Chapter 11: Anything But A Silent Night

When 'Solara' and I first came here, the heavens were imperfectly forced to rise each day by the weak magic of two thousand unicorns for the sun and two thousand more for the moon.

All these ponies perished for they lacked more than just strength and skill. This sick routine was carried out as normal for many a year. It was not as if their population suffered either, for these ponies produced enormous amounts of foals.

We intervened and gained what Father called our cutie marks.

...

"Papa, what are those marks you and Mama and all the other ponies have called?"

The right side of my father’s mouth curved into a small smile. He was passing through one of our home’s softly-lit reading rooms and I was attempting to flutter into a large ivory-colored rocking chair whose wood seemed to glow in the lantern glow and moon light.

My feeble efforts at flight failed and I half-scrambled half-jumped into the chair.

"Are you talking about a cutie mark?"

"Yes!" I quipped, adjusting my pose so I didn't sink into the chair, puffing my chest out like some of the castle cats.

"Well, Luna, these are the marks that ponies get that marks their calling, and for some, on a deeper level it marks who the pony is."

I squinted and twitched my muzzle, which itched from some book-dust and the fact that I was still only a wee little filly and had a bit of a tough time wrapping my mind around such concepts.

"Can one draw these things, Papa? Make a fake symbol?"

"False marks are dangerous, Luna, they change who you are and make you live a lie."

"Like a really mean mask? 'Cause they have false faces."

"How curious a thing! Mean masks?" A third voice had joined us followed by my older sister, pink mane bobbing elegantly with her silky step. Although she was only about seven mortal years in mental and physical age, she thought herself the pearl of the palace, rivaled only by our parents.

"Tia, sit next to me!" I called, patting the spot next to me on my temporary throne.

She crossed the room with her smooth-silk steps and silently curled her tail around her legs as she found the straight backed pose she loved. Immediately, she assumed Social Act: raised eyebrow, thoughtful mouth, and swiveled ears with her side-curl embracing her cheek like a question mark.

"We cannot believe our ears, Papa! Mean masks? Are these the latest culprits that stole Luna's sweets, or are these just wild stories? What will happen next, shall the moon collapse into the planet like an overgrown comet?"

"No, Tia we were just talking about cutie marks," replied Father with a roll of his eyes.

"Why do you and Mama call them that?" I had assumed Curious Act: wide eyes, cocked head, and one ear lazily flopping downward as if napping in my mane.

"Luna it would be hard for you and you sister to obtain marks something other than cute."

"We want ours to be powerful!"

"Celestia, marks are not all about power, they are about who you are." Father was using Serious Voice. This meant we had to pay attention to what he was saying or 'Stop eating so many gosh-darned cookies, Luna!'

I placed my silent vote on the former.

"Yes, Papa," Tia murmured, magenta eyes gleaming with a feeling I could not place.

Father got up, his dark coat gleaming with the galaxies shining behind him. He nodded, and with a parental 'remember what was discussed’ look, he left, leaving Tia and I amongst the books.

She turned to me, her eyes now gleaming eagerly like a cat near a stream. "What do you want your mark to be, sister?"

My mark?

The symbol that would be fated to tell my story to all who saw...

...my story...

I was even sure who I was. The very thought of destiny scared me like timberwolves, maybe even more, for at least I could face a timberwolf. Destiny was big, ambiguous, and erratic to me then. Though sometimes I still felt as if it was like a blank sheet of parchment to me.

Tia's eyes were very hungry for their answer by now while I sat here chewing on my lip the entire time.

"We are unsure Tia of what our mark would be..."

She rolled her eyes nonchalantly and left the room, calling back to us: "Luna sometimes you can be such a baby!"

We are unsure, Tia, of what the future holds.

We are unsure, Tia, of who We are at times.

It was that night that I dreamed of two evil green eyes unlike any known to me, laughing in many voices. Nopony was there to save me as I ran screaming from a void-scape into a shadowed place far in the distance. The shadow might be able to help me. What might the shadow-place hold, tricks or treats?

Tia dreamed of endless foreign soil as far as the eye could see.

Unlike Tia, the next morning I did not tell Father and Mother what I had dreamt.

