I woke up to the gentle warmth of the morning sun streaming through the branches. I stretched out in the makeshift camp, letting out a long yawn as I rubbed my eyes. The forest around me seemed much more alive at that time of day. Birds were chirping, and a cool breeze rustled the leaves of the trees, giving the place a sort of almost magical calm. I felt refreshed, even though I knew I was in for a long walk.

I stood up, brushing off the leaves that had stuck to my body, and slung the guitar I found in the woods (probably brought by animals, but let’s say it was by pure magic) over my shoulder. It wasn’t time to philosophize about lost guitars, but to start walking. Canterlot wasn’t going to come closer on its own.

Not far away, I found a dirt road that crossed an open field. The sky was already clear, and in front of me, like a destiny impossible to ignore, stood Canterlot Castle. It was built into the side of a mountain, almost suspended in the air, and there was no mistaking that this was my goal. It looked imposing from a distance, its golden towers glistening in the sun.

I began to follow the path steadily, confident that I was heading to the right place. As I continued, the landscape changed from forests to plains, and the path meandered through gentle hills. I was not alone; other paths crossed mine, but I stayed on course, certain that all paths led to the same place.

To my surprise, I was not alone on this journey. As I got closer to Canterlot, I noticed that other ponies were also heading in the same direction. At first I thought they were just casual travelers, but their numbers grew, and I realized that they seemed to be just as determined as I was.

"Wow," I said to myself, watching the ponies walking beside me. "Are we all on our way to Canterlot?"

I walked alongside the other ponies down the path, my hooves hitting the ground in that steady, gentle rhythm. It was curious, in a way. Here I was, a human turned pony, walking as if this was all the most natural thing in the world. Nothing was out of place for the others, but for me… it was almost absurd. A part of me couldn’t help but find it amusing. I mean, how many humans could say they’d spent a morning walking alongside magically colored ponies? I felt like an imposter, someone who was pretending to be something I wasn’t.

It was like I was in the middle of someone else’s story, blending seamlessly into this fantasy world. There I was, with my hooves, my mane, and the guitar slung over my shoulder, walking seamlessly alongside them. Somehow, it felt… normal? Like I was part of this world, even though I knew I didn’t belong here.

But then I started paying more attention to the ponies around me. At first I thought they were just not paying attention to me because, well, I was just another pony among many. But as I looked closer, I realized it wasn't just that. They looked tired, discouraged... exhausted. Their steps were heavy, and many of them walked with their heads down, as if they were carrying an invisible burden.

I frowned and focused my gaze on three ponies walking a few meters ahead of me. They were earth ponies, and the truth is that they seemed to be on the verge of collapse. They were sweaty, their manes messy, and their movements were slow, as if each step were a monumental effort. I wondered what had happened to them. Had they perhaps experienced something similar to what I had gone through when I arrived here? Or perhaps something worse. It was as if life had beaten them, and now they found themselves on some kind of forced path to Canterlot, with no other option.

Then I looked behind me and saw two mares walking a short distance away. One was a unicorn, and the other a pegasus, but both seemed to have small branches and leaves tangled in their manes and tails, as if they had passed through a bush or something worse. For a second, I let out a silent laugh. At least I wasn’t the only fool to get lost in a forest. A small relief, I suppose.

But still, it was unsettling. It wasn’t just me who was out of place here. It seemed like all of these ponies had been through some sort of ordeal, too, and now we were sharing this strange path to Canterlot. What had happened to them? Was it something related to the event that had fragmented Equestria?

The air between us was thick with weariness, with uncertainty, and even though we were walking in the same direction, there was a sense that we were all, in some way, lost.

The road to Canterlot grew longer as I went along. It seemed like the closer I got, the more ponies appeared on the path, all heading to the same place. It was strange to see the group grow and grow, as if we all shared a common destination, even if none of us knew exactly what it was.

It wasn't far now. The castle, imposing and majestic, stood on the side of the mountain, so close that I could almost feel it. But getting to the gates wouldn't be so easy. The last part of the journey consisted of a gentle, but steady slope that grew steeper with each step. What had been a simple walk at first had now become a physical challenge. My legs were starting to ache, and I could tell I wasn't the only one. Everyone around me was showing signs of fatigue, heavy breathing, tired eyes. We had been walking for hours, and the last stretch seemed to have no end.

