come back here. Even without the adventure he was about to embark on, even if he had never met Jade in the first place, he felt that visits like this should be limited. It made it more special in some way.

And it’s not only the Ohteotl trips he’ll miss. Feather will miss the rainforest ambiance, how it tickled him and how it called on to him during his stay here. It was as if the forest was trying to speak to him oftentimes, whatever god up there touching him through the lightest of breezes to the coldest of gusts.

He’ll miss the bugs that seemed to buzz with no end. He’ll miss the flora—the tall trees, the smallest of odd but fascinating fungi littered all across the forest floor, everything in between. He’ll miss the loft of the tree houses; feather remembered it vividly, as if he were suddenly transported back to the bar once again, seeing the stars and feeling as if he were a little closer to the heavens.

And he’ll—somehow—miss the walking, too. He was brought back to that moment when he walked along that path, not knowing or caring where he may have ended up. It was the moment wherein he first realized River Moon and he were the only ponies Jade had, despite being worlds apart. Despite nature bringing him great fear oftentimes, it was a blessing he tried to always appreciate.

Feather Dew was glad that River Moon was by his side when they traversed through the forest pathway, despite being in a group either way. Whenever he heard his own hoofsteps hit the ground and mingle with the pebbles, he heard hers, too. He was sure that he must have heard her hoofsteps amongst the others when they had first came here, but now Feather truly knew it was hers. It was different. It was personal.

They said not a word with each other, seemingly stuck in their own respective frequencies at the moment. It was reassuring they needed not talk to each other to appreciate their own company, their own satisfying moments of epiphany.

The forest edge. It wasn’t long until the density of flora had dropped, the group finding themselves in a transition between the clear fields and forest outskirts. It was strange to him how he was finally out of the Amarezon and back into Equus. It was as if Feather and the others had just gotten out from a journey to the deepest known parts of the ocean, the deepest crevices of the world.

Celestia’s sun was bright, and it offered the sky a warmth that was somehow needed by him.

And he felt a slight breeze hit his neck, flicking his mane. It reminded him of her touch, a faint whisper. Feather wondered if Jade talked to him that way.

Act II, Chapter XI

View Online

The sky was two fold: on one end it glowed a soft orange that was littered with the occasional cloud, and on the other end stood the last throngs of nighttime. Between the two was a transition of vibrant, complex hues of purple and grey, playing and mingling with each other. If one were to look in that direction, they would assume that they were either witnessing the crack of dawn or the fade of dusk. If they looked the other way, they would assume Luna herself has brought in a solemn evening to calm restless warriors, vagabonds without hope in the world.

Feather found it fascinating he was in this transition between night and day. It was a moment wherein the blessings of both appeared at the same time, even for a mere moment, splitting the sky into two harmonious halves. He was reminded of those fancy timepieces that had a day/night indicator, slowly rotating like the sky, moving along as time itself waited for no soul.

It was fascinating how the sky seemed to be a painting, a work of art in itself. He knew that Celestia and Luna reigned over the sun and the moon, but he wondered who else would make such things. And he wondered how some deity would make the sky that divided the ground and the heavens with their celestial bodies, omnipotent and immortal. Feather wondered if some creator used a paint brush in painting the world and heavens, for the artistry to do so would require a lifetime of practice and training.

“Look, I can see some of the buildings!” a voice said from beside him, a little colt pointing at several structures that arose from the horizon as the air slowly hovered its way along.

Cities. They were definitely not the creation of any god out there. Cities were made by ponies, creatures, people. Feather was not so sure whether or not it was an affront to nature or if it was a symbol to the everlasting power of civilizations, a sign of prosperity and mutual understanding.

As the ship moved closer and started to slow down on its landing approach, Feather and everyone on board the flying craft could see the lights under what was a relatively early morn, a dawn of a new day for the metropolis, seemingly still but moving, too.

The city in question was Bocoltá, a major municipality in the continent of South Equestria. What stood it apart from many other large metropolises was the altitude it sustained. Sure, Feather had been to Canterlot several times before, but that was different because while that city was halfway aloft a mountain side, Bocoltá was quite literally amongst high altitude mountain ranges. The city was situated in what was called the Bocoltá Plateau, located in a part of massive Cordilleras that spanned the entirety of the lands. It was one of the highest altitude cities in all of Equus.

“Sweet Celestia, this air is killing me. It feels like it’s thinning by the second!” River Moon, who was on his other side, seemed to be trying to keep her breathing in check; it didn’t help that she was breathing through her mouth rather heavily, a hoof on her temple.

“Try breathing through your nose and try to slow yourself down. We can get some medication when we get down, maybe?”

She let out a deep exhale, a ragged sound of her vocal cords coming along with it. “How... high up is this place?”

Feather turned to look at the looming city once more, amazed at how close they had gotten to it already. He had learnt this from a flight attendant, for he was curious about it as well: “More than eight-thousand feet up from sea level, but since we’re in an airship, we must be around ten-thousand.”

River choked a tad as a reply. “Ten-thousand feet?! How do they make a city of this size so high up, let alone breathe?”

Feather tried to shrug it off, though he did feel sorry for her as the airship had been gaining altitude the past half-hour. “They probably got used to it or something. I remember reading about this group of ponies who live in the east that go forage under the sea for ten minutes at a time; their spleens are much larger than most ponies’ and their heart beats go real slow; it’s crazy.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, spleens are large and everything. Now you’re just making me jealous.”

Feather got curious at that statement. “Jealous?”

River Moon looked at him as if he had just insulted her mother. “I like swimming, bro. Where do you think I got this cutie mark from, selling water?” She reached for her flank and slapped it with a hoof. It was indeed a cutie mark of a droplet of water, though that wasn’t on the top of his priorities.

A blush creeped up his face; Feather felt like a creep. “We’re in public! You can’t just grab your flank and slap it!”

“Ugh,” she waved a hoof at him dismissively, “I’m dying of altitude sickness; I can do whatever I want. At this rate I’ll be unconscious by the next ten minutes.”

He set his gaze out into the city that was nearing by the second. “Don’t worry. Look, it seems like we’re about to land in a few.”

Bocoltá, while being on a plateau, also had mountains and lofty hills that bordered some parts of the city. While the faintly visible city lights dominated the flat areas in the middle of the mountains, one could see some lights on the peaks as well. They didn’t seem to be nearing those mountains at the borders, though, for a peculiar elevation found itself smack-dab in the center of Bocoltá—a loft unmistakable and unavoidable to the eye. Feather Dew could make out—through the slight haze—the port on said elevation they would be docking at.

As it was early morning, there were only a few ships docked by the mountainside: the first ships to leave the city for their travels to other far-flung places. It seemed that this ship was the first one arriving this morning, a start of a busy day for the staffers both here and on the ground.

The airship continued its approach towards the port until it was right beside its designated platform, the ponies on the ground fastening the ropes in place to ensure the large craft wouldn’t float away.

With a firm bang of the gangway on the security of the port’s platform, passengers alike started to lift their belongings and made their way to the exit of the ship. Feather opted to lift River’s duffel bag despite her protests; he didn’t have much belongings on him anyway, and he would have felt rude had he not done the courtesy.

While Feather went down the gangway—occasionally reaching out to help River balance as she walked by his side—he heard the ship’s captain’s voice through a speaker system in a jovial tone: “Thank you for joining us in the Victoria, please do enjoy your stay in Bocoltá. Gracias!”

Even with the sun rising, the crisp of the cold air was made prominent when Feather found himself on the ground. The gravel and grass had a freshness he was well familiar with, and yet Feather found it all the more engrossing as he realized then on there how high up they truly were.

The mountain was also truly at the center of Bocoltá, allowing Feather to see the very ends of civilization itself. He heard that one could see this peak from all points of the city, and as he gazed at the sights while following his fellow passengers through a path, Feather understood clearly as to why that was. It was as if they were on the head of a great octopus, its tentacles shooting out to encompass the great fields as its own domain.

“How are we gonna get down? They don’t expect us to walk all the way down there, do you?” River seemed scared of his reply, attempting to ease herself and her cadence, glancing down the mountainside.

Feather shook his head. “Fortunately not; they set up a cable car system for ponies to get from the city to up here and vice versa. Look, there it is right there.”

River followed his pointed hoof to what appeared to be a cable car station nestled amongst the trees. Cable cars painted orange and white came in on the left side of the building and left on the other, beginning their ascent down to the august capital.

“Wow, I don’t think I remember ever being inside one of those things before.”

He flashed a smile. “Well, at least you’ll be experiencing it with me.” Feather put a hoof on his chest rather proudly.

She waved him away as if he were only a pestering fly. “Don’t play mister goody-two shoes on me. I just want to be somewhere where I can actually breathe.”

They found themselves in front of a line that formed inside the building, winding and regulated by fences that dictated the flow of riders to their cars. “Relax! We’ll be down in a minute. Then we can get you some water and sit down for a while.”

Unamused, River glared at him. He wasn’t sure if she was joking or not. “You haven’t even booked us a hotel, Feather.”

He put his hooves up in the air as if the authorities were about to bring him in. “Hey, it’s hard to book for hotels in the middle of nowhere, okay? I know you’re a bit upset, but that’s just how it is.”

River rolled her eyes, however it seemed from her expression that he did get to her. She seemingly contemplated for a moment as they inched closer and closer to finally getting in a car.

“Sorry, I just haven’t been myself. I do appreciate you bringing my duffel bag for me; all I’ve been doing is bringing this stupid thing around.” She tucked her head to her chin as she regarded her other bag that hung from her neck.

Feather shook his head, oddly surprised at her words. “No need to thank me. It’s just common courtesy. I...”—his attention was severed—“River, look, it’s our turn.”

The pair were in front of the line, their cable car squarely in front of the two. Not wasting time as the cable car system never waited, Feather reached out and swung the door open, offering River Moon to enter with a gentlemanly gesture of his hoof. She didn’t seem to rebuke as she slid into the cabin; Feather had to awkwardly shuffle his way in, fitting both himself and her duffel bag through the threshold before the car could leave him behind.

Feather scooted his rear into the seat before the car would eventually start its descent. When it did, he made himself comfortable as the car jerked slightly, River Moon suddenly holding herself to the railings inside.

“Woah! That feels weird.”

“Yeah, cable cars can drop like that suddenly. It’ll feel strange when we near and leave the towers along the way.”

River nodded, tucking her hooves to her chest as she turned her head outside, her back on the seat. He couldn’t make out her expression from where he seated, but there seemed to be a quiet in her she allowed upon herself.

The rattling of the cable car was made irrelevant for the moment as she spoke up, “It’s strange looking at a city from this high up.”

Feather agreed, commending whoever designed this cable car for having large windows that reached almost top to bottom, allowing him and River to clearly look at what she spoke of.

Blessed by the light of a new sunrise, Feather could observe the city properly for the first time. Bocoltá was dominated by light browns and sedona, the occasional juniper and lime of greenery peppered in strategic places amongst city blocks. It was an organized chaos; organized in the manner in which grids and patterns popped up from streets and blocks, chaotic in the complexity of it all.

Because it was morning, the city lights of still sleeping ponies and the rare, modern skyscraper illuminated vast areas of the metropolis’ area, most especially in areas not reached yet by the rays of sunlight. Feather found that oddly intriguing; it was as if the city belonged to a world much hotter, much more closely related to the deserts as opposed to lofty plateaus and breathtaking altitudes—quite literally.

As they continued approaching the metropolis, Feather was suddenly awash in thought at what this must have felt like to the Shaman and his people. He recalled the words he had said: They don’t believe in us anymore.

It kind of saddened him in some sort of strange way, as if he were somehow the root of all of this, or at least one of many progenitors. When he absorbed the sights of this city, he saw both new, sleek skyscrapers and antiquated buildings of old. Those skyscrapers occasionally blocked the light of a new morn from the structures much lower, much older than them. It was a stark contrast.

Feather pondered on how he would feel like to be one of those ponies down there, how they lived with the fact that some of their buildings were made from the pinnacles of modern engineering and some of their buildings being hundreds of years old, unchanged, acting as if the world hadn’t already started to move on.

It somewhat reminded Feather of himself and how he lived in a city that had buildings that were over a hundred years old and others that were made yesterday. What would the civilizations of the future think when they looked back at the wonders of today, their past?

Feather gazed upon the diverse conurbation and wondered how the civilizations of the past would think of it—how she would think of it.

Do I even really know that? Who knows where she actually came from?

As the car made its way closer and closer to the metropolis, Feather wondered what she would think of Bocoltá. He felt a certain disquietude in him when he thought of the idea, as if there were a ghost right beside him. That disquietude was both horrifying and soothing; horrifying at the thought of ethereal beings possibly interfacing with the living, soothing because it was as if it were his guardian angel, his protector ensuring company.

“That was shorter than I thought; I would have loved to look at the views more.” When River said this, Father realized they were nearing the base station, their car nearing several of the trees that littered along the foot of the mountain and its smooth topography.

“We can get back up there sometime if you’d like, you know, just to look at it all.”

River nodded. “Some time. Let’s settle down here first, though. Come on, we’re approaching the station.”

The little vehicle shuddered slightly as it leveled, sliding its way through the station. Feather quickly opened the car door, allowing River to leave and with an oof, himself. Once out, he patted himself and his bag to straighten it up.

“You good?” Feather asked, glancing at River Moon.

She flashed him a smile and nodded. “I should be asking you that, mister I’ll-carry-your-bag-and-be-a-gentlecolt.”

Feather made a deflating noise with his lips. “Come on, let’s get out of here and see if we can find a hotel.”

Leaving the stately Andalusian colonial style cable car station, Feather and River found several taxi carriages waiting for passengers by the side of the road. Hailing one of them with a flick of his hoof, the two ponies entered the cab and settled themselves in when it came.

“Where to?” spoke the gruff, accented voice of the cabbie.

Feather didn’t actually know what to say to that. He could just tell the cabbie to go and drop them off in the center of the city, or he could say-

“The most interesting hotel in the city.” Feather turned to see River answer him before he could even respond. He gave her a small smile as a sort of thank you for the admittedly brilliant improv.

The cabbie rubbed his hoof under his chin. “The most interesting hotel in the city, you say? I might just have an idea where that place may be.” Without another word, the cabbie started to accelerate, bringing Feather and River along with him through the thick of the trees.

Quiet. Other than the sound of the carriage rattling on the ground, it was quiet. That was what he first noticed: the quiet of the outskirts of the mountain path, the strange emptiness of it. When he chanced behind him and to his right, Feather could see towering peaks and large trees that lined the mountainside, and to his left he could barely catch glimpses of Bocoltá itself through the obscurity of the flora. It was as if he were in the middle of nowhere again.

The sky. It was brighter than it had been moments prior, the gold of its hue from the ascension of the sun turning into a moderate apricot. Clouds streaked the sky in long chains and patterns, similar to the mountain ranges that nestled Bocoltá itself. He could occasionally spot moving dots that rearranged and fixed the clouds, ponies, reminding him of his own occupation back home.

Feather often went out on days he didn’t even need to. His other team members never understood why he did it, but to him it was as plain as day. There’s something about flying that unleashes even the most hidden parts of pony souls. He remembered a religion he would occasionally read about, the first words of their holy texts elaborating: And so God created light and dark, casting away the darkness to the moon and the light to the sun of day.

Shaking, the carriage slowed as it began to approach an incline; it surprised Feather, for he was expecting the cabbie to make an eventual turn towards the city itself, not climb the mountain once more.

“Where are you taking us?” River shuffled uncomfortably to lean out of the carriage a tad, observing the stallion and the route he pressed on to.

He seemingly regarded her for only a moment, turning his head slightly. “You said you wanted to go to the most interesting hotel in the city, and miss, I do apologize for not clarifying, but the most interesting hotel around here is technically not in the city.”

Feather and River exchanged glances, both wordlessly agreeing to shut their mouths and let the stallion’s surprise unfold itself rather than spoil it.

From a distance, Feather could glimpse something peculiar. Nestled amongst the trees was a large, golden object that seemed to be a... ship? He blinked to make sure his vision wasn’t beginning to get funny from the high altitude, but the image faltered not. The carriage’s wheels suddenly stopped in front of it.

It was an airship, much like the one Feather and River had just gone off from, and yet it seemed to ooze an older world charm. The ship itself was low to the ground, barely touching it and moored by thick ropes, the pillars securing them hidden by flora. Its huge envelope still retained its vibrant hues of dark wood and gold, green and red wrapping the ship’s massive balloon for good measure.

Despite its old design, it seemed that it had been restored to some extent, giving the impression that the craft was ready to take off at any moment’s notice in search of great adventures to lost and distant lands.

Feather followed River when she hopped off the carriage, gazing at the object with a perplexed look on her face. He reached into his saddlebag to get some coins to pay the cabbie for his services.

“How much?”

He puckered his lips. “Five would suffice.”

Giving him the required amount, the cabbie nodded without a word and headed back to the direction whence they came, presumably to pick up more passengers from the cable car station. When the sound of the carriage left them, only the sounds of the forest remained: still, unmoving.

“Huh. It is interesting.”

Feather took a moment to properly regard the structure for a moment, nodding. “He’s right; this is quite the surprise, indeed. And look, the view is unobstructed over there; we can see Bocoltá clearly.”

While the airship was on the right side of the road, on the left were small trees, benches, and tables, allowing one to have a perfect view of Bocoltá right from the comfort of the shades of the trees and a strategic position.

“Wow, you really can. But come on, let’s check in first before I lose my mind even more.”

Beginning their ascent on the wooden gangway, Feather and River found themselves on the deck of the ship. What he first noticed was the fresh smell of the wooden planks under him, the slight move of the partially folded maneuvering flaps in the wind. The ship’s hull shone a dazzling gold; the inside seemed to be more modest with its aged wood.

Random plants hung from nets that spanned most of the deck and on the floor, the pots painted in a wide variety of colors from pink to aquamarine blue. The plants placed about were diverse, too: green shrubs, small trees, beautiful flowers, plants that looked like faces and that were larger than the average pony? There was even a plant that looked like lips! It was looking at a miniature Amarezon, a little piece of somepony’s refuge.

“Hola, dear guests, how may I help you?” Feather turned to find a charming unicorn stallion on the other side of a reception desk, his long frizzy hair tied to a bun with colorful ties. He had a wooden necklace around his neck and ties around his hoof, giving him a friendly—and hip—aura.

Feather spoke up. “Hello to you, too. We’d like to book a room for two, please.”

The stallion nodded. “What are your names? We here in Viajeros de oro like to refer to our guests that way.”

“Viajeros de oro.” River tried to pronounce it slowly, the curiosity getting to her. “That is a beautiful name. What does it mean?”

He gave her a simple smile as he abandoned his desk to stand by Feather’s side. “It means ‘Voyagers of Gold.’ Our ancestors created beautiful gilded ships such as this to traverse the river Amarezon. When the ones from the east came, they offered to add large balloons that allowed our ships to go deep into the Amarezon rainforest and her many cities.”

Feather appreciated the little history impromptu, somehow feeling a bit giddy at the realization that this was indeed a piece of history right under his hooves. Who knows what kinds of things those ponies of old have seen while on this very ship?

“That is very interesting. By the way, I am River Moon,” she pointed to herself, “and that is Feather Dew.” She pointed a hoof at him.

The stallion patted himself on the chest. “I am Willow. Feather Dew, may I assist you with your baggage, please?”

“You can take this one.” He offered the duffel bag wrapped around his torso, Willow having to unfasten it and levitating it to his side.

Feather glanced at River, preoccupied with looking at the strange plants all around, ignoring them for a moment.

“You know, I can just go with Willow to our room and leave you be. You seem to be busy yourself.”

She put a hoof on her mouth. “Oh! Why, er, thank you, Feather. I just wanted to look around, that’s all. This place really is something else, you know.”

Giving her a nod, he turned and followed Willow into a door that led to the innards of the craft. The inside truly was as antiquated as the outside: wooden walls with a hint of golden trim, a green floor, potted plants situated on tables or on their own. The windows filtered in the sunlight that could come through, the trees obfuscating a great many of it, admittedly.

They stopped in front of a door labelled “7.” “Here we are, number seven for two.” Willow reached out and opened it, allowing Feather to come in first.

The hotel room had a black and white diagonal tiled floor, giving the impression that this whole suite was on a giant chess board. There were more potted plants around the place; it was truly a recurring theme this hotel had gone all the way to fulfill. There were two adjacent four-poster beds with white canopies, either for decoration or for keeping the bugs out.

“Feather Dew, I think you will be needing these.” He turned to find Willow offering him a pair of ties originally wrapped around his hoof.

“Oh! How kind. I haven’t even thought of getting ties for myself, but thank you.” Feather took the pair and put it around his hoof much the same way he had.

Willow began, “It is only my duty. I shall leave your bags here, Feather Dew. If you need anything, please, do not be afraid to ask.” Feather giving him a polite gesture, Willow returned a nod and gracefully let him be in his new suite.

Picking up the bags, Feather placed them on top of a painted chest covered with designs of flowers and leaves. What he liked about this hotel room was the fact that the windows were actually relatively large, most probably modified for the ship’s repurposing. Much like the windows outside, sunlight filtered through, dancing and changing from the movement of the trees.

Finding himself in front of a large mirror in the room, Feather picked one of the ties and started to tie his mane. A simple ponytail was sufficient for now; he liked the no-nonsenseness of a plain ponytail that was easy to make and easy to redo.

Feather stared back at the mirror and noted how he almost looked like his past self, the past self before the Ohteotl trips, before knowing River Moon, before Jade. He most certainly looked like the Feather Dew of the past, but he knew somewhat that that was changing. One can never be who they were, one can never know who they will be.

Turning from the mirror, he started to scan the room out of curiosity. Feather found several items he had not noticed before. He noted the fine furniture; plump couches with an aged scent, like wine, lamps that illuminated pearl, other chests such as the one he had put his belongings on, even a small alcove that allowed one to sit down and read a book, the constellations painted on the deep blue walls watching over them.

What truly caught his attention, though, was a large, antique globe that stood in the center of the room. Its stand was of a wooden base and a bronze pole, wood orbiting the sphere at its equator, longitude, and latitude. It was most definitely of old origin; the print of the miniature Equus faded and flaked at other areas, the wood worn and discolored.

Reaching out a hoof, Feather gently applied a tad pressure on the globe and made it spin, slowly but surely. Equus started to turn, showing him all the major regions of the world drawn on it: fantasized illustrations of the Dragon Lands, Saddle Arabia and their silk roads leading to the lands of the far east, Zebrica and the desolate expanse of the Sa-mare-ian desert, archipelagos such as Indoneighsia, even the Frozen North was depicted with the harsh winds of the end of the world.

Feather continued to watch the planet Equus spin until it finally came to a halt, a side of the globe facing him showing two places: Equestria and Bocoltá in clear view. He could see Canterlot, he could see Manehattan and the other east coast cities, he could see Ponyville where his friend Rainbow Dash lived, he could see Bocoltá, he could even roughly spot where he and River once was only several days ago.

It was strange to have all these places right under his hooves. He had the power to do whatever he wanted to Equus itself. Seeing for himself how the world had stopped, Feather wondered if this is what it felt like to be the creator of all things, having the power to create and destroy.

Enchanting. Also temperate, strangely enough, but it was predominantly enchanting. It turned out that there existed a pool adjacent to the airship, tucked away in a cozy spot protected by the trees save for little spots here and there. It was similar to the pool back in the Ohteotl retreat, but this pool was pony-made and there was no waterfall. There too was a small bridge from the airship that connected to a platform that eventually led its way to the treetops.

He found it to be nostalgic up here: a treehouse with lots of open space and no ceiling, only tarps to cover some areas. It was like being in the retreat all over again. There were not many guests here, and the few that were were seated on chairs and enjoying their meals, lightheartedly talking as if they had been here a thousand times. A rather odd but unique way to do al-fresco dining, but it feels good to be amongst the leaves.

She wasn’t here, though, and so Feather decided to return back to the bridge, rubbing his head in thought as he looked out and peeked at the pool down there one last time to make sure he hadn’t accidentally overlooked.

Leaving the boundaries of Viajeros de oro once and for all, Feather crossed the path between the hotel and the little spot on the other side. It was dark—darker than he had anticipated—and it didn’t help when he looked to his left and right as he crossed—barely any illumination at all. Sure, it was out of habit, but to see empty silence stare back at him when he gazed back was disconcerting.

Feather felt glad this area had lighting he had not noticed before, better appreciating the lanterns that hung from the trees due to the current time. Night, it shrouded the world in darkness, but with the aid of the faint stars and the city lights, Feather could value the calm still here in the nighttime.

He most certainly needed not anything to fear when he spotted River Moon patiently waiting on a bench, her hooves on the table, head turned to Bocoltá and its sights. She seemed to be waiting for something that would never come.

“Hey, I was looking around for you after your little nap in the hotel room. D’you want something to eat?”

River regarded him by meeting his gaze, Feather sitting across her. “Yeah. I’ve been dealing with the altitude much better now. That was a doozy, eh?”

Feather offered a simple smile. “It was, but I’m glad to hear that you’re feeling better now. If you hadn’t, then I would have probably called hotel staff.”

She made a deflating noise with her mouth. “That’s okay. I just wasn’t feeling well then. I... I was thinking about things, that’s all.”

That piqued his interest. “Huh. What things?”

She turned to him properly, placing her two hooves on the bench. “Well, I was thinking about what we’re going to do now that we’re here. You know, about her.”

Feather allowed himself a moment of contemplation, the musk of the mountain air and dew reaching his muzzle. “Yes, about that. I’ve been talking with the hotel staff about places where we can find literature about ancient history and they said we can go to the De Tejido de plata, Bocoltá’s largest library.” He gazed at the city on his side, orange hues dominating the skyline, reflecting off his eyes. “We can go tomorrow, if you’d like.”

“That’s the reason we’re here, isn’t it?” She scrunched up her nose. “Actually, do you think she may be from some... civilization from the past? I kinda get that vibe with her.”

Feather nodded in agreement. “She told me she doesn’t even know if the city she came from is even around; that sorta gave it away. But I do get that vibe from her, too; that’s why I wanted to look for places with historical records, ancient knowledge, anything. Just the way she talked was quite strange, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah! And if she really did come from a civilization who-knows-how-long ago, then how long must have she been stuck there, in that plane of reality? That’s... I’d rather not think of that.”

Feather was suddenly hit with that epiphany; he had not thought of it that way before. How long must she have been there, mostly alone, mostly forgotten...

He shook his head from the thought. “I’d rather not think of that. It does give us more reasons to try to help her, though.”

“I was wondering that, too,” she added suddenly. “Even if we do get to her, it doesn’t mean our job is over. What if we can’t set her free despite knowing where she is?”

Feather hadn’t thought of that either. I don’t know if we have much of a choice. “I guess we’ll just have to figure that out ourselves once we do find her.” He shrugged. “It’s... it’s another part of the puzzle we’ll have to solve, lest she remains that way, stuck in a place that’s barely a place to begin with.” His tone turned more somber than he had hoped.

“Hm. That’s true. Poor girl.” She returned to meet the metropolis’ scrutiny. “What of a person who’s lost their body, moreso their own soul? Death itself seems to be a better fate.”

The quiet in the air made its way between them, Feather feeling the tinge of the slight mountain gusts that made its way down the mountain. Silence is the loudest scream, he remembered. It was still fresh in his mind even after all this time. How could he forget?

“River, I... I wanted to thank you for coming along with me. I know you said you wanted an adventure, but it seems like even I don’t know what’s going on or what’s going to happen. I still appreciate you being here, though, even if we’ve barely just started.”

She looked back at him, the lanterns reflecting off her irises. “I actually wanted to thank you for bringing my bag for me. Properly. That was sweet for you to ask, actually.”

Feather was surprised. “Really? Well, it was just a helpful gesture.”

“I’d still like you to know, you know?”

He gave a sheepish smile. “Well, yeah. I wanted to say thank you while we were in line in the cable car station, but I just didn’t have the words for it then; I do now.”

River Moon gave him a simple “hm” and returned once again her view to Bocoltá, the metropolis teeming with pinpricks that occasionally flickered on and off like fireflies. Feather turned to let the views come to him, drinking it in, tasting the odd flavors and intricacies that gave its character: exotic, homely yet grand, large to the point it went on for as far as the eyes could see yet small somehow. It was like looking at a planet in space for the first time.

“There’s something about looking at a city or town during night time. You can tell how alive it is by seeing what it does when the sun has set. Sometimes the town sleeps, sometimes several ponies mill about, sometimes entire cities never seem to slumber at all.”

River put a hoof on her mouth, leaning her knee on the table, calmly gazing out into the city that never faltered for a moment once, not now or ever.

They sat for wordless moments until she spoke up. “What if we never find her?”

Feather held his expression for a while, a mirth in his eyes that radiated a sense of hope. “I don’t know if I could ever get her out of my head. I don’t know for your case, but for me this is something I just... have to do. I’ll either find her, or I won't. I just hope it’s the former. It has to be, right?”

River offered an expression of radiance then looked back at Bocoltá. “She seems to be worlds away.”

He thought about that for a moment. “I don’t think that’s going to stop us now, is it? It certainly won’t stop me.”

She gave him a smile. A one filled with determination. Then she let out a chuckle, tired and wise. “Celestia’s sake, all this mush is making me hungry. Feather, we should really eat some dinner.” She hopped off and started to make her way back to the hotel, glancing back at him. “Join me?”

Feather left the bench to follow River’s lead. “Yeah, I’d like to try some of those Empanadas as a snack. I can even get some waffles for dessert, too.”

And so River Moon and Feather Dew left their spot under the quaint little tree on the mountainside, leaving behind the lights of the lanterns, the faint of the stars, the city skyline. The two enjoyed their rather shameless—severely copious at most—meal, the final one for today. They did eventually hit the sack and slept comfortably under the shroud of their beds’ canopies, Bocoltá itself not once falling asleep as it had done for thousands of moons.

Act II, Chapter XII

View Online

Teeming.

That was the first thought that came to Feather Dew as he observed the moving landscape, his hoof on his cheek and knee on the side of the carriage. Bocoltá was teeming with everything. There were many decorative lanterns that hung from doors and windows, banners that danced with the wind, artwork and murals on walls. Feather didn’t even know if there was a holiday or special event coming up; it seemed that this was merely the way of life for the ponies who lived here.

Speaking of the ponies who lived here, there seemed to be many of them. The Bocoltán population didn’t necessarily outnumber any other city of similar size from his knowledge, it’s just that the ponies here seemed to love walking about, talking amongst themselves. Particularly in this area their carriage was traversing through—a residential side of town—ponies waved at each other and stopped to have a chat as if it were any other day. It made the city seem smaller than it truly was.

There were even foals that played on the streets, carriages occasionally having to dodge them and their cabbies haphazardly yelling at them to be mindful of the streets, you scoundrels! That was only one of many remarks Feather’s hearing could catch—the only one he could only understand—most of them being in what was most probably obtuse Andalusian slang.

“Look, they're playing hopscotch!” River pointed to a bunch of foals who watched a filly jump on the squares, although Feather couldn’t recognize the letters drawn on the ground. She seemed to be exceptional at it, finishing her go quickly to the applause of the other foals.

“I didn’t know they played hopscotch here. I assumed they had other games.”

She scoffed lightly. “Some things can be universal, you know. Some things only need to be themselves.”

The cabbie made a turn and made way through a much larger street. The buildings changed; sure, there were the same antiquated houses that peppered the blocks and such, but amongst them now were much taller structures: offices, apartments, multi-purpose. As the carriage pressed on, several of the buildings started turning grander: pillars, tall windows, even fountains marking the edifices.

“We must be getting close to the library,” Feather said, feeling the rush of air surge through his tied mane as the cabbie sped up the spacious boulevard.

It amazed him when he looked to his left, occasionally catching glimpses of the adjacent streets—just like the one they had just come from. He could catch glimpses of the streets sloping upwards, the pathways waving up and down, left and right eccentrically from the imperfections of the ground. Feather truly absorbed the scale of it all, a massive spider’s web that cradled a small civilization needing entire lifetimes to discover.

They found themselves on an overpass that allowed them to catch a peek of the mountains to the left whence several roads came, passing underneath. A small slice of Bocoltá could be seen to the right, large skyscrapers particularly dominating the skyline, Celestia’s rays penetrating through their heights as best they could in the hopes to unite with gentle leaves and blades of grass.

Having crossed the overpass and continuing to the city block, Feather was brought to the epiphany when he observed his surroundings more and more: the similarities between here and his home, Manehattan. There were now the occasional trees, evenly spaced sidewalks, brick buildings that appeared ever so often to blend in with the Bocoltán architecture. It was slightly uncanny.

There were differences, though, such as the width of the roads and the design language of most of the structures. A lot of the buildings were simple slates of cobble, functional yet cheap to make, the occasional antiqued structure in between. There were fewer murals in this area, yet he could spot a few oftentimes if he tried hard enough.

What differed most prominently was the atmosphere. It was much colder than he thought to be up this altitude, the sun shining much brighter. They were physically closer to the sun, Bocoltá. The locals indeed have adapted to do the things they do everyday in conditions that would render newcomers slightly gasping for air and wincing at the glare of the sun.

The cabbie made many more turns during their journey, Feather barely able to keep up with how he changed directions ever so often. Fascinating it was to him, how the cabbies here knew exactly where to go; that was expected of them, sure, and Equestrian cabbies were good in navigation as well, but they didn’t have the challenge of traversing a city such as Bocoltá. Feather wondered how cabbies and street walkers coordinated the way they did—how can one find their way in a place that never seemed to stop?

The surrounding buildings eventually thinned out as the carriage made its way over yet another overpass, though much larger than the one they had crossed moments ago. Feather looked outwards and found themselves in the center of a massive intersection, carriages and ponies taking turns in crossing through, quick in their movements. As soon as they had their chances of crossing, they took it without a second thought.

On the other side, Feather was surprised to find a spacious field to his right, several apartment buildings to his left, and large sidewalks. There were more trees here than he had expected; it was as if he was about to enter nature once again with the company of several other carriages.

When they turned the large roundabout and the cabbie quickened the pace, Feather noted how the trees thinned out, large fields now encompassing them. It was strange to think that this was in a city. As he read signs that passed in intervals oftentimes irregular, Feather found this area filled with all sorts of parks and country clubs.

“It didn’t look like this at all from up there,” River commented, nodding her head to the lakes that bid them hello with their pristine waters, sparkling. “It seems that every major metropolitan area has a golf club, you know.”

Feather made a deflating noise with his lips. “Manehattan doesn’t have one...”

“Yeah, I guess. Ironic as it’s one of the more famous ones.” She then pointed at something. “Hey, it looks like we’re nearing our destination.”

River guessed right as the cabbie turned and slowed down, making their way through the open gates that bore the words “BIBLIOTECA NACIONAL DE TEJIDO DE PLATA” in fancy silver script.

They found themselves in the expanse of neat grass and sloping hills, the carriage rattling not as much as it made its way through the smooth carriageway. Quiet. It was quiet here, and Feather realized that it had been quiet for quite some time; it was as if this was a spot reserved and safe from the chaotic order so associated with metropolises.

Coming to a stop, Feather and River exchanged glances before hopping off the carriage, giving the cabbie their thanks and coins for his services. The carriage slid out of sight to allow the two to gaze upon the building before them.

Despite the structure being expansive in its floor area, from the outside, it seemed to be no more than five stories tall. It was composed of white and grey marble, albeit that was of least concern compared to the oddity that was the structure’s design language.

The building was circular, jagged forms coming from the base as if it were some sort of illness, curving and imitating the masts of Andalusian galleons. Semicircles and steps of granite, marble sculpted the building exterior’s layout, windows placed in all sorts of manners: from totally sensible looking areas to places that seemed to be chosen at random.

“That’s one funky looking library,” River cooed from his side, tapping the ground.

He was quite surprised. “I didn’t expect their library to look like that.”

River Moon shrugged. “To be fair, it does look quite large and as they say, ‘Never judge a book by its cover.’ Let’s see what this book has in store for us.”

Readjusting his saddlebag, Feather followed River’s lead down a gravel path that eventually led its way to the structure’s doors. She opened it and the two of them entered side by side.

Feather found himself surprised once again when he first properly took in the interior, the library having the scent of aged wood and old books. The space inside the cylindrical base was staggering despite it not having that tall of a ceiling, the large structure seemingly needing not the support of pillars and interior structural elements to keep the whole thing from collapsing in on itself.

On the walls near the ceilings were large windows that allowed sunlight to come in and illuminate the inside, allowing the library to be almost completely lit by the light of the sun alone during the day. Bookcases were placed strategically to follow the curve of the building’s shape, sorted in angled squares and neat rows.

The ceilings too had windows that allowed sunlight to come pass. There were what seemed to be fixtures that resembled the flaps of airships, half-blocking several windows in a pattern that gave the impression that the building was moving, that it truly was an airship crossing the seas in search of fateful sojourns.

Feather looked from the glimpses he could catch of the sky when River interrupted, saying, “We should try to find the librarian—or head librarian—of this place. To think that it’s somepony’s job to arrange all these books...”’

He started to scan the room and eventually found what he assumed was the librarian’s desk, a lone mare seemingly writing something obscured from his vision. “That looks to be the librarian right there.”

The earth pony mare had wrinkles under her eyes, middle-aged and fair in her complexion. She had a pale pink coat, an ochre mane and tail tied with white bands. She wore glasses as she continued to scribble, scratching her dark pink scarf wrapped to a bow around her neck. Her white socks reminded Feather of how comfortable they can be oftentimes.

Walking up to the desk, he caught her attention by politely starting, “Um, excuse me, but are you the librarian?”

The mare dropped her quill and regarded him with a blink of her eyes. She had a sort of youthful aura as she smiled slightly. “Why, yes, I am the librarian. Taffy Quill is the name, dear.” She had an almost perfect Equestrian accent, a slight Andalusian elocution slivering its way in her speech. “How may I help you...?”

“Feather Dew and River Moon,” he pointed to himself and River as he heard her step beside him. He gathered his thoughts for a moment. “We were wondering if you had any books about Meso-Equestrian cultures and their use of Ohteotl.”

“Ah. Hopefully you’re not going to sacrifice anypony, no? Last time that happened it didn’t end so well.”

Feather stuttered, “I- That’s not our intent at all!”

Taffy Quill waved a hoof and smirked a tad. “Of course I know, dear. I was only messing with you. What of life without a little fun? Come, I shall show you the literature.” Leaving the desk, Taffy Quill began to walk in an easy gait, Feather and River trailing behind.

As Feather followed her lead, he truly began to understand the scale of this place, not only in terms of the building’s actual size. The bookcases of this library were innumerable, more so the number of books laid in them: tomes, paperbacks, thick to thin, pocket sized to torso-sized. There were even maps and vinyl records sections that popped up, no doubt filled to the brim with ancient and modern knowledge.

They pressed on through a group of bookcases, settling in a niche and stopping. Taffy Quill pointed to a plaque that read “MESO-EQUESTRIAN HISTORY.” She then scanned the bookcase, scrutinizing it under her analytical glare with a push of her glasses. A glint of recognition in her eyes, she pulled out a book from the bottom row and presented it to Feather Dew.

The words “Of Gods, Sacrifice, and Men: Meso-Equestrian History in Brief” emblazoned the hardbound cover, ironically being quite a hefty tome that was firm in the mare’s grasp. He took it from her, setting it down by a nearby table.

The pages were old, worn, and turned a slight shade of brown, the edges rough and incongruent, smelling like it was a hundred years old, yet as Feather flipped through the introductory illustrations, there was a certain freshness to the book, an aroma of even older and wiser knowledge.

Jaguars. Dances. Large pyramids. The avatars of deities that made up the world. That was what he first saw when he observed the illustrations presented, the two mares behind him, watching expectantly. The drawings were only two-dimensional, crude, yet had an uncanniness that bridged it from childish scribbles to the stark reality of lost civilizations.

Feather found himself reading the foreword titled The Beginning of Civilizations:

Before there were civilizations, there was nothing. And then there was Equus, and from Equus bloomed life. Animals were one of them, and those animals have been evolving on this planet for billions of years. They were all different but somehow the same. Something happened that would change this forever.
Some of the animals became sentient. They made tools, they could plan ahead, communicate, they had a sense of time. When this happened, they were no longer animals, but the first people.
But these first people were weak. They had not the strength of a jaguar or the grace of a river dolphin or the senses of serpents. In the grand scheme of things, these people were small and insignificant.
They did have one blessing, and it was the greatest gift no other animal could come close to receiving: these people can build with the complexity that would anger gods. They built homes for themselves and eventually settled in permanent communities. They created irrigation, farms, temples and houses of worship. This was not the main progenitor for the rise of a civilization, though—it was only the cradle.
Hunter gatherers, for the most part, hunted for themselves. They hunted and scavaged for their own food with their own time and their own resources, and that was that. As people started to live in their permanent or semi-permanent residences and began to develop agriculture for themselves, that hunter gatherer lifestyle diminished. People specialized, for they needed not search for food and fight for the bare minimum of survival.
Ponies became better at doing things specific to them because a single farmer’s work could feed a hundred. These ponies became better, and that led to the rise of cities and civilizations.
“Meso-Equestria came from those hunter gatherers that found their way to the continent tens of thousands of years ago. They were a people of honor, of sacrifice, an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. They saw things that perplexed the civilizations of before and the people of today; they saw this life as only one of many. This is their story.

Feather looked up from the tome, glancing at River Moon. He returned his gaze to the book, uttering the words, “They saw this life as only one of many. They saw things.”

“That’s true and still is true to this day,” Taffy Quill spoke, even in her tone as she began to explain. “They did see that this life was only a facet of many, only a side of the same coin. They saw things that made them perform drastic measures, sacrifice ponies, sacrifice themselves. Do you know what they saw that would make them do such things?”

“Ohteotl.” It was simple when it left his lips.

River seemed intrigued as Taffy Quill continued. “Ohteotl. They saw gods. They saw objects that could not exist in reality. They saw slices of themselves they couldn’t before.” She puckered her lips. “You know something about Ohteotl, don’t you, dear?”

His heartbeat rose slightly, a rush of adrenaline through his hooves. “I’ve tried it before, yes. I felt... I had dreams wherein I was fully awake but had no control over. It’s real, somehow. It’s real.”

River coughed. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but Taffy Quill, have you any idea about... legends of Ohteotl around here? Feather Dew here has been interested in stories about the matter that may help him in understanding his experiences.” Feather internally praised her for telling her the truth but not necessarily about her.

Taffy Quill rubbed a hoof on her glasses. “I have several pieces of literature you might take interest in. Stay here.” They didn’t have to wait long; Taffy Quill came back as soon as she left, holding several pieces of old parchment in her hooves.

She laid them out on the table for them to clearly see. The articles were written in a language he didn’t understand, but there were illustrations that helped one get the gist of the tale each piece of paper was trying to convey: there was one of a stallion dancing with a serpent-mare hybrid, airships battling above what he assumed were the Amarezonian tree tops, a sorceress incanting spells that could change the rules of destiny.

That's when he saw it. Feather’s mouth hung from his jaw slightly.

The world. It was a sphere with the continents drawn on its surface, a pony levitating above it in a fetal position, locked away in a cube. Trapped. Above and below the planet were the afterlives. She was neither in Equus nor in heaven and hell.

Somehow, he knew exactly who it was.

Feather glanced at River. She had the same shock he reflected, her eyes wide and glancing back and forth between the parchment and himself, opening and closing her mouth in an attempt to utter even the slightest of conversation.

“Is something wrong?” Taffy Quill scrunched up her nose at the two.

Feather blurted, “Nothing! I just remembered something, my laundry back in Manehattan. Gosh. Anyway, that... one looks interesting.” He tried to steady his hoof as he pointed to the elusive piece of parchment only several feet away from him.

Taffy Quill picked it up and readjusted her glasses as she scanned what seemed to be the title text. “This is an old myth called ‘Scarred Serpentine.’ Would you like me to read it to you?”

Solemnly nodding his head, the group found themselves seated on a comfortable but cold couch, Taffy Quill on one side. Feather and River were on the other end, the latter fidgeting in apparent apprehension. Feather regarded her with an assuring glance before Taffy Quill began the tale; he wasn’t sure if it was more of an assurance to her or to himself.

“Before, there lived once a mare. Her home was a great city, Tlekokalli, a city of kings, obscured by the great forest to better hide themselves from the explorers of the new world and everything in between. This city had as many buildings as there were stars in heaven, and in the center laid a great lake. This lake was worshiped as the center of their world, a gateway to the next life. They protected this great lake with an equally great reverence.

“They occasionally sacrificed ponies. To keep the gods that maintained Equus and the heavens from going hungry, a pony was chosen to be offered to them, their blood the sustenance to keep the stars in the sky and the rise of the sun and moon alive. Horrified was she when she was chosen to be the next oblation.

“She would be sacrificed on top of the Great Pyramid strapped down to the stone slab, chacmool. Sacrifices, regardless of whether they wanted to be offered to the gods or not, were stabbed in the abdomen by a priest with an obsidian blade. Her heart was ripped out of her chest much like the many before her: still beating, still in pain, still alive to be offered to the god of the sun.

“They believed the heart to be the seat of one’s self, a fragment of the cosmos. Only then would the corpses be thrown down the stairs of the pyramid, wherein the sacrifices’ dead bodies would build up. It was fitting when the mare’s body found itself down the pyramid to wait for whatever came after this life.

