Bitter Symphony

“Sir, please! I don’t know what happened to this pony called Cerulean, honest!”

Indium’s muscles coiled and his eyes narrowed, glaring into the cyan pegasus’s green pupils. The usually busy farming supplies store was devoid of other customers, leaving Indium and the shopkeeper amongst sacks of compost, farming seeds and other assorted tools. The uneasy silence was only accompanied by the occasional crackling of his runic gauntlet by his side, prompting the helpless pegasus to cower in fear and disbelief.

“Impossible.” Indium’s eyes did not waver. “He always buys farming equipment at your store. Carrot seeds. Fertilizer. Plows.” He punctuated every article sharply, his hoof gesturing all across, and his voice slashing through the air within the empty store. “And he has done so for years. How can you possibly not know who he is?”

“I-I…” The shopkeeper’s lips quivered. “I haven’t had m-many ponies coming into the s-store since the c-crop failures.”

“Crop failures?” Indium furrowed his eyebrows further. “What sort of crop failures?”

“Drought!” the pegasus exclaimed. “Do you not know? It was cloudless for many months!”

Indium sank back a little, his mind considering the shopkeeper’s words. His voice softened. “...didn’t the Knights at the garrison do anything to help?”

“They…did,” the shopkeeper returned after a pause. “They dug wells and brought clouds from miles away to help with the crisis. But…”

“But what?” Indium interjected, his voice scything through the shopkeeper’s senses.

“There…there wasn’t enough water to irrigate the land,” the shopkeeper stated solemnly, his eyes shifty and avoiding, “especially for regions that are further out.”

“I…” Indium’s gaze mellowed and then fell, his eyes seemingly lost and empty. “I…see.”

“Sir…” The shopkeeper tilted his head uneasily, concern etched on his face. “are you—”

“I’m fine.” Despite his words, Indium’s shoulders visibly sagged. He clasped his eyes shut, struggling to put up a facade of authority. His left hoof, now as heavy as lead, sunk to the floor from the countertop.

“Sir—”

“I SAID I WAS FINE!” Indium roared back, his eyes bursting open at the shopkeeper.

The shopkeeper jerked back at the outburst. His face was filled with abject horror, his teeth clattering at the terrorizing sight. Indium glared into his eyes, finding nothing but fear, anxiety and weakness all in one, confined into two, pale green orbs, both crying for him to stop.

Wait.

Indium blinked.

That fear…

He remembered.

After a bout of further silence, Indium shook his head, trying to wrestle against the cascade of emotions that surged through his body, biting his trembling lips hard. “I-I…” His steely eyes softened, shifting away from the shopkeeper. “No,” a subdued voice returned, “it’s not your fault.”

The shopkeeper didn’t believe him. His eyes never left Indium. He was visibly shaking, cowering behind the counter, his hooves jittery.

Indium sighed. “No, it’s not your fault,” he repeated, deactivating the half-cast spell on his runic gauntlet warily. “I shouldn’t have.”

The shopkeeper could only watch as Indium bowed his head, trotting out of the store slowly, his chest heavy and upset. As the door swung open, the cool breeze greeted his ailing senses, yet it did little to soothe his nerves. Neither did it help to answer the many questions in his mind.

Aimlessly, he walked, finding himself in the middle of a busy intersection, his mind deep in contemplation. He paid no heed to the rush of produce on carts glancing past his body, or ponies screaming for him to get out of their way.

It didn’t matter. The swaying purple robes on his frigid body was authority enough.

He looked up, finding himself conveniently outside the same concrete building that represented his shelter for the past few years—the garrison building. Despite his new standing as a Knight, the building remained tall and imposing to him, its shadow blanketing Indium’s form. He stopped in the front of the garrison building several paces from the entrance, his legs hesitant for him to step in.

Running away and shamelessly crawling back for help—was that all he had learnt in life? Did the time as a page or a squire teach him nothing?

His expression darkened. He wrenched his rooted hooves off the ground and threw them backwards, forcing his gaze away from the wretched grayscale building. Enough was enough.

His hooves carried him away in a gallop, shoving nearby ponies aside with raw momentum, the surrounding buildings whizzing past his field of vision. His eyes darted from building to building, searching for the barest hint of anything that could help. The cold air rushed past him, shocking his senses and snapping his shrouded mind back in gear.

Then it hit him. There was only one place else he could go to confirm his thoughts.

He made a beeline for Sunhaven’s customs house.

It didn’t take long. Unlike the relatively well-maintained and modern garrison building, the wooden customs house blended in well with the rest of the town. Nearing it, Indium saw makeshift pillars and scaffolding supporting its structure, a sight not too different from the adjacent buildings strewn about.

Pushing the door open, he found himself standing before a desk with a hodge-podge of documents and seals scattered around. A pony sat behind the desk, smoking a cigar, their muzzle buried in the day’s newspapers.

