Filii Calamitatis, Filii Angoris
Chancellor Neighsay was, typically, a busy stallion—maintaining the continued upkeep of all the schools in Equestria, while simultaneously making sure that the Superintendents for said schools were doing their jobs, was a tedious affair. This especially held true whenever scandals involving said Superintendents came to light, and necessitated that the Equestrian Education Association weigh in when such matters reared their ugly heads. Student abuse, embezzlement, spoiled rich mares that thought the sister worlds would cater to them—one could say that, in the education department, he may well have seen it all.
Thus, being a busy stallion, he had little time to dally around and wait for things to happen to him, much less actually be at home. Granted, he was just as surprised as the rest of Mythos when the barrier between it and Fantasia had shattered, and even moreso when he heard that Fantasian diplomats had come to Mythos for a little 'I'll show you mine if you show me yours.'
What he found absolutely inexcusable, however, was said diplomat group's… red rug ceremony, the circumstances of which were horrible. The Fantasian envoys had arrived in garb unfamiliar to the nobility of Equestria, and were mocked by their hosts. It escalated so much that Celestia and Luna had been forced to step in and put an end to it. That was not a way to treat diplomats; that was practically an invitation to wage war with them, which for some reason the Fantasians hadn't taken yet.
The painfully obvious aside, he had many, many questions regarding the Fantasians, which continued to plague him like pestilent locusts whenever he wasn't working. Said questions, very few of which had been answered thanks to a little school report that, incidentally, aided in the firing of a Superintendent who had slipped beneath the radar, continued to pester him even now. If he had to estimate, only five out of a thousand had received something of an answer, and even then he had to consult the school report to remind himself that said answers were, themselves, mostly incomplete.
He was thankful he had booked this weekend off a month in advance, even before the aforementioned debacle with the most recently fired Superintendent, as now he had a solid chance of putting those particular demons to rest. He made sure he was ready—medallion, sash, robes, and most importantly, the saddlebags on his back that contained the report in question, the first ever done involving a Fantasian province. He made extra certain that not one parchment was out of place, nor the pictures stapled within. While informative, and authentic, it still raised further questions about their interplanetary neighbors—after all, the parchments only covered one province, glossed over others, and more or less left Fantasia as a whole completely blank otherwise.
And what little information there was… well, it basically gave him cause to come to the conclusion that Fantasia had gone really deep down the rabbit hole of despair, if something as simple and universal for ponykind as cutie marks were seen in a harsh light. While careful to not judge the book by just its cover, he couldn't help but wonder… had the children who made the report exaggerated a little bit, given their proclivities for flights of fancy just to give an allure of whatever arcane workings for Fantasian society a foreboding aura…
… or was it not exaggeration, but rather, the bold and naked truth laid bare?
That question bugged him the most about the school report—though there were few ways to answer it directly. The Fantasians who had come to Mythos had gone home after only a month or so, and even then, they had kept to the shadows, never staying out for long. Given their less than warm welcome, Neighsay had known something was up the instant the paparazzi, who were usually knowledge-hungry and more prone to lying than most politicians, weren't hounding said Fantasians during that time.
The only other way to really answer that question was to find the children who made the report, and interview them together, though that was more hassle than it was worth—finding said children would be awkward enough, and he would rather let them be. Children needed room to grow after all, and interrogating them likely wouldn't get anywhere, especially the ones who had penned the report.
The Fantasian province they had covered? Militaristic. Less than ten years old. Probably stringent with whatever information they happened to leak out, and keeping the lion's share of it classified. There was a very good chance that whatever classified information said children did hear still had yet to leave their lips. As dumb luck would have it, the leaders of said province were the ones playing diplomats, and…
Well, he had seen the newspapers. Things had gone pear-shaped. Shining Armor had been directly involved. Trials had occurred, within only the first week of their visit. The guilty party had gone to prison, escaped, and later was booted out of Mythos once they were found—and hadn't that been a fun little tidbit of information to learn, when he overheard some nobles talking about it during a stroll through Canterlot just last week. He began to wonder if said military leaders had a knack for trouble, or if trouble just kept finding them wherever they went.
However… he had a third option before him, admittedly less unorthodox than whatever harebrained scheme led to the newspaper articles to begin with. He knew the first rule of diplomacy: meet with the leaders of the other nation as soon as possible, to iron out any fine details. Being that that was what the Fantasian diplomats did, he decided to take the simple route and meet with the Princesses directly.
He checked the time by looking out the window of his office and frowned; it was roughly three o'clock, meaning that Parliament was still likely trying to tongue-tie Celestia, Luna, and Cadence into something of an uncomfortable position if they were active today. Using a portal leading directly into Parliament was likely going to get him thrown out immediately. Using a portal leading directly outside of Canterlot Castle itself, on the other hoof, was fair game—the guards would have probably let him waltz right through unannounced, so long as he stated his business and made sure to carry any forms he might have needed in advance. After that, it would be a relatively easy walk towards his destination, for even the nobility wouldn't be able to stonewall him forever, given that he more or less ensured the continued function of the nation's education system.
He took a deep breath, and one last look around the office. Granted, it was the one directly attached to his home, and not the one at work, but the home-office helped him stay sharp, and keep him less distracted—at least, until either nature, bedtime, work that required him being at the other office, or the need to eat pulled him away, not that he had much of a chance to actually use his home-office as of late. The most he did at home today, besides heed nature and food, was ensure his door would be locked and that his abode was as orderly as it could be, with him being constantly away from it.
He checked himself one last time, using the window's reflection. He looked as sharp as he was going to get. This was his only chance, barring an unlikely return visit of the aforementioned militaristic Fantasian diplomats, to lay to rest the questions ailing him. He turned around, to the scroll-filled shelves, the writing desk and chair, and the few pictures hanging on the walls behind him. He trotted around the desk to the open space before the door and lit his horn to tap his medallion.
