Wild was listening, even paying attention despite not being able to muster anywhere near the amount of excitement Artful had for the paintings.

“...This is the oldest painting ever. You know, not counting all the other art forms, like stone carvings, but you get what I mean. And, well, it’s the oldest surviving painting on a canvas, dating to before Equestria! It’s not an original, though, unfortunately, but it is a reproduction that was made when the original was still there. From what’s known, it is an exact reproduction, almost one to one. If you looked at the brush strokes and could compare them, you’d see that they’re, like, almost one to one, at least according to the sources. I think it was a journal from some really old contemporary painter, and their name was, um... Ugh, I forgot. Anyway,I’m saying brush strokes, but it was actually made with a tail and, well, limbs too, and that’s amazing. And I really wonder just who made that. But no one knows, so yeah...”

For Wild, it was a somewhat unremarkable painting of a scenery, which included a distant village that could easily fit in medieval times. He didn’t know all that much about history, but he realized that Ponyville houses were distinctly different from what he saw on the painting. If he looked closely - and it was allowed, the painting was thoroughly enchanted to prevent age-related decay or any other sort of damage short of a battle taking place within the building - he could make out what was probably a hoof mark which was then made to look like a bunch of trees, though he had no idea how it was made.

The next thing was an old painting with two stylized ponies - one a unicorn with white fur and pink mane, the other a pegasus with dark-blue fur and lighter blue mane. Both of them were depicted with simple shapes and thin legs that ended as points.

“This is the first painting of Princess Celestia and Princess Luna,” Artful said, “It’s not, like, a proper portrait, definitely far from realistic, and it’s also from the journal of Star Swirl. He was never a painter, not like modern painters, but yeah. Did you know he also knew a lot about pegasi magic despite being a unicorn? That’s why he taught them both. That is, until they became alicorns.”

Wild had no idea Princess Celestia used to have a pink mane, and now that he knew that, he wondered how the two sisters truly looked back then, those many centuries ago. It still blew his mind that they were older than the USA, older than the Medieval period, and maybe even older than the day one of the modern calendar. It made him wonder, just how many things had they experienced? What stories did they have to tell? How many of those stories they had? How many people did they meet over all those years? If he put it into perspective, if they lived on Earth, they would’ve met his distant ancestors, relatives he had no idea of, not even how many times they would be great-grandparents to him. He had no idea who his great-grandparents were, never mind great-great-grandparents or anyone older than that, and that only encompassed perhaps one hundred years of history at most.

Artful led him around the Royal Art Gallery, talking his ears off about even more paintings, some far less significant, in Wild’s opinion, than others, and it didn’t seem like Artful would run out of excitement or information anytime soon. Listening to him took the edge off, letting Wild forget about the now-distant worry about emerging outside again, where his mind would, once again, be one among many, and the pressure of them on his own... he needed to figure out how to deal with that, otherwise he would likely have to return to the orphanage, and all alone too.

Artful and Wild now stood in front of an entire wall dedicated to one large painting - that of Canterlot and the mountain it stood on. It looked almost like a photograph, though, on a close inspection, brush strokes became evident. Even then, the level of detail was extremely impressive.

“This was from an exam Star Swirl had for the princesses,” Artful explained, “To judge their precision, memory, dedication, and cooperation. No one knows exactly which parts belong to which princess.”

Wild tried his best to spot any noticeable differences between various parts of the painting, but he truly could not, certainly not without knowing more about art than he did. This made him wonder, though - if the princesses were so good at cooperating that they did this truly masterful painting together... what made them drift apart prior to Luna’s banishment? Wild did not think he would have been able to cooperate with someone to make a painting, certainly not of this quality. Either he would abandon it or want to make it all according to how he wanted it to be done. Perhaps it was like swordsmanship, in a way, and he could not, for the life of him, imagine how he would fight side by side with someone. His style of fighting did not lend itself well to cooperation, in his mind. And if he did have to fight with someone together, he had no idea how he would do it aside from protecting their back the best he could and hoping his partner would do the same for him.

