The Descent
The Lantern Keeper awoke for what he knew would be his last night with a short yawn and a tired feeling running throughout his all too old body. He had always endeavored to keep in shape even before he had begun his current duty. As a foal he found himself possessing near boundless energy, a fact that bothered his teachers a good bit despite always managing to keep high marks.
With a shake of his head the Keeper banished such thoughts and fully pulled himself from his comfortable bed and made his way toward the shower in his small building, a quiet little house in Canterlot between two equally unassuming houses. There were no photos or personal effects, all things of that nature had long ago been put into storage to make things easier for the realtors he had already sold the building too. This would be his last day in this building as well, an odd thought for a old stallion like himself.
When he finished his shower the Keeper carefully ran a towel along his body, thankful for the magic he had been gifted with, able to carefully get every drop of water off his fading brown fur. Once it had resembled the bark of a tree standing at its finest, but now after so many years it had dulled to the point where it was almost impossible to recognize.
A brief thought was spared to how Pegasus and Earth Pony managed to properly dry themselves without the help of telekinesis, how long and boring a process that took him a matter of seconds to accomplish must have been for them. Soon enough that thought was put to the side as well. Just another stray thought that had plagued his aging mind to pass the seconds.
He stepped out into the living room of his cozy house and spared it one last look, as if giving himself a tour of the place despite having lived there long enough to know its in and outs. A vague thought went out to the squeaky door that he had always meant to fix. It held no charm but it was something about this house that would make it uniquely his.
“Enough of this, if I start feeling nostalgia over a creaky door then I must be awake enough to start the night,” he carefully brought a robe from the coat rack over to him and tied the hood and cloak around his body. The forecast was bright and clear that night but where he went drops of water often fell.
Besides his cloak he lifted a small and unassuming lantern from the ground, not one of the newer designs that ran off some crystal brought by the returning Empire, but a old oil based model that was still shiny despite its apparent age.
There was no oil to keep it lit at the moment, nor was there a match with which he could start the wick. That much would come later, but first his ritual. The Keeper pushed the door open and used his hind legs to close it behind him, floating a key up and locking his home before sliding the key under a fake rock. Where he went keeping such things on him could become a safety hazard rather quickly, so it was much better to keep it in such a place where no one would be able to find it. The realtor would come the next day and get it, as per their agreement when he signed for the house to be sold.
After having stepped out of the door he didn’t bother sparing a look behind him, the same as most nights. Although on an average day he wouldn’t do so for a very different reason. When he arrived home from his work he would often be so tired that the mere sight of his house brought up only warm memories. If he had associated his house with the idea of leaving it then it was likely that he would never get past the front door.
Now he didn’t look back because he knew he wouldn’t return to it, the house wasn’t his, and any goodbyes he could give would only be answered by a cold sense of emptiness that a house without an owner had. And with a foot out the door the pony began to walk the empty streets of Canterlot, lantern gripped firmly with his magic.
When he had first begun his duty he would often run down the empty streets of Canterlot and make a fool of himself, racing to get his duties done in hope that he might finish his duties early and catch a few more hours of sleep. But time had brought him the comfort of the ritual, a short and calm walk to work without the rush. Even now on his final day the thought of rushing forward with all of his strength held no appeal to him, it would only aggravate his old bones and make him weary for the long night.
Instead he moved calmly toward the castle on the same road he took every night for as many years as he could remember. Somepony had once said that all roads in Canterlot would eventually lead to the castle itself, and while it wasn’t exactly true the radiance of the building and those who lived within did fill the city with a sort of soft joy.
Even now despite himself he couldn’t help but smile as the lights above shifted and danced, like a parade in his honor guiding him toward his final day. Of course there were no parades for a simple position like his, although he had the personal pleasure of having met with the Princesses, only the first at the start of his duty, and with the second as she took back her position once purged of the dark.
He remembered always thinking that they held so much kindness in them, as if looking into a proud mother's eyes who seemed to always think the best of you. It was a humbling experience, so much age and yet nothing but kindness for a creature as finite as himself.