He watched as a portal shot before the door from his medallion, and opened up before him to reveal Canterlot Castle. He walked through, the teleportation making him come to his destination immediately, and the portal seamlessly closed behind him as soon as he stepped out to the other side. The guards at the entrance looked at him, traded looks with each other, then turned back to him with their brows ever so slightly raised, not that the average citizen could tell that much due to their helmets.
"Er… Chancellor, it's…" one guard muttered, pausing to fish for words.
His compatriot finished for him, "Unusual to see you out of the office at this time of day. What brings you here?"
"At ease," Chancellor Neighsay replied. "It is not school-related matters that have brought me here, but rather… a matter of curiosity. Tell me, is Parliament still keeping the Princesses busy today?"
The guards frowned. "No; they booked themselves a break three weeks ago, for the entire weekend. They're still running the other functions of the nation that require their attention, but… after a very stern talk with one of the nobility, they thought that they should cool off," one of them answered.
That… did not sound promising. "Are they allowing visitors at this time?" he asked.
One of the guards nodded. "They're in the royal gardens today, though they've had few visitors. If you wish to see them, head there," he advised. "But… I wouldn't recommend using a portal; it might seem like official school business to them if you do that."
So, he had to take the long way then. "Thanks for the warning," Chancellor Neighsay said, garnering nods from the guards.
"By the way, what's in the saddlebags?" one of the guards asked.
Neighsay lit his horn up and pulled out the school report. He held it in front of one of the guards, and the other moved from his post to look it over as the pages flipped open. "A… school report…?" one of the pair muttered.
A few pages afterwards, one of them lifted his hooves and pointed at a picture contained therein. "Hey, wait a minute… I recognize those torn ears and red eyes! That's the Fantasian General!" one of them exclaimed. "And those are his right hooves…" The guards looked up at Neighsay, comprehension dawning in their eyes. Neighsay closed the report and put it back in his saddlebags, figuring they had gotten the gist of what he was actually there for. They promptly returned to their positions and let him stroll inside, very carefully pretending that he was just another petitioner or equivalent thereof.
Chancellor Neighsay knew where to go, for the palace had been built in a specific way to allow one to head right to the royal gardens relatively easily. As soon as he strode inside the palace proper, all he had to do was bank to the left, follow the curve of the hall in that direction, and take the first door that lead outward. He paused at that door as soon as he came across it, and took a deep whiff of the chilly, vibrant air that did a wondrous job in steeling his nerves.
He followed a small cobblestone pathway lined with metal, rose-adorned arches, which split off in about five different directions after a few meters. This was an olden path, one constructed during the city's inception and worn with age, the crossroads of which were adorned with a far more recent handy-dandy little sign sitting on an arch, indicating where each path went.
The one pointing towards the castle walls on the far side of the city lead towards the animal sanctuary, the one adjacent lead towards the hedge maze, and the one pointing straight and true in front lead to the flower gardens. The next one to the left lead to a picnic spot that doubled as a popular catering area and tripled as a popular photoshoot and kite-flying spot, and the last was a simple garden lined with fruit trees, the roots of which were as ancient as the city and palace and the fruits of which were rumored to belong directly to the Princesses.
Neighsay gauged the air around him, making calculations accounting for the height of the mountain in relation to where the sun was in the sky, as well as the shifting seasons. Winter would soon grace both worlds, but the air hadn't chilled enough to announce its presence yet. The Princesses probably would have visited the animal sanctuary earlier in the day, just to check up on things, so he immediately ruled that out. The flower gardens were also a no-go, as the blossoms, having been pollinated by now, would have started retreating into the world for the coming sleep. The hedge maze, while popular for the children of nobility and tourists, wouldn't see much use until Nightmare Night, and that was still at least a full month off, so that got fed to the process of elimination. That left the fruit gardens, and the picnic spots. The fruit gardens would have probably been harvested clean by now, so unless one wanted shade from the sun, there'd be little point in visiting.
He took the road leading down to the picnic area, trotting confidently and briskly. While he did entertain the chance that the Princesses wouldn't be in the picnic zone, and said zone being filled with other ponies in the meanwhile, he was certain that he could just ask the nearest guard where they were at, in that potential eventuality. Well, only one way to find out if he had to ask around, really.
He didn't pick up his pace, as he had no reason to gallop, because if anypony were to see him gallop, they might think a bad omen was going to befall the nation's schools or something. That, and he had to keep up a reputation of being the level-headed, no-nonsense head of the EEA even outside of work. He was, very much, like the nobility and Princesses in that regard, in that his reputation basically followed him every step of the way and demanded he act in a certain manner. That was, unless he wanted to get hit over the head by questions demanding answers for why he wasn't acting in that certain manner.
It took him a few minutes to reach the picnic area, and as he trotted along the path, the other paths grew further and further away—a natural consequence of those alternate paths leading elsewhere that he ignored. But within that time frame, he saw the first tables and benches coming into view, most of them with some distance between them to allow for walking room and the like. While the Canterlot gardens were humongous, even they had limited space to work with, given that the city itself was basically attached to a mountainside. Thus, he reasoned that it wouldn't take him too long to find the ponies he sought, if indeed, they were here.
Right away, he noticed irregularities with the tables and benches—the first ones he came across were suspiciously empty, when normally, they'd be packed to the brim. The air was right, the sun and clouds were right, and yet… nopony was here. It was just him, and the stillness of the wind. He looked ahead at the rest of the picnic spot, at least what he could immediately see of it, and… not a peep, not a soul seemed to be present. This was highly peculiar, especially on a weekend of all times, when ponies would actually have time to relax and unwind.
Granted, if one caught the Princesses out having a picnic, especially here, there was a very good chance they were trying to keep to themselves, very much like the visiting Fantasians when they were in Equestria's borders. At least, going by what little he had heard and learned of them.
