Time

by MadMaxtheBlack

Rating: mature
Tags: Gore, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Dark, Alternate Universe, Sad, Original Character, Tragedy
Length: 10820

As the sands of time slowly run out, can one stallion complete his task before it's too late?

For one stallion, time is running out.

WARNING: The comment section will contain spoilers. Read at your own discretion.

Dramatic Reading by The DizzyDan: here
Dramatic Reading by Plagen Shiki: here

Published 2015-04-03 01:30:02 UTC
Last updated 2015-04-09 04:15:23 UTC

I

21 Hours

Dust exploded into the air as the top of the cardboard box was opened. Alarmed, he pulled his head back quickly, but it was too late. He had already gotten a lungful of dust. Coughing, he waved a wing in front of his face to try and clear the air around him. This just succeeded in stirring up the dust more. Scowling, he was forced to hold his breath and wait for the dust to settle again before continuing with his work. Not too long of a wait, however, as time was of the essence.

Leaning forward, he peeked carefully into the box, his amber eyes narrowing as he tried to see through the gloom. He pulled the box closer to him, the contents shifting around and clinking together. His horn lit up, casting a dim, golden light around the small storage room, and he pulled one of the objects out of the box. It was a long bone which narrowed to a point at one end. A spiraling recess ran up the length of the bone, running from base to tip. Bringing the bone up to his face, he studied it closely, turning and spinning it in his magic in order to examine it from all angles. He could sense the faint latent magic within the bone; the sensation made his own horn itch.

Eyeing the bone for a few more seconds, he suddenly scrunched up his face before tossing the bone over his shoulder. It clattered loudly against the floor as it rolled away into the gloom. It had been too short. He needed something longer.

Once again, he reached into the box with his magic and pulled out another bone. This one was longer than the first, but it had several chips and cracks along its length. That wouldn't do, so over the shoulder it went where it joined the first one.

He continued to search through the box, tossing more bones over his shoulder as he went. Too short, too long, too fat, too stubby, too damaged, too crooked. None of them seemed to be even close to what he needed. Growing frustrated, he began to pull several different ones out at a time, examining them quickly before tossing them into the gloom. None of them felt right; none of them felt perfect.

Before long, the box was empty. With a growl, he lit up his horn and tossed the empty box into a corner of the room, where a bunch of other empty boxes already resided, before pulling a second box out of the closet. He ripped it open and—ignoring the cloud of dust—began to search through that one as well with the same results. Still, he searched dutifully on through that box, and the next one, and the next one.

Hundreds of bones of various sizes littered the floor as he neared the bottom of the fifth box. He had long since given up on using his magic, instead digging a hoof in to the box to select a bone at random. Pulling one out, a smile started to grow on his face, but quickly vanished, replaced instead by a scowl. It was the proper size, but the magic in it felt wrong, tainted. With a grunt, he tossed it over his shoulder and onto the growing pile. As it bounced off the pile, reddish-purple sparks erupted from the tip of the bone, followed by a cloud of green smoke. Tainted indeed.

Pausing with his search, he glanced nervously over at the desk and the glowing hourglass.

Time was running out.

Desperately, he plunged his hoof back into the box, only to freeze as he brushed up against one of the bones within. A small electrical surge ran up his leg, causing his entire body to shiver. With his heart hammering loudly within his chest, he quickly pulled the bone out and held it in front of his face, examining it closely, meticulously. The size was perfect: not too long, not too fat. He ran a hoof over it. The helix was evenly spaced across the length, spiraling beautifully along the bone. He ran the frog of his hoof over the tip. It was curved nicely, no jagged or pointed edges. No cracks or chips. Hope rising in his chest, he lit up his horn and bathed the bone in his magical aura. A large smile spread across his muzzle as he felt the latent magic within. It was pure, untainted.

It was just what he had been searching for.

He stood up quickly, wincing as blood began to flow back into his limbs. They tingled, the numb feeling replaced with the feeling of pins and needles. He staggered over to the desk, trying to ignore the uncomfortable sensation in his legs as he clutched the bone close to his chest. Pushing aside books and papers, he used his wings to clear off the layer of dust before placing the bone on the desk. It sat there, tinted a faint red in the glow of the hourglass.

After making sure the bone wasn't going to roll off of the desk, he turned his attention back to the boxes. Pushing aside the empty ones, he forced his way back into the small storage room from which he had retrieved them. Shelves of cardboard boxes of varying sizes lined the wall of the room, which was more akin to a closet than a room.

Ignoring the boxes of bones on the lower shelves, he turned his attention to the upper shelves. Lighting up his horn, he pulled several boxes off their shelves and carried them out into the main room. Dust filled the air as he opened one of the boxes and peeked inside. Like the boxes before, these ones were filled with bones as well. Unlike the last boxes, several of the bones were attached to one another.

With a frown, he began to sort through the bones, searching. His horn lit up and a group of bones lifted themselves out of the box, clinking together softly. They levitated over to him, and he spread one of his wings wide before holding the bones up to the wing, measuring them. The ends of the bones dangled several inches below the tips of his feathers. It was too long.

With a snort, his eyes narrowed and he tossed the bones over his shoulder before digging back into the box.

II

19 Hours

By the glow of the hourglass, he worked.

Clearing off a place on the desk, he levitated a sizable lump of clay from the shelf and sat it down in front of him. It was block-shaped, with strange runes etched into the malleable material. He studied it with a critical eye, trying to see any imperfections that might tarnish the finished product. Seeing none, he picked up a wire tool and began to carefully carve off chunks of clay, forming the main mass into a ball-like shape. The clay was cold beneath his hooves; no warmth was present in the soft sediment.

He continued to work on the clay for several more minutes until he had the general shape he needed. Placing aside the carving tool, he glanced up at the anatomy charts tacked to the wall behind the desk, studying them closely. His eyes narrowed and he frowned. None of them held the information he needed. Fear starting to rise in his chest, he searched around the desk, desperately shifting through the dozens of books and notebooks. Pushing a stack of papers off of the desk and onto the floor, he breathed a sigh of relief as an anatomy book was suddenly revealed. It was beat-up, the cover stained and chipped. The pages were dog-eared, and several old ribbons were scattered throughout the pages, acting as bookmarks. Placing a hoof on the foremost ribbon, he cracked the book open to the marked page.