Eventually the marching of his hooves brought him to the gates of the castle, which swung open for him as if inviting a diplomat or foreign noble. The guards who performed such duties were unseen by any, even himself. He had never learned the name of the Night Captains who saw to the gate during the moonlit hours, and he doubted they had bothered learning his.
A certain level of detachment was needed from all jobs, big or small it made no real difference. A librarian might remember a certain number of smiling or frowning faces, but it wasn’t as if they kept a mind for every book ever checked out by every face.
His path was straight, allowing him to admire the gardens as he slowly passed on the stone pathway. Despite not having much time during the days he always admired how the garden always maintained its majesty no matter the time of year. It was a warm place even when it snowed, and always welcomed those who wished to stop a minute a reflect.
But tonight wasn’t one which he could afford such luxuries, instead his path lead him into the castle itself, which was still and quiet in great contrast to the hustle and bustle of the day hours. The Keeper walked into a certain room that only a select few knew the significance of, wandering down a long staircase and being careful of each step. The stone was perfectly cut, but despite that he had managed his fair number of stumbles throughout the years.
As he descended thoughts passed his mind, memories and what ifs dancing their ever beautiful dance until they began to fog his mind. As soon as such fog seemed rip to cover his thoughts he banished it with practiced ease. A simple trap for those who weren’t looking, bringing up soft and mellow thoughts that when combined with the pull of the garden made one want to simply go and lay in the perfectly cut grass, rest and relax.
At the bottom of the stairs there was a large and empty room, lit by soft burning torches. At the end of the room and on the opposite side of the stairs was a large doorway, two large stone doors stood, as if carved out of a wall. On either side of the door stood two Earth Ponies in full guard uniform, one a old veteran of this sort of thing, and the only a member of this specific part of the guard for only a year. “Oi, what brings you here?” the older pony asked.
“I require oil for the lantern,” the Keeper engaged in this old ritual, the same he had performed each night. He lifted the lantern before him for inspection.
“And what will you do with the oil we provide you?” the younger one asked, his voice steady but for a small hint of something the Keeper couldn’t quite make out.
“I will provide my vigil and keep the lantern lit.” the reply was almost automatic from the Keeper.
The older guard paused to think for a moment before examining the lantern, giving a passing inspection of the device.
The lantern was of an old design, and its history went back before the very idea of a lantern. Despite that it still shone, golds and silvers clashing against a wooden finish at the bottom.
“We will provide oil for your lantern,” the older guard finally answered, prompting the Keeper to put it on the ground while he took a can and filled the device with a golden oil.
The younger guard waited until the oil was filled before lowering his head. “Can you provide a spark for your lantern?”
It finally strikes the Keeper what the sound in the younger guards voice is, sadness. As one of the few ponies who knew what came next he must find the whole of this all rather terrible, at least those were the thoughts of the Keeeper. There were no words he could provide to lessen that burden, and any said would simply be wasted air.
“No, I am afraid that you find me without a match. May I trouble you for one?”
The younger guard strikes a single match against the stone floor and brings it to my lantern, lighting it and placing the now unlit match into his pocket. “You may have light for your vigil.”
The Keeper gave a nod and looked toward the stone doors. “I thank you, for my oil and my light.” those would be the final words exchanged between the three, with the Keeper stepping forward with the lantern held in front of himself.
The massive stone doors faded at the touch of the lantern, and the Keeper passed through without a hint of effort, to another staircase leading downwards. He took each one carefully, always keeping the lantern before him until his feet once more touched solid ground.
The room he was in was dark now, with only the lantern providing any form of cover for the pitch around himself. Yet there was noise in the darkness, a soft growl followed by six burning red eyes. The growl slowly raised in pitch until the Keeper raised the lantern above himself.
“I come to light what is dark, am I permitted?” the Keeper asked in his ever soft tone.
The beast came into view of the light, a massive dog like creature with three heads, sniffing in his direction and focusing on him. And then all at once the probing eyes and sniffs stopped, and the beast laid on his stomach once more and began to sleep.
Sitting beside the beast was a single cage, containing a single odd prisoner. This was one the Keeper knew well. “Good evening Tirek.”
The creature within the cage looked at him, eyes full of old hatred. “Greetings I suppose.”
