Harmony's End

The memories of my defeat at the hands of the dragon I once knew haunted me for days to come. Yet, the guilt of running away overshadowed the shame I felt for my failure to kill Rarity and her overgrown pet. Part of me believed that, perhaps, I should have stayed and fought to my last breath, that fleeing, like some frightened vermin scurrying back to the hole it crawled from, was worse than death. But no, I told myself. It had to be done. I had to escape and save myself so that Equestria itself might be saved. For I realised that my life was more important than any other—had I died fighting this corruption, the souls of my friends would be forever lost. The Elements would be forever broken, and an unseen evil would be set loose on the world. I could never allow that to happen. The darkness must be stopped before it is too late.

And so I returned to the relative sanctuary of Colthagen. Already beaten and guilt-ridden, the judging eyes of the townsfolk was only salt in the wound. They knew not why I originally came, or where I went—but the fact that they were most displeased to see me return was obvious. And now they avoided me like the plague, subconsciously—or consciously—connecting me to the murders and disappearances that befell their home in the past weeks. None of them would say it, of course, or even talk to me. Had I not bribed the keeper of the town's inn with what amounts to a small fortune, I feel that they would have had me sleeping on the streets.

It was mildly interesting, however, to see that for all their hatred and prejudice, all forgiveness took was a sum of money.

I spent the coming few days in Colthagen, waiting for the arrival of the train which would take me back to Canterlot. As my presence in town was clearly hardly tolerated, the feeling of being watched was, although most unsettling, not in the slightest surprising. But something was amiss. I expected as much as to have them avoid and keep an eye on me, but now I had the strangest feeling of being followed. That sensation, that looming presence which I sensed behind my back at every hour of the day would not leave me. I would, time and time again, turn my head upon hearing the sound of steps behind me at a dark hour of the night, only to see nothing more than an eerie shadow dancing away in the distance. When I lay in my bed late at night, I could swear that there was something just outside my window, watching me, yet when I looked, all I could see was the bright glow of the moon.

It would be needless to say that I was more than relieved to finally leave that wretched place behind. As I stepped into my private cabin on the train, I believed that the strange sensations would stop. Yet even as I looked on the town of Colthagen shrinking ever smaller before completely disappearing behind the horizon, I felt that I was not alone. Restless, and somehow, even energised by the thought of an unseen shadow following me, I refused to sleep that night.

As the moon climbed higher and higher to illuminate the black skies of the night, I sat and waited, listening to every noise seeping into the cabin. The sound of wheels rolling on metal rails, loud as it was, felt somehow calming. I could not enjoy this graceful symphony all night, however, as it was interrupted by the distinct sound of hooves banging against my door.

Knock, knock, knock.

Three knocks—then silence. I did not move a muscle. To the best of any pony's knowledge, I would have had to be sound asleep by that hour. A few moments passed, and the sound repeated.

Knock, knock, knock.

Three knocks at my door once again, and nothing more. No voice telling me to open up, no reason given to this disturbance of my would-be dreams. Nothing else, but that knocking.

Knock, knock, knock.

After the third row of knocks, I stood up silently and walked up to the closed door. The way into my room opened with a loud creak. As I peeked outside, a cold rush ran through my entire body in a medley of fright and excitement—for there was no pony standing at my door. All I could see was the empty darkness of the hallway which ran the length of the train. When the sudden shock faded, I pulled my head back inside the room and slowly closed the door, eager to return to my vigil. The greatest surprise, however, was yet to come, for as I turned my head around, I saw a shadowy figure standing at the opposite end of the room, standing completely still as if it were some eldritch statue. I did not hesitate to greet my uninvited guest.

“And so my second shadow shows itself at last. Tell me, then, who are you?”

The figure stepped forward into the faint light coming in a window to reveal an earther wearing a long hooded cloak, carelessly sown together by clearly untrained hooves from a mismatching assortment of different clothes and rugs. Yet, what really caught my eye, unusual as her attire was, was the heinous snake-mask which concealed her face, its metallic mouth open and its fangs laid bare as its hideous forked tongue thrusted forward as it shone in the moonlight. And beneath all the façade I could see a pair of blank eyes, staring right through me, as if gazing into my very soul.

“The righteous murderer is defeated.” Spoke the voice of a frail, old mare. “And the seer stands before her offering her help.”

She just kept staring, piercing my eyes with the swirling abyss of hers.

Puzzled as I was by the words of my mysterious visitor, my thoughts began racing once again. In a moment of clarity, I realised just who might be standing before me.

