Some things in this world are without age.
The earth, the sky, and the sea. All ageless. But if the sea could speak, it would do so of its oldest companion.
Like all things, it began quite small, a mere spec in the remarkable newness of creation. It cared not for how it had come to be, or the repercussions of its existence. It just was.
And It always would be.
Years passed, and things changed. The sea was no longer alone, and the entity was content to allow her to entertain the newcomers. At times they would make attempts to speak with It, but It cared not for their friendships and plights—eventually they would be gone and It would continue to swim.
Time went by and the earth grew, and so did It. The others would wither and die, and the sea would find new life with whom to share her love. It felt sorry for the sea; she was used by some and reviled by others, but still she loved them and gave them her blessings. And still they would die. But the earth continued to grow—the one thing It shared with them. It was growing.
And It always would be.
For years the cycle continued. The sea would give her love, and the others would squander it. But they were all so small now, they didn’t grow like It, too short and filled with hate were their lives to truly grow. It could raise a limb and crush them, if It pleased. But It never did. It just swam.
It liked to swim.
Centuries passed when It blinked its eyes. Above and below the others would live their short, violent lives, and It watched them with indifference. But the sea touched every life, and there come the day that the sea could take no more. So she cried.
In her grief, the sea stole from the sky and jealously horded the other’s triumphs beneath her turbulent waves. She lashed out at her brothers, and for a time It believed she would devour them. However all things come to an end, and one day the sea stopped her growth. She stopped her hate.
She stopped her love.
It never knew what had caused the outburst, though it always suspected it was something they had done. Despite her wrath, the others continued to exist above and below the waves. And they continued to destroy each other, and they continued to die. It never died, It was simply growing.
And It always would be.
It swam through the empty shell of the sea. It watched them build their little empires, and It watched those same empires fall. It was worshiped by some, and hated by others, but most didn’t know of it at all. It cared not for what they thought of It, they came and went. Lived and died.
But why tell Its tale? It that cared only for Itself, and did nothing other than swim and grow. That is, until the day came that It felt something.
It wasn’t an extraordinary day. The sun rose, the sea wept, and It swam. But something was different, something It didn’t understand. It was very rarely curious, so when the sudden desire to touch the sky entered Its mind, It did so without delay.
Centuries had passed since It had last left the inky depths, almost as long as it had been since It had bothered to open Its eyes. And when It did, It saw them.
Before It was a prime example of the others. These ones were not made to traverse the sea as It was, instead they built small islands from the gifts of the earth. Two of these islands lay before him: one resting in the bosom of the sea the other clutching impossibly to the sky. Upon them the others did what they always did: they fought. They always fought, never taking the time to think about the futility of it all. It was ready to return to Its home beneath the sea, when It spotted something peculiar.
Swimming from the island in the sea, one of the others was approaching It. She was smaller than the rest, and It knew that she had no hope of reaching It. But still she swam, and It realized that It didn’t want her to die. It extended a limb and lifted the tiny creature from the sea, sending titanic waves crashing against the islands from whence she came. It held her before Its gargantuan eye, focusing Its attention on the miniscule spec.
She was not the first pony It had encountered. Many had tried in vain to slay It, for food or glory it knew not, but they had all failed. She was not a remarkable pony either, tiny and blue with a mane of dazzling white, but otherwise unremarkable. It didn’t understand why it was drawn to her, but when the tiny, unexceptional pony, It listened.
“Help us!” She cried. It knew their tongue, having heard it for millennia It must have picked it up somewhere along the way. “Please- they’re killing us!”
Its massive eye moved from the pony to islands, where the killing continued. It realized now that the island in the sky was the aggressor—or at least it had been before It arrived—and the island in the sea would soon sink between her bitter waves. It knew—in the way that only a being older than time itself could know—that these tiny creatures did not deserve to die.
It was so tired of pointless death.
The pony he held still screamed for Its help, and for the first time ever, It helped. From beneath the waves another limb gently lifted the sinking island and held it aloft in the sky. The others on the island didn’t understand what was happening, their screams stung It. Didn’t they know It was helping them? For a brief moment It considered tossing the ungrateful island and returning to Its home in the depths, but the microscopic pony changed his mind. When he looked at her It realized that she had her hooves wrapped around Its colossal limb as best she could, giving It Its first real embrace.
From that moment It knew It could no longer merely swim and grow. It placed the pony back upon her tiny island, and they swam together. It took mere moments for It, but in reality the travelers road the ancient creature for weeks. They were confused and frightened, all but one that is.
The blue pony spoke to her fellows of It. She told them It was nothing to be feared, and that It was a friend. It heard everything, and It was happy.
Finally, the expedition came to an end when It found what It was searching for. An island, much larger than the one the ponies lived in now, fitted with all the gifts of the earth and sky. It was a paradise, untouched by the others and perfect in every way but one. The island was lonely.
With the utmost care, It placed the tiny island upon the larger one. The ponies were hesitant at first, but the blue mare thanked him for his kindness, and quickly began leading her companions in making the island their own. Her first act was to find highest cliff that overlooked the sea, and it was from there she spoke to It.
At first she said her thanks to It, always grateful and kind. As time passed she shared all things with It, she spoke of her family and of her friends. She spoke of her dreams and her fears. It had never been so connected to one of them before—so when she asked It for help, It gave it to her. It offered her wisdom and guidance, even divulging to her some of the secrets of the sea. With the ancient knowledge, she grew very powerful and very wise, always remaining as kind and compassionate as the day It had pulled her from the sea. But she was mortal, and It knew that one day she would die. They always died. It watched the lines on her face grow, and It watched as each day she grew closer to her inevitable death. She knew It worried for her, and one day she came to the cliff with another pony.
She told It that the pony with her was her daughter. When It looked closer, It could sense the connection It felt with her mother in the child as well. She told It that, despite their short lives, the others would always live inside of those they loved.
It understood.
From that day on, mother and child would come to the cliff to speak with It, and for many years they were happy. When the day came that the child mounted the cliff alone, It knew what had happened. It grieved for Its lost friend, and sunk beneath the waves as it was overwhelmed with sorrow. But still the child came, every day to the cliff to speak with It. Like her mother before her she spoke of all things, and though It remained beneath the murky depths, she knew It listened. And she thanked it. Years passed and still she came. It loved her as it had her mother, and hoped that one day she would bring a child of her own to the cliff to speak with It.
Something happened. It could feel it like the day when it had first met her, the same sensation that something was different. When she came to the cliff, she came in tears. And like her mother had, so many years previously, she called to it.
“Help us! Please- they’re killing us!”
Again the one rose from the sea. It saw Its paradise assailed by islands in the sky, it saw the ponies below being ravaged by outsiders for merely having the audacity to live. It watched ponies die.
Her ponies.
Its ponies.
Terrible limbs leapt from the sea, grabbing the islands above. It pulled them beneath the bitter waters with a terrible rage. None of the invaders had a chance, their weapons were useless against one such as him. What should have been a simple raid on a tiny port became a massacre. When It was finished, none of the invaders lived.
Thanks came from the cliff, as it again returned to Its home below. Just as It hoped, the daughter eventually brought a child of her own to the cliff; a son. And that son brought his child to the cliff, and they brought their child after. The cycle of life and death continued, but even as Its friends passed into the shadows, a part of them lived on. In their children, and in It. It finally understood the love the sea had felt for the others, and hoped one day she would remember that love and the world could be at peace again.
But until then, It watched over the lonely island. The ponies there knew a serenity only dreamed of in the war torn world that surrounded them, and any that tried to bring their hate and their violence to the island quickly learned that it was protected.
And It always would be.