Prologue: The MountainsideView OnlineThe Silent SentinelPrologue: The MountainsideThe Silent Sentinel Prologue The Mountainside Jed R. Then. Three and a half thousand years before the dawn of the Anno Harmonia. Icy-blue eyes opened, their first sight a view of a white sky and a blizzard swirling about a lonely mountain top covered in crisp, virgin snow. For a moment, the eyes simply watched the storm as it whirled and thundered, entranced by the pattern of snow as it swirled about the sky, passing between and about the mountains. Then the eyes blinked. A single hoof planted itself on the ground, pushing upward, the other three slowly placing themselves as well to support a grey body as it stood. Grey wings flared outwards, stretching like the wings of a butterfly emerging from a cocoon. A grey horn jutting from a narrow, long skull sparked, as though testing its ability to even do so. The eyes blinked once again, adjusting themselves to the sights around them. The mountains were tall, craggy things, like teeth sprouting from the ground. The owner of the eyes could not have guessed that others called them Dragon’s Teeth… and yet the owner of those eyes knew it, as surely as she knew her own name. For a moment, how she knew (for she was a ‘she’, she knew that much) was a source of curiosity. An inheritance? A memory passed on? There was no consciousness of what and how much she knew exactly. She pondered it for a long moment: everything she was, everything she was destined to be, existed within her mind, but it was like looking at a vast library that you had all to yourself; knowing that you could read any book you wanted and yet not knowing where to start. And yet even as she thought this, a single word came to her consciousness. Celestia, she thought. She turned her head frantically for a moment, as though expecting a figure (tall, alabaster, hair shimmering with rainbows) to be standing behind her. Yet she was alone on the mountainside. Celestia was not there. Nor was - Luna, she thought now, frowning as the image of a dark blue mare flashed through her mind. She looked around, again almost expecting her to be there, and yet she, too, was absent. They were both absent. Both of her… of her… Sisters, she thought, the word coming to her in a flash, my sisters. No, they were more than that – they were the reason she existed, the sole purpose for which she was born. Two sisters to guard, to watch, to keep safe and to keep on the path. She, the third, their sentinel, to make sure that they adhered to the plan. What path? she thought, a brief confusion flashing through her mind. What plan? My mother’s path, her own mind answered her at once. My mother’s plan. This, too, was a knowledge waiting in closed books, tangible, yet just out of reach of the conscious mind. And yet she ignored the confusion, the swirling mass of thoughts and other thoughts, and focused her mind on a single question. Where are they? she wondered. There was no physical sign of anything – no being here to explain how she had awakened, no mother to guide her, no sisters. And yet she could feel them – distant now, and travelling further. Weak, as well, or weaker than they should be by rights. Dormant? No… young. Not yet full grown, she thought, realisation sweeping over her. Born young to live a childhood and be granted a life of their own, memories and hopes and dreams… There was a brief pang of something. Regret? Loneliness? They’re not like me. She frowned. I… I am grown, grown to watch them. I… I am… ‘You are Galatea.’ “I am Galatea,” she repeated aloud, and suddenly felt a rush of energy. No, not merely energy – it was more like… Purpose. ‘Thou art the bastion of rationality. Where chaos rules, thou shalt preach order. Where the plan goes astray, it is thine place to correct it.’ She remembered the words, as they seared their way into her heart once again, never to leave her. A certainty filled her, a sense of the absolute, the defined. Her eyes widened, and she smiled broadly. “I am Galatea,” she said again, the words now tinged by this same purpose and joy. Then she laughed, a laugh of pure elation and a rush of exhilaration, the sense of rightness filling her like water. The pages of the books in her mind were flung open, their contents laid bare for her, and she had a sudden, joyous sense of knowing. Still laughing, she spread her wings wide. “I am Galatea!” she said once more, and this time she shouted it to the heavens, even as her wings flapped once and carried her into the swirling skies. Now. Equestria-Imperator. Adlaborn burned, and the worst part about it was that Galatea had done nothing to stop it. Upon the mountainside she stood – the Dragon’s Tooth where she had awoken so many years ago. The vast mountain range had not changed, and yet it was alone in that. So many things had changed in the vastness of time that it scarce seemed like the same world she had awoken to. Even the snow seemed greyer, colder, more like ashes than any true weather of the world. She had let it burn. She had let years of atrocity stand, because it could be explained, or considered an allowed-for deviation. But now she was faced with an undeniable fact. This was not what was intended, she thought, closing her eyes and trying to push the memory of the smell of burning from her mind. But what was intended? Could she even remember after so long? Had she ever known, really known? The plan is compromised, Galatea had thought, standing among the ruins of Adlaborn, where Sint Erklass and his kind had perished. And so I must correct it. And yet doubt crept upon her for the first time in an age. Perhaps even for the first time since she had opened her eyes upon this mountainside and declared her name to the empty sky. She had let so much slide in her solitary guardianship, some feeling making her confident that she was not needed. And yet this was different, and she had known it was for months. Only she had been too late. Yet though Galatea’s doubts festered within her mind, her own thoughts brooked no argument from her, as stiff and unyielding as the mountain itself. She knew, she knew, what her purpose was, what was meant to happen now. My purpose is to ensure the plan does not deviate, her thoughts reminded her sternly. But what was the plan? Such a nebulous concept it was – less a thing with rules and writs, more a feeling, something written into her very being, an essence of understanding deeper than thought or rationality. The very atoms of her body, the core of her spirit, burned with that purpose, and it always had, but like faith, it demanded she act almost without conscious understanding. “Where chaos rules, I shall preach order,” she whispered, for perhaps the thousandth time, the millionth, the billionth. Her mantra, her prayer. “Where the plan goes astray, it is mine place to correct it.” That is the sole reason for which I was born. Every action I take and do not take, no matter the feelings of others in the matter, is done with that purpose in mind. Some would have called it lonely. Others fruitless. To spend an eternity watching only two mares, while all creation passed by and did as it pleased. To spend generations of lesser lives, thousands of what a pony would call a lifetime, all in service or keeping two individuals on a path so nebulous that anything from becoming rulers of a nation to one of them being corrupted and banished to the moon of all things… … some would have called her insane. And yet Galatea did not care what others would call her. Why would she? Why could she? She was not held to their standards, but to a higher calling, a purpose all of their lives lacked. She did not fear the judgement of others, nor the scorn of their eyes and their hearts. Her fears were reserved for one thing alone, one terror that alone matched the terrors of all other beings, one existential dread that consumed her in the depths of night. This was not what was intended. It is deviant. It is wrong. To act, then? No, more than that – to fight, if that was what was called for. For in destroying Sint Erklass, Celestia had proved one thing: she had the resolve and the resources to make a battle of it. There was no way she would simply lay down and accept judgement. No way anypony – anybeing – that had started upon such a road would turn aside without violence. I should have done this years ago, Galatea thought. And now… now there is so little time, so little chance of… No. She could not think of failure, her truest terror, the plague of her subconscious. She could not dare to think of it. Like all doubt, uproot it before it could fester, burn it from the mind. There was only her purpose, and within that remit she knew exactly what she had to do. And so I will do what I must. I will act in accordance with the plan. To act, after millennia of silence, lifetimes of being hidden, felt almost strange, and yet she feared it not. For to act even when that brought risk was better than to remain silent and risk her greatest fear becoming true. Her wings flared open, her course set, and doubt was cast aside. Once more she took to the skies. Nothing will stand in my way. Author's Note Galatea, meet everyone. Everyone, meet TCB Galatea. She’s not long for this world, relatively speaking, but there’s a lot to pack in and not much time to do it (again, relatively speaking). Been toying with writing TCB Galatea’s story for a good long while, and given the Reduxverse now being a thing... well, now seemed as good a time as any to start writing this “proper” so to speak 🙂 As a general note, these chapters will be split into “then” and “now portions. The “then” portions are true for “both” Galateas, while the “now” is true only of TCB-Galatea.
