In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.
The words marched through his mind just as the breaths slunk through his large, flared nostrils: slowly, methodically, and perfectly in control.
In. Out. In. Out.
Control. That was all that mattered in the end.
In. Out. In. Out.
What separates a cunning warrior from a blood-maddened berserker? Control.
In. Out. In. Out.
What prevents a brilliant mind from slipping into madness? Control.
In. Out. In. Out.
What places the master on top and the slave below? Control.
In. Out. In. Out.
Control was all that mattered. Control shaped lives, forged identities.
In. Out. In. Out.
Control was the most valuable resource a person could possess.
In. Out. In. Out.
It was also the resource he possessed in the scantest quantity.
In. Out. In. Out.
Could he control where he had been? No. Even one as ancient and learned as he did not know how to rewrite one's past. If he had, he surely would have done so long ago.
In. Out. In. Out.
Could he control where he was? No. The thick stone bars surrounding him, the three-headed dog patrolling the cavern, and the immense doors of his glorified vault saw to that.
In. Out. In. Out.
Could he control where he would go? Perhaps. It wasn't as outlandish a prospect as one might think. It had happened before, after all.
In. Out. In. Out.
One thousand years of imprisonment. One thousand years of watching, of guarding, of safekeeping. It had all been for naught.
In. Out. In. Out.
It had only taken one day, one hour, one blink of an eye in the grand scheme of things. One opportunity presented. One opportunity taken. One thousand years undone just like that.
In. Out. In. Out.
It had happened once. It would happen again. All he needed to do was wait. All he needed to do was be patient. All he needed to do was remain in control of himself, the one thing in his miserable little world he could control.
In. Out. In. Out.
It was drawing closer. It was drawing closer to him with every second that passed. He did not know from where it would come. He did not know what form it would take. One thing he did know, however. He knew that, when his chance came again, he would never again need another.
In. Out. In. Out.
The next time would be the last. He would make sure of it.
One thousand years of confinement had not dulled his senses; if anything, they had improved them. One thousand years of listening to the silence had sharpened his ears. One thousand years of staring into the gloom had honed his eyes. One thousand years of monotony had given him an almost instinctive sense of when something was awry. So it was that, when the great gate of Tartarus slowly creaked open, he was aware of it almost before it happened.
The sound, the unfamiliar, yet unmistakable sound of that titanic portal shifting, slowly reverberated through the still air, making its way to a pair of distinctly bovine ears. As the sound reached them, those ears slowly lifted, taking in the low, steady rumble as well as they were able. The old, wizened face those ears flanked, a face covered with skin as dry and rough as old leather and as red as ancient rust, flexed and shifted as the muscles beneath it stirred to life. A set of thin lips pursed, and a pair of wide nostrils sucked a deep breath past a thick silver nose ring. Two heavy eyelids slowly rose, revealing the blackness that lay behind each, two inky voids affixed with two points of yellow as piercing as any blade ever forged.
It was these eyes that gazed outwards, out through the thick bars that stood just a few feet before them. They looked past the soft light that bathed his little plateau, and past the snaky stone bridge that led away into the relative darkness of the rest of the vast cavern. They saw within that dimness a different kind of darkness, a hulking canine form slowly rising from where it had been lying on the stone, turning its three monstrous heads towards the same sound that had caught his own attention. Beyond the beast, stretching up to the very roof of that vaulting cave, the great gate sat, a set of double-doors so massive that they looked to have been constructed by giants. Between those doors, growing ever larger as they continued to part, was a sliver of that unfamiliar illumination commonly known as sunlight.
Already, the wheels in his horned head were turning, processing every minute detail of his situation, squeezing every last drop of meaning out of them that there was to be had. Just as his mind readied itself for whatever might be coming next, so too did his body prepare, for what it was worth. While he still possessed centuries worth of wits and cunning, weapons which had dulled only slightly during the course of his isolation, the same could not be said of his more corporeal assets.
Down below his chest, two bony hands tipped with long, pointed nails were clasped meditatively. Those hands slowly parted, flexing, summoning what little strength they still had in them. Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, he found himself reflecting on the condition of those feeble fingers which trembled ever-so-slightly when left to support themselves. Those hands had once been strong enough to move mountains, powerful enough to rip the land itself in twain, but now? He doubted they would have had the strength to overpower a child.
Those withered hands, attached to an equally withered pair of arms, slowly made their way to his sides, where they patiently awaited their next orders. At the same time, his four other limbs prepared themselves, those equine legs flexing as they worked to lift his significant weight up off of the cold, hard floor where he lay. With a grunt of exertion, he managed to force his feeble legs to obey him, the limbs unbending as they extended, slowly pushing him upwards into a standing position. Now up on his hooves, he straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and set his gaze firmly on the scene unfolding before him.
The great hound Cerberus, possessing neither his patience nor his cool, calculating demeanor, had already sprung into action, quickly jumping to its feet to confront whatever unknown entity had dared to intrude upon its domain. Its tail was erect, its hackles were raised, and although he could not see them from where he stood, he was certain that all three of its faces were contorted in sneers of aggression. He only grew more certain of this speculation when the steady, grinding sound of the gate was joined by the thunderous peal of three sets of barks, a cacophonous assault that almost made him wince as those aggressive vocalizations bounced off of the cavern walls and into his ears from every conceivable angle.
The gate continued to open, however, whoever was responsible evidently not backing down from the challenge issued by that place's guardian, either out of confidence or out of ignorance of what they were getting themselves into. The sliver of bright white light slowly expanded, illuminating the cavern with an abnormal intensity. He was forced to squint his eyes to look upon it, eyes so used to the gloom that the rapid change would have blinded them otherwise. Still, he did not look away, merely waiting and watching as the doors opened, eventually coming to a stop as they reached their full open positions.
While the grinding of the doors ceased, the howling of Cerberus only intensified as the great beast rushed forward to confront the one who had opened them. He saw its great bulk move across the cavern floor, saw it reach the doors in seconds, then bring itself to a sharp stop right at the threshold. Despite the intense light impairing his vision, he was able to see the beast lower its heads to the ground, obscuring whatever might have been standing before it.
He listened intently as the howling turned to a low, steady growl that made the stones of the cavern rumble as it echoed throughout it. He waited, fully expecting to hear the fierce howling return, accompanied by the distinctive sounds of three sets of razor-sharp teeth sinking into flesh and bone, and yet...those sounds never came. Instead, through the rumbling of Cerberus, he could almost have sworn that he heard another sound: the sound of voices.
He did not have long to ponder this, however, as Cerberus's vocalizations suddenly ceased altogether. A moment later, he saw the beast's tail, which had been standing as still as stone, begin to move back and forth, wagging excitedly. With Cerberus now relatively silent, he had little difficulty detecting that noise that he was now certain was a voice, although it was still too faint to glean any additional information. He heard the voice, and then he heard an even stranger sound, a sound that he had thought he would never hear, even if he had stayed locked in that place for another thousand years. He heard Cerberus bark once again, but bark in a distinctly, undeniably, unnervingly happy fashion.
Quickly recovering from witnessing such a bizarre occurrence, he watched as Cerberus slowly lowered its tremendous hindquarters down towards the cavern floor, sitting down upon it, its weighty tail still wagging to and fro. A moment later, he saw it lean forward, lowering its heads towards the ground. His mind once again filled with images of ripping and tearing as he listened to the sounds of biting, gnawing, and loud, messy slurping. When he saw the beast rise from where it sat, slowly turning itself around again, he assumed that whatever or whoever had so recklessly breached the gate had now met the consequences of their foolhardy actions. His expectations proved incorrect, however, as he saw, when Cerberus's fearsome faces had been turned in his general direction, three large, perfectly white, perfectly clean bones clutched in its three jaws, rather than the more gruesome scene he had been picturing. He watched as Cerberus slowly padded off to the side of the cavern, each one of its heads busy gnawing on the bone it held between its teeth. It made its way to its favorite resting spot, a patch of stone that had been worn smooth by centuries of contact, then promptly lied down upon it, lazily stretching out as it feasted on its treats.
Puzzled, but not staggered, he turned his attention back to the gate, which was still proving difficult for his eyes to look upon. Even as his eyes adjusted to the intense light streaming through, he still could not make out anything but white beyond the threshold of his prison. He should have been able to at least see the first stones and rocks of the wasteland he knew to lie beyond it. Had his time in that wretched place finally ruined his eyes? What other reason could there have been for the outside world to appear as white as...
Snow.
The explanation was so simple that he was almost ashamed of himself for not coming to it immediately. The reason why the world beyond appeared so white, almost blindingly so, was because it was. The rocky ground beyond the gate was covered in a blanket of what must have been pure white snow, which extended over every inch of the limited area he was capable of seeing. Even as he lifted his gaze, following the snowy ground up to the distant horizon and then beyond it, he still saw nothing but white, a sky of thick, white clouds obscuring every bit of blue that might have been seen.
While the monochrome nature of the environment might have made it difficult to gaze upon it directly, it also made it that much easier to pick out the dark forms silhouetted against the white. There were two of them there, standing at the threshold, two creatures from a world of light that had wandered into a world of darkness. He knew they lived, for he could see them moving slightly as they stood, looking around themselves and at each other. He knew they were no dumb beasts, for he could hear the unintelligible voices that he was now absolutely certain were coming from them. Furthermore, he knew, by virtue of their distinctive equine forms, exactly what sort of creatures they were.
Ponies.
A hatred that had simmered in the depths of his coal-black heart for a millennium suddenly flared up at the sight of those pathetic creatures. So powerful was that hatred, so thoroughly did it permeate every fiber of his being, that it would have driven any lesser creature into raving madness in mere moments. As it was, he was not any such creature, and so the only outward signs that he even recognized the unexpected appearance of the two little ponies were a tightly clenched jaw and a pair of balled fists, the sharp nails of which dug painfully into his palms.
