In Spirit Golden

by Meridian Prime

Rating: everyone
Tags: Dark, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Mystery, Other
Length: 4722

A long time ago, a desperate mare sought the aid of a disgraced enchanter—and the world changed.

A long time ago, a desperate mare sought the aid of a disgraced enchanter. He believed her a useful, naive child—bitter and malleable with a gift that could raise him to heights he had never dared dream of.

By the time he realised his mistake, it was far too late.

The original version of this was written for the March 9th 2019 Writeoff, under the prompt "Through A Glass Brightly". It won 3rd place.

It tastes like a thunderous church organ piece with chromatic counterpoint in cunning cadences, author. Or like a deep, sparklingly bitter, lightly intoxicating juice with the scent of grapefruit and blood. Were I the appropriate one of the main characters, and had I the abilities she has in certain canons, I would devour you to take your ability to write like this. Amazing.

- Light_Striker, reviewing the Writeoff version.

Published 2020-02-20 11:30:01 UTC
Last updated 2020-02-20 11:30:01 UTC

That Unsettling Light

The chatter of hundreds of milling ponies blended into a low hum in the back of her mind as Gossamer Loom picked her way through the market day crowd. Occasionally, a particularly loud haggling would break through the low drone, or a shout of laughter from one of the many foals darting their way underhoof. She paid them no mind.

She only had one reason to visit Harpers Ridge.

The town was nothing special. A mining community, and one of the many small settlements that had sprung up in the decades since the Founding that truly embraced the pony races newfound solidarity. Unicorns to find the veins, earth ponies to mine them, and pegasi to haul the precious cargo away to the larger trading posts in the south. It was not anything particular to the town that had brought her there. No, it just so happened that Harpers Ridge was the closest place that she would be able to reach from her hometown in time for market day. And with market day, came the merchants.

Travelling merchants had existed in the shadows since time immemorial, but with the sudden lack of border patrols and embargoes, the once sketchy profession had blossomed into one of the new nation’s most prosperous trades. Enough so that decidedly more niche goods could now be found if you knew where to look.

Squeezing through a narrow gap between some stalls, Gossamer emerged into a small square, a little less busy than the bustling high street. Spotting her prize, she trotted forward and ducked inside.

The tent had looked rather nondescript from outside. Hastily erected, sturdy but a little weatherbeaten, and interchangeable with a thousand others—only the name on a hastily scrawled sign revealed just what, and more importantly who, lay within.

Solar Swirl’s Enchanting Emporium

The interior was decidedly cramped—less, she felt, for a lack of space and more for the sheer intimidating volume of things crammed into it. Stained and worn old shelves groaned under the weight of hundreds of knick-knacks and assorted magical tomes. There had clearly been an attempt at a sorting system once upon a time, one that had been soundly beaten back by the advance of time and the accumulation of yet more junk. She brushed a wingtip over worn and weathered spines, her sharp green eyes flitting from title to title. Most of it was worthless, but one or two hinted at a more discerning taste.

She smiled to herself. Yes, she thought, he’ll do.

“You have a rare gift, Solar. Why, you might grow to rival your cousin one day!”

“The greatest mind our line has produced since Star Swirl himself.”

“He mastered that almost as fast as Star Swirl did!”

“A true prodigy. Star Swirl would have been proud.”

First cousins. Not removed. That was what separated Solar Swirl from the greatest mage to ever live. And no one had ever let him forget it.

Whatever he did, Star Swirl had done first, faster, better. His talent didn’t matter, his achievements meaningless next to this burgeoning monolith of history. And so, even as he grew to ever greater heights, the young unicorn grew bitter. And in his bitterness, he swore to uncover the secrets of the one magic Star Swirl could never seem to master.

Bond magic. A myth for centuries, and then the Founding Six had only gone and saved the pony race with a spell so potent that the sheer volume of magic became visible—the famous ‘fires’. Love, friendship, hatred, grief. All had a power that seemingly dwarfed more traditional spellcasting, and yet accessing that power seemed impossible.

