Number Fish Fan

The sun was just beginning to rise over Canterlot, casting its warm, golden glow on the grand spires of the castle. Inside, the soft clink of hooves on the marble floor echoed through the halls. Feather Duster trotted briskly down the corridor, a warm smile on her face as she turned back to glance at her young colt, Sweeper Mess, who was struggling to keep up with her long strides.

“Come on, Sweeper, sweetie!” She called cheerfully, her voice carrying a note of encouragement. “We’ve got a lot to do today, and I want to show you how to properly polish the throne room floors. It’s an art, really. There’s a certain way the light reflects off them once they’re cleaned just right, like a mirror!”

Sweeper, a scrawny colt with a golden coat and a messy mane, dragged his hooves along the floor behind her, his head hung low. He had heard this speech a dozen times before. His mother was always talking about how proud she was of their family’s role in maintaining the castle’s appearance. To her, sweeping the floors and dusting the chandeliers was a noble duty, a privilege even. But to Sweeper, it was boring—utterly, dreadfully boring.

“I don’t get why we have to clean it every day..." Sweeper muttered, his voice filled with the whine of a colt who had said this many times before. “It’s not like it ever gets that dirty.”

Feather Duster let out a soft chuckle and slowed her pace, allowing Sweeper to catch up. “It’s not whether it gets dirty, sweetheart. It’s about maintaining perfection. The princess deserves the best, and that means keeping everything just as perfect as it was the day before. It’s part of our family’s legacy, Sweeper. One day, this will be your job too, and you’ll understand.”

Sweeper wrinkled his nose. He didn’t want to understand. The thought of spending the rest of his life cleaning the same floors, day in and day out, filled him with dread. He couldn’t comprehend why his parents were so proud of this monotonous work.

“Come on, you’ll see,” Feather Duster said, her voice warm but firm as she led him to the grand throne room. The light from the rising sun streamed in through the tall stained-glass windows, casting a rainbow of colors across the floor. The room was massive, with tall ceilings and a regal atmosphere that always made Sweeper feel especially small.

Feather Duster floated a cleaning cloth toward him with her magic. “Here, start by wiping down the steps leading to the throne. I’ll show you the proper technique.”

Reluctantly, Sweeper took the cloth and approached the steps, his small hooves hesitant as he began to wipe the smooth marble surface. His mother was patient as she guided him through the process, explaining how to ensure there were no streaks left behind and how to make the stone gleam. But no matter how much she tried to make it seem important, Sweeper couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t what he was meant to do.

When the day finally came to an end, Feather Duster trotted back to their home in Canterlot with Sweeper by her side, her step light and cheerful after a full day of work. Sweeper, however, lagged behind, his shoulders slumped, his mind elsewhere. As they passed the royal gardens, something caught his eye—a strange, glorious anomaly standing tall amidst the perfectly manicured hedges.

The statue of Discord.

The statue stood out like a sore hoof in the otherwise orderly garden. Discord’s snake-like body, with its inharmonious limbs and mischievous expression, seemed so out of place in the regal surroundings. To Sweeper, it was fascinating.

“Mom,” he said, his voice low with curiosity. “Who’s that?”

Feather Duster followed his gaze and frowned. “That’s Discord. He was a terrible creature who brought chaos and disharmony to Equestria long ago, before the princesses turned him to stone. Best not to think too much about him, Sweeper. He was dangerous, and we’re all much better off with him like that.” She nodded at the statue before gently nudging Sweeper along.

But as they walked away, Sweeper couldn’t stop staring. Discord’s twisted, chaotic form seemed to call to him, beckoning in a way that nothing else in the castle ever had. Unlike the perfectly polished floors and meticulous cleaning, Discord was something wild, something unpredictable. Something exciting.

That night, Sweeper’s father, Heavy Duty, came home from his evening shift as a janitor during the castle’s darker, quieter hours. His entrance was subdued as always—a slight grunt as he removed his saddlebag and a quiet nod to Feather Duster before sitting at the table for dinner. He was a large, burly stallion, his midnight-blue coat and black mane lending him a somber, imposing appearance. He rarely spoke, preferring to focus on his duties without complaint. Where Feather Duster saw pride in their work, Heavy Duty simply saw responsibility. The job needed doing, and it was their duty to do it.

As Sweeper pushed his food around his plate, barely listening to his parents discuss their shifts, his thoughts drifted back to the statue in the garden. He couldn’t shake the image of Discord from his mind.

