At this point I would like to spout that oft-repeated phrase, that war never changes nor will change, before going into some waxing lyrical about the virtues of pony-kind, how the goodwill and well-meaning intentions of the forebears led this cataclysmic disaster in which both sides of a long and terrible war wiped themselves out in a burst of dark necromantic hellfire in the short span of two hours.
Alas, I cannot.
The End was not like any had imagined. Pony-kind has written dozens upon dozens of works about the inevitable end that so many have pondered their thoughts upon. Was the end of their civilisation the end of their world? Would they fall to a vastly more advanced extra-terrestrial race from beyond the stars? As numerous and far-reaching the theories were, few expected one to be the truth.
The Land had passed through the era of Friendship and Harmony, the alicorns were but figureheads, and what were once foundations of the pillars of the society were now no more than guidelines given by the teachers of the foals to fulfil the requirements of the education system. Science and Magic had gone hand in hand, pushing forth the boundaries of equine knowledge. That was when they discovered the Book.
To call It a book is perhaps a metaphor, for It was more than a simple binding of paper upon leather, nor did it take physical form. It was perhaps more accurately described as a collection of thoughts and ideas inscribed into the very magic of the world, describing things, fantastical things, of races long gone and yet to come, of the Cycle, of how each plane must be renewed for stories and songs to begin afresh. Terrible things too, for it described how the cycle of this land was drawing to a close very soon, of how the Equine civilisation will fade into nothingness along with the land it had built itself upon.
Saying that the reaction was full blown panic is an understatement. As the common ponies of the land drew to rioting in the streets, the top leaders, scientists and sorcerers cast aside their differences and convened in an emergency summit. Teams upon teams of researchers worked through the bright of Celestia's Day and the glow of Luna's night, all working towards that final end goal, the Spell. The Spell was, again, a misnomer, instead being a gigantic construct of equal part machine and equal part arcane, fuelling upon the ingenuity of the mechanics and the power of the spell casters, designed to wrench the plane from this realm and launch it into another one, one just at the beginning of its Cycle.
As always, those who tarry with the machinations of Fate fall into choppy waters, and the casting of the Spell did as much upon the denizens of this world. Thousands screamed, shouted and shrieked in pure agony and angst as the world was uprooted from the place it had slumbered so long and was cast into a new, cold hard plane that only wished to reject it. Like a tree uprooted by a storm, the world and all within ripped asunder, those lucky enough made it across or died horribly in the process, while others had their very essence rip in two, casting their broken and bleeding psyches into the brave new world.
And I, the Land, screamed the loudest as pieces of my flesh ripped from my body, leaving gaping holes in the very fabric of reality as I was thrown into this brave new world.
Darkness and Pain. That was all I felt as I felt my body split along the seams, little motes of light that spread themselves throughout the mistiness that is the Plane of Magic. And I fell asleep, dormant, in silent hope of the end of a nightmare and the dawn of a bright new day.
In the ether, the cluster of motes of light spread out, spreading out and touching other motes, swirling around each other as their magic intertwined like the strands of fate. And I received Sight.
The mare trotted down the dirt path towards the collection of squat buildings sitting in a small cluster. She smiled and gazed around, the fields around were cleared of vegetation, and rows upon rows of plants sat in neat lines extending towards the hills in the far horizon. The sky above was a clear, uniform blue, barring the patches that dotted the landscape as far as the eye could see, black patches that marred the natural beauty of the world around. No, black would imply there was colour, and colour would imply there was something inside…those. No, they were voids, a simple lack of space there, as though what made up this world had been torn away and a gaping hole was left behind. The magic of this world is broken, a little voice inside of her had nagged consistently until she learned to ignore it, broken; torn to shreds. She could not explain it, but she had this ability to connect with the ground, to plead with it, to cajole it to allow the crops she had painstakingly planted upon the soil even in this broken world.
The mare looked up and found the hamlet much closer than before. I must really stop reflecting while walking. Just off to the side, a set of dark grey patches hovered above the ground, occasionally drifting away from the main cluster before being pushed back by an even smaller shape. Like a fly content with buzzing around a piece of fruit. Heh, she smiled, the pegasi are doing a good job of maintaining the cloud stock. This season's harvest will be on time.
This was all her hard work, pulling together after…the Event. Who she was, what she did before, all were shrouded behind that the murky haze that was her amnesic memory. But it did not matter. All that has mattered and matters now and will matter is that the earth is calling out to her, that the greenery is appealing for aid, and that she will pour out her help in droves, for if ye dare ask ye shalt receive. Getting here wasn't easy; the Event had left ponies desperate, even more desperate than they were before, leaving them more than willing to go against the better nature that was within them all, betraying them to let them fall to the wiles of theft and pillage. But they had survived, her and the others, those who too had no recollection of events prior, who believed that there was still good left in us all, those who had banded together and survived as this tiny hamlet, a welcome stop for the weary traveller on the never-ending road of life.
A sharp cry tugs at the corners of her mind. The mare clears a blockage in an irrigation channel, fresh water flows anewed to the parched plants.
They, no, she was happy now. A husband, four kids. Wait, no. No. He's blue, not grey. No horn. Wings. Blue not grey, wings not horn. Blue, no grey, no horn, wings. Two colts two fillies, not one filly. Why are the lines blurring? Shapes merging together…. Focus, focus on the needs of those around you. Focus. Focus…. Let the songs of the past be covered by the stories of the present....
The mare takes a deep breath and continues down the dirt path. She has crops to tend and a hamlet to look after.