Of course, he knew he couldn't gauge all the tables at once, especially since his eyesight only caught the immediate surroundings—not that he was nearsighted or anything, but merely noting peculiarities as he came upon them. So, he trotted on down the path to see if he could, perhaps, find another living soul here.
A few more tables revealed more of the same—nothing. Not so much as a flitting butterfly or busy bumblebee. A faint chill crept up his spine, starting from the tip of his tail and skipping along his vertebrae in a slow dance that whispered in his ear as soon as it reached the base of his skull: 'don't,' his conscious seemed to say. He kept going regardless, if only to put the matter plaguing him to rest, and it wasn't a few tables afterward that his ears picked up the faint sounds of chatter. Another few tables afterwards, he was able to make out clear words.
"Auntie Celestia… if what you're saying is true, then…"
"Unfortunately… it seems to be that way…"
"It is terribly and horribly disastrous and negligent, that for all of Fantasia, it had to come to this…"
For a moment, just a moment, Neighsay felt his veins turning cold, and yet he could not gauge why. Whatever it was, it sounded serious—more so than he had first assumed. He started to wonder if, perhaps, he had come at a bad time, and briefly weighed the option to drop the pursuit here and now and seek out answers another time. He shook his head as he mentally discarded the option; he considered the counterpoint that perhaps, somehow, Equestria might have been at stake if the severity of the words he had heard were any indication.
He picked up the pace, but still refrained from galloping; if those were the ponies he thought he heard, he'd rather not be held at spearpoint. He was weaving past tables and benches at a more alarming speed than to which he'd normally be accustomed, but so long as nopony had actively seen him at said pace, he'd figured he was more or less alright for now. It didn't take him longer than five minutes at the most to come upon his quarry, flanked by Luna and Cadence and meandering away from the picnic area themselves, their faces more or less hidden by their manes.
Before he could utter a word, the three stopped upon hearing his hoofsteps, and turned to him in unison, causing him to come to a stop as well. While seemingly calm, Neighsay knew something was up when he saw the saddened frown, and the slightly slanted brow that Princess Celestia bore on her otherwise gentle face. Cadence bore an expression of worry, her bottom lip trembling as she tried to not gnaw on it. Luna merely closed her eyes and gravely shook her head, as though she were saying that, whatever was happening, she could not in any capacity help out whatsoever.
Once more, Neighsay felt the blood chilling in his veins upon seeing the expressions. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the frost crackling in his arteries as it slowly claimed him inch by increment inch. Celestia spoke, her voice as saddened as her expression, "... I see you're not here for work-related matters…" She looked about at the empty tables of the picnic area and sighed. "Do you know… or have you heard, about why I arranged to have some time away from Parliament, when otherwise I wouldn't be able to put it on hold?"
The question caused Neighsay's heart to briefly stop in his chest, for the length of one beat. That question alone set off a myriad of alarm bells in his head, and came very close to setting loose the dogs of havoc. Still, he forced himself to be outwardly calm, and made his mouth articulate a response: "No, I haven't heard much… the most I did learn was that you had booked the weekend off, but not the why."
Celestia glanced around, her frown deepening just a little—enough that, for most ponies, it would already be off-putting. For Neighsay, it was an indictment that whatever he was about to hear or get himself into would not bode particularly well. "I think we should discuss this elsewhere, Chancellor. I feel as if… you're ready to know," she said, turning to look pointedly at his saddlebags. "But before we do… may I ask, what is that? You're normally not the type to burden yourself with saddlebags."
"A copy of the first ever accurate school report done on a Fantasian province," Neighsay answered truthfully, figuring there wouldn't be any weaseling his way out of this one. "You see, Princesses, I… I wanted to have some questions of my own answered about them…"
Luna opened her eyes, and her frown emerged. She glanced at Celestia. "Should we tell him, sister?" she asked.
Celestia closed her eyes and contemplated the question, before nodding. "We've already told Shining Armor, Prince Blueblood, and Captain Spitfire…" She opened her eyes again, and turned to her sister. "Have you told the wraithling yet, in the dream world?"
"I have," Luna answered with a nod. She turned back to Neighsay and added, "I believe it is time to start informing Neighsay of what we were discussing."
"What… what were you discussing?" Neighsay found himself asking. "And… and just what is a wraithling, anyway?"
"A wraithling is a changeling who had become one of the undead, Chancellor," Princess Cadence replied, shaking her head. "And it is a phenomenon so rare that, had we not seen one with our own eyes… we would never have believed the concept to exist at all."
"And why wouldn't it exist otherwise? What are you insinuating, Princess Cadence?" Neighsay pressed, struggling to comprehend whatever the Tartarus she was talking about. This was not the time to be discussing story genres or whatever the young rabble got into these days—this matter was most dire!
"... It is–" Cadence began, only to be halted by a blue, silver-clad hoof that rose to obstruct her chest, despite the fact that she had not taken a single step towards the Chancellor, nor was intending to.
"It is an irregularity so unique, it just so happens to be a vitally important matter all on its own. As for our discussion…it pertains to the deplorable state of Fantasia, the direction it will be headed towards soon, and how a prophecy that has been rendered forgotten and incomplete on its surface will play out," Luna added. She lit her horn before Neighsay could process the ramifications of what he had just heard, and Luna grasped him, her niece, and her sister in her magic, before a bright flash of light enveloped them all, making them disappear from the picnic area.
~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~-—-~
When the light dimmed, the four of them found themselves in a seemingly unassuming castle hallway, with a door on their right that was closed. It was ornate, hewn of carved wood laced with intricate patterns, the upper box of which contained a plaque that read 'Canterlot Archives.' Celestia unlatched the door with her magic and strode inside, being careful to duck her head in so she wouldn't get her horn caught in the doorframe. Luna and Cadence followed her, followed by Neighsay, who had found himself too stunned to speak.
