The chains tightens, the wounds reopens. The pain peaking. I'm strangled, yet I draw breath. The chains clink. Flesh the chains claim. My body it covers. Blood it draws. Rivers of crimson runs down to paint the ground I tread. My hooves mark the bloodied ground. My bones broken.
Copper I taste. Weary I feel. In pain I moan. The tightness tries to claim my head.
Unending is the road I walk. In space, suspended.
I wake.
The sun. It needs rising.
The dream. It is a curse. One brought to me by myself.
The last millennium I've been alone.
A dream walker is my sister, yet, help, she cannot. The chains will not break.
Softly she cries.
The sun shows itself, conjured by magic.
It is vast. Nothing in the solar system can compare.
Yet... somehow, my heart is even heavier.
The nightmare never stops, the road of darkness never ends.
The reminder of self is its thorns. Its poison potent. Pain its weapon.
Long have passed. Ages. Millenia.
Maybe there's help to receive. One of doubt and uncertainty. One of death.
I search for what is long lost, forgotten. Yet, present, undying. Immortal.
As the court wait, I search. Search for what is lost.
The edge of the mountains. The shallow of the swamps. The depths of the sea. The winds of the sky. The trees of the forests. The grass of the plains. The sand of the deserts.
Nothing.
I cannot remember. Why can I not remember?
I seek the thing life cannot give me. Death.
The one who can help. The one who takes. The one who once took.
The search comes to an end. Only then I recall. At the edge of life itself.
My sword I unsheathed, in the sun it shone. It was clean, yet in blood it was covered.
The ritual of death, both loved and feared. The blade pierced my flesh and bone, to my side I fell.
Weakened I felt as my essence left me, the long sleep began to claim me.
A wall. Its grooves and scratches comes together for a common meaning.
But I cannot remember it. It could be a wall of entropy. Yet I know it is not.
The floor. As reflective as glass. Its chasm unending. Its colour black. On its surface I stand, yet liquid is its property.
Trees. Two that intervenes, its branches tangled. The gap between them, my salvation.
I step forwards, my horn touching the wall in-between the trees. The wall ripples like the floor does my hooves.
I step though and beyond. Not remembering what I'd be facing.
The hope of salvation still present.
Darkness paints the walls, the floor of liquid reflects it.
Light is my power, yet I dear not use it. Death is near.
Time flows like a river. It speeds up and slows down. However, in this darkness, it stopped.
Emit does the light of my magic. Dearing to pierce the dark.
Blue grows to paint the chasm. Before me, pillars of rock. Its roof vast. The wet droplets of water echoes.
Present was the cold of my blade.
Why am I here?
Echoes of the damned I hear. Low, whispered in my ear.
Smoke surrounded the pillars of rock. Dark they grew.
Death has come. Sin its meal. Soul its power.
Its judgement, final.
A figure appears. One of a pony, yet it is not. Born of the smoke its eyes meet mine.
The reunion has come. To celebrate death as much as life.
It shuffles. Climbs. And scurries along the pillars. Leaving and coming for me at the same time.
It opens its mouth. The red of its depths showing. Its drapes black. The eyes of its sockets missing.
Dread is my response. Fear and hope I feel. Salvation is here. Maybe.
“Celestia.” Is its word. Echoing among the ruins. The tone dark and mystic. Yet it did not mouth the word.
“Death does not touch you,” it continued. “Yet, sin is your burden.”
It knows. I dear not speak.
“How do you pay for sins without death?” It asked. I did not know the answer. Only questions had I.
“Pain,” it answered, “it is eternal. It is fear. It is death.” A wicked smile of darkness formed across the figure.
“You own a lot of it.” It spoke. “Pain is your companion. Death its source.”
I cried. Not for myself, but for the once living. The living that I had brought death.
“The sins you carry. Titans would fall by its weight. Yet, you stand.” It spoke softly. As a widower would her dying husband.
“Peace is what you seek. Peace I can provide.” Silent it grew. Poison where its words. Its promise false.
Why am I here? Pain.
“Pain is my dreams.” I told it. “For centuries so.” Smoke poured out of its mouth. Around me it gathered. Magic its source. That of black.
Memories it brought. Painful, and impure. War. Death.
“The dead of chaos. The slaves of corruption. The sacrifices of deception.” It spoke slowly as trying to console. A hammer had the memories brought. Painful its swing.
“The betrayal of ones sister.” It said slower still. “Deaths by your doing.” It paused.
“Pain is not judgement enough.”
“I cannot undo what is done. Millennia have passed. The memories unbearable.” I cried.
“The sins I will carry. That I deserve. The dream I ask. Cleans it.” Plead did I.
“Celestia.” Softly it spoke. As a mother would a foal.
“Destruction does the fire bring. From it you where born.” Blurry became its figure.
“The flames bring life as much as death... just like you...” My vision blocked by tears.
“Pain is your judgement.” To my knees I collapsed.
“Yet in battle you may fall.”
“The only salvation is death.”
Death left me. Its smoke vanished.
I awoke.
On its way out the sword cut. My wound healed by my magic. A scar left beneath my coat.
Blood washed away by the river.
Battle. The word gives me pain, it gives me suffering. My sins forged within it. Yet, salvation it would give me.
A war horse I once was, yet there is no such thing.
The guilt torments my body in sleep. My mind is its victim at day. The road never ending. Its chains white hot. Buried within my flesh. A titan would fall.
The unending road stretched before me. Yet, I walked.
For my people, I endure.
For my end, I will pray.