He watched the ponies as they stood at the threshold, watched them as they turned towards one another, watched them as they spoke to each other, then watched them glance over in his direction. They were watching him, no doubt assessing the situation just as he was. He doubted that they would be able to get a good read on him, however; even his sharp eyes could not tell him much. By the size of their shadowy forms, he could tell that they were fully grown, or at least as fully grown as was normal for that race of diminutive equines. Their voices were faint, and distorted by the echo of the cavern, but he could tell that they were female, and likely young females at that. His ears strained to parse their words, and yet the most he could get were mere speech patterns. One of the ponies spoke slowly, deliberately, authoritatively even.
The leader of the two.
The other pony, however, spoke quickly and exuberantly, her words falling upon themselves as they echoed inwards towards him.
And the follower.
His assessments were only further supported as he studied their body language. The leader stood tall and straight, an obviously unrelaxed posture.
If she were relaxed in a place in such as this, she would be a fool. Although...she is already a fool for coming here in the first place.
And as for the other...
Did she just...hop? Hop in place like an excited child? An even greater fool, I see.
The lead fool continued to speak to her companion, glancing back and forth between her and him. From the rising volume and speed of her voice, he would have thought that she was arguing with her, and yet the confrontational tone did not seem to be returned by the follower, who seemed to care little for the other's words.
A one-sided argument. How will the leader choose to end it?
The two ponies spoke for a few moments more, then all of a sudden, the follower looked at the other and said something in a much more serious tone. They were silent for a moment, and then the leader lowered her head, giving a quiet reply.
She gave up. A weak leader.
For all his mental calculations, he could not hope to comprehend what happened next. The leader sat down upon the ground, raised a hoof, then drew a sign across her chest. Immediately afterwards, she held her forelimbs to either side of her and moved them up and down, flapping them like wings. Finally, she pressed one of her hooves against her face, before returning to her previous standing position.
Before he could produce an explanation for the strange ritual he had just witnessed, he saw the follower turn, cross through the great gate, and make her way into the cavern, a noticeable bounce to her steps. The leader moved quickly to catch up with her, although her steps were markedly more controlled, precise, and measured. As they left behind the brightly lit world beyond the gate, moving into the gloom of Tartatus proper, his eyes were finally able to pick out the details of their appearances.
The form of the excitable pony, the one currently bounding towards him as carefree as if she were skipping through a field of flowers, lightened dramatically, her coat revealed to be a disgustingly bright shade of pink. It hurt his eyes no less to look upon the thick mess of pink curls that sat atop her head and covered her tail. Upon her face, to his surprise, he saw a pair of big, bright eyes and, of all things, a wide smile.
A fool indeed. And yet...
Something about the pony seemed significant, but he could not immediately identify what it was. It could not have been her garish appearance; he had seen many others of her kind who looked equally ridiculous. Her unperturbed demeanor was certainly notable, yet he felt that particular detail was not the source of his confusion. The feeling was a bothersome one, one which only grew more aggravating as the seconds ticked by.
Putting the pony out of his mind for a moment, he turned his gaze towards the one walking close behind her. Thankfully, this pony was easier on his eyes, the hairs upon her body being of cooler colors: a soft lavender coat, and a mane and tail of dark blue. Another thing setting this pony apart from her companion was the grave expression on her face, her lips set in a hard line and her eyes glued to the spot where he stood.
She is concerned...fearful...as she should be.
His eyes wandered up to the long horn that poked its way through her neatly cut bangs.
A unicorn...the learned of their kind. It is possible that she knows what this place truly is. It is possible that she even knows who I truly am.
The corners of his cracked lips lifted slightly, his devious mind already deciding how best to take advantage of the little pony's informed fear.
I wonder if she...
His train of malicious thought ground to a halt and his sly smile vanished as his eyes drifted lower, following the pony's body down to her barrel...and to the two birdlike wings neatly folded against her flanks.
The realization struck him like a bolt of lighting, and just like lightning, it immediately and instantaneously set his body ablaze. If it had stoked his centuries-old malice to gaze upon a couple of unknown ponies, then to look upon that familiar form, that familiar face that haunted him every night in his dreams and tormented him every day in his waking hours made his hatred burn as brightly as the sun. For the briefest of moments, even he lost control. Gazing upon the face of his all-consuming hatred, even he could not stop himself from lurching forward, grasping the bars of his cage so tightly his knuckles turned white, and letting out a low, bestial growl. The moment passed as quickly as it had arrived. When it did, his hands returned to his side, his lips relaxed, but his eyes remained locked on the ponies still making their way towards him.
Why? Why has she come here? And why has she brought along...?
Tearing his gaze away from the face of his most hated enemy, he looked back at her companion, whose significance he now fully comprehended.
Her. She was there. She was one of them.
He had paid her little mind at the time. After all, why shouldn't he have? He had consumed the essence of thousands of her kind, he had dethroned the rulers of her country, and he had even humbled the Lord of Chaos himself. What reason should he have had to fear one little pony, or even five little ponies, as had been the case. No, the princess had been the one to watch. She had been the only unknown. She had been the only potential threat...or so he had thought.
He had replayed that fateful day in his mind a thousand times, analyzing every detail, examining every choice that he had made. For all that time, he had been incapable of identifying his errors, unable to pinpoint his fatal mistake, because there hadn't been one. He had won. He had triumphed. His enemies had been beaten and broken, powerless to stand against him. Through a careful combination of guile, treachery, and sheer brute force, he had gone farther than any creature had before or since. He had held in his hands a power greater than any other in the world...except one.
“I may have given you my alicorn magic, but I carry within me the most powerful magic of all!”
The little princess's words still rang in his head even then, still taunted him, and even after countless hours of meditation, he had yet to divine their meaning. What power had that little pony managed to unleash upon him? What foul sorcery had she indulged in in order to obtain it? He did not know, but he did know that it had taken that little pink pony, and all the rest of those weaklings that he had so ignorantly traded away like useless tokens to unlock it. They had been the key. They had possessed some strange magic amongst themselves, a magic that even a sorcerer of his unrivaled might and knowledge had been powerless to understand, let alone combat. For this reason, he watched that pink pony very carefully as she gleefully bounded her way across the cavern floor towards him.
It took only a short time for the two to reach the stone bridge that spanned the great chasm that separated his little pillar of rock from the rest of the cavern. Despite this, the loud, melodious humming coming from the throat of the pink one did not make the passage of time any more bearable. It grew louder as the distance between them shrunk, allowing him to hear every disgustingly cheerful note. It almost made him nauseous to listen to, a feeling that was not helped when the little pony opened her mouth wide and announced their presence in a sickeningly saccharine voice.
“Oh, Tirek!” she bellowed, her words echoing off of the cavern walls and bouncing back into his unfortunately unmuffled ears from every direction. He managed to keep himself from wincing, although he was sorely tempted to do so.
The little pink earsore did not hesitate as she neared the start of the bridge, clearly intending to trot her way right across it without breaking her stride. The princess, however, seemingly did not approve of this.
“Wait!” she called out, quickly extending a hoof and holding her companion back.
“What is it, Twilight?” said the pink one, glancing back at the princess.
The princess opened her mouth as if to speak, but paused before doing so, quickly turning her gaze towards his cage, towards he himself, looking straight into his big, black eyes. He met her gaze, staring into her eyes just as intently. It was those eyes that confirmed his earlier assessment of the little pony. Despite what her heroically stoic visage would have him believe, despite the incredible power she no doubt wielded, and despite the impassable barrier between them, he saw, deep within those eyes, the unmistakable tremor of fear...fear of him.
He grinned.
The princess gulped, then looked away. She pulled her companion around to face her, then leaned in close, whispering to her. Even his sharp ears were incapable of picking out her words, but he did not need to hear them to recognize them as words of warning.
The pink one, however, seemed no less nonchalant for hearing them, her silly smile not faltering even once. She spoke back to the princess in a similarly quiet tone, although it was clear that she only did so to humor her. A quick exchange later, the pink one turned away from the princess, resuming her journey towards his cage. She happily stepped onto the narrow stone walkway, proceeding across it unperturbed by the sheer drop to either side of her.
She is either braver...or more foolish than I gave her credit for.
He watched her for a moment, then looked back to the princess, who...stood still. She stood there, down at the other end of the bridge, looking back at him. Her statuesque form hardly moved; her unflinching gaze never wavered, never moved away from him. If he had not been who he was, he might have been intimidated by her presence, but as it was, he was merely rationally cautious of the situation.
He knew what they were capable of, those princesses, those alicorns who boasted power unmatched by any creatures in their domain, and most creatures beyond it. He knew what sort of power she no doubt held within that little horn of hers. He knew she could probably break the unbreakable bars of his cage as easily as if they were dry twigs, and he could imagine full well what effect that same strength might have if it were applied to his bones. He knew it, she knew it, and most importantly, she knew that he knew it. What's more, she knew that he would know what would happen should her little pink companion not make her way back across the bridge in the same state as she was in now.
Touche, princess.
At the same time, she clearly recognized the potential threat he posed, even beaten, withered, and caged as he was. While it was true that he possessed only a puny fraction of the incredible power he had once wielded, he also possessed the means to potentially remedy that undesirable situation, an ancient, forbidden technique used to claim another's magic for one's own.
Unfortunately for him, even such a technique required at least a small amount of magical power to use; one cannot get something for nothing, after all. The last time he had passed beyond the gate of Tartarus, it had taken him many moons to gather enough strength to launch his assault on those accursed ponies, countless days and nights of slinking through forests and caves, hiding away in whatever dark corners he could find, subsisting on puny, pathetic creatures with barely a scrap of magic in them. Eventually, when he had grown strong enough, he had been able to go after the unicorns, those little ponies with the convenient magical conductors on their foreheads. After that, things had gone much quicker. Before long, even those pesky pegasi and the pathetic Earth ponies had been within his grasp, despite the relative difficulty of wringing the magic from their bodies.
