The Chronicler

by Jarvy Jared

Rating: teen
Tags: Dark, Other, Equestria Girls, Sunset Shimmer, Slice of Life, Main 6, Original Character
Length: 23617

A young man comes to Canterlot High, seeking absolution and a new purpose. Will he find both, or inevitably turn away from the chance given to him?

One's story does not necessarily end once they choose for it to end. One's story most likely will live on in the lives of others, continuing as a familiar tale that can be shared among companions. No one ever truly dies; they live on in the voices of those closest to them. Their purpose has transformed; from a simple goal, to a much more complicated set of meanings.

Such a truth is seemingly lost on the Chronicler. A mysterious, young man, a bit of a recluse, and unwilling to divulge much of himself, he is seemingly the perfect contrast to the bright and bubbly atmosphere that encompasses all of Canterlot High. Yet here he is, seemingly prepared to partake in its eccentricities.

In the course of a single day, he will learn more than just how to make his way around the school. Perhaps in that time, he will find that truth, and learn to move on from whatever has afflicted him, in the hopes of a brighter future. His story nearly ended years ago; perhaps this is a chance for the next best chapter.

A PoME universe story.

A special thank you to the following:
For Permission To Use Your OCs:
BlueSun52
BRyeMC
Azure_Shadow

Pre-Reading and Editing done by:
BRyeMC
Grand Muff Ragga_Muffin
KillerRobotQuote
Zeroxdoom

Published 2016-04-19 19:30:01 UTC
Last updated 2016-04-19 19:30:01 UTC

The Only Day

“If you want a happy ending, that depends, of course, on where you stop your story.”

Orson Welles

***

It’s been far too long, hasn’t it, journal? But have I a tale to tell you.

It isn’t a well known fact, but just outside of Canterlot High School’s respective city is a place of some persons’ rituals. One must take the streets down and out of the city, heading towards the dirt back roads. There, one will find others, sleeping, and one can participate in a brief, yet always heartfelt conversation. Several of Canterlot High’s students can attest to this; a certain family of ones—farmers by occupation—visits annually to let the sleeping know of the current harvest and other topics of talk.

A certain “one” in particular was not like the other “ones”—both the converser and listener—that could be found there. In fact, he was unlike many of the students from Canterlot High who would go to this ritualistic place. No, he was not the fun, exciting, caring individual that seemed to spawn from that school. Perhaps it could be said that he was the starkest of contrasts to that lively and vivid selection of peoples.

None of this made any less important his constant returns to that sacred place. And constant returns they certainly were; should have a person glanced outside of their apartment throughout the last summer, they might have chanced seeing him there, every day.

But only from that certain last summer, it would seem. For this “one” had not yet set foot upon the city and town encompassing this area until that summer. His “folks,” he would often call his family, moved here from Manehattan, the city to the north. Strangely enough, this family of ones was hardly seen together. To this “one’s” account, they were busy working.

He was different, then, not just in family situation, but in how he handled and carried himself. Not many knew him, and he liked to keep it that way. Even throughout the summer, he had kept to himself, scarcely going out and confronting the outside world. A recluse, most certainly; but not the kind that was scrutinized and mocked. If—and this is a rather big if—a person were to meet him face-to-face, they would describe him as such:

He was an odd fellow; quiet, timid in some ways, yet fierce in others. Something in his stare led you to believe he was quite the intelligent fellow. Yet, there was some strange dullness behind those orbs—a sort of, “lacking” of something, though what that was was hardly known. He walked with a limp, the ghost of an old injury; and always wore some sort of long-sleeved jacket or shirt, even on the hottest of days.

He might have been called rude, if only for his stoic silence that sometimes came off as blatant ignoring of the opposite person. Though when confronted about it, he would apologize, saying “I never meant it in that way.” He spoke mostly in lowered tones, as if he was always sharing a secret, only getting louder when in an excited state. What that secret was was, of course, just as mysterious as the very nature of secrets.

Some, perhaps, by looking deeply into his eyes, hearing beyond his words, going further and further into the heart and mind of this “one,” might say he was hiding something and yearning for something, both at the same time. Some thought he was ashamed of an old action; others, he wanted to ask you to be his listener. Both, though, would often conclude that he was quite the storyteller and narrator.

This was further emphasized by way of how he introduced himself to others (if he did at all): the Chronicler. Sometimes he would add, in dramatic fashion, “For I am here to chronicle that which happens and will happen and would have happened, and all that is and isn’t, and all that will be and won’t be, and the has and hasn’ts of the world.” When asked about this particular line, he would respond, “It’s something she used to say to describe me.”

When asked who she was, though, his gaze would grow distant, his smile would vanish, his limp would worsen, and he would rub at his wrists as if to ease a ghostly pain.

I have known this “Chronicler” personally, for he and I are the same person. And, up to now, I thought it best to keep my story quiet, and refrain from telling the world. But after today’s events, and thanks to the people I’ve met—all those strange, wonderful, excitingly-new people—I’ve decided now is the time to start living up to what she called me.

It began like any other day…

***

The Chronicler packed his bag full, stopping for a moment to check to make sure his binders and laptop were all in place. Seeing that they were, he nodded to himself, before reaching over to his nightstand and taking out a gold-bronze notebook. He placed said book into his backpack. He made his way down the steps, not bothering to cover up his noises, and pushed the front door open. An empty house let him go.

September meant brisk fall air, yet for some reason, Mother Nature decided instead to offer up some extended summer weather. The Chronicler found it strangely funny, but deigned not to laugh out loud. Even if he wanted to, he would have bit down on his tongue; his right leg was acting up again. It was stiff and could not straighten all the way, so he walked down the steps and sidewalk with most of his weight on his left side. The wear and tear of the past six years had done some wonders to ease this pain—the worn card of the physical therapist in his pocket was evident of that—but, ultimately, the barrier persisted.

The sun was bright, and he had to squint under its brilliance. His mind briefly flickered to a dream he had of the sun rising by some magical being in a far away land, before returning to the present via a bird chirping loudly. Frowning, he followed the source with his eyes, watching it land atop his house, before it flew back towards the tree in the neighbor’s yard. Several other birds chirped in response, flying over and “talking” with the first.

His lips twitched at the edges.

In staggered steps he continued his walk, mentally recalling the placement of his destination. Today is Monday, first day of school. Such a thought made him shiver. Canterlot High may have had positive reviews—at least, that’s what he had heard in snippets from talkative neighbors—but that did little to assuage his initial misgivings. Long before he and his family had moved here, back when they were discussing it, he had done a little research, and found that some strange “things”—that was the only word that conveyed the proper strangeness—had been sighted. A student from the rival Crystal Prep had posed the question of whether there were supernatural anomalies to be found there. That question continued to remain unanswered.

Despite his protests and worries, he had inevitably moved here. His concerns, as his parents put it, were based on nothing more than urban legend and rumors spread across the internet. Such a conclusion made sense, he would later realize, as little to no information on any valid informational site could be found.

Shaking his head, he pushed the thoughts away, pausing for a moment to collect himself.

The Chronicler closed his eyes for but a second, and immediately regretted it. In that bright-darkness, he saw a brief flash of light. Then, distinctly, he heard a honking horn blare past him. After another second, he saw something red being splattered across his vision. His brow furrowed, and his eyes shot open. He found himself gasping loudly, bending over.

I can’t forget that… I can never forget that… As he thought this, he felt his wrists burn, the old scars everything but forgotten. He sucked in his breath, still hating himself for the stupid act. After all, there was no way she would ever consider that as an alternative solution.

I miss her. With her, I was… I was… He searched for the word, but lost it, and sighed. Deciding it was best to keep moving, he did so.

He was up to the sixth house from his when he heard a voice yell, “Hey!” He paused, confused, before turning around. A light-amber girl wearing a leather jacket had been jogging behind him. A teal frock was underneath. Most notable was the hair that she had whirling behind her. The yellow and red “mane”—that word seemed better, somehow—reminded him of a certain, meaty treat. On her back was a simple, grey backpack.

As she reached him, she smiled kindly. He returned the smile with a simple wave, unsure whether he ought to smile in response.

“Sorry to interrupt your walk,” she apologized. She held out a hand. “I’m Sunset Shimmer.”

He looked down at the outstretched limb, before taking it in his own. Still, he remained silent, regarding her carefully.

She did not appear at all deterred by his silence, however. “You looked lost while you were walking, though, and I thought I could help out,” she said, still smiling.

“I did?” he intoned, confused.

“Yeah. Maybe I can help! Where were you heading?”

He was caught off-guard by her forwardness, so much so, that several seconds passed before he could answer. He cleared his throat. “Um, Canterlot High School.”

“Really?” Her smile widened. “I was on my way there!” She cocked her head, looking at his notebook and backpack. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. Are you a new student?”

He nodded in affirmation.

“Awesome, let me show you the way.” She jogged past him. “Well, come on, don’t wait up, kid!”

“Kid?” He was unable to hide the confusion in his voice.

“Well, I don’t know what else to call you.” She furrowed her brow. “In fact, you haven’t told me your name, have you?”

“… Chronicler,” he finally answered.

Though the title was a strange one—and the Chronicler knew it was a strange one—Sunset did not seem deterred. She simply nodded and continued smiling. “Okay. Nice to meet you, Chronicler. Now, come on, the school’s just a little ways ahead!”

She began to jog again, and he could do little but limp as fast as he could. Noticing this, Sunset stopped, and frowned. “Oh, gosh, did you sprain your ankle or something?”

He shook his head. “Old injury,” he deemed only to say.

The answer was satisfactory, and Sunset walked over, placing herself under his right arm. He noticed that she was a little shorter than he, probably younger. “C’mon, I’ll help you out,” she said.

He nodded gratefully, and together they made their way down the sidewalk.

***

The Chronicler saw a young man up ahead. His head was a brilliant white—sort of silvery—and he wore a simple black-and-white jacket. Blue eyes turned towards he and Sunset, and a tan hand flew up and waved. “Hey, Sunset!” the young man called, his smile warm and welcoming.

“Hey, Soul, babe,” Sunset responded with an equally charming smile. The man named Soul quickly rushed up to them to greet them in person. Sunset stepped out from under the Chronicler, allowing him to stand upright.

“Oh, hello! I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.” Soul offered a hand, which the Chronicler took. “I’m Soul Writer.”

“Chronicler.” The man looked between Soul and Sunset, before asking the latter, “‘Babe?’”

Sunset blushed. “Hehe, well, Soul’s my boyfriend.”

The Chronicler nodded in understanding, before turning back to Soul. “How long?”

“A year now,” Soul answered, looking to his girlfriend lovingly. “The best year of my life, I think.”

“I’d say the same, babe.” Sunset leaned over and pecked him on the cheek.

The Chronicler was silent for a moment, considering something. Finally, he spoke, “You two are quite happy with each other, aren’t you?”

“Definitely! I’ve never been happier!” Soul exclaimed, kissing his girlfriend back.

“Hmm.” The Chronicler nodded, before shifting his weight onto his left leg. “You two must go to the same school.”

“Yep, Canterlot High. You’re on your way there?”

“I was leading him that way,” Sunset said.

Soul grinned. “Awesome! How about we walk together?”

The Chronicler nodded. He attempted to walk, but was stopped by the couple, who immediately did their best to assuage his limping pace. He grunted in annoyance.

“Something wrong?” Soul asked.

“It’s this leg… I wish I hadn’t hurt it so. Then you wouldn’t have to carry me.”

“It’s not a problem, Chronicler. Happy to help out.”

As they walked, the Chronicler let his mind wander. The two of them—Sunset and Soul—were happy together. He could practically feel their love and care for each other radiating off of them. A curious thought struck him; he missed a similar feeling. The feeling of having someone to rely on, someone who’d care for you.

Strangely, rather than pain, a warmness spread throughout his chest. Something about the two people next to him made him feel… better. He wasn’t sure why, but decided to question it later.

***

“Well, there it is. Canterlot High.” Soul smiled. “Quite impressive, don’t you think?”

The Chronicler nodded his agreement. It was a large school, with towering brick walls and open-faced windows. A giant horse statue stood in the center courtyard, surrounded by rectangular hedges. A sign placed to the left read: “Canterlot High School.” Below it, “All are welcome!”

In the windows, he could see copious amounts of students mulling and walking about. They were all varied in appearance, like a cornucopia of peoples of all types. If variety is the spice of life, he found himself thinking, then this school must be the prime garden of saffron. Indeed, as he looked at the windows, more students appeared from hidden halls, doors, and classrooms, adding increasingly to the vividness of the scene.

The Chronicler, Soul, and Sunset pushed past the onyx-marble gate in the front, and he saw even more students in the courtyard, all heading for the door. Several stopped to wave to the couple, and some even offered him a cordial welcome. He couldn’t return a thank you, for he was still overwhelmed by the sight.

“Were your old schools ever like this?” Sunset asked.

“They were smaller,” he replied with a shake of his head. “And… more boring.”

“Well, trust me,” Soul said, “you’ll find that Canterlot High is a place where boredom has no power!” After a moment, he added, “Unless you count trigonometry class. There, boredom reigns supreme.”

“I can imagine.”

They efficiently climbed the steps, pushed open the doors, and entered the establishment. They took to the side of the hall, gathering their belongings. Sunset glanced at the clock.

“Shoot! Sorry, you two, I’ve got an early class to head to.”

“What for?” Soul asked.

“It’s history. I’ve to ask Mr. Cranky Doodle something.” She gave a concerned look to the two of them. “Will you be alright without me?”

“Well, I’ll be sad, but I think I’ll manage,” Soul quipped.

Sunset kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks, babe. I know you will. Take care of our new friend, will you?” As she took the hall to the right, she added, “And don’t force him into a Star Wars marathon, okay?”

Soul made to retort, but she was already gone. He smiled, sighed, and shook his head.

The Chronicler stared at the other boy. “‘Friend?’” he repeated, astounded.

“Well, yeah!” Soul clapped him on the back. “Why wouldn’t you be our friend?”

“That’s not—” The Chronicler cut himself off with a sigh. “Nevermind that. Since I’m new, I suppose I’ll have to see the Principal, right?”

“Yeah. C’mon. I’ll show you the way.”

It was a quick walk, barely twenty steps, before they found the door. Soul politely knocked on the door. “Come in!” a female voice answered.

Soul turned the knob and pushed, allowing the two of them to enter. Two older, tall women were at the desk, and they looked up in surprise. “Soul Writer!” the woman to the right side of the desk—she was a deep blue-indigo with sapphire eyes, the Chronicler was quick to notice—said. “What brings you to the office?”

“Hey, Vice Principal Luna,” he greeted. “Principal Celestia,” he added, addressing the other lady—a pinkish-white with prismatic hair. “I’m here on behalf of Chronicler.”

“Chronicler?” Principal Celestia asked.

Soul stepped to the side, allowing the two to view said person. “Oh?” Celestia asked. “Are you a new student?”

He nodded. “Yes.”

“Where are you from?”

“Manehattan.”

