Available at the Library

by Jaded Hearts

Rating: teen
Tags: Horror, Alternate Universe, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Length: 3032

Vesperal Breeze has a strange dream that raises uncomfortable questions about Equestria's history.

It's the early days of Summer in Canterlot City. The university semester is nearing its end, papers are submitted and are being graded, and ponies are enjoying fresh coffee, long days full of sun, and warm nights, restless nights after stressful examinations, ripe for nightmares before the excitement of summer banishes them for a season.

Some dreams refuse to leave the mind upon waking.

EDIT: Cleaned up some grammar and fixed some italics.

EDIT 2: More grammar changes on the advice of EqD.

EDIT 3: Yet more grammatical changes, and some minor detail shifts to improve flow and reduce confusion.

Published 2019-06-25 10:10:01 UTC
Last updated 2019-06-25 10:10:01 UTC

The Dreams of a Dreamer

“Citizens of Equestria! It is my pleasure to inform you that we are living in the most peaceful times our country has ever known!”

All is not as it seems, for the struggle is far from over.

“We are safer, happier, and more prosperous than ever before, all thanks to the heroism of our Elements of Harmony!”

There is much more behind the scenes.

“Everypony is loved and protected.”

Listen to her words, but do not trust them.

“We stand tall as one people, one nation undivided!”

She lies to us out of love, like a mother to a foal.

“I am proud of each and every one of you.”

She cannot bring herself to kill the truth, she hides it, reweaves it as myth and fable.

“Princess Luna and I hope to spend one thousand years of peace together.”

Even her own sister was hidden, rewritten as a monster.

“And we hope to share that peace with all of you.”

There are far worse monsters in the annals of secret history.

Listen to her words, but do not trust them. She lies for your benefit. There are those who would offer you the complete truth. There is but a drop of truth among their sea of lies. Their poisoned words are eaten up by those who are sickened by Celestia’s sweetness.

Forge your own path, find a new truth.

Time marches forwards to an uncertain future. Make haste with your efforts.

There will not be one thousand years of peace.

I awoke from the dream, to a reality I no longer recognized.

My hooves shook as I brought the mug of tea to my lips. No chill assailed me on this warm summer day, and the pile of ungraded papers in front of me was of little concern.

The dream had left its mark on my mind, and I felt myself suffused with restless, anxious energy. It refused to allow today to languish idle as I pondered the terrible words that had stuck in my mind like a dagger’s point. No mere dream were they, no cloudlike vistas of carefree whimsy. Someone, something, had contacted me and planted seeds of mystery, doubt, and warning in my thoughts.

Another sip of tea. It is best that I get my thoughts in order before I begin anything. A notepad, a pencil, some bits and a coat with lots of pockets. My father’s, oversized, dirty, but in good shape. I feel that I shall need them all.

The voice was not one I recognized, but it was a mare’s. It said that Princess Celestia does not kill the truth, only hides it. The wording is strange, but the meaning is clear. There are answers to be found, if I put in the work to look. The university’s library is open, I shall pay a visit to the ancient mythology section and see what I can find.

Then, there was the warning about those who offer truth. But everypony offers truth, shall I become paranoid that everypony I meet is part of a shadowy organization? No, the voice said they offer the complete truth. They are generous with it because it is disingenuous. Con-ponies selling secrets. Until I know more, I think I shall stick to books.

Lastly, the eternal question. Why me? Why a teacher in Canterlot with no specialty in history or mythology? Perhaps, perhaps they already know, the other professors, and look no further, never straying from what must be lies in the curriculum. Yes. Yes. An unfamiliar mind was needed. I was told in a dream, the voice needed a dreamer.

Let us see if a mortal mare can find what a princess tries to keep hidden. The library is how it always is, quiet, calming, yet oppressive in its massive scale. I pass by the familiar areas, poetry, fiction, and head to sections unknown, where mythological accounts are kept.

“Good morning, Miss Breeze,” whispers a passing student. I smile and wave back, but press on. Everything else can wait.

So many books at my disposal. Gather many, I shall need to cross reference to separate myth from fact. History books, Early Pony Life, Pre-Equestrian Cultures, The Beating Heart: An Overview of the First Spirits of the World. Mythology books, The Age of Belief, Creation Tales in Elrathia and Equestria.

The piles grow around me as I read and search for more. Figures and names dance in my head like arcs of lightning. I lean back in my chair and stare at the ceiling, pondering the connections between all I had learned.

The Hearts of the Land, sacred grottos and vistas of the natural world with a magic all of their own. Hardly a secret, they are taught in geography class. Not hidden behind myth. We all know that there are old and strange places, some malicious like the Everfree. This might be relevant later, but for now it is not my focus.

The creation myths. Each and every one of them contradictory. And yet, there are themes. The same gods are mentioned, as creators, as rivals, and some more like adoptive parents looking after abandoned children. How did this pantheon operate? What is real, and what has Celestia edited? There has to be a connection between these characters, perhaps spirits like Discord being interpreted by different cultures? If so, what happened to them all? Perhaps Discord defeated them. Perhaps Celestia did.