But others did not share his enthusiasm. He had endured the sneers and whispers for as long as he could bear them, but when a colleague at the academy had laughed in his face, mocked him as some cheap conjurer on a fool's errand…

They hadn’t let him stay after that.

And so he went out into the world, his task only clearer in his mind. But though he searched and searched, his efforts were to no avail.

Until one day, a young pegasus mare dropped by his shop.

A rustling noise caught his ear, and Solar Swirl glanced up sharply, quill freezing in his telekinetic grip. It was not often, after all, that his out-of-the-way little tent garnered any traffic. The shop was in truth a secondary consideration, a burden he did not suffer gladly. Nothing more than an excuse to travel with the merchant caravan that was slowly making its way across the northern reaches of Equestria, granting the opportunity to search for rare materials and texts, and a minor source of funding for his true passion—research.

And yet it seemed he had a customer. Joy.

He waited, his thin mouth curving down into a slight frown. The point of his quill tapped absent-mindedly against the margins of the parchment he had been scrawling on. Then his mysterious customer came around the corner of an overladen bookshelf and into view.

He put the quill down.

Solar Swirl could admit, at least to himself, that most of what he sold was junk. It served its purpose—the odd trinket sold to an overly superstitious earth pony, a book of herbs to a minor spellcaster or the like. Magical dreck, hawked at the unlearned and gullible. But it was not often that he saw a pegasus in his abode, and he found his attention caught.

His interest in this unusual customer was only strengthened by the undeniable fact that she was strikingly beautiful. A pale blue mane and tail, elegantly unruly, whose wispy nature only seemed to highlight the pure alabaster of her coat, astonishingly unmarked by the dirt and dust of the busy marketplace outside. He straightened, frown smoothing out into a neutral line.

“Can I help you?”

Polite, but measured, and not very far at that. Old colleagues had charitably described him as terse—at least those that did not describe him in far fouler language.

“Why yes. I do believe you can.”

She, conversely, had a voice to match her appearance. Melodious and warm, the small part of him that still missed his mother wanted to melt away into the sound. It was, however, only a small part. He quirked an eyebrow.

The mare smiled. She even had perfect teeth. “I am looking for an accomplished spellcaster, and one who is not ...restrained, shall we say, by the rules and regulations of the Everfree Academy.” Emerald eyes flickered with amusement. “And I doubt there are many spellcasters more accomplished than one of Star Swirl’s line.”

The eyebrow lifted higher, and the other soon joined it. Most assumed his name a coincidence, or worse an affectation. Even some of his former academic colleagues had doubted his lineage, but this pegasus, this strange mare, was utterly confident in her proclamation.

“I believe we should discuss this more privately, miss…?”

Her smile widened.

Sitting at the small table he kept in his private quarters half an hour later, his attention had yet to waver, but in place of his earlier curiosity he found fascination—and more than a little wariness.

“I must admit,” he said, the deliberate lightness of his tone coiling like a springtrap, “I find myself curious as to why a young pegasus mare whose name and mark imply textile work knows about highly secret research that I have spent most of my life working on,” he paused, eyes narrowing, “and, for that matter, why she cares.”

If Gossamer was at all intimidated by the older stallion, she did not show it. Her unnaturally white coat gleamed in the lamplight, unmarred, not a single hair out of place. It almost seemed to glow. Her slight smile never wavered. “I did my research.” Above the disarming smile, her eyes were hard as flint.

“That does not explain,” he said coolly, “why you care about bond magic.”

She gestured at the parchment that lay between them. “We know that the emotional bonds between sapient beings have power, love—of any kind—most of all. We know that because this country was founded on it, scarcely over a century ago. And yet we haven’t the slightest clue how it works, how to control it.”

“I’m aware,” he interrupted icily, “I spent the last forty years trying to no avail.”

“But you,” she said, “worked alone.” She held up a hoof to forestall complaint. “This is about bonds; emotional investment is needed. I doubt any temporary help or test subjects had that.” His frown deepened a fraction, as close to an admission as she would get. “But I do. If we work together…”

He leaned forward. “You still haven’t answered me. Why do you care?”