An alicorn, however, was an entirely different beast altogether. If a unicorn was a cheery little candle flickering in the breeze, then an alicorn was a bright, blazing bonfire whose warmth could be felt even from far away. He had never understood how those little princesses could have so much raw power flowing through their veins, but whatever the reason, he knew that they practically radiated magical energy. He had felt that power long ago, back when he had first set hoof in their accursed country, and he could feel it then, locked in his little cage beneath the ground. Even with the wide chasm between them, he could detect that distinctive aura emanating from the little purple princess, if only just. If only she were a little bit closer, then even he, powerless as he was, might have been able to skim a little off the top.
But she won't come closer. She knows.
Again, he was forced to acknowledge the skill of his opponent in their little game, a game which was currently at an impasse. Just as he could not move from his spot, so too could she not move, either to advance, or to retreat. And so, the two stayed like that, watching each other like hawks, a contest of wills that he had no doubt that he would eventually win. Of course, he had no way of knowing just what sort of test that unbending will of his was about to be put through.
“Hello!” sang out the little pink pony long and proud as she finally stepped off of the bridge and onto his little plateau.
The word pierced his concentration like a nail through a pane of glass, accompanied by a reflexive twitch of one of his dark eyes. He quickly turned his gaze towards the little annoyance, a fresh pot of anger already brewing within him.
The little pony sighed with relief as she stepped closer to his cage, stopping before getting too close; out of striking distance, he realized, whether she realized it or not.
“You wouldn't believe how long it took us to get here!” she said. “I mean, I know Tartarus is supposed to be far away and all, but it took us forever to get here by balloon! Twilight and I almost ran out of gingerbread ponies on the way! Lucky for us, I came prepared and packed enough peppermint cupcakes to last us to Saddle Arabia and back!”
For a brief moment, he wondered whether his long isolation had finally taken its toll on his mind, whether it had finally turned his brain to mush. What other explanation could there have been for the complete and utter nonsense he had just been forced to listen to?
In any case, remaining silent would do him no good, as it would deny him the use of the only real tool he had access to at the moment: his words. He needed information if he was to concoct a plan, whatever that plan might be. Even if it meant further encouraging the annoying little pony to fill the cavern with her ear-grating vocalizations, he needed to know who, or what, he was dealing with.
His lips slowly parted, and then, a voice as dry and dusty as old parchment filled the silence of Tartatus. “Who...are you?”
A girlish giggle filled the air, making his stomach ache. “Oh, Tirek,” said the pony, “you big joker. You know who I am!”
If I knew, then I wouldn't have asked.
The pony watched him expectantly, her smile not faltering even as the silence stretched to an awkward length.
“C'mon, you remember,” she said. “You were there, I was there, Discord was there. You sucked up all of our magic, then you sucked up all of Discord's magic, then you blew up Twilight's library.”
She leaned in closer for a moment, putting a hoof to her mouth and speaking in a whisper-shout. “She's still a little bit upset about that.”
“Anyway,” she said, her exuberant voice pounding against his eardrums once more, “then you and Twilight had this amazing, super-duper cool laser battle and almost destroyed Ponyville!”
The pony waved her forelegs excitedly and hopped about the ground before his cage, spewing out vocalizations that he could only guess were meant to imitate the sounds of magical combat.
“Oh! Oh! And then Twilight rescued us from those big bubbles, and we opened the magic chest, and then my mane got really poofy, and then we used that big rainbow to make you small again and save Equestria!”
She threw her hooves in the air in cheer, as if expecting applause for her little performance; there was something he would much rather have used his hands for, if she had been but a little bit closer. For her to speak that way, speak so carelessly and gleefully about that day...it was insulting. Didn't she realize what she was speaking of? Didn't she realize how close she and her little friends had been to destruction, how easily he could have brought her pretty little pastel world to end? She spoke of it all as if it were some great game, a game that she took great delight in having won.
Even more annoying, she had neglected to answer his question, speaking much, but saying little. He wanted a name, a name to put alongside the name of the little princess whose eyes were still boring a hole in his head.
“C'mon,” the pink pony continued. “Starts with a 'P'. Rhymes with 'Blinkie Blie'.”
She looked at him expectantly, her grin as wide as ever. If she expected him to indulge her in her ridiculous guessing game, however, then she was sorely mistaken. To no surprise, his patience soon proved the greater of the two, and the pony finally offered up the information he desired.
“It's me, Pinkie Pie!” she gleefully exclaimed, leaping high into the air for emphasis.
Pinkie Pie.
He would remember that name. He would remember her face. He would remember to pay that little pony a visit the next time he was without a ceiling of rock over his head.
“Indeed,” he said, his tone giving no suggestion of sudden recollection. “And why...Pinkie Pie...have you come here?”
“Oh! Well, that's kind of a long story,” she said. “Lucky for you, I love telling long stories!”
She quickly sat herself down on the rocky ground beneath her, using her thick, poofy tail as a makeshift cushion. After loudly and obnoxiously clearing her throat, she began her tale.
“It all started last Tuesday morning,” she said. “I was at Sugarcube Corner, and I'd just finished helping Mrs. Cake whip up a batch of the most scrum-diddly-umptious red velvet cupcakes ever!”
She paused momentarily, salivating at her own recollection. “Mmmm...red velvet.”
Quickly recovering, she resumed her story. “Anyway, Gummy...he's my pet alligator, by the way...was helping me do the final check on my Hearth's Warming list to make sure I had everypony's gift present and accounted for. We had stripey socks for Cheerilee, a stuffed animal for Sweetie Belle, bubblegum-flavored denture cream for Granny Smith, a Wonderbolts action figure for Rainbow Dash...oh, we even made Applejack a scale model of Sweet Apple Acres out of gingerbread! That one took forever to get right. I couldn't decide whether to use regular frosting for the snow, or my special apple-flavored frosting for that extra little bit of appley goodness! I wanted to use the apple frosting...but that stuff ends up looking a little bit yellow with all that apple juice in it, and I thought that Applejack might not be too happy about seeing her farm covered in yellow snow, so in the end I— ”
“Enough!” he growled, the sudden interjection managing to silence the never-ending stream of drivel flowing from the pony's mouth.
Is this why that little princess came here...to torture me?
Already, his ears were ringing, and he could almost feel his brain boiling in his skull. If he were going to make it through that encounter with his sanity intact, he would have to take charge of the conversation, lest that little pony do in the span of minutes what a thousand years of solitary confinement had failed to do.
“Get to the point,” he said forcefully.
“Oh! Sorry,” she continued, her cheery mood seemingly not dampened by his outburst. “I get a little bit carried away when it comes to frosting sometimes. The point is, I checked my list and saw that I'd gotten a present for everypony I knew, and even some ponies I don't know! I was so relieved. As much as I like wrapping presents and giving them to ponies and then watching those big, smiley faces they get when they open them...holiday shopping can be a little much, even for me, so I was glad that I was finally done! I said to Gummy, 'Gee, Gummy, I sure am glad that we're done with out Hearth's Warming shopping. Why don't we go get some hot cocoa to celebrate?'
“But then Gummy says to me,” she continued, momentarily slipping into a deeper, more masculine tone, “'Pinkie, we can't get hot cocoa yet! You've missed someone!' And then I said, 'Oh, Gummy, that can't be.' I even showed him the list again just to be sure. 'Look,' I said. 'We got a present for Tangerine Twist, one for Tender Taps, one for Thunderlane, Tiger Lily...”
Suddenly, and without warning, the little pony gasped a gasp so intense that it made even him concerned. It sounded as if that little pony had just witnessed a horror of existential caliber. Just as suddenly, however, her face returned to its previously unperturbed state.
“And then I gasped just like that!” she said. “It turned out, Gummy was right; I did miss someone! I missed you, Tirek! That's why I had Twilight bring me here today: so that I could give you...this!”
As she said this, she inserted a hoof into the mass of curls on her head, seemingly rummaging around within it as if looking for something. A moment later, her face lit up, and she withdrew her hoof once again, pulling along with it an object much too large for the space it had been occupying. He blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the physics-defying act of legerdemain, wondering whether he had somehow not noticed some spell or enchantment that had facilitated it. Before he had time to ponder it, however, she thrust out her hooves, presenting the object to him with a wide smile on her lips.
He looked down at the object, his brain struggling to process the information it received from his eyes. He could comprehend, of course, that it was a box, one approximately one foot long in each dimension. The inky-black paper that the box had been wrapped in did not confound him either, nor did the length of red ribbon that bound it, its trailing ends tied in an neat bow on the top side. He detected the nonexistent aura of magical energy that the box gave off, marking it as being as magically inert as the stone beneath his hooves. All of these materialistic qualities and more made their way into his brain easily, and yet the most important piece of information continued to elude him: just what, in all of the wide, wide world, was the thing?
“Happy Hearth's Warming!” exclaimed the little pink pony. “Well, technically, Hearth's Warming isn't for another two days, but you know what I mean.”
There it is again: “Hearth's Warming”.
He vaguely recalled the words from his most recent venture beyond Tartarus. It had been during the winter season, or so he had assumed; those ponies could make it snow whenever they wished, of course. Mixed in with the memories of sheltering from the freezing winds in caves and slinking through the streets of tiny hamlets in the dead of night, there were blurry images of striped candies, and garishly decorated trees, and of the words “Happy Hearth's Warming” scrawled on countless surfaces.