“Legend has it that she was endowed with a curse that would render her unable to move on to either the heavens or the hells. The only way to break the curse is for one to find her heart and complete it, both of them bound to join one another in the next life.”

“If you dare find me, then you will have to find my heart.”

Feather Dew looked back at Crystal Jade with a trepidation that rattled his core; it was as if his heart was a timepiece movement a breath away from tumbling down and breaking apart. Despite this, there was a calm in him he was well familiar with. It was an old friend he always knew.

“If you dare find me, then you will have to look into the Amarezon.”

That memory flashed in his mind when he suddenly felt the pieces fall into place. Crystal Jade lived in a city named Tlekokalli hidden deep in the Amarezon and she was offered as a sacrifice to the gods.

She was neither dead or alive, in heaven nor in hell. I was supposed to move on a long time ago.

Feather heard River speak up. “I... where is this city located?”

Taffy Quill blinked as she started, “From what I recall, we don’t know if Tlekokalli was actually real. This is one of the few articles that even mention a city named Tlekokalli. It is only myth in that sense, dear.”

His interest was piqued when she mentioned “a few articles.” “Hold on, a few articles? What are those other articles?”

Taffy Quill puckered her lips. “A bit of a rabbit hole we’ve found ourselves in, huh? It might take a while for me to find, so settle yourselves in, both literally and figuratively.” She said not another word when she sped off to find the elusive articles.

It was alone without Taffy’s presence, to both of them. They were as fragile as crockery.

Feather could only look back at River with a sense of dread. He didn’t know how to explain it. It was like knowing he was being watched without actually having any reason to come to that conclusion. He felt like there was something hiding in his peripheral vision, a ghost, a phantom watching him and his every move.

God?

The world was strange, different. The couch he sat on, the pony he was staring back at, how she stared back at him. It was as if his soul was not in his body any longer. At that moment, Feather Dew didn’t know who he was.

“I’ve found one passage that seems to be the most relevant to Tlekokalli.” The librarian sat her rump down and put the book on her lap, Feather unable to glance at its cover. “I found this more quickly than I would have thought: a journal of one of the stallions under a Conquistador who was supposedly trying to find the ‘lost city’ of Tlekokalli.”

River seemed impressed. “I… How do you know about all this stuff?”

Taffy Quill waved a hoof. “I know I may look young but I spend a lot of time in this library, more than what most would deem healthy. This Conquistador also was one of the first to traverse the Amarezon river; that’s why he’s quite well known. It’s tragic what happened to him.”

Feather spoke up. “What happened?”

Taffy Quill gave him the book, her hoof on a page she opened. “I think it may be best for his men to tell you themselves.”

Perplexed, Feather focused his attention on the book, moving it to his side a tad so River could also have a read.

It said:

Lightning has been injured. We were attacked by a black panther. Fortunately, no one else was hurt and we were able to deter the big cat away into the damning rainforest it calls home. Lightning will carry the scars he received for the rest of his days, but worse it could have been. That beast could have taken many more of us down.
I had a conversation with Arctic Ace today. He seems really adamant in his stance that this lost city is real, that it is out there for us to find. I do have my doubts, but what do I know? The locals said that they had not seen it but do believe in its existence, for their ancestors too talked of a great city and all of its magnificent sights. I wonder what it is, but I feel I will never know. Our Conquistador said that as soon as Lightning is ready to leave, we are to immediately depart. It seems that Tlekokalli will be lost forever, indeed.

Feather and river shared a concerned glance as they spotted what seemed to be the last entry of the log.

We were finally about to depart from this terrible sojourn. Lightning was finally in a condition wherein he could travel again, and we quickly packed our belongings to prepare for our leave. We were so close. All of us could taste the sweet relief of homecoming. That was not what happened.
Our Conquistador was a strong willed stallion amongst others who may not be as such. Arctic Ace was one of them. He kept on repeating still that this city was real despite our last conversation, but I did not think he would dare go into that forest alone. We did our headcount as we were by the ship to find that he was missing. I knew instantly what Arctic Ace did.
I did not understand our Conquistador, though. I only saw him for a moment, a second’s passing that seemed like any other instant. I did not know it would be our last. Something terrible came to his mind. I could see it in his eyes. He then rushed off to be amongst the trees, leaving us. He left us behind, his ship behind. As we sail through the seas back home, I wonder if they both got what they wanted.

River and Feather’s concern was full blown. He turned to Taffy Quill and said. “I do apologize for the time, but where were they during their travels?”

She shook her head. “Don’t worry; it’s sort of my job to do this, anyway. There should be another book in here that explains the explorations of Conquistadors hundreds of years ago.” She quickly pulled out another book from the bookcase they first went to only moments ago, opening it to a page and presenting it to the two.

The twin pages revealed a map of Bocoltá and the South Equestrian continent, the shorelines and seas visible and labeled. There was a red line that came from east-north-east, seemingly having a detour in Puerto Caballo before eventually entering one of the many mouths of the Amarezon river, traversing through the majority of its length.

There then was a blue line that came from where the red line ended, leaving the river and making a turn back to where it once came; Feather was sure of the chronology because of arrows that aided in direction.

What intrigued him, though, was an illustration on the upper left of the left page, an ink drawing of the Conquistador with his armor on, clear for him to see. It said simply “Don Corsair.” So that’s his name, huh: Corsair? Gazing at the look of his stoic face, one would guess that he had not tolerated mistakes or nonsense at all.

River pointed to the spot where the red line ended and the blue line began. “That’s the end of their arrival and the beginning of their departure.”

Feather turned to look at where she pointed, the same obscure spot in one of the many branches of the river Amarezon. What intrigued him now, though, was a little dot by the proximity of that location labelled “La Orilla.” A part of his brain clicked as the epiphany delivered itself upon him.

“La Orilla,” Feather said. “That’s the name of a city.”

River caught Taffy Quill’s attention by setting her hoof down next to her. “This is a modern map, right?”

The older mare leaned in and scrutinized the illustration. She nodded. “Yes. A modern map depicting the route the convoy took all those centuries ago. Why do you want to know?”

Feather and River looked at each other when the two knew not of how to respond. He blinked and glanced back at the insignificant looking dot on the map. He could only chuckle.

The tea was cold. It hadn’t been touched in a while. Actually, it had never been touched, had a sip taken out of it. It was cold like a heart that didn’t know love. It was what happened when a god were to leave his people: they would be imparted from their hope and they would be left cold, abandoned. Feather read somewhere that hell was not necessarily an infernal landscape, but rather chilly from the lack of a god’s love.

What would that love feel like? The lack of it?

Feather felt a sort of acceptance within himself as the thoughts swirled in his head. A curse. She was damned, and she was neither dead or alive, in heaven or in hell. Jade was a pony without a country, and he knew not of his emotions. Feather expected himself to feel angry, shocked somehow. But he wasn’t. He was cold like his tea.

It was quiet. But not just any other day quiet. It was quiet as if there was never even a god in the first place.

“She was murdered.”

Feather looked up to see River Moon fidgeting across his side of the table, her hoof on her cheek and twirling her drink aimlessly. “What kind of people would do that to their own...”

He turned his head to the side, observing how the trees, the mountains, the wind, and the clouds moved across the sky. Feather took note of how they danced amongst themselves in the beat of the breeze, leaves tumbling and turning. The trees were singing, and they were singing the songs of nature, creating air itself.

Then he saw the sun and how it perched heavenwards, laying down its light to all it could reach. To think that those ponies would sacrifice each other so the world and everything they knew it would not end.

Were they right? Was this how they kept the heavens alive? With the blood of innocents?

“To think that all of this came from the lives of ponies just like you and I,” Feather Dew said, but it seemed to be more to himself, a dilemma he struggled to answer in his mind. It was as if the stars couldn’t even aid his reprieve, his escape to solace.

“They’re wrong.” River shook her head. Her ears were slightly flopped, confused. “They didn’t know what they were doing.”

Feather only sighed as he turned back to the mountain views from their little tea place. “That’s compared to us now. We have Princess Celestia. Back then, they... they did those things because they thought that if they hadn’t, they would all perish. Is it justified, River, even if it hadn’t done anything at all?”

River brought her gaze towards the sights, sharing with him the silence imparted to them by nature itself. She was wordless for only a moment.

“It’s still beautiful.”

Feather quickly turned to face her properly. He pouted slightly as he opened his mouth, closing it. “I... don’t know what to feel about that. Does it make one more foolish? Valiant?” He turned from her, but he gazed not at the mountains or the sky or anything that ever existed, for he might as well have been lost from reality. “It’s lonely, that I know. That I know.”

Thereupon River’s smile glowed a sadness, her irises a solemn grey. “Hey, you don’t have to say that. You know what, come here.” She put out her hooves across the small table for him. Feather let out an amused, soft chuckle, glancing down for a second. He reached out his own hooves to wrap them around her neck for a short but gentle embrace.

Feather knew that somehow, she was right: it was still beautiful. Despite the pit in his heart, a dilemma that raged inside of him, a black hole that consumed everything in its path, she was right. The sky was still the sky, Equus was still Equus, and the wind was still the wind.

Feather allowed himself to ease by letting out breaths as they parted, River seemingly doing the same as she put a hoof on her chest.

“It’ll take time,” she said, more so to herself perhaps.

“Take time for what?”

“Accept that. Accept all of this.” Her sigh was almost dreamy, but most definitely coming from melancholy. “Accept that might have been what happened to her. Accept that ponykind can harbor the capacity of atrocity. Even the world around us in the present is...”

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” Feather finished quite solemnly, wishing that he would have sprinkled more hope in his words.

She let out a soft chuckle, “That may be true. But you know what? We’re going to be okay. At least we know we’re not crazy, right? I mean, look at the bright side, we’re getting closer and closer to her. To Jade.”

Feather then felt the wind. It reached his back, tickling his coat and the odd strands of his mane. Was he afraid of it? His eyes were only steady as he let out a simple smile.

“I guess we are. La Orilla, huh? It seems interesting that close by is the lost city of Tlekokalli.”

“It does sound... interesting.” River picked up her drink and started to drink from it. “But I’ve got to say, this is starting to sound dangerous.” She fidgeted. “We may be... dealing with things that are way out of our control. It’s like we’re being tested by gods now. Feather, I’m being serious here, how are we going to protect ourselves when- if something, you know”—she circled her hooves hastily—“crazy happens?”

She was most definitely right in having these suspicions. This rabbit hole went in deeper than he thought possible. He expected to find some things, but this had the markings of a tale that slumbered in it a great many words, mysteries that abided to no known soul.

Feather tapped his chin with a hoof, thinking. He suddenly remembered a little old friend of his named Rainbow Dash and another interesting friend she had. “I think I know a gal who knows a gal.”

Interlude, A Letter to Princess Twilight

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Dear Twilight,
How’ve you been? We haven’t talked in a while, but I’m assuming the school’s doing okay after that fiasco with that Chancellor Neighsay I think his name was? Rainbow brought that up to me one time, and she didn’t seem pleased with him. I’m sure you are well familiar with our certain disfavor of authority figures (and no, I don’t mean Princess Celestia or Princess Luna, again!)
I find myself in Bocoltá at the moment after a stay in a Ohteotl retreat. Yes, I finally did it, didn’t I? I’m sure you’d love to hear all about it, but let me keep this brief. It’s odd, it’s strange, and even stranger than that was how the epiphanies kept flooding in every single time. I remember that quote you told me once: “Given time, you can get used to anything.” Not with this brew, and firm I stand on this hill I’ll die on.
And I’ve met a new friend. Her name’s River Moon. She’s also interesting, to say the least (she beat a minotaur at hoof wrestling, twice!) River’s been great at comforting me from my doubts during my experiences and all. It’s only been around a week that I’ve known her, and I know that one can’t know another person completely (not even an entire lifetime would suffice), but I think she gets me, you know? That she understands something that many others don’t. We’re two moving amalgams of parts, somehow fitting together, as if it were meant to be.
To be frank, I’m going off on a tangent. Those things aren’t the real reasons I wrote this letter to you. There’s something else I need you to know, and I also have a request.
Those past few days, I’ve ~~encountered~~ met an intriguing figure in my hallucinations. I thought nothing of it at first, but then I realized that River Moon had seen her as well (that was the second time she’d visited the retreat). We immediately thought that this couldn’t be a coincidence, it wasn’t possible. We have been led to believe that she was not a figment of neither of our imaginations, but an actual individual interfacing with us from some other realm unbeknownst.
I saw her in my dreams. She’s very kind. And the more I converse with her, the more the epiphany comes forward to present itself: that she’s trapped. She’s stuck, Twi, and I don’t know where. She said she was a fish out of water, a parrot chick in an eagle’s nest, a place no soul was meant to be in. There’s a poignancy in her gaze that never seems to leave, and it somehow haunts me without me even knowing it.
This is where my request comes in. Can you help us? I can’t think of a pony more knowledgeable than you, and if anything this has the marks of something magical going on, something neither River nor I can begin to fathom. That’s why we’re here in the first place, Bocoltá. We’ve been digging for info, but I don’t think I can put it all in this letter—it’s getting quite lengthy.
Despite that, I know this is a lot to take in. Please, could you come check this out for us? I know it’s a lot to ask, but if there’s one person in all the world I know I can depend on with this sort of thing, it’s you. Do let me know of your thoughts.
Sincerely,
Feather Dew

Act II, Chapter XIII

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“How much longer do we have to wait? I know she’s a princess and all, but can’t they make the airship go a little bit faster for royalty?”

Feather and River stood just outside the base cable car station. There were a few folks that came in and out of the structure, some with luggage, some with their souvenirs in their hooves, some without anything at all.

He had found out from the hotel staff that hitching a ride in the Bocoltán cable car system was a leisure for visitors and even locals alike, and he could see why. Whenever Feather looked up to the peak at the loftier station, he truly got the sense of how massive these mountain ranges truly were.

“Stop being such a baby. Look at the view, why can’t you appreciate this lovely day?” Feather gestured all around them. He wasn’t lying: the sun was up and radiant but not too bright that it would hurt one’s eyes.

River Moon snickered. “Sure, I’m the baby when you were the one who was all so romantic whenever you described Princess Twilight to me.” Her face reflected a smug mockery.

Feather shot a hoof to his chest, blushing. He had indeed described the bookworm to her in great detail, albeit he was definitely not “romantic;” he was a mere friend of hers, that’s all! “I- That’s a totally unreasonable statement to make and that’s not true!”

River slapped a hoof on his withers, pulling him closer and staring him at the eye. “How can you be such a moron sometimes?”

“Wha- How am I the moron here? What you said wasn’t true...”

“It’s as true as grass being green, Feather. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the wedding gift is nice for the two of you.”

“Wedding? Feather, you’re getting married?!”

His stomach twisted. Feather could recognize that voice from a mile away. I was about to ask how you could make this situation any worse than it is! Why do they always come at the worst possible time?!

“I’m not getting married!” He turned rapidly from River Moon, flaring his wings out of instinct (and adrenaline). “That was just a joke, nothing to see here. Just don’t listen to whatever she says.” Feather pointed a rather angry hoof at River, glaring, as if she were the accused and he was the victim in court.

Feather allowed himself to smile as River stumbled on her words, blurting, “He’s the one who believes Equus is flat! Why should I believe anything that comes out of that pretty but stupid mouth of yours?”

“You’re the one who believes that cats are aliens!”

“Well, you’re the one that said the pyramids on the sun-”

“Guys! Can we please calm down?”

The two turned to face Twilight Sparkle. She looked just like how Feather had always remembered her: a purple mane with pink accents, a violet coat, a horn and a pair of wings. Ah, yes, and she still had that familiar tone that could de-escalate a heated exchange of words so effortlessly. She carried that saddle bag of hers she always had, wings flared out from their spar of words.

“Sorry, Twilight.”

River pouted a bit, Feather feeling that she could finally show some decency. “Yeah, sorry, Princess Twilight, even if Feather is wrong and has always been wrong and Equus is not donut shaped and-”

“Anyway!” Feather stomped his hoof on the ground, ignoring River’s entire existence, “how’s the flight?” An awkward chuckle escaped his lips.

She flashed him a simple smile. “Oh, the flight’s fine. What’s more interesting is down here on the ground, though, or should I rather say up here. To see a city this high up in the sky and all the Andalusian style architecture—I really should remind myself to visit South Equestria more often.”

“Even though it’s more like west of Equestria, but whatever,” River snickered.

“It is fascinating, isn’t it? Speaking of being so high up, how’s your breathing? Are you feeling lightheaded?”

She shook her head. “Well, I was, but I got used to it quite quickly. Some of the others on board hadn’t a great time, though.” Twilight grimaced at what was presumably a nasty memory.

“That’s good to hear- that you got used to it, by the way. A shame Rainbow couldn’t come over.”

Twilight nodded. “Rainbow said she really wanted to come, but she’s going back to Wonderbolt training in the meantime. She said she wanted to try to wrestle hoof River Moon.”

Waving a hoof to dismiss the sentiment, River made a deflating noise with her lips. “She better have a core as strong as mine and these babies.” River slapped a hoof on her other foreleg, flexing her muscle. She should really stop trying to slap herself like that, especially in public...

He remembered something. “Oh! I haven’t even introduced you to River Moon yet!” Feather waved a hoof at her, the blue mare standing proud and dignified. Let’s hope she actually acts like it... “River, this is Twilight, and Twilight, this is River.”

“I’ve heard a lot about you through the letter Feather sent me. Is it really true that you beat a minotaur at hoof wrestling?” She tilted her head.

River happily nodded. “Twice, Princess Twilight. He may have huge muscles but he has the bone structure of a chicken compared to my ‘girly legs.’” Her expression turned sardonic at the end of her reply.

Twilight put a hoof on her mouth as she giggled. “I see. No need to call me ‘Princess Twilight,’ by the way. Twilight is just fine. I don’t need any more ponies sucking up to me and following me around as if I’m some sort of movie star.”

River squawked, “But of course they’d suck up to you, I mean, you’re an alicorn princess and all. I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen one, if ever.”

Feather was glad that the two were well-intentioned with one another; their talk and flow going well. It was quite interesting to see his friends who have never met before talk to each other for the first time. It was like watching a crossover of two comic book franchises one swore would never happen.

He didn’t have the time to think about that, though, when Twilight came to face him, her expression turned serious. “Feather, I wanted to ask you something because you hadn’t specified it in your letter.” She cleared her throat. “Has she... have you talked to her yet?”

Feather wanted to say yes—and he almost did reply as such—but he let his face show a bit of disappointment as he shook his head. “Not since we left the retreat. I haven’t had many dreams these past few days; I don’t know why. Is it... because of her or is it because of me?”

Twilight gave him a sad smile. “We don’t have to point hooves here, Feather. It doesn’t have to be anypony’s fault. I’m assuming she doesn’t even know I’m here, right?”

“Why don’t we take this conversation back to the hotel, guys? Standing around like this doesn’t seem to be appropriate.”

Feather had almost forgotten that they were indeed standing around by the side of the road. He even noticed a few ponies here and there taking peeks at them, particularly at Twilight, seemingly trying to hide the fact that they were staring.

“That sounds like a good idea. C’mon, let’s go back to the hotel.”

Hailing a cab, the three left that spot under the sun to go back to Viajeros de oro.

It was a bit costly, but Feather booked a private tree house they could use so as to not disrupt their imminent discussions. This treehouse was loftier than the other ones, being obscured slightly by the trees. The upside was that it truly was private; no other soul outside this little structure could hear or see what went on inside.

Twilight was drinking out of an exquisite glass filled with Lulada, a suggestion from River Moon when she had asked what she should drink. She occasionally let out a curious puck of her lips from the bitter but somehow sweet taste.

Feather checked around him one last time. He noted how this particular treehouse hadn’t any windows, the one opening that allowed guests to come in covered by a veil, flapping softly in the wind. They truly were alone now, removed from the world.

“Feather, I know you said you would put as much as you can in the letter you sent me, but could you please elaborate the story so far for us again? I really am intrigued by all of this.”

He took a sip from a glass of water, setting it down before he started. “Of course I will. It’s not particularly easy to cram a story about interdimensionals and ancient curses in a letter, but here we are anyway.” River and Twilight leaned in to listen as he began, “Here’s what happened in our end:

“River and I came to the Ohteotl retreat so we can, y’know, have our experiences and hallucinations and stuff. I’m sure you’ve read about this before, right, Twi?”

She nodded. “Yes, I’ve read about it before. Ohteotl is a powerful entheogen that can create magical hallucinatory effects.”

“Yes, and we took the brew on the first night. River said she had the usual Ohteotl experience: beasts, flashing images, stuff like that. I was having the usual experience, too, but then I saw... her.”

Twilight observed him carefully. “Did she say anything to you then?”

He instantly shook his head. “Nope. I barely even remembered it happening right after. It was like a dream and I just forgot, y’know?”

The purple alicorn scratched her chin. “Carry on.”

“We continued to take in the Ohteotl every night, and I started to actually have conversations with her as time went one. They were short, but conversations nonetheless.”

“Hm.” Twilight asked, “What did you two talk about?”

Feather thought about it for a moment. What would be the one thing to remember about our conversations? “Dreams. She talked about dreams, and she had a strong conviction with them, too. Once, she said something about people forgetting the things they experience in their dreams, the lives in them. She looked most especially sad at that moment.”

Twilight put a hoof up. “Is it because that’s the manner in which she communicates with you? Through dreams?” He remembered that he mentioned in his letter how she made contact with him through his journeys asleep.

Feather actually felt a tad guilty at the moment. “I think so. She said she liked showing me things through my dreaming. It’s how she tells me things when she doesn’t know how to say it herself.”

Twilight tapped her chin, turning to River Moon. “And you said you saw her before in your Ohteotl experiences, right? He mentioned how you went to the retreat before.”

River nodded. “That’s correct. She talked to me about feeling trapped. What’s interesting is that whenever she talks to Feather, I don’t see her, but when she talks to me, Feather can’t see her. She can’t talk to us at the same time.”

“That’s what I told you about in the letter, Twi,” Feather interjected, “We had a theory that she was somehow stuck in some other realm or dimension we can’t access all the time, only either through Ohteotl or our dreams. That’s how we came to that conclusion: she can’t talk to us concurrently.”

Twilight’s eyes lit in recognition. “Actually, some scientists think that Telepathine is not only found in entheogens like Ohteotl but in the pony body as well.”

Feather was confused at the direction she was headed. “Hold on, why don't you expand that for us?”

Twilight made that face she always had whenever she was about to elaborate something. “Okay. In Ohteotl there is a magical substance called Telepathine. Telepathine is named as such because it somehow connects thoughts and consciousnesses together, like a bridge that can’t be accessed at every occasion. Telepathine, theoretically speaking, can be found in the pony body as well, especially in the pineal gland and the lungs. I think that in your case, whenever you dream, it’s the same substance being released that’s found in Ohteotl.”

This was a wave of new information to him. “So you’re saying that this Telepathine is somehow produced by our bodies?”

Twilight shrugged. “It’s only a theory in the scientific world, but it looks like that’s what’s happening here. Although Telepathine would be more powerful through Ohteotl as opposed to its natural production in the body.”

“That’s why she seems more grounded in Ohteotl experiences as opposed to dreams,” Feather realized. “I felt that I could see her more clearly during my experiences as opposed to my dreams. We certainly talked more then.”

“And then there’s the fact that she may have been sacrificed in a ceremony and is now stuck between the afterlives,” River said cooly, sipping from her very own glass of Lulada.

Twilight seemed perplexed by that statement. “Hold on, she was what now?”

River glanced at Feather. “You didn’t tell her?”

“Tell me what?” Twilight looked at Feather in concern, the two staring at him now.

Picking up the glass of water once again, Feather took a sip from it and sighed. “I didn’t want to tell you through the letter. But remember how I said we did some digging and found some info?” Twilight nodded. “Well, I guess there’s no better time to explain this.

“When we went to the library, we stumbled upon many revelations. Firstly, we discovered that she is actually some sort of myth, and the myth goes like this: she was a girl who lived in a city named Tlekokalli deep in the Amarezon rainforest, and they believed that they had to sacrifice ponies in order to raise the sun and keep the universe from dying out.”

Twilight spat her drink. “What?!”

“I had the same reaction. Anyways, what apparently happened was that she was chosen to be the next sacrifice, but she was unwilling. She was sacrificed either way, and what would normally happen was the sacrificed soul would move on to the afterlife. But I think that... because of her unwillingness, she somehow got cursed into being stuck between the afterlives; she is neither dead or alive, she’s trapped.

“Tlekokalli has been lost for some time. There were ponies trying to find it, but they were unsuccessful in their endeavors. And now, here we are, trying to find her and bring her back.”

When he looked back at Twilight, her bottom jaw was practically dislocated from her skull. They allowed her a moment of recollection before she spoke up. “I... wow, I was not expecting that.”

Her expression suddenly turned remorseful. “And she was sacrificed against her will?”

Feather and River gravely nodded.

Twilight was quiet for some time, blanking out to empty space. “Did it say how we can break the curse?”

“It only said to ‘come to her heart.’ Vague, I know,” River answered from beside her.

“She said that if we were to find her, then we would have to find her home, to go to the Amarezon.”

She pondered for a moment. “I don’t want to sound nihilistic, but isn’t this city lost?” Twilight continued, “If ponies from back then haven’t been able to find it, then how can we find it?”

Feather and River glanced at each other. He started, “We found out that there was this one expedition to find this city under a Conquistador named Corsair. They travelled from the east, supposedly trying to find Tlekokalli. Are you following?” Twilight answered yes.

“One of the stallions explained in a log how they met some locals, and they talked about the lost city itself from the words of their ancestors. They weren’t able to get to it because it seemed that one of them had an accident, so they were trying to leave as soon as they could.”

Twilight leaned on the back of her seat, letting out a breath. “Wow... so they were close to finding it but had to come back because they had an accident?”

“That’s what I think, but it could also be for a multitude of reasons. Celestia, even their Conquistador and another one of them went missing during the expedition. Maybe they saw something, too. Who knows?”

“And by the way, we know where they roughly were during their voyage,” River said, prodding at Feather and his bag that was by his side.

“Oh, yes! I haven’t told you about that yet, too, Twi. During our digging, we found out where they approximately voyaged to.” He picked an object from his bag and laid it out on the table. It was a map, correct side facing Twilight. “Their ship stopped around... there.” Feather pointed to a spot on the Amarezon river’s many winding passages.

She scrutinized the spot which he pointed to. “Gee, that looks really deep in the Amarezon rainforest.”

He removed his hoof and pointed to another spot on the map, a tiny, insignificant looking dot that read “La Orilla.” “That’s the closest city to it.” Feather looked up from it and looked at the two, eyeing them knowingly. “You see where I’m going with this?”

Twilight gave him wide eyes as River smirked. “An adventure of a lifetime. Finding the lost city of Tlekokalli and saving a damsel in distress. Is this even reality anymore or is my drink just funny?” She picked up her glass and observed the liquid with an amused glare.

“So, Twi, I know this’ll be hard to ask, and I already technically have but... are you going to help us? In finding her?” Feather’s simple smile faltered slightly as Twilight stared at them as if they were a bunch of conspiracy theories in a bar, drunk out of their minds talking about alien stargates and ufos.

Twilight began, “Feather, I don’t want to say that you’re crazy, but... I genuinely don’t know if we’re going to find this city. I do believe you and that she’s stuck somewhere else, but...” She sighed. “It’s going to be difficult, to say the least. We have no idea what we’re getting into here.”

He felt the pressure in his hoof as he pressed it down the table. “Twilight, I know this sounds completely insane, but you know River and I are going to do this regardless of whether or not you’ll join us.

“I... whenever I talk to her, I see something in her that I can’t explain. She wants to go out, she wants to leave. She won’t admit that to me or River, and probably never will, but that’s the truth.

“You know I can’t not do this, Twi. I’m just asking whether you’ll be there with us, regardless if we’ll actually get to meet Jade.”

“Her name is Jade?” Twilight’s voice was surprised, her face awash with both guilt and fascination. Feather remembered that he hadn’t even put her name in the letter he sent her.

“Crystal Jade.” Feather turned to look at River, saying it so simply. “It’s Crystal Jade.”

Twilight put a hoof on her mouth and let out a breath, her eyes giving him the look of sincere contemplation. The silence between them felt oddly comforting as Feather gazed at Twilight, asking once more, “Will you join us in meeting Jade?”

She took longer than he expected to answer, and he swore he could hear the chirp of the birds outside as time passed by. Feather simply placed his hooves by his person as he allowed her to think.

Twilight removed her hoof from her muzzle. “It’ll be an adventure, that’s for sure. When do we leave?”

The other two ponies looked at each other in that moment of elation, River giving a cute “Yes!” and Feather simply smiling. He had done it, they had done it. Princess Twilight Sparkle would offer her assistance now.

“I’d have to look at the airship schedule for that. I think we’ll actually take a river boat through a leg of our journey there.”

River’s eyes lit at his mentioning of the phrase “river boat.” “Wait, do you think they’ll let me swim in the Amarezon river?” She let out a gasp, like a filly hearing the chime of an ice cream cart. “I can even swim with the river dolphins!”

As Twilight giggled at her odd but intriguing enthusiasm, Feather wondered how Jade would feel about all of this. They were getting closer and closer, even if they were technically further away. They had a spot where they could search, the help of an alicorn princess. They had a mare with the wits and humor, and they had himself. He was the most willing, the one who brought them all together. Would she have felt more hope seeing this?

Act II, Chapter XIV

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To be on the peak of a mountain ridge felt like being king.

King of what? Some said it felt like being king of the world; a few said it felt like being king of the skies. To feather, for that moment it was as if he were the king of his own soul. It meant not he had complete control over all aspects of his person, it just meant he had a certain mastery over himself. What’s the point of growing up when we aren’t even ourselves when we get there?

Alone. He was alone—being king oftimes repelled everything else away. Not a bird, not a pony, not a creature in sight. The only living things he could see up here was himself and the grass, the trees, flowers. It was a quiet existence. It was only often broken by the rustle of flora.

The sky was at dusk; the light of day was escaping this part of Equus, the moon creeping to dominate the purple canvas that was the night. He saw the sun departing downwards as if it were the creator leaving momentarily for their daily reprise, their rest. It must not be easy to create everything and maintain it that way.

Feather Dew sat on his camping chair as the transition began to happen, the sun disappearing into the horizon, its rays spinning and fading away, the stars aiding the ascension of a new moon. Were the stars like the people raising their deities up? Or was it the other way around: the deities raising up his people?

Taking a sip of juice from a mug that rested on the wooden planks under him, Feather’s coat danced from the breeze as it passed by him and the tower, presumably the last of the chilly gusts that would come from the valleys between the mountains. At night, cold air came down from the mountains, and during the day, it arose in pursuit of greeting heaven, perhaps?

It was interesting to see how it worked, natural weather. Pegasi did a lot of those functions—he knew that—but it was oddly strange to see nature take matters in its own hooves, creating both the wind and the breeze. There was something to that, watching nature create things. It was more real than anything people could create.

Nature was the paintbrush the creator used to impart natural beauty upon the world. God was the artist, nature was his pencil, the oil pastels, the charcoal. But as Feather watched the ether settle into that familiar boysenberry, he wondered what the art was. Was it the creator? Or was it his hoof? Was it the paint brush or the medium that was used? Can it be all things but none of them at the same time?

“You should come inside; the nighttime has arrived.”

Feather heard the voice come from inside, calling to him. An intuition snuck into his soul somehow; he couldn’t disobey, couldn’t run away. The stars made themselves clear, and it was as if they urged him to follow those whispery words. With a final glance to the premature night, Feather left the lofty balcony to enter the firewatch tower.

It was a cozy place, a fireplace by the side, books and drawings scattered about, a small table that carried pots of flowers. Through large windows he could see in all directions, the mountain ridges and trees near and far, framed like a painting by the window frames; it was a firewatch, after all, and one needed to be able to see all around them to spot even the smallest of forest fires.

Speaking of flames, Feather found her laying on a delicate carpet by the fireplace, basking in its warmth and radiance, her back turned to him. He could only make out her faint silhouette under the obscurity of the fire, it being the only light source of this isolated structure, her gold mane ties glinting like the spark of the crackling embers.

Silently, Feather sidled and settled into the fluffy carpet—it reminded him more of a soft comforter. As he looked on to the flames and felt his breathing lose its pace, Feather was returned to the quiet once more. He didn’t even know what to say.

The fire crackled as the two remained in their silence, the light of the moon as vague as ghosts.

“When I was younger, I had learnt that fire was the force that bridged this world to the others, a transformative energy that had the power to both create and destroy. I have heard stories from far flung lands of ponies being able to use fire to create weapons from metal. I have heard stories of entire cities, forests being burned by ravaging flames caused only by a single spark. And from then on I understood that even the most mighty of nature’s tirades can come from things so insignificant, that which ponies take for granted before it’s too late.”

Feather could see the glint of her mask under the light of the fire, the details of her mane under the watch of Equus’ companion. She was somehow closer, staring into the flames with a mirth hiding in her expression. Her eye reflected the twinkle of lost stars.

“I liked to do this when I was younger—I still do. I like to camp with my friend Rainbow Dash sometimes in the outskirts of Ponyville, and we would read books or just talk by the campfire. Other than the celestial objects in the sky, the fire was the only thing we had.

“She’s not the type to be introspective, but there was a smallness to her as she regarded the cosmos, a melancholy. She asked me, ‘Why do stars burn so bright but be so insignificant in the grand scheme of things?’

“And I said, ‘Even one peasant can inspire a hundred despondent kings, can they not?’ Perhaps even a lonely flame is enough change for an endless, cold universe.”

The crackle made it seem as if it were alive, imparting its heat to all those around it. Was this how it felt to be those first people, the ones who had just discovered fire? It was something they wanted they didn’t know they wanted. It felt alive because it could die.

As Feather beheld Crystal Jade, he was made aware that he was more aware. Like fire, everything would die: he would die, his friends would die, everycreature he knew and didn’t. Jade already has. Her life ended, but she found herself not by the pearly gates or the mouth of a burning lake. She was a ghost, wandering through dimensions and dreams.

“I know what happened to you.”

Jade turned slightly. She didn’t seem surprised. Her lips formed a calm melancholy, still partly a silhouette in the illumination of the heavens. Jade flitted her lashes, her eye barely sparkling a tear.

“Am I a myth? A story?”

Feather could do nothing but simply nod.

Jade was firm, solid. She didn’t stand down from the regality of her pose, yet there was a slight sadness that stirred. She didn’t say a word, looking weak but strong, proud yet unsure, nervous but accepting of the inevitability of everything. All the things that have to be said have already been said.

Feather knew he hadn't done one thing, though, and he wasn’t even thinking as he stood and seated next to her. Her coat had that supple appearance still, her mane radiant and mysterious, though there was something about her that he couldn’t overlook, some little thing that he couldn’t point his hoof at. Yet it meant everything.

As she tucked her hooves to her sides, setting her cheek on the carpet facing away from him, Feather knew that it was time.

He came closer still until he felt his barrel brush hers, as soft as he thought it would: lissome, impossibly so, how was this real? His heartbeat pealed in its cage that was his ribcage, and yet despite this he could sense a rhythm that wasn’t his own. Hers.

She did indeed have a beating heart, but it brought him great pain as he realized that it felt weak, barely clinging on. It was the heart of a dying foal.

Feather took his hoof and wrapped it around her. He felt Jade seize at his actions, the muscles of her torso tightening. As he massaged her coat, though, she seemed to ease into his gentle embrace, her breathing slowing to a mere crawl. Her cry was as gentle as angels' tears.

He wrapped his hoof around her neck this time, bringing her closer. It surprised him when she buried her face into his coat, allowing him to discern both the cold of the serpentine and the warmth of her cheek. It was the instinct of somepony who hadn’t felt the embrace of another for a thousand years.

The mountain wind was delicate, the cold of the beginning dusk sweeping across all of Bocoltá. Lights from buildings and lanterns scattered across the expanse that would have otherwise been a void of darkness under the illumination of hazy moonlight. It would have been like looking out into the sea from a beach during nighttime, a desolate expanse so dark yet brimming with unforeseen creatures.

To think that an expanse as large as the sea could even exist shook Feather’s spine a tad. He was young when it happened: the little colt’s parents were sound asleep in their quarters when he slipped out, trodding the beach with the help of tiki torches. They barely gave him any help in guiding him through the sand, and it was absolutely useless in lighting the sea.

The sea. Little Feather looked back at it. It only stared back at him. Other than the unhelpful moonlight, little Feather saw nothing at all, a pitch black so dark he wondered if he would eventually turn blind had he stared at it too long. Despite being unable to make out a thing, he heard the crash of invisible waves, the rattle of pebbles. What was going on under the sea in places that were barely even real?

Perchance it mirrored Bocoltá at the moment; despite the throngs of nighttime still clear, despite the world still being unmoving and obfuscated, there was life. The stars of Bocoltá flickered. It indicated the presence of living organisms, a hive mind that reached from corner to corner of the Bocoltán plateau.

Despite the sea having a lack of light, Feather found the connection between it and Bocoltá—or any other city, for the matter. They were both filled to the brim with living things, regardless of whether they had made their presence known or not. It felt both empty and jam-packed at the same time.

He wondered if there was somepony staring back at him at this very moment in Bocoltá. It was such a large place; there had to be somepony looking back at him, at this peak. How was he so sure of this? He didn’t know whether it was true or not, but he had the feeling. He wondered if Bocoltá stared back at him the same way the sea once had.

“Hey, Feather, River Moon and I were waiting by the docks until you slipped out of nowhere.” A pause. “Is something wrong?”

Feather turned, regarding her with a shake of his head. “No, Twi, nothing’s wrong. I just found myself here; I wasn’t even really thinking about it.” He returned to the view.

Feather heard her not for a moment until she spoke up, “It’s quite the scenery, isn’t it?”

“Yes. And it’s beautiful,” he added courteously. “I don’t know when I’m coming back to this place. It only seemed like yesterday when River and I first came here.”

Twilight’s voice came closer. “Are you going to miss it?”

Feather didn’t look away from Bocoltá for even a second. “Of course I’ll miss it. It has a way of blending its traditions and its future. I have a lot of respect for that, you know?” He truly meant those words; Bocoltá was an interesting place not because of what it was but because of what it had been, a city originally formed from indigenous peoples from the south, snowballing and eventually becoming the place it was in modern times.

He added a statement that perplexed Twilight. “I feel somehow incomplete, though.” The wind was hollow when it came between them, a reflection of the state of their souls.

“Whatever do you mean?” She tilted her head. “You’ve accomplished quite a lot already: recruiting River Moon and I, finding out where we have to go, even contacting Jade and talking with her.”

“But... she’s not here,” he said, waving at his side. “I... She looked lost. I told her about the myth. I was melancholic then, but now only my anxieties remain. What if we can’t... what if we really can’t bring her back, Twi?”

Feather felt the gust of a wintry breeze as Twilight gazed back at him. The silence that came afterwards was unsettling, yet he didn’t know what to say to break it. And it especially felt icy, a stab to the lungs. It was as if the wind was mocking them by signifying the space beside him—the space that could have been occupied by Jade.

He had to slow down. “Sorry, Twi. I just... I don’t know. There’s a world out here, and while it may not be her own, it’s a world she ought get to. It’s better than barely existing at all. I thought I was going to be confident, but...” Feather sighed when he knew not what to say.

Twilight only offered him a sad smile, putting a hoof on his shoulder. “Confidence is a trick sometimes. It’s a trick because the things that give us confidence oftentimes aren’t real at all. Confidence comes not from the world, Feather. It doesn’t have to make sense. It can be labelled foolish, sure, but that strength, that power? Only that comes from the hearts and souls of those who pursue it.”

Feather saw her under a new light. It happened every time she imparted wise words to him. “It doesn’t have to make sense because people don’t make sense.” The small curl of her lips made it seem as if all would be alright. He managed a sad chuckle.

Twilight put her hoof down and examined Feather, the wind whisking both their manes. “We’ll try our hardest, Feather; keep your chin up. I just don’t want you to become unrealistic.”

His ears flopped when he heard that last word. Unrealistic. He hadn’t even thought about being that. Feather had thought of himself as a lot of things: crazy, weird, even as a conspiracy theorist at one point. But to be unrealistic? Detached from his senses? To be unable to discern this reality from any other...

“Am I... becoming that? My goals, my ambitions, heaven’s sake, talking to Jade?”

“You’re being strong, Feather.” Twilight’s lips curled soft and sure, the Bocoltán night shining in her eyes. “You’re being strong for River Moon, you’re being strong for me, you’re being strong for Crystal Jade. But you have to remind yourself that you have to be strong for yourself, too.

“At this point, it doesn’t even necessarily have anything to do with finding Crystal Jade or being a good friend to River Moon. I feel that way sometimes, too... Having to be strong because of unfair circumstances, when everyone seems to be against you. The world can be harsh, and that can make you ruthless and unforgiving.

“So I just want you to know that... we’re here for you and you’re here for us, okay? I believe even Crystal Jade knows that.”

Feather shuddered at both her accuracy and the mention of Crystal Jade. It was an epiphany that was long due, a reminder of what he was and what he had been doing. It was scary. And yet he felt the knot in his stomach untwist and unfurl when she mentioned that they were here for him and he was here for them. That was true. That was real.

He sighed as he fluttered his eyelids, breathing. “Thanks, Twi. You always knew how to see right through me.”

She patted herself on the chest. “What’s a Princess of Friendship good for without knowing how to be good at that, Feather? A day in the job, you know-”

“Hey, lovebirds! C’mon over here! Our airship has arrived!”

The two of them turned to look at River Moon in the distance waving a hoof at them, Feather’s heart beating a tad when he heard of River calling them lovebirds which is totally not true at all!

Twilight looked confused. “Lovebirds? Why would she call us that?”

He tried to play it off by shrugging. “She acts drunk in the mornings; it’s probably the altitude. Anyway, yeah, haha, let’s go!”

Twilight went ahead to the direction of the docks, Feather finding himself alone once again. He beheld Bocoltá, the growing rays of Celestia’s sun starting to move across the cityscape, like the gentle touch of the creator blessing the world a new day. Before taking his leave, he was comforted by the mountain breeze, glancing one last time at the gleaming sunrise.

Act II, Chapter XV

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Departing was slower than usual.

The ramp of this particular airship was small—as was with it belonging to a smaller craft—but it would have been nicer to have the luxury of a wider gangway. The few passengers on board took their time leaving the airship into the minuscule port, slowing their dawdles more so as they peered at the fall underneath them.

The port the airship was docked on was a mere circular platform on top of a tree amongst several other platforms of the same size. The drop didn’t compare to the altitude of Bocoltá’s main port, but the fact that the gangway looked a hundred years old quelled not their anxieties.

River bit an uneasy lip as she paced down the ramp, stepping her away as if she were walking on a tightrope. She didn’t even have that duffel bag on her back.

Feather levitated by her side as she finished walking through the gangway, now on the security of the port’s platform. “Where did your duffel bag go?”

She tapped her smaller bag still wrapped around her neck. “Folded in here. I finished all the stuff while we were traveling.”

Landing to meet her eye to eye, Feather made an “O” with his mouth. “I know your diet can be… high maintenance and all, but isn’t that a bit too much?”

River waved a hoof at him. “Pshh, it’s fine. I did eat some in the last airship and some back at the hotel, but I had a little help, let’s just say.”

Speaking of the devil, Feather turned when he heard somepony grumble, realizing that it was Twilight. She held onto the dirty, rusted railing not out of the fear of falling but for the necessity of the fact that she looked like she was about to collapse under her own weight. She let out a disgruntled “ugh” as she staggered to join them—ungracefully.

Feather simply glanced at Twilight then back at River Moon, raising his eyebrow. “Really? You gave her nutrition bars and energy drinks while we were on a moving airship?”

River shrugged innocently. “What? She said she was hungry last night and I just gave her a few bars and shakes. I was being nice.”

A force hit Feather’s side. Twilight unceremoniously propped herself to his person; he picked her up and held her steady. “The absolute state of you. How much did you eat, anyway?”

The alicorn let out a troubled breath. “I ate five bars, two drinks, and a sip of coconut water. I only realized each had three hundred calories right after I already ate them all...” She made an uncomfortable noise of despair.

Feather glared at River as if she had just stolen a cookie out of the cookie jar, the latter merely puckering her lips and avoiding his fiery gaze. He sighed as he continued to hold on to Twi, rolling his eyes. “Come on, let’s just find our way down.”

Finding the staircase and beginning their descent, Feather let go of Twilight when River offered to help her on her hooves—which he greatly appreciated, actually. The staircase wound around the trunk of the large tree, partly protected by railings. As he made his descent, Feather unwaveringly began to thrust himself down into the world of the Amarezon rainforest once again.

That world had been wrought in darkness. It was hot and humid, under the shade of massive canopies, large umbrellas that blocked the light of the sun but trapped the warmth. Occasionally, rays of sunshine flitted and reached the ground in accordance with the rustle of leaves.

As he descended further, taking the lead, Feather heard the sounds. Bugs, strangely subdued, though they droned monotone and unchanging. Birds produced exotic chirps, calls, a faint song or two even from a distance. His steps were firm, but the scant ruffle of flora wavered his soul. Perhaps the rolling descent was the cause of it—probably both.