A smile crossed his lips as he released that it was the page he needed.

Placing the book beside him, he returned to molding the clay, shaping it into a more defined form, glancing back at the book every few seconds. Holding the clay tool in his steady magic, he worked methodically. Sweat beaded upon his brow, trickling down his neck. He ignored it, concentrating instead on the task at hand. A little more on the top, take some from the bottom, two recesses on the front. Slowly, under his careful ministrations, the clay began to take shape. Before long, a rudimentary skull sat upon the desk.

He lit up his horn and the bone he had selected earlier floated over to the skull. Lining it up carefully, he pressed the base of the horn bone into the forehead of the skull. In sunk easily into the soft clay, yet held firm when he released it. Adding the finishing touches to the sculpture, he leaned back and wiped the sweat from his brow before eyeing his work, a small smile on his face. The smile slowly faded, though, replaced instead by a frown. The sculpture was finished, but it wasn't perfect. The eye sockets were too small and spaced too far apart. The mandible's shape and position were creating a bad case of underbite. The nasal bone was crooked, and the hole was too large. The forehead was too big, causing the horn to jut out farther than it should.

Glaring at the clay skull in front of him, he scratched at his patchy coat with a hoof. This would never work. With a huff, he leaned forward and began to try and fix the imperfections. Using the tip of his hoof, he tried to carve out the eye holes and make them bigger, but ended up giving the skull a bug-eyed look. In trying to fix the jaw, he ended up smushing the jaw bone too much. His glare turning into a silent snarl, he lifted his hoof up and smashed the skull flat, pancaking it completely. The horn bone clattered across the desk, nearly falling off onto the floor before he stopped it. Holding the horn gingerly, he stared down at the destroyed skull with remorse. His temper had gotten the better of him, and it had just cost him time he didn't have. Horn glowing softly, he scooped the clay up and began to pack it together.

Slowly, tenderly, he began to mold the clay again. He was more careful this time around, leaning back every few minutes to eye the skull from a distance. He used a nearby caliper to measure out the proper proportions, comparing them to the details written in the book. It took him a little longer than his first attempt, but he eventually finished resculpting the skull. Affixing the horn bone upon the forehead, he leaned back to examine his work. A quick glance at the book confirmed what his eyes were telling him: the skull was finished.

He smiled.

He eyed the clay skull for a few more seconds before pulling one of the nearby magnifying glass stands closer. Careful to not disturb the skull, he adjusted the view lens until it was positioned in front of the jaw. Lighting up his horn, he pulled one of the containers off of a shelf and placed it beside the sculpture. Through the plastic material, he could see the contents of the container. It was full of dozens of teeth of different types: molars, incisors, stepped molars. Flipping the top open, he back to pick carefully through the teeth, discarding cracked or chipped ones. The ones that were in the best condition were placed aside for later.

It took him three containers before he was able to find enough teeth for his skull. Flipping the anatomy book open to the next bookmarked page, he eyed the diagrams of mouths carefully, studying the position of the teeth. Amber eyes narrowing in concentration, he picked up the first tooth in his magic and—looking through the magnifying lens—pushed it carefully into the clay mandible. Then the second tooth. And the third.

He worked slowly, making sure that the teeth were positioned at the same height, and were straight and even with one another. Brushing his mane out of his eyes, he hunched over the skull, staring intently through the magnified lens as he continued to place teeth in their proper locations. He used his magic, not trusting his hoof to be precise enough for this task. Even then, he had to remove teeth several times to adjust them, using small pieces of leftover clay to fill in the holes. One of the molars was too small, and he was forced to sift through the containers again to find a bigger one. Every so often he would pause, poring over the anatomy book in order to make sure that everything was where it needed to be. He had to get out the caliper again in order to make sure the gap between the incisors and the molars was the right size. His wings fluttered by his side, his entire body tense.

It had to be perfect.

He owed her that much...

III

16 Hours

His entire body trembled as he crept along the sludge-filled ditch, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. Pausing, he peeked over the edge of the ditch, the whites of his eyes showing as they darted back and forth, trying to take in everything at once. His nostrils flared, flooding his senses with the repugnant odors that surrounded him. It was almost enough to make him gag, but he fought against the reaction. The last thing he needed was to make any loud noises. Ears perked, he listened intently for any sound, but the only thing he could hear were his own shallow breaths.

Swallowing thickly, he lifted his hoof and began to crawl his way out of the ditch. His hooves clicked loudly on the cobblestone of the road and he froze. Holding his breath, his ears swiveled around frantically, listening. After several tense minutes of nothing happening, he exhaled softly and continued on his way.

The town was in ruins.

What little he could see through the fog was slowly disappearing into the overgrowth of plants. The grass was high, nearly tall enough to hide him if he stood up straight. Crumbling buildings lay abandoned, several of them reduced to nothing more than a pile of rubble. Vines and creepers covered any standing structures, sometimes the only thing holding a building together. Grass poked out from between the cobblestone of the road, tickling his belly as he crept along.

The wilderness was reclaiming what belonged to it.

Stepping over a rotten wood beam, he moved farther into town, swiveling his head around as he went. His tail was tucked firmly between his legs, wings twitching by his side. It took every ounce of willpower he had to not unfurl them and fly away in a panic. Keeping low, he picked his way through town, searching. Only the sound of his hooves clicking on the worn cobblestone could be heard, echoing eerily in the mist. He passed by rows of decaying houses, the overgrown yards lined with broken-down fences. A rustling noise caused him to freeze, his eyes widening. A sudden movement to his left caused him to leap back in fright. However, he relaxed when he saw it was just a leaf skittering across the road.

Licking his dry lips, he moved along.