Before them stretched a vast library, three floors tall and adorned with solar and lunar motifs, each adorned with shelves reaching to the ceiling of the next floor and lined with books. At the far back wall and side walls were yet more shelves, each fitted with scrolls as well as books that were yellowed with age. Guards patrolled the perimeter, each doing their best to ensure that no books and scrolls would be stolen on their watch. A few passersby noticed the gathering of royals, though as they were guards, they did not change their patrol routes.
"Tell us, Neighsay…” Celestia asked as she trotted onwards, leading the three behind her past shelf after shelf, and guard after guard. “Do you, by chance, remember the phrase, 'As the stars gleam in the night sky like the moon, so too shall the forests whisper in the winds and bring about the hope in Fantasia?'"
"... Very vaguely, but yes. I believe it was penned by Starswirl the Bearded?" Neighsay replied, unsure of what he had gotten into. He noticed that Celestia hadn't strayed to any shelf on the left, nor the right, save for one staircase on the left that she strode down to access the lower floor.
"Correct. Can you tell me what is wrong with that phrase?" Celestia pressed as they strode down the stairs to trot on the lower floor.
"... From an objective standpoint, it would make some semblance of sense to the outside observer," Neighsay said tactfully. "Yet, it is not very informative—it's missing key components. Every time I heard the phrase in the curriculum during my foalhood years, I was left wondering if it had been left incomplete on purpose, or if Starswirl had taken to the watering hole and made it all up in a fit of alcoholism. The last time I had heard it was in college, back when I was studying to get the degrees necessary to become a Superintendent at the time, and even then the academics more or less skipped around it altogether."
Again, Celestia did not go towards any of the shelves of the Archive that were around her, instead proceeding straight ahead through the row between them. She did not halt until she had reached the furthest wall, towards a section of the shelf that housed plain-looking books. She searched that shelf for a specific one, lifted her hoof to grasp a red book, then glanced around to see if any guards were watching. A few were, but as soon as she made eye contact with them, they promptly made themselves scarce.
Another wave of alarm bells went off in Neighsay's head when he saw this, and grew in volume within his mind as he saw Celestia tug the book she had grasped in such a way as to stick one corner of its spine out, whilst keeping it on the shelf. As soon as she let go, the book jerked back into place on its own with an audible click!, and the shelf rumbled and rotated inwards as if on a hinge, revealing a hidden passageway beyond. The passageway was hewn of marble, lined with torches that were not lit, and only big enough to admit the group single file. At the end of the tunnel, it seemed, only an expanse of darkness lay.
Celestia went in first, being the tallest, and having to duck her head to enter. After she passed the frame of the hidden doorway, she stood to full height, as though the passageway had been built with tall ponies in mind. The others followed her, and behind them, the shelf rotated shut with another rumble.
Neighsay thought for a moment to light up the path with his horn, but after a short few seconds, the torches sprang to life with pale blue, strangely cold flames that cast an aura upon them very much like moonlight. The Princesses moved first, leaving Neighsay to collect his nerves and see what was beyond.
At the end of the tunnel, with the darkness somewhat dispelled, Neighsay could see a round room as the Princesses entered it and surrounded the center. There was a table, upon which sat a dusty book that, while worn, was still preserved. He galloped that way to catch up to them, and gazed upon the title of the book: "Before the Barrier, penned by Starswirl the Bearded."
He looked towards Celestia for an answer. "Wh… where did you get this book?" he found himself asking.
"It's the original copy," Luna answered, watching as Neighsay began to pale. "You must be wondering: what happened to the other copies? You remember the one in your curriculum, right? Do you remember the state it had been left in?"
Neighsay nodded shakily. "It… it had ink blotting out enough of the book to render it almost completely unreadable, and the rest was smudged," he answered. "I… I was told there were only five copies made, two of which had been destroyed altogether, one going missing alongside the original, and the last one in the hooves of academia…" The gravity of the situation hit him, and he lit his horn to flip open the book, eyes widening as he beheld text that was unblemished, unsmudged, unsullied by ink that had not written it—as crisp and pure as the day it had been penned.
His heart, once more, stopped in his chest for the length of a full beat. He turned to Celestia yet again, pupils shrinking as unwilling comprehension began to dawn upon him. "You mean… only a few ponies know about this?" he asked, his voice dying in his throat with each word.
Celestia nodded. "As I have said, only select ponies know about this, because they are now involved in Fantasian affairs. You see, Chancellor… that phrase had been crafted as incomplete on purpose," she said. "As for the state of the other copies of this book, we were discussing something that Starswirl the Bearded had instructed us to keep very close to our chests, until the time was right—until it was time for things to be set right on Fantasia. He entrusted us with this book, made copies of it, and then blemished those copies on purpose—in the event that the barrier shattered, and Equestria began meddling in Fantasia's provinces."
"Why… why would he go to such lengths?" Neighsay asked, his ears pinning back against his head. "What reasons did he have to keep this copy hidden?"
"We assure you, he had plenty of reasons to do so, the majority of which pertain to Fantasia's ancients," Luna answered. "Go ahead—the answers lie in the book." Neighsay hesitantly pulled the book closer to him, and carefully flipped the pages, afraid to damage the delicate, priceless parchment. The book was about the length of a standard tome, written in a diary-like format, with clear dates in the corners and everything. It also had illustrations smattered therein, pertaining to certain things as they came up. Airships, places, and even the locals as they turned up, and there were a fair amount of such pictures throughout the tome.
Impossible cities, hewn of magitek and reaching the sky, dominated the majority of illustrations, mostly populated by Fantasian cats that walked upright and used tails and paws to cast their spells. Airships hovered in those cities, transporting goods, again piloted by cats. Some worked with ponies and gryphons, in as intricate a harmony as the kind that existed in Equestria today. At first, the tome was fairly cheerful, the passages speaking about these wondrous, beautiful buildings with awe and adoration.