Silence. The lamplight flickered.

“...I have never understood other ponies,” she spoke at last. “Oh, I understand what drives them. I just don’t understand why.” For the first time all evening, her smile had vanished. “It’s… frustrating. I can mold ponies minds however I please with just a subtle glance and a word, uncover their every vice and flaw, but I cannot grasp how they connect. It’s unpredictable. Unknowable.” Her eyes bored into him, an unsettling light flickering in their depths. “I want to know. This ritual will let me. I just need you to cast it.” She slid the parchment across the table.

Solar Swirl contemplated the paper for a moment, before wordlessly lifting it in his magic, bringing it into the light. After a minute, he set it back down again.

“The ritual is… sound,” he said. “Your work is quite impressive.”

Her smile was all teeth. “I did my research.”

He glanced down again, then gave a sharp nod. “You have yourself a deal, Miss Loom.”

Burning Eyes

They came in the night, in the creeping hours before dawn. No sound, no warning—one moment we were safe in our halls, the next our friends and comrades fell on us, only to fall themselves.

We drove off those we could, but I know some still lurk among our number. The formels are jittery as much as they try to hide it. They’re struggling to keep the tiercels in line; they can’t assuage a fear they themselves are so clearly suffering. I cannot say I blame them.

I know not what these creatures are, but their eyes burn with a pale and sickly flame. There is something missing there, a great and awful emptiness that haunts my dreams far more than any battlefield that I have ever known.

— Excerpt from the journals of General Aquilus Featherfall of Griffonstone, circa. 241PC/237MI (Post Condita and Metá Idrysi, respectively old Unicornian and old Pegasic for ‘post-Founding’; the Pegasi Clans took a little longer to join the emergent Equestria than their ground-tethered fellows.)

“What is it that you do, Miss Loom?”

The mare blinked at him, feathers rustling slightly, and cocked her head slightly to one side. “Why do you ask?”

He hummed tunelessly, a shoddy accompaniment to the rustle of brush on earth as he deftly etched symbols in the dirt, a smooth line of paint left behind in the grooves. “You mentioned ‘molding’ ponies, before. That strikes me as a somewhat unusual occupation for a textile worker. Almost as much as magical researcher.”

She snorted softly. “You’d be surprised.” Her mouth pulled into a grimace, and she clacked her teeth once, twice, before pulling a hissing breath in between them. “My talent is actually a little more abstract. Seeing how something pulls together, the big picture so to speak. It just so happens that I got it while playing with a dress my mother was tasked with fixing.” She watched him for a moment, as his magic delicately moved the brush through whorls and symbols. “After that, the other foals became so easy to read. Trying to gain attention, to save face, to make friends. Eventually, even the adults were an open book.” She shrugged, the slight smile back on her face. It disturbed him a little how real it looked. “It’s not difficult to make a living in the capital with skills like mine. Smile at the right stallion, go to the right parties…” Gossamer laughed. It rang through the small clearing like the chiming of a bell. “I had them all wrapped around my smallest primary.”

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, diligently continuing his work. They sat overlooking the valley, hidden just out of sight, but afforded a magnificent view of the town below. Curls of smoke trailed off into the pale sky, and a sea of evergreen stretched up into the clouds on the peak opposite. Little dots, barely recognisable as ponies, could be seen drifting between the thatched roofs below. The silence fell around them like an old cloak, broken only by the chirping of birds, and the rustle of the brush.

“What will you do?” she asked abruptly. Solar Swirl glanced over at her, but her gaze was locked on some point in the distance, staring out across the valley. “After we’ve done it.”

He huffed. “If we do it. I’ve known failure in this endeavour one too many times to be quite that confident.” She looked at him now, a faintly annoyed slant to her face. His mouth twitched, the beginnings of a smile forming before he forced it back down. He held up an appeasing hoof. “But, if we do it—well.” The smile this time snuck past his awareness, his face softening as he contemplated the potential of victory. “I’ll go right back to the academy, and rub it in Agister’s stupid face.”

The sun shone down, as Gossamer Loom laughed once more.