One: FamilyView OnlineThe Silent SentinelOne: FamilyThe Silent Sentinel Act One Ashes of Adlaborn One Family Jed R. Edited/Proofread by RoyalPsycho. Now open your eyes while our plight is repeated Still deaf to our cries, lost in hope we lie defeated Our souls have been torn, and our bodies forsaken Bearing sins of the past, for our future is taken Answers, from Final Fantasy XIV. Then. Adlaborn, Year 11 Anno Equestria. 3,489 years before the dawn of the Anno Harmonia. Two foals laughed as they ran along the shallow stream outside the capital of Adlaborn, the Charopolis. It was a tall, shining alabaster citadel, standing in the midst of a snow-tipped forest deep in the north of the world. Yet for all its remoteness, the joy that existed here was palpable. The villages and towns surrounding the Charopolis were not merely home to the Reindeer, Sint Erklass’ children all; they were also home to many other beings. There were mainly groups of Griffon refugees, or else members of the lesser equine races who had yet to migrate to one of the grander nations of Equines forming in the south and west. It was a diverse enough collection of beings that Galatea, trotting along the road towards the Charopolis under a simple brown robe, did not stand out, even at her height. She had to admit – there was something truly beautiful about this place. Lights shone faintly in the evening, as lamps lit in the trees along the road that led up to the grand citadel. Yet for all it was beautiful, this city was not what Galatea was interested in. Stealing away down a lonely path, Galatea slipped into the trees and disappeared in a brief miasma of light, her horn glowing softly as she activated a charm of concealment. For she could sense them here. Her sisters. Soon, she came upon her charges, playing near a shallow stream that had yet to freeze in the enchanted winter. One was an alabaster filly, physically nearly twelve years of age, with a mane that shone pink and a wide smile. Upon her flank there rested no soul mark yet. Alongside her ran a mare with a deep blue coat and a paler blue mane, laughing as she leapt along the path. Both were watched over by a tall, strong-looking Reindeer stag who watched them from a few metres away. “Be careful, you two!” the scarlet Reindeer chided gently as the two fillies played. “You’re not so sure-footed that a stray stone in a stream wouldn’t hurt to trip on!” “You worry too much, Papa!” the smaller filly called back to him. “We’ll be fine!” “Yes, we’re having fun!” the taller filly added, laughing as she spread her wings and flapped a few feet into the air, before descending none-too-gracefully to the stream with a great splash. “Celly!” the smaller filly shouted. “You splashed me!” As she said this, her horn glowed and a small wave of water rose up and flew towards Celestia, who laughed as the icy water doused her. “Alright, alright!” Sint Erklass said, trotting up to them both, laughing all the while. “You’ll catch your death of cold if you keep that nonsense up. Come now, let’s get you inside.” Even as he said it, he paused, looking up. For a moment, Galatea stilled, filled with a sudden dread that he could see her. “Alright,” the Reindeer said after a moment. “Both of you, go on now. Speak with Aletta, she will see to it that you’re dried and made ready for bed.” “But Papa!” Celestia whined. “It’s nowhere near time for bed!” “Celestia,” Sint Erklass said in a sterner tone. “You’ve been good today. Don’t spoil that goodness by acting up now.” Celestia lowered her head. “Yes, Papa.” “Yes, Papa,” Luna echoed. “Go on, then,” Sint said, motioning with one hoof. “I shall speak with you later.” The two foals turned and trotted away, heading back up towards the Charopolis. Sint Erklass remained, silent and still as a statue as he watched them go. Galatea did not stir either, waiting for him to move. “I can sense thee, even if I cannot see thee,” the Reindeer said after a moment, without turning around. His tone had become stiffer, more formal. “Thou art meant to be kept secret from them, not from me. Step out, daughter of Faust, so that I may know thee better.” Galatea took a deep breath, before stepping out from the trees, allowing the concealment charm to end. Sint Erklass turned, his eyes taking her in, lingering for a moment upon her soul mark with a frown. “The watchmare Galatea,” he finally said, looking to meet her eyes. “I wondered when thou wouldst find us.” Galatea sniffed. “Sint Erklass, Guardian of Joy. I should not be surprised that thine magicks proved able to sense mine own.” “Thou art gifted with a great portion of thine mother’s strength, but for all that thou have not gained experience,” Sint Erklass retorted. “Thou hast a long road ahead of thee yet, Galatea.” “Perhaps,” Galatea allowed. He smiled. “I see thou hast thine soul mark already.” Galatea glanced at it, before looking back at him. “I awoke with it.” “Truly?” the Reindeer asked. “There, I admit to surprise. Thou awakened full-grown, then?” Galatea inclined her head. “It is so.” “I see,” Sint Erklass said slowly, frowning at her. “I regret I could not be there for it. I knew the place of thy making, but it was all I could do to see to it that these two were protected.” He motioned to the Citadel behind him, and Galatea nodded. “Mine mother had great respect for thee, Sint Erklass,” she said. “I trust thou knowest best how to honour her children. Any advice thou hast to offer, I will gladly accept.” “And I would gladly give it thee, daughter of Faust,” Sint Erklass replied. “Thine mother entrusted to me the charge of all of her children’s lives, not merely thy sisters’. To me, thou art a daughter as much as they, and thou shalt always have a place here.” Galatea felt a sudden rush of blood to her cheeks. “Thou speakest kindly, Guardian of Joy, but I am no being’s daughter save Faust’s. I cannot accept such kindness.” “And yet it is offered to thee all the same,” Sint Erklass retorted. She nodded, and risked a small smile. “It is… gladdening, to see they have such love from thee.” Sint Erklass smiled sadly. “I cannot bear children of mine own,” he said quietly. “I was made, mine body forged in the darkest ages of the world long past, and in the making some joys were taken from me, even as I became the Guardian of the world’s joy. So for me, the chance to love as a father, to raise new lives into the world with care and devotion, is a blessing I could scarce have imagined.” He paused. “Besides which, they are the children of mine dearest friend. Since she cannot be mother to them, it falls to me to act as father.” He turned to look back at the Citadel of Joy, before looking back at Galatea with a softer, sadder expression. “Why do you stand apart from them?” he asked, reverting to a more informal mode of speech. “They would welcome you with such joy, all the joy in their boundlessly loving hearts. Why would you not wish that?” The question caught Galatea off-guard, and she frowned at the Reindeer. “You were there when I was born, Guardian of Joy,” she said simply. “You know full well what my task is, and that I must stand apart to fulfill it.” “I know that was your mother's intention,” Sint Erklass said with a slow nod. “That does not mean, however, that I agree with it.” Galatea narrowed her eyes at him. “You were her friend,” she said in an accusatory tone. “Does that mean so little to you that you would doubt her even now?” “She was my finest friend. Indeed, I loved her, as dearly and as deeply as I have loved any being in this world,” Sint Erklass agreed without reproach in his tone. “But one thing you may learn in your time is that being someone’s friend does not mean you agree with everything they decide, nor that you cannot think that they have made foolish choices.” He sighed. “There are many things I do not… did not agree with the Fausticorn on. Your fate – your solitary life – is but one.” Galatea’s frown did not soften. “Why?” “It seems to me to be…” The stag paused, as though considering the best way to answer her. Finally, he shrugged. “Unnecessarily harsh.” “Harsh?” Galatea repeated, her eyebrows rising to meet her mane. Then, to her own surprise, she laughed, feeling a wave of cold amusement. “Perhaps it is. But it is necessary, Guardian of Joy.” “Why?” he asked in turn. She paused, her eyes once more going to the direction the playing foals had gone. “They seem so loving now, when they are young and innocent,” she finally said. “But they will not be that way forever.” Her expression hardened. “Imagine one day that they choose to conquer this world, to become tyrants the likes of