“I see.” Celestia fished around her desk before pulling up a stack of papers. “Well, in order to officially enroll with us at Canterlot High, I need you to fill in some paperwork. It’s the usual kind of deal: name, date of birth, name of parent or parents, the like.”

He nodded as he took the papers. Celestia made to hand him a pen, but he held a hand up. Seeing his sleeve drop, he quickly dropped the hand. “I’ve my own pen,” he said, before dropping his backpack and pulling out the shiny blue pen from his notebook.

“You can fill it out in my office,” Luna said. He nodded thankfully and walked to the door, entering it quietly.

“We’ll be right behind you shortly,” Celestia added, “once I’ve printed out the proper papers.” A low “mmhmm” was his response.

Soul shifted in his shoes. “So, um, should I go, or—”

“Actually, Mr. Writer, I have a request for you,” Celestia said. “Could you show Mr. Chronicler around the school? It’ll take a day to validate his papers, so I want him to get a feel of what we have to offer beforehand.”

Soul nodded. “Sure thing, Principal Celestia. I’d be happy to show him around.”

“In the meantime, could you wait here?” Soul nodded just as the printer finished its job. Celestia grabbed them and, with her sister, got up and walked into the adjourning office.

***

The Chronicler was mostly finished when the two entered. He barely glanced up as they stood opposite of him. He finished writing, and handed the forms to the principal.

Celestia’s eyes widened in surprise. “You’re the son of—”

“Yes,” he interrupted.

“Then why do you go by Chronicler, and not…” Her voice trailed off as she and Luna stared at him, wishing for an answer.

He took out his notebook and scribbled something, before ripping out the piece of paper. Face drawn, he handed it to them. They read it, Luna over Celestia’s shoulder. The younger woman whispered, “Oh… I’m so sorry…”

He didn’t respond. His shoulders rose and would not fall.

Celestia continued reading over the form, the depressing mood easily encompassing the room. “I see it says here you’ve been admitted to the hospital twice, both for highly dangerous situations.” She looked back up at him. “Per protocol, I have to ask what those situations were.”

He nodded, hesitant.

“There was… a car…” he began softly. “And… there was a lot of blood, and…” He clenched his eyes shut, and gripped the seats tightly. “I… I can’t—”

“That’s enough,” Luna said soothingly. “What of the second admittance?”

He couldn’t answer with words. The best he could do was direct his eyes down to his hands. They followed his gaze, before nodding in solemn understanding.

Celestia reached out and gripped the young man by the shoulder. Speaking in a comforting tone, she said, “I can assure you with absolute conviction, Chronicler. This school is a safe environment. You’ll be fine here, I promise.”

He didn’t nod, didn’t even acknowledge her words. He kept staring down at himself, lost in thought, yet with those thoughts perfectly clear to him. It was swirling, a mess of consciousness and grief and fear and anxiety, and he felt himself falling and rising, all at the same time, reaching the center, confused, scared, falling, closer, closer, to the edge, the end…

He drew himself out with a gasp, blinking rapidly. Celestia and Luna looked at him, concerned. “Would you like to go to the nurse?” Luna asked.

He shook his head, rose, felt dizzy, and fell against the wall. He resecured his footing, and tried to breathe slowly. The pain is still there. After all this time?

“I just… I’d like to see the school, please.”

They nodded. “Soul will be showing you around, Chronicler,” said Celestia.

“Thank you…”

The principals got up and opened the door, stepping out. Soul was still waiting there for them; he had not heard what had just transpired. The Chronicler did his best to put on a neutral face, hiding his ordeal as best he could.

“Principal Celestia?” Soul asked. “What about my first period class?”

“I’ll call ahead to let them know what you’re doing,” she assured him as she reached for the phone.

“Okay, thank you.” Soul turned to the Chronicler, offering a friendly grin. “Well, guess I’m your guide. Don’t worry; I’ll try not to bore you.”

“Thank you.” The Chronicler’s voice was distant and strained, and he did not return a smile. Instead, he gestured for Soul to lead the way. The younger man obliged, and soon they had left the office.

Celestia and Luna exchanged concerned looks. “That boy… will he be all right? He’s been through so much,” Luna said.

“If I know my students,” Celestia said, “they’ll find a way to help him.”

***

The two boys had barely made it down the hall when they heard it. It sounded like a whistle, blowing from someplace distant. It rode on an oncoming wind. The Chronicler got the mental image of gym shorts and a ferocious rainbow, for some reason. He frowned, unsure why, and was about to ask Soul the reasonably dumb question of “Did you think the same, too?” when Soul suddenly pulled him to the side of the hall.

A streak of rainbow boomed past them, coming to a screeching halt; literally. The streak dug its heels into the ground, pulling up the rug, skidding across the linoleum floor, before coming to a complete stop just outside of the office. It then did a 180, rushing towards them.

“Hey, Soul!” it exclaimed, and the Chronicler realized that “it” was a “she.” She was wearing a pink and white skirt, with a blue jacket and white shirt underneath. A cloud with what appeared to be a rainbow lightning bolt was at in the center of her outfit. Her hair was the same color—or rather, color scheme—as the bolt. That’s a lot of rainbows, the Chronicler thought.

Soul glanced back down the hall, before looking at the girl. “Rainbow, did you just super-sprint or something? I swear, I saw a rainbow streak behind you!”

Rainbow grinned a cocky grin. “Yep, I did! I call it the Sonic Rainboom!”

“Like your band?”

“Well, that’s plural. This one’s singular.” She turned to the Chronicler, and offered a hand. “Hi! I’m Rainbow Dash, star athlete of Canterlot High!”

He took it, quite surprised. “You’re fast,” he said simply, only realizing afterwards how lame that sounded. Searching for something else to say, he added, “You… almost ran us over there.”

“Eh, Soul wouldn’t have let you get run over by me.” Rainbow smirked. “So you’re the new kid, right?”

“How’d you guess?”

“Sunset was telling me about you while she made her way to history. Plus, you certainly look new.” She leaned in close, as if to scrutinize him. “You don’t look like proper CHS material, though.”

“Rainbow—” Soul made to interrupt, but Rainbow quickly leaned back, recovering her cocky grin.

“Aw, I’m just joking around, Soul. See? He doesn’t mind, right, dude?” She turned to him, expecting a smile, but received only a baffled stare and wide, unamused eyes. She winced. “O-kay, I’ll take it down a notch.”

She cleared her throat. “Anyway! What’s your name, kid?”

“Chronicler.”

She nodded. “Cool name. So. What are you two doing?”

“I’m showing Chronicler around the school,” answered Soul. “I’m his guide.”

“Guide? Pfft. Soul, you couldn’t guide a tour through the supermarket!”

“I could to! I mean, if there was such a thing as supermarket tours!”

Rainbow rolled her eyes playfully. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. So! Chronicler! How boring has the tour been?”

The Chronicler blinked. “We… haven’t started it yet.”

“See? Soul, you’re lacking in the pizzazz department! You gotta juice it up!”

“I would have, but then you sort of interrupted with your whole running straight towards us! Speaking of which, why were you running? Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“Nah. It’s gym. There’s still a few minutes before it starts.” There was a hint of sadness in her voice as she said this. “But that’s okay! I’ll make it quick! Besides, seeing as how you’re utterly failing at keeping our guest entertained, I thought I might help out, and in the fastest way possible! Chronicler,” she side-spoke, “has Soul brought up Star Wars yet?”

“No—”

“Oh, good, he’s learning. Anyway! Why don’t we both show you around? Soul will give you the boring run down and all that, while I amp up the experience!”

“You’ll be missing class!” Soul protested.

“I can always use my social psychology class project as an excuse!”

“You take social psychology?”

Soul’s comment went ignored by Rainbow, who whirled back around to the Chronicler. “Well? What do you say?”

He offered a neutral shrugged. “It’s fine, I guess. If it’s no trouble.”

She smiled. “Good! Now, come on, you two! Chronicler, I’ll give you the best tour of my school that you’ll ever get!” She grabbed him by the arm and practically pulled him away, while Soul did his best to keep up.

In the confusion, one might have seen the Chronicler’s lips curl into a quick, amused grin.

***

“Over there is the science lab,” Soul said, pointing to an open door. The Chronicler could see several students, in lab coats and wearing goggles, working on several chemistry projects. A few rings of smoke billowed out of several beakers.

“They’re doing something weird,” Rainbow said. “Looks like they’re gonna make an explosion or something!”

“Combustion,” the Chronicler murmured, causing her to look at him in surprise.

“You know what that is?”

He nodded slowly. “Roughly.”

“Huh. You’re one of those smart guys, aren’t you? Lucky.” She let out a huff. “I don’t really like chem, to be honest.”

“Yeah, me neither,” added Soul. “What about you, Chronicler? Do you like science and all that?”

“It’s… an interest.”

They moved on. Rainbow continued showing him the various classrooms, explaining to the best of her ability what each offered. Most were standard high school classes; he showed faint interest in the physics class taught by a Mr. Time Turner. Several students saw them walk past, but he paid them no heed. A few in the halls stopped to chat and question Rainbow and Soul; she responded by explaining that she was showing him around, while Soul quickly added, “Actually, I am. Rainbow sort of established herself as doing the same.”

The tour, then, was fairly standard, and they had covered a majority of the first floor. Soul did his best to give a lively explanation of the various facilities that Canterlot High had to offer, while Rainbow—true to her word—“amped up the experience.” The Chronicler found himself feeling that same warmth he had felt when he was with Sunset and Soul earlier that morning as he walked with the athlete and the young Writer, and decided it was a good feeling to have.

This school is far different than I imagined. Maybe she was right after all. He smiled to himself. It wouldn’t have been the first time she had proven him wrong, and he hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

One of the teachers stopped the trio, asking for Soul to help him with something. “Can it wait? I’m showing the new kid around.”

The teacher shook her head. “Sorry, Soul. It’s concerning your recent English project.”

Soul’s eyes widened. “No! I’m already failing that class! Can’t I finish this tour?”

“I’m sure Miss Rainbow here would be happy to finish for you. Right now, I’m giving you a chance to earn back a few points, so I advise you take this chance. Good day, you two.” Before Soul could protest further, he was dragged away.

“Er, go on without me, Rainbow and Chronicler!”

“Will do!” Rainbow turned back to the Chronicler. “He can be quite dramatic, actually.”

This little event did not slow their pace. Quickly they left, traveling down another hall, where the smell of rubber pervaded throughout. It smelled like mattresses.

The Chronicler felt an itch on his arm. He stopped for a moment to scratch it, pulling up his long sleeves. The itch was alleviated as soon as he rubbed it away.

He saw Rainbow looking at him with a worried expression—well, she wasn’t looking directly at him, but in a downward angle, towards his…

Wrists…

He immediately pulled down his sleeves and shot Dash a nervous look, but she were already looking away. He let out a quiet sigh.

They traveled down a linoleum hall, the question on Dash’s lips apparently vanished. The Chronicler was grateful for that. Rainbow pointed out the trophy case that was stacked to the side of the hall, saying how “I’ve won one of every kind of award there!”

Indeed, with each trophy there was a picture of the athlete or team that had won it. In each shot, the Chronicler could see the rainbow-haired girl, smiling proudly into the camera.

The Chronicler looked back at the rainbow-haired girl. “Have a favorite sport?”

“Running, mostly. I do track and cross-country when they’re available.”

Continuing down the hall, they reached the gymnasium, where they could see various students playing different sports and activities. Rainbow looked at him. “You aren’t much of a sports guy, are you?”

“No.”

“I figured.”

They fell into a thoughtful silence, watching the kids play. He noted the disappointed look on Rainbow’s face. “Something the matter?”

“Nah, it’s just it’s my gym period right now, and we were going to be playing volleyball. My team needs me for us to win.”

He paused, considering his next choice of words. “In that case… why don’t you go join them?”

“What? No way, dude. I’ve got a tour to finish, don’t I?”

“Would you be happy, if you were playing?”

She turned to face him, her brow furrowed. “Well… I’d be lying if I said no, but still! I’ve got a job to finish!”

“Is that what you think I am?” he asked, the words tumbling out of his mouth. They were familiar in intent, as if he had practiced them for a long time. “Nothing more than a job?”

She winced. “N-no! I just—you asked—”

He held up a hand to stop. “Your loyalty to your mission is admirable. But if it cuts into your happiness… then what kind of mission is that? Should not the mission benefit all?”

“What are you talking about? The mission? What’s that?”

Ignoring her questions, he continued, “If you go in there, you’ll be happy. I see no problem with that.”

“But I’m abandoning you! I won’t do that to a friend!”

He looked away, out the window, into the central area. He gazed at the grass and trees, the clear sky, the sun. “We’re hardly friends.”

He sensed her visibly cringed. “I just… I don’t want to—”

“It’s fine to be happy.” He returned to looking at her. “Go. It’s not an issue. I’ve already seen the classes anyway.”

She hesitated. He waited, calmly. The minutes ticked on by.

“Okay.” She gulped, putting on a thankful smile. “Um, I will, I guess. I mean, if it’s not a problem—” She caught his annoyed stare. “Er, yeah. It’s not a problem. For you. Yeah.”

She seemed about to walk through the doors, but stopped. “Chronicler. Hope to see you around sometime, yeah?”

He didn’t have the heart to say it was unlikely.

Soon she was gone. He saw a flash of rainbow roar across the court, and heard the voices of her teammates cheering.

He was tempted to smile.

He glanced at the clock, seeing that it was about 11:20. According to Rainbow, lunch was at 12. He had forty minutes’ worth of spare time.

In the hall, there was an arch that connected two sections of the school. Walking over to it, he sat down against one of the beams. Opening his backpack, he took out his notebook and pen. Flourishing the writing utensil, he spread the pages, and began to write.

***

“Um, hello?”

The Chronicler glanced up, to see a meek, butter-yellow girl looking down at him from behind a covered face. Her pink hair masked one side of her, and she looked away as he returned her look.

He could guess she was shy. Talk was likely not something either of them would wholeheartedly enjoy. “Yes?” he asked, making sure to keep his voice soft.

“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare!” She had apparently taken his tone as one of offense.

“It’s fine, Miss…”

“F-Fluttershy,” she stuttered, brushing her pink locks. “Oh, I’m so embarrassed! I’m sorry, I promise never to bother you again—” She began spewing out apology after apology frantically.

“Whoa, stop,” he ordered firmly. “Breathe.”

She nodded slowly, closing her eyes and forcing herself to slow her breathing to reasonable levels. After some time, she managed to do so. “Sorry,” she meekly whispered.

There was a moment of awkward silence, wherein he shut his notebook and placed it back inside of his backpack. Fluttershy gasped. “Oh! I didn’t mean to intrude on your work!”

He waved her off. “I was done for the moment.” He stood, arching his back, stretching. He sighed, “Ah.” He grabbed his backpack and slung it over his shoulder. “Is there something you need?”

She shook her head. “I just saw you sitting down there, and you looked kind of lonely. I-I thought you’d need someone to talk to?”