And the musk too was strong when it came to his muzzle: dank, wet, flora and leaves. The moisture of the forest floor revealed itself as he neared the end of the staircase. The trees leered over him; he had been on the top, now they shielded him from that outside world.

A chill laved his senses, stirring a boiling pot of emotions when his hoof reached ground. His and River’s stop to Bocoltá was exactly that, a mere interlude. It all started in the Amarezon, and now he found himself in this same forest’s grasp. They were farther than they have ever been from the retreat, and yet here they were. Again.

“Wow...” Twilight gazed up at the forest canopy, vines falling and tangling themselves from the peaks of their branches. It was as if she had forgotten she had a stomach ache at all. “I didn’t think the trees here would be so high.”

“That’s what I thought as well,” River commented from beside her. “No wonder these ponies think they’ll be safe from the outside world here.”

“The Amarezon is more than half the size of all of Equestria,” Feather interjected matter-of-factly, watching branches sway from swathes of forest gusts. “Who knows what kind of stuff is hidden in its deepest crevices?”

“That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” Twilight said, eyeing a path in front of them and glancing at the two. She was most right with the sentiment. Feather knew that out there, waiting to be found, was a lost city forgotten by time. Would they find it? Was destiny in their favor?

River interrupted, “The captain said to just follow the pathway and wait for a river ferry to take us to La Orilla. Let’s go.”

Without another word, the group began their trod to the inland port, one of many situated in the Amarezon River. While creating a settlement in the Amarezon was hard, the ponies that do live here used the Amarezon River extensively to their advantage; it was the cradle of any society who dared reside in an environment this unforgiving.

Feather regarded the still rainforest with reverence, a sliver of fear accompanying it. Treading the path, he was reminded of when he originally had walked alone. How could hidden—possibly fake—threats lurking in unseen corners frighten him so much? In the Amarezon, if one so much as sneezed, it could spell death. The rainforest was a lot of things, but it was most certainly not empty.

He couldn’t see any animals; that was what he was reminded of once more. The rainforest can be a loud place—almost as loud as a city—yet none of the animals that made these noises could be seen. It was like the sea all over again, a home to an inordinate amount of creatures hidden from seeking eyes. Some of them have never even seen the light of day.

The group didn’t have to travel too far until the trees suddenly thinned out, in front of them the elusive yet mighty river Amarezon. What Feather first noted was how wide it was; he could barely make out the features of—quite frankly—anything on the other side. He somehow couldn’t wrap his mind around the notion that this tiny twig of the Amarezon river he had seen on the map was this size.

When he looked side to side, the river just kept going until it found itself in eventual bends, but even that could barely be seen due to the gargantuan scale of what was in reality a mere section of the river’s whole.

“I didn’t think it would be brown.” River reached down and dipped her hoof in a calm part of the river’s surface, letting it stay for a while before retracting it. “I didn’t expect it to be a bit warmer than lukewarm, either.”

“River Moon! Don’t put your hoof in there.” Twilight pulled her back with a yank of her magic, River squealing a tad. “It’s dangerous.”

She pouted at the purple alicorn. “But I just wanted to see how cold it was...”

Her expression softened. “I know, but the Amarezon river is more dangerous than what most ponies realize. There could be snakes or even anacondas that could be lurking under the water, undetected, until it’s too late.”

River’s disappointment morphed into curiosity. “Anacondas? Like those massive snakes that wrap around you to crush your bones and eat you whole?”

Twilight shuffled. “Erm, yeah, those things. Just stay out of the water, okay? You’d have to be in a really bad situation to be in the water in the Amarezon.”

All three turned when they heard the sound of a horn in the distance. Looking to his side, Feather saw the port with a boat already docked onto it, waiting for passengers alike.

“The ferry! Guys, c’mon, before we miss it!”

In a dash, the ponies ran like their lives depended on it, as if the ferry was already leaving. River was a firm first, Feather a far second, and Twilight being an even farther last. Feather felt a tuft of mane on his face as a gust of air suddenly came from behind him, passing him, a purple blur he soon realized to be Twilight.

Reaching the station, Feather found the two mares waiting for him on the gangway, Twilight taking a breather and clutching her stomach. He gave them a nod as he caught his breath, too. “It wouldn’t hurt to wait, y’know.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to use your wings, pretty boy.” River smirked as he blushed, his wings growing the slightest.

I was in the moment! “Just get on the stupid boat.” He pointed a hoof at it as if it were a five star meal served on a silver platter, expectantly.

River giving a defiant harumph and Twilight a short giggle, Feather followed them into the gangway to board the Amarezon river ferry.

They found themselves on the deck of the ship near the bow. A large, white fabric hung on top of the entirety of the deck, tall enough for the views from the bow to be unobstructed, thick enough to block direct sunlight.

Feather could only take note of that for a moment, though, as the ship let out its final bellow, the weight of the craft shifting from under his hooves as the ferry began to slowly accelerate. The ponies back at the port waved at it as the ferry began its routine adventure through the mighty river Amarezon.

The ship was not pedantic in its gait—slow but assured in its march down the water. The few passengers on the deck looked to both the left and the right, hoping to catch a glance of some odd creature or weird looking anomaly.

Same as it was, the Amarezon offered not much in return. Sure, there was the abundance of flora and tall trees that lined the riverside, but there were no animals to be spotted. Where do you hide?

The sunlight barely gave the green of the leaves an ochre tint. While the water was brown, one could see the reflections of the tree tops clearly as they looked down the river, a seam that cut through the dense tropical landscape.

As the ferry approached a bend, Feather looked on and saw the winding passage that was more of the river, a slithering serpent slipping its way through the Amarezon itself. The reflections of the landmasses gave the impression that the forest was one in the same with the ripples of water on the river surface: waves that cut through the domains of earth and water.

“Twilight, do you know if there are any river dolphins here? I really wanna see the bright pink ones.” River peered over the edge, her hooves on the railing.

She peered out the edge, too. “I’m not so sure. They are quite rare. I actually don’t know much about them, but it is fascinating that they live in freshwater.”

“I know! I’ve seen some photos of them in an encyclopedia once and they look sooo cool, especially in a place like this. Usually dolphins and whales live in the oceans but to know that pink ones exist here? It’s a little bit romantic.”

“You read?” Feather quipped, though he didn’t even try to sound mean—he wasn’t even necessarily toying with her.

River rolled her eyes. “Where do you think I get all the crazy conspiracy stuff like aliens and haunted tombs and stuff from? I don’t know if you even know a quarter of the things I know.”

He raised his eyebrow. “Really? Like what?” Feather wanted to challenge her, though a small part of him wanted to know what she knew, even if they were just—most of the time—tall tales.

River placed a hoof on her chin, thinking. “Oh! Like how they found underwater pyramids in the middle of the Celestial sea. It’s over eleven-thousand years old, older than even the oldest cities we know of today. It may even be a lost civilization.” She raised her eyebrow in dramatic fashion, speaking her last words rather eerily.

“Wait, what?” Twilight casted a critical glance. “Say that again? They found pyramids in the middle of the Celestial sea?”

“Yeah!” Her tone didn’t match the weight of the subject matter at all. “They were found by a research ship by accident one day. I don’t think a diving team has been sent down there, though.”

The alicorn blinked. “Probably just natural.”

“They align perfectly with true north,” River replied, “and you can’t discount them as natural formations just yet. Like I said, they haven’t sent a diving team down there.”

“River, you can’t just label unknown landmarks as indicative of intelligent purposefulness.” Twilight tilted her head.

“Hey, I never said-”

“Guys, I think we should hold this conversation for later,” Feather interjected, pointing a hoof at the distance. “Look.”

The two mares turned their heads to the distance, expressions of surprise gracing their faces. Obscured a tad by the trees were old cobblestone structures—one on each side of the river—that have been carved with the visages of animals and deities, fashioned garishly and angularly. Displayed on each of the structures was writing he couldn’t decipher, but there were signs on each side beside the structures that read “LA ORILLA.”

As the ferry floated along the water, Feather noticed that the river was now lined by short but thick walls, crenellations abundant and equidistant from each other. There were occasionally sculptures that perched larger battlements of the perimeter: river dolphins, jaguars, sloths, toucans.

The subject matter of these sculptures changed from the local wildlife to that of ponies: a few in their traditional clothing, foals playing, elders sitting and pondering. The last of the sculptures were of a mare on one side and a stallion on the other, looking at each other despite the distance between them, the mighty Amarezon river. They were long lost lovers, strangers who touched once in their lives and never met again.

“Look!” River waved a hoof at the sight. Nostalgia grasped Feather when he gazed at it, even if he’d never set a hoof in this place before.

Huge structures stood to dominate the landscape, the density of the flora decreased to allow one to look upon La Orilla. The city seemed like a small place, but the structures that loomed over even the trees made Feather think if this was how these people reached the heavens.

These huge structures, Feather realized, were pyramids, their steps scaling their massive heights, their breadths the most impressive aspect of their appearances aside from their painted accents: some slightly faded, some completely worn out into the obscurity of time.

As the boat got closer to the riverside, Feather noticed that either side of it was fashioned with steps that allowed a clean transition from water to dry land, although he didn’t know why anypony would willingly jump into the Amarezon river. It made the city just a tad neater, perhaps.

Not a single bridge spanned from one side of the river to the other, only small boats that occasionally picked up passengers in easygoing exchanges, as if time was an endless resource, one many reprises that must have occurred everyday.

The ferry finally found its way to the port, the ponies on the ground fastening it to the security of the earth with ropes. It didn’t take long for Feather to hear the bang of the gangway hit the dock surface.

The group gazed amongst themselves for a moment, feeling the hollow breeze stroke their sides. It was as if the wind was telling them to just go already.

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Feather glanced to his side to find the other passengers leaving the gangway, collecting themselves and their belongings. “Let’s go.”

River and Twilight followed his lead through the innards of the ship out to the gangway. Feather felt the grass under his hooves, clean grass, grass that had been maintained by actual ponies, permanent residents. He felt the damp in his nostrils as he took in once again the musk of the rainforest, intermingling with fresh food and fire.

It was an orderly place, a bastion of life before. The oddness had caught him when he thought of the idea that the Bocoltán skyline consisted of hundred year old buildings and modern skyscrapers, but this was in a league entirely its own.

The buildings of this city fell into two categories: the structures on the ground and the treehouses that perched up high in the loft of the tree tops. From his conjecture, the treehouses were more of living spaces and homes and the lower structures were more for places of labor, worship.

Worship. Feather again noticed the large structures that occasionally appeared: pyramids. These stepped pyramids seemed to be places of high importance: places of worship, a congregation place for important ponies in power. It was a contrast to see treehouses and large pyramids coexisting in such a manner, the liveliness of the former with the formality of the latter.

He found one similarity amongst them all, though. Feather—for the life of him—could not recognize a single structure that looked younger than a few hundred years old. Despite how hard he may try in the inner machinations of his psyche, his subconscious would always find a tiny little detail that would set off the notion that the structure he gazed upon was made by somepony who wasn't even alive to this day.

As the group plodded, Feather saw ponies arranging all sorts of decorations, whether it be colored lanterns placed by the pegasi or banners near the ground flapping from the occasional wind. The motif of the decorations seemed to point to one thing: water.

“It looks like a fiesta will start soon,” Twilight said, as if reading his thoughts, gazing upwards at the decorations being placed. “It’s most probably the celebration of the coming of the rainy season.”

The Amarezon, being a tropical rainforest, experienced great rainfall throughout the year, especially during the wet season. The clouds would come and rain down upon the fauna of this side of Equus, bringing in bountiful harvest and prosperity for the locals the next few months. In Equestria, rain was seen as gloomy, but here the ponies knew that it was the harbinger of life, an assured tomorrow.

As the group advanced through the perpendicular pathways, Feather came to realize that this city was much more grid-like than he had expected. La Orilla consisted of equidistant grids, and despite it being a relatively small city, structures and fauna were spaced generously, allowing an illusion of great breadth—unlike the claustrophobia of narrow Manehattan alleyways.

“Woah, I didn’t know they had canals like that.’’ River gazed upon several canal systems that were pony-made, off-shooting from the Amarezon river. Ponies in boats came in and came out of the canals to drop other ponies off and transfer items.

Speaking of canals, they found themselves in what seemed to be a large marketplace. Ponies in tents were scattered about, colorful cloths acting as roofs for them to stay under the shade despite the protection of some of the trees. There were even large recesses that housed wide steps to allow ponies from boats to seamlessly go from water to land, bringing their produce.

“Communities like these that live in the deep Amarezon have used the river water to their advantage,” explained Twilight, nodding at several traders on boats hoisting their items up for the ponies on ground. “Many of them come from other settlements, but a lot like using boats for the convenience of it.”

The group strolled through the marketplace until they found themselves much farther from the presence of the Amarezon river; once again, the forest grasped the three with its depth. The architecture here grew more grand, more sophisticated, until they found themselves in front of an absolutely massive structure.

Feather felt the air leave his lungs.

It was a pyramid, and it towered over everything in its vicinity. That wasn’t what impressed him, though. What impressed him was the breadth of its base, larger than the rest; its slope seemed no greater than thirty degrees.

Two sets of staircases, side-by-side, led to the tops of the structure. The pyramid had a flat peak, as if somepony had cut right through it with a gargantuan knife, and adorning the peak were two structures.

On the left side of the pyramid’s crest stood a structure of blue accents and on the right stood a structure of red accents; they were yin and yang, white and black, the sun and the moon. The rest of the structure was grey and aged, chips and cracks on the surface, moss growing on crevices. This was a building that may well be over a thousand years old. It was from another time.

“This is where they worshiped their gods, isn’t it?” River sniffled as she peered at the peak, the sun’s rays barely clipping the constructs of the architecture. “It’s a temple.”

“Yes, River, that’s right. Although this one is interesting because it’s seemingly in the dedication of two gods rather than one.” Twilight pointed a hoof at the left structure for Feather and River to follow. “That shrine right there seems to be dedicated to the god of rain and thunder.” She then pointed her hoof to the right structure. “And that one seems to be dedicated to the god of valor and war.”

River continued to gaze on to the peaks as if she were a climber looking to conquer Mount Everhoof itself from base camp. There was a disquietude in her that spread to air. “A testimony to not only one but two gods,” she stated simply. Her words were dry. “I wonder if... I wonder if this is what she must have felt.”

Feather followed her gaze up to the peaks and wondered that himself. Was this what Jade must have felt whenever she looked at one of these pyramids, these shrines? He wondered if it made him feel closer to her or even farther away.

Catching their attention, Twilight said, “I think we should try and find a place to stay for now, then we can start looking around. What do you guys say?”

River and Feather regarded her with nods, the former speaking, “Yeah, that’s probably a good idea. It’d be annoying to walk around with all this stuff and get mugged by a monkey or something.”

As the three headed back to the city center, Feather cast one last glance at the temple and wondered if they were watching him. There was a romance and dread to that, the idea of being followed by gods.

Act II, Chapter XVI

View Online

Not a breeze blew, and it made the world emptier. Most would have been chagrined by its habit of rearranging manes and itching coats, but it was strange to Feather how it had left so suddenly. His hoof tapped the table aimlessly, a broken music box that kept droning that same monotone beat.

Sighing, he once again observed the map given to him by the bed and breakfast staff. They were kind enough to write over some words in Equestrian for him to be able to comprehend it more clearly, but even so, it didn’t help him and his frustrations building up inside.

Breathe, now, Feather calmly reminded himself. You know you can be unreasonable when you’re irritated.

Despite the assurance, it didn’t quell his growing ire. Feather compared the map he had brought of the greater Amarezonian reaches and the one the hotel staff had provided him, a closer look at La Orilla and the surrounding areas.

La Orilla, as suspected, was not that large of a city. There were large pyramids and expansive reaches of farmland to sustain the population; however, other than that, it seemed that outside these city walls laid no lost city nor lost pony. Where could it possibly be?

It was like when one found themselves stuck in a math problem, redoing the calculations over and over again to find themselves in the same result, the same wrong answer. Try as they might to look at it from another perspective, the results they would stray even further and were more nonsensical than the last.

It was as if he was going around in circles.

Feather picked up the wooden mug of water, ignoring the maps. He was surprised when he felt the cold sensation on its lips; he remembered that it had a unique spell that kept the water cold despite the harsh, humid environment. It was a comforting thing.

That moment was mere interlude, though, and he found himself back at staring at the two maps apprehensively, as if they were about to come out and attack him like a jaguar from the flora. How could a city be so hidden, so out of view? He knew the Amarezon was massive, but was it too massive to be this unexplored?

Lilac appeared between the gaps of leaves and branches, the bright mass of light proceeding its approach to the horizon. Twilight swathed the rainforest for a few minutes, giving it an almost ethereal glow, light dancing amongst decorations and leaves.

Feather and company had been informed that the festival of rain would occur during the evening after sunset. He had found it odd that this festival would occur during nighttime, but he was not in a position to complain. The locals here seemed very friendly and open despite knowing that he and his friends have come from lands far, far away.

Looking from the table, Feather gazed out the windows. Sunlight was gone, replaced with peppered, unseen stars. He knew the festival was about to begin, and he didn’t want his friends down there to wait for him.

He stood and glanced at his belongings, deciding that he would just leave them here for the time being. It’s not like anypony’s going to be in here, anyway. Feather glanced one last time at the irritating maps at the table, letting go of their mysteries just for a moment.

I have to join Twilight and River for now, he reminded himself, letting out a breath. Jade, you’ll have to hold on. He wondered how she was. It had been some time since he last conversed with her.

Feather crossed the threshold of their accommodations, appearing on a balcony that overlooked the quaint town of La Orilla.

Lanterns. It was an occurring theme, those lanterns, but he could not complain about their liberal use. They hung and spun slowly from tree branches, brilliant in their assorted color combinations, the majority of them being shades of yellow and blue, a hint of red, orange, purple. There was no green—the Amarezon itself had too much of that already.

There were more ponies on the street compared to when he and his friends first arrived, most of them talking in camaraderie, a familiarity that only a small community knew.

Feather’s eyes danced until he finally spotted them. In the crowd below him were Twilight Sparkle and River Moon, waving at him. The purple blur was simple in her gesticulation, the blue one more enthusiastic. “Hey, Feather, come on over here, the festival’s about to start soon!”

He glanced behind him at the door that led to bridges eventually heading to the ground. Feather was alright with that idea, albeit he wanted to be a little more eccentric this evening. It was only for fun.

The pegasus, without even a pause to regard the two mares, leapt from the balcony and began to spin rapidly in the air, accelerating quickly to the ground. He seemed to be on a path of his death, his end! Feather barely heard gasps through the obscurity of the swooshes he made by cutting through the air. He suddenly shot open his wings, his muzzle barely reaching the ground.

With a little spin from his momentary gain of altitude, Feather’s wings splayed out to allow him to effortlessly land on the security of the ground, right in front of River and Twilight.

The former had her mouth a bit open, her eyes shining as if she were a young filly again, watching a stage magician do a trick for the first time in her life. Twilight seemed to be a bit more familiar with the trick as she placed a hoof on her mouth and giggled.

“That was great, Feather!” River displayed a huge smile. “I didn’t even know you could fly like that. Do you even feel dizzy?”

Feather adjusted his mane as he explained. “Nah, pegasi can get used to it. Being in the Manehattan weather team can get a bit boring sometimes, so I learnt a few of these tricks from my teammates.”

“Rainbow did mention how the Manehattan weather team had the most ‘useless job in all of Equestria.’” Twilight seemed to be amused from the pegasi’s rather apt description. “Anyway, Feather, how have you been? Did you find any info from the maps they gave you?”

Feather shook his head. “Nope, unfortunately not. How about you, what did the librarian here say?”

Twilight and River regarded each other. “Well, nothing much. It was interesting to see how Meso-Equestrian cities get propped up and all but I don’t think it would be particularly useful for our search.”

He nodded. “Like how?”

“Well,” River started, “there’s the possibility that there could be many other cities like Tlekokalli. The Amarezon is strange because it is dominated by plant species normally domesticated by ponies. We like to think of the Amarezon as purely nature—and that’s not wrong—but there has been a lot of pony intervention in the landscaping of this environment over thousands of years.”

Feather found himself more surprised by their findings than he would have expected. The Amarezon is dominated by domesticated plant species? It was an interesting thought to entertain. If they could alter their surroundings over the course of millennium, then what else had they done? Were there more Tlekokallis out there waiting to be found, lost cities and civilizations just at the cusp of discovery? The nature of things truly weren’t always what they seem to be.

Twilight glanced behind her, interrupting his thoughts, “You know, we should head over to the festival now; it would be rude not to, and I think they’re about to start in a moment.”

Feather knew she was right. Apparently, from what he had gathered, festivals such as these should involve everypony in the city, outsiders included. The ponies here found it appropriate that they celebrate together, regardless of wherever one came from or who they were.

Dropping the subject, Feather followed the two to the direction of the festival, trotting their way through the rain-themed decorations that scattered tree branches and buildings all around town. The crowd seemed to be headed for the festival as well, moving at an easy pace reminiscent of the river Amarezon on a calm, relaxing day.

There was the faint sound of the bugs of the rainforest, although not as loud as Feather would’ve expected. The ponies here seemed to find a way to deter what many would consider to be pests.

It wouldn’t be fair to call them pests, though. Feather scanned all directions, particularly at dimmed nooks between trees. Even if there was a wall that bordered La Orilla—protecting it from the outside Amarezon—he couldn’t shake off that anxiety, being watched by some ungodly predator lurking in the shadows.

This is where the bugs come from, where the animals come from. Ponykind isn’t dominant here.

There was light laughter that came from behind, maneuvering its way around his side to overtake the three. They were foals, merrily trotting their way to the festival with a spring to their steps, not a care in the world. Well, only for a moment; one of them glanced back, her expression turning from chirpy to dead-serious fascination.

The air was still at that moment. Feather turned to River and Twilight, the two of them regarding each other with a certain unease. All the foals were staring at them now—particularly at Twilight, her wings and horn. They looked at her as if she were a new puppy their parents gifted them on their birthdays.

Feather leaned in almost comically. “I think we should go before they start moving again.” His voice was a mere whisper, loud enough for the two to hear, only a minuscule breeze to the frozen foals.

Twilight chuckling rather nervously, the group walked around the still unmoving foals, albeit they did turn their heads to continue their staring. It sent a chill down his spine, staring. Feather didn’t know why he was so unnerved by it. Logically speaking, it didn’t truly hurt anypony, the simple act of observing something in rasp attention. He had a strong conviction for it nonetheless.

They were getting closer. The hush ambience of the bugs and the birds were drowned by the bustle of indistinct conversation. That seemed to be a constant everywhere, the sound of ponies talking amongst themselves. A talking crowd from a far enough distance always sounded the same.

As they approached the now visible conglomeration, Feather started to notice distinct traits of their conversations. They were under trepidation, an air of conspiracy looming over the air, weaving its way through the populace and their narratives. Feather could not understand most of them, but he was certain they were talking about the festivities and the upcoming season of rain.

The moon was a faint whisper, the town lit by the graces of various light sources around its vicinity, especially the lanterns. They were in the town square—circular in shape, ironically—the lanterns here arranged to meet at the center like the spokes on a wheel. A giant light source that mimicked the Equus’ companion hung in the middle, holding all the other lanterns together.

Under the made moon stood a structure so old Feather almost doubted the authenticity of such a thing, but he knew that he wasn’t in some museum or some exhibition. This was the real deal; this was a hundreds year old Amarezonian city.

Feather realized that this was as close as most ponies would get to the old world, a place that doesn’t exist anymore. As the statue stared back at him, Feather wondered if this was what it must have felt to be somepony from a thousand years ago, under the gaze of gods.

It was an interesting thought to entertain: what would it have been like to live back then? What would it have been like to have the statues and relics one would see in a museum as a part of everyday life, a part of their reality?

“Look, it’s a parade! I think they’re about to start soon.”

Feather followed her point, and sure enough, there were what seemed to be the ponies of the parade talking amongst themselves, checking their costumes and instruments for a final time. They wore a variety of things: exotic hats of colorful feathers, props of clouds and rain, even body paint depicting all sorts of animals to parrots to jaguars.

There were several large floats that were colored, fashioned from leaves and wood, several ponies inspecting the undersides and structural rigidity of each. As Feather watched the ponies prepare the parade for the festival, he realized that despite being a completely different society on the other side of the world, some things truly were universal.

At the end of the day, they’re just ponies like us, Feather thought, glancing around the crowd, living their lives just like we are. They may do things differently, but it’s a retrospection that makes me realize how different yet similar ponies can be.

Feather’s train of thought was severed by the sound of horns that trumpeted the air, shushing the crowd in its entirety, turning their attention to the center of the city square.

There were several ponies in traditional Meso-Equestrian attire, the clothes of their ancestors. They let in deep breaths before blowing their horns once again, catching the attention of every creature miles and miles away—perchance even gods.

What followed was the sounds of drums, deep and encompassing, shaking the ground slightly from their intensity. There was a loud yell from the stallions, and with a short silence that followed, the drummers began a rhythmic beat, the march of the parade commencing.

The parade started with the drummers followed by a large float that depicted a defiant jaguar: large, sharp fangs, with bulging muscles and a ferocity in its pounce. It was in the hunt, a primal glare in its eyes. Feather observed the drummers and the float wind around the square, heading down the main street lined with other ponies watching the parade.

Then came the wind instrument players, most of them unicorns as they marched around the statue much the same way the drummers and the jaguar float had. The instruments had an old world charm that Feather grew fond of; there was something about the roughness of older, used instruments that gave them an edge in genuinity over the instruments of brand new.

Several other floats of animals marched by: birds, river dolphins, even fishes and large insects. As they passed the square to follow the front of the parade, the dancers came into view.

Feather wondered how they moved with such massive things on their heads and bodies, feathers and appendages that almost reached the ground at certain times. He had to give them credit, though, for they were not only remembering the traditions of old but doing them as well.

The thought reached him, how they were still doing this. They were performing this parade as they had done for hundreds of years, still using their timely floats, the same old instruments that had been invented so long ago.

To them this was probably normal, an occasion that has been celebrated for Celestia knows how long, but to Feather and friends this was something completely different. He couldn’t even name more than two festivals that were more than a few hundred years old.

The end of the parade was making its turn around the statue, the same ponies that had been blowing the horns. Feather saw the crowd eventually merge into the back of the parade, right behind its tail.

“C’mon, guys! We can follow them down the road,” Twilight yelled in the clatter of the city’s camaraderie, ushering the two. Feather and River followed her when the end of the parade came next to them, allowing the three a clean transition.

As the parade sojourned down the main street, Feather glanced to the sides of the path to find the ponies who weren’t following waving back at them, joyous and with a familiarity with their expressions. They were happy, and that made Feather a bit happy, too.

And the lanterns truly revealed their beauty that night, the darkness of the evening and the obscurity of the tree tops providing them the ample environment to shine. It was as if these ponies were trying to mimic the stars themselves; if they couldn’t see the stars through the Amarezon’s canopy, then they ought to make their own.

They continued their march until the collective of ponies eventually stopped. Feather didn’t expect the parade to be that short, but who was he to judge? Maybe they had other things planned.

“I wasn’t expecting to be back here.” River peered at him with a face plastered with concern, pointing at something in the distance.

Feather was more surprised than he would’ve thought. I wasn’t expecting that, either. The looming structure was something so large Feather thought of himself as stupid for not seeing it sooner—literally.

It was the pyramid, menacing in its aura, torches lining up its base, the sides of the staircases that led to its peak, the blue and red structures that stood at the very top. Feather felt the pulse in his hooves as the front of the parade began their way up the left staircase, abandoning the floats at the base.

He bit his lip tersely, facing River and Twilight, the former having a tense expression that graced her face, wincing. The latter glanced at the two with an all-knowing assurance, like a mother soothing her filly that there won’t be any monsters coming for her tonight.

“We don’t have to go if you’re really uncomfortable with it,” the alicorn explained to the two of them kindly. “I can explain it to them-”

“No, no,” Feather stood his ground, setting a hoof on the soil underneath him. Despite his discomfort, this was something he had to do. “It’d be rude if we don’t. We’ve already gone this far. Besides,” he glanced back at the pyramid, “what’s the worst that can happen?”

“You realize that you’ve jinxed us and something bad is bound to happen now, right?” River goggled at him, deadpanned. “Haven’t you ever read a horror novel before?!”

The crowd ascending the first few steps looked back at them with perplexed looks on their faces. Feather simply chuckled awkwardly, not knowing if its more to ease the anxiety of being stared at or the fact that he might have actually jinxed it and now they’re about to get sacrificed-

“Anyway.” He shook his head to get rid of his thoughts. “I’m sure nothing bad is gonna happen, River; why would they bring harm to strangers? Come on, let’s just go.”

With a smile from Twilight and a roll of River’s eyes, the three joined the end of the parade to scale the pyramid, the mountain. Feather tried to keep his breaths steady, in and out, through the nose, keeping his composure. He felt like there was no going back now as the number of steps he took increased.

The wind buffeted Feather’s back, a breeze that made him pause for a moment. A gust hit his mane, playing with his fur from behind. Feather turned back and found himself greeting the Amarezonian tree tops.

Only once had he reached this high of any forest. The tree tops were clearly below him now; Feather was beyond even that. In the distance glowed the faint lights of the lanterns, giving the illusion the forest was aflame. He saw the dark of the tree tops, and at that moment, he met again the vastness of this place. They were in the middle of nowhere.

And yet the stars aided him. They aided them because if there truly were gods, then they might as well help his creations and give them consecrated guidance. Gods must have made the stars because their creations would have been lonely during the night.

Feather and friends continued up the steps until they found themselves near the top, settling themselves on the steps as the other ponies did the same, surrounding the large blue structure. Upon closer proximity to it, Feather confirmed that this structure was indeed a shrine with azure accents on its roof and the basis of the structure being made of bricks and limestone.

There was what seemed to be a priest by the fire inside of said shrine; Feather assumed that he had been waiting for all of them from up here, waiting for the ponies to settle. The flame that raged on in a fire pit was visible for all to see, large but not large enough to be destructive in nature.

For now, that is.

Feather mentally slapped himself when he let that statement go through his mind. Don’t be ridiculous. We’re going to be fine. This is just a ceremony, after all.

Distracting himself, Feather noted what seemed to be water droplets lining the roof of the structure, albeit what impressed Feather the most was the carved reliefs on the limestone walls, intricate and sharp to the point that he wondered if his eyes truly were messing with him.

He tried to observe them from a distance—he and his friends slipped backwards to allow the locals front row seating—and even from here he could instantly recognize the craftsmanship. How did they make something like that all those millennia ago?

Feather remembered reading from a book of the city of Somnambula and the great pyramid that adorned the city, its shining jewel smack-dab in the center of it all. The capstone of that pyramid displayed carvings so intricate that only the synergism of magic and modern machinery could have done such a thing.

Feather couldn’t quite interpret what kind of story was being told on the limestone walls—if there even was a story being told at all. As he continued to study them, this particular entity stood out, a being depicted with great flamboyance and omnipotence, their clothes flowing and vibrant of blue with a touch of green, a majestic scepter to aid in their whims.

The carvings were intricate and precise, but there was a certain simplicity to them, especially this drawing of a god. That’s what Feather assumed this being was, the god of rain and thunder, for from their wand came great strikes of thunder and cataclysmic waves, both raining down on the crops and washing away an entire city, lost forever from the actions of their deity.

What would it be like for a mortal like me to stand before a god? Feather looked back at these drawings and his first reflective thoughts were of a mere fascination with the artistry and the craftsmanship, but he knew somehow that there was something on the pony’s mind who made this—something more.

These were made by artisans. They were depicting their deities. Somehow, that stirred a discontent and silence in Feather than gave him an unease.

“O, Nemitili, thou show us the way, our grievances and our salvation, our sins and our good doings, our rights and our wrongs.” Feather looked as best as he could to see the priest chant those words, and he and his friends watched in amazement as the entire crowd of ponies repeated the words without a single hiccup, a single mistake.

“Thy will shalt be done in this world and in the next, so we may enter death as a door to a new life.” The stars watched them repeat the words of the priest—their voices powerful—twinkling as if in acknowledgment of the yearnings of the people.

“Give us this season the blessings of water and protect us from those who dare trespass against us.”

“Give us this season the blessings of water and protect us from those who dare trespass against us!”

“Let us wake in the morning to meet a new day.”

“Let us wake in the morning to meet a new day!”

The crowd fell into silence. Only the slight howling of the wind was heard, and it was cold. It was as if the universe had stopped for that moment, not a single soul wavering to interrupt whatever god was up there listening to them right now.

Feather couldn’t see it clearly, but the priest muttered a few words to what seemed to be his assistant, taking a hold of an object that was obscured from his vision. The priest stood still in front of the fire, saying not even a word or an acknowledgement that the physical world around him even existed at all.

Feather jabbed his head back in shock as the priest yelled a few words in an archaic Meso-Equestrian language, chucking the object into the fire. Feather felt his heart drop, his hooves feeling slightly weak under the weight of his body. He haphazardly shot upwards, splaying his wings to take a look at the- dying flames?

Those flames died out into a mere sizzle and a slight smoke, the wood and leaves powering it turning black and charred. Feather then saw the priest with a wooden pail of water in his hooves, looking back amongst the crowd as they plastered joyous expressions on their faces, clapping their hooves.

It was just a bucket of water, Feather said, settling on the ground and easing his shoulders. It was just a bucket of water...

“Feather, what’s wrong?”

“Yeah, bro; you just shot up in the air so suddenly. What was that about?”

The two mares stared at him, concern lighting up their eyes.

Feather blushed as he rubbed the back of his head, chuckling. “I... I thought he threw something in the fire; I couldn’t see well where I was standing.

Twilight giggled as River Moon clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “And you were the one saying that we should have nothing to worry about.” She thought for a second. “That must have felt a bit terrifying, though. I would have freaked out too had I seen somepony throw something in a fire like they were trying to sacrifice a foal.”

River stopped and glanced around at the ponies staring at her, making an “O” with her mouth at the epiphany of the weight of her words. “I should really stop talking.”

Feather rolled his eyes. The crowd made way for the priest as he made his way down the staircase whence they came. They soon followed in the order of whoever was closest to the steps, albeit Feather and his friends stood by the side to let the others go first.

As the throng of ponies thinned out, Feather was left with silence. Without the sizzle of the fire and the presence of a crowd, he felt as if this was a different kind of silence—the one that heralded no deeper meaning. Sure, the crowd had its quiet moments, and the crackle of the fire wasn’t that noticeable, but it was different to have both of them gone. It was just desolate.

Aside from his friends, the only companions Feather had were the stars in heaven. They were his way, his directions, the yearning of ponies all around the world throughout history. Some of those ponies weren’t even around anymore.

“Feather, are you coming down or not?” The two mares waved at him, already a few steps down.

He snapped from his gaze, yelling, “I’ll be there to join you! I just want to look at the stars for a moment!” Feather was glad when they gave him no obstructions: only simple nods and leaving him alone.

He was truly only with the company of the heavens now. And the wind, the light gust coming from the forest to reach him. It was gentle, forgiving somehow, despite the altitude.

Feather felt closer to her somehow. It was as if these pyramids that were made by those ponies so long ago had the purpose of allowing one to climb a mountain itself, a testament to the powers that may or may not be. That didn’t really matter.

What mattered was that ponies still do believe that out there was the benevolence of gods that will—through one way or another—guide their creations to a better life, the next life. Those same stars in the night sky had been used by ancient souls. Feather was a tad closer to them now more than ever as he conquered their mountain, their will. At that moment, they were one in the same.

Act II, Chapter XVII

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It felt like home and not at the same time.

And the air was humid, though it brought an ease. Candid conversations and gentle cheerfulness aided with the comforting aura La Orilla held during this bright night. It had always been a peaceful city, a tranquil oasis hidden in the depths of one of the harshest environments in all of Equus, and yet tonight was the time for celebration.

Ponies roamed the streets despite the late hour. There were the numerous smells of delicacies fresh from the food stalls littered at strategic places, friendly ball throwing tournaments that went on for what seemed to be forever, foals running amok to check out the numerous festivities. There were even the sounds of instruments being played in the background to quell the occasion and any beasts that may have been lurking in the shadows, watching.

Those were only a few of the things Feather had seen, but he knew there was more to uncover if he looked and roamed for long enough.

Speaking of food stands, Feather stood in front of one right now, the one serving popcorn. To clarify, there was more than one popcorn stand around town—this must have been the seventh he’s seen. Popcorn seemed to be of great importance here as even with the numerous ponies serving the snack, there was a bit of a line behind him as he waited for his serving.

I didn’t even know that popcorn could be made into ornaments and jewelry. He watched the mare behind the stand wearing a necklace made from popcorn, the piece of jewelry flitting as she quickly removed the popping pot from the fire and grabbed a container that contained a brown mixture Feather identified as caramel.

She put the popped popcorn in a bowl and drizzled it generously with diagonal drips of caramel, picking up the bowl and offering it to him. Feather gave a smile and reached for his saddlebag to grab some coins. He was interrupted by the mare when she tapped his shoulder and shook her head.

“We don’t make anypony pay during the festival,” she simply said. “It would be a bummer if we had, no?”

Feather merely nodded. “It most certainly would. Thank you, by the way.”

The mare offered a wave as Feather turned to head back; he felt the aroma of the caramel and the freshly popped popcorn hit his senses as he held it in his hoof. It was truly fascinating how they served a delicacy here that was normally found in a corner store and cooked with a microwave.

Feather looked around and saw what other food items were offered at this festival. He was able to recognize a few of them: tortillas, chocolate in the drink form, corn. A lot of those foods did come from here, so it made sense that they were being served.

There were other items he did not recognize, though, such as odd looking flowers and exotic looking drinks. I should maybe try some of that stuff right over there. The stand he glanced at served what seemed to be chocolate drinks but with chili and spices on it; it intrigued him that he didn’t even think of the possibility of the combination.

He walked for a few moments until he found his way back to River and Twilight. The two were seated on wooden chairs, their hooves on the table, talking back and forth amongst themselves in rapt exchange.

“Isn’t it more reasonable to say that these anomalous structures are the byproduct of natural weather phenomena rather than saying that they were made by some undiscovered ancient civilization?” Twilight raised her eyebrow at the blue mare.

River sighed and put a hoof on the table. “Listen, I understand that some of this stuff seems crazy, and I’m not saying that I believe in it. All I’m saying is if there are odd looking entranceways and structures coinciding with the cardinal directions from the last pole shift, then you gotta check it.”

“Hold on, pole shift, anomalous structures, what are you guys talking about?” Feather took an empty chair and settled himself in between the two of them, setting the popcorn on the table.

Twilight regarded him with a faint smile. “River and I are having a discussion about the conspiracy theory about there being an ancient civilization thousands of years older than Meso-pone-tamia in the South Pole.”

“You could be a little less mean when wording ‘conspiracy theory,’ by the way.” River crossed her hooves and looked away, pouting and setting her head high.

Girls arguing. Figures. “Okay, well, why don’t you explain it to us, River? Then Twilight can explain her point of view, too. There’s enough time in the world for both of you to elaborate.” Feather picked up his bowl and started to munch on his popcorn as River looked at him with a sincere smile, a clear of her throat and began:

“You know I really appreciate you, Feather. To preface, I... I like looking into this stuff because it’s interesting. It’s not that I have a strong conviction on it or anything, and I do support the right of ponies to question things regardless of how grounded or not grounded they are in fact; it’s just important to be careful, after all.”

Feather and Twilight nodded, settling on their seats as River continued.

“Let me tell you guys what I know about. I first found out this particular mystery from reading about this stuff from an author who died, like, half a century ago. He basically goes into detail about how the Equestrian navy had a clandestine operation in the South Pole under the name Operation Cold Dawn.

“Operation Cold Dawn was organized by an admiral called Sturdy Stable: he was basically one of the greatest adventurers and explorers Equestria had at the time. He and this group of guys basically got together and planned this expedition to go to the South Pole that had the objective of scouting out locations for Equestrian military stuff that I don’t know all the details about.

“They reportedly left in haste because according to declassified documents, they encountered some ‘magical weather anomaly’ that forced them to vacate and abandon the site.” Her eyebrow crested. “But the interesting thing is that they never returned; not even to check the valuable equipment they left behind. They ran away and never looked back.”

“Why is that?” Feather chewed on his popcorn slowly as he paid close attention, glancing at Twilight who seemed less skeptical herself and rather more interested in the topic.

River sighed into the two hooves she put on her mouth. “When Admiral Stable was on his deathbed decades later, he admitted that that was only partly the truth. They did in fact leave because of a magical weather anomaly, but that magical weather anomaly was also accidentally triggered by them.

“The conventional explanation is that they got hit by that weather anomaly and then they just left. What he’s saying, though, is when their crew were scouting out areas on the ground, they supposedly found an ancient site of some sort which had a magical defense system that caused said weather anomaly. In esoteric writings uncovered from that expedition were accounts of a massive ‘barrier’ and direct energy rays that targeted the ponies. Rather fascinating, isn’t it?”

“Hold on, you said earlier that they were an ancient civilization, and now you’re telling me they had energy rays? That stuff sounds way too advanced for a civilization of back then to do. The barrier is understandable, but direct energy rays that can target ponies without a magical wielder?” Twilight glanced at Feather in apprehension. “That’s crazy!”

“This is what I’ve been trying to tell you; they had contact with something that was either an abandoned civilization with high-tech defense systems or something else entirely.”

Feather frowned slightly as he asked her, “But what makes you believe what they’d encountered was an ancient civilization or some outpost of an ancient civilization? What kind of people could live in such a brutal environment such as the South Pole?”

River clicked her tongue and cheekily grinned. “Now you’re starting to connect the dots.” She took a sip of her drink before she began. “Feather, what’s the first major civilization of Equus?”

He quickly remembered. “For ponies it’s technically Meso-pone-tamia, though they found their way to Equestria rather quickly; in general it’s loosely defined to be the dragons in the Dragon Lands.”

“You’re most likely correct, but there are strange things that creatures around the world have discovered. One is an ancient temple they found in the Griffon Lands. It’s more than ten-thousand years old and has puzzled scientists and researchers alike.”

“That’s true,” Twilight interjected. “I do agree with you on that. It’s a few thousand years older than even the tombs of the Valley of the Kings and the founding of early Dragon antiquity. We’re questioning whether or not we underestimated hunter-gatherers or if there really was a civilization before.”

“Yes, and I bet you right now around the world there are sites even older than Meso-pone-tamia and the like. What leads me to believe that there might be some undiscovered ancient civilization in the South Pole, though, is what other ancient civilizations had to say about it.

“Ancient civilizations back then talked about this other society that lived down in the south. They didn’t even say much, and a lot of them didn’t even have depictions of them, but it still stands: they talked about this place and how advanced they were. None of them made any contact with this civilization—or officially contacted them—though, and that’s what’s really crazy about this.”

Feather finished his last bits of caramel popcorn. “So what do you think it is? Like some advanced society of polar bears or something?”

River merely shrugged. “I don’t know, man. I’m only telling you about what I read, but it does seem that there might be some ancient civilization down there that hasn’t been formally explored yet. Could also be how Tlekokalli is, which is why I brought this up in the first place.”

“How do you know they’re already gone, though? They might be still there this whole time.”

“Exactly. We may never know for sure.” She looked back at Feather who made an “O” with his mouth.

“I understand what you’re saying, River,” Twilight said, consoling, “but those structures you talked about could still be made by natural phenomena rather than this supposed civilization down there in the South Pole.”

She shrugged. “Hey, that’s reasonable. But they are anomalies, nonetheless. They also coincide with the cardinal directions based on the last pole shift.”

Feather was losing her when she mentioned those last words. “Pole shift, what does that mean?”

“It’s when the magnetic poles of Equus change and move,” answered Twilight. “North and south have not been facing the exact same direction throughout history. They change slightly over time, and across millennia, north and south move drastically.”

“Oh, yeah." Feather huffed. "Huh, I forgot about that.”

No pony said a word after that. Feather and his friends allowed the silence to slip between them; he felt a bit tired digesting all that information in. A lost civilization in the South Pole? It could be possible; not even the most noble of stallions would dare endanger their ships to go through the giant glaciers that shielded the continent.

It’s romantic, somehow, the idea of a lost city, a lost people. It reminded Feather of how large this world could truly be, how far apart they really were to a lot of these people. It gave him both a sense of wonder and a sense of sadness, the fact that out there are mysteries that just wouldn’t be solved.

“Do you guys realize that somehow, we could possibly be a lost civilization? A lost group in history?”

Twilight looked at him with a perplexion. “I doubt we are, Feather. Equestria is a major world player in Equus politics, with a massive geography, and a large populace.”

“I never said Equestria,” he stated simply. Feather waved all around him. “I’m talking about all of us. We talk about isolated tribes in the forest like they’re uncivilized, but what if we are the isolated tribe in the universe and other civilizations out there look at us as if we’re...” He waved his hoof. “Primitive?”

The two mares contemplated his words deeply by looking up at the forest canopy, all around them. It wasn’t necessarily loneliness, more like... a disconnect? Something missing? They were in a rainforest thousands of miles from home in a small alcove, a small world that was isolated yet hopeful.

