Heart Of Light And Sorrow

He was air. Light. He was nothing. He soared high above the earth, before the dawn of time, before time itself truly began; the earth was nothing more than stone and dust, resting in space for it’s time to come. All was peaceful. All was well.

WOOSH.

The universe shifted as, suddenly, without any warning, flames burst forth in space. Physics had no meaning; warmth attacked the chill of the non-existent air. The flame drew the dust and rock around it closer, until it seemed as though a moving golem had suddenly been born into space.

He watched the earth’s creation.

Flames spread throughout the world. Icy stone melted to pebbles and streams. Volcanos erupted from the sheer heat, creating land. The flame itself split, forming the sun, creating heat and life. Plants grew. Life forms developed. Then, the flame split once more. Fire became flesh; heat became the cracking and forming of bones. Then again. The process repeated.

Thus was born the first two ponies, The two ponies, one with magic and one with flight. What remained of the flame, now hardly an ember, was soon taken hold of by the stallion with the power of flight; as he wielded the flame, it marked him. He would be the Fire protector. The other turned away, shadows crossing over his own. Fearful of them, he took a hardened, cooled rock and lashed at the base of his hooves; as the world was new and magic thrived, his shadow severed away. The stone was sharpened into a blade by the shadow’s sharp edge. Thus, the other became the protector of the Light, who would slay those shadows that threatened the life flame.

Both were created with the knowledge in mind that, were the flame to die, or were they to falter in their duties, the world would fall to chaos, ruin, and anarchy. As such, they vowed to the other that they would be united for all time. Together, they would stand united, from then on, forever. Thus the pact of the brothers was made; brothers in spirit and in creation.

Time swept past in the turning of a page, in the blink of an eye. Ages passed and the son of the light and the son of the flame grew. But while one grew stronger and greater, the other grew corrupt and blind as he fought against the shadows; for that was the curse of their role. As set in stone, as would always be the case, one would lose control. One would fall.

The son of the light grew greedy, and came to power over the ponies who had been brought forth by the flames magic. He ruled the kingdom, but forever he longed for me. He began to kill, seeking territory. As he grew in power, his kingdom weakened: strange creatures began to grow from the shadow. Horses made of wind and ice grew from the coldness in his heart, racing overhead and shrouding the land in snow. Beings made of shadow grew, unthwarted, leeching off of the life force, the love of ponies. The king did nought to end them; he had grown mad.

The Flame Protector, without his brother, attempted to protect the flame, as was his duty. Yet, he knew that he could not live long. He could n’er survive long enough to protect the flame. As such, a group was made; The Hearth’s Light. The flame was passed to them for protection. One day, a terrible battle with shadowy beasts ended the life of the Flame protector.

The cult, knowing not what to do, called upon the flame. As they did so, the flame displayed in it’s embers the story now known: when one protector ends, another will begin, no matter what. It might take time, but the protector would be sought out and found. The monks of this group, those who worshipped the flame in all it’s glory, claimed the role of Seekers of the Flame, those that would care for and raise it to remain pure and uncorrupted. Thus the 3 sects were formed; The Flame, The Light, and The Wicks.

The king realized, after his brother died, that he had caused the death through his failures. His kingdom suffered because of him. In a moment of clarity, he created memories, shaped in window panes, of his story and his failures. He then locked himself in his throne room, refusing to leave; for, if he did, then he would throw the lands into further chaos. He knew his people suffered; yet, they were still so lucky as to be able to survive and fight. The king became a coward and hid; this became the last straw.

His powers were lost.

The son of the light was reborn, now with the power of flight. The son of the flame was sought out by the Wicks. Together they were raised, growing as the closest of friends, just as those who came before had. But, as they grew, the prophecy took hold once again; however, this time, it was learned too soon.

The Son of the Flame was told of it, as a warning; he must protect the son of the life from corruption. The flame protector watched as his friend became overzealous in his fighting; watched his blood lust grow. He refused to listen: surely, this was all the universes sick joke. The Flaming refused to be the others watch dog; without the Wicks knowing, he left with the flame, to seek his destiny elsewhere. He abandoned the way, the prophecy ringing true again. One protected the world from the shadowy beasts that plagued it. The other abandoned his way, taking his own path, corrupting the order.

The light protector did his duty well. He brought war upon the most deadly thing to the flame of all - that which caused the freezing cold. Thus, the chain of power was handed down, from Corrupt Leader to Sorrowful Knight.

He saw nothing. Yet he saw all.

Morrigan awoke.

*~*~*~

Chaos filled the castle as word spread that the king was dead. Bets were placed on who would rise next. Celebrations filled the air, as well as screams of terror at the bodies that littered the fields of the castle. Morrigan stumbled through the crowds, armorless. All he had was his new sword with its heavenly glow.

He held his head softly, hearing… something. A whispering, nagging sound, just in the back of his head. What was that?

Shadows… Kill Shadows…

Morrigan groaned, shutting his eyes tightly. It was that orb, that cursed jewel that filled his thoughts. He opened his eyes and saw two worlds before him. Lines of shadow fluxed in and out, luring him ever closer. The sword at his side seemed to tug him towards those lines, tried to move him to end those shadows once and for all. He shook his head sharply, angrily. “K-Katrina,” he muttered, focusing on her. “I’ve got to get to Katrina…” With shuffling steps and a tormented mind, he ran from the castle. Spreading his wings, unconstricted by armor, he flew as fast as he could to return home.

