Bitter Symphony

Indium stepped into the room, stopping at a distance from a panel of five ponies.

“We are here to consider the candidacy of Squire Indium Indigo,” declared the pony farthest to her right. Her armor sparkled in the light, polished and refined with a tinge of orange, complementing her blue coat. She placed the parchment she was holding onto the dry, oval table, the paper crisp and deciding. “Squire, we have reviewed your paperwork and you have completed your training as a Knight. We’ll begin with your mentor. Lady Mithril, what say you to this stallion joining our ranks?”

The mare to her left cleared her throat as she turned towards the Knight Vigilant. “Squire Indium Indigo is sharp, with a significant penchant in runic magic. In spite of all of his initial challenges in physical sparring,” she turned to Indium, giving an encouraging smile, “I’m happy to say that his resilience had paid dividends and I have seen remarkable improvement. I recommend him to proceed as a Knight.”

Despite the Knight Adamant’s kind words, Indium’s expression remained indifferent, his gaze boring into his mentor’s eyes.

“To my knowledge,” the Knight Vigilant continued, “Squire Indium Indigo, you have decided to align yourself with the Knights Mystic. Sir Iota, what position do the Mystics have on this proposition?”

“Lady Clip,” the leftmost pony in purple addressed, “the Mystics believe that the said squire has value in our organization, for his drive and purpose herein would be well-appreciated. We have no objections on the matter.”

Indium’s joy bubbled.

“If that is the case, I call on the remaining orders to declare their disapproval, if any, on the candidacy of the squire before you,” Lady Clip announced, turning back to face Indium.

A moment of silence echoed through the windowless room. Indium could only feel his heart pounding faster and faster as the seconds dragged on.

“I hear no further complaints. Thus,” Lady Clip paused, “we find you worthy to join our number. Please repeat the Oath of the Squire.”

Indium steadied himself. “I am a Knight of Equestria.” He swallowed. “I uphold the Five Exalted Tenants with my life. I protect my fellow Knights from harm. I hold close to my heart the Elements of Harmony: Honesty, Loyalty, Generosity, Kindness, and Joy. I serve the Diarchy, its leaders and its citizens. I keep watch against heresy and corruption. I defend Equestria from enemies outside and within, with my life and breath.”

“We thank you, Squire Indium Indigo,” Lady Clip nodded slowly, “I now pass you over to Sir Iota for your final assessment.” She gestured towards the Mystic, who rose to his hooves and stepped before Indium.

“Follow me, Squire,” Sir Iota stated, trotting out of the room.

Indium meekly followed the Mystic out, following him to a massive library. Ancient scrolls and tomes filled antique, teak-grained bookshelves on all sides. A single chandelier hung in the middle of the room, giving light to a central marble top table with two similarly extravagant chairs on either side. Indium struggled to hide his exhilaration as he walked in with a noticeable bounce in his step behind Sir Iota.

“Squire Indium. Welcome to the Library of Wisdom, the same library where Saint Twilight Sparkle herself perused centuries ago,” Sir Iota gestured with a wave of a hoof as he moved to sit on the farside chair. “Please take a seat.”

Indium, eyeing the surrounding bookshelves, gingerly sat down.

“Squire Indium,” Sir Iota addressed, looking directly at him, “A Knight Mystic is one who guards against heresy for the good of us all. One who differentiates between the right, the wrong, the truth and the false. One who has the wisdom to perceive the gray between the black and the white,” Sir Iota placed his hoof on the table gently, “between the truth and the false.”

“Yes, Sir Iota,” Indium replied, giving a sharp nod.

“The divergence between right and wrong may deviate from what is true and false. This is where we do battle, Squire Indium; where we strive to correct those who have been led astray with their own confusion of the truth and what is right.” Sir Iota paused for a moment, seemingly collecting his thoughts. “I believe you understand that unicorns are sent to colonies where they are dehorned, and do not pose a threat to our society?”

“I do,” Indium acknowledged, his brow slightly furrowing as he attempted to grasp where Sir Iota was going with this.

“However,” Sir Iota continued, his eyes boring into Indium, “what if unicorn horns act as their own sacrosanct reservoir of life? Are we still wrong to do what we have done?”

Indium’s expression contorted, a moment of disbelief flickering across his face as his eyes widened at this new piece of information, his furrow deepening in concentrated thought.

After a few moments, the doubt in his mind quickly evaporated, as did the tension of his expression. Straightening his posture, he opened his mouth. “Sir Iota. It doesn’t matter. History has proven the danger of unicorns within our society, because they simply do not see the light of the Saints, or are unable to follow their light. They are misguided, but it isn’t their fault. It is because they are corrupted by the virtue of what they embody as a being.” Indium stopped for several seconds, his mind considering his next words carefully. “They are misguided to act immorally for their greed against us. If dehorning unicorns insulates their evils from our society and helps them move onwards, I see nothing wrong, sir. We are giving them a new chance towards being better.”

“A valid assessment,” Sir Iota commented, nodding his head gently. “I believe you have some experience in that aspect, as your sponsor had eluded to me just earlier.”

“I do.” Indium’s heart flared. “Their corruption leeches on our peace and collective prosperity. Giving them a chance to be reborn is nothing but our generosity to be merciful,” he spat.

“But why can’t we reform them?” Sir Iota questioned, leaning forward. “Why can’t we correct them?”

Indium’s answer was immediate. “Their morals have been corrupted by their own nature, as it has been proved by history, and their conniving acts up to this day. The entropy of their own corruptive nature makes their threat to our society inevitable. It’s much safer to keep them away and dehorn them.”