“There are stories of a strange mare that walks in the shadows. The mystery of your empty gaze has piqued the interest of Canterlot, and indeed, of the Princess herself. The poor talk of a lone benefactor. The downtrodden speak of you as a hero, an 'Oracle' that is the light in the darkest of times. And when your work is done, you disappear without a trace. Who are you, really? And what it is you want?”

“The seer comes to help. She always does.” She tilted her head slightly to the right, squinting one eye. “She sees the murderer in Canterlot. She hears the weeping. She sees her in Colthagen. A palace! The rattling of chains. Then it crumbles. A door slams shut and everything changes.” She paused for a brief moment, tilting her head to the other side. “A crimson-tinted crown. The murderer will bloody the crown.”

Her voice was monotone and shaky, as if she were some young filly reading her very first book. She could read history like others read letters on paper—or so the stories said. If the myths were to be trusted, I knew I should play along.

“You wish to help me then? What makes you even think that I need your assistance? Why exactly are you here?”

“Between the chains and the dust. There she finds an old friend. Two of them! The murderer did not murder. It crumbles as she runs.”

She was describing my battle with Spike, that much was obvious. She knew about my failure. If she could tell me how to overcome the dragon, I would soon learn.

“The dragon Spike I used to know. It is him who stands between me and the life of Rarity. If you are truly here to help, answer me this: how can I defeat the dragon?”

“The murderer does not kill her old friend. Not this time. Not this one.”

“Not this time? When will I, then? They must all die for the Elements to be restored, there is no other way.”

“She steps inside. The door slams shut. The murderer finds the key. The succubus dies and the murderer returns. But she is late. What she wished to save is already lost. It is hell. It all falls. It is lost.”

As I listened to the Oracle ramble on in her riddles, I was beginning to lose my temper. I stepped forward before I spoke.

“Enough of your incoherent rambling, old hag! Speak to me plainly. The dragon must die and so must his mistress. How can I accomplish that?”

“The key is found behind the great doors. It is deep inside. The murderer will take it. When the murderer takes it, she seals the fate of the empire. And everything will change.”

“Inside? Where?” I asked as I took another step.

“The murderer finds the key to end the succubus inside, behind the doors. But she will be too late. An old enemy returns. She will bring an army and she will strike. The moon has fallen. She comes by her side.”

“An army? What army? Who is coming?”

“The fallen queen wants power. The murderer has stopped her once. But she is not alone. Canterlot is in danger. But Canterlot will prepare. The murderer gives the warning. She speaks the words. When the smoke clears, everything changes.”

My blood boiled as I listened to her babbling, unwilling to hear any more of her nonsense.

“I give you one chance to speak plainly, Oracle. Tell me about this army and its leader. Tell me everything that you know, right now, lest I beat an answer from your lips.”

“The murderer warns Canterlot. They key is inside—“

Her words were interrupted by a loud thud as she collided with the opposite wall. I walked up to her as the amethyst light of my magic filled the dark room.

“Are you listening to a word I say?” I asked her. “Spare me your elaborate metaphors! Or, perhaps, do you need more persuasion in that regard?”

She stood up, casually shaking off the fall before continuing her random remarks about fire and smoke, a war with darkness, change and choice. She repeated, over and over again, that the key is inside and how the murderer gives the word. And that stare, she never stopped the staring. I finally pulled her head up close to mine, my muzzle nearly touching the tips of the snake's tongue.

“You know everything!” I yelled at her. “You knew everything! You claim you want to help! You pride yourself on being generous and benign! Yet you refuse to simply talk plainly.” I let go as my magic subsided, dropping her to the floor. “It is clear that you won't tell me anything else. And you enjoy this, I can tell. I should kill you where you stand.”

As the Oracle stood up, she did not look me in the eye again. Instead, she turned her head towards a window, looking out into the night. As she responded, her previously high-pitched, twitching voice took on a new, sinister, and indeed, almost menacing tone.

“Perhaps you should, Twilight.” She turned to face me once again. “But you don't.”

What happened afterwards I still cannot recall. My earliest memory after that ominous conversation in the night is lying in my cabin's bed the coming morning. I must have fallen asleep, I thought. Through the hazy memories of the night before, I could only imagine that the events which transpired were but a dream, a figment of a tired mind's imagination. It would have been unsurprising, considering my near-fatal confrontation with the dragon Spike, and the strain that the strange shadows following me put on my nerves throughout the next few days. Indeed, I would likely have managed to convince myself that none of that night's strange events happened, had I not found the Oracle's ouroboros—which I had previously acquired from the late Fluttershy—lying on the floor where the Oracle supposedly stood. And carved into the soft wooden door of my cabin, I saw a simple message of three words:

“Mi Amore Cadenza”