At the time, he had paid little mind to what he had assumed was just another one of the myriad of holidays and celebrations that the ponies of Equestria wasted their lives on; he had had more important things to worry about. He had never imagined that that one in particular would ever be of any importance to him, never imagined that it might one day be thrust into his face, especially not under such unusual circumstances.
“You have come here...to the depths of Tartarus...in honor of...Hearth's Warming?” he said, the unfamiliar words tasting strange on his tongue.
“Yep!” the pony said.
“And in honor of this...Hearth's Warming...you have to deliver me a...a present? A gift?”
“Yepperoonie!” said the pony.
She sat there with her hooves outstretched and a smile on her lips as the seconds silently ticked on. At the same time, he stood there, looking down at the offering that she had gone through such great lengths, put herself at such great personal risk, in order to deliver.
Finally, he spoke again. “No,” he said flatly.
“Oh, Tirek,” said the pony, “you don't have to be so polite! It's a Hearth's Warming present! Come on, take it!”
“No,” he repeated, not-so-flatly.
“Yes!” said the pony. “Come on, I got it just for you! Just reach out those skinny ol' arms of yours and take it!”
“No!” he growled, his voice tinged by a fury that even that oblivious little pony could not ignore. A wispy cloud of condensation blew past his nose ring as he snorted forcefully.
For the first time since entering that place, the little pony sat still. Her smile was frozen onto her lips, but the subtle quiver of those big eyes showed that she was finally beginning to understand the gravity of her situation.
He slowly leaned forward, reaching out and curling his bony fingers around the bars before him. He brought his face as close to that of the little pony as the tightly-spaced bars would allow, locking eyes with her.
“I don't know what you're playing at...you and her,” he spoke. “But if you expect me, Lord Tirek, to take part in some...ridiculous pony festival...then you are indeed a fool beyond measure. Gingerbread, stuffed animals, and...and socks! If you think that I would ever accept such worthless trinkets...”
As he said this, the pony's face suddenly and dramatically changed. Her gaze hardened, and her smile vanished. If he didn't know any better, he'd say she looked insulted...genuinely insulted.
“Woah, woah, woah, woah, woah, woah, woah!” she spoke quickly, waving a hoof dismissively. “Those are the presents I said I was getting for the other ponies on my list, not you! I'd never just get somepony the same thing I was getting somepony else; that's not how Hearth's Warming works! Hearth's Warming presents need to be special!” She held the box closely to herself, lovingly caressing it. “I got Cheerilee those socks because I know how chilly the old schoolhouse gets in the winter, and I got Sweetie Belle that stuffed animal 'cause she wished she had a little critter to snuggle with like Fluttershy does! Every present has to be unique to the pony I'm giving it to. That way, they know how much I care about them, they know how much I love them, and they know that they're important to me! That's what Hearth's Warming is all about!”
The pony's impassioned speech seemed to cure her own sour mood, as her smile had fully returned by the time she had finished. He, however, was in no mood for smiling.
Caring. Love.
He might have laughed at such pathetically ponyish sentiments, had he not been so annoyed at them being emphatically preached at him.
“Presents?” he said. “That's what your Hearth's Warming is all about?”
“Well...presents are definitely one of the funnest things about it,” said the pony, “but there's lots of other stuff too! There's decorating, and baking, and snowball fights, and caroling, and building snowponies. Ooh! And one of my favorite things used to be sitting around the fire drinking rock nog while my dad told us stories about Rocky the Rockpony, Rockdolph the Rock-nosed Reindeer, the Windigos, the...”
Windigos.
The pony continued to prattle on about wreaths and ribbons and other such trivial things, but that particular word stuck in his mind, reawakening long-buried memories. He had never truly forgotten the tales, neither those of the windigos, nor of the terrible power they were said to have wielded. Creatures of pure frost, the harsh, unforgiving chill of winter given form, ancient even by his standards...and more powerful, perhaps, than he had ever been. The thought of such creatures had once made even him feel uneasy, but if he had felt unease at such tales, then the little ponies that had told them had felt bone-chilling horror.
He thought back to those days, recalling with mild enjoyment the terror on the faces of those who had shared with him the history of their fledgling country. Three warring tribes, their leaders greedy and their people foolish, driven to the brink of destruction by those legendary spirits. A winter that never ended, a deadly famine, and then, miraculously, those windigos had vanished just as suddenly as they had appeared. He might have thought the whole thing to be a myth, but he had seen the dreadful honesty in the eyes of those old greybeards who had felt the chill themselves, and been wise enough to hold onto their fears.
For those long-dead ponies, winter had been a time of fear, of caution, of constant dread that their little world might one day come crashing down around them once again. Apparently, that was not so for their descendants.
“You know of...the windigos?” he asked, interrupting an opinionated monologue on the ideal amount of sprinkles to use on a holiday cookie.
“Well, of course I know about them!” said the pony, not missing a beat. “Everypony in Equestria knows about those big, spooky monsters. In fact, they're why we celebrate Hearth's Warming in the first place! It was Clover the Clever and Smart Cookie and Private Pansy who figured out how to beat them and learned how to be friends with each other, and then they showed everypony else how to be friends, and then they all got together and made Equestria!” She hopped joyously into the air as she proudly announced the founding of her country.
Just as I thought.
Where once the ponies of Equestria had trembled in fear at the sight of the falling snow, now they celebrated it, commemorating the suffering of their ancestors with food and frivolity. It seemed that ancient terror that had gripped the collective hearts of ponykind had long since vanished.
“You know of them...know of what they did...and yet you are not afraid?” he said.
“Well,” the pony began, clearly giving the matter some thought, “I wouldn't say that exactly. It is a little bit spooky to think about those things flying around everywhere and destroying all of our crops. I mean, imagine it: Equestria without food, without cakes, without cookies! No soft, warm cupcakes to sink your teeth into either!” She shuddered, as if she could feel the icy touch of the windigos on her soft, pink flesh. “I don't like to think about it.”
Not completely gone, it seems.
“But that's okay,” said the pony, smiling widely, “because when I think about everything else, about the food, the games, the singing, about my friends and family...I feel way too happy to be scared!”
He scoffed inwardly. He would label her a fool yet again, but considering that her carefree attitude seemed to be so universal amongst her people as to warrant a holiday, it seemed inappropriate to single her out from the rest of her foolish race. Even so, that little pony seemed to exemplify the empty-headed bliss that he had seen in every mare, stallion, and foal in that pathetic little country. She didn't fear the ancient, unknowable spirits that had almost driven her people to extinction. She didn't even fear him. How he would have enjoyed seeing such a sickeningly cheery soul brought low...
His eyes suddenly widened as the path before him was laid bare. His lips curled into a wicked grin truly unnerving to look upon.
Why not?
He quickly glanced over at the little princess standing across the chasm, her unflinching gaze still locked on him, then looked back at the little pink fool before him.
He couldn't break the bars of his cage. He couldn't break the body of that little pony. There was something, however, that he stood a chance at breaking: that idiotically hopeful spirit of hers.
There was more than one way he could get his revenge on that little princess, after all, and while he would have preferred an option that involved the systematic absorption of the magical essence of an entire race, he would take what he could get. If he could wipe the smile from that little pink face, fill her little heart with despair, teach her the same fear that had held her ancestors in its iron grip for so long...he almost chuckled at the thought. He reveled in the thought of breaking one of his greatest enemy's closest companions in such a way. If he could do that...then there would be no question as to which of them was the winner. For all of the princess's talk of supreme power, even she would be forced to admit to his superiority, to his control, when she watched that little pink fool walk back through the gates of Tartarus with her tail between her legs. All it would take was a few carefully chosen words...
“My, my,” he said, his voice dripping with false admiration. “You truly are a brave one, aren't you?”
He was laying it on a bit thick, he realized, and yet the little pony seemingly remained oblivious to his true feelings.
“Aww, no,” she said, smiling sheepishly. “I'm not that much braver than anypony else.”
“Oh, but you are!” he said. “The windigos were truly terrifying creatures. I remember the tales well. Coats as cold as ice...manes of biting chill...hooves that thundered across the sky as they went, striking fear into the hearts of all who heard.”
“Um...yeah,” said the pony, her boisterous voice abnormally hesitant. “Those windigos, um...sure were something alright.”
He maintained his facade, yet allowed himself a moment to savor the effect his words were already having on her. Already, he could see those bright eyes wavering like flickering candles as the puny brain behind them was filled with the mental images he fashioned.
“Oh, yes,” he continued. “They certainly were something. Creatures of pure, unadulterated hatred...bent on the destruction of this world...your world.”
She gulped. “Uh...y-yeah,” she said.
“And they could have done it too,” he said. “They wielded magic more powerful than any unicorn, conjured storms too wild for any pegasus, and undid the work of every last Earth pony. Truly, there was nothing that could have been done to stop them.”
“I...I guess,” she said.
The little pony's defenses were rapidly crumbling. Her warm smile had faded, and she struggled to meet his gaze, her head slowly drooping.
Too easy.
“They would have been the death of your people,” he said. “And if they were here today...they would be the death of you...and the death of everything you hold dear.”
She opened her mouth as if to speak, her lips trembling, yet she remained silent.
“So fortunate, then, that they do not still haunt this world,” he said. “That fact must comfort you. You must feel at ease, knowing that creatures as powerful, as unstoppable as them only exist in myths and legends.”
She slowly exhaled, and the smile began to creep back onto her lips. She lifted her gaze from the floor, slowly looking back up at him. “Yeah,” she said. “I sure am glad that...”
She fell silent as she looked upon his face, looked into those cold, black eyes of his. That face looked back at her, devoid of any semblance of warmth or friendliness.
“If only that were true,” he said, his words as chilling as his gaze.
Her smile faded.