“Not really. I’m fine being with myself.”

“Oh. I do that sometimes, too. It’s… nice, being alone, isn’t it?”

“Sometimes.” He frowned. “But, if I was lonely…” He shook his head, looking at the clock and checking the time. “Hmm. Classes haven’t ended yet. What are you doing out here?”

“Oh! My class just ended. It’s an elective,” she added, anticipating his question. “It’s… um… really easy for me, so I always have extra time after I finish my work… Sometimes I just wander around here.”

“What for?”

She shrugged, no longer hiding behind her hair. “I don’t know. It helps me… relax.”

“Hmm.”

“S-so! I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before. Are you a new student?”

“In a way. Rainbow Dash and Soul Writer were showing me around.”

“Really? Where are they now?”

“A teacher took Soul, and Rainbow is in gym.”

Anger flashed across Fluttershy’s face. “You mean she left you here alone?”

“Nonsense.” He held up both hands in calm protest. “I told her it was fine. The tour was over anyway.”

“Oh.” She let out a breath. “That’s good to know. If Rainbow had just left you here, I’d… well, I don’t know what I would do…”

“You two are not on the best of terms?”

“Oh, gosh no! We’re best friends! Since childhood!”

He raised an eyebrow. The two of them were so different he would not have guessed. “Interesting,” he murmured, resolving to write that down when he had the chance.

“What about you? Do you have any friends?”

His answer was a strange look at the wall behind her, followed by a tired sigh. “I don’t know.”

Fluttershy tried for a smile. “Well, in that case, I’ll be happy to be one of yours.”

There it was again.

Happy.

So many people used it without knowing what it meant. Did Fluttershy know? Or Rainbow? Or Sunset, or Soul, or any of the people in this school, in this world? It irked the Chronicler to not know for certain.

People said they were happy to be here; happy to see you; happy to be your friend. But did they really know whether or not they were happy? Or were they but the reflections of a society who had grown distant from the concept?

Or perhaps it was he who had grown distant. After all, he hadn’t felt true, genuine happiness in years.

Or—he hoped to God it wasn’t—it was a mixture of both. Perhaps both were ignorant to happiness. Society and he; distant from each other, alone from one another, existing as separate entities.

Happy.

Did he even understand what that word meant anymore?

He pulled on the ends of his sleeves, anxious and agitated, as the thought worried him more and more.

Not since she had gone, whispered an angry, frustrated voice from the back of his head. Not since she was taken.

“Um… excuse me?”

Fluttershy’s timid voice brought him out of his tearing thoughts. “Yes?” His voice came out hard and impatient.

She shrank back. “S-sorry. It’s just, when I said I wanted to be your friend, you looked really hurt for some reason. Do… do you not want me to be your friend? Is that it?”

She clenched her hands tightly together, and her legs began to shake uncontrollably. She looked to be on the verge of tears.

“Of course it isn’t,” he said, trying to keep his voice soft despite his excited state. “I was just… thinking.”

“O-oh? S-so you’re not mad?”

“No, I am not.”

She hugged him suddenly, before gasping and pushing away. “Oh! I mean… I just… um…” The poor girl was absolutely flustered. She closed her eyes, and appeared to be counting to herself, trying to calm down a bit.

He watched her for a little while, careful not to make any sudden movements.

“O-okay.” Her voice was still meek, but had a bit of strength behind it. “I’m better now.” Her gaze drifted to his arms. “Oh! You’re sleeves are starting to rip. Here, let me get that stray string…” She made to grab it, but he shot his arms behind him quickly.

“Er, no, th-that won’t be necessary!” he stuttered.

She backed off. “Um, are you sure? I have a friend who’s a good seamstress. She could fix it for you.”

“No, it-it’s fine, it’s fine.” He gulped. “I mean. Yeah. Um. Just…” He let out a breath. “Just please, don’t…”

The younger girl, to her credit, understood immediately that something was off, and—bless her soul, the Chronicler thought later—decided to leave the issue behind. She stood back as he methodically recovered his composure. A silence fell between the two of them, cut only by the nearby screeching in the gym.

Finally, Fluttershy spoke up. “Um… Do… do you want to walk with me?”

“Walk? Why?”

“Well, it’s almost lunch, and… well… the nice thing is to invite you to eat with us and get to know you more…” She brushed her pink hair behind her ear. “That is, um, if you don’t mind.”

“I…” For a moment, he considered accepting her kind offer. She seemed so earnest, so willing, that he doubted she’d ever wish for misfortune upon anyone, least of all him. But his answer was already established. “I’m sorry. I… I’m not ready yet.”

“O-okay.” She seemed a bit disappointed, but put on a small smile. “Just… don’t be stranger, okay?”

“I’ll try not to be.”

She seemed to not take notice of the tired tone in his voice. She began walking away. Then she stopped and let out another eep. “Oh, my!”

Whirling on her heels, she looked back at him. “I… I seem to have forgotten your name…”

“That’s because I never gave it to you in the first place.” He sighed, taking a quick breath. “Chronicler.”

“That’s a nice name, Chronicler.” She smiled at him. “O-okay. I… I’ll see you around?”

“Mm… maybe.”

She nodded, before walking away, vanishing down the hall.

A few moments later, he did the same.

***

“So!” Pinkie slid into her seat, plopping her cafeteria tray hard on the table. She practically sprang out of her seat as she got into Sunset’s face. “You’ve got to tell me what he’s like!”

Sunset pushed her friend away. “Pinkie, I just told you; I don’t know much. He seems kind enough, but that’s it.”

“Well, from the way you’ve described him, I’d say he’s slightly aloof,” noted Rarity, stirring her yogurt absentmindedly. “Not that’s bad or anything,” she added.

“Now, now,” Applejack chided. “We can’t judge this ‘Chronicler’ feller just based on what we’ve heard. There’s obviously more to ‘im than meets the eye.”

“What kind of aloof are we talking about?” Pinkie insisted. “Distant? Awkward? Distantly awkward!” She gasped. “Dickwa—”

“No, Pinkie, he’s not that!” Sunset interrupted before Pinkie could finish the unintentionally obscene phrase. “He’s just… him, okay?”

“Are you sure, dear?” Rarity asked. “I don’t mean to be crass, but there’s something about this Chronicler—from what you’ve been saying—that just screams intrigue. And I do mean screams. Have you seen his clothes?”

“I know, Rarity, he is a bit odd. But it’s just how I feel about him.”

“Hey.” They looked up, and saw Rainbow slide herself next to Sunset. “What are you girls talking about?”

“Oh, that new guy,” Pinkie answered.

Rainbow nodded, sitting down next to Sunset. “Oh, you mean Chronicler? What about him?”

They stared at the rainbow-haired athlete. “Wait. Rainbow—you know Chronicler?” Sunset asked.

“Yep! Showed him around the school myself! At least, after Soul was forcefully removed.” She seemed quite proud of that fact, but quickly sobered up. “Well, I did at first. Then I kinda left him on his own.”

Applejack huffed. “‘Course ya did.”

“Hey! In my defense, he practically asked me to leave!”

“It’s true.” Everyone turned their gazes towards Fluttershy. For once, she did not shrink under their gazes. “He told me.”

“You met him too?” Pinkie gasped, grabbing and shaking her shy friend. “That’s awesome, Shyshy! Tell me; what’s his favorite color?”

“Um, I wouldn’t know—”

“How about cake flavor? Ice cream? Pie?”

“Um, we didn’t talk about that—”

“What did you talk about, dear?” Rarity asked.

“Well, it wasn’t much. I just said hello because he looked kind of lonely.”

“Lonely, huh?” Rainbow slumped slightly. “Great. Now I feel even worse.”

“It’s okay, Rainbow,” Fluttershy assured her. “He didn’t sound mad at you or anything. He did seem tired, that’s all.”

There was a moment of silence as they cleaned their plates. The clamor of the lunchroom did not push the Chronicler from their minds.

“I saw something,” Rainbow said after gulping down her drink. She appeared guilty. “At least, I think I saw something.”

“What? On him?” asked Rarity.

“Y-yeah. It’s…” Rainbow breathed deeply. “It’s heavy. It was for a moment, but, I thought I saw… cuts… around his wrists.”

Everyone at the table gasped at this revelation, save for Fluttershy; she looked even more concerned. “Oh, dear,” Rarity said. “That’s awful!”

“From what I saw, they were really, really old marks. Maybe from a long time ago.”

“That makes sense,” Fluttershy said softly. “When I met him, his sleeves were always down, but in a weird way. Like he was hiding something.” Her lips began to tremble. “Oh, dear, oh dear…” She huddled close to Rarity, the fashionista offering a comforting hug.

Sunset closed her eyes, letting out a slow breath. “W-wow, Rainbow, that’s… you’re right, that’s pretty heavy stuff.” She swallowed hard. “Maybe he’s still hurting. Maybe he’s so aloof because he doesn’t know how to not be. Maybe something bad happened, and then those… things happened, and now… now he’s like that.”

“But he’s here now,” Applejack said. “So somebody had to have helped him.”

“Maybe not for long enough.”

“In that case, we just have to get through to him somehow!” Pinkie nearly slammed the table, agitated. “We’ve got to throw a party together, girls! Tonight! The most epic and fun party to have ever existed!”

“But how are we ever going to convince him to go?” asked Sunset. “From what I can tell, he doesn’t seem like the party-going type.”

“We’ll figure it out!” Pinkie assured her. “I know we will.”

Will we? Sunset looked away, uncertain of the answer.

Across the cafeteria, three boys were huddled in a circle, speaking of similar matters. One of the boys, a white-haired young man, made to tell a tale, but a light-blue-skinned male wearing a navy sweater cut him off. “Hold on, you’ve gotta have the hand gestures, Soul.”

“Sorry, Swift,” Soul said, “I don’t think I can do them as well as you.”

“That’s true,” said the third boy, a grey-skinned man with teal eyes. “Nobody can gesture as much as you can.”

“Thanks, Clyde. So!” Swift turned back to Soul. “What were you going to tell us?”

Soul shook his head at his friend’s antics. “I was going to tell you about the kid I was showing around. Maybe you’ve seen him?” Soul did his best to describe the new boy, but neither Clyde nor Swift had yet met him.

“Sounds like you and he got along pretty well,” Clyde noted.

“Well, that’s what I’m hoping,” said Soul. “The problem is, I don’t know much about him.”

He felt his pocket vibrate, and reached for his phone, seeing he had received a message from Sunset. Opening it, he read it quickly. His eyes widened, and he placed the phone down. “… Oh. Well, now I know one thing.”

“What’s that?” asked Swift.

He gestured for them to lean in close, and after they did so, he whispered what he had read. Their eyes shared his expression. “Dang,” breathed Clyde. “That’s some dark stuff.”

Soul nodded. “I’m hoping the party Pinkie has planned later will help him somehow. Even if it just makes him smile.”

The other two boys nodded, before their gazed drifted around the cafeteria. Swift’s settled on a movement just outside, in the courtyard. “Hey, isn’t that Sonata and her sisters?”

Clyde followed his gaze, frowning. “Hey, yeah, it is. They’re heading outside, towards somebody. Hmm… he kind of looks like Chronicler, based on Soul’s description. Are they… they are!”

“They’re what?” asked Soul.

“It looks like they’re going to talk to Chronicler!”

***

He had hoped he would find some momentary solitude out here in the courtyard; alas, he was mistaken, evidenced by the trio that approached him. Closing his notebook with a resigned sigh, the Chronicler turned, to greet them.

The first thing he noticed was their leader. She seemed much older than the typical high school student. Perhaps it was her hair, a bumblebee orange, poofing out behind her obnoxiously. A catty grin adorned her face, and it seemed predatory. Lustful came to mind; he worried what she meant for him.

The others beside her were less extreme, he supposed. The one with purple-and-green pigtails cast a cold glare in his direction, a scowl finishing off her appearance, while the other smiled obliviously, her long, turquoise hair pulled into a ponytail.

“Haven’t seen you around before,” the poofy-haired woman said in an intrigued tone.

Something about them was off. His fists clenched, and something like fear ran briefly through his heart. It was pushed away with grim determination. “No, you haven’t,” he replied, leaning against the tree. He crossed his arms protectively. “Are you students here?”

“Why else would we be in this stupid school?” the pigtailed girl sneered at him.

“You sound bitter.”

“Of course we’re bitter! After what happened following the Battle of the Bands—”

“Aria!” the ponytailed girl scolded. “There’s no need to be so rude to this guy!”

“Why, Sonata?” Aria blew a strand of hair away irritably. “He looks like he’s out to get it.”

Sonata made a face. “We don’t even know him, and already you’re being mean? You know that’s not how friendship works!”

“We don’t need stupid friendship, Sonata.”

“Aw, lighten up, Ari! Soul and the others want to be friends with us! Give them a chance, like I did!”

“I am not bending down to my enemies!”

The Chronicler watched as the two girls argued with each other. The poofy-haired woman sighed. “You’ll have to excuse them. My sisters can be quite troublesome.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Sisters? You’re related?”

She grinned at him, seemingly trying to snare him in some psychic grip. “Wow. Smart and handsome. Quite the man, aren’t you?”

She reached out, perhaps to touch him, but he bat the hand away. “You’re not who you say you are,” he realized. “You’re… you’re…”

She retracted her hand, the smile just barely waning. “New student, aren’t you? No wonder we’ve not seen you in school before today.” She swished her hair, then stepped towards him. He sidestepped out of the shade and into the sunlight.

She cackled. “You’re a bit jumpy, aren’t you?”

He remained silent, keeping a trained eye on her. Out of the corner of his vision he saw Sonata and Aria’s fight diffuse, and they watched their fellow sister and he square off.

He initially felt the urge to fight. Something about the three woman shot off premature warning signals inside of his head. But, as he thought about it, those suspicions began to erode. Why were they here? Who were they? Did they mean any harm?

He could start with the second question, at the very least. “I know their names are Sonata and Aria,” he said, “but who are you?”

“Ah, taking the initiative.” She did a curt bow. “My name is Adagio. We are the Dazzlings.”

The name rang a bell somewhere in his mind, but he could not place its meaning. “What do you want?” he asked. He shot a quick glance inside, locking vision with Soul. The younger man looked at him in confusion, but the Chronicler had to quickly look away.

“Sheesh. Is this guy an idiot or what?” Aria scoffed.

“To be fair, I don’t know what we’re wanting, either,” said Sonata.

“That’s because you never know what’s going on—”

“Hey!” Adagio’s voice brought them out of their spat. Her gaze hardened on them, before returning to the Chronicler. Her smile—disarmingly alluring—returned as well.

“Isn’t it obvious, boy? We want to get to know you. After all, isn’t that what good girls do?”

“Girls, maybe, but not witches.” The words were out before he could even think about them.

Adagio scowled. “Excuse me?”

“It’s obvious you’re not who you are,” he repeated, glowering. “I don’t know what you want from me, so unless you want me to walk away from this conversation without another word, tell me just who the hell you are.”