Dreams should never come true, never ever.

I hope they did not.

...

...Although here it seems these marks were dismissed as nothing, their real names forgotten by both these equines and us. We were forced into apprenticeship with Starswirl, for what is tremendous power without control and education? At least that is what they said, and We are still skeptical.

He dubbed us with false and unfitting names then brought us to the prison he called home where we learned books and techniques of the arcane by heart and suffered outside. We were confined by the beastly weather and one of the fractured spells from Starswirl's mysterious 'master work': The Forbidding Rune. It forced us, despite all our ability, to be confined in this valley with only rare occasions of supervised escape.

We miss freedom. Or at least, I do.

One 'day' I will fly far away. Maybe south. Maybe east. Maybe to the heavens. I will fly alone, for I fear that Celestia will be as lost as Mother and Father.

My guilt will eat me alive for all these injustices 'till I only see the countless demons behind my eyes.

Perhaps it life who feasts on me, I cannot say. Is it unusual to feel guilty for the crimes of others?

...

What a dreadful lesson. For my so-called 'idle behavior'  I was forced to be 'Lara's training dummy.

Again.

She always puts her full force and blinding power into her magic and combat. Thankfully, I am light on my hooves and escape most of her blasts, though her axe swings never seem to hit me as hard as her skill intends.

I purposely hide my power and magics. I mean only truth, but despite our training Celestia still seems rather poor at magic compared to me. Starswirl and the other rulers , when the other ruler-ponies visit that is, call her The Light Most Powerful, Fairest of All just by looking at her!

Yes, I fake weakness and complete incompetence because something very colossally wrong, amongst other things, is going on here, but the other monarchs have never even seen her magic!

I give a frustrated sigh and swallow another ton of anger, continuing to drag my magic-singed coat and axe scathed form up the narrow stairs, dragging my cloak and blade with me.

Celestia is lucky I do not scar on the outside.

Through the halls I gaze wearily at the empty libraries, armory, kitchen, storage rooms, and studies before passing the two chambers before my own: those of Starswirl and Celestia.

Before passing these I had slipped my berry-pouch with its worn wyrmscale exterior under Kawblance's bedding and concealed it as best I could lest Starswirl confiscate it. Kaw has not eaten or drank anything in nigh fifty 'days' yet was deprived of the evening meal for his spitting. It is not exactly as if he is good at stealing food, either. I am the best at that but Starswirl is all-knowing when it comes to the food caches. I flop down on my simple bed of my homely chamber and gazed out at the stars through the open air window. Sometimes I wished I could stay up later to fly and chart stars, maybe even to do something other than wait for a chink in this armor.

But sleep is a must. If I don't sleep then I might grow weaker. If I am weaker I cannot fight. I cannot wait. I need more then strength of spirit to keep my alive.

Survival is 50% Gumption, 20% Brains , 15% Spirit, 10% Luck 4% Sleep and 1% Hope.

But to fly again...to go out at night.

All the campfires we had...

All the fading faces...

The stars hung everywhere echoing our laughter...and our tears.

Night is just unloved now.

Just like me.

My thoughts turn to my mother and father yet distantly cling to me. They loved me, wherever they are and I repay them by having their presence fade from my mind...what did they look like?

What has become of my beloved parents?

What will become of me?

I want to scream this to the sky until the stars fell out of their places and blood ran in my throat until my eyes glowed with pure magic. Until the world lost all balance, until my sister heard this plight, until my mane turned as yellow as her sun in the chaos and I glowed like the stars who seemed to be my only kin these days.

I wanted to right all these wrongs: find my family, find the Others, but sometimes it seems that the world I knew for such a short time is as far away as my star-kin. I did not want this world to be gone though, it held its own majesty beneath all this hate and torture.

But did I really have to choose?

I gritted my teeth, forcing everything back down my throat as I pulled the homespun blankets, as rough as this land, over my head so nopony would hear me cry.

I can do this. I can do this. I can do this.

Outside, a mournful wolf cry emerged from the night and I knew my Banshee was crying with me.

Me, the Filly of the Apocalypse, The New Age Princess.

The Last Alicorn.