“You have every reason to be afraid, little pony,” he said. “For the most powerful, most terrible, most horrible monster to ever haunt the nightmares of ponykind yet lives. A monster that once held your life, and the lives of everyone you love in this world in its hands. A monster that could have smashed every rock, burned every tree, and even snuffed out the stars themselves. A monster that could have made your puny little existence one of unending torment and terror.”
He had her now. Time for the final blow.
“Who is this monster, you ask?” he said, allowing himself a chuckle. “I think you already know.”
He raised himself up, standing tall and proud, bringing his great height to bear on the puny pony.
“You have come here...to the deepest, darkest hole in Equestria...to find me...Lord Tirek!” he boomed, his voice filling the great cavern with its echo. “Tirek the Terrible! Tirek the Almighty! Me! I have laid waste to a hundred kingdoms, brought doom and destruction to all who opposed me, and wielded power unmatched by any other in this world! I am the reason widows weep! I am the reason mothers whisper comforting lies to their children! I am the conqueror, the destroyer, and the one destined to crush this pathetic world beneath his hoof...and you have come to bring me a Hearth's Warming present?”
A tad melodramatic perhaps, but the look on her face...
He leaned forward, grinning a stomach-churning grin. “Run,” he said. “Run home, little pony. Run home...back to your little house in your little village. Run back to your bed and hide under the covers. Pretend this was all just a bad dream...but know, little one...that I will still be here. I will be here when you sleep, and I will be here when you wake. I will be here every morning and every night of your miserable little life. I was here when you were born, and I will be here when you take your last breath. So, Pinkie Pie...when you walk down a dark alleyway, take a moment to look over your shoulder...and when you lay your head down to sleep, check under your bed...because someday, perhaps...I might not be here. Someday...very soon, perhaps...I might be somewhere much closer.”
That ought to do it.
“Now...begone,” he said, slowly turning away from the little pony, “and take that ridiculous gift with you.”
He faced the other side of his cage, grinning at the thought of what was going through her head, and the thought of what she would do next. Would she scream? Would she cry? Would she turn tail and flee from that accursed place as fast as her little hooves could carry her? All satisfying options. He perked up his ears, eagerly listening.
Any moment now...
“But if I take your present home with me, how are you gonna open it on Hearth's Warming?” sounded out the annoyingly bubbly voice of the little pink pony.
What.
Quick as a flash, he whipped back around, wondering whether his ears had deceived him. His eyes, however, confirmed his suspicions. The expression on that little pony's face could not have been called one of terror by even the most generous standards. Rather, her tilted head and furrowed brow suggested, more than anything else, genuine confusion, an emotion that was quickly mirrored on his own face.
“You...I...what!?!” he exclaimed, the finely-oiled machine of his mind struggling to deal with the large pink wrench that had just been thrown into it.
“I mean, I know some ponies like to do Hearth's Warming differently,” the pony continued. “Take Twilight. She and Spike like to open their presents the night before! Crazy, right? If you wanted to something like that, I can definitely make that happen...but I don't see how you're gonna open your present if you're in here and your present's way back in Ponyville and—”
“What!?!” he roared, the force of his exclamation blowing back the pony's curls.
How? How can this be? She's not scared in the slightest!
“Are you deaf?” he said. “Did you hear even a word I said?”
“Of course I heard you!” the pony said with a smile. “It's not that hard, especially when you get all yelly like that.” A childish giggle punctuated her equally childish sentence.
“Then...why?” he said. “Why are you still here? Why are you not afraid of me? You know who I am! You know what I did! I...I conquered your country! I subjugated your people! I almost destroyed you and your little friends! And yet you stand before me with a smile on your face, offering me a gift? Why?”
He stared at her, breathing heavily as his words echoed throughout the cavern, then slowly faded away into the silence. That silence was quickly filled with another giggle, courtesy of the little pink pony.
“Oh, Tirek,” she said. “You still don't get it, do you? I know I said I got presents for all my friends, and showing your friends you care about them is a super important part of Hearth's Warming, but there's something even more important about it: making new friends! Think about it: the three tribes used to not be friends. They all used to argue and fight and do all sorts of mean stuff to each other! But on Hearth's Warming, they learned to put aside their differences and be nice to each other, even after everything they had done. They learned that they didn't need to keep being mad or scared about stuff that happened in the past. If they worked together, believed in each other, and forgave each other, then they could all be happy together in the future!
“I know in the past you've done some...maybe-not-so-okay things...and I'm not saying that everypony forgives you for all that...but that doesn't mean you can't be part of Hearth's Warming with us! Discord used to do lots of mean things too, but now he's our friend, and he's coming to the Hearth's Warming party I'm having! Even Princess Luna tried to take over Equestria a couple times, but now, everypony loves her! We gave them a chance to be our friends, and everything turned out great in the end, so now I'm here to give you a chance too, and give you a super-duper-special present I picked out just for you!” She waved the box back and forth before him, as if tempting a dog with a scrap of meat.
Forgiveness...just another word for pity.
“Discord is a mad fool,” he said, “and your Princess Luna is as weak-minded as the rest of your kind. If you compare me to them...think that I am no greater of a threat...then you are gravely mistaken. Perhaps they were worthy of your pity...your forgiveness...but I am not. Even you admit that I am not forgiven. Even you admit that your people still acknowledge what I am capable of.
“Isn't that right, princess?” he said loudly and clearly, quickly glancing over at the pony in question, who still stood at a safe distance across the chasm.
Her big eyes were still trained on him, still watching his every move, and yet...there was something different about that stare, something that hadn't been there a minute ago. Her gaze, once as hard as the bars of his cage, had softened. It still conveyed the same poised strength as it had before, but also something else...
Is that...? No...it can't be.
Pity.
“Well...I know I said that,” said the little pink pony, “but...we're really trying, honest! A lot of ponies are still a bit upset about you...you know...sucking out their magic and everything...and you can't really blame them...but I'm willing to give you a chance, and Twilight is too!”
“No,” he said softly, a sudden lapse allowing his inner thoughts to slip out.
“Oh, yes!” the pony continued. “I'll admit, it took a long time for me to convince her. You should've seen the look on her face when I told her I wanted to bring you a Hearth's Warming present! She gave me this really long lecture about how dangerous you were and how risky it would be to visit you and how you were just too much of a meanie to be worth it...but...”
But?
“Then I reminded her,” the pony continued. “I reminded her what she's taught me about being a good friend over the years. I reminded her what you do at Hearth's Warming. I reminded her what she does every time somepony tries to take over Equestria: she forgives them. After Princess Luna stole her mentor away...Twilight forgave her. After Discord stole her horn...Twilight forgave him. And when Sunset Shimmer stole her crown...Twilight forgave her too. So...even though you stole her magic...and everypony else's...she's ready to give you another chance too. She was still really worried about coming here, but she Pinkie-promised I could give you your present as long as she looked at it first.”
He couldn't believe it. His ancient mind, more vast and powerful than that of any puny pony, simply couldn't comprehend what he was hearing. All of those long nights of hateful dreams, all of those long hours of spiteful planning...had all been for naught. His greatest enemy, the one who he had devoted himself to enacting his revenge upon...no longer even considered him a threat. She no longer lived in fear of him. The one small consolation he had had while sitting alone in his cage, that one bit of power he had thought he had over her, that one bit of control...was all a product of his imagination. To her, he was no foe, he was no rival...he was a conquest...a creature so miserable and impotent as to be worthy of even her pity.
The muscles of his stony face began to twitch as the seething cauldron of anger within him finally began to boil over. His hands trembled as they balled into fists, but not from lack of strength. His jaw clenched, and his breaths grew heavier, until his gleaming nose ring began to fog from the steaming air. He slowly tore his gaze away from the princess and back to the little pink pony before him, the one whose deluded worldview he had so confidently set out to shatter just minutes earlier.
“Now you listen to me,” he said through gritted teeth. “I do not need your forgiveness. I do not need your pity. I don't need your friendship, your mercy, or anything else!”
“But—“ the pony began.
“No!” he snarled. “There is nothing I need from you, or her, or any one of you miserable little equines! I am not some pitiful child to be comforted with trinkets! I am a conquerer! I am Lord Tirek! If I want something, I take it! If I wanted whatever was in that box, it would be mine, but I don't, so you can keep your pathetic present and everything else!”
“But...you don't even know what it is!” said the little pony. “How do you know you won't like it?”
He let loose a growl of centuries-long frustration. “What?” he bellowed. “What could you possibly have in that box? What in the world do you think I would want from you?”
“Well, I can't just tell you,” said the pony, speaking as if he had just said something foolish. “That would ruin the surprise! You gotta wait until Hearth's Warming to open it and find out! Although, if you really, really, really want to know...I guess I can give you a teensy-weensy little hint to tide you over.
“See, after I realized I still needed to get you a gift, Gummy and I spent a really long time thinking about what to get you. I don't know that many old, grumpy wizards, so I had no idea what sort of present to get somepony like that...but then, I realized something: Twilight's sorta like an old grumpy wizard...”
“Hey!” spoke the princess in question from across the chasm.
“And I know what Twilight likes!” continued the little pink pony, oblivious to her companion's interjection. “She likes books, of course...and studying...and doing homework, but...I figured you might want something a little bit more exciting than that sort of stuff. Luckily, I remembered there's something else that Twilight also really likes: antiquing! She's always stopping by the antique shop to check out whatever old magical doodads they have there. I thought to myself, if there's anything that'll make the perfect gift for an old, magical centaur from a faraway land, it'll be at the antique shop! Gummy and I spent hours digging around in there, but it was worth it in the end! We found the oldest, most from-a-faraway-landiest thing ever! It didn't end up being magical, but I still think you'll really love it! So...what do you say? Want to...give it a chance?” She held out the box once again, her expression tentatively hopeful.