“Whoa!” Sonata cried. “Why are you getting so angry?”

“I don’t even know you three! And you’re already bothering me!” He pointed to Aria. “That one already insists on beating me down!”

Aria made to respond—perhaps, judging by her raised fist, in a physical manner—but Adagio held up a hand, signaling silence. Her scowl lessened into a mere frown. “You are quite troubled by our appearance. Why is that? Do you know something we don’t?”

“I don’t know, maybe it has to do with the fact that you, Adagio, keep trying to seduce me!” He took a retreating step, trying to calm himself down by controlling his breathing.

He saw Soul get up and walk over to where Sunset was. He pointed outside, and Sunset nodded, but did not get up. It seemed that they were in some heated conversation. What are they up to?

Adagio’s gaze narrowed. “I see. Unwilling to accept my advances?”

“I get the distinct impression you wouldn’t care about me, anyway.”

She sighed. “Awfully intuitive, aren’t you? Hmm. That could be a problem.”

She took a step back. “Alright. I’ll offer a proposal.”

“I refuse to accept it.”

“You should consider it. You might learn a thing or two.” She grinned. “Here’s the deal. You tell us who you are, and I’ll tell you who we really are.”

He almost denied it again, but stopped. His curiosity hounded at him, begging him to accept. He hesitated, thinking. What have I got to lose?

“… Fine.” He took a slow breath, raising his head to look Adagio in the eye. He kept his gaze steady. “My name is the Chronicler.”

“What a strange, fine name. I assume it has to do with that notebook of yours?” She asked the question with a point at his notebook.

“Perhaps. What else do you want to know?”

“You’re not the only one has a bit of intuition going on for her. I know a mean searching for something when I see one. Tell us, what is it that you’re searching for?”

“Searching for? What are you talking about? I’m not searching for anything.”

“No? Perhaps that is what you think… but subconscious desires have a habit of poking out when we least want it.” She walked a circle around him, raising and lowering her arms, as if in a trance. “Hmm… I noticed earlier you’ve a limp. From some sort of accident, I presume? And you keep your sleeves down, even though I can see you’re sweating from this little ordeal. I wonder…” She leaned in, briefly, but not to close. He only figured out what she was doing afterwards.

“Ah, I see. You’ve a troubled past, Chronicler.”

He flinched, realizing what she saw. Instinctively, he rubbed his right wrist, accidentally dropping his notebook onto the ground. He bent down to grab it, but couldn’t find it. Looking around, he saw the prized possession in Adagio’s hands.

His eyes went fiery red. “Give that back!” he near-shouted. He made to lunge for her, but his limp limited his movement, and she danced out of his reach.

“You prize this, don’t you?” she sneered. But in her sneer, he thought he saw something else. Something weaker.

“I said, give it back!” This time he actually shouted, and nearly made contact with her. She just barely dodged his jump, but tripped, dropping the notebook suddenly. He dove for it, not caring for the sure, searing pain that would shoot across his right leg. He heard someone cry, and realized it was him; something had torn in his leg.

He clutched the notebook as Adagio stood up a distance away. He thought he saw shock on her features, but it quickly faded into mockery. “Well, well, well. The boy has some fight in him.”

He said nothing, holding the notebook against him. He did his best to ignore the pain.

He glanced up at the other sisters, realizing they had not yet moved. Sonata appeared shocked, while Aria’s stony demeanor was beginning to shatter. “Hey. This guy’s already down. Maybe we shouldn’t keep going,” she advised.

Adagio turned to her. “Aria, my sister, the one who usually throws the first punch—suggesting we stop hurting someone?”

Aria fumed. “I’m not saying that, I’m just saying that he’s already beaten before he can fight. Look at him! It’s no fun beating up someone who can’t fight back.”

Adagio appeared to consider her words. The Chronicler shuffled his body so that he was in a crouched position. The pain in his leg was slowly fading, but not fast enough to make a quick mistake.

Stealing a glance to the left, into the cafeteria, he saw Soul walk back over to his group. As he did so, Sunset and her group of girls got up, and began walking towards the entranceway to the courtyard. Soul and his group followed similarly.

Adagio suddenly gasped. “That’s right; our deal!” She whirled on him. “Huh. You don’t seem so eager to hear what I have to say.”

He quickly said, though gruffly, “Oh, please, go ahead. What wondrous prose could you bless my cognition with?”

“And he has biting sarcasm! You are quite the surprise, indeed.” Her grin was lost on him. “Very well. Where shall I begin?”

“For the last time, tell me who you really are.”

“Hmph. Would you really believe me if I said we were a trio of sisters of a mythological race called the Sirens who were banished to this world by a bearded unicorn wizard, and we nearly took it over one year ago with our ability to create strife and discord through our singing, only to be defeated by a former villain, her friends, and a princess from our original dimension who used the magic of friendship to win the Battle of the Bands, and now we reside in this dimension indefinitely?”

She blinked. “Goodness. I’m beginning to sound similar to Pinkie Pie.”

Meanwhile, the Chronicler was trying to filter out what she had just said. The rapid account had thrown him off dearly, and he was struggling to comprehend just all of what she had said. But a few things stuck out to him.

Sirens? Wizard? Battle of the Bands… friendship? Magic?

“You!” His voice was so sudden, so excited and crazed, that even the Sirens were caught off guard by his intensity. He shuffled back as best as he could, hitting the back wall hard. He looked at the Sirens now without disdain or annoyance; but fear. “I know you. I know you.”

He pointed a shaky finger at them. “You’re the anomaly that girl online was speaking about! You’re the reason behind those strange happenings at this school!”

Aria rolled her eyes. “We’re not the only ones. Sunset Shimmer and her gang of friends can do something similar.”

His eyes nearly bugged out. They can do that too?!

He closed his eyes, feeling his anxiety growing out of control by the second. He tried to think of all the reasons why he was getting so scared. After all, these Sirens had been stopped, and by Sunset Shimmer no less.

But what do they want with me? What does anyone want with me?! They shouldn’t want me… they shouldn’t…

He clenched his eyes tighter as he heard the phantom call of a pickup truck, heard the screeching of tires, the screaming of brakes; and even then, in that absolute darkness, he could not avoid seeing the redness that was splotched on the ground.

“You don’t look very happy,” Aria commented. Even her voice sounded shocked.

Happy… happy… happy… gone, gone, gone…

Her.

The screeching intensified, burning his mind. He might have screamed or yelled; he couldn’t hear himself. He bent over, clutching his ears, holding himself and his notebook close.

Her. Her. Her. Her. Her. Her. Her. Her. Her. Her.

***

“H-hey!” Sonata’s voice caught in her throat. She dashed past the mute and dumbfounded Aria and Adagio, and grabbed the Chronicler by the shoulders. “Wh-what’s wrong? Are you hurt? No, wait, you definitely are! Why aren’t you responding? Hello?”

Now she was growing even more panicked. She tried to shake him. “H-hey, listen! I’m sorry for the way Dagi treated you! I’ll give her a stern talking to, I promise! Hello? Nothing?”

Adagio was reeling. She hadn’t seen someone this extreme in years, let alone a mere boy. Just earlier he had been explosive, vibrant; now, he was immobile, unresponsive. She had no idea what was going on.

“Adagio!” She turned around, and saw Sunset Shimmer storming up to her. Behind the former unicorn was her friends, and behind them were Soul and his friends. “What did you do?!”

“I… I…” For once, she couldn’t provide a smart, witty remark. Sunset growled something intelligible.

Soul approached, and his eyes grew wide. “Oh my gosh! What happened?” He ran up to Sonata. “Sonata! What’s wrong with him?”

“I-I-I don’t know! He and Adagio were talking, and she was explaining how we were Sirens, and then he got all panicky and scared, and now he’s like this, and I can’t get him to talk or anything—” She was hyperventilating, her breaths coming quickly, and she seemed in danger of passing out herself.

“It looks like he’s having a panic attack. We gotta get him to Nurse Redheart.” He tried to lift the Chronicler. “Ugh! He’s heavier than he looks. Someone give me a hand!”

Clyde, Sonata, and Fluttershy quickly offered their help, lifting the boy up. Clyde and Fluttershy took his feet, while Sonata and Soul took his shoulders. They began to carry him out as quickly as possible.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Sonata murmured all the way.

Sunset ordered the others to follow them, leaving her with the remaining Sirens. She glared at Adagio angrily. “Well? Satisfied that you’ve hurt another person?”

She shook her head, to both Sunset, Aria, and even her own surprise. “No… this wasn’t what I expected, Sunset, believe me. I never wanted to do this.”

Sunset shook her head. “Well, you did. Maybe this will teach you not to antagonize someone who doesn’t need antagonizing.”

She followed after her friends, leaving the sisters behind. Adagio watched her go, then watched the body of the Chronicler fade behind the hall’s walls. Something panged her heart; she wondered what it was.

She looked to Aria, initially to request comforting words, but placed aside the question. Neither said anything; neither could say anything.

Eventually, they returned back inside of the school, feeling like the world had become a little colder.

***

“Drink this. Are you feeling somewhat better?”

The Chronicler nodded to Nurse Redheart as he drank the presented cup of water.

“Medicine helped?”

Another nod.

“Any trouble breathing? Do you feel like you’re about to have another panic attack?”

He shook his head to both questions.

“Alright. Get some rest, dear. I know you’re new and all, so maybe the stress of a new school was getting to you.”

He nodded again, and she left him alone.

He sat alone in the nurse’s office, lying atop of a simple cushion bed. His clothes had not been vandalized in any way, and his sleeves remained long on his arms. Beside him was his treasured notebook, and to the other side was a nightstand. He placed the cup on the stand, and his gazed gleamed over it. A small pot stood out in the middle, and in it was a lone flower, with three white petals hanging from its bulb, in full bloom. He knew immediately what flower it was, and reached out to hold its stem, rubbing it gently between his fingers.

He removed his fingers, letting his arm drop to his side. He sighed, closing his eyes and opening them. How fitting that that same flower be by his bed. It had served as his sentry, in the past, after all.

He was tired. He had not properly prepared for what challenges Canterlot High would throw at him, and now he was paying the price. He would have groaned, if he had the energy.

It’s been so long since I had an attack like that. I wonder why it happened again…

He knew how, but not why. Why any overly stressful situation brought him to that point, why he was always reminded of that brief time. Not that he could forget; not that he was willing to forget.

He closed his eyes once more, intending to sleep, to rest, to get away from it all.

“Hey.”

The voice was surprisingly soft; and he initially thought it to be Fluttershy’s. Cracking open an eyelid, though, he saw a different sight.

At his bedside was Sonata. Somehow she had snuck in without him noticing, though he supposed he would have been too tired to have stopped her anyway. She certainly was a sight for sore eyes, though. Her face had streaks of what he assumed to be tears, further supported by the redness in her eyes. Her hair could have been in disarray, or it might have been a radical fashion statement; since he had no prior connection to her, he had no idea of which it was.

But her smile was as bubbly and innocent as ever. “You’re awake!”

He didn’t respond, staring at her with his one eye. In his silence he did his best to convey his irritation.

She visibly cringed at his stoicism. “Wow. Cold. Though, I guess I deserve some of that.”

His gaze softened, but he remained as silent as ever.

“Are you feeling better?” she asked, tilting her head. At his terse nod, she continued, “That’s good to hear. I was so worried!”

His raised eyebrow was all the answer he had to give. “What?” Sonata protested. “It’s not that weird! I was just worried about you. Isn’t that what friends do for each other?”

He might have answered, but she once again answered for him. “No, I get it. We’re not really friends, are we?” She sighed. “Gosh. I didn’t expect it to be this hard.”

“Why are you here?” He managed to ask in a subdued voice.

“I just told you?” Sonata tilted her head. “At least, I thought I did. Did I?”

“What do you want?” he tried to clarify.

“I wanted to know if you were okay. Is it really that hard to guess?”

He looked at her with both eyes; their narrowed appearance spoke for his lack of amusement. “Considering what got me here in the first place, no.”

“Oh.” She looked away. “About that, about what Adagio was doing. I…” She swallowed, hard, refacing him. “I’m sorry for that.”

“A bit too late for that,” he replied coldly.

“I know, okay? I messed up, I should have stopped her before things got out of hand! But… But I was curious, too! I wanted to know what you were like. I just didn’t expect things to go…” Voice trailing off, she made a vague gesture with a wave of her hand. “Like that, I guess.” She tried for a smile. “Guess no one could have guessed what you’re like, huh?”

She shook her head. “Sorry. I’m just making this worse. I’ll go.”

She made to leave, but he reached out and touched her, silently asking her to stay. As she turned around, she saw that his gaze had softened considerably. “You need not to,” he said.

He leaned back into his pillow, sighing. “It wasn’t your fault. It was… it was mine.” He sighed. “I… I have a condition. When I’m in a really stressful situation, like… that… I get… I panic, and… well, you know the rest. I guess what Adagio said was stressful enough, even if it is particularly unbelievable.” He shook his head, then looked at her with one eye open. “But… what your sister said. I have a feeling it’s all true. Isn’t it?”

“Yup, all one-hundred-percent of it.”

“And… Sunset Shimmer?”

“Yeah, she and her friends can magic up, too.”

He nodded, sighing again. “Of all the places I could have gone, I chose the craziest school.”

“You’re aren’t surprised?”

“Oh, believe me, I’m surprised. But…” He grew somber. “But I’ve seen some crazy things. Done some crazy things…”

He shifted around, sitting up straight. “So. You’re a Siren?”

“Yuh-huh!”

“What exactly does that entail?”

“Entail? What do you mean?”

He rolled his shoulder, trying to loosen up his back. “You know… powers and whatnot. You said you had magic; what could you do with it?”

Sonata brightened up temporarily. “Well, we had these special amulets that we wore all the time. When we sung, we could tap into the magic around us and use it to feed on people.” At his incredulous look, she continued, “Well, Sirens like us are supposed to feed on misery and cruelty; it’s in our nature. So when we came here, we used our singing to make people really angry. Our amulets would absorb the anger, and then we’d have ourselves a good meal.”

“That sounds completely unbelievable.”

“But you believe that I was a Siren?”

“Was?”

She nodded. “Yep. After we were defeated at the Battle of the Bands last year, our amulets broke. Now we’re just like any other normal human girl. Though, we’re technically much older.” She counted her fingers. “Like, a few hundred years old?”

“You’re powerless?” He blinked, before sighing. “So none of you really posed a threat, huh? Though, that doesn’t account for how Adagio behaved.” He frowned, uncomfortable with thinking about that.

“Don’t take it personally,” Sonata assured him. “She’s just like that to everyone she meets. She says it makes her feel more powerful.” She gave her own sigh. “To be honest, I never liked doing what we did.”

“You didn’t?”

“No, not really. Seeing people miserable all the time is such a downer. And I’ve had to put up with Aria’s attitude all my life, so…” She gave a weak giggle. “Well, you can imagine.”

“So why go through with it? Couldn’t you have stopped?”