The atmosphere changed when Artful led Wild to a circular chamber, perhaps three meters in diameter. It was made of rough stone with a domed top, clearly entirely different from the rest of the Gallery. Every single surface was covered by drawings, and all of them were quite simple. The dome contained writing that repeated itself and spiraled to the point at the very top. Wild got an odd feeling from this chamber, one that made his hair almost stand up and his senses sharpen in preparation... for what?

“This,” Artful spoke quietly, almost in a whisper, and his voice was seemingly swallowed, no echo despite the nature of the chamber, “Is Mage’s Madness.”

This time, Wild did shiver.

“Shortly after the formation of Equestria, a group of twelve unicorns ventured back into the Frozen North. Six returned, carrying this,” Artful continued, “It is the top of a mage tower from one of their old cities. It used to belong to, surprisingly, a earth pony known as Yrdai the Mad. They were plagued by visions of the future. Not just one future, which is, you know, our present now, but of many possibilities.”

Wild did not have to wonder how madness consumed them.

“The writing on top,” Artful gestured, and Wild got a mild headache just from looking at it and tracing it, “Says ‘the future is in motion’ on repeat.”

Wild could not read the script, but he certainly did not disagree with what it said, though it would likely take him hours to discuss this sort of thing. He had barely gotten used to - still was getting used to - the notion that he had a future, so any sort of musings about it was still pretty far from him.

Wild and Artful moved to a part that depicted, in the exact middle height-wise on the wall, a pair of alicorns, one white and another dark-blue. All the paintings were simplistic in nature, one an untrained person could draw, but even they conveyed what they showed fairly well. They depicted Celestia and Luna, Wild guessed, with Celestia on the left and Luna on the right. On Celestia’s side, there were various depictions of her, he guessed. One was her wreathed in flames yet not burning, another with her head encased in an orange-yellow circle, and yet another with her but gray in color and on a pedestal like a statue. More versions of her stretched to the left, each growing less in size and in comprehensibility, until nothing but squiggles remained. To Luna’s right, similar things were depicted, including herself but black, her head encased in the silver moon, and more.

“Yrdai the Mad predicted the princesses centuries before they were born,” Artful said, “And the fall of Princess Luna. They also predicted the fall of Princess Celestia, but it had not come to pass, so I really hope it never will.”

Wild felt drawn to a picture that clearly depicted a pair of star systems, one on top of the other, one outlined in red and the other one in blue. There was something familiar the blue one, although it was hard to see behind the red one. He stepped closer to the wall and looked carefully, noting that one of the planets of the red system - which also seemed to be the center of the star system - was somewhat merged with a blue planet while no other planet was anywhere close between the two systems.

“This one is, I think, about different worlds,” Artful said, his voice somewhat uncertain, “This drawing actually helped prove that we live on a planet and move an actual star, which is, like, actually enormous, hundreds of times bigger than our planet. Insane, right? But yeah, see that planet there, the one in the center in the red system? That’s our planet.”

Wild peered closer, and his heart skipped a beat. The lines on the blue planet formed familiar shapes. He had seen them. He knew them.

“The one in blue? That’s from some other star system. Or maybe ours, but in the past. Maybe the future. But maybe, yeah, it’s some different place entirely, and see, there’s a connection, which is, you know, the uh... the dimension thing, where things kinda jump from one to another sometimes.”

Wild would never have mistaken the boot-shaped peninsula for anything other than what it was. Once he noticed it, recognized it completely, other things clicked into place. The coastline surrounding the sea, the coastline of south of Europe and north of Africa. Despite the simplicity of it all, despite the likely slightly incorrect proportions, it was impossible to misidentify. Colors seemed to seep into his vision now, filling the blanks. The sun, bright yellow-white. Rough gray of Mercury, smooth off-white of Venus, blue and green Earth, rust-colored Mars, turbulent brown-tan Jupiter, Saturn with its rings, smooth pale-cyan Uranus, and slightly more blue Neptune.