“Dad?” Sweeper asked suddenly, his voice small as he looked up at the towering stallion. “What do you think of Discord?”

Heavy Duty’s eyes, dark and serious, shifted to his son, and for a moment, there was silence. Then, with a heavy sigh, he answered, his voice deep and gravelly. “Discord’s a monster, son. A creature of chaos. Everything he did, he did to tear down the order that keeps Equestria safe. What your mother and I do, it helps keep that order. It’s important work.”

“But… he was powerful, right?” Sweeper’s eyes widened with curiosity. “He could do anything he wanted.”

Heavy Duty’s frown deepened, and he leaned forward, his expression stern. “That’s not power, Sweeper. That’s recklessness. If you admire anything about Discord, let it be the fact that the princesses stopped him and brought harmony back to Equestria.”

Sweeper bit his lip and lowered his gaze to his plate. His father’s words were heavy, but they didn’t erase the excitement that Discord stirred in his heart. The idea of that kind of chaos—of doing anything, breaking free from the expectations that had been placed upon him—was intoxicating.

As the years went by, Sweeper’s fascination with Discord only grew. Every day, he would visit the statue, sneaking away while his parents were busy with their work. He would sit in front of it, staring up at Discord’s frozen form, imagining what it would be like to have that kind of power—to not be confined by rules or expectations. To be free.

It became a routine—one he kept secret from his parents. While his father lectured him on the importance of duty and his mother tried to instill pride in their family’s legacy, Sweeper’s mind was elsewhere, lost in thoughts of chaos and freedom. He began sneaking into the castle library to find books about Discord, reading every account of his reign and every story of his exploits. He devoured the tales of shifting skies and floating houses, of ponies’ worlds turned upside down by the Lord of Chaos.

Then, one day, when Sweeper was just a teenager, something extraordinary happened.

Discord broke free.

Chaos swept through Canterlot. Reality itself warped—the sky poured chocolate rain, and ponies scrambled in fear. But Sweeper Mess was captivated. This was the power he had dreamed of, the freedom he had longed for. Discord was everything he had imagined and more.

But it was short-lived. Twilight Sparkle and her friends stepped in, wielding the Elements of Harmony, and returned Discord to stone once again. Just like that, the chaos vanished. Canterlot slipped back into its quiet, structured normalcy.

And so did Sweeper Mess.

Once the excitement was over, Sweeper found himself dragged back into the same dull routine: dusting, cleaning, and repairing. As he got older, his parents became more insistent, placing more responsibility on his shoulders, reminding him of his duty as the next in a long line of royal custodians. His mother taught him simple cleaning spells passed down through generations, but none of it interested him. They were small, unimpressive spells meant to keep things tidy—nothing more.

Sweeper’s mind was elsewhere. He couldn’t stop thinking about the magic he’d seen and the chaos Discord had unleashed. Whenever he could sneak away from his duties, he’d try to replicate the spells he’d witnessed during that brief period of anarchy. He’d close his eyes, focus hard, picturing the swirling chaos in his mind, trying to make it real.

But nothing happened.

The most he could manage were tiny, flickering sparks from his horn—pathetic in comparison to what Discord had done. His attempts to summon anything even remotely interesting ended in failure. His magic wasn’t strong, having never studied it formally, and the only spells he knew were basic, practical ones his mother had taught him: cleaning magic.

Frustration gnawed at him. Each failed attempt felt like a step further from the freedom he desired. Meanwhile, his parents became stricter, pushing more and more work onto his shoulders. His mother was gentle but firm, reminding him time and again that their family had always served the princesses faithfully, and he would soon have to take up that mantle. His father was less forgiving, his stern voice cutting through any complaints Sweeper made. “This is your future,” his father would say simply. “The sooner you accept it, the better.”

But Sweeper couldn’t accept it. He resented the growing weight of expectation his parents placed on him and resented that mundane spells were all he could muster. All the while, the concept of Discord’s magic haunted him—a tantalizing glimpse of a life beyond servitude, a life of power and freedom. Every day, the gap between what he wanted and what was expected of him grew wider, and Sweeper grew angrier, both at himself and the world that was trying to force him into a life he didn’t want.

Each failed spell, each lecture from his parents, deepened his obsession with Discord. He needed to break free, just as Discord had. Somehow, some way, he would find a way to escape the life that was closing in around him.