He, however, was in no mood to satisfy that hope. “Bah!” he sneered. “You dig some dusty relic from a pile of junk, wrap it in colored paper, and then try to make a peace offering of it? What a foolish sentiment. What a foolish pony tradition! And if you think I would ever sink so low as to accept a gift, then you are a fool as well!”
“But...everypony gives gifts on Hearth's Warming!” said the little pony. “Even creatures who aren't ponies! Spike gives Hearth's Warming presents, and he's a dragon! Zecora's a zebra, and even she likes to do Hearth's Warming with us! She says they don't have Hearth's Warming where she's from, but that everypony loved to give each other gifts all the same! I bet there were creatures that gave each other gifts back where you're from too!”
“You know not of what you speak!” he said. “You know nothing of me, or my homeland!”
“But, creatures had to have given each other gifts where you're from, right?” said the pony. “If not for Hearth's Warming, then for birthdays or...”
“Wrong,” he said. “My people are not as weak as you ponies, especially not a lord of the kingdom! I would never have sunk to such a level...to your level.”
The little pony sputtered and stammered, her puny brain clearly struggling to comprehend. “You...you can't mean that!” she said. “Somepony had to have given you a gift sometime!”
“No, they didn't!” he snarled.
“B-But...but...you mean that...you mean you've never gotten a gift ever!?!” said the pony, her face a greater mask of horror than that it had been minutes earlier, that insulting fact being the straw that finally broke the centaur's back.
“No!” he bellowed. “I've never gotten a...a...”
Gift.
His tongue lay still, awkwardly awaiting the conclusion of the sentence, a conclusion that never came. He saw the word clearly in his mind, heard it, held it his metaphorical grasp as he prepared to hurl it angrily at the little pony, and yet he could not force his lips to utter it. The word lingered there, an obnoxiously immovable object standing defiantly in the center of his mind. He seized the accursed thing, hefting it with all his might in a stubborn attempt to move it, but it did not budge. It was as if the word were stuck to something, tethered onto something far larger and heavier than itself, something that his raging psyche was incapable of overpowering. Still, he persisted, yanking on that tether that led somewhere off further into the depths of his mind. Like an old, rusty anchor pulled up from the bottom of the sea, the great, unknown weight he struggled against slowly surfaced, a scrap of ancient memory that had laid buried beneath a rotting mountain of hatred and anger for a millennium.
“Guard, leave us. I wish to speak with my son alone.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Aww, mother! Why did you send him away? We were in the middle of sparring practice!”
“I think you've given him enough bruises for today, my sweet.”
“Ugh! Don't call me that! I'm not a baby!”
“Oh...forgive your old mother for doting. I know you aren't a little child anymore. In fact...that's why I have come here.”
“What do you mean?”
“My child...do you know what today is?”
“Er...it's, um...it's the, uh...eighth of Frostbreak...isn't it?”
“Well, yes...but do you know what's special about today?”
“Today's the day...the servants scrub the throne room?”
“Not quite. Today...is the day of your birth.”
“Oh...I suppose it is. Well...what's so special about that?”
“It was the day you took your first breath. It was the day I first looked upon the face of my firstborn child. Isn't that special?”
“It's not as if I did anything worth celebrating on that day. Father says all I did was cry and sleep.”
“Well, that is true, but...I believe there is still reason to celebrate it.”
“Why?”
“Why? Well...did you know that the servants celebrate their birthdays? All of the peasants do, in fact.”
“Father says the peasants are weak...weak of mind and weak of body.”
“True, I can't say I've ever known of a peasant who could so easily outmatch one of our guards, but...there is something they do that I find most...intriguing.”
“What's that?”
“Close your eyes, and I will show you.”
“Close my eyes? How can you show me something if my eyes are closed?”
“Just...trust me.”
“Oh, alright.”
“Good. Now...hold your hands out before you.”
“Err...okay. Huh? What have you put in them?”
“Open your eyes and see.”
“Wha...a ball? A...wooden ball? What is this, mother, and...what are these...rings on it?”
“Do you see the letters on them?”
“Yes...”
“Turn them. Spell out the name of the one who will someday be lord of this castle.”
“Okay...um...T...I...R...E...K. Huh!?! Wha...woah! Mother...look at them all! Look! It's the serpent! And...and the hydra! And over there! The manticore!”
“I see that you have been paying attention to your astronomy tutor. Do you like it?”
“Ha ha! This thing is...this thing is amazing! Incredible! Wha...what is it?”
“It is your birthday present, my child.”
“My birthday...present?”
“Yes. I told you that the peasants celebrate their birthdays. Apparently, when one of them has a birthday, the others will celebrate it by...giving them a gift.”
“They give each other these?”
“Well, no. I doubt that there are any peasants with the magical ability needed to create something such as this. From what I have heard, they usually give such things as sweets or small toys. I had thought about making such things for you, but...I realized that you would probably enjoy something like this much more. Was I right? Do you...truly like it?”
“I...mother, I...you...I cannot take this. I cannot accept a...a gift. Father says only weaklings accept gifts and charity. I-If I am to be a conqueror like him one day, then...I have to take what I want. Father says—“
“Your father...says many things. Listen to me now, my child. Listen to what I say. You are not a weakling. You are not a baby. You are strong. You are strong and...brave and...intelligent. You are everything a mother could want in a son. I have no doubt in my heart that you will become a great sorcerer someday...greater even than your father. This is what I believe. Now...do you believe that I am telling the truth?”
“I...I do.”
“I do not give you this thing to make you feel weak. You are strong, and you must be strong in this world. There will be times where you must fend for yourself. There will be times where you must take what you want...what you need. If your father had his way, you'd be out there with him on his campaign right now, taking trophies from conquered foes. Perhaps you'll join him when you're a little older. Perhaps you'll lead your own campaign someday. Perhaps you'll be off conquering some...far-off country a thousand leagues away from here that I've never even heard of. That's why I give you this now. I give you this...so that no matter where you go, no matter how far from home you travel...you will always have a piece of home with you. You can remember your home...remember your family...remember yourself.
“You have grown strong over the years, my child, and I am so proud of how hard you have worked to gain that strength, but...there is more to you than just that. You have a strong arm...but you also have a strong heart, and a strong mind. You love to read your books, you love to drive the servants mad with your little pranks, and as much grief as you two cause each other, I know you love your brother too. Those things may not earn you a place in the bards' songs, but...they are no less a part of who you are. You may not think about all of the little things that make you worthy of celebration, of love...but I do. I love you, my child. I loved you even when you were a helpless babe crying in my arms. I love you, your brother loves you...even your father loves you...in his own way. I just hope that...you love you too.”
“Mother, I...I do. Truly. And...and I love you too.”
“Oh, my child...my sweet child...do not weep. This is a day for happiness.”
“I...thank you...thank you, mother. Thank you for this. Thank you for...for everything.”
“You do not need to thank me, my child. Just be happy today...that is all I ask.”
“I...I will...I will, mother. But...mother, I...I still cannot take this thing. I love it, I truly do, but...father will not approve. He will not allow me to keep it. You put a power crystal within this, didn't you? As soon as he senses it, he will—“
“Do not fear. I have already taken precautions.”
“What do you mean?”
“Turn the rings again. Turn it off.”
“Like...this?”
“There. Now...can you still sense the magic within it?”
“I...I cannot!”
“And neither will your father. I have placed a charm on it to hide its true nature. So long as it is turned off, even a sorcerer as powerful as your father will not notice it. So long as you do not flaunt it before him...he will never know.”
“Wow! You truly are the most powerful sorceress in the world!”
“Oh, my sweet...you know that's not...what's that noise?”
“Trumpets.”
“Your father! Your father is returning! Why has he returned so soon? This does not bode well. We must prepare for his arrival! Quickly! Run off and make yourself ready.”
“Yes, mother!”
“And remember: keep your present hidden!”
He remembered. He remembered the sound of that voice. He remembered the feel of those feminine arms wrapped around him. He remembered the sight of those brilliant lights. He remembered the strange, but not unwelcome warmth that had filled his heart, if only for a short time.
He also remembered those trumpets. He remembered the pounding of heavy hooves, and the roar of a deep, harrowing voice that, even a thousand years and countless leagues removed, still shook him. He remembered the pungent odor of wine, and the slurred, angry words. He remembered the fear of discovery...and he remembered the terror.
He remembered the sound of yelling voices, one male, one female. He remembered the feel of the ball as it was yanked from his hands, before being thrust into the hands of a servant. He remembered the barked order to take the thing away, to dispose of it. He remembered the sharp crack of flesh on flesh, and remembered the sting of pain. He remembered the warmth of tears as they flowed down his cheeks.
“Woah...are you okay, Tirek?” came the voice of a certain little pink pony.
He blinked his eyes, as if waking suddenly from a dream. Soon, he could see the dim light of the cavern once again. He could see the thick bars before his face. Lastly, he felt the subtle touch of something on his face, slowly running down his cheek. He reflexively reached up a hand to touch the thing, wiping it from his skin. He looked down at his fingers, seeing clearly the drop of warm liquid that stained them.
Sight led to comprehension. Comprehension led to realization. Realization led to anger.
His fingers curled. His eyes widened. His nostrils flared. His lips parted, and from within those depths flowed a roar so great and so terrible that it shook the foundations of Tartarus itself. His fist sailed through the air, and a dull crunch was heard as his knuckles met with the unbending stone bars of the cage to his side.
He stood there, silently fuming as pain arced up his arm. Moments later, he slowly pulled back his fist, taking in the sight of his visibly broken bones and of the stream of deep red that trickled through his fingers.
“Oh...oh my gosh!” cried the little pink pony, her wide eyes fixated on his wounded hand. “T-T-Twilight! Get up here! He needs help!”