“Indeed.” Sir Iota stood up from his chair, stepping over to Indium. “Understanding nuance and evaluating the truth separates the pious from the heretic,” he declared. He opened a small drawer from the side of the table, extracting a small vial. Indium could see a black liquid within it, reminiscent of squid ink, with a few glittering particles mixed in. The Knight removed the seal gingerly, placing the vial on the table and slid it over to Indium. “This holy mixture will empower your will, your destiny, and your life towards greatness. May you drink it, and become one of us, the defender of the truth and what is right.”

Indium eyed the suspicious black liquid. A faint, earthy odor wafted into his muzzle. He gulped. This was it. Mustering his courage, he seized the vial with his right forehoof and poured every bit of it into his open mouth.

Indium nearly gagged as the coarse mixture entered his system. An acidic stench flooded his senses, his tongue coiling itself in discomfort. His eyes bulged. Blood seemed to rush into his brain, overwhelming his sense of reality. His hooves tried to clutch onto the table for stability. His ears started to ring.

This quickly spread to the rest of his body. He gasped, his lungs sinking and rising heavily, crushing his pounding heart. His wings fluttered uncontrollably as he held onto the surface of the table for support. Sweat rapidly drenched his quivering body.

Voices clashed in his head. Thoughts breezed through like they were nothing. Emotions slashed through his mindscape. Indium grit his teeth, shutting his eyelids, attempting to will himself to fight through the pain, like a ship weathering a horrible storm.

White spots began to grow in his blinded reality, rapidly mushrooming into a pure screen of emptiness, before…

…

…

…

Nothing.

A voice came. “I trust that you are alright now.”

Indium blinked, his frayed vision toying with his senses. He started to make out the grains of the wooden table, Sir Iota before him, the bookshelves, and shattered glass. A small trickle of blood leaked from his right forehoof, staining his robes with a maroon red, yet he felt no pain.

“Y-Yes,” Indium managed, giving a vague semblance of a nod, trying to concentrate what strength he had to his hindlegs to prop himself up. “Yes…sir.”

“Very well,” Sir Iota stated. “Kneel, Indium Indigo.”

Indium shakily left his seat and stood on one trembling foreleg. He tried to push his head up to face the Knight, who stood equipped with a ceremonial spear. Sir Iota stopped before him, tapped his forehead with the blunt side of his spear gently, and bowed.

“We welcome you, Sir Indium Indigo, to the Knights Mystic.”

Sir Indium hit the ground running. His purple robe fluttered in the cool autumn breeze as he dashed out of the Sunhaven train station, his saddlebags in tow. Beneath his robes, he discreetly equipped a magical spellcasting device—a runic gauntlet—which was tightly bound onto his right forehoof. Why equip a blade or even a gun if runic magic could do the job too?

Still, at the sight of purple, ponies on the platform parted aside, whispering and murmuring in the background, enabling him a smooth path forward towards the exit. He quickly found himself back at the familiar sight of the vegetable wholesalers’ market, the clock tower and the garrison building. But he knew that he wasn’t here for that.

He cantered out of the town’s outskirts, the landscape awash with yellowing wheat. As the wind intensified, he slowed his steps for a moment, his eyes glancing across the fields. He faced the direction of the wind, taking in a deep breath and held for several long moments. The cool air soothed his body, while the sun bathed him in a warmth he struggled to experience back in the Ivy Seminary, or even when he was training as a squire. Releasing a long, drawn-out exhale, he brushed his light turquoise mane to the side and continued his sprint home.

A small wooden house soon came into view on the horizon, prompting him to pump more strength into his hindlegs to propel him forward. Despite the exertion, his legs remained cool and unfatigued—a far cry from the experience he had when he ran in the opposite direction. He wasn’t sure if it was the effect of the Knight potion, his adrenaline fueling him, or his hidden, masked desire to return to one’s native homestead—not that it mattered, anyways.

As he neared the house, his eyes soon became inundated with brown. Indium became increasingly concerned at the unforgiving sight, his heart palpitating. Large swaths of land surrounding the house appeared barren and empty. The hardened soil seemed cracked and dry, illustrating a harrowing mosaic of neglect in varying shades of dull.

A wooden sign at the entranceway soon confronted him with reality. It simply had four words outlandishly written in moronic, black paint.

“State land. No trespassing.”

Indium skidded to halt, staring blankly at the accusatory piece of timber.

His body froze for several, long moments as his mind attempted to parse what could have possibly happened.

It didn’t take long.

Indium’s blood boiled. Every fiber of muscle within him tensed in an instant.

His hoof lashed out at the accusatory piece of timber, smashing it into smithereens. His body quaked as he inhaled and exhaled erratically, his chest rising and falling vigorously. He brought his hoof close onto his chest, as if attempting to quell the fiery tempest within.

He shook his head rigorously, his teeth gnashing against each other, before rushing into the house.

It was locked.

Indium glared at the small, metallic padlock that sealed his past.

He snorted.

He reared back and spun about his hooves, before launching a powerful kick with his hindlegs.

The door shattered into rotten splinters.

He pounced into the house. A hollow shell of decomposing wood greeted him. Encroaching green moss and creeping mold shrouded the aged wooden pillars, producing an earthy stench that permeated into his nostrils. Sicky light shone through the few crevices and broken windows, illuminating the interior weakly. Indium raised his gauntleted hoof, scribing a few runes on it and produced a bright yellow light that flooded the interior.

There was nothing left. The table he used to eat and study on, the chair he used to rest his flank after his long day on the fields, the small bookshelf he had helped build when he was a colt—everything was taken. He rushed into his former bedroom, finding a similar state—there was nothing but cobwebs and overgrown vegetation.

He cursed. He hurried to his parents’ bedroom, revealing an identical setting. Their bed, their closet, their belongings—they were all gone as well.

Indium burst out of the house.

He needed answers. He needed confirmation.

He will get to the bottom of this.

He promised.