Feather found a connection between what La Orilla was to Equus and what Equus was to the greater universe. The only difference was the people here knew there was a greater world beyond this city—high seas, other people. Perhaps he couldn’t say the same with the planet. With all of them.

“You know, all this talk is making me hungry. I’m going to get some more snacks,” Twilight declared, getting off her seat and glancing at them. “Do you two want anything?”

They both shook their heads. “No, thank you. Feather and I aren’t feeling so hungry.”

The alicorn nodded her head and slipped away, leaving the two ponies alone under the shroud of the gentle lantern light.

“So, you’ve been talking to her about those mysteries of yours, huh? I can tell you, Twilight reads a lot, and she really knows her stuff, y’know.”

“Yeah, she’s a real interesting one. There’s a certain youth in her that I can’t really explain, but she knows so much. That’s what I wanted to ask you, too, though: what do you know you are absolutely sure about? Regardless of what it may be? Tell me, Feather, what’s the craziest thing you know?”

Feather placed his chin on his hoof as he contemplated what she asked him. What’s the craziest thing I know? The wind tousled his mane, prodding. It did the same with splayed branches. Something called to him. It sang Feather a song of a greater purpose’s benevolence. What’s the one thing I believe in before anything else?

“Look around you.” Feather let his hoof slide across the air. “The trees. The ground. The calls of the birds, the bumble of the bugs and the bees. The whispers of the wind. The ponies around here. You. I.

“Ask yourself how this came to be. How did this planet go from being an empty, infernal wasteland to holding the beauty of life? Do you realize that? Everything feels alive. The trees are alive, the plants are alive, you and I are alive, even this thing”—he tapped on the wooden table he rested his shoulders on—“was at one point a living organism that grew from the ground due to sunlight, nutrients, and water. All of us are odd things that live and breathe.”

“What are you getting at?”

“What I’m saying is that there has to be something more.

“Whenever I observe this world, I feel something in me that I can’t explain. There’s a weave that binds everything together; we are the substituents to a greater spider’s web that runs across reality itself.

“When I first took Ohteotl, I remember feeling the vibrations of all things. I remember seeing and feeling the very molecules that make up this world, myself. It’s like I could sense that all things are connected to one; the borders of our individuality crumble down and we get to feel the reality around us that we don’t get to see all the time.

“Does that mean that I believe there’s a creator, that there’s a being out there that orchestrated all of this and that they’re somehow all-encompassing and omnipotent? I’m not sure; I can’t say that with a hundred percent certainty. But I do believe that there’s something out there, and that we’re all connected somehow.

“Have you ever had that feeling of somepony watching you, even if you don’t know if anypony is truly there or not? That tinge in your hooves whenever you take a step into some place that you somehow know isn’t safe even though—in plain view—it seems completely harmless?”

“I do.” She fluttered her eyelashes softly as she seemed to remember.

It was indescribable, her face. Was she happy? Sad? Perhaps both, and a dash of wisdom lit her eyes. She placed her hooves together. “Here. Let me tell you a story.

“I was only a filly, visiting one of my childhood friend’s who lived at a farm. We were playing with our kites and all, but the wind became so strong that I lost grip of my kite and it flew away into the woods. No matter how hard we tried, we couldn’t find it. That was a sad day for me. That kite was a gift from my father I don’t get to see all the time.

“Then I visited again for a second time, and we played other games and all that stuff. The sun set, we ate dinner, then we continued to play some more. The entire household fell asleep after that. That is, except for me.”

She shivered, despite not a breeze blowing by. “It was cold that night; I never understood how that was the case. But I had a strange inclination to look out my window. I was afraid. I didn’t know if it was easier to cower and wait for it to go away. I was drawn to it, though, so I looked out the window, opened it, and basked in the air.”

She paused, returned to the memory, curious eyes gazing out. “It’s like it was talking to me. I... I never understood why! But there was a feeling that it was trying to take me on an adventure. I slipped out of the house quietly and I followed it until I finally found my kite, on the ground, completely unharmed.” She put her hoof on the table as she looked up, regarding the forest’s breath. “I still have it to this day; I still think about what happened sometimes, even if it may seem coincidental. God giveth, and God taketh away.”

Feather observed her with a fascination. He appreciated that moment as something he would cherish and look back to when he’d approached his twilight years.

“That’s an interesting story, River.” He placed a hoof on his mouth and let out a breath through his nose. “Thank you for telling me about your experience. I love listening to ponies and the stories they can tell.”

She too let out an exhale, resting her cheek deep in her hoof, her knee on the table. “I should be thanking you. I didn’t really expect to have a chance like this, you know; I was sort of okay with not having that.”

Feather cocked his head in confusion. “Whatever do you mean?”

She sighed and put her hooves on her sides, blinking. “Well, you know, when I talk about all this crazy mystery stuff or just stuff in general, ponies don’t really seem to be in... sync? The right frequency? It feels alienating whenever I try to talk to people about stuff sometimes. It’s not just about the conspiracy stuff—it’s in general about things that are not widely accepted. And I’m not blaming them or pointing hooves!

“It just feels... distant? Removed? Sometimes you get so into stuff you don’t even know what’s real anymore. I want to be reasonable with everycreature, I want to respect their boundaries. Sometimes I feel as if I’m not even getting the chance. A chance to have a conversation and a chance with... me.”

Feather pitied her; he didn’t know what she’d make of that, but he did! A sad smile formed on his face. “You’re right. That’s how ponies act. It’s easy to wear rose-tinted glasses and yearn for what the world should be, rather than what it truly is. It’s the flaw in ponykind, River.

“We’re all flawed because we live our own lives, and somehow that alienates us from everything that’s not ourselves. And so it is easy for one to convince themselves that they are alone, that they are indeed lonely.” Lantern light reflected his kind eyes.

“I would say the world is unfair, but you just made your point. It’s hard to be a dreamer sometimes in a world that takes itself too seriously. That’s too real.”

“I wonder if there’s such a thing,” Feather asked, neither to himself nor her. Maybe to the creator himself. Whatever deities crafted reality. “Can anything be too real?”

“I wonder if everything’s fake.”

Feather snorted, though he understood it wasn’t a jest at her conspiratorial nature. “Not just theory stuff, right?”

“Yes.” River Moon placed a hoof on her other, as if checking whether or not it would dissipate into the nighttime. It was like she questioned whether or not she was real.

And he regarded her with a curious look, asking, “What’s it like to live, River? To be honest, I’m not so sure myself.”

“You’ve been doing it since your birth.” She stifled her snide and regained her serious tone, though considerate. “Live as in what? Exist? Be alive at this very moment? Or is it the scope of the entire experience of consciousness?”

“It’s up to you,” Feather simply replied. “And I truly don’t think there’s a wrong answer. The world would be boring if we had all the simple answers, right?”

“Yes.” She gazed at the greenery above her, hoof on her cheek. “Though I wonder…” She seemed aimless. “I just wish sometimes that things would be easier. Clean cut. No fuss. Reality can be such a mess at times.

“You know the saying, ‘truth is stranger than fiction?’ I suspect that fiction has to be believable, it has to conform to something, at least. Reality? It does whatever it pleases.” And her tone tapered off, much like her gaze downwards.

Silence. The pegasus leaned in. River Moon chanced a glance. “Tell me, River, if you could go to an alternate timeline wherein you could save Jade faster than I can snap my wingtips, would you do it?”

Her eyes grew a tad hollow. And the more seconds that passed, the wearier she became, her expression slightly disturbed. River opened her mouth, but no words came, no answer.

She furrowed her brow. And the night didn’t speak.

“There are questions we can’t always answer,” Feather said. “It seems so obvious, right? Of course you would take the easy path. But would you really?” His expression was wise, a lithe dancing his eyes.

“I have taken the hard path before. Ran when I couldn’t walk, for sometimes there’s no other option, hm?” He chuckled soundlessly, blinking. “Such is challenge. Such is trying. Maybe... that’s the reason anything means anything.”

“Hey, guys, I found out something interesting.” The two turned their heads. It was Twilight. She didn't have any food with her. Odd. In fact, she seemed to be a bit apprehensive, hind leg fidgeting in an unease. That made Feather concerned; he tried not to reel his mind over what she might say.

“You have that look on your face. What is it?” Feather grabbed a hold of the chair adjacent to him and pulled it out for her to sit. He frowned slightly as she seemingly ignored the sentiment. She continued her stand.

“Well, I was lining up for some tacos—not the cheesy ones, though,”—she shivered—“and the line was suddenly broken when there was this pony that came and announced something that most of the ponies left for.”

Feather raised his eyebrow. “What did they say?”

“They’re giving Ohteotl.”

He was both surprised but not at the same time. They were giving Ohteotl? He’d never heard of it being brought up, though? And yet it somehow made sense; it was a Meso-Equestrian festival and it’s to be expected that they serve the enigmatic brew. It was their culture, what they took to heart—sometimes literally.

But they’re serving Ohteotl. Feather wondered of the ramifications. He could have a conversation with Jade—perhaps even have Twilight and River talk to her somehow. Feather would be fully conscious. He would be cognizant.

“You could talk to her,” Feather replied, more to himself than to Twilight. “We’d get to experience it all over again.”

“Experience what again?” Twilight looked back at Feather and River for an answer.

It was rather simple. “That feeling of being connected with everything for the first time in your life.”

Act II, Chapter XVIII

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From below gleamed patterns of stars, so far away an eternity would be needed to reach them.

Feather pondered those pinpricks unclear, like rain that condensed a window, dripping to meet with other droplets, snowballing and forming entire streaks of water that plummeted down the surface. Though the surface he stood on was perfectly flat, a floor that revealed half-true visages of murky space.

He found that odd, how he couldn’t remember his surroundings before. Feather could remember tidbits, memories about his talks with Jade, yet he couldn’t remember the actual physical realm he saw around him. To be fair, Ohteotl takes one somewhere else, another plane of reality. Perhaps the world around me doesn’t even matter.

Though what did matter was the mare in front of him. Crystal Jade. Her appearance hadn’t changed. She still had that emerald mane with blue and pink accents, that silk skirt, her gold and diamond jewelry, and that mask. That mask. It was as if Feather could still feel its touch from his last dream: cold, hard. It was the opposite of what he knew she really was.

“Welcoming,” he answered—answered her question. “It was welcoming to be with those ponies, Jade. I saw many things. I saw the stallions playing ball games, I saw the fillies and colts run around and play tag, I saw lanterns, I watched dancers and ate cuisine, I even saw the river Amarezon and its massive expanse. It’s familiar. But it’s not.”

She held a long pause, gaze unwavering. “Were they happy?”

A tinge of sadness arose, Feather placing a hoof on his chest. “They were.”

There was a stillness to her he couldn’t name, for perhaps there were some things that weren’t meant to be understood. “Was there a pyramid?”

Feather didn’t know how to respond. He knew what to respond with: there was indeed a pyramid here in La Orilla. Though Feather had the belief that simple does not equal easy. She wasn’t asking this question because she was interested in whether or not there was a pyramid where he was; he had an inclination to believe she was asking because she was somehow afraid.

Afraid because of what had happened to her, afraid of the things she's been through. It was a symbol of her suffering, a sacrifice she didn’t consent to.

Feather collected himself for a moment. Just answer the question. It’s okay; she can handle herself. “Yes. There is a pyramid here.”

She only studied the plethora of orbs encircling their every direction. How could her expression be so gentle yet unfretted? It was as if the ticking seconds of a clock was making its way between them as the silence grew.

“What does it look like?”

What does it look like? “It’s a large structure with two shrines on the top, the left blue and the right red. The left one is for the god of rain and thunder, and the red one is for the god of valor and war.”

Jade sighed, meeting his eyes properly. “Did you go near it?”

He rubbed his hoof. Feather was as uncomfortable as a naughty foal under his mother’s interrogation. “I... yeah. When we arrived, we realized that there was a festival going on, the festival of the upcoming rainy season. They had a big parade and everything, then we went with them towards the pyramid to put out the fire.”

What she returned to him was an expression of remembrance, a poignancy of a memory plucked from another lifetime. If he hadn’t known any better, Feather would have sworn that she was on the verge of tears.

“I was only little,” she started, sitting down; he sat too to meet her eye level, “I did not know what day it was. I did not even know what I was doing, what I saw. Only my heart remembers that wonder inside me at the epiphany of where I was, the epiphany of our greatness.

“It is similar to a broken memory, a haze, but I can still remember a few elements of the festival. Dancers that flew in the sky, boats with lavish instruments and colorful banners... It was a joyous occasion, the one time when the universe was in complete harmony.”

Crystal Jade chuckled. Hearing it was like when pigs learnt how to fly, something that Feather thought would never happen, or at least something he never expected at all. Yet it sounded exactly how he imagined her laugh to be: gentle and charming, a tad cordial in its tone that exuded a calm pride.

“It was a simpler time, was it not?” Feather replied, careful with his words. “Can you tell me more of what it was like?”

He regretted that initiative when her expression suddenly turned solemn. Another memory must have returned, haunting her. Feather wasn’t completely sure.

Jade whispered, “It’s blurry. I... think I was with my mother; we liked to walk around causeways that lead to the city, most especially when there were festivals. Ponies liked doing that, too, meandering about. I was only young, but I understood what was happening whenever it happened.”

Feather acknowledged how she wouldn’t remember details well; he could barely even remember some of the places he went on vacation several years ago; how would she for a lifetime? What struck him, though, was the mention of her mother.

The thought hadn’t crossed him, the fact that she must’ve had parents. She would never see them again; even if she were to escape her prison, the world she’d escape to would never be the same.

Her life, it was a bygone. Feather found it impressive she remembered those things, her distant memories. What must it have felt like?

When Feather studied her stare, the thought silently came up from his inner psyche.

“I don’t want this to sound rude or anything, and I understand if you don’t want to answer, but your mother... how does that feel?”

Jade blinked. The mare displayed not even a dismay, but there was a tinge of remembrance in her face. “Mother. She was an uptight one. She was not the kind to fool around. And yet... I knew that somehow she acted that way for my benefit. Because she loved me.

“We were sitting on a causeway once—I do not remember the rest of the day—and she pointed to numerous boats that floated on the horizon. She said to me that those boats... those boats were like ponies. Like life. Oftentimes we are alone, oftentimes we have our friends around us. But the water, the sea always remained the same.”

It was as if Jade returned to that moment, once more looking out to the water. “The sea does not care if you have a simple row boat or a vessel fit for a king. The sea is independent, and we are only the players. When the sea says the time has come, then the time has come. When the winds were strong, then the winds were strong. When it moves, you move. When the sun sets for it to become dark, then you should prepare for the darkest night of your life.”

He had a sad smile. Feather felt blessed somehow. How amazing was that, an account of ancient words of wisdom—a first hand account, nonetheless. “Your mother is wise,” he told, nodding firmly, “and some words truly are timeless. She must have been an interesting pony to meet.”

“She would have liked you,” Jade said. “She would have liked you.”

Feather was reminded of the conversation they were having moments prior; he wanted to get back to that. “I wanted to ask you, by the way, a question earlier.”

“Yes. Go ahead.”

“What’s your favorite thing to do during the festival?”

She let out an exhale through her nose as she glanced away, letting a stray strand of her mane fall on her cheek as she thought, her expression cognizant. “I loved the storytellers. They would ask us what tale we wished for them to elaborate, and thereafter we were whisked away into an adventure, their words the vessel, our imaginations the journey.”

Her expression went crestfallen. “I wish I could remember them, though. I would try to retell them to myself, but as time went on, they slipped away from me no matter how hard I tried.”

Feather remembered spotting a storyteller a while ago, the idea sprouting in his brain as he asked, “What’s your favorite?”

Jade shot her head at him, their eyes meeting as if the two were the only things that existed at that very instant. Their gaze was broken as she recollected herself, placing a hoof firm on the floor as she fluttered her eyelids. “The Legend of the Black Panther.”

The Legend of the Black Panther, huh? “Okay.”

Feather smiled slightly as he said, “I think I’m going to take my leave soon. Before I go, though, I need to inform you of one last thing.” Feather cleared his throat. “I haven’t told you, but River and I are joined by another pony you probably haven’t met before.” He gave her a small curl of his lips. “She told me only a while ago that she would really like to meet you.”

Crystal Jade looked back at him with a perplexed face, a filly who was told that she had to walk to school alone now that they were starting to age. Though that was replaced with curiosity and regality. A face of wisdom. She glanced away and raised partly a side of her lips, as if not knowing what to feel meeting another soul again.

Nature was being deceptive. Or was it the victim of a deception? The world around him was in a transition between reality and the inner machinations of his imagination. Was it fair to say that, though? Feather didn’t know if he could prove that this world was any more real than the one that he glimpsed whenever he took in the brew.

The night was growing older. Feather felt he was going straight to bed after this, the drowsiness weighing him down already. It had been such a long evening for everypony in town: to the foals and elders, the organizers and the ones merely enjoying the occasion. It had been an interesting day.

There were fewer ponies now—most certainly less younglings running around, that’s for sure. But the ponies that were still here were just as lively as ever; it was as if the night had only begun, the blossoming of a new season.

That was absolutely true. They were celebrating the arrival of the rain. Their crops would once again be blessed with water. They believed that it came from the god of rain and thunder, and that they would have to appease him through one way or another—a celebration.

Perchance the gods thought that this was how to repay them for their everlasting blessings, the enjoyment of life. Perchance there was nothing else they ever needed to do. Feather wondered what God would ask him if that would ever happen. Will he ask of his sins and his good doings? Will he ask whether his life was worth it?

Feather loved it when he was asked questions like that for some odd reason. It was what one would ask when they knew someone else’s life would change. It was the inflection point, the point of no return. It was the moment where one could point at and say, “that was when things would never be the same.”

And Feather loved the magic of storytellers. That was what they did so well: not only conveying information, but showing their listeners the story of one’s life, the story of how it changed. He had a strong belief that good stories begin when somepony’s life takes a turn in another direction.

It took some time for him to find the storyteller and his listeners. They were partly hidden inside an alcove, the leaves of trees obfuscating the group of ponies in a shroud of mystery. They sat around in a circle, the center being an esteemed unicorn stallion of age—the storyteller himself—standing on a platform. Behind him stood a large house of old wood and old leaves nestled even deeper in the flora.

The only thing that lit the nestled forest niche were torches arranged neatly in circles around the platform, equidistant, a few of the ponies preferring to sit near the flames. Was it for comfort? Was it for the light they gave?

For Feather’s case it was because the ground was damp and cold, and despite the warm atmosphere of the rainforest, he found a comfort in being near them somehow. Celestia knows how it would look to be in a place like this with no source of illumination.

The hushed conversation of the ponies was silenced by a clear of the storyteller’s throat. He had an austereness to him, a dignity only an older man could carry, much so with one that was also wise. He wore flowering clothes with beads and intricate patterns, jewelry that ranged from wooden necklaces to numerous diamonds; he even wore a fancy hat of vibrant feathers.

“Everypony, I’m here to tell you my tales. The problem is, I have so many that I don’t know what to tell all of you. Who can be of help and recommend me one?” His voice was just as austere as Feather had expected: loud and clear, straight to the point, unfaltering.

Several hooves shot up in an instant, the most enthusiastic of them being from the foals that were still up notwithstanding the hour, as if they had already done this a hundred times before.

A few of the ponies stared, found it intriguing when Feather raised his hoof up in a similar manner to the the locals here who knew what story they wanted to recommend to the storyteller. But this outsider, this foreigner? What did he know? I know a bit too much, but I don’t need anypony knowing that now, would I?

The storyteller had an amused expression on his face when his eyes met Feather’s; it was as if he had finally found something that interested him after enduring decades of monotonous adult life. “A stranger among us, I see. You seem to know of a story yourself, young man. What is it?”

Feather was confident as he elaborated simply, “The Legend of the Black Panther.”

“The Legend of the Black Panther.” The stallion rubbed a hoof under his chin in contemplation, as if he didn’t even know what Feather spoke of. “I have not heard of that story in a long, long time. Tell me, where did you hear of that one?”

He took a while to think of an answer. “I heard it from a friend,” Feather stated simply, “she told me that it’s her favorite one.”

The storyteller seemed both intrigued and pleased. “The most interesting stories always come from friends, do they not?”

The audience couldn’t reply as a bolt of magic came from his horn at an instant, rounding the torches surrounding the platform, dimming them into a low, red flame. The audience went giddy when this happened; Feather was surprised. If he hadn’t known better, he would assume he would be hearing the monologue of a comic book villain.

Indeed did the stallion hold some semblance to a comic book villain, shrouded under the obscurity of dark light, but there was a benevolence to him, an omnipotence. He held a pause for a moment before he spoke up again to the undivided attention of the audience.

“Long ago, Jaguars were only yellow with black spots. The gods gave them their brilliant, golden coat to represent the sky, and they gave them their spots to represent the stars. They are the largest felines in all the Amarezon.

“One day, a female jaguar perched on a tree branch when she heard death whistles from outside the forest. She went to her mate and told him about it, to which he replied not to mind and to ignore it. Her curiosity was stronger than his words, though, and so she went on her way to follow the screeching wails beyond the borders of the forest.

“Once out of the forest, the female jaguar spotted a camp of warriors on top of a hill. The flicker of their torches danced around frantically under the dark of a moonlit sky, like fireflies playing with one another.

“On another taller hill stood another group of warriors, perfectly lined-up side by side, merely standing there and watching the camp. They stood still for several moments until they pulled out their death whistles once again, blowing them to make that horrifying noise. One death whistle was bad enough to hear, but the commingling of a thousand raucous whistles in the air made it seem as if an entire city was being sacrificed, their blood curdling screams penetrating the otherwise silent nighttime.

“Slowly but surely, more warriors joined the ones on the taller hill and spread out, encircling the shorter hill. Pegasi from the two groups confronted each other above its peak, the ponies on the ground starting to move in. When many torch lights died and the ones still emanating flame darted about as alive as ever, the jaguar surely knew that there was battle.

“The sounds of pain and ferocity growing, the jaguar moved closer and closer out of her inquisitiveness, reaching the outskirts of the camp’s ground. Hiding, the female jaguar noticed that the fighting had since died down, the victors being the group from the taller hill. They took all of their enemies still alive as prisoners.

“That was when one of the ponies noticed the jaguar; the pony called his companions and they quickly rallied to capture her. Shocked, the jaguar tried to run away, but even with her staggering speed, it was too late. With large nets and help from the pegasi, the ponies caught her, and along with the prisoners took them back to their city.

“The male jaguar grew worried when she did not return, so he set out to find her. With his superior vision sweeping through the landscape, he tried to look for her, most especially during the times of her disappearance: when the moon was at its brightest.

“As time passed without meeting her once more, the jaguar began to lose hope. The loneliness boiled inside of him, and with every frustrated moment, with every angry growl, the brilliant gold of his coat dulled. As the years passed, the jaguar looked almost as dark as the night itself, and just as alluring.

“If one finds a black panther stalking through trees, seemingly searching for something, just know that such is the nature of sorrowful creatures alike: seeking destinations with no end, losing both that and the journey. Themselves.

“That is the story of how black panthers came to the world.”

The audience gave quiet claps and thoughtful words; he seemed to know the story very well despite seemingly forgetting it only moments ago. Feather knew memory worked like that sometimes: one doesn’t truly forget anything; oftentimes all they needed was that little nudge.

And he found it fascinating how they came up with a tale such as that one. I suppose I don’t have a right to say anything about it. What do I know? That truly could be the reason why black panthers are black. Ponies of tomorrow will look back at the tales of today and wonder the same thing: was that what truly happened?

As the storyteller began to tell another tale, Feather realized that storytellers themselves told stories from many centuries ago. Their listeners were closer to them than they were to the reality of their tales. Only a few were still around to this day to show their truths.

They were clouds, but not clouds in the traditional sense. Clouds are white, fluffy, malleable to the touch of a pegasus. They floated in the sky depending on the mood of the occasion: tumultuous when the winds were such, unmoving when the world wanted to rest for a moment. They were the reflections of Equus’ breathing, the ether being a great pond where one could gaze upon in hopes that they too could catch a reflection of themselves.

No, these clouds were not white. They were blue; they were orange; they were purple; they were every color that could be seen. They transitioned from brilliant hues to the black of the background, a great dark expanse that blanketed existence.

It was what everything that is, was, and will be known: the dark expense of space that went on for so long no civilization in the universe knew if it ever had an end.

That was the sentiment bubbling inside Feather as he watched the nothingness. It wasn’t exactly a nothingness—there were great stars and nebulas that spread across the dark of space all around him, most of them invisible.

And yet an emptiness clung to his soul, a leech so powerful it would’ve sucked anypony dry. It was silent. It spoke not of the things it saw. For being the mighty thing that it was, the universe told no men of its tales.

What more of the true emptiness, the true voids that held not even a single star? It was the antithesis of creation: a satin so dark that only the glare of the glossy surface reminded him that there was indeed light. When he looked out the window, he felt like this must have been the closest thing to being blind.

“What happened after that?”

Feather glanced back. “The male jaguar tried to look for her, using his superior vision in searching the landscape in the hopes that they could meet again. He especially looked for her when the moon was at its brightest. He never met her again, though, and as the sadness overtook him, the brilliance of his coat dulled to a point where he almost became as dark as the night itself.”

She let out a breath and placed a hoof on her mouth, shying away from him. She was more complete somehow, yet Feather understood he must’ve known not of the emotion. This was a little girl returning to her favorite story she had forgotten centuries ago. This was a step closer to that place all seemed to seek for.

“Thank you.”

Feather could only smile back. “No, thank you. I learnt of a new story tonight because you told me about it.”

Her smile was sad. “I feel as if we are in a story of our own, Feather. I mostly wonder about how this is going to end, but now I realize that I should maybe try to live in the moment, as odd as that may sound.”

Feather nodded. “Yeah. We’re constantly moving. Moving through the cosmos, regardless of where we are or how far apart we may seem.”

“And this certainly is an interesting way to do it, inside of this thing,” she commented from his side. He followed her gaze as it darted around; she seated abreast him, regarding certain features of the interior structure: sliding doors, large, rectangular windows, two rows of cold seats that lined the interior—parallel. There were even hoof rails that swung from the ceiling in the center, extending towards both ends of the cabin in seeming perpetuity.

“A train,” Feather said simply, allowing a pause before raising the ends of his lips, saccharine. “It’s called a train. It transports ponies from station to station at a regular schedule.”

The mare gave a slight hum, nodding and continuing her analysis of the train car. The only thing that illuminated the dim cabin was the light of the closest star and the many more that littered the cosmos. Feather Dew knew there were stars out so far away that not even the speed of light was quick enough for him to know they even existed. He would be long gone before their light made its way here.

That brought a deep melancholy. It didn’t even matter if the lights of those stars reached them, but the thought kept repeating in his mind like a broken chiming watch. There were whole new worlds out there, waiting to be discovered. He knew they would be left lonely from Equus and its inhabitants. Was there something more to uncover, some hidden thread that wove through the fabric of space-time, a rhyme or reason as to why it had to be this way?

The train kept on chugging through the vast emptiness of the cosmos. It was as if its final destination was a whole other star system completely removed from here. Did it even matter? How did he know that there was a final destination to begin with? Was there even a beginning?

“They talked to me about it,” Jade began suddenly. Feather turned to regard her.

“Talked to you about what?”

She chewed on her lip and shot her eyes to an indistinct point of space. “Everything.”

Feather allowed himself a pause as he gazed at the window in front of him, the heavens shining slightly in his eyes. “Like what?”

He felt the brush of her coat on his side. “The world you live in, for one.” She didn’t say anything for a moment. And nothing spoke once again.

“It sounds forgiving,” she said before he even had the chance to speak up. “It sounds forgiving and open to change. You talk amongst each other a lot, no?”

“I take pride in the fact that I know I do,” Feather explained, corrected, “and I take even more pride in the fact that I’m willing to listen, too.”

She gave a smile to herself. A smile. Yet it dripped of bad memories, great sorrow. Despite the obscurity of her serpentine mask, Feather saw both the acceptance and melancholy.

“I wish they could have listened,” she beseeched softly, closing her eyelid. “That’s all I ever asked. I asked them if they would listen to me. Just once. Just a chance.”

Feather blinked contemplatively when he asked, “What did you want to tell them?”

Jade let out a breath and stared out into the darkness, the light. It was all so still. The universe seemed to love inaction, only a snapshot of an unending film. And no words left her lips or his. He questioned whether or not he truly existed at all.

“I asked them if it was worth it. If it was worth the pain, if it was worth the sacrifice. Was it worth giving an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth? Do you truly believe in losing this life for the next?”

Feather only stared into heaven. For a moment, he could imagine basking in the glory of eternal life, an existence of perpetual jubilation. Flying. Free.

“Aren’t we free in this life already? Why would I need more than one?”

Act II, Chapter XIX

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Still. Oddly still.

As Feather trod the path ladened with leaves and twigs, it clung to his soul. Stillness. Perhaps frivolous anxiety. A trepidation.

And the sun too proffered heat; despite its generousness, there was little discomfort to that, no sweat. Though it was as if it shone a tad brighter, a bit more fond of Equus and its inhabitants today.

To anypony else, it was an insignificant detail. If it were anypony else, they might have not noticed it at all. Why care for small things that don't matter?

But Feather was no other pony. He took note of that, and why couldn’t it leave his mind? Too often was he accused of that certain awareness. Some even called it pedantic, inexplicable, scrupulous. So he thought: why do things pop up the way they do?

And that stillness grasped harder, relentlessly. Feather swore his rib cage rattled. Why can’t you leave me alone? How could nothingness follow me if it’s nothingness?

Then perhaps it was something. Maybe there’s no such thing as “nothingness.” Then what would stillness be? The way things are? Maybe not moving, but trailing behind somehow. Stalking.

Maybe it’s like a spooky monster…! Lurking, seeking, but never really seen or known. Unless somepony wants to look for it. Huh. Like ghosts?

Little Feather shook his head. There was no such thing as ghosts or spirits.

Abandoning his thoughts, the pegasus continued to follow the ponies up ahead. It was unlike the monster that trailed behind him, a predator unbeknownst to most of the world, for one had to believe it to see it, and it preferred to shy away from the knowledge creatures alike.

Such was the fate of things that deemed themselves too worthy for the rest of ponykind.

Feather rubbed his groggy eyes.

He was never alert when he woke. Feather envied those that could wake and get out of bed, simple as that. He was a part of another group, though, an unfortunate sum which had to fight back the drowsiness for minutes on end before rising from their bedsheets. Half of the time, Feather’s will was not strong enough and he would again be blanketed by sleep. This was not one of those times.

The pegasus stretched his hooves, letting out a whispery groan as he blinked and settled his hooves on the floor. He scratched his eyelids for a moment, regarding the messy bed he left behind.

I was never a calm sleeper, either. It was his first thought of the day, first words. Feather knew they would probably be one of many; he felt this day had a lot in store for him and his friends.

Feather reached for the edges of the blanket and spread it evenly across the mattress, making sure the pillows were centered, neat and orderly. Making his bed was a habit he always told himself to do, despite hard days or hasty morning schedules. It was out of discipline, out of respect for himself. If he hadn't, then what else did he deserve?

Satisfied with the sight of a made bed, Feather instinctively glanced at the bed-side drawer, finding nothing save for an elusive piece of paper. He picked it up and on it read:

“Bring your saddlebag and camera when you come down.” Figures. Only Twilight would tell me instructions without her even being here.

Setting the paper on the table, he glanced once more around the room. So far, so good. Everything was where they should be, his saddle bag in particular on top of an aged chest.

With both Twilight and River not present, all he had for company were his and his friends’ belongings, the wooden furniture that graced the room, carpets, windows that filtered the rays of sunlight.

Feather was surprised when he saw the abundance of it, the glow of Celestia’s new sun. Despite the altitude of the bed and breakfast, he would have guessed that the tree tops would obscure most of them, if not all. It was forgiving that he was blessed with the opportunity of a new day.

“You know, they’re probably talking about Jade right now,” his voice grated.

Feather remembered Twilight making a comment before last night’s Ohteotl trip: questions for Jade of the things she remembered about Tlekokalli. Partly for the search, partly due to her own curiosity. He frowned as he also remembered her pleading him to return to the hotel and fetch her writing materials; he hadn’t known if it was allowed, though the Shaman had smiled and let her “make of that which cannot be expressed.”

He scoffed, smirking. “Jade would find that amusing.” That’s the intriguing part of her; she was like a foreigner experiencing another nation for the first time. Feather likened Jade’s interest to the innocence of a child, inquisitive, questioning, fascinated. Feather smiled when he remembered the dream he just had, just the two of them through a meander in the cosmos.

“Oh! I should write that down.” He made a move to grab his saddle bag and obtained his notebook and pen, flipping it open to the next empty page as fast as he could. Feather squinted his eyes and bit his lip as he recalled the details and jotted them down as quickly and efficiently as he could.

Dreamt of going through space in a train with her. I told her the story and she thanked me for telling. Told her what a train was and the details she told me her thoughts about the modern world and how forgiving it was. She asked me if it was worth the sacrifice.

With a click of his pen and a final read-through, Feather put the two back into his saddlebag, confirmed his camera was inside, and slung it over his withers, patting it to ensure that all was set. He breathed, smiling for no particular reason. With a final brief look of the hotel room, Feather left to go outside.

Outside. It was a fresh morning, a great reset compared to the day before. It was quiet, the locals having finished the festival. Most of the decorations have already been stowed away; he found it impressive they could disassemble all of that so quickly. There were still lanterns out, though they were in no competition to natural sunlight.

He walked down the narrow passageway amongst trees until he found himself in the central treehouse, winding down the staircase to lead to solid footing. Feather reached ground, listening to the slight crunch of twigs and leaves under him. How good it was to be on a quiet day. Satisfying.

“Hey, sleepy head. You know, you should really freshen up when you wake up. It’s common courtesy, for your information; it’s not so hard to do. Speaking of hard, is it a pegasi thing for your wings to do that at night or is it just me?”

Feather wheeled around to face the blue mare. She gave him the look. He could only heavily blush and splay out his wings in agitated distress. “Shut up. It’s perfectly normal for pegasi to do that, okay?”

“I was about to ask if it’s a boy thing as we-”

“Anyway.” He cleared his throat and began his snark, “Why does that even concern you? We’re in the middle of a jungle looking for a lost city to rescue a mare stuck in another dimension. That would rile up a conversation about conspiracies more than staring at me while at bed, right?”

Her expression was that of disbelief. “I wasn’t staring at you! Why would I stare at guys in bed, anyway?”

“Why don’t you ask yourself that?” Feather was glad his mind sharpened minutes after his waking. “Good morning, by the way. Twilight said she wanted me to bring my saddlebag and camera along. Why is that?”

River Moon’s expression lit with an epiphany, seemingly forgetting their charade. “Oh, yeah! I think it would be better if she were to explain it herself. She’s at the dining section right now looking over things. Come, we should join her.” With a flick of her tail, she turned another direction and started walking, Feather following her lead.

It didn’t take long for them to find the supposed dining area. It was in the center of a circular clearing, trees surrounding its perimeter, some leaves of the flora facing the inside cleared so as to let a bit more sunlight come through. In the middle stood a small tree which held a small treehouse, stairs that led down to the ground. It seemed to be the kitchen as he saw a waitress leave with a platter of fresh meals.

All throughout the rough circular area were tables and chairs, and as always, simple and wooden. There seemed not to be many ponies this morning, albeit he spotted a certain purple alicorn mulling over something on her table.

“Good morning, Twi. I’m assuming you’re reading about the stuff Jade has told you, no?”

She turned to face him, offering that smile he always knew. “Yes, Feather. It’s all so fascinating; I shouldn’t have doubted the two of you. She told me stuff—few details— about things that even the most knowledgeable of historians today don’t know much about. Her culture is so interesting.”

“Yeah, you told me that earlier. When she talked to me, she asked me all about Feather, you know.”

“Hold on.” Feather paused as he blinked at River. “Say that again?”

She smirked as she glanced back at him with that look again. “After she talked to Twilight, she then talked to me. She asked me how I was, I said I was okay, then after that she asked me all about you, Feather. You’re a very special pony indeed, wouldn’t you say?”

His eyes widened as he stared at a spot on the ground, smacking his lips rather anticlimactically; though Feather felt anything but. “Wow. Really? What did she even ask?”

River waved a hoof at him as if he already knew. “You know, stuff like talking points that interest you and whatnot. She also asked me things about you, little facts and the sort.”

Feather was genuinely surprised. To think that she would not only ask about himself, but also talking points? He allowed a genuine curl of his lips as the thought came, pride lacing his voice as he repeated it for the others:

“She asked for talking points that interested me. Jade sounds like she wants to start a conversation herself.”

It wasn’t even a question, albeit Twilight responded, “Yes, she asked me about you too in passing, actually.” Her expression softened as she let go of her notes and books on the table. “Now that you mention it, actually meeting with her and hearing what she sounds like... I just can’t think of the words. Jade won’t admit it, but I think she really wants to meet us, and especially you, Feather.”

He gave a reverent nod. “I’d like to meet her, too. And get her out of wherever she may be.”

“And that’s why Twilight here has been thinking of a game plan.” River pointed a hoof at her reading material and notes. “She hasn’t only been researching clues about where this city may be, but she’s been trying to think of how to best approach this. Why don’t you explain it to us?”

Twilight flashed her trusty smile. “Sure! I’ve learned a bit more from my conversations with Jade last night, and I’ve been wondering about it ever since.” Feather and River seated, Twilight lifting her notes and spreading them across the table for them to see.

“Firstly, we know that Tlekokalli has been lost for what has been centuries now.” She pointed at a note that rested near River. “We also know that it was a quite large city from what River has told me, literally being described as being ‘the city of kings.’ It also has a lake on it that they worshiped.” Twilight then pointed at another note that laid next to Feather, a hastily drawn illustration of a city in the lake.

“Wait.” Feather raised his hoof to interrupt her. “I just realized this: Jade mentioned herself and her mother using a causeway that led to Tlekokalli during my Ohteotl trip. Does that mean that the city has to be on a lake?”

Twilight smirked as she levitated her quill to poke him playfully. “You’re faster than you give yourself credit for, Feather. When she gave me the details of Tlekokalli, she mentioned clearly how her city was in the center of a massive lake hidden deep within the Amarezon.”

Feather looked at River and her surprised expression. “Wait, so that would make the legend wrong in that regard?”

“I suspect so,” she replied to her, “Even if the legend you guys told me said ‘in the center laid a great lake,’ I am led to believe that that’s a misconception. Time can muddy even the most obvious of details in legends and stories. Jade even said that she remembers canals in the place of streets that practically made up the city itself.”

“That would make it a city of islands,” Feather noted, wondering how they even pulled off making something like that.

“This is starting to sound juicy,” River joked to herself, an interested smile on her face. It was the face of a mare deepening into a rabbit hole.

“The ultimate question, though, is why it’s so obscured,” Twilight continued. “We know that a previous Conquistador was most probably close to it, but how can a city of that size be so obscured, in a major body of water, no less?” She gave a small smile. “Jade told me that there was a barrier.”

A barrier? “Like a magical barrier surrounding the city to protect it or something?”

That was when Twilight’s beam faltered. “Well, logic would lead to that, but we can’t truly be sure because she doesn’t know much about it. You see, she told me how Tlekokalli was self-sufficient and barely traded with the outside world—a sort of city state, per se. The youth are indoctrinated that the city had this ‘barrier’ that protected it, but other than that, they were told nothing more. The only thing she knows is that one can pass through this barrier with ‘secret knowledge.’”

River blinked. “With secret knowledge? What, like a code or something?”

Twilight merely shrugged. “It’s logical to think it’s some sort of code. Maybe a password?”

“Possibly.” Feather just realized something. “Where do we know where to look, though? Wouldn’t it be quite difficult to do so?”

She seemed suddenly lost. “Unfortunately. We don’t know much about this other than what we already know and what I just told you. It seems that Tlekokalli is kinda like the Crystal Empire, obscured from the outside, so we can’t even rely on maps to find a lake. We have no starting point going forward.”

Twilight sighed, pondering falling leaves. She hushedly said, “Even Princess Luna herself doesn’t truly understand what’s happening here.”

“Woah woah woah.” River lifted her hoof. “You got Princess Luna involved in this? And even she hasn’t a clue?”

The alicorn shook her head morosely.

Even Princess Luna doesn’t know what’s going on, Feather thought. He knew Twilight was in touch with her, that wasn’t a surprise. What did come as a shock was that she’s just as clueless as they were. “What did she say?”

Twilight grimaced, a vague disturbance clouding her eyes. “She’s been trying to access your dreams with Jade but can’t, not even a little peek. It’s like your experiences with her are completely removed from the rest of the dream world...

“And when I mentioned Ohteotl, she didn’t even know what that was.” Twilight sighed again, crossing her hooves. “To think somepony like her hasn’t even heard of the slightest thing we’re involved in... I’m afraid we’re completely alone in this.”

The three ponies shared that crestfallen discontent, unsuredly glancing at unmoving flora and invisible air—though they didn’t particularly care the world seemed of a painting oftentimes. Frozen. A snapshot of a perpetual present, without beginning or end.

“What do we do now?” River’s voice was the first spoken after a seemingly never-ending instant.

Twilight began collecting her notes. “I can use some finder spells to help us, but we’re going to have to be intricate about this if we want to do it right. We can start on the north side of this general area we’re in; it’s less travelled and more obscure than the south.”

“This is gonna be a long ride, isn’t it?” River had a look on her face which made it seem she was a filly tasked to do hours long chores. “I just realized how long this may take us; the Amarezon is such a big place. Celestia knows what kinds of things we’ll find here, even worse the amount of times we won’t.”

“Don’t worry,” Feather said, trying to keep hope for not just himself, but for all of them. “It may look dire, but it’s what we’ll have to deal with. This will all be worth it once we reach there and save Jade. And besides, what’s a forest compared to us? We’ve got each other, right?”

The two mares’ restlessness evaporated to air, replaced with giggles. River pointed at Twilight, saying, “We have her magic and brains,”—she pointed to herself—“we have my toughs,”—and she finally pointed at Feather—“and you have that something. That strength. That will. You’re the one who brought us all together in this adventure, and by us I don’t just mean Twilight and I.”

Feather could only return a proud smile, a strong smile. It was of determination, unfaltering dignity. Somehow, in that moment, he knew Jade was content with all of them. He felt it in his soul, connected to her in ways he couldn’t begin to explain or understand. They were far apart but as close as ever.

“Oh! By the way, that reminds me.” Twilight pointed at his bag. “I left you a note to bring that with you. You do have your camera, right?”

Feather quickly plucked the camera from his bag and presented it to her. “As always. Why’d you ask?”

She gave him an expectant glance. “Come on, Feather, do you really think I would pass up the opportunity of photographing an ancient city? Besides, I know you always bring your camera with you. It can be helpful for documentation and the like.”

“Oh! Oh! Why don’t we take a photo of us all together right now!” River beamed. “We could even frame it and look back at all the memories we made.”

Twilight and Feather shared a glance. “I don’t see why not. Twilight, River, stand over there where the light is just right; I’ll have to set the timer for this thing and be quick.” The two mares headed to that spot he’d just pointed at, Feather squinting his eyes to adjust the camera on the table.

With an adjustment of the timer and a swift click of the shutter button, Feather hastily made his way to the two—Twilight in a simple pose and River wrapping a hoof around Feather’s neck, flashing a toothy smile. Feather heard the camera click; he set it so the flash was off.

Returning to the camera already churning out film, Feather heard Twilight and River walk by his side. He pulled out said film and shook it a tad, revealing to them three ponies surrounded by a background of forest green. Frozen. Unmoving.

It showed two mares, one stallion. This one mare had dignity to her, a simple smile that graced her face. She seemed proud as she puffed out her chest slightly. The other mare was more playful in her expression, a winning smile and bright eyes. She was jovial when she wrapped her hoof around the stallion.

The stallion. He looked back at the camera with... something in his eyes. There was something about him that couldn’t be captured by photographs. From him exuded a calm, a friendliness too when his friend wrapped a hoof around him. His head tilted to the side yet his hooves were planted and firm. He was unsure but expectant. He looked ready for distant travels and escapades. He saw things that can’t be seen with only eyes.

“You can hold this for a while,” Feather hoofed it to River who took it with a squee. He was about to say something, but his own stomach interfered and grumbled; Feather realized that he hadn't even eaten yet.

“We’ve been talking so much that I forgot. I should really grab a bite or something. Have you guys already eaten?”

When the two nodded, Feather searched for the waitress and waved at her. She gave him the menu and he ordered on the spot. With a courteous smile and a little bow, the waitress left to return to that little tree house kitchen in the center of the dining area.

As Twilight and River continued to talk about La Orilla and all the things it may contain, Feather wondered about that himself: not only finding Jade, but of the relics that might’ve been left behind in the great city of kings. What must’ve it been like to live in Tlekokalli back then, and what must it look like now?

Act II, Chapter XX

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Winged shadows danced on the ground, agile things that disobeyed the rules their true selves had to.

Birds. Little Feather saw some overhead. He liked to compare himself to them sometimes. They played, they chirped, they flitted about happily without a seeming care for the world. They were always together; a bird seen without at least another was an anomaly. It would be like having left without right, peanut butter without jam.