Wild already knew of the existence of the connection, but to have it confirmed, to have this confirmation be out in public for anyone to see, for it to have been available for thousands of years...

His eyes moved, and now he recognized some small squiggles as more than that - it was a skyline. Not one he recognized, no, even though it was somewhat familiar, tickling at the back of his mind. Above it hanged the crescent of the moon, clear and defined with no clouds to obstruct it. Nearby, two short lines intersected, colored dots at their ends - an airplane.

“I think this,” Artful said, noticing where Wild was looking at, “Is a skyline of one of the larger Equestrian cities, though no one knows which and when. The moon is also a bit small, but maybe that’s just the style?”

Wild shook his head lightly, his eyes searching, looking, and... there. Drawn to it like a moth to the flame, he knew he would burn himself, yet he could not help but look. He gazed on a small part of the madness of Yrdai, and he saw it for what it truly was. One could mistake it for a vaguely equine-shaped cloud of black smoke, and a small one at that among all the other things. However, the red eyes, the red cracks... and, to the side, the ‘cloud’ stretched on until there was only a pair of silver eyes and the black of the cloud itself.

Artful had grown silent, his thoughts ceasing to a stop in time with Wild’s emptying of his own head, which was now nothing, only existing to register what he was seeing.

Below himself, below his true self depicted centuries before he was even born, before he was even a vague idea, there were more defined shapes, three of them. There they were, depicted not entirely unlike Star Swirl’s first depictions of Celestia and Luna, all simple shapes and thin legs. The first figure stood tall and proud, bigger than the rest, almost radiating power despite being just a drawing on a wall. Eyes were silver with a hint of aqua, and even there Wild could tell that the pupils were vertical, like a viper’s or a cat’s. The fur was blue, darker than his, and his mane and tail were a midnight blue with a streak of starlight-white, both billowing like clouds yet shining with magic like stardust. The horn was long and sharp, longer than his was now, and a pair of wings grew on his side. His mark, a silver moon with a black outline that went further and formed a circle, making the moon a crescent.

The second figure was vague, hidden behind and in the green, nothing defining but the general shape of a pony, colors invisible, unimportant.

The third was him again, but his height was too tall for his body, limbs and body thin, thinner than they should be, as thin as when he was at his lowest and ready to die. Despite the frailty, despite the mane and tail purely white, he stood strong, powerful, his eyes burning with crimson malice, the same glow as the one coming from his chest which bore the Amulet, the Alicorn Amulet. A crown of six spikes was atop his head, six differently-colored shapes, dull in color and broken from within, were forever inside of those spikes. There was a pair of wings, sickly, and entirely black.

Wild stumbled backwards, his legs weak, his breathing- not there, not breathing, his chest squeezing his heart as every beat painfully reverberated, as his lungs struggled against the grip, his vision tunneling and seeing nothing but himself on the wall of a mad pony born and dead long before his great-great-great-great-grandparents were a thought in their own parents' heads.

He felt, almost heard reassuring words as someone supported him from the side, their warmth almost penetrating into the fog inside of his mind, almost made his mind move, almost made him see more than the impossible before his very eyes.

“Wild, breathe with me,” he heard and could barely understand, but he inhaled, shakily, uncertainly, painfully, but he did, “Alright, good, now exhale,” he swiftly did. His body was moving but he did not know where. It all seemed unimportant now, distant as if not there at all. He was up above, floating in the mad scribbles of infinite futures, swirling to the point of constant motion.

Wild stumbled yet walked, breathed and didn’t, exhaled and didn’t, wheezing and not feeling how his heart despaired to jump out of his chest to freedom.

Someone else spoke, and Wild almost saw their concern, almost understood the sounds that made up the words that went past their lips, almost accepted the alarm growing inside their head.

“We need somewhere quiet. And water,” Artful said, his voice surprisingly steady, reassuringly steady and present. The void surrounding Wild’s vision receded just enough.

A door open, then closed, then it was almost silent, but Artful kept talking.