After several minutes, he arrived in a large clearing in the debris. The grass was shorter in the clearing, and he could see several wooden structures dotting the area, most of them rotten and falling apart. Some of them even had the remnants of baskets resting around them. In the center of the clearing, an old fountain rested. It was cracked and crumbling, any water within having long since dried up. A statue of a mare standing on a ball lay strewn out atop and beside the fountain, and he could clearly see the pedestal that it had stood on. The statue's head was missing.

Picking his way through the clearing, he began to search through the weeds and brush. He had only been looking for a few minutes before he came across what he was looking for. Gingerly picking it up, he stretched the orange pelt of fur out, studying it closely. He tsked in annoyance when he saw that it was too small. Tossing it aside, he examined the pelts that he had found around the first one, but neither the white one, nor the pale yellow one, were the proper size either.

Huffing loudly, he continued with his search.

There were a dozen more pelts scattered throughout the clearing, each one of varying size and color. There was a mulberry one, a light gray one, a mint green one, several white ones, a pink one, and a dark gray one. Unfortunately for him, however, none of them felt right. Throwing the last pelt—a lovely cyan one—aside, he eyed the surrounding buildings with some trepidation. He didn't want to venture into their darkened interiors, but he had run out of pelts in the clearing.

Stealing himself for what must be done, he approached one of the desolated buildings. Stepping around bits of debris, he approached the building cautiously. It was larger than most, and colorful in nature, although all the colors were faded. The roof, accented with white trim, was caved in, bits of wood sticking up into the air like teeth. A yellow and pink tower rested several dozen meters away, clearly having fallen from the top of the building.

Putting a hoof on the faded-pink door, he gingerly pushed it open. It squeaked softly on rusted hinges before, with a crack, the hinges broke and the door fell with a resounding thud. With a yelp, he quickly ducked inside, hiding within the shadows. He was suddenly thankful that his coat was a dark color. Not wanting to be in the building longer than he had to, he quickly set about searching the destroyed interior.

Fog drifted in through the open doorway, sneaking across the floor like liquid cloud. Broken chairs and tables filled the room, the wood rotten and mossy. There was a smashed counter at the far end of the room, a dark red stain around the crushed wood. A yellow coat of fur rested in the middle of the stain, strewn out across the broken countertop. He ignored it, as it was too large for what he needed.

Bits of glass littered the floor from broken cabinets and crunched under his hoof as he slipped farther into the building. There was a doorway behind the counter, and he headed towards it, picking his way through the debris. Peeking his head through the archway, he glanced around the wrecked room. There were three pelts among the rubble. A large blue one, with a yellow one and a light brown one resting beside it.

Clicking his tongue, he eyed the blue coat closely before shaking his head. He didn't even consider the smaller ones; they were way too little. With a sigh, he withdrew his head. Glancing around the main room, he continued his search. There was another doorway, this one leading to a set of stairs that led downwards. At the bottom of the stairs was the smashed remains of a door, an orange pelt mixed in with the wood. An old hat rested alongside the carnage, the leather cracking. The pelt had several large tears in it; it was useless to him.

He was just about to leave and search another building when something caught his eye. It was a staircase that he had missed when he had first entered the room. Several steps had been destroyed, and the railing was missing. He trotted over slowly and glanced up at the dark hallway above. Chewing on his lip nervously, he slowly began to climb the creaky stairs.

There were three rooms at the top of the stairs. One was completely blocked by the collapsed roof, and one lead to a bathroom, the door hanging by a single hinge. The third one looked promising, though, and with a gentle bump of his hoof, he pushed it open. The room, like the rest of the house, was horribly disheveled. Vines had crept in the broken window and had completely covered the ceiling, several of them now dangling from a fan. The remains of a bed rested near the doorway, as if someone had been attempting to block the entrance to the room.

Ignoring the broken mattress, he stepped over the mass of springs and ventured deeper into the room. A quick glance around initially revealed no pelts amongst the rubble, but he continued looking anyways. Pushing aside a pile of damp fabric, he huffed in annoyance as all he found was a growing patch of mold. As he replaced the fabric, the closet caught his attention. Moving the doors aside with his magic, he peeked curiously inside. There was a large pile of blankets inside, relatively untouched by the elements. Lighting up his horn, he began to sift through the pile, searching.

After a few minutes of looking, he reached the bottom. He blinked in surprise, cocking his head to the side. There was a pink pelt at the bottom of the pile of blankets. He stared at it for a few seconds before his ears splayed backward and he huffed softly. It was the right size for what he needed, but it just didn't feel right. It would have to do, though. He couldn't be picky as he was running out of time. Lighting up his horn, he levitated the pelt out of the pile, only to freeze upon seeing what was beneath it. A smile spread across his lips and he tossed the pink pelt carelessly over his shoulder before reaching down and pulling the new pelt free of the pile. Holding it up, he eyed it in the light of his horn.

Lifting a trembling hoof, he ran it over the length of the pelt, enjoying the feeling of the velvety fur against his frog. It was a beautiful lavender color, and while patchy in some places, it was in excellent condition. He stared at it for a few more seconds before, with a shake of his head, he returned to his senses. Rolling the pelt up carefully, he tucked it beneath his right wing, holding it tight against his body. With that, he turned and made his way out of the building, nearly tripping on the stairs as one of them disintegrating beneath his hoof.

Stepping out into the fog, he double-checked that the pelt was still beneath his wing before setting off towards home. However, he had only taken several steps when a gust of wind suddenly blew through the town. He froze, his nostrils flaring as the scent of burnt and decaying flesh reached his nose. His ears perked up, and he stood perfectly still for a brief moment—his eyes wide—before suddenly making a break for it. Around him, the world exploded into motion and noise.

Howling and snarling filled the air as shadowy, shapeless creatures erupted out of the fog. They tore after their fleeing prey, the ground beneath their forms beginning to smoke and smolder.

He ran for his life, flitting between rubble and refuse as he sprinted in a blind panic. Pain suddenly seared up his hind leg, and glancing back over his shoulder, he saw that some of his stitches were coming loose; murky liquid and crimson grit was beginning to ooze from the wound. The stitching tore some more, and suddenly he couldn't feel his leg. It just dragged uselessly across the ground behind him. Realizing that he needed to get back home fast, he turned his head back around and put on an extra burst of speed, trying to ignore his lame leg.