But the tone changed a good one hundred and forty pages in, starting with an illustration of an alicorn mare fighting with two floating cats, each wearing a hateful expression on their face. Another illustration promptly followed that one, showing the same magitek cities in a state of complete desolation, littered with the dead, the dying, and the surviving cats, many of whom had been rendered legless for reasons he did not know. Other sapients were scattered throughout the desolation, but their numbers were scarce in comparison to the cats.
Another illustration came after that and more pages describing the desolation in fine detail, depicting five figures using three distinct gemstones—one shaped like a leaf, one like a star, and one like flame—to seal the cats. Four were alicorns, one of whom had a beak and front claws, one sporting dark crystalline growths that tore through skin and muscle, one sporting plant matter on their face, wings and legs, and the last looking rather ordinary in comparison in spite of the scars on his body. The last figure… she wasn't an alicorn; her mane seemed made of writhing black fire, her horn was sharp and curved to a wickedly fine point, and her pupils were jagged like shards of glass.
The passages that accompanied this illustration only sent further chills up Neighsay's spine when he read them. They spanned the entire page, and as his eyes scanned the parchment, it felt more like a condemnation than anything. Whatever the individuals in the illustration had done to warrant it only sprang further questions in Neighsay's mind, and he began to wonder what they had done to deserve it.
Alas, it had come to this—while I mourn that Faust and Godcat had fought once again, we could do nothing but stop Their hateful destruction. The ancient alicorns are now reduced to four on Fantasia, each of whom must now shoulder the burden of rebuilding this desolated world—or destroy it in trying. I know not of what befell the ancient alicorns back on beloved Mythos, but I know that it does not bode well for their numbers or their society. Thus far, Faust remains at large, and once I finish deciphering all that Fantasia has to offer now that it is in ruins, I must find a way to seal Faust before She finishes Her ill-fated crusade.
Thus, I have left the surviving ancients with a dire warning, based on a vision that I had witnessed during the Sealing of Godcat—perhaps as a final parting gift from the Halves of Godcat Herself. For Phlegethon and Ptolomia, I had warned them that if they had bore a firstborn son, that he would not adhere to their whims regardless of what they do—for that firstborn son shall be fated to plunge Fantasia into war, return to the lands of his birth, and slay them. No matter what they say, no matter what actions they take, no matter what spells they shall blight him with—he is fated to kill them.
For Wysteria Greenwood, he is fated to die in a similar manner—fruitlessly culling generations of his own descendants, subjecting them to a most horrible blight that profanes as much as imitates true immortality, descending into madness and rage as the blight that has been rendered unto him by Godcat Herself eats away at his mind. Only when twins born from outsiders are freed from his perfidious grasp will he fall, ushered into the hereafter in a sea of veritable darkness.
For Vitreous Diamond, cursed without luster and shards of crystalline growths for the cowardly action of enslaving her own people to the Umbrum, she is fated to have descendants who regain the luster of the once-proud crystal ponies, one of whom shall also inherit her ancestor's dark crystals not in penance, but in the reversal of fortune most dire. Those descendants, in turn, will help initiate the First Catastrophe that will bring forth the ruination of all that the surviving ancients have worked for, and the cleansing of all of Fantasia.
For Shadowstone Sunderer, the Umbrum princess sent on behalf of the Royal Umbrum Family of Blackwillow, she shall bear rebellious foals that know not the worlds outside of their realm of shadow, foals who shall depart from the realm fifteen years before the First Catastrophe is fated to occur. Those foals, whether with each other or with a local, are fated to bear a son that shall initiate the First Catastrophe and begin the First Cleansing. No matter how much they alter history, or erase it altogether, it shall be fated to happen regardless, and will accelerate the more history itself is changed or destroyed.
Neighsay frowned at the names of the ancients and the rather highly specific relatives fated to slay said ancients who, strangely, went without names themselves. "That's strange…" he muttered. "The names of the copy I read hadn't been blotted out, yet the rest of their passages were…" He turned to Celestia and asked, "Do either of you know if any of the Fantasians know these names?"
Luna shook her head. "The current generation of Fantasia seems to have forgotten them completely," she answered. "Then again, I hadn't been browsing through the dreams of the majority; only a select few which… have caught my attention."
Neighsay blinked. "And what of the previous generation?"
"Only one knows two of the ancients by name, but he refuses to recognize them in any capacity, name or otherwise," Luna replied. "He would rather see to it that they are forgotten."
"Who is that pony…?" Neighsay pressed, only for Luna to turn to the book he held in his magical grip once more. Neighsay turned back to the passages, hoping to garner some form of answer from them.
For I know that, if the situation turns most dire on Fantasia once again, that if these assembled five give in to their baser urges and sire future generations, and do indeed the fated Children of Catastrophe rise as foretold, then they will not be stopped until the wrongs of this present time—which shall soon become the past, however long it may be, it will be made right. It shall done under darkened starlight, under eclipsed moon, until the forests are scorched bare and the wind dies to naught but a quiet whisper in the furthest reaches of mortal minds, under flame and flood and shadow and smoke—the end of the ancients will truly come on Fantasia. But should the barrier break, and the seeds of harmony that I had planted back home in beloved Equestria lend their aid, then not all shall be lost to destruction and despair.
Thus, I departed from the remaining ancient alicorns of Fantasia… and yet as I left, I could see darkened desires in their eyes, brewing in their hearts and minds… I left with haste, not wishing to find out if they would consider me and my company a threat in their diminished, despairing presence.
I truly hope they change for the better, though even I sincerely doubt it. The crimes I witnessed them commit, and was powerless to stop, are already too numerous and horrid to describe in any capacity—even before the Sealing, they had fallen from grace, and into a Hell of their own making besides. Why they kept me alive until now, I can only ponder in vain.