“If I did, then I’d starve. We had to stick together. I know it may seem like we get on each other’s nerves all the time, but we still are sisters, and deep down, I think we all care for each other deeply.” She grinned, though it was a bit shy. “Plus, I always liked singing.”

He stared at her. “You like singing?”

“Yes. Why is that so hard to believe?”

“You, a being from this other dimension, who feeds literally on negative emotions, like singing?”

She pouted. “There’s no need to mock it…”

“Sorry. It’s just… wow.” He sucked in a breath. “This is a very weird school.”

She nodded in agreement. They fell into a thoughtful silence, interrupted only by the ticking of the clock.

“Do you still like singing?” he suddenly asked.

Momentarily surprised at his question, she quickly responded. “Oh! Definitely!”

He hesitated. “Do… do you mind telling me why?” Inwardly he had no idea why he was asking this. Something inside was compelling him to, though, and he thought he ought to follow that something.

The request was a strange one. Most people never asked for Sonata’s thoughts, Soul being the prime exception. The other girls were close to her, friendly as they always were, but there had existed some sort of barrier between them that prevented better communication. Yet, here was a person, whom Sonata had never met, asking her for her thoughts. She supposed it was strange; then again, he was strange just as well.

“Well,” she began, “before we lost our powers, we sung out of necessity, out of a need for food. That wasn’t all that fun, really, because all of our listeners would turn to husks after enough years had passed.” She scrunched up her face. “Ugh, sometimes we had whole halls filled with decaying fans.”

His squeamish look suggested he understood more than he wanted to, so she continued, “After the Battle of the Bands, we lost that ability to feed on emotion. Our singing used to be pretty bad, too, because we had relied on the amulets’ power to help us sing.”

She counted four of her fingers. “It took maybe four months for me to get back into it; Dagi and Ari took much longer. I started taking lessons from the Rainbooms, and had Fluttershy help out some. Eventually, I started getting my voice back, but… it was different.”

“Different? In what way?”

“I dunno—” She stopped, thinking. “Actually, I do know, I think. It felt—and feels—like I was singing for the first time. It was… amazing, taking up an old habit and finding you not only could do it after a lot of practice, but you could do it better!” She blushed. “Um, between me trying to get with Soul, actually, there were some guys who wanted me to sing to them.”

He gestured for her to continue. “But, when I sing now… it’s like I’m free. Free to express myself in any way I want.” She looked away. “Don’t tell my sisters, but sometimes I felt I was the third wheel in our group.”

“There were three of you,” he said.

She giggled. “Oh, right. Well, you know what I mean. It’s just… back then, before I started singing again, I didn’t feel like I could express myself. Dagi led us, after all, and her word was law.”

She, for a moment, fell silent, before continuing, “Singing, I guess, is a way for me to tell the world I’m sorry for what I had to do with my sisters. I want to apologize for my actions and theirs. For the first time in my life, I’m finding that I actually can, and, even better, people want to listen!” She beamed. “It’s such a wonderful feeling, being appreciated for your talents, without the help of magic.”

She looked back at him, her smile still wide and strong. “I guess that’s what I’m saying, why I’m happy with singing. It lets me be who I am—who I really am, and who I want to be. Does that make sense?”

He nodded, and though he did not smile, his lips did twitch a bit.

Sonata looked away, and he did to, both lost in thoughts. She glanced at the clock, seeing that her next class was coming up. “I’d better go. I don’t want to be late.” She looked back at him. “I… I hope there aren’t any bad feelings between us?”

“Water under the bridge,” he assured her with a wave of his hand.

She nodded. “Okay. See you around!”

She made to leave, but stopped when she heard him murmur “Wait.” Turning, she found him holding the potted plant in his palms, inspecting it. He then presented it to her, arms outstretched.

“Plant that in the gardens outside. Where it belongs.” This time, there was a smile on his face; small though it was, it reassured her that he had forgiven her.

Sonata happily nodded, cradling the flower in her hand. Grabbing her belongings, she finally did leave.

She had been around long enough to know what flower he had given her. A Galanthus; snowdrop flower.

Somehow, that seemed fitting.

***

Swift met Sonata just as the final class of the day ended. “Hey, is Chronicler okay?” he asked the former villain. “And why are holding that plant?”

“He’s doing just fine,” she responded. “And he gave me this flower!”

“Really? That’s quite nice of him. So he’s doing okay? Nothing broken?”

“Nothing that I could tell. You should go talk to him! I think he’d like that!”

“R-really? You think so?” Swift shifted about. “I-I mean, not that I don’t want to make sure he’s okay or anything. I just don’t want to bother him, after… all that.”

Sonata nodded in understanding. “I don’t think he’ll mind, Swift.”

“Yeah, you should go see him, Swifty!”

Swift yelped as Pinkie suddenly showed up next to him, the party girl having exclaimed the statement close to his ear. “Gah! Gosh, Pinks! You gotta stop doing that!”

“Aw, but you’re so cute when you’re scared!”

“I-I-I wasn’t scared! I was just surprised, that’s all!”

“Ssuuuurre you were,” she says, drawing out the word, her eyes becoming slits. Sonata giggled at Swift’s misfortune.

“Anyway, gotta go, sweetie! I can’t stay; gotta prepare for Chrony’s party, later.” The pink party girl jumped up to give Swift a kiss on the cheek. “You go talk to him. I’ll see you at the party later, alright?”

“W-will do, Pinks!” Swift awkwardly but sweetly returned the kiss.

“You two are so cute together!” Sonata squealed.

“Aren’t we, though?” Pinkie’s voice rang with laughter, and she and Sonata headed for exit.

Swift watched them go, before re-adjusting his backpack. “I guess I’d better go see him, huh?” he murmured to himself.

The nurse’s office was a quick walk from where he was. In the span of a few minutes, he was there. Entering, he nearly jumped up in panic.

“Whoa, Chronicler! What are you doing?! You should be resting!”

The Chronicler looked over at Swift in surprise. He was standing up against one of the walls, writing something in his notebook, and appeared well rested, all things considered. “Um… I’m fine?”

“Are you sure? What if you start twitching again or something—” Seeing the Chronicler start fidgeting uncomfortably, Swift stopped his tirade. “Er, sorry. Um… so you’re fine and all?”

“Yes, thank you for asking. Who are you?”

Swift blinked, before gasping. “Oh! That’s right, we haven’t met before! I’m Swift Justice.” He held his hand, which the Chronicler took. “And I already know who you are.”

“Oh? How?”

“Soul, Sunset, Sonata…” He counted them off of his fingers. “Hmm, that’s a lot of s’s, now that I think about it…”

“Ah. I see.”

Silence. Swift bounced from one leg to the other, before asking, “So, what were you and Sonata talking about?”

The Chronicler shrugged. “She wanted to check up on me.”

“Really? So you forgive her?”

“Sure. It wasn’t her fault, it was…” He frowned. “Actually… there’s blame on both sides…”

He looked away. “She doesn’t know it, but she… she’s helped me search for something. Something I believed lost…”

“Really? Maybe I can help! I’m kinda good at finding stuff!” Swift prattled on, his hands making wild movements. “Well, I mean, not as good Pinks, but pretty good nonetheless.”

“Pinks?”

“Oh, that’s what I call Pinkie Pie. She’s my girlfriend. What about you? Got a girlfriend?”

The Chronicler ignored the last two questions. “Who is this Pinkie Pie? Have I seen her?”

“You might have. She’s a pink-haired girl, about my height. Likes to throw parties, too. Oh, they’re absolutely spectacular. You should consider coming to one!” Swift gasped, realizing he had an opening, and chose his next words carefully. “Actually, we’re having one later on today, at Sugarcube Corner! You should come!”

“What’s the occasion?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Swift answered murkily. “Pinkie sometimes throws parties for random, small events.”

“Mm. I’ll consider it.”

Another silence occurred, before the Chronicler walked over to the bed and grabbed his belongings. “Going already?” Swift asked.

“It’s the end of the day, isn’t it?”

“Here, I’ll walk you out.” The Chronicler nodded his thanks, before taking off, Swift following. The man’s limp made him slow, but Swift made sure not to point that out.

“Why don’t you tell me how you met Pinkie Pie?” The Chronicler asked.

“Well, it’s a long story…”

As they walked, Swift did his best to fill in how he and Pinkie became an item. His hand made crazy gestures and imitations as they walked, much to the amusement of the man beside him.

The Chronicler actually chuckled at the sporadic way Swift conveyed the tale; it would be the first time Swift would see him smile. “You are a strange one, Swift Justice.”

Swift rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment. “Yeah, well, I guess I am.”

They walked together for a little while. Swift noticed that the Chronicler didn’t seem keen on sending him away. In fact, he seemed perfectly content in Swift’s company.

“Do you love her?” the Chronicler suddenly asked, stopping just at the door.

Swift blinked, before realizing, “Oh, you mean Pinkie! ‘Course I love her!”

“Really? Even considering her… strangeness?”

“Well, yeah! I think that makes me love her even more!”

“Why do you love her, though?”

Swift paused, thinking. Why was he asking him this? “Is there something you want to know about the two of us?” he asked, confused.

Something in the Chronicler’s expression changed, like he was remembering something from long ago. “I just… what makes you happy with her? That is what I need to know.”

Need? Why would he need—Swift nearly gasped out loud. This must be what Sonata was referring to! He quickly began going over what he loved about Pinkie.

“Well… there’s her smile. It’s so… joyful, so keen, so earnest. She could enter the gloomiest of rooms, wearing that smile, and have at least one person smiling with her. She’s funny, too, even if her puns are rather corny. Plus, she always throws the best parties; they’re all super fun and all.”

“That’s what she does for others,” the man noted. “What does she do for you?”

“She… she makes me smile, even when I get a little freaked out by her antics.” A smile grew on Swift’s lips. “Physically, she’s an absolute cutie. Whenever I get down or feel upset, she always tries her best to put a smile on my face again. Even if doing so is a bit risque,” he added under his breath. The Chronicler didn’t catch the last part, but his furrowed brow showed he was still unsure of Swift’s answer.

The younger boy faced the older boy with a smile. “Basically, she makes me happy. She really does. I’m not sure how else to explain it, Chronicler, but that’s how I feel.”

He was silent for a moment, taking in Swift’s words. At first, the boy thought that what he said was not clicking with him; but when he saw the Chronicler’s lips morph into a small grin—one that reminded him of boyish amusement—he thought otherwise.

The Chronicler offered him a hand, surprisingly, and Swift took it, shaking it. The cold demeanor was beginning to vanish; Swift sensed that he was slowly beginning to reveal more about himself.

“You are a strange, but intriguing fellow, Swift Justice,” he said softly, giving his hand a firm shake. “Maybe we will interact in the future?”

“I hope so,” Swift found himself saying, a smile on his lips. The smile fell as he realized something. “Ah, shoot. I gotta head out sooner than I thought; Mom wants me to bring my sister Scootaloo home. Can you walk yourself out?”

“Of course. Take care, Swift Justice.”

“I will! Nice talking to you!” He turned to his right, heading for the freshman hall.

“Oh, and about that party,” the Chronicler said, causing Swift to stop. “I’ll see if I can come.”

“Awesome! I’ll see you there!” Swift waved enthusiastically, and the Chronicler exited the building. The young boy let out a sigh, a smile on his face. “Look at that; I beat Pinkie at friend-making.” He grabbed his phone, intending to tell Pinkie the great news.

***

With Canterlot High’s classes finished, the students all had relieved looks on their faces. A certain grey-skinned student had a smile on as he exited the building. Homework was light; due to it being the first day of school, the teachers were lenient, thankfully.

His eyes caught on to a certain, alabaster girl with purple, graceful hair, leaning against the side of the school, a lavender purse in her hand. He waved, catching her attention, and she smiled.

“Clyde!” She raced up to him and gave him a hug, following up with a kiss on the lips. “It’s good to see you. How was your day?”

“It was great, Rarity,” he replied, smiling widely and squeezing her close. “I missed you, though.”

“Oh, Clyde!” Rarity blushed, patting him on the arm. “Well, I missed you, too, darling.” She grabbed his arm. “Now, c’mon. We’ve got to head to Sugarcube Corner for that party, right?”

Clyde nodded, but asked, “I thought you didn’t want to deal with Chronicler, though?”

Rarity shook her head. “I admit, I was—and still am—a bit concerned about him. Though,” she added, with a frown, “given what Rainbow and Fluttershy saw, maybe he’s just… hurting, somehow. It wouldn’t be right to avoid him.”

Clyde nodded, having received the news in-between classes. “Well, we’ll try not to bring it up when we see him there. I think he needs more comfort than critique.”

Rarity nodded in agreement. “You’re right, dear. I’ll have to make it up to him somehow.”

They began walking, heading for Sugarcube Corner, when Rarity suddenly stopped. A wide smile spread ear to ear. “In fact, I think I’ll be able to make it up to him sooner than I thought!”

She practically skipped over to the Canterlot statue, dragging Clyde behind. The boy looked to where she was heading. A similar, welcoming smile appeared on his face.

“Chronicler! Hello?” Rarity called as she grew closer.

The Chronicler was busy writing something in his notebook, but looked up in surprise when he heard his name. He neither smiled nor frowned as they approached, tucking the notebook back into his bag. Clyde heard him mutter, “Seems like everyone knows my name.”

Rarity giggled, meaning no offense. “Well, it’s not everyday some mysterious student shows up.”

She stopped just in front of him as he stood, Clyde behind her. She introduced themselves. “I’m Rarity,” she said, “and this is Clyde. My boyfriend,” she added, flittering her eyes. Clyde blushed, but waved in greeting.

The Chronicler nodded to them. “It’s… nice to meet you,” he said.

“What are you doing out here, Chronicler?” Clyde asked.

“A certain Swift Justice was walking me out when he had to leave early. He told me to head for a…” The location struggled to surface in his mind, but eventually managed to rise to the top, “Sugarcube Corner, I believe. Yes, that sounds right.”

“Swift, huh? He’s a good guy,” said Clyde.

“Oh! What a coincidence!” Rarity brought a hand to her mouth in a gasp. “We were on our way there, in fact! Would you like to tag along?”

“If it’s no bother?”

“Nonsense, darling! It’s the least I could do! Now, come along, now!”

She led the way, with Clyde and the Chronicler trailing behind. The older boy leaned close to the other boy, and whispered, “‘Darling?’”

Clyde smiled to himself. “It’s just how she talks. It’s quite nice, really. Very ladylike.”

“Ohohoho!” Rarity giggled, turning to face them. “Clyde, you make me blush so!”

“Well, my lady deserves all the compliments she can get.”

While the two of them giggled, they saw that the Chronicler looked a bit troubled. “Something wrong, dear?” Rarity asked, concerned and ceasing her laughter.

He looked at them, puzzled. “No? Sorry, do I appear troubled?”

“Well… yeah,” Clyde said.

He shook his head. “I’m fine, really.”