A well suddenly emerged from the fog, and as he raced past it, loud shrieking began to echo up from its depths. The crumbling rocks began to shake before an explosion of darkness erupted from the well, the shrill cry of crows filling the air. The fog swirled as thousands of invisible wings beat the air.

Eyes rolling in fear, he let out a wordless whinny and fled into the fog, the darkness pursuing him. A large, familiar structure suddenly loomed from the fog, and with a cry of happiness, he galloped towards it, his hind leg dragging along. He was a few meters from the front door when he suddenly tripped over his lame leg, falling face first in a heap on the ground. Before he could recover, the cloud of shrieking shadows descended upon him, only to smash into a lavender shield that suddenly phased into existence around the structure. The darkness passed over the magical dome like water over rock. The shield flared, groaning under the pressure, but held strong.

Lying there, breathing heavily, he stared up at the swirling, howling wall of darkness, kept at bay by a thin layer of magic. His heart pounded in his chest, almost painfully so. The smell of burnt fur wafted through the air, several spots on his coat smoldering. His lame leg trembling violently, he struggled to his feet. The pelt he had just risked his life for was still pressed firmly against his side, protected by his wing. The feeling of its fur against his helped calm him slightly, and he took a deep breath. A sudden shriek from the darkness caused him to jump. Eyeing the swirling sea of shadow nervously, he quickly turned and limped into the structure, making sure to close and lock the door behind him.

He had work to do.

There was no time to lose...

IV

9 Hours

Stumping around the room, he gathered the things that he needed. Levitating them over to the recently cleared off desk, he placed them down upon the worn wood. An assortment of objects already littered the desk's surface: the lavender pelt, the hardened clay skull, the skeletal wings, several spools of thread, and a jar of gems. As he continued to limp around the room, he eyed the list held in his magic, making sure that he didn't miss anything. Not looking where he was going, his back leg snagged on a box, and he tripped. Grumbling softly, he pushed himself back up, shooting the box an angry glare before continuing with his search.

Shortly after returning home, he had tried to repair his injured leg. He managed to restitch the wound, but the leg had remained useless. However, instead of being limp, it was now uncomfortably stiff and unable to bend at the knee.

Reaching the end of the list, he let it flutter to the floor before he quickly sidled over to the cluttered desk. The hourglass—nearing the end of its time—cast a red glow over the assembled items, tinting them all blood red. He ran a critical eye over the items before pushing them all aside and unrolling the lavender pelt. Running a hoof over it to smooth it out, he stretched it as far as it could go, spreading it out across the desk. Once that was finished, he levitated over a large box, which he opened and began to pick through. Pulling several bones out of the box, he opened the anatomy book to one of the latter bookmarked pages. He studied the skeletal diagrams for a brief moment before beginning to slowly piece the bones together, discarding the chipped and cracked ones. Before long, he had a rudimentary rib cage assembled.

Lowering the rib cage gingerly onto the pelt, he positioned it in the general area it needed to go. With that, he continued the slow assembly of the skeleton, breaking out the caliper again in order to make sure he was putting the vertebrae in the proper order. The whole process was going smoothly until he reached the hips. Pulling out the pelvic bone, he frowned, his brow furrowing. He picked up the caliper and measured the gap in the bone. The instrument confirmed his fear: it was too small. Tossing it over his shoulder, he delved back into the box, searching for another hip. The next one he pulled out had a large crack running across the left ilium, and the third one was clearly a stallion's hip bone and would never work.

Snarling silently, he pushed the box aside before grabbing another one and opening it. Tossing aside a couple of ribs, he paused before reaching down a pulling out another hip bone. This one clearly belonged to a mare, the wide flare indicating that she had given birth in her lifetime. There were several small cracks and chips running across the iliac crests, but besides that, the bone appeared to be in good condition.

Sand continued to flow steadily through the hourglass as he worked, the soft hiss a constant noise in the silent room. Bone after bone flitted in front of his eyes as he continued his methodical search. The skeleton was slowly assembled piece by piece, although the task was not without troubles: leg bones were too long, scapula were too short, nothing but left clavicles in the boxes, and the wings not connecting to the shoulder properly. Each new issue set him back, as he was forced to waste time finding the needed piece. As his amber eyes flicked to the hourglass, sweat began to bead up upon his brow as he found his mouth suddenly dry. He took a breath to steady his nerves, before trying to ignore the hourglass and continue with his work. Lifting a bone up to his face to inspect it, he fumbled, the bone clattering to the desk, and then to the floor. It rolled several times before suddenly falling through a crack in the floor.

Panicking, he pressed his face to the floor, trying to see through the crack. Unfortunately, all he could see was darkness, the bone lost to view. Sitting back on his haunches, he chewed on his bottom lip, praying that that wasn't a piece he needed. Trepidatiously, he returned to the desk and picked up another bone, making sure to be extra careful with it.

A while later, he breathed a sigh of relief as he put the last neck vertebrae in place. Levitating the skull over, he connected it to the top of the spine, finishing the skeleton. With that, he leaned back and cracked his neck, before wincing in pain. He rubbed it with a hoof, trying to work the tension out of the muscle. He would have liked to take a breather, a quick break so that he could lay down and rest his weary eyes, but he couldn't. There was still so much to do, and time was not on his side.

Flipping through the anatomy book, he searched the bookmarks for the needed pages. Upon finding them, he propped the book up on a book stand, adjusting a light as to see the pages better. As he studied the diagrams upon the pages, he levitated a large, insulated container onto the desk. Flipping the lid open, he began to pull out the required organs, checking each one for imperfections. Luckily, they all appeared to be in decent condition, having been kept stored in ice.

Giving the anatomy book one last glance, he began to place the organs in their indicated spots. Lungs, stomach, liver; the ribs were soon packed with organs. The intestines went into the open space between the ribs and the pelvic bone. Gingerly, he lifted a uterus out of the box and placed it snugly in the open space of the hip bones. There were several moments he had to consult the anatomy book in order to find where a certain organ went, or to find out what an unknown organ was.

