The sound of a whetstone being drawn across the edge of a blade filled the courtyard of Canterlot Castle. Each time the stone finished it’s path there was a pause, a perfect ten seconds of silence before the stone was drawn across the blade again. The sound emanated from a shadowy figure barely visible in a shaded corner of the courtyard where the sun had yet to reach. Again, the whetstone slid along the edge of the blade, appearing to move on its own; a closer look however, would reveal that it was held aloft in a nearly pitch black magical aura. A closer look would also reveal that the pony was not in fact a shadow, but garbed in black robes that covered their entire body; their hood had been specially designed to allow them to look out without letting others from looking in.
All who entered the courtyard shied away from this figure, even the castle guards, who opted to inspect them from afar. All the while the figure worked their whetstone upon their blade, a mighty axe reminiscent of ages long past. The wooden handle was stained black as night merging perfectly with the head of the axe and maintaining that dark colour right up to the edge of the blade. The dark weapon almost seemed to radiate malice as the figure worked their whetstone along the edge. Some passers-by would have sworn that they'd heard a scream each time the whetstone was worked against the blade, had they not been beating a hasty retreat from the courtyard.
As the morning wore on and the shadows retreated to the edges of the courtyard, the figure sat unmoving. Slowly their form became clearer and more defined until there was no mistaking it, an executioner sat in the courtyard of Canterlot Castle. At noon the executioner tucked away their whetstone and levitated their axe—blade first—up to their hood to inspect it. Minutes passed as they carefully inspected the blade, going over every inch of it with absolute precision. Only when they were completely satisfied did they lower the axe, resting the butt of the handle on the ground while the perfectly sharpened blade pointed out towards the rest of the courtyard. A visiting zebra had the misfortune to turn and look at the dark robed executioner just as they settled into their new position.
The shrill Zebrican curse didn’t faze the executioner one bit, as the zebra fled from the courtyard with a primordial haste while shouting about the stars. The others in the courtyard were not so stoic, and began to make an even wider breadth around the executioner as something in the zebra’s tone inspired terror in their souls. As noon passed the executioner stood, moving slowly but purposefully, and marched over to the opposite corner where the shadows had begun to creep forward. Taking up their stance again, they once more became a living statue, unfazed by the world around them as they waited for their appointed duty.
Every minute felt like an hour as time slowly crept forward. The Grim Reaper’s agent sat in the courtyard of Canterlot Castle, like a beacon of death that had risen from the ground. Ponies jumped in fright as soon as they saw it, guards began to alter their patrols to be as far from it as possible. When the clock struck three, and the shadow of the castle covered the figure, the blade’s figurative malice became quite literal. No longer did maids or staff walk through the courtyard, even guards and petitioners stayed out of the space, as the area now felt as if death itself had come to reside there. When finally the clock struck four, the figure moved, stepping out of the shadow and into the light; as if lord and master of the universe the figure stood exactly in the center of the courtyard.
In such a way that could only be by design—if perhaps by some higher power—the very tip of the shadow cast by the highest tower of Canterlot Castle, fell perfectly on the center of the executioner’s back. From inside a maid could be heard screaming, for in that moment she had looked at the hooded figure and had been given a glimpse of something no mortal should ever see. The commotion did not disturb the figure, even as guards had to drag away the screaming and kicking maid; her words scoring long gashes of fear in all who heard her, “The Reaper is here! Made manifest in his devotee, he will claim the prize that The Sun has promised him!”
Soon silence reigned in the courtyard, none dared to enter and the executioner remained still. Oddly, even the sound of the city’s clock did not penetrate the courtyard, not for any of the next four hours as the sun began to sink towards the horizon. Each hour passed just as uneventful as the last until the clock struck eight, for at that hour the doors to the castle swung open to reveal the Princess of the Sun, Celestia. She was not alone, accompanied by her young pupil and two squads of soldiers; one of which surrounded a gagged and hobbled stallion. Led by Princess Celestia, the two squads marched slowly into the courtyard. Each of the soldiers’ armor bore the Crest of The Elite and served as part of Princess Celestia’s honor guard, their form was flawless as they followed behind their leader.
When the Princess approached, a stone block rose from the ground in front of the executioner, stopping at the perfect height for a pony to rest their head on. None spoke as they took their places, Princess Celestia stood five paces in front of the chopping block, looking right at the executioner; two of the guards ushered the bound pony up to the stone, standing on either side of him; the rest of the honor guard formed a circle around the chopping block, facing out in a wall of hardened resolve. Finally there was the Princess’s young pupil, while barely old enough to have her cutie mark, she stood resolute next to her mentor.
As if guided by some otherworldly force, the two guards pushed the stallion forward until his body pressed against the stone and his head lay perfectly across the top. No words were exchanged as the Princess of the Sun looked down at him, her eyes judged him and found him guilty. In concert Princess Celestia and the executioner began to use their magic, one lifted the axe high above the chopping block while the other cycled the celestial bodies. As the sun finally sank all the way below the horizon, the axe came swinging down and in one swift motion took the stallion’s head off. Severed from its body, the head fell off the chopping block with a thud as the rest of the body slumped on the other side. Once the axe was withdrawn, Princess Celestia nodded to the executioner, turned and walked away with her student following quickly behind. With their job done, the executioner cleaned their axe, turned and departed the castle. Far off in the distance the moon began to rise over the peak of Canter Mountain, while its edges were speckled with craters there wasn’t a single splotch of darkness to be had on its face.