“No!” he shouted, turning his fiery gaze on her once again. “Begone from this place, both of you!”
“B-But your hand!” she stammered, stepping closer to the cage and setting her present down beside it.
“I said go!” he said. “Leave, and never return!”
In one swift motion, too swift for even him to process, his undamaged hand slipped through the bars of his cage, lifted high above his head, then sailed through the air at a frightening speed.
He could not have said what target his hand had meant to hit, even long after that fateful day had passed. Regardless of its intentions, that hand soon collided with cardboard and colored paper, and the little pony's present was sent tumbling across the stony ground beneath their hooves, eventually coming to rest a short distance away from his cage.
He stared down into the face of the little pony before him, staring right into her saucer-wide eyes. As the seconds ticked by, his heavy breaths gradually calmed, and the loud pounding of his heart quieted, allowing him to hear the silence of the cavern once more...and the distinctive crackling noise that permeated it.
His eyes slowly moved across the cavern to the spot where the noise was coming from. They moved across his little plateau, across the stone bridge that led away from it, and back to the spot where the little pony princess still stood. Her powerful wings were spread wide to either side of her, poised to send her hurtling forward across the chasm to where he stood. Her long, spiraled horn sparked with magenta light that arced from base to tip, ten thousand volts of magical energy aimed straight at his heart. Most striking of all, however, was those eyes, eyes burning with a white-hot intensity that struck him even through the thick haze that clouded his mind.
Whatever small bit of self-control he still possessed managed to reassert itself, taking command of his body once more. Slowly, gingerly, cautiously, his outstretched hand withdrew, inching back within the confines of his cage. He leaned back away from the bars, then took several slow steps backwards, one at a time. All the while, his eyes never left the little princess, whose horn did not dim, and whose fiery gaze did not diminish in the slightest.
“Tirek?” spoke a voice as puny as the tiniest mouse.
He slowly turned his head, keeping the princess in his sights for as long as he could, before finally looking back at the little pony before him. Her eyes were downcast, and her head hung low. Her lips formed a trembling line on her face.
“I'll...I'll go,” she said, sniffling. “If that's what you want...I'll go.”
The little pink pony took several slow steps backward, then turned, facing back the way she had come from. Her hooves barely left the ground as she walked towards the bridge; her long, puffy tail dragged through the dirt. She walked for a few moments, reaching the beginning of the bridge, then stopped, still facing away.
“Happy Hearth's Warming,” she said, her voice wavering as she tried to hold back her tears.
She walked back across the bridge, back towards the spot where her companion stood watching him. Those burning eyes did not move from where he stood, the crackling of that horn did not cease, not until the pink pony had stepped off of the other side of the bridge. The instant her friend had rejoined her, the princess whipped around and rushed to her side, throwing a protective wing over her shoulders.
The princess spoke quickly and emphatically to her, not even bothering to hide her words from him. She spoke words of concern, of protectiveness, of regret, and of anger...anger at him. If the pink one responded to any of it, he could not tell, so still was her form and so quiet was her voice. After several moments of this, the princess pushed her friend along, moving her back towards the great gate. The princess took one last look over her shoulder, sending one last venomous glare his way, and sending one last spark up the length of her horn, before turning away again.
The two ponies walked side-by-side across the cavern, moving quickly at the princess's insistence. One of Cerberus's heads briefly looked up from its treat as they passed, but quickly lost interest again, returning to its gnawing. The ponies soon reached the threshold, crossing through the gate and back into the world of light beyond. A tiny flash came from the princess's horn, and the titanic doors stirred to life, slowly grinding closed.
He watched them as they walked away into the distance, two specks of color in a sea of white. He watched as his window to the outside world slowly shrunk, those double-doors inching ever closer together. Soon, only a thin strip of white could be seen through the gap, then a sliver, and as the doors finally met and the great gate sealed tight, the last bit of light leaking into that dark cavern was snuffed out. A dull thud echoed through the cavern as those ancient slabs of stone met, before it too faded, and silence filled his world once more.
In. Out. In. Out. In...
He paused in his thoughts. Slowly, his eyelids began to open, before being hastily slammed closed again.
No! No.
In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In...
Perhaps...
No, you fool! No. You will not.
In. Out. In. Out.
You have to open your eyes eventually.
A grumble of frustration burbled up his throat as he opened his eyes, looking out at the bars before him, and the dim cavern beyond that. He immediately swiveled his head to the side, looking off at a spot a short distance from one of the corners of his cage. In that spot, lying on its side on the stone, was a small box wrapped in colored paper and tied with a bow.
He stared at the thing, for how could he not? In another setting, such a mundane object might have gone as unnoticed as the air, or the ground, but there, in the depths of Tartarus, surrounded by nothing but varying shades of stony gray, that little cube of black and red stood out as much as a full moon on a starless night. He watched it unblinking, as if he expected the thing to suddenly leap up and attack him. Of course, the box remained where it was, seemingly unperturbed by his piercing gaze. After several moments of this, he grumbled again, facing forward and clamping his eyes shut.
In. Out. In. Out.
Foolish ponies. Foolish holiday. Foolish tradition. Did they honestly expect to gain my submission with such a petty gesture? Only they would try such a thing.
In. Out. In. Out.
Antique shop. Bah! As if I would ever want some dusty old knickknack from some pony's storeroom.
In. Out. In. Out.
Probably some rusty horseshoe...or perhaps a moth-eaten rag of a hat.
In. Out. In. Out.
Some tarnished silverware...a garish vase...a faded painting...so many possibilities.
His eyes unthinkingly drifted open, and his head began to turn.
I wonder...
His eyes had almost reached the box when realization struck him.
No! No!
He forced his head back to its previous position, clenching his eyes shut with all his might.
Whatever it is, it is as worthless as they are. You do not need it. You do not want it. It is nothing to you.
So he had been telling himself ever since the two little ponies had walked back through the gate of Tartarus, leaving him alone with the accursed box. His stubborn refusal to even acknowledge the thing had led to it sitting untouched ever since. His mental effort had been successful initially, but even his disciplined mind had been incapable of completely ignoring such a glaring change to an environment that had gone unaltered for a thousand years. Still, he was nothing if not persistent, and so resumed his meditation.
In. Out. In. Out.
A far-off noise reached his ears, one which he was so familiar with that he did not even need to open his eyes to know what it was. Across the cavern, Cerberus was waking, slowly rising from its resting place and stretching out its ancient bones. Its three monstrous maws opened wide and sounded out a three-part harmony of yawning that filled the silent cavern.
Morning already?
Entombed beneath the earth as he was, the internal clock of his guardian was the only visible sign of the passage of time he could rely on. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to let him know that a new day had come, and according to his most recent visitors, that day in particular had special significance for the little ponies of Equestria. He tried to slam the breaks on this train of thought before it could lead him to an undesirable place, but was not quick enough to prevent the image of the box from appearing in his mind.
He snorted angrily as his eyes flew open. He quickly rose from the floor, stamping off towards the corner opposite the one nearest the box. He crossed his arms, breathing a few more heavy snorts as he defiantly stared through the bars before his face. Eventually, however, his head turned once again, and he looked back at the box.
It is nothing to me. It is worthless.
A spark of inspiration was kindled in his mind, and his eyes slowly drifted across the little plateau where his cage sat, over to the edge of the bottomless chasm beyond it, just a stone's throw away.
So why not dispose of it?
His lips stretched into a wicked smirk as he turned and crossed his cage, carefully lying down at the spot closest to the box. He raised his hand, briefly pausing to inspect it. The preservative magic of Tartarus had healed his bones and broken skin, yet his hand still felt a bit stiff, and likely would for a while longer. Still, it would be enough for the task at hand, he thought as he flexed his fingers.
Looking back to the box, he slid his arm through the bars and reached out towards it. His long fingers slowly approached the box, then suddenly stopped as his torso touched the side of the cage. His brief moment of spiteful glee quickly faded as he pressed himself more firmly against the bars and stretched his arm out as far as he could reach, yet found the bow on the nearest side of the box still out of reach. Realizing that he had misjudged the distance between his cage and the box, he tried again, adjusting himself and making several more unsuccessful grabs at the thing. As the seconds dragged on, panic slowly seeped into his mind, the prospect of the infuriating box sitting just out of his reach as the long years passed becoming an increasingly real possibility. If his cage had not been a part of the same stone that made up the floor, he might have been able to shift it and gain himself a few more precious inches. As it was, all he could do was squish his body ever harder against the bars, ignoring the resulting discomfort. Fortunately, both for his aching body and his threatened sanity, one final thrust of his hand hooked a loop of the bow with the tip of one of his long, pointed nails. He froze, so as not to jeopardize his precarious position, then slowly, with the precision of a surgeon, tugged on the bow. The bow was pulled closer, and with it the box, soon bringing it comfortably within his reach. Allowing himself a triumphant chuckle, he seized the box and dragged it all the way up to the side of his cage.
He grinned down at it, savoring the small victory as he adopted a more comfortable position. Reaching through the bars with both hands, he grabbed the box, lifting it up off of the ground. The box, he realized, weighed almost nothing. He glanced back towards the chasm, judging the distance. Even with his frail arms, he estimated, he would have no trouble hurling the box over the edge and into the abyss. Chuckling to himself, he looked back down at the box.
It won't trouble me down there. Out of sight, out of mind. Whatever worthless trinket that little pink fool put within it, I'll never have to know.
His grin faltered.
I never will know.