Ironic it was, for birds could see things no other creature could see. Oftentimes did the world grant great powers to those who’d use their full potential. The tragedy was those who had great powers but cared not to bother with them. Why have wings if one can’t use them; why stay stuck in a cage if one can fly?

And yet some things were like that, mulling around, existing but not living. That brought Feather sorrow. Things truly existed, just in ways they’re not supposed to. So he wondered whether or not things didn’t do what they were meant for because of valor or because of fear.

Somehow the former was worse. An honorable deed for an unfulfilling and detrimental existence? To rot in a cage with a door already left open? Could that even be called honorable, then? That was perhaps the greatest tragedy of all, not the fact that one didn’t fly because they couldn’t. But because they didn’t want to.

“Feather, what’re you doing standing around? They’re gonna leave us behind!”

He snapped out of his daze from his friend Rainbow Dash’s call; she waved as she flapped her tiny wings to keep herself afloat. Without another word and a deep exhale, he ran up to join her and the rest of the group.

“I swear, you should really be more aware of your surroundings,” she remarked, regarding him with crossed hooves. Feather found it ironic she would say that, but in some way she was indeed right. He only ever brushed it off with a cool breath.

“I just like looking around!” Feather replied, “who knows what sorts of things we can see out here.”

That was most certainly true. He and the camping group were treading through forests by the south side of the Unicorn mountain range, north west of Ponyville. Feather knew the sojourn to reach their camp site would take time, but it was a trip he insisted on taking nonetheless.

“Honestly, why couldn’t we just camp by Ponyville? I know you like seeing places and all, and I do like to go on a little adventure myself, but I wonder why’d you want to come all the way here?”

Feather cocked his head at her. “Well, it’s different, you know? Camping at the same spot can be great but so boring sometimes.”

Rainbow merely shrugged. “I guess that makes sense.”

They said not another word to each other. The group continued forward, an older stallion in front guiding them along an undefined forest path. That gave little Feather an odd rumbling inside of his stomach, the fact that the way they travelled turned more crooked, more obscure. If one were to pay little attention to it, they would feel immediately confused and be slowly lost.

Feather compared the sentiment to being pulled down the depths of a lonely ocean: he remembered from the top of his head about how one’s sense of direction—up and down, left and right—would be impeded. It was most certainly a horrifying fate, the feeling of one’s lungs instinctively sucking in the air they so desperately beseeched, only to be met with gushing, salty sea water.

It scared him. But there was a peace in drowning. The preliminary anxieties can tire one, giving them the feeling of being completely helpless, the first minute or two. Then, just at the moment of blacking out, in their last throngs of consciousness, a wave of comfort would impart itself upon them.

The anxiety would go away. The pain would go away. The fear would go away. There would only be peace and acceptance.

Little Feather felt the wind. It was comforting somehow, like that wave of peace that would come forth upon one’s last moments of drowning.

And he wondered if it was some sort of spirit. Was it truly a ghost? It was like it never even happened. Was his young brain messing with him? It came from behind, so he turned to see if anything was there.

Nothing.

There was nothing when Feather looked behind him.

And that terrified him somehow, because there should have been something out there. A beast of the forest? The footsteps of unknown creatures, the rustle of twigs from dancing ghosts? Something dangerous? Something to be concerned about?

Nothing. It was only nothing.

He would have been comforted more with the meeting of stalking predators rather than silence. Predators did something. They existed. They were tangible. Real.

But an unknown thing that doubted even its own existence, behind him, tickling his tail but just barely? It was foolish, surely, for nothingness couldn’t hurt one. It couldn’t even be seen. It couldn’t do anything. It wasn’t real.

Feather glanced behind once more. He was being irrational. But the nothingness was following him. Or something else entirely. Feather was sure of it, like a monster obscured from his wits and vision, waiting.

As he observed the gaps between forest verdure, Feather realized for the hundredth time this evening that the night was inching its way closer to the horizon; if they were not careful, they would find themselves in serious trouble. Or the belly of a beast.

“Seen anything yet, guys?” Twilight was ahead of the trio, guiding their way through rugged forest surfaces with the aid of her light spell.

River shook her head. “We would have told you if we saw something, for the last time.” Feather could sense the growing impatience in her, yet he understood how she felt.

Although the sun began to depart, the forest still bred that humidness. The aura surrounding him was at best uncomfortable and at worst subtly violent: damp air, the growing dimness from the forest’s canopies, the scant but nevertheless existent rustle of leaves here and there, reminding them that despite being alone, they never truly were.

There was also the fact that they haven’t found anything yet: not a clue of the lost city of Tlekokalli or of Jade anywhere they looked. Feather had scouted as hard as he could—and he knew the others did, too—but as their search carried on, as time passed by without even a mere sighting, their hopes were being put to the test. He sensed misgiving looming in the air, so dense Feather swore it would eventually turn solid.

When Twilight paused to make her light illuminate brighter, Feather knew the sun was gone for good to be shortly replaced by the moon. He didn’t want to accept it, but he knew nature wouldn’t care of any sentiment he had.

“We haven’t found anything,” Feather said simply, more to himself, “it looks like we’re going to have to go back some other time.”

“Awww,” River both pouted and physically deflated, “I had a feeling we would strike lucky tonight. Would be too easy somehow, in retrospect.”

“I told you guys not to feel down if we didn’t find it today,” Twilight quickly reminded. “Even I didn’t expect to; this jungle is just so dense that it seems like anything could be lost in here.”

Feather gravely nodded. He understood what she meant, but he couldn’t shake that feeling of disappointment off of him. Feather didn’t really expect to find her now, either, but a certain somber blanketed his soul, making him crestfallen.

“Yeah, let’s go back.”

So Feather and his friends turned and headed back to the direction of La Orilla—with the assistance of Twilight who held both the map and a compass they borrowed—to save themselves from any further risks the Amarezon may have had in store for them.

The route in which they traversed differed from the one in the beginning leg of the search, so they continued to comb with seeking eyes the landscape, hushed and obscured. It was the same monotony—if that was a kind word—Feather had come to familiarize himself with, and yet the epiphany wedged slowly into his mind.

Without the help of a map or compass, they would be utterly lost here. Those two objects were the only things between them and the complete mercy of the rainforest. It sent a familiar shiver down his spine.

There were no landmarks, no place where he could point at and say, “this is where I once was because I saw that earlier.” There was none of that because there was no way anyone could remember the endless details the Amarezon proffered.

Every tree looked the same yet didn’t; every vine felt familiar yet slightly changed; every leaf and every branch whence they came were startlingly recognizable yet totally new and foreign at the same time. It’s like a force was rearranging the world around them every time he gazed upon something to cause even more confusion and distrust.

When Feather looked back at the rainforest flora, it was as if it stared in return. Something gazed back, something that knew where he was and what he was planning to do. Was it some god’s intervention, a sick joke by whatever was cruel enough to play with their prey in an environment like this?

It was dark now, truly veiled to the point where Feather almost faltered his balance. Was he standing up straight or was it just his body messing with him? Only the light of Twilight’s spell could help them now.

Feather relied on his hearing to supplement his shrouded vision. He stuck a hoof out just in case. Feather heard his hooves crushing twigs and fallen foliage on the forest floor. He could hear the faint crickets and bugs. He could hear his quiet breath, a gentle thing in a world of such brevity. He heard... screaming?

All three stopped on their tracks when it paused and repeated, a singular, low screech that echoed from the distance.

“Did you hear that?” River glanced over her shoulder in disquietude.

“I did, too. Twilight, what is that?”

Feather found it unsettling when she didn’t respond, merely scanning their surroundings in a seemingly hasty effort to find the source of the noise. “I don’t... I don’t understand how this is happening.”

“What is it?” Feather didn’t get a response because there were now two screams that sounded, seemingly closer to them somehow. They were clearer. They started low and ended high in pitch, anguished and in pain.

“It sounds like Death Whistles, but... who’s...”

Four whistles blew, each equidistant and surrounding them. Feather draped a wing over River Moon as she took a step back. Something wrong was about to happen.

Then a large cacophony of whistles blew all around them. The noise shattered his nerves, a thousand shrieks that came from every direction, the clamor of an entire gathering being sacrificed condensed into a little sphere that encompassed the three. Trapping them.

Twilight encased them inside a protective shield, a magic bubble of purple that would render them safe from the harm and noise of the whistles.

Except that it didn’t.

Despite the barrier, the whistles came back even stronger, reverberating powerfully, as if angry at them for their mistake of being here. Feather and the two mares smashed their hooves against their ears to protect them from the raucous of the instruments of suffering.

“Try to teleport us out of here!” Feather yelled in the reprise of the Death Whistles’ paused moment.

Twilight shut her eyes, a sparkle igniting from her horn. But nothing happened. She did it again. Nothing happened. The alicorn was in shock as her breathing became unstable.

“My teleportation spell won’t work!”

“WHAT?!” River grabbed and shook her from her shoulders. “Try again!”

Poor Twilight didn't even get to respond as the whistles blared once more. Feather tightened his jaw shut as he pressed his hooves into his ears once again. The volume was increasing with every interval. When the horrified screams stopped, the thought came to him quickly as he elaborated it even more so.

“We’ve got to book it when it stops! We don’t have any other choice!”

“But-! How do we know if it’s safe-”

“We can’t afford that! We just have to go as quick as we can!”

Feather already pressed his hooves on his ears once again as he anticipated the next blow. Sure enough, it came, and it came hard, harder than it ever had. He swore he could feel the mighty blow of a thousand warriors dying in battle, screaming their final chants of whatever valor they had left in defeat.

Once the anguished screams halted, Feather wedged himself between Twilight and River, wrapped his wings around them, and pulled them along as he made a sprint for it. Twilight’s barrier quickly died out as he led the three away to escape the harrowing caterwauls.

Adrenaline gushed Feather’s hooves, the rush of blood coursing his veins and arteries as he held onto his two friends for his dear life. He couldn’t even feel their heartbeats; all he felt was the rough movement of their gallops as they ran for their safety, their sanity. Feather pushed himself to run even the slightest bit faster as he heard once again the echoes of those terrifying whistles from behind him.

He didn’t even know when they stopped, but they did indeed finally pause by a large tree, collecting themselves and their breaths, Feather setting a hoof on its trunk.

The adrenaline began to fade, and so what was left was discomfort and aches. His chest felt sore. His wings burned from holding on to his friends like they would never meet again had he let go. He felt a slight pain in his joints from the sudden sprint he initiated.

What was that thing? What kind of... thing could do that?

A shiver slithered Feather's spine as he heard those Death Whistles once again, albeit they seemed like they were moving, sauntering away, echoing out like a fleeting dream. The group was left alone in the quiet of nighttime.

As he looked on to his friends, Feather allowed himself a glad exhale, an amused breath amongst a maelstrom of confusion and uncertainty. “Hey... are you guys okay?”

River and Twilight stared at him with wide eyes; they were obviously still shaken but River Moon nodded shortly. “Yeah. I... I’m okay.”

“I am too,” Twilight said, letting out huffs and puffs. Her eyes suddenly turned wide. “Wait, I dropped my map and compass! I didn’t even realize I lost them; how are we supposed to get back?”

Feather peered skyward. “We can take turns going up the forest canopy,” he quickly suggested, pointing, “It’ll be hard, but it’s not like we have a choice.” He allowed himself a pause. “Come on, we should really get out of here. I don’t want us to be in danger any longer.”

“Hold on, before we go.” River came forward, placing a hoof on his shoulder and giving him a small smile. Gentleness twinkled from her eyes. “I... you know, thanks for saving us back there, even if we don’t know what happened. You stuck to your quick thinking and it got us out of there.”

Feather couldn’t hide the small blush that graced his face. “It’s nothing; hey, it was just what needed to be done in the moment. If I was in danger like that, you guys would do the same thing, right?”

Behind them was a growl.

Feather couldn’t even turn completely before a force hit his side, overtaking his balance and slamming him to the forest floor. He instinctively tried to break free, tried to scramble away to safety, but powerful limbs pinned him down. There was no escape.

He gasped as pain seared from his extremities, whatever beast constraining him slashing his coat. Then he felt a great pressure on his lower neck, and at that moment, Feather knew that this was what it felt like to drown. This was what it felt like to have life being snuffed out of someone. This was what it felt like to die.

The pressure on his neck lasted a split second before it suddenly ceased, though it had as if lasted an eternity. The force that’d pinned him down too let go.

Feather could faintly hear the beast that broke him step to the side, roar, and flee into whatever hell it hailed from. Leaving them. Leaving him.

Twilight and River tried to talk to the injured pegasus, but he didn’t understand them. He couldn’t understand what they were trying to say. He was way too hurt to do anything.

There was a ringing in his ears. He could scarcely make out purple and blue forms, frantic before him, seemingly beseeching for hope. For assurance. For something, anything.

But he couldn’t do it anymore. That’s when Feather felt it. There was a wave of peace that washed over him as he faded into the abyss.

Act II, Chapter XXI

View Online

The forest canopy was as unforgiving as the ether's indifference.

It shrouded whatever laid below, a shadow that persisted throughout all of time, regardless of whether it was day or night. There existed other spots that allowed more sunlight to filter through, albeit these spots were uncommon and peppered, spread throughout the forest like an inconsistent disease.

Feather decided to play a little game so as to not waste the opportunity of obscured daylight. Whenever he spotted a forest critter—even a mere glance—he would give himself a point. He wondered what kinds of animals he would see and how many points he’d end up with in the end; was he going to get nothing, ten, perhaps fifty?

Pride swelled in him from the fact that he knew he had good eyes. He would spot even the smallest of things, notice even the tiniest of details if he tried hard enough; the little colt was sure of it! The question was how many critters would actually show up, if any at all.

Feather wondered if he would be lucky today.

As he sauntered across the vague forest path with his group, he likened the hoofsteps of his companions to that of a beat, a piano with drums that played together. It wasn’t always harmonious (at other times it sounded like utter rubbish), but there were other times when he could recognize a faint melody, a dash of a tingly piano with its elegant notes and the beats of exotic drums.

Little Feather found things such as that. He would find a piano playing in the wilderness, a pencil stroke in statues, waves in the wind that ushered anything along. It was silly! But why did he do so? Perhaps it was boredom, or maybe it was because children saw things adults couldn’t, people too serious or distracted to see invisible things.

One, he counted in his head. He spotted what he confirmed was a squirrel, a small thing running on the forest floor in his view for a few seconds. The little critter held something in their paws he couldn’t quite see. It was probably a piece of food or some other comfort thing.

Feather found that rather funny, the fact that animals had certain objects they treasured or they used for legitimate utility: the dams of beavers, the favorite toys of cats and dogs, even the shiny objects of magpies and the webs of spiders. It was cute as it was fascinating. What kinds of other things did the animals out there in the world possess?

Two, he counted once again. Speaking of spiders, here was one right now. He stayed a fair bit away from the little rascal—it was, to be more precise, a rather large rascal, but small compared to a pony nonetheless. The dainty arachnid dangled from an invisible thread of spider silk, descending to eventually reach its web.

Was the world like that, a massive spider’s web that—despite seeming to be all encompassing—only touched a few places? There might be distant worlds forever out of reach from the inhabitants of this one. Was that comforting or horrifying?

Three. It was a dove. A dove so white he swore it penetrated even sunlight. But it did not have the grace one would expect of a dove; the poor thing was lethargic; it barely seemed to keep itself in the air.

Little Feather followed the bird for a moment as if his entire body was possessed, driving him to put out a hoof without even thinking to usher near the white bird. To come close to him.

The dove did and landed rather tersely. He first noted how soft it felt, how soft it’s feathers were. Despite seeming tired and sluggish, the bird heralded a beauty that perpetuated regardless of its condition. When it moved its wings slightly, he swore he didn’t even sense it; that’s how gentle it was.

And as he stared at the bird in silence, he wondered to himself if it was real. The whiteness of its feathers truly were so pure that it was comparable to gazing at an unpainted spot of a painting. Its black, beady eyes peered at his, similar to little Feather in the same fascination it held and different with the outward expression it returned to him: a benevolent peace, a hurtful but comforting truth.

Feather noticed that the dove’s wing on the inside was slightly shrivelled, crooked.

“Did you hurt your wing?”

The dove only cooed in reply.

A light wind patted his back. “Do you want to return to your nest?”

The dove cooed again, more enthusiastic, an approval.

He gently put the dove on his back, letting it rest and settle for a moment. “Show me the way.”

The dove pointed to a spot to his right, and so Feather wandered out into the thick of the trees to bring the dove back home.

A sky without stars.

That’s what it was. A sky without stars. A sky without any galaxy, without any planets, without any light. It was space, but there was nothing else. Was this what it felt like before God, before creation itself? Perhaps the creator was so lonely he decided to wrought reality to his fitting, a place that abided only chaotic rules.

Lonely. It was lonely. It was the interior of a black hole, an infinitesimally massive mass bound into an infinitesimally small amount of space. Black holes were where light could not even escape, sucked into its time-bending gravitational fields so powerful it would rip atoms to mere shreds.

Feather didn’t even feel like he was floating. He was only here, and he was the only thing in existence. Was he, though? It’s like it didn’t matter at all.

He remembered things about his life. First words. That beach he visited as a colt. A camping trip with his friend Rainbow Dash. That time he got his first job in Manehattan, a rookie weather control pegasi that handled new reigns more quickly than most. He recalled the bitter taste of Ohteotl. And her eye, that piercing, eye of glowing red.

He recalled meeting with River Moon for the first time, and meeting with Twilight Sparkle. It was as if only moments ago had they arrived at La Orilla.

Feather had been on the top of the world, a pyramid’s crest that overlooked a rainforest that had no end. The Amarezon. A kingdom too unruly for even kings to rule, and so it was only itself.

And those dreams with Jade. Talking to her. Comforting her. Sharing bits and pieces of knowledge. A spar of words. It was wonderful as it was melancholic, for would he ever see her again?

He was taken back to that seemingly perpetual instant in a train, voyaging unknown realms of space-time in pursuit of perhaps imaginary destinations. All that mattered was that they were together.

He remembered being attacked by a beast and dying.

But now was different. Feather was okay. It wasn’t too cold or too hot; he didn’t hunger, he didn’t tire, he didn’t feel any sort of pain. It was okay, and it came as no surprise to him.

It was skimming through a book Feather already knew, looking back at his experiences, reliving some parts and highlights throughout the chapters as they spanned on. Some of those chapters were terribly short, some were strangely lengthy, and both controversy and good-doings popped from the contents of their pages.

It might be a constant to all living things: a book, a story. With every creation came a tale, and what of things that didn’t have at least a background? Creations come with stories, much like a literal tome, bound together, cover to cover, with a durability that lasted for generations.

Stories themselves usually outlive even the most sturdy of literature. They lived in the memories of future generations, oftentimes on the tip of tongues, but so long as one knew of a particular tale, then it was precious. It could herald change for better things.

It was peaceful to know that.

A single spot in the isolated cosmos called to him. Feather couldn’t see it, but he knew it was there; he was sure of it. Its presence felt close, but it laid afar, both fiction and reality, indescribable at a glance yet straightforward when viewed from a new angle.

It was light. It was hope. And yet, he had not the urge to hurry to its presence.

Feather simply existed in a universe as silent as he was.

He took one step forward, then another step, advancing closer to the presence of the ethereal glow. He took another step, then one more, again and again. His hoofsteps were steady now, a light but firm trot towards the light at the end of the tunnel.

That was when Feather Dew saw everything that did happen, everything that didn’t happen, and everything beyond the view of mere mortals in a place that had no beginning or end.

It was getting harder to see.

The forest was obscuring too much sunlight. As Feather pressed forward to the direction the dove pointed to, he wondered if there was something sinister going on. He couldn’t quite shake off the feeling that he was somehow being watched, that this was all a ruse, that this dove was a part of a conspiracy—a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

No. That couldn’t be true, right? What purpose would a dove like this have for luring a young colt into the forest? What was the point? Why would anyone do that? The forest was—for the most part—just a forest, and that was that. There was nothing going on.

Yet little Feather still could not shake off the feeling, a feeling of discomfort that contorted his stomach, making him think twice as to what was truly going on.

It was as if he was sensing for the very first time in his life, the first throngs of consciousness. His environment felt weird. Whenever he glanced at forest canopies, whenever he took a glance behind him only to be met with the indifferent fauna, he was struck with a sense of loneliness.

It was a sense of grief he hadn’t experienced before. He felt like a stranger of his very own body, a vagabond soul that knew of no destination.

Feather was interrupted when the dove cooed happily. They were in front of a tree, seeming the same as any other. This tree was special when he observed it more, for he realized that just by one of its branches laid a nest. It perched high from the ground, safe from any wandering predators below.

“I’ll be nice, hold on.” Feather extended his wings, regarding them. He grimaced a little when he saw how small they were; they weren’t that small, but for a colt of his age, they should have been bigger by now.

Little Feather exhaled and said to himself, “you’ve been practicing; you’re going to be fine.” Without further thought, he began to flap the pair, bringing them upwards.

“Woah!” He stumbled a tad, rocking to the side, though he was able to regain his balance at the last second. Feather glanced back at the dove, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry about that; it’s definitely the wind.”

They met the tree branch’s level, near the nest. He carefully scooped up the bird and placed it in its safespace. He giggled a bit as the bird cooed and set its wings to its side, resting. Home at last.

“That’s the spirit,” he said, patting it gently on the head. “You just stay here, okay? No need to go out and get lost.”

Little Feather found himself stupid when his own words hit him.

“Oh! My camping group!” He turned to the dove and gave a nod, saying, “It’s been fun, but I really do have to go now, otherwise my camping group won’t know where I am!” The dove gave a gentle gesture of its wings as Feather lowered himself to the ground.

“Bye!” He looked back from the little bird to face an entire forest on his own, a large expanse of darkened verdure.

Most prominent were densely populated trees. It made it confusing as to where to head next. Every time he took a peek somewhere else, every time he contemplated where to go, the options grew to the point that he didn’t know what to make of it, much less choose.

A stroke of genius graced him, an idea sprouting in his head. Little feather spread his wings once again and took flight, reaching for the tree tops. He struggled through the thick forest canopy—it took him several minutes to cross it and to dust himself off of the debris from the little mess he made. Once past that, Feather flew up steadily as he watched the expanse beyond him.

It was huge. Looking at it from the map made it look plain, just like any other mountain range and wooded area. Reality differed, and it was the largest sea of green Feather ever had the pleasure to look at.

He could only observe it for a second, for the winds up here were raucous, buffeting him to stumble down on a tree top. Poor little Feather had to recollect himself and hold steady to the branches to make sure he wouldn’t get knocked off by a harsh gale once again.

His discomfort worsened as he realized that his little wings were of little use in weather like this, in an environment this unforgiving and expansive. Feather knew he wouldn't last amongst mountain winds for even five minutes. He couldn’t take his chances and risk going up here any time soon.

But the sun was nearing the horizon. Feather watched as the light that reached his hooves grew weaker, receding to where the sun slept. He gulped and hastily reached the ground once more, setting his hooves on the topsoil.

It was growing cold. The colt leered at the forest with a rising trepidation. The uncertainty grew as he started a cautionary walk through the darkening twilight.

Feather heard the sounds of lurking creatures, slithering serpents, the crack and break of a twig or a leaf he was certain he didn’t make, and yet he couldn’t spot any creature. Any other pony. Was his mind playing tricks or was there something out there about to attack?

“I didn’t expect to find you here.”

Feather could recognize that voice from lifetimes away. It didn’t make sense, but his preconceptions have been thrown out the window lately. He was supposed to be here with her. This was where he belonged. They both were lost in a place forgotten by any god. Any creator’s touch.

He turned to face Jade, calm in his expression. Feather had a certainty in him, that pride he needed, for if the world would not regard him and give it to him, then so be it. He would be his own strength, be the master of his own fate.

When Feather’s eyes met hers, a stillness brewed inside of him, a disquietude only dead men knew, for only those who’ve peeked behind the veil understood what it was like to meet the end of all things.

“It... It was painful. So painful, in fact, that it’s as if I wasn’t even myself when it happened. I couldn’t think. I could barely see. I was dying, and it was the most hurt I had ever experienced. Suffering. Anguish.

“But suddenly there was this wave of peace that washed over my soul, a peace that I was surprised to feel even if—in retrospect—I knew it was going to come.

“I also felt a peace coming here. There are no stars, and it’s dark, but that doesn’t matter to me. It felt good, you know. It feels good to be here; I don’t exactly know why. It’s like we don’t even exist.”

Feather let out a non-existent breath. There were no words.

“But despite me feeling this way, I know I’m not yet done. I know that I still have promises to keep, obligations I can’t run away from. I still... I can’t run away from the things I fear.”

She tilted her head curiously, though a stifled sorrow risked to leak from her expression. “What is it you fear?”

What is it I fear? A simple question. But simple does not equate to easy.

He scoffed and shook his head. “Departing before I complete my obligations is one,” he said hushedly, her sorrow seeming to infect him also. “I told you I would come and find you. Save you. Get you out of whatever place you may be. You’re lonely there.”

Jade blinked and observed him closely. “That is only a part of it.”

“Yeah.”

“But you do have other things you fear, right?”

“Of course.”

“You don’t really want to tell me them, do you?”

A pause. What could he say? The fear she wished to know suddenly swooped into him, a fear that what he was as a pony would forever be changed because... things change.

And he looked the most crestfallen he had ever been, that peace he described to her fleeing away into unknown places. To other ponies? Wandering souls that too seeked that comfort in a place that wasn’t a place, a time that wasn’t real? He didn’t mind it too much. He could only think of himself.

“I don’t know if I even want to tell it to myself,” he said. “Dying is less harsh. It makes dying a solace, a place to run away to.”

Surprise flickered in her eye. Aghast. “What could possibly make you say that?”

“I just said it. It makes me wonder what I am now. And it’s a childish, small thing.” He hung his head low. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“It matters because you care so much about it.”

Another pause. “I guess that’s true.”

“So I’ll ask again.” Her tone grew both austerity and genuine concern. “What is it you fear, Feather Dew?”

He steeled himself by blinking, gaining cognizance. “You.”

“Losing you.” His poignant eyes bore into hers, yet they glimmered a gentleness only known by those who’ve mastered themselves. “I’m afraid. Afraid of losing things. What more of a pony, a person? How do you lose someone?”

And then he glanced away. “Losing things. Leaving them on a bar counter, it’s usually as simple as that. Things can be obtained. Owned. They’re simple.

“But a pony? We can’t classify ourselves like objects. It’s difficult to lose something as complicated as people.

“We’re the most real things to exist. People are so many things. Ideas, beliefs, convictions. And we might be the only things that believe that we’re more than what we are, more than the bodies we have, more than the actions we do, even more than the dreams we wish to achieve.

“I saw the light at the end of the tunnel. It’s what they say the end is. And yet our memory lives on. Can we really say we’re gone?”

His gaze drifted heavenward, though no stars greeted him. “I thought it was something special. I thought nature was something beautiful. It’s many things. I didn’t think I would end up the way I am because of it.”

Jade tucked her head to her neck, knowing full well of what it was like to be betrayed by what they loved most.

“My stars,” Feather whispered. He seemed surprised, but no epiphany came to him. It was inside him all along. “I’m scared. Scared of losing what I am. Scared of losing myself.”

And the two only gazed upon themselves, mirroring each other's looks. One feared of letting himself go, and the other had already been lost perhaps for a thousand years. They were different and incomparable. Yet at that moment, abiding not to the limitations of reality, they thought of the other as the same.

Words were ready to leave his tongue, but he halted his lips. What else needed to be said?

Jade closed the distance between them. She uttered no words, though her muzzle quivered. A fragility spread across her face, and at that moment she seemed of a young filly. She was as scared as he was, and although that fear was similar, it came from another place. She looked the most different since they first met.

Jade proffered open hooves, the space between them meant for him to be in.

Feather silently sidled into her embrace, wrapping hooves around her as well. Her hug was gentle, that sensation of her coat, that neat mane. To have her and only her in her embrace made his heart feel complete somehow. She must have felt the same, too, right? Perhaps it was best not to ask and to leave it to fate.

A sensation wetted his coat, one he never expected. She was crying, gentle sobs reverberating his chest. Feather stood frozen. He was afraid. He wished...

No. Wishing was for when one couldn’t do anything. His fears still struck him, but Feather was stronger than that. He understood exactly what he needed to be.

Feather held her even closer, wrapping around a wing for good measure, holding her gently but with a conviction that he was to never let go of her again. Feather pressed his muzzle into her emerald mane. No force ought to tear them apart without him having to fight it—fight for them. Not even gods. “I’ll go back. I won’t let go of my promise to you so easily. I’ll save you. Save the both of us.”

She stifled a sniffle, a soaked eye radiating melancholy.

“I accepted that I was here,” she said, the two easing their embrace. “I accepted that this would be my fate. For all eternity. For a while, nothing mattered.” Jade fluttered her eyelids. “And then you showed up.

“You know what? It hurts even more now than it ever has been. I suspect it’s hope. Back then, I had nothing. But now you and your friends give me something to hope for, so I have something to lose. And so I then have sorrow, and I cry for the first time in eons. It stabs my heart over and over again, but it means something.”

Forbearance graced her face, lips and heart steady. “I feel something again. I am somepony again. It's a childish thing.” Jade chuckled, as if remembering his words. Her expression turned wiser. “But sometimes childish dreams are what we need. Some things can only come from our fantasies.”

Jade seemed frail and small in his hooves, and her voice was no louder than a whisper, but the conviction that dripped her words was enough to silence a pantheon of gods. “Thank you, Feather Dew. Thank you for giving me that hope so I can feel pain. So I can yearn. So that I can feel real again.”

A sad smile split his face, Feather tightening his hold of her. He tucked her head under his chin, setting his cheek on her temple as he said, “Don’t worry. I’ll find you, and then you will be real.”

Act II, Chapter XXII

View Online

It was dark, but not like before. The other darkness was welcoming. This one feeded on unfamiliarity.

It was like rain, something that persisted in the background, never the foremost of a pony’s thought. But if it came, it was everywhere.

Darkness surrounded him, encapsulating him in a cage. It was a place, not a thing. It was like rain in that regard too. Rain didn’t feel like an object; it was an event, something someone was in. Something that just happened.

Breathing. Feather sensed breathing, and they were his own.

He pondered whether he truly did that, for it’s as if he didn’t truly exist either. The sensation of his fragile lungs responded, making his insides feel like an old furnace’s interior, charred bits of bricks and coal stuck on random surfaces. It made him choke, and it was painful. Pain reminded him he was alive.

And more of it continued to swoop in as Feather regained cognizance. It throbbed in his body, his wings and back sore, limbs stiff and off as though they couldn’t move, his head and neck pounded by invisible phantoms.

Feather confirmed he couldn’t move by shaking a little. He attempted to move his head side-to-side. The only reward from that was a stab of agony, making him gasp out loud.

“Feather! Feather, are you awake?!”

He deeply regretted opening his eyes. Feather was met with a brightness that encapsulated his vision, burning his retinas even if he’d only kept them open for an instant. Hastily shutting his eyelids, an expression of cringe graced his strained face.

“Ugh... what...?”

“You’re awake! Oh, as Celestia is my witness, you’re awake!”

Feather shrieked as a force wrapped itself around him, making his limbs and his torso and his everything scream out in desperation to stop doing that, you’re killing me! Ragged breaths came from his muzzle as he gazed at the beholder of the force that hurriedly hugged him, his eyes shot wide open in that moment of sweet pain.

There stood River Moon, but something was different about her. She hadn’t that newfound elation she just had an instant ago. She looked back at Feather with trembling lips, as if she were about to cry.

“I... I can’t believe you woke up. I mean! I did expect you to wake up, of course; the doctor and Twilight definitely said you would be okay, but...” The blue mare looked as if she wanted to continue, wanted to say more, albeit she only placed a hoof on her snout, covering her eyes. She let out an ungraceful laugh.

“I didn’t know. I didn’t know if you would ever wake up again. I didn’t know, and as the nights passed with me by your side the hope... the hope was slipping from me, slipping from me and Twilight. I...”

Only the sounds of birds remained, the washing of wind. And it seemed a rather calm moment, in retrospect. Feather laid on a plump bed with plump sheets, a bright morning sun casting earthwards saccharine light. It was like any other beautiful day.

“Hey”—Feather’s voice was rough, but he pressed on despite that—“I’m here, and I’m still alive. It’s okay.” He wasn’t sure if he was saying that to himself or to her. “It’s okay.” Maybe those were the words they both needed.

“Feather!” He turned with the best of his ability to spot Twilight under a doorway. She quickly made her way to his side, her face awash with exultation and rapt attention. “I’m so glad you’re up! How are you feeling?”

How am I feeling? His words were much kinder than his thoughts when he spilled them out. “In absolute agony, Twilight; I’m glad you asked.” Feather chuckled, self-deprecating. “But other than that, I think I’m okay.”

A wave of confusion suddenly embraced him as Feather realized he didn’t remember much of what occurred. Even if he could, he didn’t know what happened in the first place. “I’m sorry to ask, but I don’t really know what... transpired? All I remember is being put down and fading into black.”

The other two grimaced at each other, weary. Twilight took the initiative to explain. “Well, erm... you took us away from those Death Whistles and we stopped by a tree to take a little breather. We were talking, and... and all of the sudden this black panther came out from behind us and attacked you.

“You were... the doctor said that you were close to death, Feather. I was luckily able to use my magic to force the panther away from you, but the damage had sort of already been done. It got to your neck, and had it been a couple of inches nearer to your windpipe and vertebra...”

Twilight regressed into silence, for all three of them already knew the answer to that.

“She had to put you on her back to airlift you back here,” River explained softly, placing a hoof on her chest, “we tried to lift you back on the ground, but you started to bleed heavily. We were... we were only a few minutes from losing you completely.”

As their words hit him, Feather could only let out a sweet exhale, closing his eyes. For a moment, he was taken from this hospital room to that place again, a place of no pain, no sorrow. Before he even met Jade. Nothingness. Black. Peace.

But was it real? Was true pain worth it if it also came with true happiness?

“I guess there’s nothing else to say but to thank you guys for saving my skin back there.” Feather eased when he said those words. “Who knows what would’ve happened if I was alone? Thankfully you two were there with me.”

River chuckled, flabbergasted. “What are you talking about, dude? The reason we’re here in the first place is because of you. You even saved us from the Death Whistlers! Why would you thank us for saving you if it’s the most obvious thing to do in the world?”

Feather’s lips formed a small smile, but he lifted his brow as he pondered her words again. “I... Death Whistlers? I don’t understand.”

“I think it would be best to give you more rest,” Twilight interrupted politely, setting a hoof between them. “And besides, we haven’t even called the doctor yet. River Moon, could you please tell her Feather’s awake?”

She obediently nodded and crossed the doorway. Feather noted this room had that old timely feel to it with the wooden walls and the white curtains that draped all but one window, conveniently allowing sunlight to land on his face. He wasn’t sure if it was intentional or not.

“So, do you want me to explain the Death Whistlers to you? We can give you some more space for you to rest if that’s what you really want.”

“No, no,” Feather insisted, looking away from the unobscured window, thankfully his neck not hurting as much, “I want you to explain this now.” He realized a neck brace held his head, keeping his neck together lest it fall off its hinges.

Twilight levitated over a chair and seated by the foot of the bed, clearing her throat before she began, “Well, you know how we were surrounded by what seemed to be Death Whistles?”

Feather grimaced as he instinctively tried to nod his head, saying instead, “Ugh, yeah.”

“Well, we were talking to some of the locals and they told us that there might be an uncontacted tribe out there that uses these Death Whistles to intimidate outsiders.”

Feather took longer than he might’ve thought to process her words. “There might be a tribe out there? And they use Death Whistles?”

Twilight nodded. “Yes, this forest is way more dangerous than we might have hoped. We’re not only dealing with wild animals—or Celestia forbid those jaguars—but we’re also dealing with ponies, other tribes that may or may not exist. They might not be so friendly.” She nervously patted her head, as if the Princess of Friendship was resetting her crown.

Feather thought of the ramifications. There might truly be other tribes out there that won’t reason with them, won’t reason with anycreature. It added a whole new element of complexity to this puzzle.

“I see that he is awake. How are you feeling?” It was the voice of a middle aged mare; when Feather turned his head gingerly to regard her—River Moon by her side too—the unicorn mare wore a white garment with intricate patterns on each cuff, holding a bottle of odd, green liquid.

Feather raised a hoof rather anticlimactically. “I’ve had better days, but at least I’m still alive, right?”

Her laugh was hearty at the sentiment of his dry humor. “It’s a blessing. Both life itself. And the fact that you’ve returned to it. You’re a lucky young stallion, let me tell you that; it’s not everyday that one not only gets attacked by a black panther, but lives to tell the tale.”

“To be fair, I wouldn’t want the first thing to be a daily occurrence.” River Moon slapped a hoof on her mouth and whispered to Twilight, but Feather could hear her clearly. “This is something that happens rarely, right?”

The doctor raised a brow at her. “Big cat attacks are in general quite rare, yes. One is because they themselves are rare, and number two is because ponies don’t regularly go out into the jungle to meet with them, anyway.”

Feather almost chuckled at the cruelty of it all.

“And by the way, I should ask you if you’re feeling anything strange, Feather Dew.” The mare neared to set the bottle of liquid on the bedside table. “Any loss of breath, any dizziness?”

Feather did feel dizzy, but other than the pain that rocked his limbs, extremities, and most especially his neck, he felt nothing that strange. “My head’s a bit shaken, but I think I’m fine. It still hurts, most especially in my neck.”

“Sure. You will need to rest here for a week to ten days.”

His eyes almost popped out of their sockets as Feather gawked at the mare. “A week to ten days...?! That’s way too long; we’re gonna have to find her and all and I can’t just lay around doing nothing!”

“Find who?” The doctor frowned, perplexed.

Feather slapped himself internally for the slip of his tongue. “Nothing, I’m just saying things right now. Ahem.”

The doctor seemed to ignore his little lapse of judgement and levitated the bottle from the table, opening it, saying to him as she motioned, “As for the pain, this will help alleviate it. Open your mouth.”

Feather had to awkwardly position his neck in such a way that it was almost perpendicular to the ground, sipping on the pain reliever slowly until he was finished. The liquid had a very interesting taste; he wouldn’t say the green substance was either savory or disgusting—it was just unique.

“As I said, it will take time for you to recover, young one. Just know that you need to rest. You have a saying, don’t you?”

She stroked her chin, remembering. “‘Live today, fight tomorrow.’” The doctor smiled, regarding the other mares in the room by nodding. “And you live today, so be thankful for that. I shall leave you all be for now. Call me if you need anything.”

With grateful thanks to the doctor, Feather and the two glanced amongst themselves in the atmosphere anew created by the lack of the older mare’s presence. Feather decided to break the silence as their unfinished conversation returned to him.

“Twilight, you were saying there might be some tribe out there that may be hostile?”

She nodded. “Yes. River and I have been talking about it over the past few days.”

“Wait, the past few days?” Feather might’ve been here longer than he thought. “How long was I out?”

It was not comforting to see the two fidget in their places, although River seemed to be the braver one. “Well... you were out for three days, Feather.”

Huh. “Three days, you say? I... didn’t expect time to fly by that fast.”

“What do you mean?” Twilight’s curious expression turned morbid as an epiphany hit her. “You weren’t conscious, were you...?”

He jumped slightly at the thought. “No, no! I definitely wasn’t conscious. I just... I saw some things while I was out. I was taken somewhere else, so to say.”

“Is it one of those ‘walking to the light at the end of the tunnel’ kinds of things?” River seemed curious about the subject.

Feather let out a simple breath as a response. “Well, yes, it was kinda like that.”

Twilight and River glanced at each other before returning him their attention. “Can you tell us what you saw?”

Feather smiled. In a lonely moment, he was once again transported to that place. The details were both distinct yet vague in some unexplainable way, though he did most definitely remember the end. Touch, he remembered touch, that feeling of completeness this life would never know if he didn’t get to save her.

“No. It’s personal stuff... It’s only for me.”

River gently nodded; Twilight looked back at him with an understanding smile. “I see. River, why don’t we let Feather rest for a moment; we can have this conversation some other time.”

“I agree. Do you want us to bring back anything?”

Feather cringed once again as he instinctively moved his head. “Well, there is one thing.”

After telling them what he requested, his friends gave him consoling farewells and departed. Feather was then left alone with the world, and despite him being in this isolated room, he felt anything but: fresh air in his lungs, the songs of birds, damp scents of a rainforest too mysterious for even his ghost-self to figure out.

Feather glanced out that one undraped window, that previous ray of sunlight now migrating to a spot on his side. What stared back was green verdure and the brown of twigs and branches, and though they seemed like the same, old boring green verdure and brown of twigs and branches, a force reached him from the shadows between their gaps. Foreign. A stranger.

It grasped him, like the mighty crush of a black panther’s jaws. It didn’t bring him back, but it struck a primal emotion in his soul. It was horrifying, yet he didn’t scream or move an inch.

Would nature truly do this to him, leave him scarred and broken but still alive? And so he did what living things did, breathe, and he did too what things that saw themselves more than what they were do. Feather silently wept, and no soul heard.

...the wind blew to the east, heralding the rise of an unknowable sun. To her, she was reminded that it was the last thing she saw before her sacrifice, the blooming of a new day.

The mare came forth to meet her psychopomp, the god of fire and lightning. He was a stallion which had the head of a dog, the guidance of the dead and departed throughout their sojourns in the levels of the challenging underworld.

The two left to start their adventure across the nine levels to reach the king and queen of the dead to grant the mare’s soul eternal peace.

The first level consisted of a mighty river which could only be crossed with the help of a bird, its white feathers the only thing seen in the darkness.

The second level consisted of a temple where the hills of the entire world met; one had to be patient to pass the rolling landscape.

The third level was a path of obsidian as large as the heavens itself, taking years to cross.

The fourth level was a place full of ice and snow, all the souls traversing through here struck by the saddest memories of their lifetimes. One had to make it to the end to let go of these memories.

The fifth level had winds so strong that not even the strongest of pegasi could overcome them; all souls here were whisked away.

The sixth level had souls dodge bolts of magic from an invisible unicorn spirit, each bolt representing a person who had an influence in the life of the departed.

The seventh level contained a jaguar that took away the hearts of all souls, for any worldly possessions the departed still held needed to be abandoned.

The eight level was a place where souls could see the lives they lived before. They would see their memories pass in preparation for the final level.

The ninth and last level was where the departed finally met the king and queen of the underworld, and it was here that souls would finally be granted their eternal peace.

Before the mare moved on, she asked her psychopomp if she would ever see him again. The psychopomp replied:

“You have always known me. I am found in the most unexpected of places, the result of seemingly unbridged consequences. Whenever you see an act of kindness or even a simple breeze of the wind, I am there. Know that things are more intertwined than they might seem.”

“How are you enjoying it, Feather?”

He lowered the book to meet Twilight’s eyes, the alicorn nibbling on some tacos she purchased moments ago.

Feather only needed a short instant to think of an answer. “It’s okay enough; this is the kind of thing I wanted to read, anyway. How these people view the afterlife is very interesting, you know.”

Feather wasn’t allowed to regress into the silence he wanted, for the purple mare interrupted, weary in her expression, “You’re not... you’re not looking into this because you’re afraid of it, are you?”

“Well,” he stated, “I don’t fear that. Death is an odd thing to fear. It’s a little foolish, isn’t it? What I am scared of is other things.”

“Like what?”

Feather sighed. “I don’t... I’m not sure if I want to, you know. It’s a strange thing.” He glanced outside to where the night blanketed all, only oases of lamp posts harboring most light. And the stars too revealed themselves, but only dimly. Too far away. Unreachable to most, and those that could ought be radiant deities.

“I know how much that means to you,” Twilight whispered. Feather didn’t turn to regard her. “I see it every time you look out there. Rainbow Dash herself has told me even when you were little you liked doing that.”

Feather pressed his lips, snuffing out bad memories.

“It’s hard to accept, but quite easy to understand,” she continued, and her voice slightly wavered. “Things sometimes aren’t what they seem, huh?”

“Yes.” A pause. “I know that. I know nature’s unpredictable.” The stars answered neither of them, and they didn’t twinkle. “Why do I care about it so much?” He faced her, eyes boring deep into hers, a longing deeper still set inside him. “It’s just little things.”

“I’d rather you say that than not take things for granted,” Twilight replied.

“What does that mean?”

“You know,” she answered quickly. “You know what I mean.”

Feather pondered her words. That was unlike Twilight at all, to say something as vague as that. I already know what that means. To take things for granted, or to not take things for granted.

“You appreciate things,” she said. “That’s a beautiful thing. And they may not be real, and they may not even matter, but it’s important to you. Isn’t that enough of an answer as to why it means anything? Because you just do?”

An amused exhale escaped from his nostrils. “I suppose it does. I... my mind’s still muddy. And even if it weren’t, I just don’t know what to make of all of this.”

Twilight proffered a helping smile. “That’s okay. There are things that take time, and others won’t be fully understood. Don’t beat yourself over that, okay?”

Feather couldn’t help but smile back. Sincerely. “Okay.”

He leaned back as best he could and eased. “I still like it, though.”