“Dear? Are you sure—”

“Yes!” He immediately covered his mouth in absolute shock following the outburst. Rarity and Clyde recoiled at his shout. “Oh, gosh, I’m—” He looked away, ashamed. “I’m sorry…”

“Chronicler.” It was Clyde who took a step forward, placing his hand on the older boy’s shoulder. “What is wrong?”

“Are we making you uncomfortable?” Rarity asked. She looked worried, Clyde noted.

They were beside a brick short-wall. The Chronicler sat down on the top, clenching his eyes shut and trying to keep his breath slow. “Gosh,” he muttered. “I am a mess…”

They sat down next to him, unsure whether they should keep their distance or not. “Do you want to talk about it?” Clyde asked, even though he was unsure what ‘it’ was.

He sighed. “It’s strange, that’s what it is. It feels like… forever, since I ever was in such a welcoming environment. God, it’s…” He chuckled without humor. “I’m actually talking so much more than I usually do.”

He gestured at the school, and the neighborhood, and the houses, and the street. “This entire community is so unlike the ones I’ve been a part of. It’s so kind and cordial. So… unorthodox.”

“Chronicler,” Rarity said. “It’s not unorthodox. It’s perfectly normal to be nice to others!”

“But you don’t even know me,” he insisted. “You don’t even know me…”

Clyde and Rarity exchanged looks. They decided to wait on the wall with the Chronicler, giving him a moment to recuperate.

People walked by, saying hello, and Rarity and Clyde responded in kind. The clouds faded west with the sun. It would have been thought to be a beautiful sight, had the Chronicler seen it.

“Hmm. What Adagio said to me… it’s still in my head,” he said. “She said I looked like I was searching for something. I’ve been wondering what that something is. It’s… troublesome.”

Rarity sighed. “Yes, well, Adagio is quite the troublesome person.”

The Chronicler gave a short nod, then looked to the two of them in a way that reminded Clyde of being under a microscope. “You two are… on good terms with each other, aren’t you?”

Clyde smiled. “Of course we are.”

“Undoubtedly so,” Rarity said. “Why do you ask?”

“It’s… it’s nothing. Just thought I would.” The Chronicler looked away.

“Chronicler,” Rarity chided, “there is obviously something bothering you. You can tell us; we won’t judge you for it.”

He didn’t respond. He rubbed his wrists absentmindedly, his gaze distant. Then, he spoke: “A long time ago, I had someone to love. She was… perfect, in every way. No one else came close to her ability to make me feel happy. But she… but then…” He struggled for the words. “Things happened, and… she’s not here with me anymore.”

His words were guarded. He was hesitating in telling them what he was really thinking. Clyde wanted to push further, but a light touch from Rarity told him now was not the time. The two lovers stared at each other, communicating silently.

This friend of theirs, this Chronicler, was hurting. What was certain was that the things Adagio said was bringing up some painful memories. Neither were sure that bringing them up would do any good; at least, not yet.

They couldn’t do anything at the moment to ease his pain; at least, emotionally. But they could at least convey that they were there for him.

In one smooth movement, Rarity leaned forward and hugged the Chronicler, and Clyde gave him a pat on the back. The man let out a gasp at the sudden action. “W-what are you two doing?”

“Tell me, Chronicler,” Rarity chose instead to ask, “are you happy here? In Canterlot High?”

“W-well, I suppose it beats the other places I’ve been. Why?”

She and Clyde pulled away. “We just want to let you know that you’re accepted here, no matter what. Understand? You may not feel comfortable telling us all about yourself—in time, I do hope that changes. In the meantime, though, we want you to be sure that we’ll be there for you.” She smiled kindly. “That’s what friends do for each other. Now, why don’t you smile and cheer up a bit?”

The Chronicler looked at the both of them, mulling over their words. They waited patiently.

Finally, he spoke. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to be a downer or anything like that. I just… this school, it’s students, it’s people… it’s a lot to take in.” He shook his head one more time. “You probably don’t care for me telling you all this.”

Clyde offered him a smile. “Hey, it’s okay to feel a bit uncertain, especially since you’re new. The important thing is, that you tell us what you think. We’ll listen, and try to help out.”

“Clyde is right. You shouldn’t be afraid to tell us what you think.” Rarity frowned at the Chronicler. “Do you need a moment to gather yourself?”

“Yeah, just… give me a second.” He breathed in and out, slowly, periodically, as if it was something he had practiced many times. They let him be, not interrupting his exercise.

Finally, after several more breaths had been taken and expunged, he stood. “Okay. Let’s go.”

“Better, dear?” Rarity asked.

He managed to nod, but no smile came. Clyde supposed it didn’t matter. “Yes, thank you for asking.”

The Chronicler gestured them to take the lead, and they did so, at a slower pace, taking into account his slight limp. None of them said anything further; but they all felt content with the silence.

***

Sugarcube Corner was dark, unlike what the Chronicler had expected. Seeing as how it was the common residency of the rambunctious Pinkie Pie (so he had learned from Clyde and Rarity), he expected it to at least be as lively as she was. Outside, in the flowerbeds, were rows of flowers in full bloom. Among the roses and violets, he saw several white flowers, each having three petals that hung down from the stem.

But the lights were out, and no one seemed inside. Now he began to wonder why exactly Swift had wanted him to come here. Was it a prank? Swift didn’t seem like that kind of guy.

Rarity and Clyde didn’t appear at all surprised by the sight, though. They approached, still silent, and the Chronicler followed them.

He noted that the establishment was similar in shape to a cupcake, and he guessed it to be some sort of bakery. Looking around, he saw people come and go, none of them giving the shop a second glance nor moving towards it.

Something was up.

The Chronicler stopped mid-step, thinking. Was it a trap of some sort? He doubted it; something about Rarity and Clyde suggested that neither of them had any foul intentions concerning him.

Suddenly he felt very exposed. He rubbed his neck, then stuffed his hands deep into his pockets, and continued walking.

“Here we are,” said Rarity, finally breaking the silence. “Sugarcube Corner.”

“Nothing all too ‘sugary’ about it,” the Chronicler said, looking up at the building.

“Oh, trust us,” Clyde said, “it gets real lively during the week.”

“Oh? And today is simply a quiet one?” The Chronicler furrowed his brow. “Somehow I can’t quite believe that.”

Noting the exchange of careful looks between Rarity and Clyde, he frowned, stopping just short of the building. “Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? Nonsense, Chronicler. Why don’t you go first?” Rarity pointed to the door.

Narrowing his gaze, he responded, “Why?”

“Do you need us to hold the door open for you?” Clyde asked.

“No, I—ugh. Fine.” Seeing no point in arguing, he walked over and grabbed the door. He gave a slightly exasperated sigh as he entered. “Whatever you two are hiding, I’m not impressed. It’s just darkness and—what’s that shiny thing?”

As Clyde and Rarity entered, said “shiny thing” shone brightly, just as the lights were blasted on. The Chronicler ducked just as he heard a rapidly-fired series of clicks that were followed by a boom.

“Surprise!” a loud group of voices all shouted.

He found himself on the floor, covered in confetti and streamers. He looked around wildly, trying to make sense of the scene.

Soul and Sunset stood next to Fluttershy and Rainbow, holding up a banner that read: “Welcome to Canterlot!” Beside them was Sonata, with a huge welcoming smile on their faces. Swift stood at the end, a camera—the “shiny thing”—in his hands. Next to him was a girl that the Chronicler didn’t recognize, wearing a farmer’s attire, complete with a stetson and what appeared to be a lasso on her belt. Towards the back was a cyan-haired girl wearing royal-purple goggles, a pair of large headphones around her neck. She appeared to be bobbing her head to an imaginary beat. Finally, in the center, was an enthusiastic, pink girl, bouncing up and down madly.

His breathing hitched, and he began to shake. Oh, no… oh no oh no oh no! He gripped himself, trying to force the panic away, failing to do so.

A familiar presence suddenly pushed up against him. Opening his eyes, he saw Sonata, hugging him tightly, reassuring him with her own body that it was okay. His breathing steadied; looking up, he saw the others’ concerned faces. The pink girl’s was confused and most definitely worried.

“Um, what’s wrong?” she asked.

Sonata pulled away, glancing back at the pink girl. “Sorry, Pinkie. I forgot to tell you; Chronicler isn’t good with sudden shock.”

The others nodded in understanding. Pinkie’s hair—poofy in nature—deflated, to his increased shock. It then puffed up again, and her smile returned. “Well, that’s okay! That’s the only surprise I’ve for him this evening anyway!” She bounced towards him as Sonata helped him up.

“For me?” he asked. “What do you mean by that?”

Rarity clicked her tongue. “Why, dear, it’s a surprise party. For you.”

“Yeah, man!” Swift said. “Was it really not that obvious?”

The Chronicler frowned. “Other things were on my mind.” Rarity and Clyde offered him sympathetic smiles.

“Well,” Pinkie exclaimed, “it’s good that you’re finally here! Now I can welcome you properly!” She took a big breath. “I’m Pinkie Pie! It’s so good to meet you, Chronicler!” Before he could even think to respond, she had grabbed his hand and shook it so hard that his entire body shook with it. She stopped after a few seconds, thankfully, before he had another panic attack.

“Oh, wait! Would you rather be called ‘the Chronicler?’” Pinkie asked.

“Chronicler is fine,” he said. He shook his head. “So. You did all this?”

“Yup! Me and all of my friends! Our friends,” she added with a smile.

“All for… me?”

“Yuperooni!”

“… Why?”

Pinkie did a little twirl. “I always throw a welcome party for new students! Just ask Soul or Clyde!”

“Yep, she threw one for me when I first came here,” said the young Writer.

The Chronicler was at a loss for words. Not knowing what to say, he simply sat down in one of the chairs, slowly, methodically, releasing a pent-up breath.

Another loud boom racked the shop; the Chronicler’s head shot up, and he saw what appeared to be a cannon launching confetti into the air. He blinked, before sighing loudly. “Great. She’s insane.”

The comment went unnoticed by the pink blur. She somehow rounded up a bunch of party hats and forced them on all of the guests, before finishing off by rolling out a huge cake.

“I didn’t know what flavor you liked,” she said to the Chronicler, “so I went with a general chocolate cake!”

“Oh, uh… thank you.”

“Oh, you’re welcome, Chronicler!” He flinched as she hugged him. “Now, don’t look so down! Come on and enjoy yourself!”

Pinkie’s bright attitude spread to the others. “C’mon, everybody! Let’s party! Hit it, Vinyl!”

The goggles-wearing girl nodded, placing her headphones on her head. She pulled out some sort of large, bass device, and hit play. A catchy, upbeat, electronic track began to jump out of the speakers.

Gradually, as the beat vibrated the entire Corner (it was a good guess that the entire world could hear the party right now), the Chronicler’s nervousness began to subside. Still limping, though, and finding he was parched, before going off to party, he traversed past the other students and made his way to the punch table. Grabbing a plastic cup, he dipped it in and drank, savoring the unique taste.

The last time he’d had punch was a while ago; there hadn't really been a moment for it. Thinking on that brought up a few sad feelings, and his frown returned.

All of a sudden, the music stopped playing. He figured that the DJ—Vinyl, he assumed—was trying to fix a glitch or something, and thought little of it. At least until he heard the door open.

“Hey,” he heard Pinkie’s voice say. “What are you two doing here?”

“We weren’t invited,” responded another girl. “So I thought we’d see what was going on at Sugarcube?” She sounded familiar. His hand began to quake.

“I didn’t want to come,” said another girl, presumably the second one. She sounded just as familiar. Both of Chronicler’s arms shook, and he leaned against the table, trying to stop himself. It’s nothing, it’s nothing. Calm down.

There was some sort of squee sound—he couldn’t be bothered to find an explanation for it—that came from Pinkie Pie, and somehow he knew she was frowning. “I’m not usually one to avoid inviting my friends to a party, but considering what you did to Chrony, I think you ought to stay out.” Her voice had dropped from that bubbly goodness to one more serious than he thought she’d ever be capable of.

“I understand that you’d think that,” the first girl said. “But please, let us in. It’s important.”

Pinkie, don’t do it—

“Hmm. Okay. Don’t do anything mean, though, okay?”

He dropped the cup, spilling its contents on the floor, cursing. As he bent down with a napkin to wipe it, he found his knees wobbling, and his vision blacked in and out. No! Damn it, c’mon! They’re not even remotely related to why I’m like this! A long beep cut his thoughts out, reminding him of a heart monitor. It canceled out much of the party’s noises; he clamped his hands to his ears in a vain attempt to stop the irritation.

He felt someone close by. Though barely able to look at them, he somehow could tell it was Sonata. She had her arms spread in a protective manner, and was doing her best to use her body to shield him from the two girls approaching.

“Sonata? Please, step aside.”

“No! I won’t let you hurt him again! Don’t you get it, Adagio, Aria? We don’t need to hurt anyone anymore!”

“Sonata, please,” Adagio said, “I don’t want to hurt him, believe me—”

“Believe you?” Sonata shook her head. “How can I? All you’ve ever done is hurt people!”

“But I’m trying not to, sister! Don’t you see that?”

“Well, you’re awful at trying!”

Their voices managed to lessen the droll of the beeping, and one word magically shouted out to him: Stand. Stand. Stand. Stand.

With shaky legs, he did just that, nearly falling over. Sonata had not yet noticed, but the others had, and Sunset was already moving to steady him. He waved her away, still rising slowly, as Sonata continued her rant.

“Chronicler is in a lot of pain, and I don’t want to hurt him! He deserves more than pain, Dagi! He doesn’t deserve your mind games, or Aria’s insults! He deserves kindness, sympathy, happiness!” Sonata stomped her foot. “And I won’t let you take that away from him!”

He thought Adagio and Aria would push past their younger sister, and angrily confront him. He turned, expecting just that; but what he saw told a different story. Adagio’s eyebrows were up, her mouth opened; she seemed to be pleading. Aria looked especially unfortable, but she also appeared deeply ashamed. She caught his eye and flinched; he simply looked at her, through her. She sensed he didn’t mean to retaliate against her, and breathed easily.

“I know that you won’t move, Sonata, so hear me out,” Adagio said softly. “I just want to talk to him. That’s all. If you’re ever going to believe what I say, please let this be the instance that you do.”

Sonata hesitated. “N-no! You’ll just end up hurting him again!”

“Sonata.”

He hadn’t meant his voice to come out so soft. He wanted to sound gruff, unafraid; instead, he sounded meek, weak, and tired. He supposed the latter was true; what with the day’s events, anyone would have been exhausted by now. Nevertheless, as he turned, rotating slowly on his left leg so as to not further injure his right, he made sure to put on an uncertain frown.

Sonata turned to face him. “It’s okay, Chronicler. They won’t get to you, I promise.”

He shook his head. “Sonata. Let them approach.”

“What? No way! What if you have another attack like you did before—”

“Then you call emergency services and rush me to the hospital,” he said sharply, before sombering up. “Please. If they said they want to talk… let them talk. If they do anything that seems out of place…” He looked to Pinkie. “Throw them out.”