Placing the last organ—the bladder—into place, he levitated the excess organs back in the container before slipping it underneath the desk. With it put away, he turned his attention to the jar of gems. Pulling it closer, he tipped it over and spilled its contents all across the desk. Gems of varying sizes clattered across the wood: emeralds, sapphires, garnets, amethysts, and diamonds. They glinted in the light of the hourglass, sending a swirl of dim light twinkling across the room.

He picked his way through the gems before settling on a large garnet. Picking it up, he levitated a magnifying glass over. He set the gem beneath the magnifying lens before turning his attention to one of the papers tacked to the wall. It was covered in symbols and runes, the ink faded and worn.

Tearing the sheet carefully off the wall, he placed it beside the gem. With his reference in place, he picked up an engraving knife and, holding it firmly in his magic, he began to slowly, deftly, cut the runes into the garnet. He took his time, barely daring to blink or breathe, lest he make a mistake. Once he was finished with that rune, he moved on to the next one, rotating the gem to allow for better access. When finished, the runes began to glow softly, emanating a pink light, and the garnet began to grow warmer and pulse.

Putting the finishing touches on the garnet, he placed it aside before picking up a medium-sized ruby. It too was placed under the magnifying lens and runes were etched onto its surface. The symbols glowed a bright red and pulsed faintly.

When he was finished, he placed the ruby next to the garnet before selecting two amethysts of similar size. All other gems were pushed onto the floor. They clattered loudly, causing his ears to press against his head, but he ignored them.

Levitating the four selected gems in his magic, he loomed over the skeletal form on the desk. First taking the garnet, he inserted it into one of the skull's eye sockets. Maneuvering it around gently, he pushed it deeper into the skull. It resisted for a brief moment before sliding in with a 'click'. The two amethysts were placed in the eye sockets. Taking the ruby in his hooves, he pressed it against his chest—enjoying the soft pulsing sensation—before moving over to the skeleton's rib cage. With great care, he pushed the ruby in through the mass of organs, maneuvering it until it was in between the two lungs. With a 'schlink', he withdrew his hoof and the organs shifted back into position.

Returning the sheet of runes back to the wall, he selected his next tool: a needle, along with several spools of lavender thread. He threaded the needle, having to try several times to get the thread in the eye of the needle. Once he had the thread firmly tied off, he gave it an experimental tug before turning his attention to the skeleton. Or more specifically, the pelt beneath the organ-filled skeleton.

Starting with the hind legs, he wrapped the pelt around the bones. When it was in position, he held the two ends together and, using his magic to control the needle, he began to stitch the two ends together, starting at the hoof and traveling up the length of the leg. Upon reaching the point where the leg attached to the body, he changed directions and headed back down towards the end of the leg, criss-crossing the stitching in order to give it added strength. He did the same thing with the other hind leg before moving on to the forelegs.

The first foreleg went without a hitch, although it finished off one of the spools of thread. He was forced to pause in order to rethread the needle with a fresh spool. Turning his attention to the last leg, he stretched the pelt out, but in his eagerness to finish, he pulled too hard. With a sickening tearing sound, a large rip appeared. He froze, his eyes widening in horror. Bile rose in the back of his throat as he stared down at the jagged tear in the pelt. With a whimper, he ran a hoof over the rip, willing it to mend. When no such miracle happened, he quickly turned his attention to the shelves on the desk. Tearing into the pile of fabrics and cloth, he searched desperately through them. Greens, yellows, oranges, whites; they were all thrown over his shoulder and onto the ground where they unfurled, adding to the already enormous pile of debris.

After several seconds of furious searching, he came across a roll of purple fabric. It was a darker shade than the pelt, but it would have to do. Unrolling it, he used a knife to cut the fabric, the blade slicing through the material with some difficulty, leaving behind frayed bits of string around the edges of the cloth. He tried to clean it up as best he could, but in the end he just let it be. There was no time. Placing the cut out piece of cloth over the tear, he used the needle to stitch the patch into the coat. With that completed, he breathed a sigh of relief before continuing with his previous task, albeit at a slower pace.

He continued this pace for the rest of the body, gradually covering the entire skeleton with the pelt.

As he worked, the sand continued to fall, filling the room with a gentle hiss.

V

5 Hours

He stood back, a small smile on his face. His wings ruffled by his side, several feathers falling out and floating to the junk-covered floor. The workshop was a mess, with the floor barely visible beneath a sea of discarded items. It had taken him a while (as well as several attempts to sew up the face), but at long last he had finished. There, seated on the desk in a slumped over position, was his finished masterpiece. It was a pony, a mare slightly smaller than him in stature. Her lavender coat was thin in some places, and her right foreleg was held together by a piece of dark violet fabric. Stitches ran across her body, as well as her face. She had a mane of dark purple hair that curled and twisted around her head and neck. Wings hung limply by her side, one slightly longer than the other, both covered in feathers of various colors.

She sat there, motionless upon the desk with her head slumped forward and eyes closed. The glow of the hourglass showed from behind her head, giving her a hellish halo of blood-red light.

Barely able to contain the joy welling up inside of him, he stood there, smiling at her as his tail flicked back and forth. As the minutes slowly rolled by, joy turned to confusion. Stepping forward, he nudged her chest with a hoof. Nothing happened except for her swaying back and forth. He nudged her again, harder this time, but received the same response: nothing. She just sat there, unresponsive. Placing an ear against her chest, he listened closely, but couldn't pick up any noise. No pulse. Nothing.

Brow crinkling with worry, he turned his attention to the dozens of papers tacked onto the wall. Pulling them from the wall one by one, he scoured their contents for any clues as to what step he had missed. However, none of the information on the pages held any helpful tips. Trying to fight back the growing panic within his chest, he peeked around the mare. He breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing that the upper half of the hourglass still held a decent amount of sand in it.