“Star Swirl please, just come have some food. You haven’t left this room in days.”

Not even a glance. His attention remained fixed on the papers in front of him, the quill held in his magic’s grasp scribbling furiously. “Later. I have to finish this.”

Celestia barely withheld a frustrated whinny. “Why?”

“Because it’s important!” he snapped, finally looking up to glare at the young alicorn, “This magic could be the key to—”

Celestia cut him off, shaking her head. “No, I mean why does this matter to you so much? You are the greatest spellcaster of our age, of any age! It would be one success among hundreds. Why this project?”

Star Swirl’s glare softened a little, his frown turning thoughtful. With a sigh, he set his quill down, and turned to face his visitor fully.

“My cousin,” he said at last, almost reluctantly, “Solar Swirl.”

Celestia blinked. “...You have a cousin?”

Star Swirl stood, pulling at his cloak with an absent agitation. “Yes. Older than me, spent time in the academy before it shut down. A genius, by all accounts. Staggeringly gifted in all aspects of magic.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Sounds a little familiar,” she commented dryly.

The corners of his mouth tugged upwards, but there was no joy in it. “He was renowned as one of the greatest of our age. And then he turned his mind to bond magic.”

Despite herself, Celestia leaned in. “And? What happened?”

“He became a laughing stock. Got in a fight with Archmage Agister, declared that bond magic might hold the key to power undreamed of, and stormed out. Spent the rest of his life delving into its secrets.”

Celestia frowned slightly. “But I’ve never heard of him.”

“Of course not.” Star Swirl’s smile was bitter. “He died in obscurity, his name disgraced.” He laughed slightly, a mirthless sound. “There isn’t even a grave.”

Too Bright

Solar stepped back, eying the painstakingly traced runes critically. Finally, he gave a satisfied hum, tucking his brush back into his saddlebags with a faint, sparking flourish.

“It’s done.”

Gossamer jerked up, head whipping away from the book she had been immersed in for the last half hour. “Truly?” she breathed, a crooked and startlingly real grin stretching over her features. Snapping her book shut, she trotted over, neck craning eagerly as she surveyed his hornwork. “The alignment there is… no no, it’s right…” Her grin widened as her eyes roamed the small clearing. “I think you’ve got it.”

He scoffed. “Do you think me an amateur? Of course I have. I’m no second year apprentice, to foul up something as simple as ritual frameworks. Have a little faith.”

She chuckled, eyeing him teasingly, fondly. “Ahhh, of course. My mistake.” He coloured slightly, her teasing grin only growing. “Well then, oh grand sorcerer—what now?”

Ignoring the discomfiting heat in his cheeks, Solar Swirl straightened. “Now? Now, we wait.”

Late that night, in the darkness on the edge of town, the ritual began.

They did not speak as they readied to cast the activating spell. There were simply no words that needed speaking. Solar Swirl looked out upon the array that might help him complete his life’s work, and locked eyes with the mare that sat at its centre. Then he lit his horn, and cast.

The ground lit up, symbols gleaming with silvery light, and Gossamer instantly stiffened, eyes staring up and out into the darkness.

“Oh,” she said softly.

“What?” he asked urgently, “What is it?”

She smiled a strange, lopsided smile. “I can touch it now,” she exhaled, “I can feel it.”

“Show me!” he demanded, eyes darting around, as if he could somehow catch the magic in the air. Then, suddenly, he could. He barely noticed as the air left his lungs.

All around them, stretching through the air and on into the horizon, glowing threads of golden light filled the sky. It was as if the stars had thrown out ropes of brilliant light at each other, and down towards the earth. Following the threads down, his jaw dropped.

The small town, dark and empty but a moment ago, was lit up even brighter than the heavens. Ropes threaded from house to house, and in each dwelling a golden, shimmering ball of light—he looked down. His body shone.

“Oh Elysium,” he whispered, a feeling he did not recognise stirring in his chest. He thought it might be reverence. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yes,” he turned, blinking in surprise at the faint voice from behind him. He’d almost forgotten about his companion, but there she stood, barely visible through the golden glow, threads of light emanating outwards just like him, just like everypony. “It really is, isn’t it,” she said absently. Through the blinding glow, he could just about make out her face, her eyes locked on the threads.