Some stick out to me as significant. ‘The Eye behind the Sun’ is mentioned frequently, and supposedly governed dreams and prophecy. The same manner in which I started this project. The names are all so strange, yet familiar. A pony named Sunny Eye would not be out of place, but these names, they are more like titles. Some have verbs in them, does that mean anything?

The Eye behind the Sun had a partner, or sometimes, a daughter, named Glow of the Mother, of this I am certain. There is nothing other than constant praise of its kindness and love. If this being existed, why would it leave Equestria? Perhaps I will find a record of its death after some more research.

The history of Elrathia, Equestria’s sister continent, contains an oddity. This was a serious history book, with little mythological content until then. The book said that the original Saddle Arabians were earth ponies that crossed a land bridge from Equestria in ancient times, which was then destroyed in the God Wars.

What in the name of Celestia were the God Wars, and why does the book treat them like common knowledge? I sit upright, my head cleared, and flip through Elrathian and Saddle Arabian History. It was printed in 746 A.C., nearly 300 years ago, but this copy is the…

Ninth edition?! So much could have been revised and removed since then. Finding an original copy could have the answers I need!

To the librarian on duty. A sleepy batpony. For all I know, we could be related. Father never spoke of the family he left behind to be with Mother. I cough, and she snaps to attention, red eyes flicking wildly as she is ripped from sleep like a doused flame.

“Excuse me, does the library have any earlier printings of this book? Perhaps a copy of the original?” I ask. “I’m looking for some obscure information, but I don’t exactly know where.” I add sheepishly, hoping the explanation would satisfy her curiosity, or justify her apathy. The librarian yawns, her twin fangs glinting dully in the torchlight. A violent shudder passes through her body, terminating in a rapid swishing of her grey tail as she shakes the cobwebs from her mind. She smacked her lips, once, twice, thrice, then yawned again. Clearly, she had been hoping to sleep through her entire shift.

“Woooo, okay, bleh. Screeeee! Meh. Brbbblrblblbruh.” Her head and mane finish their shaking, eyes still half closed. “Hi. This library you want book?” Groggy and sluggish, she clearly wishes I was not here.

I held the title up again. “Original printing please, or anything about the...God Wars?” Her fluffed ear twitched.

“God Wars. God Wars...that depends, why do you want to know, miss?”

She was withholding information. That means she is safe. It also means she is an obstacle in my way.

“I...am curious?” I offered. She raised an eyebrow. I narrowed mine. “I’m a professor, you know, Vesperal Breeze. Member of the literature department. Are you going to help me or am I going to have to cause a scene?”

“Woah okay, calm down, miss calm down, I’m just following orders. We do have books on that period, plenty, but we’re supposed to discourage ponies from reading them. I’ll show you to the good stuff if you promise to keep it hush-hush, okay?” She is definitely awake now, and looking nervously around, hoping nopony is around to hear us.

I nod. “Not a soul. I assume this is for my own protection?”

She shook her head. “More for public perception, I think. I slept through parts of the training class. Okay, so, you know how we have very dangerous spells stored here, but they’re so complicated and old nopony can cast them? If the general public knew, they’d be panicking in the streets every time some unicorn’s laboratory blew up. This is like that but for history. We’ll all be a lot happier unaware of what used to exist. When the scariest monster you can think of is just a hydra, you’re a happy pony.”

I gritted my teeth, trying to banish thoughts of four-headed horrors from my mind. Was I truly ready for this? For truth?

“I can handle it. Show me.”

We flew through rows and passageways, to corners unknown. Here, dust ruled, the ceiling was low and the stonework was rough and pitted. It felt like a completely different library.

“Okay, so, this is the hidden section. Only those who have business here can find it, and only those shown it can return to it. Everything you want is available here, just please don’t take anything home without asking permission. Oh, and whatever you do, if you see a ghost, don’t think about it. That’s how they get you, or so I’m told. Have a nice day!”

I suddenly felt very small as she left my side, like a foal on the first day of school. Just glancing around, I saw titles that cemented this place as a restricted section. Dreams of Artists and Heretics, Celestia’s Concubines, The Sensations of Blood.

The reading tables were sparse, in both decoration and population. Cloaks and hoods seemed to be the order of the day. I glance at my oversized trench coat. I was fitting in with the cultists and conspiracy theorists already.

There. Lying on a desk in the corner. A title that pulls on my mind and hooves. Terror Rules the Moon: Historical Accounts of the Nightmare God. Written by Professor Treasured Find. I have seen that name on the wall, she used to work here. Retired a few years ago.

I sit down. Come, oh history department, reveal unto me a truth.

The following information was written after the author’s trip to the ruins of the Hollow Shades Jungle, and extensive research in the Royal Canterlot Library. Those who wish to know more should consider a trip to the jungle themselves. It is beautiful in the Fall.

That was not exactly the opening paragraph I expected. I turned the page hesitantly, hoping for something more substantial.