Sitting back on his haunches, he racked his brain, all while staring at the lifeless mare. Suddenly, his eyes lit up and the smile returned to his face. His horn glowed softly and a golden aura surrounded the mare, lifting her into the air. Taking the utmost care, he maneuvered her until she was draped over his back, her head resting on his shoulder, her cheek pressed against his. After making sure that she was situated and not about to slide of his back, he slowly made his way over to a staircase running up the back wall of the room. Carefully stepping over the piles of debris as to not jostle his passenger, he began to limp his way up the stairs, using his wings to keep the mare in place.

Reaching the top of the stairs, he pushed the door that was located there open, and stepped out into a much larger room. The room was circular, with shelves carved into the wooden surface. Thousands of books filled the shelves, many of them falling apart. A large picture of a sun had been painted on the ceiling, the golden paint chipped and faded. A table in the middle of the room held a large wooden bust of a pony. Dust and cobwebs covered everything, and there appeared to be moss growing around the corners of the ceiling and floor. Several of the dirty windows were cracked, fog wafting lazily in through the open holes.

The muted sound of hooves filled the air as he moved further into the musty room. Glancing back at the mare, he gave his shoulders a little shake, trying to get her to open her eyes. All he succeeded in doing was causing her head to loll back and forth. Frowning, he tried again, adding a bit more bounce to his motion. Again, nothing happened.

Tsking softly, he made his way around the room and up a secondary staircase that ascended into the ceiling. This led to a balcony hallway, with several rooms leading off of it.

He ignored the first door, which had been boarded up tight. From between the wooden boards, he could just barely make out the shape of loft with a bed on it through the gloom. A old wicker basket rested at the foot of the bed, a blanket draped over one end. A dark stain had formed around the basket, and there appeared to be a shapeless lump inside.

The second room was boarded up as well, although with significantly more wood. Rose-colored runes covered the wood, which was chipped and covered in teeth marks, as if something had tried feverishly to get out. From what little he could see of the room, it was completely destroyed, with pieces of furniture strewn everywhere. There was a large mass collapsed in the center of the room, chains hanging off of it. White feathers were scattered across the floor, several of them poking out from beneath the wooden boards.

It was the third room, the one farthest from the stairs, that drew his attention. The door was unbarred, and he pushed it open with his nose. Poking his head inside, he glanced around the bathroom, eyeing it carefully. There was no real damage to the room: a couple of cracks in the wall, as well as one on the toilet. Grime covered the floor, making it slippery. He ignored all that, however, focusing solely on the large tub. Carefully walking over to it, he glanced inside, noting that it was fairly clean. Lighting up his horn, he lifted the mare from his back and placed her gently into the tub, with her head underneath the faucet. With her properly situated, he turned the handle a sliver, causing water to begin to drip down onto her head.

Ignoring the grime, he sat down on the bathroom floor, his bad leg jutting out at an odd angle. He watched the water drip onto her face, before lighting up his horn and creating a small field of magic in the path of the drips. As the water fell through, the magic siphoned out the rust and grime.

The fur between her eyes slowly became matted as the water continued to drip. She didn't stir, her body remaining in a limp heap on the floor of the tub, even as water began to stream down her face. Regardless, he let the water continue to dribble.

He sat there, watching the mare with a small smile on his face as the water continued to leak.

In the basement, the sand continued to fall.

VI

1 Hour

Magic pulsed around the workshop, causing long shadows to be thrown across the walls. A gentle thrum filled the air in time with the pulses, echoing around the room in an almost hypnotic way. He stood in front of the desk, eyes closed as he kept his head lowered, his horn crossed with hers. She was placed back on the desk, still as lifeless as before. Slumped over, her horn was resting on top of his. A golden aura cascaded down her horn, snaking around her body and seeping into her stitching.

He gritted his teeth and concentrated harder, the glow around his horn increasing in intensity. Cracking open a glowing eye, he glanced down at the spellbook in his hooves. Some of the words were smudged, and parts of the page were missing, having been torn out ages ago. Still, he worked with what little he could decipher, struggling to control the spell. It was taxing, and he could feel his magical reserves slowly depleting the longer he held the spell. Closing his eye again, he returned his focus to the intricate web of magic he was weaving through the mare's body.

Working his magic into her head, he examined the garnet placed there. The runes were still active, and he could see them pulsing through his mind's eye. Red tendrils snaked from the gem, worming their way through the mare's head and into her body. Following them with his magic, he smiled inwardly when he saw that they headed towards the mare's legs. Just as they should be. That meant that the garnet wasn't the issue. Placing a marker on the garnet for later, he wormed his way towards the second source of magic within the mare's body: the ruby in her chest. Red and blue tendrils of magic extended from the gem, branching their way out through her body. They thinned as they went, until they became impossible to see.

Working his way carefully through the sea of magical veins, he turned his attention towards the ruby itself. The runes were still on its surface, and were still glowing softly. However, it wasn't pulsing. it remained still, lifeless. He pushed some of his magic into the gem, searching for any indication as to why it wasn't working. It had magic inside of it, the energy swirling lethargically around the ruby. He tried to start the magical reaction with a burst of his own, only to frown as his magic was immediately absorbed into a void of nothingness. He tried again, this time pushing a little more magic into the gem. It met with the same result, the magic sucked into a void within the matrix of the ruby.

Canceling the flow of magic into the ruby, he sat back and studied the gem, trying to figure out the best course of action. A spike of panic flared up in his chest. Did he use a defective gem? He couldn't change it; that would take too much time! Enveloping it in his magic again, he searched for any cracks in the gem's facets, or any other imperfections that magic could be leaking out of. Finding none, he concentrated his searching, looking for any hairline cracks that wouldn't be visible to his eye. The result came back negative; the ruby was whole and undamaged.

So why wasn't it working?!