Her lip curled.

She reached out a hoof to one of the threads, and pulled.

He blinked, gaping, as with a firm tug the golden light went taut—and then snapped.

“W-what are you doing!?” he cried out, leaping towards her—but he stumbled as he hit the edge of the still active array, the barrier spell he had weaved in to prevent accidental error stopping him short. He watched in disbelief, and then horror, as one by one the golden threads connected to her silently vanished—and the shining light of her soul grew dimmer and smaller. Finally, without the slightest sound, the last one dissipated into the cool night air, and Gossamer stood alone.

The self-inflicted damage had not been kind to her. Her unnatural beauty was gone, gleaming coat now a dirty grey, wispy blue hair turned a stringy unhealthy looking green. And yet he could make out easily, in the dull shine of her broken soul, a broad, beaming smile.

Gossamer Loom had almost never stopped smiling over the last few days. For all that, he had never seen her look so happy.

“I’m free,” she breathed, eyes wide. She chuckled a disbelieving laugh.

“Why?” he whispered. He stood rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away from the awful sight in front of him.

She smiled. “I can understand it now. I can control it. And I want no part of it.” And with a terrible wrench, she pulled the light from out of her soul.

She screamed. For a moment he could barely look at her, the once comforting glow now the dying, desperate burn of a supernova. And then, all of a sudden, it was gone, and the sheer wrongness of it brought Solar Swirl to his knees.

The world twisted around her. All around him he could see the glorious golden light, but in her was only absence, and it burned. His mind screamed at him to run, to get away, away from this abomination that used to be a mare, but his limbs locked in place, his breath tightening in his chest. It was as if something was sapping the very strength from his bones, the light from his soul—and horror filled his veins, as he realised that his light was growing dimmer. A pulsing, cancerous thread, flowing from him and out into the void ahead. And then the runes of the array sputtered out, the lights all disappeared, and he collapsed to the ground.

“Well now. I wonder what I should do first.” The words came to him as if from afar, his head swimming, his body numb. “I suppose I’ll start with this town. Oh, but don’t worry. I haven’t forgotten about you, my dear partner.”

Distantly, he saw Gossamer approach—she looked withered, pockmarked and burnt, fur gone and skin black. Her smile was all teeth. Her face lowered to his own, and he knew no more.

Harpers Ridge no longer exists. There is little trace of what was once a small but relatively prosperous mining town in the north-west of Equestria. An abnormally large clearing lies hidden among the pines, only the occasional glint of metal hinting at old structures, buried by time and nature. Faint patches of discoloured, rainbow stained earth are the only remnant of the ethereal cloud homes of long-dead pegasi.

Like many other settlements that existed in the post-Founding, pre-Discordian era, little historical records remain. A census here, a casual reference in ancient and crumbling court documents there…

But there are two things that set this otherwise indistinguishable settlement apart from the many others abandoned during Discord’s reign. Two specific issues that scholars have pondered and argued over for centuries.

Firstly, in the last great census before the rise of Discord and the fall of the First Equestrian Republic, there is no mention of Harpers Ridge. While its history can be clearly traced back for nearly forty years in various documents and logs that survive, for no discernable reason this nondescript little town disappeared a full two years before its many contemporaries began to fall.

The second issue is a little more controversial. Many scholars are loathe to recognise it—after all, unquantifiable things are often disdained by the more academically minded. Still, it cannot be denied. No traces of magic remain, no mysterious curse prevails—and yet every single account of visitors to the onetime site of Harpers Ridge tells the same story.

That to walk through that clearing, is to walk with despair.

Author's Note

I spent a long time messing about with the placement of bits and bobs with this story, and I'm not entirely sure how happy I am with the final result, but I think I needed to get it out there.

I would greatly appreciate any feedback you can give.

