The Hero of Harmony

Thistle rubbed his aching eyes. It took a while for his vision to adjust, but once it did, he almost wished that it hadn’t. The yellow and green coated donkey had been transported to a strange room that was like nothing he had ever seen before. It was tall, round, and completely demolished. Part of the roof had caved in, creating a mountain of rubble with thick tree roots poking out in odd places. The windows were smashed, and the floor itself could barely be made out, as the hard surface was hidden beneath shatters of glass, teared pieces of tapestry, and sharp purple shards.

“W...where is this place?” The donkey peered around nauseously. “I wonder, did this used to be… a castle?”

He directed his attention to the centre of the room, where a huge crystal platform was emitting weak sparks of light in all directions. Thistle approached it cautiously, and upon closer inspection concluded this to be a table, but none like any he had seen in the past. The surface was flashing various shades of purple, pink, blue, orange, yellow and white, and it was crafted in such a way that it displayed three dimensional scenery of towns, trees, and mountains. Unlike the rest of the room, the table actually seemed to be in tact aside from a few piles of ash here and there, and of course, the strange sparks, which made the donkey decide against reaching out and touching its surface.

Surrounding the flashing table was what appeared to be the ravaged remains of six tall thrones, and possibly one smaller throne. Curiously, most of them were somehow in a worse state than the room itself. The most recognisable throne was scorched and jagged, with a strange pink symbol of some sort weakly glowing above the seat. The rest were terribly damaged, coated in ash with pieces missing and bold scratch marks across their exterior. Just like the first, all but one had it's own symbol. However, none of the other symbols were glowing; some were in pieces and detached from the throne itself, and they were all incredibly difficult to make out.

The most unrecognisable seat looked as though it had been completely incinerated, and then hacked in half by a giant almighty claw. There was no symbol at all, probably because the top of the throne was nothing but a crumbled mess upon the floor behind the main frame, which had been slashed horizontally and stained a filthy shade of grey. Beside it, a shorter seat had received a similar treatment and been reduced to a mere heap of stone and shards.

“I wonder what happened here.” The donkey whispered to himself as he explored the room. “Wait a second… who summoned me?”

Thistle gazed around frantically, searching for any sign that he wasn’t alone, but the room appeared to completely be deserted. Turning his attention to the castle entrance, Thistle noticed that one side of the door - although closed - had come off its hinges and was merely propping itself up against the other. It had monstrous dark marks across its golden frame.

Thistle gathered all of his courage and boldly approached the door. Those marks looked almost threatening; like they were warning him not to open it. He could only imagine the horror that lay on the other side; it would either be a destroyed and deserted wasteland like the inside of the castle, or it would be a world of peril and despair, with its inhabitants suffering at the hands of a dangerous enemy; an enemy that he was no doubt expected to defeat.

Taking a deep breathe, the small donkey trotted forwards, crushing the glass shards beneath his tough, sturdy hooves. He gradually picked up speed, and lowered his head ready to force the door from its frame. His long ears lowered themselves in preparation, and his striped tail swished about furiously behind him. Thistle came closer and closer, charging toward that which was going to lead to either his destiny, or his demise. He had almost reached his target, when suddenly…

*thud*

Thistle stopped in his tracks. His ears pricked up and he froze for a second, before turning his head to determine the origin of the sudden noise. It seemed to have come from the crystal table, or one of the thrones; but the room looked as empty as it was before. Even so, Thistle left the door and retraced his steps, on the off-chance that there was something he had previously missed.

“Who’s there?” He stomped impatiently, “show yourself!”

There was no reply.

Keeping his ears pricked and his eyes peeled, Thistle decided to take a closer look at the remains of the thrones. He circled the area counterclockwise, and studied the symbols upon each one.

The first throne he came to had a chunk missing from the top, and displayed only two red dots which were dented at the bottom. Thistle rummaged through the rubble beneath his feet, but concluded that the rest of the symbol was buried deep among the shards. He could have taken the time to dig it out, but the bewildered little donkey had no idea how long that would take, nor how long he actually had to fulfill his mission - once he discovered what that mission actually was.

And so, Thistle moved on to the next throne, which was so heavily damaged and unrecognisable that he almost considered bypassing it completely. It was the throne which was sliced in half and almost completely black, accompanied by the smaller pile of remains. He tried in vain to rub away the ash, before taking a closer look at the crumbled mess on the floor behind the base. At first glance, it seemed no different from the other heaps of ruins scattered around the room, but then, something caught Thistle’s eye. This pile was sparkling, just a little, and tiny fractures of purple were hidden within it. The donkey shuffled the crumbled mess around, expecting something to be revealed underneath, but to no avail.

He then moved on to the next throne, which was a little better off, but far from intact. Instead, odd pieces were missing here and there, and the main frame was merely balancing upon the seat in a desperate fashion. Thistle dared not touch it; one tiny tap, and the whole thing would probably come tumbling down. The symbol on this throne was unusual. It consisted of a streak of three primary colours, which were in the shape of a lightning bolt. The streak derived from a jagged hole in the seat, indicating that once again, part of the symbol was missing.

Finally, Thistle came to the throne with the glowing pink symbol. Upon closer inspection, he recognised that it was made up of three identical shapes. This throne was wonky, and had patches of black and grey around it's frame, but it was by far the most intact. After taking a second to inspect the seat, Thistle’s eyes were drawn to the weak glow above him. After giving the area a quick dust with his hoof, he soon realised that the symbol portrayed three butterflies. He took a moment to inspect them, and suddenly found himself mesmerised by their beauty, and unable to look away.

As Thistle gazed upon the butterfly pattern, it suddenly began to emit a more vibrant light, which grew gradually brighter the longer he stared. Thistle felt himself being enveloped in this light, and soon it was all he could see, aside from the three pretty butterflies who had now began flapping their wings and leaving their base one by one. Thistle suddenly felt his mind gradually falling into a trance-like state, and his fears melted away while his body became weightless so that he could join them in their flight. Whilst the butterflies circled his drifting body, Thistle still couldn’t take his eyes off their delicate wings. He had never felt so content, so relaxed, and so free, as he was gently carried away beyond his control.

Meanwhile, back inside the throne room, the butterfly symbol struggled to glow for a few more seconds, before stopping completely. Then, a few small clouds of black smoke began to appear from beneath the table, and out came a small purple dragon, coughing and spluttering uncontrollably. He grasped in his claws a thick book with a tattered yellow and green cover. Its spine was damaged and bent, and the pages inside were torn so badly that they were poking out in places.

“That was… *cough* close!” the dragon choked, rubbing the tears from his eyes as he struggled to his feet.

Spike forced his aching body onto the butterfly throne, and stared at the symbol with large eyes full of concern and dread.

He sobbed a little before shifting his gaze to the book clasped tightly in his arms.

“A…. donkey?” He wept, “I ask for a hero, and you send me… a donkey?”