Pulling himself out of his trance for a moment, he glanced up at the hourglass. His heart skipped a beat upon seeing that it was nearing the end of its cycle, only a small amount of sand remaining within the top half. Throwing himself back into a trance, he focused all his attention onto the ruby. Placing a marker on the ruby, he connected it to the marker on the garnet, before linking both gems back to his horn. He ran a secondary loop, leading from his own chest, up through his horn, and down to her chest. With the two circuits complete, he opened up his internal ley lines and began to push as much magic as possible down the circuits at once. A tsunami of magic raced down his horn and into the mare's body, smashing into the garnet, which immediately flared to life as it was flooded with excess magic. The magic didn't stop there, racing down the arcane connections until it reached the ruby as well, which immediately began to absorb the extra magic at an alarming rate. Gritting his teeth, he pushed more and more magic towards the ruby. It burned through the magic, its own latent magic unaffected by his attempts to get it started.

Focusing on the last remaining vestiges of his magic, he gritted his teeth so hard that they creaked and groaned, threatening to crack. His eyes opened, revealing twin pools of glowing white light. Wings flaring by his side, he gave one final burst of magic into the ruby.

Immediately, the world dissolved into pain. Grabbing his head in his hooves, he toppled backwards with a yelp. He yelped again upon landing on one of his wings wrong, causing it to bend beneath him. Lying on the ground, he stared up at the ceiling above him, breathing heavily. The tip of his horn was blackened and smoking, and felt like all of his limbs were suddenly turned to lead. Pushing himself up into a seated position, he tried to cast a spell, only to hiss in pain as sparks erupted form the tip of his horn. He had used all of his magical reserve: he had nothing left.

Getting shakily to his hooves, he glanced at the mare on the desk. She remained motionless. He swallowed thickly before tentatively approaching and placing his ear to her chest. He wanted for a second. Two seconds. Three seconds. After ten seconds had past and no sound was coming from her chest, he pulled back, forlorn. Ears laying flat against his head, he blinked back the tears welling up in the corners of his eyes. Leaning forward, he nosed the mare's ear, whimpering softly.

She did not respond.

VII

5 Minutes

Time was almost up.

Propping her body carefully against the far wall of the workshop, he sat down beside her, utterly defeated. Across the room, glowing softly on the desk, he could see the last few minutes of sand slowly slipping through the hourglass. With a heavy sigh, he closed his eyes and rested his throbbing head against the wall. His horn was still sparking and smoking slightly, his magic reserves empty. He had nothing more to give, nothing more he could do.

He had failed.

Slowly, he lifted his foreleg and stared at the burnt fur on it: a souvenir from his expedition into town. The burn wasn't bad; he certainly felt no pain, but the gray fur on his leg had become blackened and charred, with several places burned off completely to reveal the tender flesh beneath. There was a similar burn on his flank that he noticed, now that he had a moment to rest. He was tired, his limbs ached, and his wing hung uselessly at his side. All of these injuries he had received over the course of the day, trying to complete a project he couldn't even finish now.

He cast a sideways glance at his companion. She just sat there, head slumped forward with her back against the wall. He was dimly aware of her shoulder pressing lightly against his, the feeling of her fur on his calming him somewhat.

After staring at her for a few seconds, a weak smile touched his lips. In the end, all the trouble he had gone through was worth it, if only to have someone else here with him as time slowly ran out. Sighing again, he leaned over and rested his head on her shoulders. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of not being alone anymore, even if it was just an illusion.

He remained that way for a few moments before cracking an eye open and glancing at the hourglass. Just a few minutes remained before it was over. Snorting, he pushed himself off of the wall and stood up, grunting softly as he struggled to get his bad leg beneath him. He ruffled his one good wing, working the kinks out of it, before stretching. His back cracked several times, and he groaned in discomfort. Several feathers fell from his wings and fluttered to the floor.

He turned and, placing a hoof beneath her chin, lifted the mare's head slightly. Her mane fell away from her face, a few loose strands remaining to cover her forehead. He gazed down at her, taking in every detail he could in the dim lighting of the room. He may have made her, but he wanted one last look. Her lavender coat, her horn, her violet mane. He took in everything, trying to cement it to memory. With that complete, he leaned forward and bumped muzzles with her. Her nose was cold, and it caused a small shiver to run down his back. He didn't pull away, though. Doggedly, he remained that way for several seconds, his nose pressed against hers, nostrils flaring as he breathed softly.

The connection was broken as he leaned his head back.

The mare remained motionless.

The sand continued to flow.

With a dejected sigh, he took several steps backwards and was about to turn around when a faint movement caught his attention. Ears perking slightly, he glanced back at the mare and cocked his head to the side. She remained as still as before, but he waited with bated breath, watching for any signs of life. Several more seconds passed where nothing happened, before...

His eyes widened in surprise as the mare's right ear flapped weakly against her head. There was a brief pause before it flicked again, followed by a twitch of the tail. The ear twitched for a third time before her chest suddenly rose as she took a deep, shuddering breath. Her head jerked to the side as she took another breath. Then, with a small gasp, her eyes fluttered open.

He could only stand there, a look of joy slowly spreading across his face as she blinked twice and then glanced around the room before her eyes came to rest on him. They were violet in color, one of them slightly bigger than the other. She squinted—her pupils dilating and expanding—before she gasped again and quickly got to her hooves. Well, it was more of a drunken stagger; her legs trembled beneath her, giving her the appearance of a newborn foal.

When she finally got her legs working, she glanced over at him, eyes filled with wonder and curiosity.

He could only smile, a feeling of relief and unbridled joy welling up in his chest.

She stared blankly at him for a few seconds before she timidly returned the smile, her lips twitching faintly.

He stepped forward slowly, his good wing flaring slightly, allowing her to take in his scent. She shied back as he approached, causing him to pause. Watching him closely, she swallowed before taking a tentative step forward and meeting him halfway.

With a soft nicker, the pair bumped snouts, nostrils flaring as they took in each others scents.

After a few moments, he pulled his nose back, earning him a confused look from the mare; she cocked her head to the side, blinking up at him. Still smiling, he turned and limped over to the desk. He cast a quick glance at the hourglass—the last grains of sand slowly slipping through the neck—before turning his attention to the large book currently splayed open on the desk. Closing it with a soft 'thump', he picked it up in his mouth and carried it over to the mare.

She gave the book a curious glance as he approached, her horn lighting up when he offered it to her. A rosy-red aura surrounded the book, levitating it over to the mare. She looked down at the worn out cover before glancing back up at him, her timid smile still on her face.