which have not been seen since the darkest times.” “That will not happen,” Sint Erklass said at once. “You do not know the future any more than I do, Guardian of Joy,” Galatea said, and now she smiled, a sad smile that was matched by the resignation in her tone. “I was not made to know the future. I was made to anticipate all futures, and to respond as needed to any and all of them.” She sighed. “It may well be, if you do what you seek to do well, that they will become noble and good, and lead ponykind and the rest of the world into a new golden era. But they are powerful, and my mother knew this.” Her smile faded entirely. “So I must be their check and balance, and correct them when they stray.” “I see,” Sint Erklass said slowly. His own eyes narrowed, and for the first time in their conversation, an edge entered his voice. “And how far would you go, Galatea? How far would you go to ‘correct’ them, should they stray that far?” Galatea swallowed. “Only as far as I must, Guardian of Joy. Only as far as I must. Which is why I remain apart. I cannot do this without the impartiality of distance.” “Because if you grew to love them, you could not bear to strike them down?” Sint guessed. Galatea nodded, and he scowled. “Would you strike them down, if the need was there?” She did not answer, but that was an answer in and of itself, and Sint Erklass knew it. He snorted and turned away from her for a moment, looking back in the direction of the Charopolis. “Thou shalt always have a place in mine halls and mine heart,” he finally said, without turning back to look at her. “And to me, thou shalt always be another of mine daughters.” He turned, and there was such anger in his expression that Galatea actually stepped back. “But know this,” he said. “If thou shouldst hurt them without cause, or fail to protect them when their need is dire, then, Galatea, thou shalt answer to me.” Now. Equus-Imperator. Adlaborn, Year 7 Anno Imperator. The words of long ago echoed in Galatea’s mind as she walked through the ruins of yet another Reindeer town. The bodies were gone, piled up into pyres that the Imperial Guard had set ablaze with magic. There would be no rotting, no carrion, and no remnant of a once proud race’s bones to litter the soil and sprout forth new life. Nothing left but the ashes of Adlaborn and the abandoned buildings that had once held life. And soon, whether in a year or a century, the buildings would return to the dirt, and nothing would be left. I did fail to protect them, Sint Erklass, and yet you are not here to take me to task for mine failure, she thought, not looking at the ruin about her any more. How could she? This place… this entire land… was now little more than a monument to her sins. Yet even as she thought it, she laughed. There is hubris there, she thought idly, of a kind I should know better than to have. No sin of mine made this happen, not even the sin of inaction. I am not so vital to the world. Forcing these dismal thoughts from her mind, Galatea continued on. She was heading for the Charopolis, the first city of Adlaborn. It had changed in the years since the fateful conversation, the first of a scant handful in all her long years, and yet it still felt familiar. “Thou shalt always have a place here,” Sint Erklass had told her. Though she had never held a fixed abode… was this place her home? Did she even have one? She shook such thoughts from her mind: she had not come here to reminisce. She trotted up to the ruined gates of the Charopolis, frowning as she approached the mighty citadel’s walls. Once, long ago, these gates had been wrought of mythril and silver, twinkling with the light of the stars. They had been made using an art that not even Galatea understood – a lost beauty from the age before her awakening. Galatea didn’t know how old these gates – or indeed this city – were, and had never researched it, considering it irrelevant to her work. Another regret, she mused. One can only hope the libraries here have survived, even in part. It was a slim hope at best, but anything was better than nothing. For in Sint Erklass’ libraries, she had to hope that he might have held some answer to what madness had taken hold of Celestia. Author's Note Galatea’s meeting with Sint was certainly an interesting one to write. Obviously the depiction of Sint Erklass (and, indeed, Adlaborn itself) in the Reduxverse is different to how he has been shown elsewhere: it’s been interesting finding a balance between the original depiction and my own thoughts on the archetype. But the Guardian of Joy is certainly a joy to write for, both as father and protector. And it’s interesting to consider his history with Galatea in light of Redux’s main story and his upcoming role there.
Two: A Father’s RequestView OnlineThe Silent SentinelTwo: A Father’s RequestThe Silent Sentinel Two A Father’s Request Jed R. Then. Adlaborn. Year 1 of the Calendar Celestia Solitarius. 1,000 years before the Anno Harmonia. There was only one being who could summon Galatea in all of Equus, and so when she felt that call she left the city of Canterlot to meet with him. It would have been a lie to say that the meeting was one Galatea was looking forward to. Quite the contrary – she strongly suspected that this was one meeting she would find… difficult. But Sint Erklass had never before summoned her, never once asked her to come here and speak with him. That meant that he had something to say. Unfortunately, Galatea had a very good idea what exactly that something was. He was waiting by the same stream they had met by two and a half thousand years previously. The stream had expanded, becoming more of a river, though still shallow enough for fawns and foals to play in at their leisure. He wore a black cloak of mourning, still rimmed in white. In the pale light of the full moon, the stag no longer looked scarlet – instead, he looked cold and dark, and his expression was unreadable. “Do you know why I’ve asked you here?” he asked her without preamble. She dropped her concealment charm – she had kept it on now for nearly a month, watching events unseen and hidden, so there was a brief feeling of tension dropping from her head that felt oddly relieving. She had spent years perfecting the charm, to the point that she could stand right next to another and not be seen… and yet, no matter how much more proficient she became with the charm, he could always sense her. Or perhaps he was just very good at guessing. “I… have a guess,” she said hesitantly. It was strange. She was not afraid, as such, but she was… nervous. Almost as though she was afraid of his judgement. ‘To me, thou art a daughter as much as they’, he had told her once. And though she hardly had what she would have called a father-daughter relationship with him, as she understood the concept (and watching him with her sisters had certainly been an education in that)… he was the closest thing she would ever have. “Were you there?” he asked. She nodded. “I saw it all. From a distance, admittedly, but I heard what was said. I saw their battle.” Sint nodded slowly. “But you did not act.” “It was not the time,” Galatea replied at once. “Celestia had the matter well in hoof.” “Did she, really?” Sint Erklass asked. “I visited her, you know. After all was said and done, and the moon was marked.” He sniffed. “At Canterlot, not their castle. Celestia has all but abandoned that fortress now.” “I saw your arrival at the city,” Galatea said softly. Sint nodded, his expression still controlled. “And did you hear what was said then?” Galatea flinched at his tone. “I did not intrude. It was… private.” Sint snorted derisively. “Most would say you exist to intrude on their privacy, Galatea.” “I exist to protect them and keep them on the path,” Galatea replied, scowling at him in turn. “Had you seen your sister’s tears,” Sint a Erklass said coldly, “you would not think her protected.” There was a long, pregnant pause between them. “She acted well,” Galatea said after a moment. “Though it hurt her to do it, she defeated this ‘Nightmare Moon’ and preserved peace in Equestria.” “At the cost of her sister,” Sint Erklass said. “She is banished, not dead,” Galatea retorted hotly. “And there is yet hope for her return and restoration.” “What hope is there?!” Sint roared suddenly, his teeth bared in rage. Galatea stepped back, eyes widened in shock. She had never seen Sint Erklass so much as raise his voice before – to see him now so lacking in serenity was… unnerving. “Luna was lonely,” Sint continued, taking a step towards Galatea. “Lonely, and afraid, and feeling as though her efforts were wasted and unappreciated – and what did you do? Nothing!” “I know many things, Sint Erklass, but I cannot read their thoughts,” Galatea said. “I could not have anticipated -” “You did nothing!” Sint snapped. “Not even when the two of them tore their home apart! When they all-but killed one another!” Galatea closed her eyes. “It was not mine place to protect Celestia from Luna’s aberration, not when she herself was able to handle the situation, not when she herself was capable!” “You told me once that you would act to stop them becoming tyrants,” Sint