Indium cleared his throat. “...Excuse me.”

The broadsheet newspaper was lowered, revealing a gray-coated earth pony stallion in orange robes raising an eyebrow at the young Mystic. The Knight Vigilant took out his cigar, smothering it on a nearby ashtray, the pungent smell of tobacco permeating the stale air. “Yes?”

“Sir,” Indium bowed his head, acknowledging the two bars on his counterpart’s epaulet, “do you have records for ponies Cerulean Shades and Green Top?”

The voice was rough. “...Who?” The Vigilant grunted as he stood up, dusting himself off. “Cerulean?”

“Yes, sir, Cerulean Shades,” Indium clarified quickly, hoping not to inhale too much of the room’s smoke.

“Alright…let’s see.” The elder stallion trudged to some nearby filing cabinets and started sifting through them. “Spell Cerulean for me.”

“C-E-R-U-L-E-A-N—” Indium gagged and then coughed heavily, his throat irritated by the fine particulates in the air. “Sha-Shades.”

“Alright, alright,” the Vigilant replied, his hoof flipping through the ends of folders. “No luck, kid. Only a stallion called C-E-R-L-U-E-A-N.” He whipped the manila folder out and deposited it onto the table.

Indium frowned. He couldn’t have misspelled his father’s name, right? Without a word of thanks, he immediately opened the folder, revealing a monochromatic image of a familiar face on the topmost document—the death certificate of his father.

Indium’s heart stopped.

“Eh, what about the other one, Green Top, right?” the Vigilant unhelpfully interjected.

No reply came from Indium. He brought his hoof over the image of his father, stroking the mildly textured impression on yellowing paper. His portrait remained stern and unforgiving, yet Indium could see his sunken cheeks and disheveled skin from the temperature of the color alone. He remained staring at his father for many moments, before his eyes eventually slipped to the inscription at the bottom of the parchment.

They were quick to glance through the details. His father had died just sixteen months ago, aged forty-six. May he rest in peace with the Saints, said the parchment. Buried in Sunhaven cemetery—

“Hey, kid?” the Vigilant called out again, peeking out from the pile of cabinets.

Indium glared at the Vigilant sharply, his hoof still on the parchment. “What?!”

“There’s only a Grain Top,” the Vigilant remarked, fishing the folder out of the docket.

Indium snatched it from his grasp. He threw it over his father’s folder and opened it in a flurry.

He could barely recognise the familial figure. Like his father, her cheeks were sunken in, pressed against her facial bones and her skin was littered with deep wrinkles that cut into her complexion. Her mane was unkempt, fraying with tangled strands of dried, dulling hair. Her brows, as though wearied by the weight of the world, creased heavily to keep her lifeless eyes open. She died sixteen months ago, proclaimed the text below, aged forty-seven. May she rest in peace with the S—

He slammed the folder shut.

“What happened to them!?” Indium hollered at the top of his voice.

“Hey,” the Vigilant returned, closing the file cabinet. “I don’t know. I just got here a few months ago. And those had been in my cabinet since.” He eyed Indium for a few seconds. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Hmph,” Indium scoffed. “Empty words.”

“Look,” the Vigilant’s face hardened, “what do you want me to do? Bring them back from the dead?” He sighed, shaking his head. “Besides, I just told you I’ve been here only since last year. Millenary Minute had been forced out by Vigilant Command because of the famine. No idea how you could mismanage a farming settlement into running out of food.”

Indium’s face twisted into a scornful expression, before the steel in his eyes faded, his ears folding back. “...Sorry.” He turned away, facing the chaotic pile of papers on the wooden desk and the cigarette tray. The smell of cigar ash suddenly did not seem that intrusive to his nose. “Sorry, sir,” he repeated. “Sorry for wasting your time.” He didn’t know what to apologize for, but he supposed this would work.

“Well,” the Vigilant returned to his desk, sliding himself into his wooden seat, “chin up, kid. Time’s not wasted yet. For whatever journey you’re on, you’ve got yourself a lead, and I know you Mystics can work from the smallest hints.”

Indium tilted his head back up, bringing the Vigilant into view once again. “Thanks sir,” he replied. “May I…take these folders?”

“Go ahead,” the Vigilant waved him off with a hoof, “I’ll just set the custodian of those files to you.”

Indium nodded solemnly. With a sweep of his hooves, the files slid off the table and fell right into his saddlebags. “I appreciate that, sir. I’d better be going now.” He turned to leave, trotting out to the exit.

“Goodbye,” the Vigilant called out, waving a hoof. He quickly returned to selecting another cigar from the pack in the right pocket of his robes, setting on lighting it for another puff.

But Indium didn’t leave; instead, he remained just by the door. Despite the musty smell of moldy woodwork seeping into his nostrils along with the cigar ash, he silently retrieved the two folders from his saddlebags and opened both of them.

The truth remained, taunting.