He returned the smile and then leaned forward and gave her a gentle nuzzle.

On the other side of the room, the hourglass ran out.

The mare's timid smile quickly turned to confusion, and then to alarm as he began to dissolve, his body turning into dust. A sudden breeze began to blow around the room, tossing the dust through the air. He had time to give her one last, weak smile before his entire body was consumed, reduced to a cloud of glowing particles. It swirled around the room, slowly picking up speed until it was a veritable whirlwind of glowing dust.

The mare cried out in alarm as all the objects in the room began to move at once. Gems rolled across the floor, gathering together as the broken jars mended themselves. The strips of fabric began to roll themselves back up—the cut pieces fusing back to the main roll—before flying back to their allotted spot on the desk's shelves. Bones flew into their corresponding boxes, feathers fluttered around the room, and teeth clattered together as they sorted themselves back into their containers. Threads spooled themselves, the needle sliding back into the nearby pin cushion. A large chunk of clay morphed and undulated through the air before forming itself back into a square. All the items swirled around the room like debris in a twister before flying back into their original places around the room: gems, teeth, thread, and clay all going back to the shelves, boxes of bones and feathers sliding back into the closet. As soon as it started, the whirlwind halted, and silence fell over the room.

Dust particles floated in the air, gradually resettling after all the chaos that just took place. The mare stood there, wide-eyed and mouth agape. Slowly, she glanced around the reorganized room. Her eyes drifted to the floor, and she eyed the hoof prints in the dust: the only indication that the stallion had ever been there.

Swallowing thickly, she glanced down at the old tome still currently held in her magic.

With a click, the hourglass slowly turned over, and the sand began to flow again.

Prologue

24 hours

The faint rustle of turning pages filled the room as he continued to leaf through the large tome resting on the desk in front of him. It was an old thing, the pages yellowed and chipped with age. The original text was faded and hard to read, especially since someone had gone through and written in the margins of almost every page. The cover was worn, the old leather beginning to crack in several places. The golden trim around the edges had long since lost its glimmer, now simply a faded gray. The binding that held the whole thing together was beginning to fray, the book close to falling apart. Still, he read on, carefully, tenderly turning each page as his eyes scoured over the words and diagrams contained within the wizened novel.

He had much to learn.

Coming to the end of the current page, he paused, his amber eyes flicking up to stare at the shelves of the desk. They were filled with different assortments of materials: clay, gems, fabrics of all types and colors, beads, buttons, cotton, teeth, bottles of various colorful liquids, thread, needles. The shelves were overflowing. Tacked onto the wall between the shelves were dozens of pieces of paper, each one containing a diagram of anatomy. String ran across the wall like spiderwebs, connecting similar pages together. It was a chaotic jumble of information.

This would come in handy later.

His eyes were immediately drawn to an item sitting amongst the chaos of objects: a small hourglass resting within a wooden stand. It was a simple thing with symbols etched into the wood. There appeared to be no means of turning it, nor any axle on which it could spin. It was currently running, a small trickle of sand flowing from the full upper half into the empty lower half. It had only just started but a few minutes ago, but the stream of sand was steady. It glowed a faint red in the dim, murky room.

The room was disheveled, a layer of dust covering everything. It was disturbed in some places due to recent activity; hoof prints could be seen in the dust on the floor, two sets clearly distinguishable.

Continuing to stare at the sand for a few more seconds, he shook his head before snorting softly. Wings rustled by his side as he turned his attention back to the ancient tome before him. Turning the page, he winced as it began to crack, a tear appearing on the bottom of the page. He held his breath as he finished the motion. Nothing more happened and he went back to his reading, his eyes darting across the page at a fevered pace. He was barely halfway through the book, and he still had many pages to go.

He continued with his task, the world silent around him except for the dry rasp of pages turning and the soft hiss of sand.

Time was short, and he had much to do...

Epilogue

23 hours

The faint rustle of turning pages filled the room as she continued to leaf through the large tome resting on the desk in front of her. It was an old thing, the pages yellowed and chipped with age. The original text was faded and hard to read, especially since someone had gone through and written in the margins of almost every page. The cover was worn, the old leather beginning to crack in several places. The golden trim around the edges had long since lost its glimmer, now simply a faded gray. The binding that held the whole thing together was beginning to fray, the book close to falling apart. Still, she read on, carefully, tenderly turning each page as her eyes scoured over the words and diagrams contained within the wizened novel.

She had much to learn.

Coming to the end of the current page, she paused, her lavender eyes flicking up to stare at the shelves of the desk. They were filled with different assortments of materials: clay, gems, fabrics of all types and colors, beads, buttons, cotton, teeth, bottles of various colorful liquids, thread, needles. The shelves were overflowing. Tacked onto the wall between the shelves were dozens of pieces of paper, each one containing a diagram of anatomy. String ran across the wall like spiderwebs, connecting similar pages together. It was a chaotic jumble of information.

This would come in handy later.

Her eyes were immediately drawn to an item sitting amongst the chaos of objects: a small hourglass resting within a wooden stand. It was a simple thing with symbols etched into the wood. There appeared to be no means of turning it, nor any axle on which it could spin. It was currently running, a small trickle of sand flowing from the full upper half into the empty lower half. It had only just started but a few minutes ago, but the stream of sand was steady. It glowed a faint red in the dim, murky room.

The room was disheveled, a layer of dust covering everything. It was disturbed in some places due to recent activity; hoof prints could be seen in the dust on the floor, two sets clearly distinguishable.

Continuing to stare at the sand for a few more seconds, she shook her head before snorting softly. Wings rustled by her side as she turned her attention back to the ancient tome before her. Turning the page, she winced as it began to crack, a tear appearing on the bottom of the page. She held her breath as she finished the motion. Nothing more happened and she went back to her reading, her eyes darting across the page at a fevered pace. She was barely halfway through the book, and she still had many pages to go.

She continued with her task, the world silent around her except for the dry rasp of pages turning and the soft hiss of sand.

Time was short, and she had much to do...