said. “What was this aberration if not that? Would it not have been your purpose to fight alongside Celestia? Could you not have prevented what happened to Luna?!” “I do not know what happened to her,” Galatea said quietly. “And so, no, I could not have prevented anything.” Sint Erklass blinked. “You… do not know. You have spent two and a half millennia watching them, yet somehow you do not know what they are capable of?” “I am imparted with all the knowledge that mine Mother had about Alicorns,” Galatea replies, “but we were engineered, Sint Erklass, not born. You know that better than I. You were there.” She paused, fearing for a moment that she had gone too far. His expression was stony, and he was glaring at her with a rage she had hitherto never seen in him. When he did not reply, she continued. “There is much we do not know about what we were made to do, what we are capable of doing. For all we know, this is some evolution of Alicorn kind.” “That, I highly doubt,” Sint Erklass snorted. Galatea sighed. “You and I both know that the forms of engineering that we came from are not always pleasant. The Chimerae, for example?” Sint Erklass’ expression softened. “You make a point there. But I cannot believe that this was intended.” “Intended by Faust, no,” Galatea said, “but intended by whatever force created the Fausticorn and laid down the blueprints for Alicorns at all? That, neither of us could say for certain.” Sint’s expression was unreadable. Finally, he sighed. “Still,” he said. “You should have done something. That was what you were made to do.” “I am… I am made to protect them,” Galatea said. “Not constrain them. To deny them their choices, to force them to conform to the role they are meant to fit in a constricting manner of mine own interpretation… that is not what mine Mother wanted for them, nor for me.” Sint snorted. “Luna is not protected. Not by any stretch of the imagination.” “She was not meant to be protected from her own choices,” Galatea said, “she was meant to be protected from others -” “What others left on this world could hurt them?!” Sint snapped. “Since when were you so naive?” Galatea shot back. “This world is more powerful and more dangerous than you, I, or even mine Mother knew, Sint Erklass, and pretending otherwise is stupid, a word I have never had cause to think of you before!” There was a long pause, and for a moment Galatea thought Sint Erklass might shout at her again. “But,” Sint Erklass said, “is it not also true that you were made to prevent them both from becoming a threat to this world? Faust knew that was possible.” “Indeed,” Galatea nodded, “but Luna was stopped long before I needed to step in.” “Oh, yes, long before indeed,” Sint Erklass scowled. “All she managed to do was break her sister’s heart.” There was a long, pregnant pause between them, filled with a thousand unsaid cruelties that both of them could have thrown. Where were you, old stag, when the daughter you raised was in misery? Galatea found herself thinking, but she dismissed that thought. It was unworthy of her. “What was Luna made to be?” Sint asked after a moment. “Celestia’s companion and friend throughout the ages,” Galatea replied at once. “Her moral compass, her heart’s guide, her conscience.” She was quoting their Mother’s words, and yet never had the repetition of those hallowed commandments proved so empty to her before. “And it does not occur to you that she could chafe under those restrictions?” Sint Erklass said. “To act as another’s heart, another’s conscience, but to be alone herself?” “They were not meant to know they have any restrictions!” Galatea said, almost desperately. “Their entire lives are meant to be free – to choose their own path!” “Like you?” Sint asked, arching an eyebrow. “No, not like me,” she hissed. “I know the path. I have always known the path. And I am content in being alone. Celestia and Luna have always had one another – that was their support! They exist to balance each other – to work with each other!” “Clearly that aspect of their relationship failed,” Sint said coldly. “Obviously,” Galatea retorted. “But it was not mine place to fix it.” “They walk a path you could have warned them of,” Sint retorted. “It is not mine role to make their choices for them!” Galatea reiterated. Sint continued unrelenting. “And I do not say you should, but had you come forth, told them what they were made for -” Galatea shook her head. “That would have constrained them.” “You are not so damaged for that constraint,” Sint pointed out. “And at least they would have known. And had you.” “I was made to know, they were not.” Galatea’s voice was crackling, whether with emotion or overuse she could not tell. She couldn’t recall speaking for this long in centuries. “And I walk the solitary path mine Mother set down knowingly, and happily, for it allows them to be free.” “Free like Luna is now?!” Sint Erklass shouted, motioning to the moon. Galatea did not look – she doubted she would be able to look at the moon for a very long time. “Free like she was, to choose her own path, even if it was a self-destructive one,” she replied, but it was little more than a murmur. “What was the point of that?!” Sint Erklass snapped. “Was this misery, this confrontation, not inevitable?” Galatea let out a deep sigh. Suddenly, she was acutely aware of just how tired she was. No, more than that. How old she was. She had watched her sisters take the dual throne of Equestria, had watched them defeat the last of the Old Junta, negotiate with the Unicornic princes, expand Equestria from a core of broken peoples to almost the entirety of the pony race. So many years, so many triumphs. And all you can do is watch. “I do not know, Sint Erklass,” she finally said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. “I am not omniscient. I am a sentinel – but a sentinel can still fail.” Sint Erklass nodded, though he said nothing for a long moment. Galatea closed her eyes, willing the sudden wash of anger and misery that she felt away. “Can you do nothing now?” Sint’s voice suddenly asked. Galatea opened her eyes. He was looking at her almost desperately. “No,” she finally said. “Nothing?” Sint asked. “Can you not… can you not free her?” Galatea pursed her lips. “I do not… I don’t know. So much of this… I do not know the power of the Elements of Harmony, the things Celestia used. I could not begin to undo that power, not without that understanding.” Sint Erklass’ expression softened. “No. I suppose that would be a wrinkle in such an effort, would it not? Those devices are older than any of us, and beyond even the understanding of the Ancients.” Galatea frowned. “Perhaps Celestia will find a way.” Sint sighed, but said nothing for a long moment. Galatea could feel “She should not have had to,” he suddenly said. He looked up and met her eyes. “A sentinel you call yourself? But what good is a sentinel who will not act when she is needed? They needed you, Galatea, your sisters needed you, and what were you doing?” He scowled. “Nothing.” Galatea closed her eyes again, feeling a sudden wash of… nausea? Yes, that was it – she felt nauseous, but she didn’t know why. When she opened her eyes, Sint Erklass looked stricken, as though he, too, felt suddenly ill. She met his eyes, and felt a sudden wave of something – sadness? Regret? “You…” he began slowly. “I have work to do,” she cut him off. She swallowed. “I am sorry I could not protect your daughters from themselves. Truthfully, I wish I knew how I could. I always thought I would know how to act, how to stop them from straying, but…” She blinked. Something wet was on her face. “Galatea,” Sint Erklass said. There was something else in his expression now, but Galatea did not care to interpret it. “I will trouble you no longer, Guardian of Joy,” she said shortly, turning away from him at once. Her horn glowed, and in a flash of light she was miles away from the stream and from the disappointed glare of the old Reindeer. She stood alone in a different forest. Only now that she was alone did she finally risk looking up at the moon, and the face that was now there. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry.” She no longer needed to hide her tears, and so she did not. She let out a howl – rage? Misery? Self-loathing? Perhaps it was all of these things. She stayed in that forest, weeping, until her throat was raw, her eyes were blurred and her body shook. Slowly, she calmed herself. There was still one sister, a sister who needed a sentinel more than ever. With work still to do, Galatea spread her wings wide, and flew. Now. Charopolis, Equus-Imperator. The stone road of the Charopolis led up from the gate to the Citadel itself. Along the road lay broken trees and burnt grass – the only remnants of the great battle fought here. Again, the bodies had been taken, even the fallen Newfoals and other abominations Galatea knew the Solar Empire had unleashed. Galatea scowled as she trotted along the ruined street towards the Citadel. Why did you not call me? she wondered. Did you believe I would not act, that I would fail as you thought I failed then? Though she knew she was fooling herself if she believed being here would have totally averted this outcome, Galatea couldn’t believe that being here wouldn’t have made some, small difference. Even if the one who had commanded Celestia’s armies here, her ‘Angel’, had managed to kill Sint Erklass himself. I could have done something, Sint, she thought as she reached the broken door of the Citadel itself. I could have helped you. Family, you called me once – but what sort of family am I, to leave you to die? The citadel was sacked as well. Walls were scorched, and though the bodies had been moved and burned by the occupying forces (before they left, at least), there was a stench of death about the place. Galatea stayed quiet as she moved into the citadel. The central staircase was still there, as were the halls leading into rooms at the east and west wings of the great edifice. Though Celestia had apparently held no interest in actually holding Adlaborn after her Angel wiped it clean, there was still a chance that there were Guardsponies roaming the halls, finishing the cleanup job. Moving as quietly as she could, Galatea headed up the stairwell, careful to keep her hoof-steps as quiet as they could be. The library she was seeking was on the tenth floor of the citadel, behind another pair of massive oak doors. What is it with ancient towers and massive doors? she thought with a smirk. Or perhaps it is a symbol of power? Her horn glowed and she pushed the doors open with only a little effort, wincing at the loud creaking that sounded. Galatea stepped into the library. But her heart sank as light from her horn was cast onto the shelves. Many of the books of the great library had been reduced to ashes. Shelves that reached high up into the cavernous ceiling had been smashed and torn, and ancient tones that had been protected by magicks unknown to even Galatea herself had been torn apart. One of the first acts of any great tyrant, Galatea thought sadly. Destroy the books. There was little chance of finding anything intact here, but she knew she had to try. She started going over the wreckage, her horn glowing as she picked over the ruined shelves and the burnt books. Something glinted, underneath some of the rubble. Galatea frowned, before moving aside the rubble with a quick exertion of magic. The glinting object in question was a small shard of a silver medallion, pitted and melted in places. But inside the medallion, Galatea could see a small crystal. Hidden knowledge, perhaps? she thought, frowning. Gently she picked the crystal out of the medallion, frowning at it – only for the crystal to fly from her magical grip and hover in the air. Galatea stepped back, a shield raised hastily between her and the crystal. It hovered in the air for a long moment, before glinting again. Suddenly, a figure flickered to life, projected by the crystal. The figure was tall, scarlet, clad in a long cloak and carrying a pair of pickaxes strapped to his body. Sint Erklass, clad for war. “Galatea, if you are here, this message should have activated. So I know that you are watching.” There was a long pause, as though the old stag did not know what to say. “I cannot spare the time to give you the apology you deserve for our last meeting, so know that I am sorry, and I am more sorry that we have not spoken since. But, alas, we will have no time for me to make reparations.” Galatea’s eyes were wide. He had left a message for her? Judging by his attire this had been during the battle that had ended the Reindeer race. “If you are watching this, then my worst fears have come to pass. I could not protect the Charopolis, and Celestia’s ‘Angel’ has come to end me.” The image of Sint snorted. “There is much I do not understand abou what has happened – about why she would choose to do this. And I admit to a certain disappointment that she could not even bear to come here and end me herself. But whatever has happened, there may have been a clue to it in the library here. This is what brought you here.” Galatea nodded, then felt foolish and looked away. “Obviously, they intend to destroy us,” Sint’s image continued, “so I do not anticipate them leaving the library intact. But fortunately, there is another option.” Galatea blinked, before looking back at the image of Sint Erklass. He can’t mean… “The Librarium at the Tower of Stars,” the image said. “It will have information on magics long since lost to this world, and it is hopefully out of the reach of Celestia for the moment. Even if it were not, the spirits that protected it will not give up their post so easily – you may yet have time to aid them.” Galatea nodded, but she felt a wave of apprehension. The Tower of Stars… she thought. Closing her eyes, she let out a sigh. “You do not make mine task easy, do you, old stag?” she asked ruefully. “Of course I don’t.” Galatea’s head shot up. The image of Sint was smiling right at her. “But ‘easy’ was never your path, my daughter.” “You’re…” Galatea whispered. “Dead, but I left enough residual energy in this to say goodbye,” the image of Sint Erklass said. “I know you are most likely afraid. But I also know that you will have the strength to do what must be done.” Galatea nodded dumbly. For a moment there was silence between them. The image of Sint Erklass continued to smile paternally at her. “I suppose it would be useless to ask if you have any answers for… this,” Galatea finally asked, waving her wing airily. “Had I answers, I would have tried to stop it, or let you know how to,” Sint Erklass’ remnant said sadly. “But I do not. I do not understand why Celestia has chosen this path, what pushed her in this way. What I do know is that it is up to you to stop her.” “That much I already knew,” Galatea said dully. “Ah, yes,” Sint’s image said, his smile fading. “I do not mean to remind you of the enormity of your task. Only to tell you that I have faith in you.” He paused, and the smile returned, bittersweet and tired. “And so, farewell, my daughter. May the world that awaits be a kinder one.” With that final sentiment, Sint Erklass’ image faded into nothingness. The strength to do what must be done. Galatea shook her head. Increasingly she feared she did not know ‘what must be done’. So much made no sense. But he had faith in you, Galatea thought. He had faith in you to do the right thing, no matter what it is. So – to the Tower of Stars it was. Perhaps in that hallowed place, she would find the answers she sought. Author's Note I always knew there was more to the story of Galatea’s role in the fight between Nightmare Moon and Celestia than I’ve managed to explore before. And this chapter also explores how Sint Erklass might have felt after, effectively, one of his daughters had to banish the other to the moon. I’d like to say it was super planned out, but like all arguments it started and just sort of went from there.
Three: CoronationView OnlineThe Silent SentinelThree: CoronationThe Silent Sentinel Three Coronation Jed R. TheIdiot. Then. 3,469 years before the dawn of the Anno Harmonia. They called it the Tower of Stars. It was a mighty edifice of black stone, standing at least five hundred feet high. The stone glittered and glimmered, wrought with magicks far beyond the understanding of the ponies that surrounded it. Even the Unicorns, mighty as they were, had no knowledge of the power that it had taken to build it. Nor, for that matter, did Galatea. She didn’t really mind not knowing – indeed, it was nice to have some mysteries in the world, some great edifices that did not have a name and history she knew in the deep library of her own mind. The Tower of Stars was older than her, and it gave her a sense of scale. The rumour had long held in the lands surrounding these mountains that Celestia and Luna had first gained the loyalty of the three kindred here. Galatea had missed that particular event, more wrapped up at the time in trying (and, admittedly, failing) to navigate a world wracked in calamity, but by the time she had reached the Tower, the ponies there – including the famed Flash Magnus – had already pledged themselves to the two sisters. It was a step on a road that Galatea had not foreseen for her sisters, but it was not one that caused any alarm to her, nor did her understanding of their mother’s plan decree that it was in any way ‘wrong’. That had been thirteen years ago. Only now, after political wrangling that even Galatea had found dull, had a decision been made. There had been bloodshed, but only a little – skirmishes, brawls, assassination attempts. Galatea did not dare imagine how Celestia and Luna had felt about such events. There had even been, to the grey Alicorn’s irritation, an attempt to decree that being ‘blanks’ – the derogatory term for those who had yet to manifest their soul mark – rendered Celestia and Luna as false beings, artificial. If only those fools knew the truth, Galatea thought, resisting the urge to snort. They’d defecate themselves like mindless animals. She was amongst the crowds now watching as the two Alicorns, flanked by the looming, bipedal figures of the Astral Praetorians, ascended to the top of the Tower’s entrance stair, before turning to face the crowds. The