But there was another aspect to that vision I bore, that I deigned not to share with them either way. Even now, I can hear them scoffing behind me as I trot away, the derisive sort of snort that one has when they believe that they understand more than you do, because of age and prestige and power and privilege. Even now, I loathe that snort, that small huff of air that indicts so much of what the pony making it believes of the sister worlds around them.
And in the event that the barrier that was formed in my vision shall break, I will duplicate this book four times, and sully the duplicates to ensure that the prophecy remains undisturbed. If Fantasia is to ever recover, it must have its cleansing—it needs, in any capacity, to let the First Catastrophe be initiated. If it has any hope of its populace surviving, it must embrace Calamity and Harmony in perfect, undisturbed tandem. For when Harmony's light shines upon Fantasia, it will shine like the stars and moon, bringing forth new life. Indeed, it will sprout like an untamed forest, through which the winds will whisper once more, bringing forth the hope of rebuilding all that has been destroyed on Fantasia.
None need know this, save for whatever remains of the ancients back on Mythos. None need know this besides, save for those that whatever ancients remain shall be trusted to keep. Not even the Children of Catastrophe need know about this, until the prophecy has come to pass—I had but a mere glimpse of the six, and they were as young as they were brash, bold and reckless beyond compare. For if they were to ever learn of their fate before the prophecy is complete, they may commit as many, or perhaps even more atrocities than their ancestors who are fated to die by their hooves—a future that I do not wish to come to pass. And before those same ancients can profane her shattered innocence into cynicism and hate, I must find the last changeling of the fallen hive of Aeris Maleficarum, and inform her of her part of the prophecy that she shall watch unfold.
And I will know her when we meet, for she is but a shell of her former self, whatever that former self may have been. For she shall be the only scarlet changeling left in all of forsaken Fantasia—the last remnant, whether living or undead, of a now extinct tribe. She will aid the Shadowbound Swordstorm, the Cleansing Crystal of Condemnation, the Demented Diversion, the Venomous Tongue of Agonizing Ailments, the Shattering Squallsong, and the Warborne Wrath in dispatching the ancients… if they allow her to persist at all.
Chancellor Neighsay was awestruck, and horrified at what he was reading, though even more confused by the book refusing to actually name the ones prophesied to slay their ancestors, instead bequeathing unto them titles that didn't make a lick of sense at first. Tenderly, he set the book down before closing it, and slowly turned to Celestia. Celestia remained silent, merely tipping her chin just slightly towards him, as though waiting for him to come to a conclusion on his own.
A tiny part of his mind reminded him about the school report, and he flipped open his saddlebags to fish it out with a flash of his horn. He held it before him, flipping to the first chapter reading, "Part I: Before the Aerie: Ragnarok, Hellfire, And Catastrophe." The chapter, a few pages in, was accompanied by the illustration of a stadium, above which a portal to the sky had been ripped open, letting forth impossibly large weapons from its entrance. Surrounding them were burning meteors of flame, shedding feather-like embers. Yet despite the light surrounding them, the impossibly large weapons were cloaked entirely in shadow, seemingly absorbing all light that came upon their surfaces.
He put the school report in his saddlebags, and once more looked at the Princesses, who all wore grave expressions. "Y-you mean… you mean to tell me…" he stammered, horror gripping his heart as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place.
Celestia gravely nodded. Neighsay noticed that the sorrowful expression on her face hadn't changed since he had caught up to her in the picnic area. "It has already begun…" she said ominously. "And there is nothing even we can do about it." She regarded him with that mournful look, as gentle as a mother having to bury her own child. "And as you had been given critical information, I felt that we would have no choice but to inform you sooner or later." She closed her eyes slowly, as if she were grieving. "You are, currently, the fourth mortal Equestrian to know about this whole affair. This information cannot get out, until the prophecy on Fantasia finishes unfolding."
"The most we can do is save the innocents, so they need not suffer needlessly, and even then only indirectly," Luna added, shaking her head. "The most the Fantasians who came to visit had heard was the incomplete prophecy, and they warned us to not meddle too much in their affairs, fearing that their reputation and proclivity for mayhem would only sour diplomatic relations in the long run." She looked at Neighsay squarely and added, "Furthermore, they wore illusions upon coming in—illusions my sister and I could see right through, due to our link with the sun and moon. We knew, right away, what they were—yet only five of the Children of Catastrophe had assembled at the time. Yet, we dared not say anything, at least to their faces or when they were in earshot."
"... and what about the sixth?" Neighsay asked.
"He was on Fantasia, and through a sojourn in the dream world last night, I had confirmed he was found by the others, and brought into their little fold," Luna confirmed. "Have you heard about the recent banishments? That wasn't merely done to keep the peace we have with the Fantasians already, though that was a very large part of it."
Neighsay's brow furrowed. "... what did you find?" he pressed.
"Wraiths are making their reemergence in Equestria… tell us, do you know the last recorded wraith in all of Equestria, when we came into power?" Celestia asked, keeping her eyes closed as she lifted a hoof to rest it on the original, unblemished copy of Starswirl's book.
Neighsay frowned. "... that was around the time Starswirl and his closest allies disappeared a thousand years ago, and around the time that Discord had been turned to stone," he said. "And records show, you had personally killed that wraith, Princess."
Celestia nodded. "Yes. Tell us, do you know what powers wraiths—what keeps them going, regardless of the damage they may suffer?" she asked.
"... no, I do not, for the records on wraiths seem to contradict each other, and with no wraiths nearby to find the truth, it’s difficult to sort out," Neighsay answered with a growing frown, dread gnawing at his heart as he realized the sheer amounts of misery Fantasia was engaged in, and being utterly powerless to stop it.