And so decades passed.
The stallion strode through the forest, feathers ruffling in the soft breeze that permeated through the place. Though he gazed longingly at the sky, to fly was to die for there were things here far more powerful than a mere Winged One as himself. Dangers too, legacies of the Event that had shook equinity to the core and left its impression in the collective memory of his race. Heh, he grinned weakly to himself as he slid an arrow into the sleek bow strapped to his back. This future was none like the one described in those books his father had passed on to him. Firearms were rare, ammunition rarer, land was clean yet proper food was scarce. A thought flitted through the stallions minds like a fly upon the babbling brook he deftly glided across, what have we devolved into?
A sharp squeal, and a stout brown shape crashes through the bush. A sharp twang, and it falls down in a puddle of red, its lifeblood mixing with the earth from whence it came. The stallion grimaced, a wild pig, one of the few whole species that made it across the Jump, it could have survived had it not been for the ones already in this realm. Now they were tusked and bad-tempered, quick to charge and a threat to the lone traveller. Its meat would supply him for the rest of his journey, but would the stench will attract others like flies upon a carcass with the tempting offer of food. The floppy form of a once-full saddlebag at his side reminds him that sometimes, you just have to take the risk.
Grasping a knife in his teeth, the stallion kneels beside the corpse and begins cutting strips of meat off to be placed in his saddlebags. Ponies were by nature herbivores, but in times of need could also eat meat. This was such a time. The grass here, though edible, was not as green or filling as those of the old days.
The old days. The stallion let a small, weary smile creep over his face as his muscles relaxed and wings drooped, the creases on his well-worn skin becoming more and more well defined. The old days. When the sky was complete and whole. When the birds sung and children played. The world had its problems, but it was still the world. Foal hood memories slowly surfaced as the cutting of the knife became more and more methodical, rhythmic even. Memories of school, of growing up, of the gradual hardening of that youthful heart into cold iron by the realities of the world, of the melting of it again by…her. The stallion sighed and looked down again, letting a single tear fall and mingle with the bright red liquid stain the earth.
Why must it be he alone who survived? The stallion wonders. Why did we even allow those imbeciles to do such a thing in the first place? Messing with the fabric of reality, playing God. Those foals did not know what they were doing. That jarring shift, the indescribable flash of pain surpassing anything experienced or yet to be experienced, as if he was pulled out by the very roots of his hair, then here he was. His foals, his lovely Echo, gone. That pain, that empty aching pain in his heart, the pain of not knowing. If they had died it would have been fine, but to be in the dark about their fate!
The knife clattered to the ground as more of the clear liquid joined the crimson red soaking into the soil.
The stallion sat there for a moment, then began to quietly finish his work. He would have to sell this in the next stronghold, for something that would keep for longer in his endless journey. He laughed, the cold cynical laughter of a heart hardened to the horrors and joys alike of the world. To think that some would cast away their nature so much as too desire meat, this world was no better than the last.
"With this rising sun, may Celestia guide and Luna protect, in my endless foray into this world apart torn."
The stallion turns and walks towards the jagged mountain with the rays of the rising sun upon his back, for as long as his soul wanders the planes of this realm in search of his lost family, he too will walk the earth till the end of his days.
This being was none like anything before or after it. A being of pure magic, the very Avatar of Magic itself, meant to represent the ideals of Friendship and Harmony that represented Magic before the world so foolishly cast it aside. This was an alicorn.
The Alicorn had begun its life back in the day when the land was still fresh and the Magic flowed strong through every creature alike. Born a normal unicorn, she had been ascended and crowned by the Avatars of the Sun and Moon alike. Many foes she did defeat, both powerful and weak, from ordinary ponies to ancient horror from deep within the earth. Yet, there was one she ultimately could not best: the winds of change.
Slowly, as the frontiers of science and technology progressed, the magic of the land became more and more artificial, something synthesised rather than something that flows innate through the bodies of all. And it was such that pony kind cast away the ideals of friendship. The Alicorn could not do anything, for the things she tried would only halt the onset of this freezing of the heart, nor could she foresee the consequences of such actions as the Spell or do anything to halt its onset, for the powers of Friendship had grown weak, and it was the Magic of Friendship that she did represent.
The Spell was cast, and the Alicorn found herself in a different plane. Though the Sun and Moon perished along with the remains of the world, she found that she could survive, since though faint, the magic of friendship lives on in every pony. But the needs of survival overrode the will of morals, and ponies became like beasts, more than willing to murder and raid in the name of survival. And so it was such that the Last Alicorn went into hiding among the caves of the world.
Time passed, and like all great fires, the flame of desperation soon burnt down to mere cinders. Hamlets were founded, strongholds built even as roving bands of bandits pillaged and monsters devoured their occupants. Through it all, the Alicorn remains in her Lair, always watching, sometimes guiding, biding the time when the Magic of Friendship is strong enough for her to reveal herself and claim her rightful place as queen of this land.
And so eons passed and the magic of the new world began to strengthen, slowly pushing me out to beyond the borders of Oblivion. And as my vision across the creatures that had lent me their sight faded to blackness and my existence slowly crossed that dread line, I could see the land slowly come together, those big gaping holes in reality fill in and become whole again. I felt myself be pushed out by some younger, stronger version of myself. Alike, yet different somehow. And I smiled, a smile of pure joy unbound, for it was finally time for my Eternal Slumber.
Author's Note
The mixture of present and past tense is intentional to show the mix in time.