Praetorians were what had, in many ways, saved the nascent diarchy from being mired in endless internecine conflict. It had been ten years ago, three years after their initial success with the Tower, that the Praetorians has revealed themselves. Their presence had legitimised the sisters’ claim, or more pertinently the claim they had been given by the ponies who had raised them up. There had been so much pain, heartache and worry in the years since they had first come here that Galatea would have been lying had she denied having doubts. She knew her sisters were strong, and Luna and Celestia supported one another perfectly, perhaps even more so than their mother had intended. And now here they stood – poised to take up a new challenge. A pony – an alabaster Unicorn with a short blonde mane and a scar along one eye – came up to the podium. This was Lord Blueblood of Unicornia, late of the Unicorn kingdom before leaving to join the increasing ranks of the nobility who had defected to Equestria. Though the old separate nations – the Earth Pony Republic, the Pegasi Junta and the Unicorn’s Kingdom – had shrunk in power and influence, still they clung to life. He stood for a moment silently, looking out at the assembled ponies, frowning at the assembled throng until there was silence. Galatea smiled in faint amusement from beneath her hood. “Ponies of Equestria!” Blueblood called out to the assembled crowd after a moment. “Two stand before thee, avatars of the unity our fair nation seeks! The bearers of the Sun and Moon, the masters of the Praetorians! These two would ask for thine fealty! What say thee?!” “Have them speak!” came the chorus from the crowd. Galatea remained silent, looking around at the calling ponies. There was something… odd about such ritual, and yet it seemed to give comfort to these ponies. So much you don’t understand, her memories told her. She knew things were the way they were, but so much of the knowledge her mother had left failed to really make clear why. Blueblood turned to Luna first. “Luna Faustdóttir, Bearer of the Moon, we charge thee to rule us as mistress of the Night. What say thee?” “I say that I will bear this burden if the ponies of Equestria ask,” Luna replied properly, speaking loudly and clearly (louder than Galatea remembered her speaking – was she putting it on?). “I will be thine shield and protector. Thy burdens I shalt bear as mine own. Thy blood and mine shalt be as one.” “We hear thy pledge,” Blueblood said. “What say thee, ponies of Equestria?! Dost thou accept this pledge?!” “Aye!” the chorus of voices retorted. “And thee, Celestia Faustdóttir?” Blueblood continued, turning to Celestia. “We charge thee to rule as mistress of the Sun. What say thee?!” “I say that I will bear this burden with a glad heart, and feel naught but love and joy at the trust thou hast placed upon me,” Celestia replied, smiling brightly. “I will be thine leader, and to all of mine charges I shalt be as mother, to protect and to nurture, and to see grow into the fullness of their destinies!” “We hear thy pledge,” Blueblood recited once more. “What say thee, ponies of Equestria?! Dost thou accept this pledge?!” “Aye!” the chorus of voices spoke once more. Galatea couldn’t help but feel a small modicum of sisterly pride in the joy she saw around her from the ponies, and in the way both her sisters seemed at relative ease on the podium. “Then to thee we lay this charge, to lead us fair and true, ‘til the ending of your days,” Blueblood said to the two Alicorns. “What say thee? Wilt thou take up this burden? Wilt thou lead us?!” “Aye!” the two Alicorns chorused as one. Even as Celestia and Luna said this, however, there was a sudden bright light. The pair of them were shrouded in it for but a moment, and then it faded, revealing the two Alicorns once more – including their soul marks. Upon Luna’s flank there lay a striking image of the Moon, shrouded in clouds and darkness. Upon Celestia’s flank, there lay the image of the Sun, resplendent in its beauty. “Do you see?!” Blueblood called. “There they stand! Their souls are revealed to us, and this is their destiny and ours as one!” He turned to the crowd once more,raising one hoof up triumphantly. “Hail to the Alicorns! Hail to the Princesses of Equestria!” “Hail!” the cry went up from across the crowd of ponies. Confetti was thrown, colourful shreds of paper that danced in the breeze upon the mountaintop. “Hail Celestia! Hail Luna! Hail the Princesses!” “Hail!” Galatea added, her melodious voice drowned out by the crowd. “Hail!” Her sisters smiled, apparently content, and Galatea could feel it too. “They will have to do it for the rest of their lives,” Sint Erklass said later. He had not been part of the crowd, instead opting to stand at the peripheries and watch with pride. “Or at least, until some method is found to repair the Tower.” “That would be better,” Galatea said evenly, “but of all the beings left with this responsibility, to leave it to them seems the best of poor options. They are diligent and kind, at least in my estimation.” “They are at that,” Sint Erklass said, smiling. The two were silent for a moment, both stood in quiet contemplation. Galatea sighed, looking over to where the two Alicorns could faintly be seen at the base of the tower, milling with the ponies who had crowned them and answering questions with polite smiles. “Strange that they would cede control, of their lives to mine sisters so readily,” she commented after a moment. “You think so?” Sint Erklass said. “You do not?” Galatea retorted. “They ruled themselves for a time, and we’re content enough. Yet now they give that power to Alicorns. Alicorns who may live for all time, I might add.” “Power resides where ponies believe it resides,” Sint Erklass said quietly. He smiled. “They will rule because the ponies think they should.” “I see,” Galatea said impassively, her eyes still fixed on the Tower. “You don’t disapprove, then?” Sint asked. “This… this fits her plan?” Galatea gave him a small smile. “She meant for them to be the saviours of this world – to take up her mantle as a protector,” she said gently. “Perhaps this, the claiming of rulership… that will be how they achieve that aim.” She shrugged. “Besides which, Sint Erklass, I am not meant to dictate the hows of their roles. So long as Celestia remains benevolent, and Luna remains at her side, they could become the world’s most prosperous farmers and feed the hungry for eternity, for all the plan demands.” Sint Erklass chuckled. “Somehow, I doubt that.” “Well, perhaps I jest a tad,” Galatea chuckled. Her mirth faded into a warm smile. “No. I believe that she knew they would be leaders of their own kindred among the lesser ponies. The how and the why, she did not know, but it was inevitable.” “And she relied on me to raise them to be good rulers,” Sint Erklass said, looking back at the two figures as they stood on the stairs of the Tower and met with more of the various lords who had come to witness their coronation. “I hope I have succeeded.” “Time will tell, Guardian of Joy,” Galatea said, still smiling. “Time will tell.” Now. The Tower of Stars. Time had, indeed, told. If only it hadn’t been fixated on making its tale a tragedy. The Tower was burning. The obsidian walls were cracked, no longer glittering. The spirits, the Praetorians, were gone, broken armour and broken swords the only sign that they had ever been here at all. The ponies who had assailed this place had taken their dead with them, but Galatea privately thought that it must have cost the Empire greatly to take this place. Yet they still took it, she thought, scowling. Walking past more broken armour towards the base of the tower, she climbed the stairs. Her hooves clicked against the stone so loudly that they seemed to echo in the very air. The great door to the Tower creaked open, revealing more of the same destruction. Shattered shelves, empty armour… Nothing has survived. She sniffed, scowling at the destruction around her. They’ve destroyed it all. Still, she could not give up hope yet. The Librarium was through one of the doors on the ground floor, discovered long ago by the ponies who had sworn themselves to Celestia’s service. It was there the Praetorians had been found, and had cleaved themselves to Celestia as well. Like so many others that believed they knew her, she thought bitterly, they have been betrayed and destroyed. She couldn’t keep focusing on it, though. She trotted last the armour and entered the Librarium, edging carefully along the outer edge of the great library. The books here were in no better state than at the Charopolis, and Galatea felt a wave of something akin to despair rising up in her chest and threaten to overwhelm her. There must be something, she thought. There must be something here worth finding, something here worth using. There has to be. “I’m afraid if you’re looking for something, you won’t find it here,” a voice cut through her despairing thoughts. Galatea started, her horn glowing and a defensive shield appearing. Slouched upon a makeshift chair was a strange figure. Their form was bipedal and strange, built not like