His eyes slowly widened as he realized the great folly of what he had been about to do. Throwing the thing into the chasm would not solve his problem, merely transpose it. Out of sight, yes...but not out of mind, so long as he knew that it was still there. It had been a challenge to ignore the thing for even a couple of days; he wondered what effect the thing would have on his psyche over the span of a year, of a decade, of a century. What would happen on the day his iron will finally broke, and he simply needed to know the exact nature of the insult that had been delivered to him? What would happen on that day if the object of his obsession was at the bottom of the darkest hole in the world, where he could not even have dreamed of reaching it?
Fear for his mental state quickly turned to anger, anger at the control the box exerted over him, the control the little pink pony exerted over him by extension, and the control that the little princess had exerted by bringing them there in the first place.
No. I will not be made a puppet by those miserable ponies. I will not play their game. They brought this thing here to demean me, to torture me with its presence, but they will not succeed. I shall open this “gift”, but only to confirm what I already know. I will see what form their insult has taken, and then I will cast the worthless thing into the depths where it belongs...and I shall sleep with a smile on my face as I dream of it rotting down there.
Anger turned to sadistic glee as he pictured himself following through with his plan. He quickly set down the box, then slipped a sharp nail beneath the ribbon that bound it, effortlessly slicing through it. He made short work of the colored wrapping paper as well, and soon, the only thing standing between him and the unknown gift were a couple of flaps of cardboard. He seized the flaps, roughly pulled them back, and looked down into the box.
He had never believed in fate. Fate was a delusion used by the weak to comfort themselves in their failures. People did not succeed and fail because the universe decreed it to be so. The strong triumphed because they were strong, and the weak suffered because they were weak. Empires rose and fell by the hands of conquerors, of kings, not by the invisible hands of unknowable beings. Everything happened because someone, or something, made it happen. Miracles did not exist, except in the minds of half-wits and madmen.
So he had always believed. He had believed it firmly, unwaveringly, unquestionably, for over a thousand years. And yet, as he sat there in the center of his cage, his trembling hands held before him, staring down at the small sphere of wood they held, he found himself, for the first time in a very long time indeed, doubting.
It was smaller than he remembered, or was it merely that his hands were bigger? Its surface was worn, scratched, and pitted, a trifling amount of damage, considering its age. The lines that ran around its surface like those of a globe were still there, dividing it into what looked like five parallel rings that lay adjacent to each other. Each of these rings was inscribed with a series of markings that ran around its length, markings that would have been meaningless to any other creature within a thousand leagues.
He felt its weight. His fingers caressed its grainy surface. His eyes saw the markings, and he heard their sounds in his mind, yet for all this, he would sooner have believed that the thing he held in his hands was merely a product of his imagination. Perhaps he was hallucinating it? Perhaps he had hallucinated the whole thing, ponies, present, and all? Perhaps his mind had finally broken, and he was actually lying on the floor of his cage, gibbering and drooling like a madman, dreaming the world around him? It would be a far more likely explanation than the alternative.
Whatever the true reason, the fact remained that the thing still sat in his hands, patiently awaiting his touch. It knew what needed to be done; the question was, did he? He swallowed, an act made difficult by his dry throat, then moved one of his hands across the sphere's surface. He felt the etched markings beneath his fingertips as they moved to the uppermost ring, gently taking hold of it. He paused, taking a deep breath, then carefully applied pressure to it.
His heart jumped when the ring did not immediately budge, but after a few moments of increasingly forceful pressure, it finally shifted, breaking through whatever ancient dust or gunk had impeded its movement. It moved smoothly after that, the ring rotating around the surface of the sphere under his touch, moving its markings along with it. His eyes scanned those markings, tracing the lines and loops of them, until at last they fell upon the one he had been searching for. His fingers stopped and released the ring again when the marking was before him.
For a moment, he paused, considering whether he truly wished to proceed. In the end, the fear of continuing proved lesser than the fear of not doing so; the fear of knowing lesser than the fear of ignorance. One by one, he pressed his fingers against the rings, and one by one, the rings turned. He found the second marking, lining it up with the first. The third was quickly brought into line as well. The fourth came next, and then, when the fifth had found its place in line, he pulled back his hand and looked down at the name of the one who would someday be lord of much more than an ancient castle in a faraway land a thousand leagues away.
A moment passed...and then another...and another. All was silent, all was still, the cavern, the cage, him, and the gift he clutched in his hands. He waited, the tension weighing more heavily on his mind with every passing second. The tiny glimmer of hope that burned in his heart gradually diminished, growing weaker, smaller, fainter. Just before that little flickering candle was snuffed out by the wind, however, the wooden sphere suddenly erupted with bright white light. He let out a grunt as his eyes were assaulted by the illumination, reflexively turning his head away and clamping his eyes shut. He waited as the light gradually diminished and his eyes slowly adjusted to its intensity. When he felt he could stand to risk it, he cracked one of his eyes, then the other, then carefully opened them fully. He looked back down at the sphere in his hands, which was glowing with a soft, warm light that caressed his skin lovingly. His jaw hung agape, and his breaths grew shakier as he beheld it, its warmth seeming to seep into his cold, trembling flesh. He beheld an even greater sight when his eyes drifted upwards and gazed upon the ceiling of his cage.
Stars. Hundreds of them. Thousands of them. A spectacle of sparkling lights hanging right over his head, filling his vision. His eyes darted to and fro, drinking in the starscape with a mixture of eagerness and awe. To some, that sight might have been beautiful, those tiny points of light shining through the gloom of Tartarus as if they were the real thing; to him, it was much more than that. To him, those stars were not just pretty lights to gawk at. There was meaning to them, there was history, and there was identity.
The serpent. The hydra. The manticore.
Those ancient faces stared down at him, those and many more. He saw monsters, and heroes, and villains. He saw kings and conquerors. He saw their stories emblazoned in the stars above him, stories from the distant past, and from a distant land.
His land.
Confusion flashed through his mind as those stars began to blur, followed by realization as he felt the warm liquid welling up in his eyes. He clamped his eyes shut and hung his head as his chest began to shudder and heave. His lips trembled, so he pursed them tightly and clenched his jaw. When he began to fall forward, he placed a trembling hand on the floor to steady himself. With the other hand, he clutched the gift tightly, holding it close to his chest.
He could feel its warmth, and feel the warmth of the one who had fashioned it all those years ago. He could feel her hands upon his face, hands gentle enough to caress the most delicate butterfly, and strong enough to tear down the tallest of mountains. The hands of a mother, the hands of a protector, the hands of the most powerful sorceress in the world.
His eyes slowly opened.
The most powerful sorceress in the world.
He looked down at the gift in his hands.
More powerful than even an alicorn princess.
It was not merely light that thing emanated; there was something else as well, something softer, subtler...yet unquestionably more powerful.
Magic.
He could feel the magical presence of the thing as surely as he could feel its touch. It was faint, puny, almost nonexistent, but it was there nonetheless. There was energy within that sphere, energy...and power.
A power crystal.
How else could such a device have been meant to function? How else could it still posses the magical energy needed to produce its breathtaking display, if it did not contain such a device? A simple thing, that crystal, but useful for such minor purposes. It could absorb the ambient magical energy of the world, store it, then deliver it to whatever...or whoever...had need of it.
As the wheels in his head turned, the gentle warmth that had been filling him up slowly receded, replaced with the cold fire of ambition. The power of that crystal was trivial compared to that which had once flowed through his veins, but it was still more than he had had access to in a long time. With it in his possession, it might take him years, decades even, to accumulate a significant amount of magical power, but time was the one resource he had in great supply. With enough time...
A wicked smile stretched across his face as a myriad of possibilities opened up in his mind. Plans and strategies discarded centuries ago for lack of viability resurfaced, suddenly not seeming so outlandish after all. His eyes pored over his surroundings, taking in every familiar detail as if seeing it for the first time. In his mind, a great plan slowly took form, and then two, and then ten. In fact, there were few options he could not imagine going in his favor, now that he possessed the key to enacting them. He could already see the little princess lying at his hooves, her and every other creature who had ever dared to stand in his way.
He looked back down at his gift, still resting innocently in his hands. All he needed to do was crack the thing open, rip it apart and tear the crystal from within...and the rest would be child's play. He chuckled as he grasped it firmly with both hands, slid the points of his nails into the seams, and then...
His smile faded as his fingers sat there as still as stone. He commanded them to obey him, yet they refused. Frustration bubbled up inside him. He knew what needed to be done. He knew what he needed; he knew what he wanted...so why was he unable to take it?
Cursing his disobedient fingers, he raised the gift high above his head, preparing to dash it upon the stone floor. A moment passed, and he realized that his arms, too, had betrayed him, refusing to carry out his will. They trembled as he fought against them, his features clearly showing his mental strain.
Why? This is what I need. This is what I want. So why can't I...?
A roar echoed through the cavern as his will broke, and he pounded an empty fist onto the floor. He breathed heavily as he sat there, clutching the gift to his shuddering chest. He clamped his eyes shut, but was unable to contain the streams of tears that issued forth, running down his long face before dripping down onto the cold stone.
He stayed like that for a long time, just him, his gift, and the watchful eyes of the stars above him.
In. Out. In. Out.
He waited.
In. Out. In. Out.
He wasn't sure what he was waiting for, yet still, he waited.
In. Out. In. Out.
An opportunity? A chance? A miracle? He couldn't say.
In. Out. In. Out.
He had waited a very long time. He could wait a little bit longer.
In. Out. In. Out.
In the meantime...
He opened his eyes, looking out at the bars of his cage, and the gloom of Tartarus beyond. He looked down at the floor before him, where a small wooden sphere sat, glowing with a warm, gentle light. He looked up at the ceiling of his cage, where a thousand points of light were scattered, looking back down at him. He grinned, then closed his eyes once more.
In. Out. In. Out.
He was in no rush. After all, he had everything he needed right there.
In. Out. In. Out.
He would see those stars again someday. He would make sure of it.