“Everything will be alright, just breathe,” he said, and Wild did so even as he disbelieved in the first part of the sentence, yet he did not know where that disbelief came from, “Breathe. In. Then out. Like that, yes. Breathe.”

Wild did, breathing in and out, the void surrounding his whole being retreating to wherever it came from. He could now feel Artful’s fear and concern, fear for him and concern for him. He could not have possibly done anything to deserve it. He could not deserve it. Even as he thought it, those thoughts were washed away with every wave of inhale and exhale, rhythmic. Wild found himself lying on something soft, some sort of furniture, and Artful was pressed to his side, one of his wings draped over him like a blanket. Comforting, grounding, it was there, and Wild was returning to the present.

“This is fresh water,” Artful said, and Wild saw nothing but a glass filled to the brim with fresh water, just as he described, “You should drink it.”

Wild did, the chilly freshness of it soothing him. He emerged into a small room that had a sofa - which he was lying on along with Artful - a wardrobe, and a bookcase. There was a window, showing a street probably adjacent to the Artist Artery.

Wild exhaled shakily, placing the glass carefully aside. He licked his lips.

“That was me,” he said, quiet and certain, his voice surprisingly steady and calm despite the raging black storm inside of him contrasted by the absolute nothingness of the void.

“You don’t need to tell me,” Artful assured him. Wild understood him - he believed the same. Had believed, perhaps. However, there was no hiding now. Even without Wild saying a single word, Artful knew, and Wild knew that he knew. Perhaps Artful did not know the whole truth, the detailed truth, but Artful was far from stupid, and even now he was making a connection between what he knew of those mad drawings of an ancient mad future-seer and Wild’s reaction to them.

For a single moment, Wild considered his options aside from saying anything. He could have fled, throwing Artful aside, but the thought of hurting him like that almost made his physically cringe. Another option of escape would be detaching from his body, fleeing as a spirit, but he hated the thought of possibly making Artful believe he abandoned him. Those thoughts, however, were centered about how Wild’s actions would affect others, yet not himself. If he escaped... he would not find peace, that much he knew. Avoiding it all would only make him a coward, a weakling, a pathetic excuse for a being granted the power of thought and the ability to reason.

“I do,” Wild argued, putting more belief in that simple proclamation than he believed he had. He did not think about the fact that his life was predicted thousands of years before he existed. He was only grateful there was not more of it on display, “That was me. On the wall, that... that was me. The... the blue system, that is where I am from.”

He went silent then, knowing there was no return yet hesitating because truth, he knew, hurt. And yet, the more he hid it, the more he hurt those he cared about. He remembered how Artful had said that it was a privilege to learn about Wild, and it was time to grant that privilege. Perhaps they had not been together for long, and yet...

Without being asked, Artful had brought Wild with him, away from... from madness, away from his own dark and consuming thoughts, and brought him back to reality, and his steady voice was filled with true care and worry, one Wild did not need any mind powers to know were indeed true.

Wild could despair over the fact that the Canterlot trip had not turned out how he hoped it would. There he now was, hiding away from the crowds, from their pressure, in an art gallery where there was ancient evidence of his existence and origin, on display for all to see.

However, he got dealt the hand that he had, not what he wished it to be. He had long since stopped wishing for what he did not have. It appeared the best course of action was for him to embrace what he had, to deal with it as it happened, and so he moved to do just that.

“I am not from Equestria,” he clarified, “Not from this world. At all. The day I came to the Royal Orphanage... is the day I was here first,” he swallowed, his eyes moving to a pitcher of water he could see, now that the blackness was not threatening to overtake his consciousness and wash him away into the sea of nothingness. He could move to fill his glass, to drink some more water to give him just a few more moments, but he feared Artful would simply jump away from him, taking the first opportunity to do so now that he knew the truth.