Also, as always, have the song I based it off of. Fair warning, there will be some tonal dissonance here:

Appendix I: Original Writeoff Version

“I must admit,” Solar Swirl said, the deliberate lightness of his tone coiling like a springtrap, “I find myself curious as to why a young pegasus mare whose name and mark imply textile work knows about confidential research that I have spent decades working on,” he paused, eyes narrowing, “And, for that matter, why she cares.”

If the beautiful mare across from him was intimidated, she did not show it. Her unnaturally white coat gleamed in the lamplight, unmarred by the dirt and dust of the world outside. Her slight smile never wavered. “I did my research.” Above the disarming smile, her sharp green eyes were hard as flint.

“That does not explain,” he said coolly, “why you care about bond magic.”

Gossamer Loom gestured at the parchment lying between them. “We know that the emotional bonds between sapient beings have power. We know that because this country was founded on it, scarcely over a century ago. And yet we haven’t the slightest clue how it works, how to control it.”

His frown tightened. “I am aware—”

“You worked alone,” she interrupted, “This is about bonds, emotional investment is needed. Nopony else had that. But I do.”

He leaned forward. “You still haven’t answered me. Why do you care?”

Silence. The lamplight flickered.

“...I have never understood other ponies,” she spoke at last. “I understand what drives them. I just don’t understand why.” For the first time, her smile vanished. “It’s… frustrating. I can mold ponies however I please with a well-timed word or glance, but I cannot grasp how they connect. It’s unpredictable. Unknowable.” Her eyes bored into him. “I want to know. This ritual will let me. I just need you to cast it.” She slid the parchment across the table.

Solar Swirl contemplated it for a moment, before wordlessly lifting it in his magic, bringing it into the light. After a minute, he set it back down again.

“The ritual is… sound.” He eyed her.

Her smile was all teeth. “I did my research.”

He glanced down again, then gave a sharp nod. “You have yourself a deal.”

Solar Swirl looked out upon the array that might help him complete his life’s work, unlock secrets his vaunted predecessor never could. He breathed deep, lit his horn, and cast.

Instantly, Gossamer stiffened, eyes staring up and out into the darkness.

“Oh,” she said softly.

“What?” he asked urgently, “What do you see?”

“It’s beautiful,” she said distantly. Her lip curled.

“Show me!” he demanded, eyes darting around—and suddenly he could see. He barely noticed as the air left his lungs.

All around them, stretching through the air and on into the horizon, glowing threads of golden light filled the sky and dropped down towards the earth. The small town, dark and empty a moment ago, was lit up even brighter than the heavens. Ropes threaded from house to house, and in each dwelling a shimmering ball of light—he looked down. His body shone.

“Oh Elysium,” he whispered, the long-forgotten feeling of reverence stirring in his chest. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yes,” he turned, blinking in surprise. He’d almost forgotten about his companion, but there she stood; barely visible through the golden glow, surrounded by glowing thread. “It really is, isn’t it.”

And then she reached out a hoof to one of the threads, and pulled.

He blinked, gaping, as with a firm tug the golden light went taut—and then snapped.

“W-what are you doing!?” he cried out, leaping towards her—but fell back as he hit the still active array. He watched in disbelief, and then horror, as one by one the golden threads connected to her vanished—and the shining light of her soul grew dimmer and smaller. Finally, the last thread dissipated, and Gossamer stood alone.

The self-inflicted damage had not been kind to her. Her unnatural beauty was gone, wispy turquoise hair turned a stringy green, alabaster coat a dull grey. And yet he could see her face, in the dull light of her broken soul.

She looked happy.

“Why?” he whispered, legs rooted in place.

She smiled. “I can understand it now. I can control it. And I want no part of it.” And with a terrible wrench, she pulled the light from her soul.

The world twisted around her, and Solar Swirl collapsed.

Dimly, he saw Gossamer approach—she looked withered, pockmarked and burnt, fur gone and skin black. Her smile was all teeth. Her face lowered to his own, and he knew no more.

Author's Note

As the title indicates, this was written as my submission for the 9th March 2019 Writeoff. The prompt was "Through A Mirror, Brightly".

Although this is technically the original piece, a great deal of the expanded version came from cuts I made to this due to the 750 word limit.