"They persist in hatred and despair, both suffering from it and inflicting it wherever they tread, Neighsay. Only when the objects of their ire are slain, or otherwise incapacitated, will they allow themselves to die, whereupon age catches up to them regardless of how long they had lived—unless they are essentially forcefed so much love as to cancel the hatred and despair out, in which case, they disintegrate completely," Celestia said gravely. "Otherwise, they linger in physical and ethereal bodies that only grow more and more broken and deranged the longer they bask in their fury. Few wraiths can be said to have true immortality, regenerating whole limbs that would otherwise be irreplaceable in undeath. Even then, the methods for forcefeeding them love are… questionable, and the spells used have been made illegal after the last wraith I had found had been slain that thousand years ago."
"The Fantasians had such a wraith with them—the first we had ever seen set foot into Equestria in a thousand years, Neighsay," Luna added. "I'm surprised they kept her as well-hidden as they did, given that she is one of the few truly immortal wraiths." She shook her head. "Afterwards, we had reports of more cropping up—one involved in that trial that made the newspapers, whose testimony had been admitted, yet whose undeath had been omitted. Another sprang up in the Everfree and was dispatched, and all three culprits of that trial had, themselves, become wraiths after suffering from grievous injury."
"Yet… the wraith the Fantasians had with them, she attended both a Crystalling and a Crystal Faire, and suffered no ill effects for it. She sparkled like the rest of the crystal ponies, and even partook in some of the activities… at least, the ones Shining would allow her to participate in," Cadence noted, frowning. "I'd think that the Crystal Heart would dispel her hatred and despair, and yet… it didn't."
"Do you think it was because of her species?" Luna asked, turning to Cadence.
Cadence shrugged. "It could have been… and it would make sense that she would feed on the love generated, given the opportunity was there. Though, I'd have probably noticed if she had actually done that, and I am amazed she didn't take that chance," she replied. "Then again, I would have probably obliterated her and jeopardized the prophecy…"
"Either way, it is fortunate that you exercised restraint. She was but a visitor, after all," Luna said, spreading a wing to tenderly pat Cadence on the back. "And I am impressed that Shining set aside his hatred of the changelings for the Fantasians' sake, considering the kind of military they run."
Cadence sagged a little, but only just. "I'm just glad things didn't get any worse than they did…" she muttered. "I mean, a riot in Canterlot, aimed at the pegasi before it turned on the Fantasians…" She shuddered. "That was enough insanity for one week, nevermind how the nobles took it afterwards…"
Neighsay shuddered, vividly remembering the night the riot broke out. While he didn't understand the rhyme nor reason for it having sprung in the first place, he remembered the effect it had on Equestria's populace—when the nation's ponies weren't quaking in fear of things going wrong and destroying their beloved Harmony, more often than not, they were saying horrific things about the Fantasians that had visited. Furthermore, relations between pegasi and unicorns were just a little more strained than they were lately because of that same incident. "Was the instigator of the riot caught?" he asked.
"Instigators,” Celestia nodded, “and yes. They will serve the rest of their days in the palace dungeons," she affirmed. "We have also found the pony who had paid the culprits that had become wraiths, and… he has been taken care of as well. We kept a copy of the vast amounts of evidence he had in our Archives and sent another copy to the Fantasians themselves, but for now… we're more or less 'keeping it on the down low,' as most ponies would say these days."
Somepony paid those maniacs to make the news in the worst way possible? Neighsay shuddered to imagine what else would have happened, had the Fantasians stayed for longer than they did. He was awestruck that one idiot was brazen enough to make that maneuver, and even more so that the gullible bastards who had their faces plastered in the papers actually took that same money and expected something to come of it. Then his brain registered Luna's earlier words, and if he could get any paler, he would have done so in that moment. "You're saying… this blithering buffoon…"
Luna nodded. "Yes. He and his lackeys more or less threatened to upend everything," she said simply. "It was fortunate that the hippogryph filly they also foalnapped was able to cut herself out of her bindings, and inflict the grievous wounds necessary to allow them to become wraiths." She facehoofed and shook her head. "Seriously, which one of them thought that viscera was a good substitute for rope…?" she grumbled to nopony in particular.
"At least they're banished, and at the mercy of Fantasia," Cadence said, placing a hoof on Luna’s shoulder. "Who knows how many ponies they've violated and maimed under our noses…?"
"Verily," Luna agreed, lowering her hoof. "And they won't be able to harm anyone ever again, if Fantasia's vicious wildlife has anything to say about that."
"Or if the Fantasians' wraiths get their hooves on them," Cadence added, her wings twitching by the slightest increment. "Especially the one that came here."
Neighsay cleared his throat to bring the Princesses' collective attention back to him. "What did that wraith look like, the one that accompanied the Fantasians?" he asked, only to receive silence for an immediate answer.
Neighsay frowned when the Princesses pointedly looked at the book on the table. Neighsay lit his horn, opened it back up, and flipped the pages once more, skipping past the section he had read the first time. It wasn't long before he came upon an image of a changeling who had looked the worse for wear, with empty sockets housing glowing orbs sparking with contempt for all of life. This one had a broken horn and a stringy mane, with a gruesome grin stretching from ear to ear on a skull-like face. And yet… the longer he stared at the picture, the more he realized that in those orbs… there was still a figment of the former self it was, a tiny spark of childlike innocence being swallowed in a sea of hatred and fear.
The passages accompanying this one were brief, and yet… Neighsay could feel the sorrow written within the words he read, as though he were seeing things through Starswirl's eyes at the exact moment he had met this particular changeling.