When Twilight didn’t reply, Feather continued, “I still like it. I like the wind in my mane, the blue of the sky. That’s the dream of most, right? A dream of flying. Quiet times. Although a part of me knows that it’s not all cupcakes and rainbows. Reality differs from us sometimes. Perhaps that’s the reason ponies praise gods and the forces of nature, not because they’re whimsical or brutal, but because they’re both.”

Twilight returned a smile of her own, a smile more understanding and genuine than it was happy.

“Yo, I’m back. I got the popcorn you wanted, Feather. Caramel, right?” Through the doorway entered River Moon, holding a batch of popcorn on one hoof and balancing some drinks and empanadas on her back.

“Yes, that’s right. Thanks, by the way.” She placed all the food items on his bedside as he regarded her, “This is going to be tough to eat, though.”

River sneered as she took a chair and sat abreast him. “I can spoon feed you like the ambitious child you are; it’d be hilarious.”

“River Moon! Don’t joke around with Feather like that!” Twilight shot her that infamous glare.

“Relax, Twi. It’s fine. I’m just glad we’re all here.”

“Yeah, listen to him, Twi. You know, this is going to sound super random, but I had an interesting conversation with the local... how should I put this lightly... the old crazy guy of town while lining up to get Feather’s popcorn.”

Twilight and Feather glanced at each other curiously. “The old crazy guy of town?” Feather inquired. “What did he tell you?”

River sighed, looking as if she's about to elaborate another rabbit hole of hers. “Well, he lambasted me for running around in the woods and getting you hurt, which I kind of understand—you seem to be the talk of the town—don’t get me wrong, but he also said something about how the Death Whistlers weren’t even... real in a sense.”

Feather stopped reaching for his popcorn, ignoring her claims that they were the talk of the town and focusing on the latter part. “Hold on, explain how they weren’t even ‘real in a sense.’”

River grabbed her drink and took a sip, setting it down before beginning, “You know how there might be a tribe out there that uses those Death Whistles?” Feather and Twilight nodded. “He told me that... he once talked to this tribe when he was younger,” she elaborated slowly, “and when he asked if they were the ones who did the whistling, they said they had no idea what it was; they were just as confused as the La Orillans.”

Feather’s gears in his head churned and jammed. “Wait. He talked to a tribe that said even they don’t know where the whistling came from?”

River Moon nodded. “Correct. He also stated that this tribe lives deep in the jungle; as in they have explored every single little crevice there is and they have absolutely zero clue who or what causes those whistles.”

How did that make any sense? There was a tribe out there that supposedly knew all the little nooks and crannies there was, and even they didn’t know where the whistling came from? How was that possible? It’s as if there’s some barrier blocking them from-

His heart stopped.

“Hold on. Hold on,” he put his hooves on his face. “Twilight, would you say that these whistlings are magical in nature?”

She gave a meek shrug. “I would infer that they are. We didn’t see anypony or anything, and it’s as if those whistles came out of nowhere. That certainly isn’t normal behavior at all.”

River nodded. “Yeah, it’s like they only exist to be a huge annoyance so ponies would go away.”

The jammed cogs and springs of his brain shattered into a million pieces, yet it’s as if these fragments were the very pieces that fell into place to complete this unsolvable jigsaw.

...I am found in the most unexpected of places, the result of seemingly unbridged consequences... Know that things are more intertwined than they might seem...

...exist to be a huge annoyance so ponies would go away...

...a secret code... secret knowledge...

The barrier.

Feather laughed, yet it remained soft and controlled. He wheeled his head back as he placed a hoof on his temple, chuckling still, and despite a pain throbbing from his neck and back, he could not care.

Had Feather been a little more tumultuous, one would’ve assumed he was a madman, a madman who’s finally solved an unsolvable enigma. Detached from reality. But complete for the first time. His chuckle grew louder, and he felt truly alive.

“Feather, what’s wrong?” Twilight retracted her hoof and glanced at River as he let out an exhale and only smiled.

“Can’t you see?” Feather waved his two hooves and put them together. “It’s all connected. A ‘barrier’ around Tlekokalli? The tribe here not being able to find any sort of physical evidence of the Death Whistlers? The fact that it’s seemingly only purpose is to ‘annoy ponies for them to go away?’ Those Death Whistles are the barrier!”

Twilight Sparkle and River Moon stared wide-eyed at each other, as if they’d just discovered fire for the first time. “That’s”—River stuttered—“That’s how one can pass it through ‘secret knowledge.’”

“The secret knowledge isn’t a code or a password,” Twilight realized. “It’s the fact that... it’s the secret that one can... follow those whistles to eventually reach the lost city.”

“And it makes sense,” Feather continued, “because for strangers like us, we wouldn’t know. We would see it as a threat and try to run away to safety; exactly like we did. The whistles even started with only one, quietly, progressively increasing in numbers and volume the longer we lingered, further prompting us to flee. But if somepony knew that following them was the key to eventually finding Tlekokalli...”

They were right there. They were that close. At that moment in the darkened rainforest he was taken to once more, covering his ears from the penetrating shrieks of the Death Whistles, not realizing it was their ticket to reach Tlekokalli.

“What do we do now?” River seemed meek despite the development, setting a hoof on her temple.

Feather was steady as he looked back at the two and said, “Isn’t it obvious? One way or the other, we’re going to have to follow those whistles.”

Act II, Chapter XXIII

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Little Feather hadn’t experienced agony to this degree, shooting up his fragile hooves. Perhaps never escaping this labyrinth compared.

How long had he been walking? Hours, days? It might as well have been a lifetime. His sense of time was slipping, and seconds felt like eternities while other long moments breezed by too hastily for him to even take note.

Though from his haze arose a question that never wavered: what must his camping group think, what must his friend Rainbow Dash think? Did they already see him as a lost cause, a treasure so far removed from any map that no adventurer as brave as they may be would dare sojourn to find it? Were there some risks so dangerous that the value of the rewards are irrelevant in one’s consideration?

That couldn’t be true. He was worth the cause, he was worth the risk. He was Feather Dew, tried and true friend to all, open ear to all sorts of fascinating stories from the mouths of anypony who dared tell their tales. He was worth saving, right?

It’s not what he thought. What he felt was lonely, distraught, confused. There laid little hope in his body, and the moonlight gave him none at all. Whatever God up there must’ve watched him, and little Feather wondered if they could perform some miracle, whisking him away from this mess back to the way things were. Normal. Found.

As he trodden through odd pebbles and verdure, a growing emotion of betrayal filled his heart and left it empty. He didn’t know who to blame it on. Should he blame it on the white dove? Should he blame it on his camping group for not finding him already? Should he blame it on whatever powers may be?

Should he blame this all on himself?

The little colt gasped as he tripped on a rock, making him tumble, a sprain emerging from his hoof. A tuft of mane fell on his cheek as he held onto his extremities with a seethe of pain and fatigue.

Then the empty wintry of air filled his lungs, and his breath was brittle. As cold as untouchable ocean floors, it’s as though this was the very bottom of the world: a dark, lonely abyss so numbing one would wonder if they were abandoned by gods.

A shiver shot up his spine, and Feather closed his eyes, the exhaustion starting to best him. His back hurt, his sides hurt, and to get up and keep going would hurt too much. It was too much.

Dazed, surveying his surroundings, Feather spotted a little forest alcove: a small cavity carved in a large tree, flowers blooming on the entrance edges and nearby ground. On any other day, Feather would’ve found it interesting and moved on. Now was different. Now it was the only shelter he had. The only warmth in a world so haughty and lonely.

Little feather mustered all his willpower and reached out his lesser-damaged hoof, dragging himself across the forest floor in increments of mere inches. Feather cringed as pebbles and twigs scraped his barrel and legs like hundreds of little daggers along his body, but he pressed on. Continuing. He had to.

Finally reaching the cavity of the tree, Little feather grasped the edge of the entranceway and hoisted himself inside. Hitting his head on the cavity’s ceiling, he faltered and leaned back, going limp, the fatigue in his chest teeming to burst open his ribcage. This wasn’t only pain, but lassitude. Weakness. Being not strong enough.

And despite its uncaring nature, the night dazzled. From here, the trees ahead stood shorter, so presented to him was a sky bountiful of stars. Despite the lethargy that beat him, despite the unforgiving circumstances, little Feather chuckled.

It was purple and vibrantly dark, the tapestry of stars that laid out there, surrounding the world in their omnipresence. When he paid close enough attention, little Feather saw the faint twinkle of a particular star far away, a galaxy far removed but visible from even an isolated planet like Equus. One. Only one star.

Even if he was to go back to his camping group, even if he was to be saved, they’d still be lonely; he’d still feel lonely.

“Come talk to me,” Feather whispered, regarding that particular star. He then addressed any world that dared listen to him. “Please... I don’t have anything else...”

His only response was a cold, harsh but gentle breeze. It reached Feather despite him nestled inside this tree, sending a shiver that radiated throughout his frail body.

The painful reality brought by nature itself reminded Feather of how small he was, of how insignificant he was in the grand scheme of things. The universe didn’t care if he was lost. The universe didn’t care if he was going to die.

It would keep going on without him. His life would end, and everypony else would have moved on. He was forgotten, abandoned. And as the wind came once more to prove he was more lonely than he’s ever been, Feather wondered if it was also trying to tell him that he’d never meet with anyone ever again.

Was this what it felt like to drown, the life of a person slowly being sucked out of them without any hope left in the world?

As he sat on the little crevice of the tree trunk watching the rest of those distant, unresponsive stars, Feather wondered if he was already laying on his grave, waiting for that moment of sweet release. It was the first time he prayed, but he didn’t know who he prayed to.

This was the first time Feather Dew stood for weeks. The feeling was both unfamiliar and euphoric; unfamiliar in the sense that he’s been in bed so much the sensation of his hooves on the ground supporting his weight surprised him more than he would’ve thought, and euphoric in the sense that he was on his hooves now. Feather stood, and he stood firm.

Feather stood firm because: (a) there was a certain pride, eagerness that teemed to burst out the seams, and (b) the doctor told him to do so because she was in the process of removing his neck brace and bandages, much to his irritation.

“This is rather uncomfortable.”

She hushed him quickly. “Now, now. I just have to unfasten it... there!” With a firm motion of the doctor’s hoof, his improvised neck brace came off of his frame. Feather tentatively placed a hoof on his nape, surprised to feel nothing. It was stiff, but to think a big cat’s jaws bit the spot he brushed right now left him impressed.

And he was most definitely thankful to the doctor in this little hospital of hers. There was a charm to a pony who did what they did not in the pursuit of bigger opportunities, for they were already content with where they were. “Hey, doc, thanks for all the help. I would’ve been in real trouble if it weren’t for you.”

The mare chuckled, pressing a hoof on her mouth. “You already were in real trouble; it’s just my job to make sure it didn’t get worse.”

“Yeah, that’s something I’ll keep in mind.”

“Speaking of keeping in mind,” she suddenly started, “I have something to tell you, Feather Dew.”

He turned back, head tilted, ears perking. “What is it?”

“I always tell my patients this, but you please have to take care of yourself.” She pointed to his scars, a few of the prominent ones on his torso and the cuffs of his hooves. “The pony body is not durable, Feather Dew. You of all ponies should know this by now. We’re more fragile than we might think; a small slip on the stairs could lead to permanent, life changing consequences, even a small wound could lead to the deadliest of infections.”

Her eyes shone a mirth he didn’t expect. “I have a feeling you and your friends are doing something out there. Obviously I don’t know exactly what that is, and I hadn’t bothered to ask, but I know it’s something.

“It’s not up to me to understand that, so I’ll just say: whatever it is you’re doing, just be careful. Okay?”

Feather appreciated her honesty, nodding. “Wise words, doc. I’ll remember that.”

He focused on the other two mares in the room, several of their belongings already on their persons. “So, where do we go now?”

Twilight replied coolly. “Back to the bed and breakfast. We’re going to have to do a bit of preparing before we leave.”

Feather’s eyes scanned the room one last time. River Moon was arranging what seemed to be rations and med kits in a newly acquired bag she must’ve obtained while he was at the hospital. Twilight was mulling over her notes and reading materials, an empty parchment and quill already prepared in that saddle bag of hers.

To his side lay ear muffs on a table. Feather was surprised they were able to find such things, especially in a place like this. However, having a “local tribe” using Death Whistles without a care in the world would have driven the residents to the point that they’d import some, just in case.

Feather decided to take his mind off that, focusing on his bookish friend. “How long did it take for you to decide what books to bring with you?” He smiled curtly as Twilight glared back at him.

“You know I don’t like being asked that question. And by the way, it only took me three days to decide, so HAH!”

He rolled his eyes at her remark. “I just wanted to joke around for a moment, Twi. But I have to say: I’m quite impressed. You guys look like you’re preparing for the apocalypse with all this gear you’re bringing.”

He heard River reply from his far side, “Well, to be fair, we are going to a city that was probably ravaged by an apocalypse if it hasn’t already, so. And besides”—Feather turned to see her tie the bag around her barrel—“There’s no such thing as too prepared. Celestia knows what sort of stuff we’ll see in Tlekokalli once we get there.”

“River Moon’s right, Feather.” Twilight seemed to finish her notes and walked over to join him. “We may have some clue as to what we might expect from Crystal Jade’s words, but even she doesn’t know what must’ve happened to this city for the hundreds of years she’s been gone. For all we know, it might have even collapsed or something catastrophic of the sort.”

“Oh, oh, like the sunken city of Maretlantis! Scientists have recently confirmed that there was a great flooding event that coincided with the sinking of the city all those thousands of years ago and the aliens-”

“I think one lost city is enough to last us a lifetime, River.” Feather raised a hoof to politely silence her and what would be a long rant about aliens or cataclysmic flooding events.

She rolled her eyes and smirked, walking over to the two. “Don’t be such a downer, Feather! We’re going to find Tlekokalli and all of the interesting things it’ll contain. To think that a city like that has been under all these ponies' noses this whole time...”

“Yes, it is indeed fascinating how all this has been under their noses. It makes sense, though: ignorance can make one blind to even the simplest of things.”

“And that we’re not,” River said rather childishly, plastering a toothy grin.

“And that we’re not, indeed.”

“So... I guess we’re ready, then?” Twilight gave them a kind smile. Feather knew they all knew the answer to that.

“Yes, I have med kits, food, and water in here just in case we’re in there longer than we might think,” River explained, patting the bag wrapped around her back. “If we get real desperate, we can stretch this out to last us a week.”

Twilight nodded at her info dump. “Okay. And I already have some of the reading material I want to bring with me, my notes, and writing instruments. Feather, do you have your camera with you?”

He picked it up from a table on his side. “Yeah; it’s a bit inconvenient to have it wrapped around my neck, but it’ll be fine.”

“Oh! I hadn’t even thought of that.” Twilight grabbed her saddle bag and offered it. “You can have this instead; it’ll be less of a pain. And besides, I would like to do some real-time documentation myself.”

Feather exchanged his camera for her belongings, strapping it on his back with River’s help. While doing this, he heard River comment, “I feel like Feather and I are going to be parents guarding a filly in a candy store. An egghead adventuring to a lost Meso-Equestrian city. This will be fun, indeed.”

Twilight raised a brow, Feather and her glancing, then they broke into giggles, River joining in as well. In that moment, they were not ponies about to embark on an adventure, they were not what could possibly be myths eons later. They were just friends being friends, enjoying the time they had with each other.

This was broken rather quickly. “Feather,” River suddenly said, easy-going but a severity biting under her tone, “if you feel hurt and want to back out of this, just tell us. You barely convinced us to let you come with, anyway; don’t pressure yourself into doing this, okay?”

He simply shook his head. “It’s okay; of course I’d tell you. I’m okay now.” Feather glanced out a window to meet the looming Amarezon forest—deadly and beautiful, dangerous yet complacent in its allure. “This is an obligation I dedicated myself to. Out there is Jade, and she’s waiting for us.”

Feather put out his hoof for the two of them. “For Jade.”

Without hesitation, Twilight and River put their hooves to meet his. “For Jade!”

Twilight glanced out the window. “The day is still new, everypony. Come on, let’s go outside.” The pair followed her through and out the bed-and-breakfast to arrive on the street, rays of light piercing and dancing by their hooves.

“Feather, in my saddle bag should be a map. Take it out for us.” He did what he’s told, reaching back—rather stiffly and slowly—to take a hold of a new map Twilight acquired. It was cruder than the one she lost, but it did the job.

“Lemme see.” He offered the map to River Moon, the latter pouting and setting a hoof on her mouth as she scanned the piece of parchment. Her eyes lit in recognition. “We went up and around, then came from the bottom left at this angle. So we go... there.” She pointed at a section of the city’s walls, a gateway several ten feet removed to the left.

Once they crossed this gateway and moved right—correcting course so they needn’t perform more complicated turns—the three gazed upon the direction they’d soon be headed.

It was a seemingly unimportant spot of the Amarezon, especially in a rainforest of such size, but when Feather stared back, the forest seemingly waited for him. Relentless. Unfazed.

It was so inoffensive as well. Flowers bloomed from forest soil, trees guarded the border between the clearing they stood on and the beginning of only a sliver of the Amaerzon. There was something that stirred inside him that raised all sorts of alarms.

Feather couldn’t help but feel the cold of the wind hit him, unsure if it was real or not.

“Do you want to go first?” River’s expression reflected solemness when she gazed at his eyes.

Feather only nodded and clutched the map with the use of a wing, taking a step forward. He didn’t look back, for what was the point of doing so? He held his head high, but not proudly, towards the home of Crystal Jade.

The wind was sinister yet calm, and Feather couldn’t shake that off. It was like the song of a siren playing serenely in a field, a soothing but hypnotic sound that hid more intentions beneath its nature than one would think.

It was the crashing of ocean waves, the breeze laving leaves, a dull, repeating drone that reminded one not only was the world a lonely place at times, but there might be something amongst their presence that’d make them want to be alone.

But Feather wasn’t sure what it was. He definitely felt a weight taken off his shoulders when they’d figured out the Death Whistles, and it seemed like the worst that could happen already has.

Was it that reasonable, though, to assume everything would be okay? Feather was again reminded that the world didn’t care what he thought.

“We should be close to where we stopped last time,” he heard River from behind, amongst the crunch of apprehensive hooves through the forest floor. His friends walked slowly, and all three understood that perhaps a point of no return lay before them.

Feather tried to think of anything else, his calming dreams, a song or two, a whistle, even her saccharine smile, Jade’s. His friends. Here with him and back at home. It made him feel a tad better.

But that forest still lurked. And that struck him fear. And he couldn’t forget.

Somehow—despite the Amarezon being an utter labyrinth of a place—with River’s wise course settings, they found themselves in front of the tree whereby they rested only weeks ago, on that fateful day.

When Feather observed the tree and the spot he was attacked on, he didn’t know exactly what to feel. The blood. His blood. It still soaked the ground. Despite forest rain from previous days that could’ve washed away this insignificant ink blot on a piece of parchment, the landmark remained.

It was the emotion of coming back to a mother one never knew, coming back to a dream that one would’ve never guessed they’d be coming back to. It was the feeling of keeking at an alternate reality.

A gentle hoof stroked on his side, consoling. “You can go back if you want to,” he heard Twilight say. “You don’t have to risk it if you don’t want to, Feather.”

The wind was hollow and sweet as he responded, “No. I’d be here even if all my emotions wanted to make me run away,” he said simply, glancing at the direction whence they once came, running away for their dear lives and sanity from the harbinger of ancient torment. “Let’s go.”

Feather’s snout was bombarded by a combination of decaying plants and wood, moisture, vegetation. The only sound that reached his ears were the saunter of his hooves, his friends, and the slight background static noise of bugs in hiding. As he looked about, the rainforest heralded that moment of truth, containing a stillness Feather was so familiar with.

Despite daytime, the Amarezon was not kind to ponykind, guarding them from the blessings of radiant sunshine. It was like being lost in that forest all over again: dingy and drab, somehow even chilly.

That was his fear. But he wanted to live. Feather wanted to keep going and do so strongly; his anxieties still persisted, that trepidation and looming dread. He had to be stronger than it. His will was stronger than it; it had to have been.

It was the feeling of having a blade circle one’s skin, nerve endings tickling and nervous at even the slightest prod, the slightest addition of pressure. It felt agonizing either way, for one did not know whether those slight prods would eventually turn deadly.

And it ought turn deadly as Feather once again heard the faint sound of Death Whistles in the distance, sending a freezing sensation down his spine and his bite scars.

“Put on your ear muffs.” He needn’t repeat himself as his two companions slipped on their ear muffs and pressed them against their heads, ensuring they’d be protected from the inevitable, haunting screeches.

Feather heard the low rumbling of air trapped in his ears, blood rushing through his ears and his skull. Whenever he breathed in or out, that low rumble would be interrupted by an even lower drone. That was the last thing Feather noted before two invisible Death Whistles appeared by his sides, blowing hard.

Then four came, surrounding them. Then the whistles became closer as they multiplied innumerably and screamed once again, circling the three. Twilight conjured her barrier despite it having no use; it was probably for the placebo effect comfort it brought.

Ironic, ear muffs sorta work but alicorn magic doesn’t. Sometimes the straightforward answer is the best. Perhaps back then, this was a test of willpower. How much do you want to go to Tlekokalli? Feather barely finished his thought as the Death Whistles blared once more, causing the ground to shake a tad. It seemed that River was keen in asking him a question because she tapped his shoulder and motioned to her own pair of muffs.

He assumed she was asking if his ear protection was working; he nodded and waved his wing as confirmation. Feather did the same to Twilight, and she seemed to agree as well, a rather defiant look on her face.

Feather couldn’t blame her for that: if this worked, if they truly were right, they would be on a path to getting closer to Tlekokalli itself. Despite the loud sound that once again rattled their surroundings, Feather couldn’t help but feel a hope he hadn’t felt in a long, long time.

Who cared what others would think? If he was right, then he was right. If he found himself in the lost city, then he would be in the lost city. If it was real, then it was real. If it wasn’t...

The whistles blared again four more times—harsher and harsher than the last—before they suddenly stopped at the tenth and final round of raucous. The group glanced at each other with tentative grimaces, like a gathering of students asked by their teacher a question none of them knew.

It was stupid, but to Feather it was brave. He slowly slipped off his ear muffs, completely removing them, awed at the sounds he heard.

“What is it?!” Twilight had poor volume control when she yelled at him.

He cringed as he motioned for them to remove their ear protection, saying, “You can remove them! It sounds beautiful, actually!”

When River and Twilight took them off, they shared the same curious expression he shared as the three observed about. The horrifying cacophony of sacrificed individuals turned into sweet whistling and even wind instruments, playing a harmonious but repetitive tone, as if a prompt asking for the user for input.

Twilight and River shared their amusement. “I think it worked!” River exclaimed, pointing randomly at the invisible instruments. “They changed!”

As soon as those words left her lips, the whistling suddenly transformed into a darker tone and returned to a similar pitch they’d once been, transitioning into another song of calm but high spirits. The circle of instruments suddenly shifted, moving its way to a location deep into the Amarezon.

He stared at the direction the whistles went to, frozen for an instant. “Come on, guys, we have to follow it!” Twilight yelled at the two, River quickly obeying and right at her tail. Then he was left alone.

Alone. Now or never.

The ear muffs jiggled on his neck, Twilight’s saddle bag rocking up and down his back. It was as if the injuries, stiffness Feather endured suddenly disappeared, a fresh vigor coursing through his blood stream.

And as he jogged, his fears slowly dwindled. Running through the rainforest in pursuit of an obscured magical anomaly, following his friends into the depths of the flora and the shadows of the trees, feeling the humid air turn wistful as Feather darted amongst the twigs and leaves.

It’s as if they were going in circles and circles, crossing paths that didn't seem possible, but Feather couldn’t care.

He didn’t care because he didn’t even think. It brought back painful memories, yet he was alive. And for a moment the only thing he saw was her visage. That red eye. That emerald mane. How could he have been so selfish? Thinking about himself and his fears. He was here. He was here to save her.

Feather ran like he was about to meet his friends again, like he was about to cross realities and meet with that pony he had a connection to, had a longing to. Feather had been dead, and now he ran to paradise.

Until they stopped. River and Feather halted as Twilight paused in front of a mossy building, aged and black, grey from the natural color of the bricks: limestone. Walls of massive proportions extended from its sides, barely visible from dense flora. From glancing at the charred engravings that graced its walls, Feather felt like this was it.

This is the entranceway to Tlekokalli.

How did he know this? It’s rather simple. There’s only one other feature this structure has. A tunnel that leads into darkness. There was no light when he stared back at it, but it’s as if something peered back in return.

He couldn’t even remember how long he ran for, to where. This place seemed removed from reality itself.

Feather regarded his two friends with compassion and understanding, requiring no words.

They only nodded and returned faithful smiles. Feather took one last glance at the Amarezon before crossing the threshold.

Light. It was behind him, the fuzzy shadows of his legs and his friends’ frames spindling out until they faded into the obscurity of the void before them. The air was sterile and dead, and as Feather went on his way—the only light coming from Twilight’s horn, guiding them now—he tried to keep rhythm in his hooves as if it were the continuous dripping of water on a little pond.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

They were in a darkness so black that despite Twilight’s light, he could barely keep his balance; the material that made this floor seemed imbued with blackness itself, a deadly combination that would drive one in a room made of the thing insane.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

Inside Feather stirred an emotion he couldn’t place, a cocktail of questions which only yielded more questions. It was going to the light at the end of the tunnel except for the fact that there was no light at the end and it’s as if there was no tunnel, either. It’s like this didn’t exist, they didn’t exist. They were in the transition of two different realities.

Tap, tap, tap, tap.

Was it lonely? He had his friends with him, but was it right to feel this way? Feather was a rudimentary spacecraft going through interstellar space, a sojourner lost amongst a void devoid of stars. The illumination of heaven was not visible here: no planets, no galaxies, no entity in this desolate universe that was going to save him now. He had only the abyss for company, and it somehow felt more lonely than being lonely.

Tap, tap, tap.

It was light. Somehow, there was light at the end of the tunnel. It appeared, a small but strong dot in the distance. It was both far and close, right at his grasp yet requiring all this effort to come close to it. The exit was approaching—or rather, the entranceway to whatever laid on the other side.

Feather was wordless as his rhythmic saunter turned into a full on gallop. It didn’t take long for it to turn into a full on sprint. He couldn’t make out the details of the light from the distance, but as Feather neared the ethereal glow, he finally basked in its ethereal presence.

When he readjusted from the bright white that overflowed his senses, Feather’s eyes fell on the great city on the lake, the city of kings, the city of Tlekokalli.

Act III, Chapter XXIV

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“I never thought I’d see something so beautiful.”

The lake shone of a million jewels laid across the landscape—turning, twisting. It glittered and sparkled. There floated clouds that surrounded the body of water vaguely, as if a force existed to prevent them from crossing the shoreline, allowing one to truly appreciate the sky day and night.

The residents of Tlekokalli must’ve loved to watch the sun rise in the east every morning and the moon rise when night came. Clear skies reflected their sentiments despite them being a long gone people.

Long gone. The epiphany hit him as he gazed on. It was a magnificent place, a city of islands that laid in the center of the lake—bountiful. Despite this, it seemed dead. Tlekokalli wasn’t alive. Feather knew he couldn’t make out anypony down there had there actually been somepony to spot, but it’s clear this city’s glory days have ended eons ago.

“It’s so... big,” he heard River reply to Twilight when she’d said those solemn words. It was true. Tlekokalli, from even this distance, seemed utterly gargantuan in size. He could even spot some hills that were on some of the larger islands; fuzzy outlines of buildings that peppered the inclines.

It’s like this was a dream. It was the city of one’s wildest imagination. Tlekokalli, even from here, was the harbinger of one’s humbling. Feather sensed within himself that he was small, that he was only part of something much grander and much more monumental than any individual could ever hope to be. Despite him gazing down at the city, Feather felt like it was staring down at him.

The three stood on the rolling hills; as Feather’s eyes cast downwards, his eyes fell on a causeway aligned perfectly to the tunnel they’d just left. His eyes followed said causeway until the details became fuzzy—beyond his vision. Feather felt his heart race by the second as he blinked once more to make sure he wasn’t high from Ohteotl.

“It’s real,” Feather said, amazement in his voice, a breathlessness obvious. “It’s right in front of us, and it’s true. Tlekokalli, the city of kings. The legend is true.”

When he regarded his peers, they too looked at him with the exact same, unwavering expression. Hope. An enlightenment. A feeling of solemn pride and melancholy that surely even the wind realized.

It seemed to usher them, for the breeze came with an abundance of forest leaves, tumbling and rolling down the slope to eventually fade away from view, possibly hitting the water that bordered the shoreline of the great lake.

“Let’s go,” Feather uttered softly, more to himself if he was frank. Readjusting Twilight’s saddlebag from his little run, the pegasus tentatively stepped and began to descend the incline to meet with one of the causeways.

As he neared the shoreline, Feather noted how there stood four major causeways—including the one he would eventually reach—that separated the city and therefore the lake into four quadrants, smaller causeways reaching other islands that weren’t part of the main group at the lake’s center.

Beyond Feather were buildings too many for him to count, seeming endless. Some were positioned in neat rows and grids, some were misaligned, a few were outright removed, as if the home of upper class families, standing on their own untethered from the majority.

Littered about was debris and exposed hulls of decomposing ships by the shoreline and port islands that spread across the lake, their masts rotten away, a former shell of their past selves. Of their past people.

“It’s a ghost town,” River mentioned from his side. They finally stopped before the causeway entrance, a large arch and steps signifying they were indeed entering a place of great grandeur. Despite hundreds of years of decay, Tlekokalli brought out a feeling amongst first time visitors much the same way it did in its heyday.

Feather tentatively stepped on the steps climbed them, finding himself on the causeway.

It was way larger than he thought it would be: the only creatures that couldn’t fit through these walkways were Ursa Majors, large dragons. The ground was firm and beige, the edges lined with trees and grass that neatly met with the sand, intermingling with calm waters.

Feather turned to find the two mares fascinated with their surroundings, though he knew this was only the beginning; they hadn't entered the city proper yet.

They trodden until they found a bridge that connected another segment of the causeway. As he observed ahead, the way would continue on like this: intervals of wooden bridges that momentarily separated permanently grounded causeways.

“Bridges for boats to come through,” Twilight quickly noted. Feather heard the click of his camera behind him; he prayed he had enough film for her, although he sickly felt they’d be finished before they finished crossing the causeway. “They would lift them up if a boat needed to cross.”

“Speaking of boats, look over there.” River pointed a hoof out into the water. Feather and Twilight gazed to where she pointed, under a beating sun.

It was one of those islands Feather spotted a while ago, detached from any bridges or causeways of the sort, far removed from Tlekokalli’s center. It was an interesting sight, a small boat moored on the shore, seemingly more intact than the ones they’ve seen. A structure rested on the island; the epiphany of what it was hit Feather harder than he thought it would.

That structure was a house. It was a home: a white walled, red roofed building which stood quietly amongst slowly moving waves. The home was both lonely yet fulfilled, understanding but distant. As Feather squinted at the seemingly overrun garden the island contained, he wondered who this pony was, who owned that home, who had lived in that place. They must have been nice people.

“It was like they never even left,” Twilight noted, snapping a photo and taking hold of the film. She then stared back at the island with a certain melancholy he most certainly agreed with.

The three continued forwards, encountering a few more wooden bridges before arriving at a fork on the causeway: straight ahead would lead to Tlekokalli, and to the right would lead to a port filled with old vessels and torn up ship parts.

“Do you guys think we can take a little detour?” Twilight pleaded to Feather in particular, as if he was the leader of this whole operation.

He shrugged. “If you don’t take long. Knock yourself out. Except don’t, actually.”

They quickly arrived at the island port, the wood rotten and old under their hooves; Feather hovered in the air to keep his hooves clean. He surprised himself. This was the first time he flew in weeks.

He watched Twilight observe the few vessels still moored on to the piers, laughing quietly as River pulled her back from getting any closer to them, at one point even slapping her hoof away from touching an ancient craft, like a mother shooing away a child from touching a valuable painting at a museum. Feather was glad River was being mindful, for Twilight had little of that whenever she was presented with an opportunity to learn—ironically.

The vessels puzzled his mind. They were not so different from the wooden craft of today, but there was more to them that met the uninterested eye. Feather spotted peculiar features that made each ship unique: decorative fins of fish attached to the one nearest to him, another having a sculpture of a peacock as its bow; one vessel even had three hulls, flora and fauna carved intricately on any available surface. If there was one thing the people of Tlekokalli had, it was most definitely artisans and engineers.

“I’m glad you kept her at bay,” Feather said to River Moon when they both joined him, lauding her for doing so most especially with Twilight Sparkle.

“Nice pun. And yeah, I was right, she really is like a filly at a candy store.”

“I’m not!” Twilight protested by shuffling her hooves. “I’m just... lost city... a lost civilization...”

“Save it for when we actually get there,” River both quipped and consoled, pointing at the much larger cluster of islands looming in the distance. “Think of the number of untouched articles, artifacts, and treasures that are literally laying there as we speak.”

Twilight’s wings twitched a little.

“Hey, now”—Feather pressed a hoof on her withers lest she dared take off at that very moment. “We don’t need to be so hasty now, right?” Despite Crystal Jade waiting for them, Feather knew somepony here had to be reasonable. “Who knows what kinds of things—hopefully no dangerous ones—might be there? We have to stick together, okay?”

Twilight folded her wings properly and offered him a sheepish smile. “Sorry. This is just an opportunity of a lifetime, you know? It’s not everyday that one finds themselves in what’s practically an ancient-but-advanced breakaway civilization.”

“Aww, she’s using conspiracy terms,” River said smugly, smiling devilishly at the other. They were like an angel and devil indeed—different sides of the same coin.

Rolling her eyes, Twilight walked past the pair and ushered them with a glance. “Let’s just get going, shall we?”

Arising no more arguments, the three walked back to the causeway’s fork and continued their saunter to the city center. Feather didn’t know if he could even consider their walk a saunter, though, for while they did indeed move slowly, it was anything but relaxed.

There now bubbled tension in the air—it was palpable. The three were approaching the city itself; no shortcuts, no detours, no nonsense. The silence of no birds made it more uncomfortable. Feather was only ever hit with the epiphany, and the more he thought about it, the more it seemingly came true.

There were no animals here, not a single one.

There flew no birds that chirped, whistled songs, darted happily in the air. There were no insects that made strange noises. Feather didn’t even see any fishes or freshwater dolphins in the lake; it’s as if the water was anoxic in nature, devoid of oxygen and therefore devoid of life.

Devoid of life. Those were the right words. This place was outright devoid of life itself. To think this place once had ponies that meandered about and lived made the contrast even more depressing. Feather and his friends were only on a causeway, for Celestia’s sake, but even he could feel the emptiness that came forth from the city like a beacon of hopelessness and despair.

Once this city was alive. Once there cruised mighty ships along this great lake; once ponies strolled these causeways much like they did; once things moved. All that was left was a husk of its former glory, an empty shell of a once proud people.

Feather felt the chill of a non-existent breeze as Tlekokalli’s first buildings approached them—or rather they were approaching it. The structures were stationary, abandoned and aimless. Despite that, they still displayed a beauty he didn’t truly understand.

Perhaps that beauty was not understood because it came from another time, yet despite centuries of obfuscation, beauty could penetrate and reach one in ways they didn’t know, like a romantic language one knew not of but found attractive.

There Feather and his companions stood in front of a large arch with words he could not decipher, a dialect unbeknownst to him and possibly to the modern world, too. If he had to guess, it said: “Tlekokalli, City of Kings.”

“In Tlekokalli, the heart rules all,” Twilight uttered from his side. Feather turned to see her horn lit up—a translation spell. They glanced amongst themselves, contemplating deeply her words. They were the first words spoken in this place perhaps for a thousand years.

In Tlekokalli, the heart rules all. Feather didn’t know whether that was figurative or literal. It brought him great hope if its creator meant the former, a saying that stood the test of time. The other, not so much.

“Let’s just hope they weren’t thinking about sacrifice while making that,” Feather dryly stated, pointing at the symbols on the arc. They nodded in meek concurrence. Feather took his hooves off the causeway, crossing the final bridge, and passing under the arch to finally reach one of Tlekokalli’s main roads.

It was technically wider than the causeway he was just on, the pathway branching to two, what seemed to be floating gardens running across the center. Feather peeked at them, seeing how the plants have either overgrown or died out completely, leaving uneven patches of flourishing flora to murky water devoid of any growth at all.

He took his mind off that and continued to walk, comforted by the sounds of his friends behind him, now amongst the buildings and structures left behind. Abandoned and lonely.

Each was slightly different in design and shape, a relief to the boring nature of monotone villages that had sterile evenness, though one thing was most definitely constant: they rotted. Some had exposed roofs, all had their paints and surfaces faded from the test of time, several seemed to be knocked down completely—the ones nearer to the water and therefore exposed to the waves. Feather guessed even these calm waves over generations had the ability to topple sturdy structures.

This section he now strode through had a uniformity to it despite the aged wear and tear brought by nature; other than a few buildings which seemingly jutted out, the rest were arranged in rows and columns, some small, some large, an eccentric board game that spanned miles upon miles.

And those rows and columns were canals and waterways: some narrow, some almost as wide as the buildings themselves. There stared many bridges back at Feather whenever he peeked along the lengths of the waterways; he could see some decaying boats and bits, pieces that made them up protruding from little platforms and steps much like those found in La Orilla.

Feather truly got to appreciate how large this city was when he peeked at those waterways. Up there—where they once were in the hills—he could see it all in its monstrous proportions, but to be amongst the structures of old and grand tickled a part of his brain that made him wonder if someone else was in this ghost town with them, a wandering soul lurking in the static noise of waves and building’s shadows, silently observing.

There’s somepony else in this ghost town, or rather there’s somepony that needs saving that’s waiting for us.

The question was where? Where could they start in such a place like this?

“Where do we go?” Feather turned to face his two friends. “I honestly... I was so concerned with whether this city was real or not and actually finding it that now I don’t know what to do.” He sounded sadder than he anticipated, his words somehow echoing through expanses of Tlekokalli’s canals.

River Moon returned the opposite of his expression: a hopeful smile. “Now we look around and find her,” she said rather simply. “We’ve found Tlekokalli, now it’s time for the last but probably hardest part of our journey: actually finding Jade and bringing her back.”

“River’s right, Feather,” Twilight added, “I feel like this’ll take much longer than we thought now that we’ve seen how large this place really is”—she gazed at the buildings around them—“and the absolute state of despair it’s in.”

He nodded, slapping himself back to his senses. “Yes, I understand. We can just go down this path and see if we find anything interesting.” The three agreed and continued their way, Feather occasionally hearing the snap of his camera, Twilight now ahead of him and River by his side.

It seemed she wanted to have a bit of small talk. “You know, I wonder how she’s going to take this all in.”

Feather regarded her with a preemptive ponder in his expression. “Whatever do you mean?”

River made a rolling motion with her hooves, as if that was going to help him understand what she’s trying to get at. “You know... when we save her and all! What does that do to an individual? When we bring her out of her prison, she’s not going to return to the world she once knew.”

He paused and thought. “I understand that. I was thinking about that before, about how she’ll return to a world that isn’t hers, a world she didn’t come from.”

She regarded facades around them as they continued their saunter. “To come back to your home looking like this,” she stated rather somberly. “I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.”

It was a sentiment he shared, too. Feather tried to wrap his head around the idea he was to come back to Manehattan as a waste town, an abandoned metropolis of cracked asphalt and deranged skyscrapers, townhouses.

He could imagine what it looked like—there were many post-apocalyptic films that involved his city too many times to count—but Feather wondered what it’d feel like.

It was now strange to stroll through these buildings, and Feather knew that ponies inhabited them. Real ponies, real people, and they were going to save one, too. The prospect of coming across Crystal Jade’s home without even knowing it sent a tinge down Feather’s hooves.

“I’d like to bring her to the museum,” Feather said suddenly, not thinking of his words. “The Manehattan Museum of Art.”

She stared with a surprised but contemplative expression. “Really? You’d like to take her there?”

“Yes. And show her around. I’ve been to the museum many times.” Feather sighed dreamily. “I even told her about one of my favorite pieces there. And she told me about her favorite piece of artwork, too, a relief of a mare cradling a dying stallion.” He felt a non-existent breeze once again. “Huh, I wonder if that’s still around; maybe we can find it for her.”

“That sounds like a nice thing you want to do, Feather.” River seemed quite pleased. “I’m assuming that’s from back at the Ohteotl retreat?”

“Yes. It was one of the first things I talked to her about. An opening cue, so to speak. I just... wanted to talk to her. About anything. It was a place to start, I guess.” A moment persisted without the two talking, for they didn’t need that for a while.

River smiled. “Thanks for telling me that.”

His hoofsteps faltered slightly. Feather regarded her, confused. “Why would you thank me?”

“Because you tried for her,” River pointed out, “and you’re still trying. You don’t stop. Not truly. A bite from a black panther and you’re up and about, finding this place? That takes a lot just to imagine. All for a little dream.”

“Finding her is a big dream,” Feather replied.

“I never said finding her was a little dream,” she said. “The little dream is even just one glance at her. The real her, by your side. We may think of that being a big dream also, but if you think about it, that’s the least you could do. I have a feeling that little dream alone is enough to motivate you.”

He was silent. Then he chuckled. “I suppose you’re right.

“And thank you, River. Really. We’re here, after all this time. You’ve been by my side every step of the way.”

Feather expected a snarky jest from her at least, then sincere words, though only the latter came. “You gave me an opportunity to be a part of your story,” she said, “and to be on my own. I honestly don’t know what else to say.”

Her face split into a smile, and he couldn’t help but smile back. Perhaps that was enough.

“Hey, guys, check this out!” Twilight’s voice came from around the corner. The two regarded each other with a glance and made their way to join her.

“Woah!” River and Feather stared at a rather wide canal, a bridge nearby connecting the ground they stood on to another platform which floated above the water, rectangular in shape. Twilight waved back at them from the other side rather gleefully.

“It’s a floating garden!” she exclaimed. “Literally!”

As Feather observed it from a distance, he found her observation seemingly correct. The structure was wide, almost encompassing the entire perimeter of the floating platform, layered into three steps like a massive tiered cake. Bridges connected the platform to the main road and other islands and pathways.

River tapped a hoof on her cheek. “How’d they manage to do that...?”

Feather put a hoof on the bridge and began to cross, glancing back to regard her. “I’m not so sure about that myself. Come, let's go.”

Joining Twilight, Feather observed closely the architecture and overgrown flora. He had one word to describe it: palatial. Despite Canterlot Castle standing obviously more impressively, this held a grandeur of its own with engraved walls, arches and statues strategically placed, some unfortunately having been destroyed or damaged beyond recognition.

“I didn’t expect statues to be here,” River mentioned, as if reading his mind. “Seems rather posh, although to be fair I don’t really know what this place is.”

Twilight had that look when she was about to explain a subject matter in great detail. “This seems to be a public garden. Meso-Equestrians had a deep affinity with nature; that’s where they find their deities and religion from. It would make sense for them to bring a little piece of that here since we’re in the middle of a lake.”

River eyed one of the statues, a jaguar. “And the statues?”

The alicorn shrugged. “They also had an affinity with art. They liked to craft statues of people, symbols, and objects. It’s interesting to see this combination of the two: both nature and art, together.”

Feather nodded. “That’s a nice way to put it, Twi. Have you gone and looked around?”

She toothily grinned and produced his camera from her side, also showing him film upon film. He rolled his eyes as she merely shrugged and said, “What? I only took a dozen!”

You’re going to get me bankrupt from film is what’s gonna happen, Feather thought under his sneer. “Whatever. I’d like to go around, actually.” Piqued interest replaced his sassy attitude, eyes scanning a row of statues that lined the structure’s perimeter.

“I’ll join you. River! Feather and I are going to have one look around!”

“Sounds good!” She seemed to disappear in the building itself. “I’ll meet you guys at some point inside!”

With that, Twilight became the unofficial tour guide of this impromptu tour, despite the fact they were in the same boat: both outsiders who knew very little of this place they delved deep in, like a snark that was brought into an environment unbeknownst and foreign.

She showed him statues of animals, gods, royals and the elite of society, grand armour and robes depicted alongside them. Reaching inside, Twilight showed him the plants that bloomed from the ground to the walls, flowing down like gentle manes.

Then they found themselves in the courtyard, the sun shining on them in almost perfect, unwavering radiance, aligned with the open ceiling. Feather knew the architects knew what they were doing as he felt warmth hit his cheeks.

The sky above them had a stillness that assured Feather the protection of this city, despite the rotting and deterioration he’d seen. If it were any other city they found, this would’ve been nothing more than mere rubble and smithereens. This was different though; the sky was picture perfect, not a single storm arriving these past thousand years.

Laid on one side was a miniature cliff, overgrown plants and weeds atop. This seemed to be the remnants of a five foot tall waterfall, evidence of the river that flowed from it still visible after all these centuries. The water would have reached a tree which stood facing the little cliff on the other side of the courtyard. It brought Feather a sadness when he realized it was dead, the tree’s spindling branches dull and fragile.