Artful’s position shifted, and Wild’s heart skipped a beat. However, Artful was not moving away from him - he merely swiftly refilled the empty glass with water. He silently offered it to Wild, who stared at it in incomprehension for a moment before taking it. He imagined his hand would have been shaking if it were real. However, his magic was steady, and he was thankful for it. He drank it in gulps, but not so fast that he would choke. His lips, even after he licked them, still remained somewhat dry, however.

“That planet,” Wild said. The pause he wanted so much didn’t end up lasting nearly as long as he wanted it to, “Is... where I came from. It is called Earth,” his last word was spoken in English, the switch from one language to another nearly instant and clear, with his voice changing slightly but just enough to show that Equestrian was far from a native language to him. The smoothness with which he said the one word from his native language was unlike the way of speaking he had developed in Equestrian language. When he spoke in it, his words were careful, measured, with plenty of pauses, but Earth rolled off his tongue quick and easy.

Wild, for a tiny moment, wanted to chuckle at the thought of what a linguist would have been able to deduce based on it. However, now was not the time for any kind of humor.

Wild went silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts, not knowing what to reveal next even as possibilities slithered all around like snakes. He could say one thing or the other, there was much to say, yet picking what to say there and then seemed like an impossible task.

“It must be hard, having to adapt to Equestria,” Artful said. Wild looked at him, expecting... something other than curiosity and wonder, and also restraint.

“...It is,” Wild ended up saying, “You... are not...”

“I’m not angry,” Artful said before Wild could fully form the question he did not want to ask, “It’s... I know it’s not the same, but... you know, we all come from situations, and, um, all situations are different. Maybe... bad life at home, maybe some other things. A lot of us orphans don’t talk about that, you know?”

“But I am from another world,” Wild said, somewhat lamely, “It is different.”

“Yes, but the most important thing is, you’re a person,” Artful said, “It doesn’t really change even if you came from some different dimension. You’re still you.”

“I did not have a pony body,” Wild said.

“You are who you are no matter what body you have,” Artful assured him, his voice serious, his tone supportive, “And... if you want to, I can help you find how to get the body you want.”

“My current body is good,” Wild shook his head, “I... do not want to return to the one before it.”

“Alright.”

For a time, both of them were silent. Wild did his best not to think about what he had just revealed, simply basking in Artful’s acceptance, as well as his willingness not to delve deeper despite his curiosity. However, there was one thing Wild still wanted to clarify, just to be certain.

“Do we still... continue?” he said, even knowing that he did not word it well, but he felt that Artful immediately understood.

“Unless you don’t want to,” Artful said, and Wild shook his head.

“I... do not know why you... accept so much of me,” he said.

“Everyone has quirks,” Artful said, smiling slightly, and Wild couldn’t help but snort, the absurdity of it making a small and short laugh escape past his lips.

“Being from a different world is a quirk?” he asked in sheer disbelief and also relief.

“I mean...” Artful shrugged.

Wild leaned in and nuzzled him affectionately, now fully letting the warmth of his close presence in, chasing the cold of uncertainty and fear away.

“Thank you,” he said softly, quietly, putting as much meaning into this as he possibly could, hoping Artful understood the importance of it. Wild knew it was far from the end, certainly not the last conversation they would have, but it would have to be enough for a time.

They stayed like this for a while until Wild was ready to go. He did not want to return to that chamber of madness, and Artful understood it without having to be told. Wild, instead, was readying himself to face the outside world again, the pressure of all the minds of others. He did not know whether he would ever return to the Royal Art Gallery, but he knew he would talk to Luna about... everything that had happened between him and Artful, especially about that chamber and what it showed. He didn’t know what to do about it, didn’t know what to think about the revelations he had just faced, but he knew he could not simply forget about it.

Wild braced himself, and then led the way outside, Artful following him. This was not the end of the day yet, which had proven to be one of the longest days of his life yet, and he sincerely hoped he would not have to deal with any more messes for a long, long while.

Author's Note

Ponies are far more used to strange things happening, and the existence of other worlds is an established fact.

Wild: "So um, I'm from a different world."
Artful: "That's not really that crazy."
Wild: confusion