Alas, I had already arrived too late to prevent the last scarlet changeling from becoming one of the undead. She trots alongside me, barely smaller than the average child, and scarcely able to keep pace. Her legs are but bone, and her body withered away by hunger and desiccation. She does not speak, save for fragmented words of a language she does not fully comprehend. Otherwise, her jaw, deplorably broken by whatever had seen fit to have her slain, remains clenched shut. She studies me with almost blind eyes, hatred and fear and despair lingering in the scant lights that remain.
But I had arrived in time to hide her from the ancients, who have already begun twisting Fantasia into something worse than it was before the Second Sundering. Even now, I can tell from the faint lights of life left within her eyes, that this veritable child, who had her innocence ripped away from her, is lost and confused, unable to articulate what had happened. She continues to study my face, perhaps imprinting my features into her memory for reasons I cannot grasp.
As the sun sets over a darkening horizon, she lays her head to sleep on the cold ground, without a blanket, nor shelter from the cruel winds of the coming winter. She is becoming as cold as the twisted world, I am afraid. This child… has not displayed any affinity for any element yet, and already I can tell that soon… she will find her elemental spark. And perhaps one day, she could use it effectively in self-preservation.
She is instrumental to the prophecy, that much I can glean—why this specific child-wraith? I know not her destiny nor purpose, or if she is to have any fate at all. Her lack of articulation and communication is an indictment that she trusts none, save for herself. For a moment, I find myself truly pitying this child, as cold and callous as she had been when I had first found her. But the vision I bore… it had granted me glimpses of her speaking the common tongue, yet the child before me now has not been able to do that. The most that leaves her mouth, when it is not fragments of our language, is an olden tongue, interspersed with chittering and growling like a feral beast that must be put down. Even then, as she treads through the realm of dreams, whatever sounds she makes are woefully meager.
In the long night that followed, I sat there and wondered what I should do about this child. She only followed me because I had saved her from wraiths possessing older bodies that would have otherwise picked her apart piece by piece. It was only when the clouds began to gather that I came to a decision. I will teach this child-wraith the common tongue, and whatever morals I can impart on her before I must depart back to Equestria. I pray that my efforts yield fruit, but if they should be in vain… maybe still this child will have learned something before she is used for sinister ends.
I can only hope that this will be enough. And if, one day, she comes upon this journal, or upon those entrusted with the knowledge I will have contained therein… I want her to know that I regret having her aid in a twisted prophecy that will bring more destruction than it is worth, and that I would never condone nor perform such acts otherwise. Even now… she leads a pitiable existence, tottering about blindly in a world that would only seek to discard her once she was done entertaining it. It is an unlife neither enviable nor satisfactory in any capacity, but at the least… I shall do what I am able to make her unlife a tiny increment better than it was before.
I would never entrust this task to a child scarcely able to fend for herself. I would never subject a child to this. And yet… I must, for the betterment of Fantasia.
I have no choice, and neither does she. Nor do the Children of Catastrophe, when and if they inevitably rise. I must ensure that she keeps our interactions a secret dragged to her grave, that she pretends to not know my identity and part in this entire sundering. Children are excellent pretenders, and changelings even more so than the average foal.
Otherwise… Fantasia will fall, and we will all suffer for its folly. Of this… I have no doubts, no uncertainty left in my heart and mind.
I am deeply sorry, little one. It should never have come to this.
Neighsay wanted to read on, to see what had befallen this child-wraith. He flipped to the next page, and the next, but the passages that followed contained little information about her, as though Starswirl was purposefully omitting that information about her to keep the heat off his flank. While he himself didn't trust changelings after the wedding fiasco, even he felt that whatever had happened to this child-wraith was simply too much. Joining the ranks of undead before she could mature… he wondered what effect it had on her possibly unsound psyche, if hunger had been close to doing her in before she had been slain by something else. And if she was becoming as cold and callous as Fantasia became as Starswirl had written…
A pit carved itself into his stomach at the thought. He could scarcely imagine any child of any sapient species turning into an unliving being so jaded and hateful that they could do nothing but lash out at the sister worlds for all that had gone wrong—a fate no child should have to undergo, in any capacity whatsoever. Whoever or whatever had done that… they had to have the blackest heart imaginable.
With a tumultuous stomach and an uneasy mind, he gently closed the book, left speechless at what he had read, and had to force himself to stop before he could try to intervene and potentially jeopardize both worlds with the knowledge he had already learned. He looked at Luna, who grimly nodded.
"I have confirmed… said child-wraith is bilingual, and capable of speaking the common tongue," she said simply. "In that endeavor at least, Starswirl had succeeded."
"... So that means… the prophecy will proceed as it was written, then… and it already is proceeding as it was written…" Neighsay said, his voice quiet. "And… you say the Fantasians, barring the wraith, are unaware of this?"
Luna nodded. "And it has to remain that way, until the last of the ancients in Fantasia has been slain," she confirmed. "Only then can Fantasia hope to rebuild."
"... Do you know how the Fantasians will react once the truth comes out?" Neighsay found himself asking, louder than before. "This could potentially ruin interplanetary relationships!"
Luna nodded. "In time, we will answer those questions. We will present them with this full book, so that they may comprehend what had happened long ago," she answered firmly. "Hopefully, they can forgive us for withholding this critical information from them. For you see… Starswirl was banking on the ancients scoffing at the prophecy, and deciding to not tell them about it in the first place. It was the copy that Twilight Sparkle had found that even told them there was a prophecy involved, incomplete as it was."
"And if they do not…?" Neighsay pressed.
"... That is why I had sent the Bearers of Harmony to Fantasia," Celestia said simply. "If anyone can get through to the Children of Catastrophe, it would be them."
"And you have faith that this will work…?" Neighsay said, somewhat skeptical.
Celestia nodded resolutely, some confidence edging into her features. "Starswirl said so himself: Harmony and Calamity must balance, for any of us to have a future," she replied.
Neighsay frowned. "I just hope… that he knew what he was talking about when he said that."
"I have confidence that he did," Celestia said simply.