The air tugged at his fur, chilling him; yet a fire was stoked in his heart as he looked below. All he saw was shadow. The lands were shrouded in terror and pain, dark and unforgiving. He knew it was his duty to do this. His duty to clean the world. To kill the unclean.

“WHY,” he cried out, knowing not the heavens nor the pits of hell would heed his question. He cried in the air, feeling his tears stream past him as he flew onward. Why was this his duty? Who orchestrated this choice, this idea that he of all ponies was the best for the job?

He tore through the air as fast as he could, despite the ache of his bones and eyes for rest. Time dragged on, yet he made it home just before the sun set. Panting, he landed outside the quiet village. None were out enjoying the cold eve - everypony was enjoying dinner with their families, unsuspecting that their dear friends were lying dead on the battlefield. None of them knew all those who were dead.

Morrigan shook his head, trying to shake those thoughts from his head. He trotted through the town, the eerie silence around him almost tranquil. His hooves became wet from the snow as he trotted faster. He thought back - how long had he been away? Surely, it had been little but a day since the battle. A march took 3 days; his flight had taken the majority of the day. Perhaps 5 days had passed. His child might have been born in that time. He might be a father.

Would he be able to be with his son or daughter?

He reached their house, glancing around. All was still so quiet in the village. This was and that, shadows snaked around some houses. He shook his head and turned to his own. His eyes widened as he saw the entire house, shrouded in shadow. “W-what…”

He trotted up to the door and raised his hoof. He thought he heard Katrina singing. He knocked on the door and it all stopped. He heard his wife trot to the door. Heard it open as he saw her again. His heart skipped a beat.

Her mane was ragged and her eyes tired. She had obviously been crying. Her eyes seemed shaded somehow, even glazed over, almost like those shadows above and around the house. She held onto the door frame, looking at him. “M...Morrigan?...”

“My dear Katrina…” He opened his hooves and moved in to embrace his wife.

He wasn’t quite expecting the slap he received.

“S-stay away from me!” Morrigan stumbled back, surprised. In her eyes were bitter hatred. “Thou art not my husband! Thou art a monster, pretending to be in his form! Back!”

“K-Katrina, w-what art thou - It’s me!”

Katrina began to sob pitifully, tears streaming down her face. “T-The gods have already shown me his death, t-these dreams are never ending! Leave us alone, let me mourn in peace!”

Gods? Dreams? Us? Morrigan watched his wife, seeing shadows swirl around her, encompassing her entire being. “K-Katrina…”

Katrina opened her mouth again, but her ears perked up as though there were a sound nearby. “O-Oh, the baby…” As though forgetting he was even there, she turned her back and trotted inside, going to a small cradle. “Shhh, there’s no need to cry…”

Morrigan trotted inside warily, hearing no crying. He stepped towards the cradle to see a small child, wrapped in cloth. His heart soared and fell all at once as he saw his son. As he saw his sons lack of breath.

A stillborn.

“Shh... “ Katrina picked up the child, seemingly ignoring the tears streaming down her face, keeping her back to Morigan. She cradled him softly, humming. “No need to cry,” she whispered. “Daddy will be home soon… He’ll make everything better…”

Better. Kill. Kill Shadows…

Morrigan groaned as the thoughts overtook him once more. It tugged and pulled at his mind, begging, pleading him to do something about what now hurt his wife. He held his head, struggling to grasp it all. Was this all just a dream? Was this real? Who could tell, now?

In his pain, one memory resurfaced. But a single memory.
The kiss left it’s mark on the weak mare. She rested her head on his chest, sighing softly. “I love thee, husband mine… Please, never leave me. Never betray me, never hurt me as I thought thou had…”

“I promise thee. I shall never harm thee again.”

Together they rested in their love, in each other’s hooves.

How could he do this to her?

How could he have left her alone to fight this, leave her by herself?

He had vowed not to hurt her, and in the end, that hurt her the most; he had gone to battle to protect her, and had left her defenseless.

He grimaced as he reached for his sword, almost an uncontrolled movement. Katrina beer stirred from her rocking, intent on making the still child in her hooves rest. I cannot just leave her like this, he thought. I can't just let her suffer in this madness.

He saw the light of the orb glow. It's siren song rose to a fever pitch of whispered mutterings, half uttered orders. His mind fell far from him, never truly at peace, but successfully lulled into a dormancy; he raised the sword, his voice and body taken by the power of the light.

"Carry my word, thou shadows of evil," he whispered in a suddenly archaic voice, the voice of the orb. "The Son of the Light hath been reborn in this vessel."

Katrina turned to gaze at the man she no longer recognized; whether from madness or pain or shadow, only the gods know. In his blinding power, his eyes saw only shadow. Yet, his heart had one last thing to say, one last glimmer of what he had been long ago.

"Thou shalt never feel pain again."

Thus with a slash and the blink of an eye, the tale of Morrigan the Knight ended; and, in its place grew the tale of Morrigan, the King of Light. The king who ran from his kingdom and chose another. The king who left his throne to slay what shadows thrived in this world. The king who slayed his beloved.