He gulped. Weakly, he closed the two folders and placed them back into his saddlebags. Inhaling deeply, he lifted his head up and left the relative privacy of the Sunhaven customs house. Now, he only had one destination in Sunhaven left.

Back on the local streets, his steps were slow and heavy. He felt his stomach twisting into a tight grip that made his insides turn, threatening to halt the beat of his heart with every laborious thud.

As Indium trudged towards his final destination in Sunhaven, his lungs protested with every gasping breath, processing the little oxygen that funneled through his nostrils by the ambient wind. With every step, the sun descended lower and lower down to the horizon, shrouding his surroundings in an increasing sea of dark. A few lights from nearby buildings began popping up, but they too eventually faded away with his touch from civilization.

As the full moon rose, his hooves finally brought him to the sight of unending rows and rows of gravestones littering the expanse beyond. Trudging into the graveyard, he eyed the first few gravestones as he walked past, finding them embellished with marble and gilt.

He barely gave them a second glance. With the sound of crickets beginning to fill his senses, his eyes prowled for the smallest shadows that made each row.

It was the last row at the far end. Taking a pained breath through his cracked lips, his hoofsteps quickened, trekking through the unkempt, tall grass between the lines of graves. Before long, the fur in his legs became soggy with dew as he arrived.

He halted right before the nearest to him. Raising his right hoof up, he slid his robes aside, exposing his runic gauntlet to his left hoof. With obscured vision, he scribed two runes in the air from memory, formulating into a simple spell. A small, luminous white orb emerged by the side of his gauntlet, floating serenely next to it.

A wan smile glanced over his face. Heading down the row, he lifted his right hoof up, bringing the orb up to the grave markers and checked. But time had been cruel to some. Past rainfall had washed some of the inscriptions off, or had bred mold that ate away at the unlacquered wood.

But Indium pressed on, finding himself nearing the end of the row until—

Green Top.

Indium blinked.

Green Top. February 9, 1023 A.F. to May 12, 1069 A.F.

There it was: in stark, white paint. Indium lowered his hoof and his orb, staring at the patch of ground before the marker. It was covered with thin, healthy grass that reached his leg joints. Some even sprouted small white flowers.

“Mum…” Indium swallowed, his eyes watering. “I’m home…as promised.”

The constant drone of cricket chirping replied. The howling gust swept through the scene, catching his purple robe in the wind and exposing his runic gauntlet with all of its mechanics to the world.

Indium bowed his head. “I…” His throat cracked. “Mum…I’m sorry.”

The crickets continued, yet the wind stopped swaying. Indium’s robes fell back, concealing his damp fur.

“I should…” Indium wheezed in a breath. “I should have been there for you…as you were for me.” His eyes fell lower.

The wind rustled alongside the sound of crickets. The blades of grass danced with the wind before him, swinging back and forth, as did the white florets that peeked through shyly.

“It’s not fair.” He clasped his eyes shut, extracting tears. “You were supposed to be proud of me. You were supposed to see me back home—happy, excited and empowered by your son, but—”

Indium sucked in a cold breath. He wiped his tears with a sharp swipe of his left forehoof.

“I’m supposed to lift us up, but now I don’t even have anypony to come back to!” Indium yelled.

Stunned silence filled the graveyard for several long moments. The breeze stopped. The grass froze. The air seemed charged with an unspoken weight which essence settled amongst the sea of the dead.

Indium shivered. He opened his mouth, but words struggled to leave his throat.

“S-Sorry,” he stammered at last. “I shouldn’t—”

Lightning flashed in the distance.

“I shouldn’t have,” Indium said softly. He looked longingly at the blades of grass, clenching his muscles. He then raised his voice, punctuating the air, “But I swear by the Saints and the Diarchs—that those who had brought you here will pay. I may not have the means to do that now, but once I become a Knight Inquisitor…” He sucked in a breath of icy wind. “...I promise I will. And anypony who dares to hurt innocent, common ponies like us!” Indium slammed a hoof down onto the dirt with all his might.

The ground beneath him quivered. Yet the crickets soon returned to their trilling once again.

Indium raised his head and faced the grave marker of his deceased mother, his eyes set on the two words of her name. “Mum…thank you. You may not have witnessed the completion of my pursuit for justice…but,” Indium gulped, “I believe you will know. In time. And you will share it with me. Wherever you might be.”

Another tear streaked down Indium’s cheek. He turned away from the grass patch, the vibrant moonlight reflecting against his watery eyes, before sweeping it off with a forehoof. “Goodbye…mum. It’s time for me to get to work.” He took a step back, casting a final look at the marker. “May the Saints keep you for your next life, for they will be watching.”

Indium gave a low, respectful bow before the wooden placard, holding it for several, long moments. His orb accompanied him, shimmering defiantly against the emptiness of the night.

Eventually, after a time, he lifted his head up, his eyelids coarse and dry.

And then he left.