The party girl understood the gravity of the situation, and nodded without a smile.

Sonata hesitated, still unwilling. “Go,” he whispered. “Please.”

Finally, she relented. She shot her sisters a suspicious eye, but nonetheless moved out of the way, allowing the Chronicler to take her place.

“Well, go on,” he prompted with his palm turned upside and held out.

Was it his imagination, or did Adagio seem even less confident now that she and he were eye to eye? Gone was that natural allurement of hers, gone was her savvy, her womanly charm, replaced with uncertainty. Judging by her face, he could tell this new feeling was something she was inexperienced with.

She stood straight, attempting to hide her discomfort. “Well, Chronicler, I suppose it’s a surprise to see you here. You don’t seem like the partygoing type.”

He was willing to put up with the pretenses. “I suppose the same could be said about you.”

“Heh. Well, you wouldn’t be wrong.” She chuckled dryly. “Young Pinkie’s parties aren’t for the faint of heart, as I’m sure you’re well aware of by now.”

He clenched his fists, indicating he was not amused by the jab. Her humor quickly died away. “I’m sorry. That was uncalled for.”

Aria said nothing, staring at the two.

“That can’t be everything you have to say,” the Chronicler said.

“Intuitive as always, aren’t you, handsome?” Her smile was similar to that of a cheshire cat’s. “Don’t get so flustered. I say that to most boys I meet. You’re not all that special.”

He chuckled, to everyone’s surprise. “What a relief,” he said dryly.

Adagio sighed. “There’s no easy way to say this. Hmph. I’m sure you know about us Sirens and our feeding habits.”

“Yes. Sonata told me how you girls fed on negative emotions and the like.” He frowned, then added, “She also told me she didn’t particularly like doing that. Did you?”

“In some ways I did. Feeling so powerful over a puny race… it was unlike anything we could experience back in Equestria.” He guessed that ‘Equestria’ was the Sirens’ original home. “Humans are naturally spiteful creatures—that, I’ve found out many times. This world was the perfect place for us to gain total power, once we discovered the leftover Equestrian magic following the Fall Formal. At full strength, we could have easily conquered anybody who stood in our way.”

“At the expense of their lives.”

“Hmm. Yes, well, it’s kill or be killed around here.”

“Life is worth more than that, Adagio,” he spat.

“So I’ve been slowly learning,” she replied with a small smile. “You seem to understand that more than anyone…” Her voice trailed off. “Nevermind that. I’m not here to prattle on about us. I’m here about… well, us.” She gestured to the both of them.

“So you keep saying, and continually keep dodging.”

“It’s hard for me to do this, alright? I have never had to do this before; not in all my years!” She shook her head. “Leave it to some strange boy to throw a wrench in my entire being.”

He said nothing, letting her continue. “While it is true that we find no more food in promoting negativity, that does not mean I found doing so revolting. It was nice, I think—or at least I thought.”

“Being so powerful, over the weak? The helpless need help, not pain, not further torture.”

“Hmm. And you most certainly need help, don’t you?” She held up a hand. “Don’t answer that. It’s not my place to question, and you don’t need to answer to me.” She looked around at the others. “But something tells me that you’ll need to tell someone soon.”

She looked back at him. “What I did today… maybe in the past, I would not have regretted it. But something about you wants me to change that. Maybe because it was the way you reacted. Maybe because I can tell there’s more to you than meets the eye. Maybe because who you are and what you say you are… that isn’t the entire story. You’re not just the Chronicler; you’re a man, a man who’s done some things and seen some things that no man should ever need to see. Am I right?”

His furrowed brow did not answer her, and she sighed. “Well, I could be quite wrong. It’s just a hunch; call it my own intuitiveness.”

“Is that all?”

“No, it really isn’t,” she said, surprising him; he expected her to leave then and there. “I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve ever done this. The first, when we first arrived on this world, alone, with my sisters huddling around me. The second, today, here and now, where we stand before each other.”

She looked him dead in the eye, and he met her stare equally. “Chronicler. I don’t know if you’ll find it ever in your heart to forgive me. I doubt you ever will. I’m fine with that. But… I had to tell you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the unintentional pain I’ve caused you. I… I understand if you’d like to throw some of that pain back.”

She waited, staring at him. His gaze grew distant, as if remembering something from long ago. Not a single person in the Corner moved to interrupt the scene; it was far too tense for anyone to mobilize themselves. The best they could do was wait alongside the Siren; wait for the Chronicler to speak.

And when he did so, they were just as surprised as Adagio.

“I forgive you.”

Adagio blinked. “Y-you do?”

“You do?” Sonata asked.

“You do?!” everyone else repeated.

He nodded, his eyes still distant. “A long time ago I learned my first lesson in life. It is far harder to forgive than to hate, but the tradeoff is all the more sweeter.” His gaze refocused back on Adagio with lightning speed. “You, I thought at first, were dangerous. A Siren, a being of this ‘magic,’ from another world, responsible for those strange occurrences last year. Even without your magic, you seemed threatening enough. Or was that just my paranoid mind kicking in?” He shook his head. “I don’t know, and I think I don’t care enough to know. Getting scared over something that I don’t understand… that is not the way I was taught. It wasn’t what she taught me.”

He continued on before anyone could ask who she was. “You could have walked away. You didn’t have to approach me, to apologize. You could have gone on living, without ever thinking of me again. Yet here you are. That tells me you are different than I initially figured. And if that’s the case… then perhaps your actions were not of harmful intent as I had previously thought, but instead of a sort of natural curiosity.”

He was talking like a noted scholar, with all the wisdom of a sage. “Why you did such a thing; no, why you chose to do such a thing, is beyond me. But, as you said before,” he added, giving a sly look, “it’s not my place to ask.”

He continued, after a brief pause, “The craziness of this new world I’m in aside, one thing has remained constant. If people are earnest, then they must be earnest for a reason. If you earnestly want to apologize to me, that must mean you do mean it, and that your apology is sound and from the heart.” He nodded again. “So, yes, I do forgive you. Just…” At the fall of his voice, his uncomfortable stance returned, and he rubbed his wrists anxiously. “I hope it doesn’t happen again,” he finished.

He felt breathless. He hadn’t talked that long and that wholeheartedly in seemingly lifetimes. Then again, he figured that it was indeed an actual lifetime ago that he had ever been wholehearted.

She’d be proud.

“Thank you.” Adagio’s soft voice pulled him from his thoughts. She was smiling at him, and he managed to return a smaller one of his own.

Adagio turned back to Pinkie. “I’d like to apologize for interrupting your party. I understand if you want us to leave.”

Pinkie only beamed. “No way! All my friends should be able to enjoy my parties equally!” To emphasize her point, she somehow reached around and grabbed everyone except for the Chronicler in a group hug. “See? We’re all friends! Now we can party for real! Vinyl, you know what to do!”

The DJ nodded, and the music once again began playing. It beat and bounced and bopped; feet hit the floor, hands went in the air, people danced. The Chronicler remained at the table, though, watching them all have fun.

Aria approached him, and he was about to talk to her. She cut him off with a glare, then shoved a piece of paper in his hand, before stomping off. He blinked, then opened his palm to read what she had given him.

“I’m not good with words; you probably can tell that already. So I’ll make this brief. I didn’t mean to almost kill you or whatever it is that happens to people when they have a panic attack.

(That sounds harsher than I mean it to be, but sue me; I don’t handle kindness well.)

Consider this my apology, because there’s no way in hell I’m getting up in front of anybody to publicly profess my regret. That’s not my style.”

How strange, he thought. And yet, how fitting. He looked up, and accidentally locked gazes with the angry Siren. Before she could shoot him a dirty look and turn away, he nodded to her, then winked. She flinched but did not seem to take offense, nodding carefully as well. She turned away, but he noticed she seemed far less aggressive now.

He grabbed a stack of napkins, and resumed cleaning the floor, but stopped short. He saw his reflection in the puddle of punch, and saw that his smile—previously small and constrained—had widened considerably. As he looked at his face, he felt that same warmth he had constantly been feeling all day, when he was in the presence of certain others.

It felt right.

He wiped the puddle away, then tossed the napkins into the garbage bin. Someone tapped him on the shoulder. Turning, he was immediately pulled by Sonata by the arm. The young Siren was grinning madly, seemingly forgetting the tension from before. “C’mon, Chronicler! Come enjoy the party!”

He smiled as well. “I’ll try.”

***

Eventually, the party had to end. It was nearing seven, and most of the guests had promised their guardians to be home by then. While a few, such as the Sirens, left, the others decided to stay and help clean up.

“Won’t the Cakes be upset we spent so much time here?” Sunset asked Pinkie as they swept the confetti and streamers away.

She shook her head. “Nah, today’s an off day for the bakery. They won’t mind, so long as we don’t leave too much of a mess.” They returned to sweeping.

Meanwhile, the Chronicler was with the group of guys who had come to the party. Soul, Swift, and Clyde were talking amongst themselves, and he sometimes threw in his own input. He found that he greatly enjoyed their company, Swift’s most of all—he supposed it was because the young boy’s clumsiness struck a chord in his heart, and he warmed up to him quickly.

“Hey, Chronicler!” Swift’s voice cut through the Chronicler’s thoughts. “I’ll see you around, right?”

He managed a smile and nodded. He was beginning to think he would.

The other boys waved their goodbyes, before leaving as well. The Chronicler saw Soul leave with Sunset, and Clyde with Rarity. Pinkie pounced on Swift, giving him a wild kiss, before sending him on his merry way. The boy walked weakly, a dumb grin on his face.

The Chronicler chuckled, surprised at himself. He was actually enjoying himself!

“Hey, sugarcube,” a southern voice drawled, pulling him out of his ruminations. Turning, he found the one other girl he hadn’t met standing behind him, a cheery smile on her lips.

Nodding and smiling at her, he said, “Hello, Miss…”

“Applejack, pardner. No need for th’ ‘Miss’ on me, ya hear?” She winked at him playfully. “We didn’t get a chance to get t’ know each other while the party was going on.”

“I suppose we hadn’t. Chronicler,” he added, holding out a hand. Though he guessed she already knew his name, it wouldn’t hurt to add in a friendly greeting.

Applejack took the hand. The Chronicler noticed how strong she was immediately, and winced a little in response to the powerful grip. Noticing this, Applejack softened her grip. “Sorry, there, sugarcube. Didn’t mean to hurt ya.”

“It’s fine. I’m not the sturdiest after all.”

“I take it you’ve enjoyed yourself mighty well, huh?” She winked at him. “It’s good to be around friends, ain’t it?”

“Heh. A day ago, I didn’t think I would really have any.”

Applejack looked to the clock. “Ah gotta go,” she said. “Gotta be at the farm by eight, do mah homework and chores, before Big Mac or Apple Bloom do it.”

“What, you’re afraid they’ll mess up?”

“Naw, I just like doing my own work.” She turned back to him. “Would ya like to walk with me? Ah mean, if it’s no bother or if your folks don’t mind.”

“They won’t,” he said, turning back towards Pinkie. “Pinkie? Do you need any more help around here?”

“Nope! See you two tomorrow!”

“Will do, Pinkie.”

The two of them walked out, and were met with the night sky. The moon, shining brilliantly, brought melancholy thoughts to the Chronicler’s mind. His mind briefly gleamed at his childhood, and then his early teens.

He saw the knife.

Shaking his head quickly, he pushed the thoughts away, concentrating on walking. Thinking that talking would help push away the thoughts, he asked, “So, you work on a farm?”

“Yup,” said Applejack. “Sweet Apple Acres is its name. Me, my little sister Apple Bloom, and my older brother Macintosh Apple work there; we just call him Big Mac for short.”

“I see. Anybody else work there?”

“My Granny Smith used to, but now she’s the cafeteria lady at school. Plus, she’s too old to be working in the fields. Harvesting apples is harder than it looks.”

“That certainly explains the tough grip you’ve got.”

Applejack chortled. “Well, after years of that, plus the many times Ah’ve had to arm wrestle Dash and my cousin Soul, Ah think I’ve developed a mean grab.”

That surprised him. “You and Soul are cousins?”

“Yep. Thought you would be surprised,” she added with a smirk.

“You two are nothing alike, you know.”

“Oh, trust me, Ah know. But Ah love him all the same. How ‘bout you; got any close family?”

“A few,” he said, doing his best to avoid the question. Something flashed in his mind; he heard screeching, even though there were no cars on the road. Maybe less than a few, he thought.

Applejack placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. She was gazing at him with a frown. “Now, Chronicler, Ah know that you and I just met and all. But that don’t mean you have to hide everything from me. Ah won’t judge you for anything you’ve done in the past.”

He at first glared at her, but the glare died quickly. He let out a sigh. “It was only a matter of time before one of you started asking questions you weren’t supposed to get answers to.”

He gestured for Applejack to follow him. “Do you mind if… if we take another route?”

“It’s fine, so long as Ah’m home by eight.” She glanced at her watch. “We got about forty minutes left. What do you have in mind?”

He didn’t bother to answer. A feeling of heaviness crashed onto his shoulders, but he did his best to carry it. He walked, briskly, as brisk as he could with his limp.

As he did so, he began a tale.

“I fell in love, once,” he said softly. Applejack listened closely. “It was… many years ago. And it wasn’t really with a person per se, or a pet, or even an object. It was… an idea. A strange idea. A lovely idea. One worth loving.

“Many years ago, I fell in love with life.”

“Life? What do you mean?”

“Life was a beautiful thing.” He cut through the streets, darted across the sidewalks in a blur. “Life was a happy thing. Life was a worthwhile thing.”

He paused at a crosswalk, allowing Applejack to catch up, and he continued, “All of life was part of a beautiful web. There were infinite infinities with it. The possibilities… endless and forever. You could go down one path and approach five others, and each one would lead you down a different route. I loved the simple complexity and the complex simplicity of it all. It was… fun, I suppose, to think about.

“She thought the same, too.”

“She?”

He didn’t answer. The light turned green, allowing he and Applejack to cross the road to the next block. He turned right halfway down the road, heading towards the dirt backways.

“And it was fun… for ten years, at least. We enjoyed life to the fullest. We were more than living; we were alive. We were happy.”

“Happy…”

“Back then, I really had no concept of what that word truly entailed. But she was always there, doing her best to guide me. And while it was hard for me to understand what she meant, I always did my best to listen. She was my guide; my teacher; the first sage I ever met.”

Crossing back over, they found themselves on a country road. The city was behind them, the vast landscape in front. He asked Applejack which way the farm was; she pointed to the left. He decided to go that way.

“But things changed. Life… life became different. Happiness is a precious thing, Applejack. And not all are privy to it.”

The night lights seemed to illuminate a path. It was a simple path, with dirt and weeds growing out of it. It led up a darkened hill. It was a path that the Chronicler was all too familiar with.

“It was a single mistake by a foolish child. A misstep, on the path of joy. A fall from grace. A death of innocence. One moment, I was walking down the street, a happy smile on my face. The next, I was on the ground, face-down, bleeding from abrasions. My leg had been twisted up; it has never fully recovered. But more importantly, I was alone. I was alone for the first time in my life.”