What he found interesting was what laid behind the deceased tree, a bas relief that dominated the wall, almost three stories tall. When Feather studied the sculpted surface, a part of his brain tickled him, an uneasiness he couldn’t understand.

Then a part of his brain clicked, and now that he’d been made aware, he couldn’t look away, unsee what he’d seen. It was like when one became conscious for the first time—one cannot gain knowledge without also gaining great pain.

“Feather, what’s wrong?” Twilight regarded him with concern when he didn’t respond.

“I recognize this relief,” he hushedly stated.

“How do you know-”

“She told me about it.” Feather turned to properly acknowledge her. “She told me about it. All the way back when I was at the Ohteotl retreat. I told her about art and my favorite pieces; she told me mine”—he pointed at the wall—“that’s it. That’s what she talked about.”

Twilight’s eyes went wild when she seemed to process his words. “I... really?”

“Hey, what’s going on here?” The two turned to find River raising a brow at them expectantly. Feather only silently pointed at the relief; it took a while for her to get, but he instantly recognized when she changed her expression: wide eyed, a bit scared.

“No way. I... that’s what she told you!” River seemed both excited yet somehow horrified at the same time. It was an existential dread, a realization that crossed two different worlds together in a single moment.

Jade had been here. At one point in time, at one point in existence, Jade had been here, standing, breathing, with other ponies as well. It was simple to wrap his mind around, but simple did not equal easy, and Feather found it difficult to comprehend the fact she’d once stood here, in this place, most likely observing the sculpted surface much the same way they did right now.

“Where we stand was where she once stood,” he poignantly stated, not sure if he regarded himself or the others. Feather tried to say something, but the only thing that escaped his lips was a small chuckle.

He never felt closer to Jade than at that moment right now. This touch was real, it was palpable to not only his reality but in this one too, the physical world. Feather brushed the floor under his hooves. It was as if a part of her soul was left here, and although that part couldn’t speak, it ushered him. Called him. A shard of a ghost greeting a simple hello, for what shock they must’ve felt would’ve rendered their vocabulary breathless.

It felt like being on Ohteotl again—he was most definitely brought back to it. Feather felt a connection, an intangible string interfacing an intangible universe, reality beyond his physical self, beyond this world. When he felt the ground, that was the physical proof, the tangible mingling with the intangible.

An exhale escaped Feather’s lips.

“I don’t mean to interrupt, but we should keep going; shall we?” Feather blinked and snapped from his daze when he heard Twilight’s words.

“Um, yeah, sorry about that.” He sheepishly rubbed the back of his head. “Let’s, erm, head out.”

Twilight offering a smile and River patting his back, the three left the courtyard—the alicorn having taken pictures—to depart from the floating garden, Feather taking one last glance at the relief. He swore the two figures stared right at him when he’d done so.

“That was a crazy thing that just happened,” River mentioned as they continued trodding down the main road, slower than before they found the floating gardens. “Who knows what other secrets this place hides?”

“And we won’t get to uncover all of them,” Twilight admitted, disappointment biting under her tone. “We’re here to save Crystal Jade first and foremost, and even if we’re here to uncover this city as our top priority, it would take years for entire teams to sweep through a place of this size. Not to mention the canal systems and the logistics of Tlekokalli’s isolation and-”

“I think we get the idea, Twi,” River shot down rather gently—as gently as she could.

“And leaving a place like this untampered would show it a sign of respect, am I right?” Feather added insult to injury, though he meant not to be mean.

She only nodded in regained cognizance. “You were always the reasonable one, Feather. It frankly irritates me at times, but that goes to prove that sometimes I’m the unreasonable one.”

Feather only laughed. “I’ll keep doing that, thanks.”

He found it flattering she would say that, but Feather liked to think it as true, as something he could be proud of. Feather made mistakes—a lot of them—but he would always try his best to pursue reason rather than looking to fight ponies and their ideals.

The wind. Once it was non-existent, and now it truly returned. It laved him comfortably, somehow reaching from trees of the lake edge whence they came. It was the harbinger of harbingers, the weave that connected all on this planet together. When the wind came, something was bound to happen.

“Um... guys, what is that thing?” River pointed a nervous hoof; when Feather followed it, he too plastered the same expression of disbelief he and Twilight must’ve for sure shared in that moment of apparent shock.

Feather thought the floating gardens were impressive, but that was nothing compared to what laid before his eyes. Hung like chandeliers from the ceiling that was the sky, numerous islands floated above the city square. And the city square seemed to go on forever, but what stole his attention were the islands themselves: some large and some small, floating at various altitudes, steps suspended in air from the ground to reach them.

The crème de la crème was the largest island of all, positioned perfectly in the middle of the square and therefore Tlekokalli itself. On that island laid partly hidden a structure, unclear from where Feather stood.

Stone and dirt hung from the bottom of that slice of Equus, relatively tiny yet gargantuan still, a waterfall tumbling to reach a pond just beneath. It was in a garden, and circling that garden were statues, daunting. They waited, but looked not.

“What were these guys on when they made this...?” River’s words drifted as her eyes darted around the heavens in contemplative revelation.

“They were on Ohteotl, that’s for sure.” Feather kept Twilight from running away by wrapping a wing around her, making a “no, no” motion with his head. He understood her curiosity, though, for even he couldn’t help but stare at the archipelagos anchored to the sky.

Finally letting go of the impatient alicorn, River Moon led the way to the gardens. It seemed open to all, but a strange air emanated from its center. Gaps were between the equidistant statues, allowing them to enter quietly and thoughtfully.

“These are all statues of deities,” Twilight commented, taking out his camera once again and snapping a photo. They faced inwards to the pond, unfazed but not uncaring, holding at their sides dazzling weapons of holy wars.

“And the waterfall still works in this one,” River added, looking up to see water beating down from an indiscernible source at the top, though the liquid was uneven at certain areas and completely void at others.

Feather’s eyes glanced at the pond, somehow the water still being clear enough for him to see his reflection. When he stared back, he felt a part of himself from before had been completely changed, a metamorphosis that would leave one looking back at what they’d done with a knowledge only old men knew.

When I looked back at myself in Bocoltá, I made note of how I almost looked like my past self, before the Ohteotl, before meeting River and Jade. I knew that that was all going to change, that my life would not be the same after this. He only gave himself a poignant expression. Where will I be when I look back at my reflection again?

“Feather! Look at this!” He suddenly turned to see Twilight stepping back and forth—rather stupidly, in retrospect—on one of those levitating steps, this one leading to the central island right above him. River Moon stood right at the foot of it, grimacing and nervously taking her hoof on and off the first step in meek hesitation.

River screamed expletives too much for even the mouths of the dirtiest sailors when Twilight spread her wings and flew up to the isle. She shot out a hoof, as if that was going to help her reach the alicorn now out of view.

Deciding to help his poor friend, Feather hastily left the garden and walked over to her, glancing up the steps that wound the borders of the perimeter of the island, wide but short in their form, gaps in between.

“Can you... please?” She gave an embarrassed smile.

Feather needn’t more as he wrapped a wing around her, ushering River to take her first few steps. Carefully, they began to advance. Feather could tell she was still nervous from the way her breathing harshened, River’s heart seemingly beating out of her chest.

“They can make a city on water and floating islands but not hoof rails?!” the mare uttered under her breath, damning the creators of these very steps and the one who found fit that there was no problem with not having a pair of them on either side.

“Maybe they weren’t afraid of heights. And besides, didn’t you climb a tree when we first met?”

River glanced at him as if he were a moron. “That’s different! That was on a tree, and in retrospect, seemed kind of funny. This is totally different; Celestia knows how they made stairs like these! And what’s up there!”

Feather found her right; they also had no idea what they were going to find once they reached the island itself. He wondered what kinds of things laid above them, secret treasures. The pegasus’ thoughts were broken as River occasionally eeped! when the slightest gust of wind arrived to toy with them.

Reaching stable ground at last—River escaping his embrace and sheepishly blushing —Feather made out his new surroundings unclear from below.

What he found was uncanny but just as oddly comforting: a grassy slope with the peak in the middle of the island, a path forged from pebbles leading a windy path up to a structure obscured by flora.

There was a lot of that, the flora. It was rather heavenly, an oasis pinned to the sky, lofty—a floating garden that was filled to the brim and teeming with life. It was a stark contrast.

When Feather saw from here the abandoned husk that was Tlekokalli, it was an unmoving corpse. Up here was to be a little closer to the majesty of the cosmos, a little slice of nature that somehow made it unscathed from the destruction that laid siege to the civilization below.

River and Feather trodden the perimeter of the island to gaze out into the distance—River staying well away from the edges—grasping the expanse of islands and water that laid out before them. As he quietly observed and admired the view, a part of Feather’s brain clicked that brought him great confusion.

“Hold on,” he started, “didn’t the legend say there was a pyramid she was sacrificed on?” Feather took one last glance at the city remnants. “I don’t see a pyramid. Any pyramids.”

“Me neither.” River peered harder. “You'd think they’d make a large pyramid like the one back in La Orilla. If they can make structures like those, then where’s the pyramid the legend went on about?”

“Guys, you might want to take a look at this.” It was Twilight’s voice from a tad far away, but something was off with her tone. It didn’t have the usual cheer it had, the usual curiosity so associated with the bookworm.

Glancing at each other, Feather and River abandoned their spot and trotted up the pebble path. They found Twilight in front of the peculiar structure, albeit it didn’t seem to be the pyramid the legend spoke of—not to Feather, at least. Out of all the buildings he’d laid his eyes on, this seemed to be the most pristine, the most untouched. It was old, but looked to be made yesterday.

“What is this?” River paced to and fro on the steps of the structure, trying to find any clue as to what it may be. Feather observed the building’s facade, though the more he did, the more he knew not of this place’s true purpose.

“A place of worship, most likely.” Twilight walked to meet with River. “But even I have my doubts. I didn’t want to go in there without the two of you. There’s something... wrong about this place.”

River raised a brow at her, although it wore off as she stared into the entrances of the mysterious building: three rectangular openings abreast each other, the left and right smaller than the one at the center. When Feather peered into the darkness that settled before him, he wondered if some monster would come out and bring destruction to the world foretold in a blazing prophecy.

“Now that you mention it, it does look pretty ominous.” River shuffled her hooves together in meek unease.

That unease was shared by him, too, a lingering feeling, a harbinger’s silence before they shared secrets and tales so extraordinary it would make the sun rise from the west. Somehow, behind the veil of those thresholds, there were things that were larger than life, things that would change everything forever.

“Twilight, you can use your illumination spell here, right?” When she confirmed this by lighting her horn, he regarded both Twilight and River, saying, “I feel like this is it. There are no other pyramids that can be seen from up here from what River and I observed. This is the place the legend talked about, the place where she was sacrificed.” The wind was hollow and bitter when it came, echoing inside the structure’s hollow chambers, a whisper from the dead.

Twilight by his side and River behind him, the three crossed the central entranceway to find themselves in a hollow chamber, walls made of varying sized bricks purple under the alicorn’s light. The sunlight entered the room too cleanly, three streaks of slanted light reaching the ancient floor.

Feather didn’t notice any staircase or pathway that led to the top of the structure. It caught him off guard at first, though that wasn’t what made his heart skip a beat, halting any premonitions he may have once had.

What did make his heart skip a beat was a massive hole on the ground, intricate carvings of patterns and skulls wrapping its perimeter save for a small slice, bare and untouched. When Twilight neared it, her illumination allowing Feather to see more clearly, he understood why that was the case.

It was a clearing for a descending staircase, the sterile air and darkness continuing down, and down, and down...

The three ponies worriedly glanced at each other in this newfound moment of worry. Gazing down again to the abyss most certainly didn’t help, either; if they wanted to know and see what laid before them, then there was only one way to do that.

“I thought it said she was sacrificed on top of the pyramid, now below.” River regarded the entrance with uncertainty, a mistrust gracing her grimace and words.

Feather asked when he heard River mention that, “Twi, have you seen any sort of passageway for somepony to reach the top of this structure?”

She shook her head disappointedly. “No, Feather. I... it doesn’t make any sense. Both of you said you didn’t see any pyramids from up here, right?” They nodded. “And there’s also no way this was the pyramid she was sacrificed on; there’s no indication of a staircase or anything of the sort. So where is that pyramid?”

She confirmed his suspicions. There was no way up this thing other than flying. It seemed that this construction wasn’t meant to be peaked, wasn’t meant to have its summit accessed. That only meant one thing.

Feather had a funny feeling, a funny feeling that yearned to him, toying. He couldn’t come to terms with it, but the more he tried not to convince himself, the more he was convinced with the idea, a notion that didn’t stop tickling a part of his psyche.

“Let’s go down these steps.”

The two grimaced at him as if he were crazy. “Erm...” “Feather, why...”

He sighed at their hesitation. “Look, we have nowhere else to look. If there’s one place that’s important to these people, it’s going to be here, in the largest island that’s in the literal center of Tlekokalli.”

Feather regarded the mute abyss for a moment. “You said it yourself, Twilight, that myths and legends blur overtime; this might be one of those times. And besides, isn't this why we're here? To look for her?”

The two mares gazed down the steps, gulping. “I don’t see why not,” River tried to rationalize, “I mean, it’s not like there’s anypony... down there; this place seems to be utterly deserted, after all.”

“And I have my light and magic,” Twilight added, making her horn glow just a tad brighter.

Nodding, Feather tentatively exhaled before setting a hoof on the first step, glancing back one last time before he began a slow gait, Twilight’s light from behind guiding the way.

The dark. It was suffocating. The air most certainly was—it was sterile and aged in the hundreds of years—but the darkness somehow aided that feeling of claustrophobia.

Even with the aid of Twilight’s illumination, Feather started to see things, phantoms that moved and dodged whenever he caught a glimpse of them. Escaping him, just to taunt, like he was meek prey in the deepest of seas.

Feather’s heart beat faster with every step he took. How many did he take? Ten? Fifty? A hundred? He couldn’t find the words. Yet he had to keep going.

Was this staircase a pathway to hell? It went deeper than he thought it would; the steps went for on longer than the island was tall. How was that possible? Feather didn’t even pause or falter.

The tingle in his hooves, Feather could barely bear—a feeling of gripping anxiety. As much as he wanted to stop, he didn’t; he wasn’t even thinking of it, his hooves like a factory machine working without end.

Feather felt like he was digging deeper into his grave, a dusty abode for his corpse for the rest of time. And yet as the tension rose in the air, the instinct to turn back rummaging inside of him, he kept going.

Until he stopped.

It was a small and dingy room, glowing purple that reached the walls and ceilings. Except that the purple glow did not come from Twilight’s horn. No, this light came from a portal that stood squarely at the end, waiting.

The swirls, they were hypnotizing, wisps flowing into themselves, appearing and disappearing, created and destroyed in their elusiveness. It was like when one threw a rock at a pond to disrupt the peace of the water, except the waves of this portal never truly ceased, never truly died. Feather swore he could see stars in the nightly tapestry.

“The gateway to gateways shall be crossed whether you are ready or not.”

Feather turned to Twilight, her illumination spell gone to be replaced with what seemed to be her translation spell. She gazed at a stone plaque on a wall. “The gateway to gateways shall be crossed whether you are ready or not.”

“A gateway to the next life,” Feather simply stated, regarding the portal. He gave it a poignant smile. “Gateway of gateways... There... This is really a gateway to another dimension, a place removed from this realm.” It wasn’t a question.

Feather watched the portal with a tilted head, a pause creeping into his soul. Was this the portal the legend spoke of, a literal, physical gateway that led to another place? “On the other side... Jade was here. She’s on the other side.”

The two mares were silent, a heavy blow of an epiphany he had thrust upon them, thrust upon himself.

“I suppose it doesn’t matter if we’re ready or not,” Feather said, glancing at the plaque. He still hadn’t turned to his friends. “But I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. I have to.” Then Feather observed their pairs of eyes, and behind them persisted beautiful desolation. “You don’t have to come with me. I can go on. I can do this if you don’t want to.”

Nothing. There was no response. No show of determination, no show of backing out, not even a simple raise or lower of lips. Feather and his companions were frozen in time in front of the portal to another dimension, the gateway that led to where all souls departed to.

River Moon took his hoof. Her eyes were softly ablaze with hope. “I’ve been by your side every step of the way. That’s not going to change.”

Twilight also set her hoof on theirs, and they were complete. “I promised to help you, and I’ve done that. But I want to help her, too. Not only try, but do.”

Feather wrapped his wings around them, nestled in the middle, and returned comforting glances. These three friends walked through the portal, spirits daunted and determined. They were in another place now, and one would assume they passed away without a trace of their existence in this reality.

Act III, Chapter XXV

View Online

Was it real?

This place, this feeling, it was unfamiliar. It was uncanny. There was something wrong with the way Feather existed, the way his atoms vibrated and the way his mind thought—neurons firing and sending electrical signals in his head. That was consciousness. It knew that it was.

It was an affront to any creator that may or may not exist. It was an affront to experience itself. Glancing around only to be met with the drab colors of a dingy, ancient interior devoid of sunlight, Feather could only be disgusted. This was like being in prison—staring idly at an odd wall, devoid of hope.

“Where are we?” River Moon’s voice was soft, still tucked under Feather’s wing.

For a moment, only the silence of skulls replied back.

“I think we’re in some sort of... sacrificial chamber or crypt of some kind.” Twilight didn’t make a reach for her camera; they would clearly remember the visages of a hundred dead husks staring back at them. On the walls stood racks which displayed skulls and bones, undaunting and unmoving. Feather found it horrifying they came in all shapes and sizes.

“I... let’s get out of here.” Feather motioned to a staircase that awaited ahead him and his friends, a pair of torches guarding either side of the entrance with a seemingly undying flame. It was a tragic irony: the torches illuminated a blue glow, a peaceful fire that didn’t make so much as even a crackle.

Feather let go of his companions, although he did miss their touch as he glanced at a stone slab at the center, carvings worn and broken around its surfaces. It disturbed him, dried up liquid that soaked the slab’s sides. Feather did not want to know what kinds of horrors occurred in this very room.

Shuffling around the ominous stone slab and finding themselves climbing the staircase, Feather and his friends began what would be their ascent to whatever laid above. Feather knew not what that was, but he was sure that light returned when he glanced beyond him, towards the end of the upwards tunnel—an unsure hero of this desolation.

Light. It was back. Somehow, when they needed it the most, it returned. When they’d gone down the staircase to meet the portal, they had been encapsulated in darkness. When they ascended this staircase to meet unknown mysteries, from the distance shone dimly a cold illumination.

Was that what he thought it was, the saying of climbing heaven’s steps to reach the light of paradise at last? What only replied were intervals of hoofsteps as they neared it. Then at last they basked in the icy, unfamiliar light.

And it was not like heaven’s.

That unknown mystery was a despondent dimension, the byproduct of the apocalypse, the end of all things. It was not only dead, but had been killed. Time ceased here.

Feather imagined the apocalypse full of fiery red, but that wasn’t the case. The sky, it was a blue so deep it must’ve been the original, the only, the source whence all other colors came, for the richness in its tone was the greatest he’d ever seen: a light azure coming from below the celestial dome to fade into the navy that capped it.

What indeed glowed red was the vibrance of a moon. The heavenly object bled, illuminating a crimson that spread like waves, causing expanses of space surrounding it to glow bloodshot. It was one of many lights that graced the cosmos; much like how stars radiate warmth along with their illumination, this moon seemed to do the opposite: impart a cold that could be felt as one neared.

Feather could stare into the distance easily because they stood on a floating island, a piece of land that floated harmoniously through the vastness of space-time. It was a vessel that seemingly had no precise destination. Combining heaven’s glow and the silence of this isolated isle, it stirred acceptance in his soul. In plain view, this place’s only purpose was to be.

Not exactly. That wasn’t necessarily true because Feather spotted something too in the distance that answered his past inquiries.

A pyramid of daunting proportions. Dominating. Commandeering.

This was imposing, much larger in breadth and height than La Orilla’s one; it was merely a capstone to this. In fact, Feather could barely peer its peak. If there had to be one monument in all the universe that heralded gods, this would be it.

Feather turned to his friends; they too gazed back. It seemed they needn’t words, only a lapse of silence. Was it for fear? Respect? He returned to view the structure, wordlessly beginning a slow approach. He was a mere pony approaching a pantheon, a stallion meeting his maker.

There grew no trees, no shrubbery and fauna, no grass, not even so much as moss that grew from crevices on the ground. He wondered if the bacteria from his hooves and exhales were the first in this place for centuries—the primordial soup that would kick start life on a dead piece of rock traversing interstellar space.

The ground, it was rugged, yet looked to be a fine powder save for the occasional pebble or rock that littered the landscape. It was like the surface of a rogue planet, wandering the cosmos and beseeching a star to give it the warmth the lifeforms that could’ve lived there so needed.

It didn’t take that long to reach the steps of the great structure, but to look up at its seemingly impossible height made Feather’s stomach twist and turn. How was that possible? Where were they? How could it be taller than the width of this island but seemingly only a part of it at the same time?

Feather shook his head. It didn’t matter. They were so close to her now, he could feel the intangible string that connected him to her tug, pull, motion the fact they were indeed nearing one another. Feather knew he couldn’t prove the immaterial, prove what he knew but couldn’t quantify. Again, it didn’t matter.

As he began his ascent up the steps, Feather noticed spots of dried blood on the staircase’s sides and by his hooves. It seemingly increased in frequency and size as he continued his climb. He found it appropriate he would call it a climb; this was his mountain that needed to be conquered, the mountain many others must’ve peaked and never returned to its base alive.

Feather found it lonely. There was no wind. It felt damning. One truly didn’t appreciate the things they had until they were gone; not that he didn’t appreciate a friendly breeze, the acknowledgement of nature despite the circumstance. Although Feather stood his ground: he missed the wind like it was a dear friend of his he’d known his whole life.

They were so high up now, and try as he might, Feather couldn’t rationalize how high up he was yet somehow still in the bounds of the island. Logic would dictate he would’ve reached the peak of the pyramid already, though that wasn’t the case. The case was he kept going, the tense silence growing as the dried red that stained the steps increased in volume.

Feather observed to find no clouds, no indication there was anything in the atmosphere that moved. He thought Tlekokalli was a ghost town; this place made it seem like life itself was a straight up impossibility. Feather swore he’d be needing a space suit sooner or later lest he die from the lack of air and oxygen.

He knew they were in the cosmos of a foreign dimension, a location with no universal address, a place that didn’t seem real. Feather understood he couldn’t say how he knew that, but as he watched the ether and a bloodshot moon, he wondered what other things would soon come.

The peak. He finally reached it. Somehow, in the timeframe of their lifespans, he and his friends reached the peak of an unclimbable mountain. Feather rested, caressing hooves on bricks below him, avoiding ones with stains. He couldn’t believe it, but now he just had to,

They were here.

Space. It was lonely. There were two tragedies in life: one not getting what they wanted and one getting everything they wished for and more. This felt like the latter; when one got what they wanted, they became empty. Their lives would be complete, but for what? Was there a reason to wake tomorrow when one has already fulfilled even the highest of egos? What was there to see when one saw everything?

It brought him great pain and joy to see the stars. They weren’t what he expected, constellations odd and unfamiliar. Feather and his friends truly were in a place removed from the one they hailed, a facet of reality which commingled with theirs to fold in on themselves, creating ideas and things that were neither falsehoods nor truths. Right or wrong.

This was as close as he’s ever been to the celestial bodies of the night sky, the dream yearned by generations across Equus—perchance it too was the longing of all species across the universe, a sojourn that would usher the universal understanding of an entire race. Gazing at resplendent stars, Feather could swear he felt a distant love weave through space-time itself.

Was this heaven?

“No...”

Feather looked from the stars to meet the solemn and terrified expressions of his friends. They were more sad than shocked. He didn’t want to think of that terrible epiphany, but the more he resisted, the more it shoved its way into his head. Truth was not always so kind.

The table. The chacmool. It was there. It was left with astonishing cleanliness besides the red stains on the ground.

And there it was. The knife. It laid on a slab beside the chacmool, just out of reach. Feather gaped at the weapon like it was already in the grasp of a madman, glaring at him before he pounced, attacking him.

That wasn’t true. It was only his imagination. What Feather felt when he watched the unmoving object was a rising trepidation, a cocktail of emotions that made him space out, as if his soul wavered from his body, a creation of the cosmos without a book. A story.

Feather closened until he stood right in front of the slab, kneeling down as if he was before a god. He wasn’t thinking as he reached out a hoof.

The blade. The handle. It felt cold, colder than anything he’s ever touched before. Feather shut his eyes, applying the slightest bit of pressure on the flat face of the ancient obsidian.

This was what they used. This was what they used in sacrificing ponies to go to the next level, the next life. This was what they used to raise the sun every morning, to keep bad prophecies from coming true to lay siege to the harmony of the world.

This was what they used to kill Crystal Jade with.

“What does it feel like?”

Feather never glanced as he answered the question. “I don’t know.” He opened his eyes to meet the moon from above, critiquing him as an individual. As a being. “I don’t know what to feel. I can say I feel the tingle in my hooves, the adrenaline in my limbs, but what do I really feel?” He finally retracted from the blade, facing his two friends.

“We’re on the top of the world. This is the closest we can be while still being able to return. Go back.” Feather glanced above to radiant constellations. Every star watched them with understanding attention. “This was what they did. They took lives here, in the center of this lonely spot in space.” He never blinked as he beseeched out there, “Is this really the center of the universe? Is this where the heavens and hells meet, the spot closest to paradise and inferno?”

He looked down the steps whence they came. “We’re atop the center of it all. What lies before us is something immaterial, something that cannot be measured, something that cannot be truly understood in the way we perceive reality.” Feather cast his glance downwards. He didn’t know what else to say, if there was anything else that needed to be.

“I went on this journey to find Crystal Jade, and what it took was a journey through death and the afterlives themselves.” Feather faced the horizon, though he cared not what he saw with his eyes anymore.

He knew the universe could be indifferent, but that didn’t matter. Nothing else did, save for one. “Where are you?”

Feather felt the touch of a hoof. It was River. A strange expression graced her face. It seemed she knew something he didn’t. She pointed at Twilight, who peered down at something out of view.

And he couldn’t believe what he saw when he did see it, but it didn’t waver away like some bad dream.

It was the entrance of a staircase on the pyramid’s peak, going down, and down, and down...

But this time, there was something different. There was light at the end of the tunnel, a flame which dimly lit. It wasn’t bright at all, but it made all the difference in the world, for it was something they could follow. An angler fish's trap, or a true beacon of hope? Below was a place intended to have illumination. It didn’t make it less daunting.

Was this Hell?

As he descended once again, Feather swore he felt his breathing change. Did the walls make it so he could hear himself more or was he just crazy? The beating of his heart, the blood coursing through his limbs and head, the air that reached and left his lungs, he could feel all that moreso. Something made him more aware than ever, but it wasn’t just adrenaline.

The home of deities. That’s what Feather thought when he finished the steps: the home of the deities. The ceiling reached as high as the eye could see, walls intricate with gilding and bas reliefs covering every surface. How long must this have taken to create: a hundred, a thousand, ten thousand years? It was all the art of entire civilizations on the walls, just like that.

The stream. There flowed a stream of water. It didn’t make sense; where there was water, there was life, but the latter was long gone and perhaps never existed in the first place. The waves coursed quietly through the turns and winds of the stream, unlike the blood through his hooves.

“The treasure...”

Twilight was correct. That was the last thing Feather noted, but it should’ve been the first. The treasure scattered about was enough to create whole nations with, enough to make all the ancient kings of the world pale.

Gold. Jewelry. Statues made of solid crystals the size of buildings. Literature, books and writings untouched and undisturbed. They must’ve contained ancient knowledge, magic so powerful it might’ve allowed one to perform an apotheosis, becoming a god and transcending to the final step of evolution.

The ground was covered in an endless number of coins. Feather picked one and observed it closely, noting how heavy it was despite its relatively small size.

“Platinum,” Twilight said; she levitated a coin of her own. She seemed breathless as she set it down and gazed at the ocean of coins laid out before them. It seemed to multiply the more he attempted to count them, requiring multiple lifetimes to do so. “How... where did they get this?”

“It’s like they pillaged entire planets,” River commented, taking a statue made of countless jewels. The rainbow of colors refracted and glinted so brightly Feather would’ve assumed she wielded a holy weapon as old as the universe itself, her being the messiah of a forgotten religion.

“That’s assuming it’s even theirs,” Twilight said. “Who knows how they got all this?” They stared up the ceiling to see paintings that oddly reminisced Feather’s Ohteotl trips, basilisks and geometric patterns that seemed to shine in the obscurity of azure torch light. “It’s like this is their final... stronghold. It’s like this is the... final destination.”

It surprised Feather, the fact that it took this long for him to note of a pathway that led to the end of the room, although he had to give himself the benefit of the doubt; it was a world away, reminding him of one of the levels of the afterlife: one would need to cross a path that stretched for longer than the planet itself, one of only nine challenges that seemed suffice for eternity.

The ceiling above glittered of gold and stardust, Feather leading the march through the ocean of invaluable treasures. They truly were innumerable; it was like counting liquid.

Several things stood out: a diamond encrusted ark the size of a small home, a cube of polished stone with details so intricate Feather wondered if even modern machinery could forge such a thing, crystal statues of jaguars and exotic birds, weapons of warriors so legendary they were practically myth, for perhaps such heroes were so mighty they hadn’t existed at all—only in the minds of hopeful ponies.

What truly took the attention of the group despite all the ancient relics and artifacts surrounding them was a looming stone disc that hung above the wall of an entranceway. Out of all the antiquity, out of all the wonders and sights he’d seen, that gargantuan stone disc took the cake. In its center was a massive face, ghastly and deformity carved, molded to the likes of a child’s drawing; intricate but scarred patterns, pictures of animals and deities encircling it.

The stone was aged. Everything they’ve seen so far seemed brand new, aged like wine, looking to last another thousand years or more. But this was different. It somehow aged more than the other treasures in this room, experiencing time differently from the environment around it. What was it about this particular piece that made it so special compared to all the rest of the others?

“It’s a calendar.” Twilight thought out loud, spreading her wings and taking flight to near it. She scanned the great object with an even greater scrutiny, facing them and confirming, “It’s an ancient Meso-Equestrian calendar!”

“And look at the size of it.” River craned her neck to meet the gaze of that unpleasant face. She grimaced back in reply, blinking. “Rather creepy, if you ask me.”

As Feather observed the image, all he did was nod in agreement. It was true. When he observed the visage, it too seemed to observe him. When his mind was void of any thought, it’s as if the calendar spoke back to him in a voice he couldn’t hear, in some manner he couldn’t cognize. It was trying to interface with him through some immaterial means. Was that a good thing? Bad?

Feather shook his head and focused on the pathway below said calendar, leading into an obscured room dimly lit with an orange flame, ominous yet tranquil in its patience. He was piqued with a strange sensation in his soul, a string wrapped around his heart tugging him to the threshold.

Feather softly whispered, “What’s in there?”

The three entered the room and settled several steps from the entranceway they’d just crossed. He had no words. Feather Dew hadn’t been told what he saw, but he knew exactly what they were.

Souls, to himself he solemnly stated. The departed. Ghosts. Spirits. They...

This was the hub. This was where souls met, coming from an indeterminable point of space, balls of pure light and energy orbiting around a black hole before being propelled into a different direction. Any direction.

Standing on a balcony lit with the glow of orange torch lights, Feather and his two friends found themselves in front of the center of the universe, the point where everything came together before expanding outwards once again.

It was cyclical. The rise and fall of civilizations, the life cycle of animals and organisms, the creation of planets, stars, entire galaxies. This was meant to happen. All would stray apart from the crux of existence before coming together once again. After that, they would stray apart and the whole process would repeat itself.

The nature of the universe was that everything was connected, that expansion and contraction was a cycle that seemingly had no beginning and no end. It was the big bang. It was the creation of things throughout the universe. It was how the essence of life spread throughout the realm.

Life. What was it? One could say that it was the state of being alive, of being a living organism which sustained itself with biological processes. Was life the actions of elements and things? Was life possible without that essence, without that string which connected everything together?

The last understanding. It explained as much as it didn’t. The last understanding was the epiphany that there were no such things as accidents, that there were no unconnected tangents, that reality was only a facet of the whole, that life perhaps could transcend into another realm of existence altogether.

Feather felt like he was forgiven. Some force out there between distant stars came and took off the weights on his shoulders he’d been carrying his whole life, weights he never even knew were there.

It was beautiful. Horrifying, but beautiful. Feather wasn’t even scared of it, despite the borders of his individuality breaking down. He heard his friends beg, plead as to what was going on, but the only thing he did was wrap his hooves around their necks in a loving embrace.

Feather’s breathing wasn’t real; it was fading by the second. His body, his form was fading from existence. And yet he’d never felt more real than this very moment; not when he was on Ohteotl, not when he was alone watching the stars. This was it.

Who did this? Who was whisking them away into a place unknown?

Did it even matter?

They were coming together to the crux of existence, where barriers didn’t exist, where everything was the same, where every thought, idea, dream of every being that was, is, and will be laid.

Feather Dew felt the emotions of his friends. He felt himself merging with them, becoming one in spirit and one in consciousness. Eventually, the borders of their individuality would break away completely.

They would interface with reality in its purest form. There would be no secrets. There would be no hiding. There would be no you. There would be no I. There would only be us and everything.

Act III, Chapter XXVI

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“Who are you... why did you let me do this...?”

The cold was both his friend and his enemy. He hated it, hated how the chill would eventually make him pass away, drain the life out of his little body. Yet it didn’t matter. It wrapped around him like a soothing blanket. Feather somehow found peace in that.

I’m sorry.

Only the stars could ever hope to reply, a single twinkle that reached him from the deepest cavities of space-time. They were soothing. It helped him relax. It lulled him closer to a slumber which he wouldn’t wake up from. Was there more to come?

The moon was cold, and it was as bright as it was white.

Plants and flora rustled in the wind’s breath, coming from trees far away. Other than that, the night was as silent as one could ever hope it to be, growing from its adolescence to bleed into the earliest hours of the morning. It was slightly past its midpoint, and that very moment was when stars shone the brightest.

The sky was forgiving in that moment, too, for the tapestry had zero clouds nor disruptions, allowing one to see the heavenly dome that surrounded the planet dazzling clearly. It’s like a force field was pushing away the clouds from crossing a vague border around the great lake.

It’s alive.

The city of Tlekokalli, as Feather from a distance observed it, was alive. Despite the evening settling comfortably, Tlekokalli gleamed. Lights flickered; ships sojourned the body of water; even pegasi flew above it all, little specks that were mere flies compared to the breadth of the home they lived in. They flitted like birds above the conurbation.

Standing on an island several miles removed from Tlekokalli’s center, Feather allowed the calm of a people lost to him to overflow his senses. He overridden his worries, and perhaps to let himself be in this quiet moment he shared with a civilization that didn’t even know him was what he needed but had not wanted.

Is this your home? Feather thought, receiving only the breeze and the twinkle of stars as a response. I never knew it would be... like this. Here. I knew this city was once alive, but I never expected to be so close to it as now.

Grass below Feather rubbed against his coat, tickling. It returned him to his senses, a question made apparent before him; it’s as if the wind was the harbinger of his ideas sometimes.

Why am I here?

“There’s no use in trying to hide! We’ll find you sooner or later!”

It was a voice. Feather turned to see who it was.

There were stallions, stopping their march and scanning the landscape, rolling hills of weeds and grass. The island was tumultuous in its topography: sudden cliffs at certain points, waves of greenery, a rocky and crooked peak which jutted up in an attempt to penetrate the celestial dome in hopes of reaching heaven.

They wore ornate armors which mimicked jaguar coats and the feathers of birds, ornate shields in their grasps and even more ornate headpieces adorning their ensembles. They looked ready for a holy war that would reward them with paradise.

Nodding amongst themselves, the warriors began their march around the perimeter of this nestled isle. Feather paused for a moment, wondering what kind of commotion was occurring. He gazed back at Tlekokalli one last moment before he picked himself up and followed the men under the shroud of a brilliant moon.

The grass, it was a daze under him, a blurry mass of blades and haulms, much like Feather’s mane as he trotted quickly through the night—a sharp edge cutting air effortlessly and seamlessly. His rhythm, hooves seemed like a blur as he caught up to the stallions. Feather saw where they entered and took a moment of relapse, halting.

It was a small town by a slope, alleyways and roads small and winding, incongruent, but nonetheless picturesque. Surrounding it was a golden haze; if one was afar, they would’ve guessed this place was on fire, but to Feather it heralded a quaint sense of community. The view seemed oddly nostalgic.

Following the stallions through the village still, Feather could tell most—if not all—of the residents were fast asleep. No loud conversations were heard, nor the sounds of children chasing one another. Despite the hour, Feather understood this community was tight-knit, residents close and living calm lives. This must’ve been one of many getaway spots from the busier cluster of central islands.

The stallions quieted themselves to be polite, and Feather was right behind their tail as they advanced through the main streets, peeping around and poking at corners to see if they could reveal who they were looking for.

But who were they looking for? And what would they do to that person once they found them?

Feather decided he would try to take this in his own hooves. If he were hiding from an authority figure, where would he go? If he wanted to be alone, where would the best place be?

He knew the answer right away.

Breaking away from the group, Feather attempted to visualize the town, wondering where the outskirts were. That would be the loneliest place.

Rounding a small alleyway, he pressed forward and peered his surroundings as the roofs of homes and structures partly blocked the illumination of the moon and stars. Village lights dimmed the more he made his way through this quieter portion.

It felt as if a ghost was following Feather whenever he turned back, only to find nothing. There was a strange feeling now he was by himself—or at least he thought he was. Without the march of the guards. Without a waking soul to accompany him.

Nearing the outskirts, Feather spotted the shoreline of the great lake and the even greater expanse of the Amarezon beyond that, many eons away. Stars disappeared in the distance, the dark of trees creating the line between the sky and the earth.

What else laid out there—if pondering what secrets were here wasn’t enough to quench his curiosity? The forest barely moved; it gave not the signs of its wonders forever lost and unfound. It was as gentle as the sobs that came from right behind him.

Wait. Feather turned. Leaning back on some statue was a mare, her bottom on the ground, two forelegs covering her face as she cowered in fear. Tears rolled down her supple cheeks. Despite only sobs in the air, her voice sounded as soft as an angel’s.

“It’s you.” Feather was breathless, pausing a moment before he turned again to the view he abandoned a second ago. She didn’t seem to regard his existence, continuing her benign sniffling.

He leaned down to sit beside her. Hooves covering the mare’s face, Feather couldn’t see her expression, couldn’t see her. Regardless, he knew she had a beauty that radiated out to him—the yearning of two long lost souls despite her not knowing it.

“I know you can’t hear me,” Feather consoled. His words were meant for her but only heard by himself. "But I want to say that... I would have helped you at this moment. It sounds useless to say, because I can’t change the past. I can’t change what has already happened.

“I know what it’s like to die. I know your situation’s worse. You wanted to live. You wanted to see tomorrow.” He spoke not, but he knew what to say. “I’m here. I’m here.”

Warm. A warm wind came. It came to reach her, the solace—the solution—to a night of winter: a snug breeze that reminded one there would be the light of a new sun the next morning, a relapse of summer in the harshness of a seemingly unending storm. She stopped her sniffling, looking out into the same vastness of space much like he had.

Her eyes. Feather had seen her one eye before, but to see both of them now brought him to his knees. Under the glint of the heavens, observing the cosmos, Crystal Jade’s eyes shone with a splendor that would make ghosts breathe out in adoration, even for just a moment.

She didn’t know it then, but Feather found her to be the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Nothing else compared.

“You are being too kind,” she whispered, the sadness not gone but accompanied with a solemn self-awareness. “I only want to see you again. I don’t want to go. I don’t want to go. I want to stay.”

I want to stay.

“Halt!”

Both turned to find the stallions pointing their hooves and spears at her. Feather turned another direction to find the pathway’s other side blocked by more warriors, contempt and distaste gracing their expressions.

He watched in horror as they so quickly grabbed a hold onto Jade. As much as she pleaded, as much as she tried to fight back, the stallions had the advantage. They outnumbered them two to a dozen.

Feather also tried to plead with them, momentarily forgetting that he couldn’t. Try as they might to fight for her freedom, the guards forced Jade along under the shroud of a sparkling but apathetic sky.

Nothing.

As he expected, Little Feather got nothing. A part of him instinctively hoped that somepony, anypony would’ve answered his prayers, answer the calls he transmitted for the entire universe to hear.

But a part of him also knew there was no way his pleas would’ve been heard. A shameful but knowledgeable part of his psyche laid dormant inside the little colt knew there was nothing else out there for him.

Death was knocking on Feather’s door, impatient and solemn to the circumstances, yet somehow sympathetic that he’s the only one to accompany him in leaving the world. Even Death couldn’t wait. Even Death couldn’t stall for the pity he felt for the little colt. Time waited not for anything or anypony.

Feather started to cry. It was weak, frail, but it was crying nonetheless, a silent weep that his life would be ending like this. His family and friends would be haunted to see his corpse in this makeshift grave of a tree, worse yet his loved ones bury him in a coffin empty, hollow.

Would he be lost even after death? Would his family and friends never find his body? Was he going to be alone even after a hundred, a thousand years? If he was, then it would mean there would be no closure to his story: it was to remain unfinished and incomplete for the rest of time.

He was like a spacecraft going through a black hole, past the event horizon, the point of no return. Feather entered a threshold wherein he could come in but not come out. He would find himself in a place wherein no light could escape; it would take more than the speed of light to escape this galactic tomb.

It was impossible now, but he tried anyway by closing his eyes, the last transmission of this craft to an uncaring universe.

I don’t want to go.

I’m here. I want to stay.

Warm. A warm wind came. It came to him, the solace—the impossible solution—to a problem that didn’t have a workaround, an act of kindness from an unknowing hoof that reached to him and said that he would indeed see tomorrow, that he would escape and see his friends again. Feather stopped his sniffling, looking out into the vastness of space to meet stars.

Was it a ghost? Was it his savior?

...Don’t give up...

The warm wind came once again, replacing the cold of the night with a renewed sense of coziness. It was forgiving. The universe was starting to forgive little Feather of sins he may not have even committed.

It gave him strength. It gave him the chance. It gave him the way.

...Life is worth living... Go on...

Requiring all his determination, Feather pulled himself out the tree trunk. He still felt the pain in his hooves, his back, but he was stronger than that—he had to be stronger than that. A piece of string that wrapped around his heart tugged him to a location unbeknownst, a pitch black of the forest only monsters dared to traverse through.

Taking one last look at the sky, Feather mustered his willpower and began limping through the dim of the woods, traversing inferno in hopes of reaching paradise once again.

It felt even worse than dying; it felt like being tortured on all sides in all aspects: mentally, physically, spiritually. Feather felt like he was going to collapse and die any second now but he had to keep on going, Life was worth living, he had to go on.

Feather picked up the pace, causing him more pain, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop; to fall was to die, to fall was to be forgotten and to be left to rot in the pages of history books; Feather had to keep pressing forward, keep going.

How long has it been? Hours? Years? He didn’t know where his heart tugged to.

Light. A warm light. The sound of conversing ponies, the illumination of torches and unicorn magic. They were there. Somepony was there. He would be saved after all.

“Help!” Feather begged. “I’m here!” he implored with all his might, with all his determination.

A reply. He didn’t understand it, but it was a reply, an obscured yell of mares and stallions calling out to him. The lights focused on his general direction. They’re getting closer now.

Feather ran as fast as he could, like a beast was behind chasing him, like if he didn’t win this dash he would never get to race again. They were definitely nearing now, the distance between him and the rescue team closing in.

A blue blur suddenly came out of the group of ponies, almost tackling him to the ground but just stopped shortly in front of him. Feather felt a pair of hooves wrap around his neck, crushing him uncomfortably from that moment of unexpected affection his pegasi friend showed him.

“I knew I would see you again!” Rainbow Dash released him from her iron grip at last, allowing him to breathe. “What happened to you?!”

Feather only chuckled, hastily sitting—and half-collapsing—on the ground. He could barely hear his own thoughts despite having the reassurance of his safety, being found.

“I... long story. I’m tired... I...”

He needn't speak more as he felt a magical force field wrap around him gently, levitating and setting him on the back of a unicorn mare. “Oh, dear, you poor thing. Are you hurt?”

Little Feather could only nod as a response.

“Let’s let him rest for now. Come on, we need to go back,” said one of the stallions. The team nodding, they began their march back to safety at last. The lurking forest seemed to deepen, telling ponykind and even beasts that it was the most dangerous of all creations. Monsters dragged prey in, while the forest relied only on the follies of creatures alike, deceiving them.

Feather laid on his side, watching trees and obscured darkness between them, the world sideways. He certainly had his world turned upside down that solitary day, consisting of fleeting memories that seemed like a dream.

Was it truly a dream? Was it just some awful nightmare?

Little Feather had little say as his eyes slowly drifted away into a calming sleep.

Act III, Chapter XXVII

View Online

“They seem so near but so far, don’t they?”

On an ancient boat coasting ancient waves under an even more ancient moon, Feather and Jade found themselves stargazing. Constellations were the most ancient thing in the universe, older than all things prior.

