Chaos
The marble arches of Canterlot palace held. It was their duty to bear the weight of the ceilings on their backs, without rest, day and night, for as long back as anyone could remember. They seemed to bear the centuries of work with minimal fuss.
Their white surfaces cast in yellow by the light of the night lanterns, the arches seemed solid. No one saw the microscopic cracks forming, no one could feel the harsh weight of the ceiling pressing down, or the moisture in the air seeping into the hidden crevices, eating away at them with erosion and rot. No one heard the groans of the keystones as time and weight and water worked its painful magic.
Even Celestia was ignorant as she marched down the archways on an unscheduled midnight stroll, ministers trailing her as she made a kerfuffle. Her ancient eyes couldn't see the cracks until they were obvious, no alicorn magic could pierce the stone to divine the stress fractures within.
While ministers fussed and flurried behind her over her impromptu schedule break, the night guard were more discreet. There were no sudden team of soldiers flanking her, no shouts, no alarms or bells. The lady of the day might merely be restless, after all. Yet as she moved down the archeways, the guards began to double. Some were even clad in the golden armor of the day watch. Disciplined soldiers roused from their rest to stand guard like stoic statues, like parts of the archeways they rested their backs to. Ready, waiting, preparing for something that might never come and trained to battle monsters that they could never conceive.
Was that what disturbed her? Was that what stirred her from her royal bedchambers, to wander her sisters night? The guard with their tradition and discipline, crumbling into a ceremonial service. Soldiers who couldn't conceive of war, little more than a marching band.
Chaos is
The ministers buzzed behind her, talking but not saying anything. Did she need a glass of water? Was there something troubling her? Did her royal highness need updated on the irrigation project in some prefect or other? Was the weather in Canterlot not to her liking? It was too warm for springtime. They could make it rain, to bring the temperature down and ease her majesties sleep. Each anxious question wore on her patience like stones pelting her shoulder blades.
Celestia's wings flared to their frightening height, tips pointed to the curves of the arches above her. The ministers went silent. They waited for a moment, Celestia and ministers, until the princess regained her composure. The patience that fled her returned, and her wings folded against her sides. She turned to regard her ministers. They lacked their regalia. Their faces were worried and their eyes were bleary and bagged. They were afraid. For her? Of her?
She smiled down at the ministers. No, it was quite alright. No, she wasn't hungry or thirsty. Yes, she would like an update, but in the morning. No, there was nothing bothering her. The weather was quite perfect, thank you. She was just enjoying a quiet midnight stroll, she lied, a chance to enjoy her sister's night. She thanked them all for their concern, and requested that they leave her to enjoy the night in peace.
They apologized with profuse profundity. No intention to disturb her royal highness. They bowed and scrambled over each other to take their leave, like scolded children fleeing a cross parent. Still, even as she started back on her walk, she could hear the hoofsteps turning back, and even she was not so old as to not hear their whispered conversations as they hid behind the columns of the arches. Though, what they said she couldn't be certain. Concern or conspiracy? It mattered little.
Chaos is always
The rest of her walk passed without incident, as she crossed the ancient halls. She had no particular destination in mind, but as she walked a pattern emerged, an underlying order. She knew where she was headed, though she didn't want to go. She knew what had stirred her from her slumber and twisted at the currents that ran beneath the surface of her thoughts.
Mammoth doors swung open at the suggestion of her guardsmen, and Celestia entered the palace gardens. The moon was bright and full, the plants green and vibrant, the smell of leaves and stems mixing with the fragrance of flowers. The air was warm, but a gentle breeze came through like the tide, washing away the stale air before receding.
The grounds were quiet, the smooth voice of the wind made the flowers rustle, and the crickets chirped out their lonely soliloquies. If she craned her neck and listened, she could hear the soldiers on the ramparts. Indistinct voices and hoofsteps on stone. This was the closest Celestia would ever get to being alone in her gardens. As she trotted down the path, she almost wished her sister might spy her out and come to join her. The thought was both hopeful and distasteful. A rescuer, that's what she was hoping for, someone to take the burden of her late-night pilgrimage. It was beneath her.
All the same, she would have enjoyed the company.
As she rounded the corner of the hedge maze and entered the statue garden, she noticed that even with the tireless work of her gardeners, there were small parts of the path where grass and weeds encroached. The little imperfections made her nostalgic, they reminded her of the rolling plains and unsure paths of her youth, exciting, overgrown, and dangerous. Of course, things were better as they were now, and she made a mental note to speak with the head gardener, but she could be forgiven for remembering the feeling of wild grass against her hooves with a hint of longing.
Chaos is always seeping
And there it was, the source of her consternation. The unnamed worry that roused her, that weighed at the back of her mind like a rock splitting the current of her thoughts. A single statue hidden amongst a multitude so that no one would ever guess at its importance.
Draconequus.
It stood trapped in eternal boast, laughing at the very idea that it could be defeated. Defeated it was, yet neither the defeat nor the yellowing of age and weather seemed to dishearten the statue. It continued to sneer down at her, taunting her with horrible confidence. Never wavering, forever waiting. A trap ready to spring at any moment. A threat of coup d'état hidden in the whispers that always followed her. An ancient archway, too old to be salvaged, ready to give and collapse on top of her.
This was why it was important for her to be alone. Why none of her servants could watch her at this moment. The princess could be sad, could be angry, could be surprised, and none of these things would shake the confidence of her subjects. But to be afraid. That was something altogether different. If Celestia were afraid, the panic would never be contained.
Decades had passed since the last time Celestia had looked at the statue. It was good that the moon was so full. It was a careful inspection, first walking around the thing, searching for any obvious cracks. When she was satisfied there were none, she closed her eyes and focused. Her horn gave a gentle yellow shimmer. The sensing spell was simple enough, but to detect the seal one had to know exactly what to look for, something well beyond the average unicorn.
Nothing. The seal was still in place. The statue was inert. The Draconequus was defeated. Imprisoned. Unable to hurt anybody any longer.
Now, why didn't that make her feel any better?
She lingered for another few minutes, as she looked upon the solid specter with eyes darkened with sleeplessness and heavy thoughts. For the first time she became aware that her mane and tail were in complete disarray, her feathers were frayed, and her royal regalia was resting in her bedroom. The statue beamed down at her, as if amused at her disheveled state. As if this was all just one more prank on her. One more indignity.
Oh, he'd probably find this all quite funny.
Celestia turned her back on the statue, and stalked off into the night.
The statue continued to laugh to itself, a single arm outstretched as if presenting a show. One time only experience, Princess Celestia's feathers all ruffled, literally and metaphorically. And always, always the feeling of self-satisfaction lurking behind the laugher, for hidden beneath the surface layer of stone and magic, imperceptible even to Celestia's ancient gaze, cracks were forming. A hairline fracture was already hidden on the underside of its tail, too small for Celestia to pick out even on the brightest night.
Chaos is always seeping through.
The statue was pleased.