any of those on Equus. While having a full body coat like a yak’s, a lush and luxurious dark, and the horns of a goat, their posture wasn’t animalistic. Curiously, around the figure’s form were shakes and chains – broken chains of various lengths – but still there were apparent shackles. Ones that were made with cloven hooves in mind. However, the most apparent attribute of this figure was their face. While dark colored, a lighter shade of their coat, it was angularly shaped and looked like leather. Not like a bat, but instead something else despite the hint of fangs. Beyond the goat-like beard on their chin and horns atop their head. Regardless, this creature was something strange… and yet she recognised it. “You need not take any offensive action,” the creature said, raising a limb weakly to reveal a claw clutching a tree branch of some kind. “I cannot harm you. Nor do I particularly have the inclination to try.” Galatea did not relax. “I know you.” “You know of me,” it retorted. “Sint Erklass was, alas, biased in his estimation of me. We all have those, you know, and we all speak with them, whether we admit to them or not.” “He believed you to be a monster, albeit one whose life was tragic,” Galatea retorted. “Would you dispute that, Krampus?” “Vigorously,” the creature – the Krampus – replied, giving a hacking cough that might have hidden a laugh. “My life’s been positively genial for the last few millennia, this recent…” he trailed off into a hack, “event aside.” Galatea said nothing, merely observing the creature carefully. For a moment, the two stood there in silence. “You came here seeking the Librarium of the Stars,” the creature coughed once more. “I fear you are too late. It is gone, laid waste by Equestrian soldiers.” “You were Sint Erklass’ prisoner,” Galatea scowled. “Once,” it said. It motioned to itself. “No longer.” “How did you get free?” she asked it. “Sint Erklass’ magic requires Sint Erklass to be alive to use it,” it replied. “and since he is no longer, his magic has lost its power.” A talon pointed to the collar around their neck. “The bonds broken.” She narrowed her eyes at it. “You are injured.” “Dying, I should think,” it replied, with all the emotion of one vaguely irritated by the weather. “How?” Galatea asked. “And, more to the point, why?” “Sint Erklass and his children were not the only target of Celestia’s ‘Angel’.” The Krampus coughed once more. “The Queen wanted me gone, too. Possibly more so than she did Sint. Hard to say – at a certain point, hate becomes indistinguishable from greater hate.” “Why did she do this?” Galatea asked quietly. “Do you know?” “I do not,” it replied. “Though I have theories, none of them…” It let out yet another cough, more strained than the last. “None of them are wholly fitting. But one thing is clear as day.” Galatea frowned. “What might that be, creature?” “Celestia is not Celestia,” the Krampus said. “She would have no cause for this madness. It is not her way.” Something in the way it said that made Galatea’s blood run cold. “Beings change, Krampus.” “And yet you know as well as I do that this is not accurate to her way,” the Krampus retorted. For a moment, Galatea could see a spark of madness in the tired eyes the Krampus had. Alas, it was just a moment and faded quickly. “If she were to do this, become this, it would feel like her. A corrupted her, a maddened her, but still her. This…” Another cough. “This is not.” Galatea’s brows knitted together, her eyes widening. She had not dared to hope, to think that there was some way to make this right, but if what this creature was saying was true… If it’s true, there is hope yet. “Could… could she be freed from it?” she asked. “I do not know, for I do not know what it is possessing her,” the Krampus said. “It feels… familiar, like a bad taste in my mouth, but I have forgotten more than most beings know. But you must hope she can be broken free of it.” It coughed again, flecks of what might have been blood flying from its mouth, but it was laughing as a hint of its tongue could be seen. “The alternative is, you must destroy her.” Galatea swallowed. “If I must.” “If you must, Sentinel, but I am not even sure you can.” It coughed again. “My brother… Kontagion… he attacked her, and she laid him to waste. Smote his ruin upon the Canterhorn.” Another cough, weaker this time. “And he was wilier and more powerful than either of us.” The creature let out one final cough, before laughing, long and hard. “You know,” it said after a moment, “I often envisioned this. Freedom. Sint Erklass laid to waste. His children’s suffering.” It’s laughter faded. “Strange how life curses us with what we want most.” Galatea scowled briefly, before turning to leave. “Can you do it, Sentinel?” the Krampus called to her. “Face down your sister? Defeat her? Do you truly think you can bring yourself to end her after such a long vigil?” Galatea paused, before looking over her shoulder. “I was made to follow mine Mother’s plan,” she replied. “And in service of that… I will do what I must.” And with that, she left the Librarium and the wounded creature. Her mind was racing, thought and possibility mixing together to create one final truth, one certainty. She had work to do. Author's Note With great thanks to TheIdiot for his work on fleshing out the Krampus.
Four: EarthView OnlineThe Silent SentinelFour: EarthThe Silent Sentinel Act Two The Last Sentinel Four Earth Jed R. In those first dark days it seemed certain the bright flame of resistance would be extinguished before it could cast the light of new truth across a galaxy of oppressed and beaten peoples… Star Wars: A New Hope (novelisation). Then. Unitopia, Unicornia, 3,476 BAH (Before Anno Harmonia). “They’re deciding the fate of all of Unicorn kind right there, you know.” Nodding absently, Galatea took a sip of the ale that the Unicorn stallion had put in front of her. The inn she was sat in (named The Wingéd Unicorn, in what she could only ever have described as a fit of superb irony) was full of Unicorns, most of them drinking and muttering about the negotiations happening in Castle Unitopia. Right now, Galatea knew, her sisters were up in the castle, meeting with Princess Adamant and her court, alongside Lord Blueblood and the many other lords who had gathered to support them in the intervening years. It was strange to think just how readily the Unicorn lords had been willing to accept the two sisters, yet it seemed less so when one heard of the tacit words of approval left by the so called ‘Pillars’ – Starswirl the Bearded had disappeared only a scant few years after they had declared their allegiance (and by default that of their supporters) to Celestia and Luna. “What d’you think will happen?” the tavern’s proprietor asked. “With it all, I mean.” Galatea shrugged. “I wouldn’t wish to guess.” “Huh.” The stallion frowned at her, as if scrutinising her carefully. “You a noble? Y’sound like one.” “No,” Galatea replied evenly. She had been careful not to seem too conspicuous: dirtying up her face and slipping her well-worn, tattered brown robe over her body. Yet she knew her voice and manner were hardly typical. A pity my mother did not make me an actress, she pondered, amongst mine other skills. Sipping at her ale, she smiled at the suspicious innkeeper. “If I were a noble,” she said, “I’d be up there, deciding our fates right alongside the Alicorns.” “‘Alicorns’,” the stallion said dismissively, apparently dismissing his scrutiny of Galatea for the moment. “Pfft. Believe it when I see it. Just some more buckin’ Unicorn lords, I bet.” “Right,” another of the patrons said drowsily from one corner. “The Alicorns are a myth, nothing more.” There were a dozen murmurs of assent from around the tavern, echoing this oft-held belief. The irony was hardly lost on Galatea, who simply contented herself with sitting and sipping away at her ale. How could they believe it? she thought to herself. They have not seen them with their own eyes, and we live in an age of superstition and fear. If they believed all the horrors that came from above, they would soil themselves and hide beneath their beds until the world ended. “They ain’t no myth,” another patron suddenly said from their table. Galatea blinked, turning to look at the speaker who dared disagree with the drunken patrons surrounding him, many of whom were already giving him glares of hostility. He was a soldier, with a scar across one eye and an inked tattoo that covered his cutie mark on one side (and at the sight of that particular voluntary disfigurement Galatea repressed a shudder). “How the buck d’you know?” the innkeeper asked hotly. “You weren’t there,” the soldier said. “At the Tower, when they moved the stars. I was.” “You were?” Galatea asked. She had not been there to see the event that had, as far as she could tell, set her sisters’ fates on a new path, and she sorely wished she had. “I was,” the stallion slurred. “And by the stars, it was mad. They tell tales of the old ones, y’know, the ones who came before? Crazy stuff. Like a story from your foalhood, right?” Galatea nodded, idly wondering for a moment what a foalhood was even like. “But