He stopped, breath hitching. He struggled to finish as he walked up the hill.

“I… I can’t really remember what happened. I was eleven years old; and stopped being eleven seconds afterwards.” Coming to the crest of the hill, he clenched his eyes shut, piecing together the story bit by bit. The weight on his shoulder began to lessen.

“There was blood. And that blood was on steel plates. And those plates were on her. And she…” He couldn’t finish. He choked back a cry, gulping hard.

“Here we are,” he said, voice strained.

Applejack was already beside him. She looked at him with sympathy, giving his hand a comforting squeeze.

They walked into the place. Not a sound could be heard; the very air clung to them tightly, whispering, murmuring, and yet not saying anything at all. Great, grey monuments to the past stood out like guards, protecting the sleeping. An ebony tree stood in the middle, and hung from it were little lamps made of paper and candles. They were meant to guide those who wandered in back home; but the Chronicler used it as a way to locate what he needed to see.

“Row forty-six, column five. I can never forget those numbers,” he murmured.

Taking the lead, he went down the large site, counting off in his head until he reached the respective numbers.

He kneeled beside the stone guard, placing a hand on it, telling it he was here. “And with… a friend,” he whispered, looking at Applejack from the corner of his eye. The farmer’s nod helped drive away his pain a little, though he knew it could never leave.

The guard spoke to him, “Are you here to see her?”

“Yes.”

“Then you shall see her.”

The Chronicler brought his hand down onto the guard’s face, wiping it clean, until its features could be seen. The words it said tore through his heart, as it had always done; but with Applejack here, and the comforting thought of the others, he was able to withstand the pain.

“She,” he said. “Born, 1992. Seven years before I was born. She had a bright future ahead of her. She was surrounded by a loving family, and reliable, amazing friends. When I came along into her life, she was even happier.

“Her name was—is—Ruby Frost. And she is my beloved older sister.”

Applejack kept a respectful distance away. “I never really recovered,” the Chronicler murmured to her, standing for a moment. “I tried some scary things… Never succeeded. Never understood why I couldn’t succeed.” His wrists ached. He ignored them, and knelt again.

He began talking. “Hey, sis. Remember that school you wanted me to go to, despite the fact that we lived in a different district? Mom and Dad finally moved to that neighborhood. Today I went there to get a feel of the place, like you wanted me to.”

He paused, thinking. “It’s a nice place, I think. You said I might like it here. I’m not sure yet, but I’m prepared to try.” He slipped his backpack around, pulling out his notebook. “I wrote about my day in this notebook you gave me when I was nine. You always said I could be a writer. Here, let me read you some of my entries.” He cleared his throat, opened the notebook, and began to read aloud.

“‘I met a Soul Writer and a Sunset Shimmer on the way to the school. They’re very nice, I suppose, even lending me a hand walking once they saw my limp. I can tell they aren’t sure what quite to make of me, but that didn’t even deter them from accompanying me all the way to the new school. Soul is a charming, sweet guy; I can see why he and Sunset are together, as she is much the same.’

‘I talked with the principals. I had no idea they were sisters. They were kind enough, and knew right away that I had some… things that I didn’t want to particularly talk about. Vice Principal Luna seemed to understand a great deal what I meant by my omission. They let me fill in the necessary paperwork; I’ll have to get mom and dad to sign it when I get home. They also assured me that this school is a safe environment. Maybe they’re right. God, I hope they’re right.’

‘Rainbow Dash. That was the girl I just met and walked with, after Soul had to be pulled away by some teacher—poor guy can’t even finish a school tour. I can tell she’s quite the sports player. And she’s quite arrogant, to be honest. But not once did she want to ditch me. I had to push her to leave and have fun. I think that’s what Ruby would have wanted.’

‘Fluttershy’s really quiet. That’s not a bad thing. It’s nice to meet another quiet person in this loud school. We didn’t talk much; I could tell she’s about as bad as I am at conversation. But she seemed nice, and kind. Another word to describe her would be angelic; perhaps graceful, in a “nature princess” kind of way.’

‘Them. I found them. The ones that girl spoke of on that blog. The strange energy spikes… flying people… the skies suddenly darkening, and that large phantom equine in the sky. It was all the result of a group of women—sisters—who call themselves the Sirens. They’re dangerous; at least, two of them are. The third one, Sonata, doesn’t seem like her sisters. The leader, Adagio, kept talking to me, even though I clearly expressed a desire to be left alone. She even had the gall to steal this notebook! This prized possession!

‘I digress. I took it back, thankfully, but she wouldn’t let up. She kept hounding me with questions; I think she was even flirting with me! But I don’t remember much after that; I blacked out. The stress was too much, I guess.

‘The scary thing is, I haven’t blacked out in years. And in that blackness, I heard the tires screeching, brakes screaming, and I saw red…’

‘Sonata visited me in the nurse’s office. We had a nice talk, I guess. I was right; she isn’t like her sisters. She was deeply concerned for my wellbeing, and for that I am thankful. I asked why the Sirens did all that strange stuff last year. She explained that they were trying to gain a ton of power by feeding on the negative emotions that were breeding in this school. It’s admittedly a farfetched explanation, but based on what I’ve seen, I think I can believe it. I gave her a galanthus flower as a little parting gift, and asked her to plant it in a flowerbed where it belongs. I think she’ll definitely do it.’

‘Well, shortly after writing the last entry, I met a guy named Swift Justice. He’s clumsy, definitely not a gentleman, and makes all these weird hand gestures when he talks. I like him already. He offered to walk me out, and we did for most of the way, but he had to go when he remembered he needed to take his sister Scootaloo home early. I don’t mind; siblings are important, after all; perhaps they’re one of the most important importances in this life.’

‘Clyde and Rarity are obviously the school’s most couple-y (is that a word? Doubt it) couple. He’s the gentleman; she’s the lady. Yet they both work so well with each other you’d think they’re the same person. What they have… their relationship… it’s seemingly flawless. Like it was taken out of the books I’ve read when I was little, about the knight in shining armor saving the princess. Only, this time, it’s a grey knight in a simple T-shirt, rescuing a fashionista.’

“That’s all I’ve written for now, sis, but let me tell you, there’s been a whole lot more happening than I could have expected,” the Chronicler continued. His voice refused to tire, now, as he retold his day to the guard and his sister that rested there. “There was this girl named Pinkie Pie. Picture the most exuberant and lively person you can, and multiply that by a hundred; and you get a small percentage of what she’s like. And Adagio and Aria actually apologized to me for what they did…”

Applejack watched the Chronicler through tear-filled eyes. An orphan herself, she understood the pain that he was going through. Yet, seeing him here, talking to his sister as if she had never left… it filled her with a sense of pride, knowing that he valued his sister enormously.

“And the scars… they’re beginning to fade. You can hardly see them. So… that’s a good thing, right?”

Another moment of silence. Applejack figured he was having a conversation that only he could hear.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I came here. You know me well enough to say there’s more to my motives than what I say.” It was unclear whether he was talking to Applejack, to Ruby, or to the both of them. “I came searching for happiness because I had thought I lost it. But this warm feeling I’ve had ever since I was welcomed by Soul and Sunset. It’s that, isn’t it? I never expected this place to give me that same feeling back.”

He closed his eyes, shuddering for a second, before opening them. A few tears dripped down his cheeks. With his sleeve, he wiped them away.

“I gave up my old name, because I thought it wasn’t right for me to have the same name as you. After all, I lived… and you didn’t.” He paused for a moment. “Maybe it’s time I go back to my roots and honor who I was. Who you were. Who we were.” He glanced to the side of the guard. A lone flower, with three white petals hanging from its bulb, stood there, in full bloom. It winked at him as if it were human.

“Snowdrops always were your favorite,” he murmured.

He stayed there for a little while, the time slipping from his mind. Applejack checked her phone, seeing it was ten to eight by now. She received a worried text from Apple Bloom, asking why she wasn’t home yet. In answer, she texted, “Something important came up. Be home soon.”

Eventually, the Chronicler stood. He seemed much calmer now, and less jittery. He also looked quite exhausted, like he was about to drop at any second. Regardless of his condition, he put on a strong face—for himself, for Applejack, or for Ruby; it did not matter whom.

“I’ll visit soon, sis. I promise. After all, I’ll always have new stories to tell, new experiences to chronicle.” He closed his eyes and whispered, “For, as you always told me, I am here to chronicle that which happens and will happen and would have happened, and all that is and isn’t, and all that will be and won’t be, and the has and hasn’ts of the world. That’s what you believed life was; a huge story to chronicle.” Applejack saw a sad smile on his lips. “You were right. Too bad yours had to be a tragedy…”

Slowly, not wanting to truly leave, he began to back away. Approaching Applejack, he said, “I hope that didn’t take up too much of your time.”

“It didn’t. Ah know you needed this.”

He nodded, the movement sharp, yet slow. Repetitious. “Ready to go?”

Applejack looked to the guard that protected the sleeping Ruby. Her gaze drifted to the flower; then, it moved upwards, towards the sky and the stars and clouds and moon.

“Listen,” she began. “Ah know that happiness ain’t the easiest thing to find in the world. It can be near impossible to find when ya think the world’s turned its back on you and robbed you of what you think matters the most.” She looked at him, seeing his gaze turn troubled, his brow furrowed. “But Ah also know that there’s a happiness you can find even after all that trouble. It can come from doing what you do best; or, it can come from being kind to others. Maybe being generous, or from wanting to make others happy. Maybe it comes from the love you share with others, both present an’ past. Maybe it even comes from remembering and cherishing the ones you love and loved and will always love.”

She placed her hand on his shoulder, firmly gripping it, keeping him steady. “But that’s what makes life amazing, Chronicler. Ya get to choose your happiness; your happy ending to your story. Ah think that’s what life is. Life is happiness, because in it, you can find that happiness.”

She pointed to herself. “Ah’m happy to work on my farm. But Ah’m also happy with my family and friends. And Ah’m happy to be there, as a shoulder to lean on, whenever any one of them needs it. That’s where Ah find happiness.” She pointed to him. “Ah don’t know what makes you quite happy, Chronicler. But… if it’s any consolation, Ah think you’re close to finding it.” She smiled. “And, just so you know, the rest of us guys and gals will be there to help you on your way.”

She hugged him, then, holding him close, letting him physically know that she was there for him. Always.

“Ruby would have liked you,” he murmured. She felt something wet hit her neck. She smiled through her own wet eyes.

The clock soon struck eight. The two of them gathered their belongings and made their way to the exit. As they reached the city, they parted, going about their separate ways.

Applejack chanced a look back, and found the Chronicler looking at her. She gave a warm wave, which he returned. He had a serene smile on his face.

Somehow, she had a feeling everything was going to be alright.

***

That, journal, has been my recounting of my first day here. I have to say: it was the most surprising and enlightening day I’ve had in a long time. It’s taken a long time for me to write all this. According to my clock, it’s nearing 12 at night; I’ve been writing since 8.

I intend to transfer all of this to my laptop as soon as it is done charging. I haven’t used it much, especially since this journal means a lot to me, considering Ruby gave to me. But I have a feeling, as I said before, that mine is a story that needs to be shared. Once I’m done writing, I’ll type it on the laptop, maybe post it to one of those writing forums online. I wonder if any of my friends will read it? For now, I suppose, it’ll remain here. Once I am truly ready, I will tell the others. But now is not that time for that; plus, well, my friends are sleeping, and I wouldn’t want to wake them.

Friends. Hmm. How strange a word that is, now that I think about it. Growing up, I didn’t have that many friends, did I? I had Ruby, and that was enough. But with her gone, my connection to others had grown dim. Here, though, as a student of Canterlot High, I’ve been graced with the chance to make new friends, new memories.

It’s a chance I won’t waste. This I promise you, Ruby.

Anyway, I think it’s time I turn in for the night. I’ve got to get some sleep for tomorrow. Principal Celestia has requested that my parents sign all the papers I need to officially enroll in the school. I… I think I’m ready to start anew

Oop, scratch that. There’s just one more thing I need to do. I’ll tell you all about it later, journal.

Goodnight.
Sincerely yours,

A.F., “The Chronicler”

***

As the bright morning sun shone down on the suburbs just outside of Canterlot High, a young man, dressed in a yellow jacket with a black-and-white-striped undershirt, stepped out of his house and onto the sidewalk. His skinny, denim-blue jeans and pair of smoke-grey shoes, darker than his jacket as they were, were even more sharply contrasted by the smile that was spread across his tan face. His icy-blue hair was of medium length, just barely hanging above his cerulean eyes that gazed out at the sun with renewed vigor and eagerness to start the day. The sleeves of his jacket covered up faint lines that were across his wrists.

Clutching his backpack, a golden-bronze notebook with a white, three-petaled snowdrop embedded on the front in his right hand, he began to walk towards the school. The wind blew in his face and pulled back his hair; but he didn’t mind, the sensation only making his smile widen. He felt alive today, more than he had in a long time. He whistled a tune to himself; an onlooker would have thought it to be a sad lullaby, but for him, today it was a song of hope and of endless possibilities.

His old limp seemed to have given up the fight; even as he walked, the pain and tension faded. He felt much looser, cleaner, newer.

Minutes into his walk, he came across a couple who were waiting by the curb. He recognized them easily. As he approached, they noticed him and offered him a friendly wave.

“Oh, hey!” Soul greeted. “Sorry I couldn’t walk you home. I had to take Sunset. You’re not mad, are you?”

“Of course not, Soul. Applejack walked me home.”

“That’s good,” said Sunset. “How are you feeling? Still nervous?”

“I think I’m fine. I’m kind of nervous about actually starting school, of course.”

“Hey, don’t worry,” Soul assured him. “We’ll be there for you, alright?”

He smiled. “I know you will.”

He began to walk—his limp had begun to fade—but stopped just ahead of Soul and Sunset. “Oh, shoot. Now that we’re friends, I guess I should tell you my real name, huh?”

Soul blinked. “Huh? Chronicler isn’t your real name?”

“Well, I consider it my name as much as I do any other name. But… well, it’s a little strange to call someone that, isn’t it?” He smiled happily. “Besides, I think now is the start of something truly amazing. And the truth of who I am may as well come out; there’s no need to hide, when I’ve friends by my side.”

Sunset smiled. “That’s good to hear. So, what’s your real name?”

His smile turned wickedly devious, and insanely joyful; more than either had ever seen him before. “My name is Artifex Frost. Would you like to walk to school with me?”

“Artifex, huh? But what does it mean?” Soul asked.

“In Latin, it means ‘author.’ Fitting, don’t you think?”

“It certainly is,” Sunset said. “Shall we get going?”

The three friends walked up the sidewalk towards the school, laughing, talking, and smiling all the way. Today was the start of a new life, a new story, with, hopefully, a newer, better chapter.

He intended to make the most of it.

Author's Note

Follow-up Blog: Read for further thoughts