There was a sort of irony to it, the fact they were the oldest but least changing. Constellations were timeless. Logic would dictate that things changed as they aged and improved over time. For something as grand as the night sky, time moved very slowly. Feather—with a bit of readjustment—spotted the major figures of the sky, almost identical to that of his own time.

The universe changes, and yet doesn’t. It didn’t seem to age, an entity which didn’t have a beginning or end, only substituents that grew, thrived, and died off. That did not mean the universe stopped; only a small part of it was taken away, replaced by something different that could do more and better things.

Perhaps stars needn’t change, because they don’t have a reason to. They’re what we long for. Stars don’t want to be anything else.

Crystal Jade had regressed into silence moments ago. She didn’t fight back now; at that instant, she was just like him, gazing at the heavens and the many worlds out there they didn’t know. Feather wondered if those strangers would’ve helped them. There was still no answer.

He didn’t have the words to describe that feeling, the gaps between stars so dark but definitely filled with something. It was comparable to empty metropolis’ roads; someone had to be there, despite appearing abandoned. It was though Jade was so lonely she asked the help of alien civilizations eons away. Her people seemed not to care.

Jade’s eyes cast downwards. A tear fell to streak her cheek, and though it was only one, Feather’s heart fell to his stomach at the sight. It would’ve hurt less had she been captured, held against her will by an enemy, not by some whom she ought to have trusted. Her own neighbors.

Treachery’s the worst sin, Feather mused, conviction deep. Of all the things a pony can do, teachery’s somehow the most damning. The most despicable. Homocide is distasteful, done overtime even more so, but murder out of trachery? Out of mistrust? From someone you’re supposed to love? It’s... life is fragile. It’s to go against that. Of a promise from one’s good will. A pony can’t have others if he can’t have himself.

Feather was interrupted from his thoughts as a thud hit the side of the craft. He glanced outwards to see they’d just docked on a port—by the edge of Tlekokalli’s main cluster of islands. A quick bang of the gangway hit the surface, several stallion warriors approaching them.

Her struggle returned as they picked her up and brought her to the port’s steady platform, another group of stallions already there waiting. Feather hastily made his way off before the gangway was retracted, watching what took place.

Feather breathed in and out in a haste, a shut jaw and heavy eyes plastering his face. He was tempted to look away.

They were wrapping a cloth around her muzzle to prevent her from talking, binding her hooves to keep her from escaping. It was unjust and unfair. Do you do that out of consideration? Is it some little mercy in this thing you’ll do to her? Do you even need that? The latter was a no; she struggled to escape and speak.

Though they gave her no blindfold. She had been allowed the dignity to gaze upon her home one last time.

Jade thrashed; Jade wailed; she muttered incomprehensible pleads of reason, her muffled expressions varying as her mood changed: from short silences of shock to moments of unbridled fury and rage, a surly determination so strong one would wonder why no miracle swooped down and saved her at that very instant.

She was afraid most of all. She was in the dark. She knew what was coming, a seemingly inevitability looming in the horizon, yet she didn’t know how—the pain, the horror, the final moments. It was like déjà vu, aware of what would happen but not a thing could be done about it. Knowing what would happen made it worse, a looming fear on the horizon. It couldn’t be stopped. It already happened.

She cowered, a haste in her breath and a shake in her sniffle. Feather only thought of one moment in his life when he seemed somewhat like that, but he knew that was nothing compared to the doom weighing Jade’s shoulders. They were offering her life.

Feather eyes reflected sorrow, and he wondered what must’ve gone through her head.

They seemed finished prepping her, hoisting her up to begin the procession. There would be no slowing it.

The port was near silent apart from frothing waves and creaky boats. As Feather followed them, he was made more aware of his surroundings. It was a scene straight out of imagination: an ancient port of wood and stone, illuminated with undying torch lights of red and orange, reflecting the dance of the inky black waves of a deep but oddly calming body of water, a little slice of the sea.

Said port transitioning into Tlekokalli, Feather paused for a moment in his small instant of wonder.

Tlekokalli, City of Kings, was an appropriate title for an even more regal city. The buildings seemed taller, canal waters soothed, priceless monuments peppered as common as merchant stands. Despite orange halos from gentle torchlight, the sky seemed the same clarity from the boat on blackened waves. He held a breath.

Feather shook his head. Jade, your priority is Jade right now. Sighting them a couple hoofsteps away, he trotted nearer to hear little conversations play out from the locals.

There were throngs of ponies out this evening, infrequent but lounging still. Tlekokalli truly never slept, for there was always somepony that decided to keep awake. There lingered quiet conversations, hushed as they attempted to not stare, under the shroud of a conspiracy: that’s the mare who’s about to get sacrificed, whether she liked it or not, a deed that needed to be done regardless of circumstance.

Jade, still bound and muzzled, seemed to have tired herself out, stopping her struggle, or it may be the fact she noted these conversations taking place. Shame and distrust appeared on her face.

As she avoided the glances of late night wanderers and their half-concealed stares—some even full on—Feather noticed something so strange it ought be conjecture: it was though she knew these ponies personally, saying her unofficial farewells to them one last time.

She kept her glances mostly low as the stallions marched down the main road. Feather did spot her taking occasional peeks at her surroundings. The more she did, the more an impending doom flickered her eyes. The clock was ticking, and no amount of bleating or wailing would change that.

All hope had been thrown out the window, or at least her hope for her home. They wouldn’t save her. They didn’t spare those sacrifices before, they wouldn’t save her now. Only a once-in-a-lifetime hero could have saved her. That didn’t come. Feather was close to being that, but so far. It brought him hopelessness.

They stopped before the vast city square. Could I have saved her? Be a dashing hero in comic books that always ended happily? Feather wondered if he could’ve swung from a rope that hung from one of these floating islands, whisking her away into some distant land. Rescue her from her own home. His hopelessness was replaced with great melancholy. I wish I was your hero.

They walked until floating steps appeared before them, and they began their ascent up to that central island. With every step Feather took, his heart beat a little faster, adrenaline nearly bursting from his hooves.

Breathtaking. That was the only word he had, breathtaking. It reminded him of the orange of the Bocoltán skyline during nighttime; he truly was in this now, a city alive when he had first found it lost and broken.

Jade gazed back at the city too, pondering why they didn’t come to save her and how beautiful it was at the same time. A potent cocktail of emotions must have warred inside her head. She didn’t fight back her bonds any longer, for perhaps her thoughts were enough to preoccupy her caged soul.

They reached the island's surface. Feather took a few steps then stopped.

It was most definitely uncanny when Feather’s mind made subconscious tangents between his hazy memory and what laid before him. The plants, the grass, the temple obfuscated, even the little pebbles that made the pathway: it was exactly as he had seen it, Feather swore it was. It had to have been protected from the tragedy of time, a tale of destruction the city below fared not well in the future.

Her eyes. They reflected both unaccepting anxiety and mellow melancholy as she peered back at Tlekokalli for the last time. Jade knew this was the last time she’d see it, though she unknowingly stared at Feather too, slightly blocking her view. He only stood there as she was engulfed by the darkness of the temple. It was the last moment she’d been touched by moonlight.

Only dim torches illuminated the interior when Feather followed inside. It was though whatever gods these ponies praised needed the dark to come out, for they were shy beings that could only be interfaced if one was alone, cut off from the constraints of light—a ghost, a spirit, a vagabond wanderer across planes of existence, through seams of realities.

Jade again struggled and moaned lecherously as they descended the steps of that gaping mouth on the floor, down into the depths of an ocean that knew no sunlight. It was as if the belly of the beast.

Darkness. Somehow, when Feather caught glimpses of the steps beyond them, he was greeted with the same darkness that stared when he and his two friends took the courage to descend these very steps themselves. Despite knowing what’s down there, despite already having gone through this, he was hit with the same claustrophobia and anxiety. What laid down there struck primal fear to all, regardless of inner strength.

The portal. The same portal. Purple and twisting, the reflective tapestry that mimicked calm oceans leered back at the ponies. It dominated the silence the dingy room contained so well, a feeling of desolate hope which many others prior must’ve felt. As they stepped in, Jade became a little closer to those who were offered to the heavens as sacrifice.

A star.

It was the only thing Feather saw in an otherwise empty universe, a spheroid of plasma bound together in the constraints of its own gravity. He saw how infrequent solar flares moved at astronomical speeds, capable of taking an entire planet to its knees. He saw how the swirling twists and turns of the stellar waves moved across its own gaseous, undefined surface, moving and commingling with cooler sunspots.

Could he call it sunspots? He didn’t know if this was the sun; it could have been any other star that existed in the cosmos. Little Feather wondered if it was a star that existed at all.

It was a lonely thing, drifting through an indeterminable vastness of space. It must’ve been so bright that, from here, it couldn’t have seen any of its far away brethren, any galaxies in the sky barely moving. This star would never meet with any other, perhaps only one in the future so distant.

Ironic. That’s what it was. The light of a star made it so that it blinded itself from seeing anything out there, and so it didn’t know what that was. Not truly.

It was a horrifying thought, the fact that all stars were like that. They didn’t know there were other stars out there, their siblings. For all Feather knew, this star must’ve thought that it was the only one of its kind. The only thing in existence apart from the space it inhabited.

Was it worth it? Was it worth living this way?

“Why?” Little Feather questioned no one in particular.

“It’d be a shame if they weren’t here, hm?”

Little Feather shrugged. “I mean, I guess. But wouldn’t that make it... a lonely life? It would take forever for one of these stars to even come close to anything out there.”

A silence. It was the silence of a deep ponder, of a calculated but honest thought.

“What do you see when you look back at this celestial object before you?”

Feather took a deep ponder, too, noting again of all the features it had: the solar flares, the dark spots on its surface, the heat it radiated throughout the cold desolation of space-time. It was matter, it was light, it was great, it was...

“Small,” Feather said. To look at a star and acknowledge its size was one thing, to recognize the expanse of nothingness an innumerable amount of times larger around it was another. “It’s a small thing.”

“Small, you say? That’s oddly interesting. Why would you think that?”

He looked into the nothingness. “Because there’s more than... It’s big, but it’s small. There’s so much more out there. I... There's more to life than what we do all day.

“I got... lost. I didn’t know how big that forest was. I didn’t... I didn’t realize that even stars like these were small compared to all the other things out there. They’re so far apart. They’re so far apart.”

Little Feather’s tone was sadder than he expected. The silence afterwards, even more so.

“Let me show you something, but you will have to help me here.”

Feather glanced back at the star. “What do I have to do?”

“Step back.”

He took a step back.

“More. You’ll need to step far back for me to show you.”

Little Feather turned and sauntered an easy cadence, turning into a light gallop, turning into a determined run. Feather finally stopped when he was told—an eternity’s passing. Had it been a hundred years or a thousand?

It didn’t matter. When he looked back at the star, it was a mere spot in the cosmos, one of many that dotted the tapestry of space-time. It was a sight to behold, the heavenly arrangement of nebulas and galaxies, stars and their planets, black holes and migrating masses of gas that spread the universe like a contemporary painting.

“You are right, they are indeed apart, more far apart than you could ever imagine. It would take innumerable lifetimes for these stars to even come close, for galaxies to combine and merge.”

A moment of quiet awashed them.

“You may not remember this; I don’t think you’ll even remember me, but let me tell you regardless.

“We may seem lonely, we may seem distant, but there are tangents which touch all things. We expect to have one neighbor when in reality we have a hundred, we meet with one person when in reality we have met with a thousand others. Even if you cannot see it, even if you cannot peel back reality’s fabric, there is an energy that unites all things.”

Feather turned to face the voice. “Why did you save me?”

The masked mare returned a cold gaze. It then turned to one of compassion.

“We’re stars that somehow got close. You have me, and I have you.”

The moon was even colder, and it was bright as it was red.

The sky bled the blood of sacrifices’ past, from ponies who either offered themselves willingly or absolutely rejected the idea—the mere notion they would not only have their lives taken against their will but under the name of gods? Could they be sacrificial martyrs if they were unwilling; was their blood worth any more than the ones who were?

A non-existent breeze hit them, buffeting Feather as he observed the desolation. It was as dead as he had first found it, a landscape of no trees and no fauna, not a spec of life or even so much as bacteria or viruses, half-living, half-alive. There was no room for leeches in a place without anything to leech on to.

The ponies carrying her placed Jade on some sort of portable throne, two poles extending down its ends for easier hoisting, oriental and flamboyant in its design: feathers, prints of jaguars, exotic fabrics and rich silk. It was the throne of a king. A throne of royalty.

She was now the royal of this throne, the queen that the people praised for she would be their savior, the sustenance of the sun. Jade was bound to it, both figuratively and literally; her destiny was to be offered to the gods.

Jade struggled again in her newfound place, in a throne she was forced to sit on. She was, from this point on, truly the sacrifice. There would be no replacement, no exchange. She would summit the mountain and never return to its base alive.

Having ensured her security and the rigidity of the structure, the group of stallions reached under and hoisted the regal throne on their withers. At that moment, Jade looked upon the world as if she were the unwilling leader of a nation broken and scarred, the unwilling doer of an inevitable deed.

It was agony, their slow walk to the base of the pyramid. They took their time, ceremonial, uptight, for—to them—their deities were watching. This was dedicated to them. To Jade, this was the end of her life. To gods, this was any other usual day.

Finally reaching the pyramid’s base, the stallions began the summit up the slope on seemingly never-ending steps. As Feather followed their tail, he realized that had been the last time Jade felt the ground’s touch and stood on her own. She was nearing death as they rose.

For a moment, Jade looked to be at peace, a calm surrender washing over her. Did it come on its own, or was it something she called upon inside of her, a reassuring thought that there would be nothing left and that it might be okay?

No, she wouldn’t think like that. She fought for her life. Feather knew she believed in that. She was strong; her eyes reflected both that strength, yet it also reflected a solemn inevitability that no matter how strong she was, no matter how determined she could be, Death would keep knocking on her already opened door.

As they ascended the steps further, Feather tried to console her, thinking of some catharsis to alleviate her pain, but he couldn’t think of the words. How would he convince her she was going to be okay when he already knew what was going to happen? The clock was ticking louder, and the more he thought of kind and gentle reassurances, the more he didn’t say them.

Her door to death opened completely and Feather’s clock rang its alarm as they arrived at the pyramid’s peak. They overlooked the gloom of this warped dimension, stark in its contrast between beauty and lethality. Vast openness and concealed secrets of ancient alien worlds awaited from above, out of view but watching.

They took hold of her and undid the bonds, restraining her with force as she struggled once again, squirming to resist the stallions’ hooves. Once again, they outnumbered her many to one; it wasn’t even a battle. They wordlessly placed her on the chacmool, tying her four limbs with ropes to the four edges of the rectangular slab, exposing her chest and belly upwards to the heavens.

The stallions waited on one side, their jobs complete. They didn’t do so much as remove the cloth wrapped around her muzzle. Jade would have no last words, and even if she had, no one would know what they were. Not now or ever.

A priest stood there. He nodded to the stallions as they bowed; they thereafter made their move to descend the steps, leaving Feather alone with only the two of them. He was an aged stallion, unhearing and unfazed of Jade’s muffled begs and hushed panic attack, her breaths dampening the cloth substantially.

Feather saw it—the ornamental blade he had touched with his own hooves—on the small slab. It was uncanny; the weapon was in the same place, at almost the exact same angle as he’d found it.

The priest gently picked it up and walked over to her, Jade’s breathing and struggle becoming more frantic at the sight of the perfectly sharp blade.

The priest muttered a few words: some prayer, an incantation Feather didn’t understand. Jade seemed to be having none of it, for she thrashed and raved moreso, moaning and beseeching for a stop of this nonsense, a halt to this unnecessary charade.

Feather didn’t move. He couldn’t. What could he do? This was it. This was the moment, and two sides of a war conflicted in his brain: she could be saved and there’s nothing you could do. What was it?

His wings flared out in gripping anticipation as the priest raised the blade high above Crystal Jade’s chest, yelling to the heavens the last words of his prayer. He tensed, driving the blade downwards.

Feather instinctively looked away. In a split second before his wings covered his vision, he saw her kick and jerk upwards in an attempt to escape her bounds, the blade missing her chest completely. Feather didn’t want to see what had happened, for her screams tortured his hearing, ugly and loud.

It wouldn’t stop. Her screaming wouldn’t stop. They were of agony, of one being burnt alive, of one being buried alive. It was hell. It was of excruciating pain.

Feather sniffled as he put his wings firm on his face and temples, too scared of what went on. He heard the screaming turn into ragged breaths before transitioning into complete silence. It was the loudest scream of all.

Silence. Jade was right again. There was only the quiet of a lifeless husk.

She was dead for sure.

He heard awful sounds of the priest doing something to her body. Was he taking her heart out? The sound of something hurling down the pyramid’s slopes echoed in his ears.

Feather was alone. He had the priest, sure, but he was alone.

He didn’t want to see. He didn’t want to see anything ever again. This pain he could somehow feel, this wrong he felt in his soul. The tangent, the string of his heart was being slapped over and over again, risking breaking to be cut off from any and all things.

Who was he at that moment? Could he call himself Feather Dew? This was too horrifying of a situation for him to care anymore.

For the first time in what seemed to be a lifetime, Feather felt the loneliness of being in that tree trunk cavity, the makeshift grave for his forever lost body and his more so forever lost soul.

He remembered that voice. He remembered it now. It had come to him, convinced him to go on, that life was worth fighting for. How? How could he move on from what he’s seen?

“Open your eyes.”

Act III, Chapter XXVIII

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Feather was met with the world.

Before him glowed a blue marble, the slightest of halos blanketing its surface. On it lived ponies, dragons, griffons, all the other civilizations which claimed certain lands. They said a lot of things, how they were great conquerors and dreamers, writing stories or soaring skies to perhaps touch heaven. The world was as if a spacecraft wandering to unknown places.

But maybe it was nothing in the grand scheme of things, for the universe’s encyclopedia boasted greater proportions. Its almost perfect moon floated eons away, and that was when an epiphany struck Feather Dew once more.

They were small. They were barely a footnote in whatever narrative this. Were they worth mentioning? There might be many others out there, untouched and unseen—not meant to be discovered and found.

A non-existent solar wind through a non-existent atmosphere, that’s what Feather felt. It was the cosmos’ way of reminding him perhaps he was closer to Equus than Equus was to bigger things. Things that really mattered.

Despite the only home Feather knew presented before him, loneliness crept in his soul. It was an emotion he could not place, as with many times, but this was unique. This was something special. It should have been the same, and it felt nearly the same too, but it was drastically different. Wrong. As if his brain recognized something that couldn’t be named.

Maybe it was because of the sight of his home. Or the moon far from that direction. Maybe it was the lack of stars. He remembered something.

Pictures from near-space—straddling the atmosphere, where the air turned hot and scant, taken by daredevil pegasi with protective equipment—showed nearly always the same thing: a slice of the planet colored blue, a lighter shaded halo arising to transition to blakish ethers.

And they truly were black. No stars could be spotted in them, not even one. The glow of the planet’s oceans and atmosphere made it so that stars were hidden. Feather floated way beyond even Equus’ exosphere, though that fact still rang true. There were no stars wrapped around him.

But something replaced those stars. Massive tendons of light anchored from the blue marble, extending into places far away. Perhaps other planets. Other galaxies. They varied in thickness, glowing faintly the purest of white, dimming and brightening at certain areas, as if blood flowing through arteries in a gargantuan cosmic body.

Feather’s gaze could not tear from them. They should have been unseen things. Invisible things only reserved for the minds of dreamers, philosophers, and curious foals. What he saw did not exist in the real world. They were the products of imagination.

But they didn’t falter when he blinked, not one bit. They still reached for places eons away. They were reliant not on his thoughts or doubts. They were real.

Feather knew what they were, but he didn’t speak. How could he? What could be said when presented with such a sight, confirming things guessed throughout the lives of ponies? From their faith?

He glanced at invisible stars. Feather did indeed find one word. He looked back at his home.

“Why?”

Was he truly seeing this? He knew what this was, yes, but he found no reason for it? An explanation, a cause? It was though it only was, and everything else was of little consequence. Some things cannot be explained, nor needed to be.

Feather understood that, but it was hard for him to... feel right about it? Why was that?

“Invisible things at times like to reveal themselves, not out of pity from blind ponies nor mercy to those who want to see them but cannot. They are like gods, showing themselves when the universe finds it fit. For whimsical reasons.”

Feather turned to face the voice.

The masked mare returned a gaze of sadness. Then it turned to solemn pride. Space-time itself seemed to stop.

“Bridges connect lands to other lands, peoples to other peoples. They are like what Twilight Sparkle mentioned to me once, neurons firing in our brains when we do so much as react viscerally. When we think; when we see. When we just are.”

Jade glanced at him as if he were only a little boy. “We are together. With worlds we don’t even see, beings we cannot touch. If we are like neurons making up a brain, then does that brain dream too? What does it see? Maybe that’s why we see things that aren’t there, because they truly are there.”

The sonata of space winds, the lonely universe’s gentle background noise—Feather felt it. Feather could feel everything.

He gazed at the world. It seemed different. “I remember... I remember seeing things from when I interfaced with... all of us.” He motioned his hoof across Equus like the omnipotent brush of the creator, seeing fit of the beauty imparted upon the canvas.

“What kinds of things?”

Feather stared deep into her expression. “I saw you.”

Jade smiled the teensiest bit, her sadness more apparent.

“I saw... I saw your city during the night time. I saw great boats and great lights across the lost city of the lake, the great expanse of a civilization I never thought I’d meet. I saw the heavens and how they were very much the same as they were during my time. I saw stallions searching a village. I saw... you.”

It was though she understood already; Jade must've, right? One ought not have their deepest secrets uncovered without so much as them knowing; Feather knew that she knew.

“I saw you cry. You were afraid, scared. I said that I was here. I was here.

“I saw how they took and brought you to the city center before going through that portal, how you struggled against your bonds and muzzled mouth.

“I saw how you were strapped down to a throne, becoming a queen of a kingdom you didn’t want. I saw how they took you up the pyramid and fastened you to that stone slab. They didn’t even take the cloth covering your mouth...

“I saw the priest take the blade. I heard him say words I couldn’t understand. Maybe a prayer. I remember feeling dizzy as he brought down the... blade, but... you kicked. You jumped. I didn’t see. I was too afraid.

“I only heard your screams. I must’ve heard your... you roll down the pyramid slope. I don’t... I don’t know what happened after that.”

The indiscernible serenade of the cosmos, the quiet of space was the only sound heard. The twinkle of stars were the only things to be seen. Jade looked back at him, and he looked back at her.

Peace. There was peace on her face, an acceptance of what was to come. What already had.

She closed her eye, tilting downwards her head, a hoof set on her mask. It seemed to last an eternity, that moment these two ponies paused. Planet Equus and many more worlds watched with a bated breath.

Jade gently removed her serpentine mask, letting it float by her side—rotating and inching slowly away. When Feather’s eyes met hers, he froze.

Scarred. It was the only way to describe it. Her left eye was scarred, skin and fur around it greyed like coal. The eye itself was a murky grey. A large gash crossed its span, where the cornea must’ve fused together in an attempt of futile self-preservation.

It was though Feather finally saw her soul—no hiding, no veils. When the priest shot downwards the blade, he didn’t hit her heart. In Jade’s attempt to escape, she accidentally made him stab her left eye.

The floating serpentine drifted from view, to forgotten places. Places which had no bridges.

She seemed disgusted, utterly ashamed of what she’s been through and what became of her. Jade was disfigured, a ghost scarred and broken, both in spirit and in appearance. Jade had that mask on because nopony would ever look at her straight in the eyes without so much as a moment of hesitation. To her, this was who she was.

An outcast. Jade was an outcast, as if being here wasn’t bad enough. Even if she could return to the world, her scarred appearance would leave its mark forevermore.

As Feather felt solar winds buffet his back, he wondered if the universe was trying to give him an answer. He did not know the question.

“I wanted to live,” she simply said, cowering. Jade tilted her head to hide scared eyes. “I merely wanted a chance.”

Feather stepped closer instinctively. “I know, of course you wanted to live. Who wouldn’t? You’re a fighter. I saw what you did. You were strong.”

Jade reeled back, eyes widening. She immediately glanced away, ears lowering and back slumped. She seemed defeated. “I don’t think it even matters anymore.”

He was more surprised than he’d expected. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter anymore? I’m here. Of course it matters.”

“I died,” Jade sharply replied. “I died and that is that.”

Feather put a hoof on his chest and stepped back. Jade instantly regretted her harsh words, receding back to her meek form. “I... I didn’t mean to sound that way.

“It’s just...”

When she did not finish, only waves of calming solar winds remained.

“I don’t know if it’s worth it anymore.”

Feather receded a hoof. “What’s worth what anymore-?”

“This. You being here. I... I do want to be saved, but what will I return to? What will I become if being like this isn’t bad enough already? I have no beauty left, I have... I have barely a soul...”

A great dismay, a horrifying consternation. A storm of anxiety pulsed through his back and his limbs. Jade was destroying herself. She saw herself as un-savable not only because of her circumstance, but because of what she was: a pony with no country, a soul without a body, a vagabond without a location nor a journey.

Feather took a step closer. Another step closer.

He took gentle steps until he stood right in front of her. Jade had placed a hoof over her face in a silent weep, the occasional sniffle breaking through. She looked just as he’d found her under the shroud of an ancient moon, in those outskirts. Forgotten.

“Look at me.”

Feather expected her not to so easily oblige, but he frowned as she dejectedly hung her head low. The idea that he seemed like a deity before a cowering mortal disturbed Feather, so he leaned down and cupped her cheek with a hoof. She flinched but didn’t move away. They stood frozen that moment.

“Look at me, Jade.”

Feather gently raised her up to his eye level. Their eyes met clearly, straightforward. There was no obfuscation, no fuss. Not even air blew between them.

“Have you heard yourself talk?” he asked rather bluntly but softly. “Have you ever heard your own voice, the way you describe things? I know a lot of ponies who would give up their soul for even an ounce of what you have.”

Feather closened to her face, then pointing to the world. “Why would it matter what they think? So what if you have a scar on your face, so what if you came from another time?”

Jade glanced and faltered from his expression. She still seemed to long for his gentle touch. “This isn’t just about what they think. This is also about me. Who am I inside? Why am I still here?”

Feather sadly smiled back. He blinked patiently. “You’re here because there’s this part of you that’s still alive.

“It’s only you who’s going to decide. It’s only you who’ll assign value to your existence. You can either stay here or move on and be with me. Be with new friends. Be with yourself. It doesn’t have to have a grandiose meaning. You can let go.”

Jade was struck with an epiphany she’s never heard in all her thousand years.

“We can still save you, Jade. You just need to want it one hundred percent, too. Even the slightest falter can bring us back to square one. At the end of the day, this isn’t about me; this isn’t about them. This is about you. You and you only are the master of your fate, the writer of your life.”

A memory resurfaced. It was a dream from long ago, having lingered in his soul, so deep it seemed almost unreal. “We may seem lonely, we may seem distant, but there are tangents which touch all things. I do not understand it completely, nor does anyone, but I know it’s true. You were lonely, Jade, but you never truly were. And you never have to be.

“We’re strangers from other timelines, yet we’re somehow bound to each other. It’s as if it transcends logic, transcends what’s normal and what’s possible. We’ve met before. We’ve crossed paths, two parallel lines that somehow touched and strayed apart for what seemed to be a lifetime before impossibly nearing one another again.”

Feather was no longer afraid. He didn’t care if she had that scar on her eye. Jade could have a thousand scars for all he cared; he would still stand his ground. She was his soulmate, and he was hers.

Despite being worlds apart, this was their fate. This was destiny.

“We’re stars that somehow got close. You have me, and I have you.”

She smiled. It was sad, but a sincere curl of her lips nonetheless. It was the face of finding that missing part of one’s soul one never knew they needed to be finally complete.

“You’re right.” Jade was breathless. “This was meant to be.” There was little hesitation in her voice, no backing down. “I was never meant for that world. It was a mistake. Nothing’s perfect, and I think it made a mistake. Somehow, I know it was a miscalculation. I was supposed to be with you from the very start.”

She stared into space from her side. “But I wonder what we will do now that you’re here. What’s next? What does fate have in store for us?”

He looked out to space as well, wondering the same thing. Feather remembered the words of that legend still somehow etched into his mind.

Legend has it that she was endowed with a curse... The only way to break the curse is for one to find her heart and complete it, both of them bound to join one another in the next life.

Find her heart... complete it...

Were these story-tellers intentional in the interplay of their words, the double-edged sword of context and meaning? Feather didn’t know how he missed it before.

He saw what happened to her, what happened to her eye.

He found her heart. Now he had to complete it.

He knew what to do.

For a second, Feather gazed deeply into the cosmos. They were heavenly and beautiful. He gazed at his home. It was lonely yet hopeful, a world in tranquil peace. He remembered how these things looked, boring those images deep in his soul.

Feather Dew gazed at Crystal Jade, placing a hoof yet again on her cheek and tracing it down her neck to her withers. He took his other hoof and wrapped her around in a loving embrace, tenderly planting his muzzle on her emerald mane.

He carefully caressed the area under her scarred eye, making sure he didn’t hurt her. Jade’s coat seemed too supple. Feather placed that same hoof on his own left eyelid, closing it for the last time.

Something. It came. Whatever it was called—the spiritual energy of the universe, the magical force spread through innumerable realms—Feather felt its presence. It told him this was what he had to do. It confirmed to him this was something that needed to be done.

The last thing Feather saw was the flash of a blinding light. He held on to Jade like they’d never get to meet again.

Act III, Chapter XXIX + Reflections and Other Things

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When there shone no light, there was only darkness. When there shone no light, imagination filled the mind with phantoms straddling the line separating fiction and reality.

It was the will of storms unseen: the gentle hum of an empty place, soothing cold wandering for adventures so—where did this ocean breeze will to? What places did it seek?

This felt like being in a mother’s womb. Unborn, a fetus awaiting the world’s whims to bestow upon them life, an opportunity to chance upon the joys and mysteries of being.

Sadness stirred inside Feather. Emotions from that past life, the one he must’ve departed from, awashed him with the cognizance of aged travellers: a longing, a yearning to meet with somepony he didn’t know. Perhaps that person wasn’t even real. With great knowledge brought greater pain, but Feather felt the creeping pain more than far away teachings. His core was as if twisted, head having flung back and forth and back and forth. There slipped in a melancholy of unknown memories, past lessons he would have to learn again.

Panic began to rise within him, risking cracking to pieces. The daze between his ears turned into a mighty crush, a sensation that had him wondering if his head would split in two.

He couldn’t breathe. The breeze of the ocean was of liquid, not air. And he was dying, despite being unborn. Could he say he was dying?

The first thing he learnt in this “life” was that he would miss out on great lands and travels, conversations and camaraderie, the embrace of his mother. She wouldn’t have the chance to truly have her son in her hooves.

Except that wasn’t true. Feather did feel the touch of his mother, or at least a touch reminiscent of a mother’s love. It held him tight and close. It was not gentle—holding him tightly and in a flurry. That didn’t matter. It was still touch. It was an unrelenting embrace. It was a little closer to heaven.

Closer to heaven indeed. The unborn and children went to heaven, right? For the innocence in their blood and souls made them impartial to sin, those who had not the chance to experience their lives would be saved and brought to paradise. It made sense. It was only just and fair.

The pain worsened. It grew exponentially: barely noticeable moments ago, now as if a tightening vice which had no limits. At any second, Feather swore he would be whisked to his creator. Would he implore him for an explanation of the cruelty imparted upon him, death to a child who didn’t even know life? It was like he was choking on his own umbilical cord.

It would stop any moment now. It had to. There was no way someone as weak as himself could suffer to this extent and live to tell the tale. There was no way a living thing could hold their breath for this long and leave unscathed.

Then he felt it. The surface of water, the surface of a never-ending abyss. Air.

A frantic commotion occurred, a tiring and confusing haze of splashing water and relieved lungs. He coughed a guttural cough. He breathed as if this was the first time he had done so in a thousand years.

Images of a landscape appeared as if from a mist, engulfing Feather.

He could barely see. The fuzzy figures before him were like flickering ghosts, spirits trembling under wavering lamp light. He couldn’t make out distances of details from the horizon; it was an enervating effort for his already exhausted self.

Blue. It was the one thing he was sure of. A rich, deep blue that stretched as far as the eye can see. From above illuminated the moon’s all-seeing nature, far yet attention-grabbing in its presence. Purple reigned as king of the sky’s colors, reaching gently to light her exasperated face.

A mare. She reached for him. She clung shaky hooves around Feather, keeping him from sinking into abyssal depths despite calm water. She held him like he would slip forever afar had she let go for only an instant. His and her bodies stuck, hoping to protect them from frigid waters that encapsulated their lower halves. Only the emptiest of the cosmos could be as cold.

Voices. From the distance Feather heard voices. They called out to them, and the mare replied back, her voice rough as she coughed once again. She didn’t stop. She didn’t want to let them be lonely together and be by Death’s door ever again.

Then came an angel from the heavens. It had to be an angel, right? It was a purple blur that came from the sky, quickly grabbing his limbs and lifting him from the water. Feather couldn’t tell if the mare that saved him was watching from this elevation. Everything was still a blur. It was too late to be sure.

The water’s surface looked to run below them—Feather knew they were most definitely flying. The air was wintry, making his discomfort harsher as he and the purple haze soared through the night. Was this how ponies entered the gates of heaven, through the aid of angels?

Nearing a fast pace was a line, separating waters from sand. A shoreline. They descended quickly as he took note of it, landing in front of the misty form of a blue pony.

Feather made out words despite the ache pounding his head—made worse from his flight. “Help Feather. I have to go back and get her.” He heard the sound of wings flapping behind him, taking off. Feather didn’t have much time to think about those words as the blue mare placed firm but nervous hooves on his sides.

“Are you okay? What are you feeling?”

He recognized that voice. Somehow, he knew the owner. It was River Moon. As he attempted to focus his vision, he caught the occasional clear glimpse of her: a face awash with both concern and relief, a preemptive trepidation as she checked his weak body.

It was though he forgot how to speak. Feather’s mind was scrambled. “I...” He coughed, droplets of water shooting from his throat. “I think I’m okay. I can’t... I can’t see well, though. I don’t... where am I?”

River quickly seated by Feather’s side and patted his back. “Breathe. Don’t force it, though. Just breathe.”

Feather did as he was told, focusing on the sensation of his chest falling and rising. Somehow, the pain got even worse in his lungs. In there shot a sharp pain that almost made him wheeze. His heart beat so quickly it ought to have leapt through his ribcage.

Feather had to breathe; she was right about that; he continued to do what she said. River seemed to reward his perseverance by periodically patting and rubbing his back. It felt... nice.

He was breathing. He truly was breathing, and he was here. It felt like all was going to be okay.

Feather was definitely out of breath, but he calmed as his heart continued to slow down. Feather’s lungs were definitely killing him, but this was fine. It was okay. He was safe. They were safe. Except...

“Where... where is she?” Feather’s voice was even coarser than the sands and soil of the shore beneath. “She was left there... Is she... alright?”

A force was placed on his withers. Feather turned to face the blurry figure that air-lifted him here—her hoof gentle yet affirming. It was Twilight Sparkle, a warm mirth in her expression.

He didn’t know why she would look at him so mysteriously. His questions were answered when she merely pointed in that direction.

His eyes were out of focus. Again, he couldn’t make out distances so well. As he tried squinting his eyes, a spark of recognition hit him as to who he stared back at.

Crystal Jade.

She was soaked, her mane and tail damp, her ties of gold and jewelry still fastened on, skirt sticking to her rump. She looked just like he had seen her in his dreams apart from her being wet. One thing was missing.

Her serpentine mask. It was gone. Feather gazed at her unhiding face. She gazed at his. And all was quiet.

No breeze blew. The world held back a breath.

“Are you... are you really her?” River and Twilight glanced amongst each other when the former asked, breaking the silence of the otherwise undisturbed nighttime.

Only the gentle rustles of trees responded, a static noise.

She looked like gleaming stars. All doubts have been removed, all premonitions. Feather didn’t know what it was, but when he stared back at those eyes, he felt as if she was more real than he was. Under the melancholy of a clear sky and a clear moon, Feather felt as if he connected to her soul more than any other person in the galaxy. He saw her more than he saw himself.

“Yes,” Feather easily answered. He stood, walking with shaky limbs. She only sat down on the shoreline sand, locking her gaze on him—tunnel vision. To Feather and Jade, they were the only things that existed. That mattered.

He took a double take to make sure he didn’t come too close. Her face and mane shone under moonlight, the reflections coming off her mane radiant and golden. “It’s you. It could only be you.”

Jade placed a hoof on his own. She placed her other hoof on the ground, kneading—in retrospect—insignificant particles of ground.

This was the first time she’s touched for a thousand years, the only other times being in the dreams of others.

But this was no dream. This was real. She wouldn’t be whisked away into a place unknown when it was all over, she wouldn’t be put to sleep between the seams of different realities.

Jade was here now. Jade was here.

Feather stumbled from the force of her hug, the girl wrapping hooves around him in an embrace. They had embraced before—several times in his dreams and trips—but to feel this properly was... enlightening? Fulfilling? It filled a hole bored in his heart from when he was only young, a love that could only be given by one’s soulmate.

He felt her breathing, felt the shakiness in her hooves as they pressed his back. She was cold from the water, but it was the warmest touch Feather had ever felt.

Her heartbeat. Feather was reminded of when he was in his dream—in the mountains in front of a fireplace. They had been close at that moment, Feather able to distinguish that rhythm of her chest. He recalled how it was weak, how it was one of a dying child’s.

Not anymore. The beat of her heart was strong. It ran a hundred miles an hour, capable of orbiting the planet as many times as one could count, rising as he pressed his chest against hers.

Jade had a heartbeat. Jade could walk around, talk. She needed not his dreams anymore.

Jade was alive.

“Feather!”

He was interrupted when his two friends neared a few steps, the professionalism of handling their emergency morphing into wonderment and serious concern. Feather only realized they’d been calling them for several times now. The two mares looked like they’d just had the longest night of their lives, restlessness lighting their eyes.

Feather excused himself, facing his two companions as they came to him.

“Thank the stars you’re alright.” He was surprised at the force at which River hugged him. Feather was also oddly pleased. It was out of compassion; it was because she cared for him. Feather only wrapped a meek hoof around her barrel before she patted his back and let go, though he had chuckled.

“Thank Celestia, too”—Twilight placed a hoof on his shoulder—“We were so worried about you! We woke up in the water too, but for some time you didn’t show up, and...” Twilight gasped and slapped a hoof on her mouth. “How have I not noticed any sooner? Feather, what happened to your eye?!”

Feather simply returned his attention to Jade, seeing her pairs.

Those eyes, how serene they were. Calm and peaceful too. Her right eye was red. Her left eye was purple.

An eye for an eye, he thought rather solemnly. That purple orb found new life as the expression she gave him filled with a sense of new hope, a fresh admiration.

Setting a tentative hoof on his left eyelid, Feather found an eyepatch fastened tightly to his head. Almost drowning must’ve made him ignore it outright, aches in his lungs and the dizziness in his head having made him subconsciously push the concern aside.

“I had an opportunity,” Feather explained to his two friends, not prying from her gaze. “I saw how she wore that mask because she was hurting, she was scarred. She hid behind that mask because there was something broken about her, something physical... When I remembered the legend saying ‘find her heart and make it complete,’ I immediately understood what that meant. It was something I had to do.”

A newfound sadness struck him suddenly, maybe from his words he finally spoke out to the world to hear. In his mind it was worth it, but Feather couldn’t help but feel a sense of loneliness creeping up his heart. What would his team say back when he returned? He’ll never live the same way again.

Jade seemed to share his emotion, a pitiful and dejected feeling. It was the feeling of when one got everything they wanted, and at the same time mourning great sacrifices to get to where they were. Now what?

“I’m sorry,” Jade whispered. She closed her left eye and placed a hoof on it, a moment passing before she slipped it away. “I... wish there was some other way.”

“It... it doesn’t matter now.”

Jade stood and sat in front of him. Notwithstanding sounds of disturbed sand and forest ambiance, it was most probably the quietest night of his life. “You’re here. I’m here. River and Twi are here. I...”

He shut his eye. “I didn’t think it would be like this. Yet we’re here. Yet we’re here...”

Feather looked into the horizon. It was hard to see—he could barely do so, anyway—but he did indeed spot what was expected.

Tlekokalli. Except this was not the Tlekokalli he had once seen in his visions. This was the lost city when he and his friends had first found it, a husk of a civilization, an abandoned abode of kings. It was ironic because when he confirmed this was indeed the deserted version of the city, that only meant one thing.

They truly were home.

Jade seemed to have a sadness in her, a contemplative dissonance that warred her very soul. She must have thought of her sentiments: “I was not meant for that world, I was meant to be with you.” It still didn’t excuse her from the sorrow; it didn't spare her from the pain. The only home she knew was a lifeless corpse of what it once was. There were no city lights that gleamed back at them, only benign stars.

Jade looked at her own hooves, wondering if she would turn into a ghost again.

He instinctively wrapped her in an embrace, almost tackling her. Jade’s breath was that of genuine surprise, a surprise that anypony would do this. Feather couldn’t care less of his hurt now, for the despondency she must’ve felt was a thousand times worse. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay. I’m here. I’m here.”

Jade paused for a moment before burying her face into his neck.

At that moment, feeling the plump of her body, Feather was taken back to his memories. To that Ohteotl retreat, meeting River Moon and taking that brew. He saw Jade’s face, so full of hidden things, occasionally revealing to him emotions that were perhaps too real.

He remembered his dreams with her; that party, that institution for the mentally ill. She hadn’t even said anything in that first dream, but Feather could still recall that face: watching, knowing things nopony else knew, and yet she looked kind. Protective. That second dream he remembered most of all. She was broken. He wasn’t supposed to go near her, but he did anyway. Reaching the constraints of her straightjacket, he let go of her bonds. She placed a gentle hoof on his cheek. Feather had set Jade free. They exchanged names, and when each name rolled off the other’s tongue, it felt just right, like they knew it all along but somehow forgot.

Dreams were a figment of one’s imagination, right? A process wherein one was taken through whimsical events in the brain for some purpose not understood by science.

Peeling back, Feather could see there was something else going on. He had once thought his dreams were things that only happened, events that were loosely based on real life antics and happenstances. Now he knew they were more.

That something will never be fully understood. Feather accepted that. What he did know was that it had been the manner for this mare right here to interface with him. She was now flesh. She was now blood. Before that was only a wish. Now it was reality.

It sounded stupid. Two ponies who had never even met before, how was it possible this pairing was even a thing? They had been separate. They had been apart. They hadn’t known the other existed for a thousand years.

Wandering souls. That’s what they were. Wandering souls in a world impermanent and a universe constantly changing. It would take a miracle for these two to meet. It seemed impossible. It had been impossible for way too many.

Yet here they were. They were together. Beyond rational things, beyond doubt, beyond understanding, they were long lost soulmates who’d never met—from separate timelines, from separate worlds—that somehow found each other. Through the luck of the draw, through either a mistake or a deliberation, their paths had occasionally crossed. A tangent meeting a circle, a point that only got to meet with another once and only once, that’s what this should have felt like. It was more than that.

This was what happened when the sun rose from the west. This was what happened when dreams went beyond rational things. This was what happened when two soulmates reached beyond the stars for a chance to meet one another.

Feather wrapped a hoof around her head. She wrapped a hoof around his barrel. They held their bodies close, starting with different heart beats but eventually, given time, beating together. At that moment, they were one and one in the same.

Under the omnipotence of hallowed moonlight, in a blanket of warm, forgiving wind, these two soulmates met for the first time. It was though planets aligned, and the challenges would continue on, so will the hardships, so will the pain and suffering. But it was worth it. Feather had lost, but he gained, and Jade had lost much, and she gained even more. Now they had each other.

For a moment the universe did seem to care, skies above twinkling with brilliant stars. Heaven told them that their wishes have been granted, that before they would come to it there still laid ahead hopeful days and wondrous memories.

Author's Notes:

Reflections and Other Things

We’ve made it to the end! I think Sh1ve’s cute artwork adds a nice touch to Scarred Serpentine’s closing. I honestly don’t know what to say… The idea of Scarred Serpentine started bubbling in my head since March, and I was working with its outline by April. It took longer to publish I have to admit, but I believe it was for the best. Now it's completed!

(WARNING: Paragraph of Personal Thoughts): I’ve written stories before, and many of them I came to dislike. I think it was because I tried so hard at being something I wasn’t. Like I tried to run as a bird when I could have just flew. I had to learn to get away from that sort of mentality. I realized that I should just write the way I do, and while some people may not like my work, that’s okay! I’d rather be honest in my writing than contort my work in the pursuit of more praise or something like that.

This is probably the last work I’ll write in a while (although I do have a short story—Heaven-sent—published). Scarred Serpentine was an idea I wanted to execute after a while of not writing. When another idea comes to me in the future, I might put pen on paper (or hands on a keyboard) and let it take me away!

To Sh1ve and Skyeypony, Jatheus and their comments, Dusk_Writer and their advice, my bestie for motivation, and to you dear reader: thank you! To be honest, I’m not really ready to let go (I’ve been writing this for like 15 minutes), but all I can do is wish you farewell until next time!