it was real,” the stallion continued. “It was all real.” The patrons of the inn murmured amongst themselves. Their hostility had melted as quickly as it had been stoked, and now they were content to murmur fearfully amongst themselves. The innkeeper shook his head. “How… how can they be real? Could they be?” Galatea affected a disinterested shrug. “There is more to our world than we know, I suppose. They may well be.” “There is that,” the innkeeper agreed, chuckling. “Just wish it didn’t involve ponies making decisions for us that we know naught about. I don’t trust it.” “No?” Galatea asked. “The Unicorn lords have made decisions for you all your lives and the lives of your forebears that you know naught about.” “Aye, and they were Unicorns,” the innkeeper countered. “A Unicorn makes a decision, chances are it’ll be a decision a Unicorn would make. Not whatever an Alicorn or whatever they are would do. We don’t know if they think the way we do, or if they have the same beliefs or priorities we do.” Galatea only smiled. Now it was simple prejudice talking. One could hardly blame the innkeeper for believing that rhetoric. Fear and ignorance were powerful things. And yet… “If they are real,” she said gently, “they must have great power. Yet they have not conquered you.” “What do you think they’re talking about up there?” the innkeeper snorted. “It’s not a battle. But it is conquest.” “I have not fought any war,” Galatea replied, “but I do not believe that conquest looks like ponies sitting around a table.” The innkeeper frowned, but something in his expression softened. “That’s as maybe,” he said. “Well, I suppose, as long as they don’t mess with my business, I shan’t be too put out.” He motioned with an empty mug. “I don’t suppose Alicorns drink ale.” Galatea resisted the urge to laugh. Instead, she only took a brief sip of her drink and smiled at him. “You never know,” she said. Now. New York city, Earth, January 12th 2022. “They’re deciding the fate of all humankind in there, you know.” Galatea nodded, not commenting on the supreme irony of the Unicorn stallion serving the drinks saying this. He had motioned to the television set perched atop his bar’s shelf. It wasn’t nearly as rundown and dingy as the inn from all those years ago – how could it be? Yet the feel was much the same, at least in Galatea’s estimation. The red faux-leather sofas and stools, the sticky wooden tables, and the smattering of drunk and nearly-drunk patrons all gave the bar the same energy as the thousands of bars, pubs, and other drinking establishments she had seen over the years. “Deciding what’s to be done, whether we’re going on the offensive or not,” the stallion continued, pouring a drink for himself. “Hope we do, y’know? Staying static is never good in a war.” Not that you would know that much about them, Galatea didn’t say. She’d seen enough armchair generals to know that they all had the same attitudes: they all thought they knew best how to win any war. But no being alive knows how to win this one. They don’t even know what they’re fighting. I don’t even know what we’re fighting. “Should you really be drinking that?” she asked the bartender, sipping her own drink again. “You kidding?” the stallion asked. “The best bartenders sample their own wares. How the fuck do I recommend stuff to people and ponies if I don’t try it?” He grinned. “Besides, do you have any idea how much fun it was trying human alcohol when I first came here? My cutie mark’s made me a connoisseur, and this place is like heaven. There’s at least twice as many alcoholic drinks available, and some of the cocktails?” He kissed his hoof and closed his eyes, a blissful smile on his face. “S’why we have to fight to preserve it,” he said. “All of us, sister. Am I right?” Galatea shrugged. “I cannot disagree with you.” “Heh,” the stallion chuckled. “You some sort of rich pony, ma’am? That sounds like an upper-crust accent right there.” Galatea chuckled. Truly, nothing changes. “No,” she said. “Actually I’m something of a traveller. I’ve never held much stock in monetary goods beyond having enough to purchase a bed and a drink where needed.” “Hey, if it works for you, sister,” the stallion said. “Say, if you don’t mind my asking…” Galatea blinked, tensing unconsciously. “... why are you here? Fine looking mare like yourself, all on your own?” he continued. “Seems a pity.” Galatea relaxed. “I’m neither seeking romantic company, nor mourning mine lack thereof, if that’s what you’re asking.” The stallion shrugged. “Like I said. Pity. If I were so inclined, I might ask for a drink myself, but my husband’d have a fit.” He laughed at his own joke, and Galatea chuckled dutifully. “Then what brings you to my bar after all?” the stallion asked. Galatea only smiled. “I’m waiting for somepony of great importance to come through the door.” “Somepony important, huh?” the stallion asked, chuckling. “Ain’t never been anypony important step through my door, and I doubt they’d start now.” Just then, there was a ding from the bar’s front door. The stallion looked up, and his eyes widened, and without even looking Galatea knew who had come into the bar. “A pity I did not place a bet on that,” she said idly. “It might have done my paltry funds some good.” She turned her head, watching the mint-green Unicorn mare take a seat next to her awkwardly, sunglasses perched over her eyes and a weary frown on her face. The stallion swallowed. “Uh…” “Please, don’t,” the Unicorn said, holding up a hoof. “Just give me something that will make me forget the last seven hours, and then… I dunno, take a ten minute break.” The stallion nodded, pouring out another drink – a clear liquid that might have been a gin or a vodka, Galatea couldn’t tell which. “Thanks,” the Unicorn said, downing the drink in one go. The stallion gave Galatea one final, shell-shocked look, and then trotted off silently. Galatea took another sip of her drink. “What even is that?” the Unicorn asked her. “Whiskey, I think,” Galatea replied evenly. She smirked. “What was that the bartender gave you?” “Fifth of Vodka,” Lyra Heartstrings said evenly. She grimaced. “After the afternoon I’ve had, I really, really need it.” “I take it they didn’t approve of your plan,” Galatea said. “Are you kidding?” Lyra said, her eyebrows rising to meet her mane. “They jumped on it, said it was the best thing ever, and gave me permission to whatever the heck I want.” She scowled. “That’s terrifying.” “The pressure of needing to do the impossible can do that to us all,” Galatea said. “Especially when, in your case, it may truly be the impossible.” “Well, you’re a barrel of laughs, aren’t you?” Lyra rolled her eyes. “So what is it, then?” “Pardon?” Galatea asked. “You know what I mean,” Lyra said, turning to glare at Galatea. “You get to Doctor Whooves, get him to come to me, get me to come to you, all while keeping it hush from UNAC and pretty much all my friends.” She smirked, but it was cold and devoid of humour. “So that tells me a few things: you’re damn well connected. You’re also not Solar Empire.” “What makes you say that?” Galatea said. Lyra tapped the glass Galatea was drinking from. “Human whiskey. This bar serves human-only drinks. Hoppy’s been that way since war broke out. No self-respecting Solar Empire agent would meet in this place.” “Unless I were a spy,” Galatea pointed out. Lyra laughed aloud. “Oh, yes, the spy who went about her spying in the most overt covert way imaginable. I mean, have you met Whooves? I love that stallion but he’s about as covert as a sledgehammer hitting a glass house with a fez on.” “Why ‘a fez on’?” “Because he wears fezzes, duh,” Lyra said, rolling her eyes again. “So come on, Ms – what was it? Galactica?” “Galatea.” “Okay, Galatea,” Lyra said. “What is it exactly that you want?” She narrowed her eyes. “Because you want something. Everypony, everyone, they always want something.” Galatea nodded once. She’d heard that Lyra Heartstrings was clever – and certainly, after all she had gone through, it was only right and fitting that she was cautious as well. Galatea took a deep breath, looking around. “You and I both know there’s more to this than we can see,” she said evenly. “And so I have a proposition.” Lyra frowned. “More to this?” “Don’t play coy with me,” Galatea said sternly, scowling at Lyra. “The Solar Empire. What’s happened to Celestia. This war, this conflict… all of it is far more than meets the eye. There are secrets to uncover.” Lyra swallowed, then nodded. “Yes. Yes, I suppose you’re right.” “I know I am,” Galatea said. “And you know it too. You’ve done research, been to places others have not seen in centuries. That’s how you know Whooves, why you and he are as close as you are. He’s been helping you.” Lyra paused for a moment, then nodded. “Him and others,” she said quietly. “But what’s your interest in those secrets?” “The same as yours,” Galatea said quietly. “We have to save the humans. But more than that, we have to stop Celestia. Whatever she truly is, we have to stop her.” Lyra nodded again, her expression becoming resolute. “Alright, then, Galatea,” she said. “What’s your proposition?” Galatea smiled.