Nightmare Moon’s Progenitor…

Too much truth, too much truth! Those three words were enough to send my head spinning with terrifying possibilities. Nightmare Moon had a creator? Was Princess Luna a god? Was the Lunar Rebellion part of the God Wars? Did Nightmare Moon have children? Were there other children of gods? What happened to them? I took a deep breath, refocused myself, and read it again.

Nightmare Moon’s Progenitor, Terror Rules the Moon, was a god of nightmares, spiders, and the Moon. She is also frequently called the creator of bat ponies. In this book I will present new evidence that I feel refutes this claim and explain my reasoning behind it. Throughout this book I shall dive deeper into the finer aspects of this religion, including specific mythology and ancient dreamwalking exercises taught to initiates, some of which are very similar to the techniques used by Luna’s Dreamguard in our modern day…

I read on and on for what could very well have been days, although I trust that it had merely been unpleasant hours. By the time I put the book down my throat was parched and my eyes felt sticky and dry, but it was all worth it. From this book discussing a single goddess, I had learned much, and specifically, where to look in the future. The gods were real, of this I was certain.

They were also all dead, an all-consuming holy war that left worshipers with empty temples and unheard prayers. But some things persisted, and that is what Celestia has been hiding from us. I see it now, the chaotic magic that weaves through our world producing wonders and anomalies has an origin, a method to its madness.

A method that calls out for my experimentation. Tonight I shall follow the steps of the Initiate’s Awakening Rite to the letter. My dreams will guide me further, to see just how far this spiderweb stretches.

Clouds O grey and green, float through eddies unforeseen. A starry sky, black and white, ‘ere O nightshades grant me sight.

A twisted ladder offers a gift, lines a’swaying in shadowed shift.

The cliffpoint calls.

A pony falls.

And the mind rises to take its place.

Outside. Outside the dome. Empty. Full. False. Stretched out wide, a flat circle of marble clouds. Are we upside down? The dream disagrees, threatens to spit me out if I don’t do it right. All that I am is here, and clarity greets me kindly as all eyes open.

I am dreaming. I have a task. I chose this. I must follow the steps if I am to have hope. The steps become stairs, I climb, a test of perspective in a place without geometry. I’m at the platform, what do I want? The answer? But what question? An empty bowl desires to be filled, and this place is as hollow as a drum. What am I full of?

The bowl begins to fill with red, stretching upwards and overflowing, a grail of enticing blood. Is this the answer? No...no this place is still silent, the drum needs to beat! I clear my throat and speak.

“The answer is a beating heart.”

I slide down a tube and am sucked inside, the heart pumping all around me, before spitting me out covered in red. Not mangled, invigorated, the dreamworld coming into focus. I know who I was, I remember why I came. Not because I went a day without food and water, not because I recited the Rite of Initiate’s Awakening right before bed, not because a voice in a dream told me to.

I was here because I wanted something.

The path before me trisects. Three doors appear from the ground, smooth like glass. What did I want? The first path is the grail again, offering to let me taste its sweetness.

“No.” I said. “If I wanted to find revelations at the bottom of a cup, I would’ve followed my father to that pub. Exotic sensations do not drive me, I seek a different kind of spirits.”

The next door, a candle with a bright flame. An offer of knowledge, an illuminating mentor in the quest to know all. It was tempting, were not my hours in the library proof of my dedication to the candle?

...No. “Trust not those who offer information willingly, they lie with ease. My path is my own, the books only clues to the truths I shall uncover myself.”

The last door. A forge and notebook. Change. Experimentation. A flame of passion, not enlightenment. Perhaps a lonely path, but a noble one.

“I choose the path of curiosity and discovery. I choose passion.”
The door opens as the path ends. Back on stable ground. Ahead is light. Reason. Dawn. I turn back to gaze on the trials I had faced, so short and small they seemed now, how endless they seemed a brief eternity ago. I hold out my hoof, calling to the blood left in the grail. A prize. It swirls like a ribbon dancer as I step through the doorway.

A flurry of images flash before my eyes as I return to the waking world. A burning tree, a pile of glowing embers, a corpse struggling to rise again, and a raucous party in full swing with ale flowing into the streets.

I awoke, and sprinted for the bathroom, retching over the toilet as my guts churned. Without food, only pale slime dripped down my muzzle before I felt it, a blockage in my throat. Panicking, I gasped and hurled, unable to breathe and feeling the lump stretch out my throat until I spat the offender out, leaving me gasping for breath.

In horror I looked at it. I reached into the bowl of filth and slime and took it out, my abused stomach shooting with pain. A ruby, cut and polished and half the thickness of my entire hoof. The red. Proof of my journey into the dreamscape. I clutched it to my chest and fell to my side.

“This is real. This is all real.”

“I made this myself.” I looked at it again, this time with pride. I made it myself, through trial and pain, without the lying candle to guide me. This was proof of my devotion to my passion. My first victory on a long and lonely road. I did not care where it led. The journey would surely fuel my curiosity even more.

I finally had what I had never before knew I was missing. I had found my true calling. All it took was a trip to the library.

fin