Finally, when I reached the entrance gates, I came across something I hadn't expected: a crowd. Ponies of all kinds were crowded in front of the gates, forming a mass so dense that it was barely possible to move forward. At first I didn't understand what was going on, but I soon realized that no one was entering. They were stopping us before we could get through.

I positioned myself at the back of the crowd, where at least there was less noise, and I could hear the murmurs of the others. Everyone seemed to be as confused as I was. "What's going on?" some wondered. The atmosphere was tense. We were all tired, sweaty, and exhausted. There was no room for patience.

I decided to try to make my way through the crowd, gently pushing the ponies around me as I approached the front. After a while, I got close enough to see what was happening. One of the guards, a white unicorn in golden armor that reminded me of something out of a Roman movie, stood on a box to make himself noticed. His armor gleamed in the sun, but his expression was neither authoritative nor proud; It was that of someone on the verge of collapse, just like us.

The guard raised a hoof to call for silence, though no one really spoke at that point, and said,

“Attention, please!” His voice had a tired, almost desperate tone. “We know that you have all gone through a lot of hardship to get here, but we ask that you remain orderly and calm. We are going to proceed with a list. We need you to form an orderly line to register. Only then can we ensure that everyone is treated fairly.”

The murmurs continued, but no one seemed willing or able to cause a fuss. The guard continued, a clear warning in his tone.

“Those who cause trouble or disorder will be sent to the back of the line,” he added sternly, though his fatigue was evident. “Please cooperate. We don’t want any complications.”

There was no energy to fight. No one wanted to argue. We were too exhausted to object, so, almost out of inertia, we all started to form a line. It was a strange scene. A bunch of ponies, tired and disoriented, doing their best to follow instructions without complaint. I wondered what the hell was really going on, and why everyone was in this situation. But one thing was for sure: the chaos I felt inside didn't seem all that different from the one around me.

Waiting in line, I couldn't help but let my mind start to wander. I peeked my head around the side, looking at the ponies around me. It was at that moment that I allowed myself to notice something I had missed in all the chaos: all of them had some sort of tattoo or mark on their rear. Or rather, on their flank. It was strange that I hadn't noticed it before, but well, I'd been dealing with quite a bit since I came to this place, so I didn't take it too hard.

At first I thought it might be some kind of cultural custom or ritual of ponies. You know, something they do to mark maturity or maybe a status symbol. However, curiosity got the better of me, and I turned to look at my own flank, half uncomfortable, half intrigued.

Nothing. No marks. All clean.

I tried not to think about it too much, but I couldn't help but let my mind start analyzing the marks of the ponies around me, with an intensity that now seemed unnecessary. I focused on the tattoo—or whatever it was—on the yellow pegasus right in front of me. It had a teddy bear next to some wings. I stared at it, trying to figure out what it meant, when I suddenly realized that the mare had noticed my gaze. She immediately turned forward, clearly uncomfortable.

Great. Now I looked like the weird guy who stares at other people's butts. Or, rather, their flanks.

I quickly turned around too, looking away, wishing the ground would swallow me up. It hadn't been my best idea, analyzing in such detail the mark on someone else's rear—flank, flank—. Definitely a bad move on my part.

Still, my curiosity didn't disappear completely. I looked around again, more discreetly this time. I noticed that a few foals had broken out of the line and were wandering around. It was then that I saw that they didn't have any marks on their flanks. Hmm, interesting. Maybe this was something ponies got when they became older. Like a "welcome to adulthood" tattoo of sorts.

I thought for a moment about how problematic it might be for me not to have a mark like them. If someone looked too closely, maybe they might start to see me as something weird. But then I smiled to myself. If they started to look at me strange, I could always put a bunch of mud and paint on my flank. There, problem solved.

After waiting for what seemed like hours (though it was probably just a few minutes, but I'm not a fan of waiting), I finally made it to the front of the line. There it was: the imposing gates of Canterlot, guardians of the majestic hanging city. The only thing stopping me from getting to the other side were two nearly identical guards, one on either side of the entrance, and the same guard from before, now sitting behind a table with a stack of papers and a pen that he looked like he hated as much as I hated being here.

"Name, age, tribe, where you're from, and cutie mark, please," the guard said in a monotone voice, not even looking up.

"Oh, sure, easy," I thought. Name and age are kind of kindergarten questions, but... tribe? Do ponies form herds here? I mean, it would make sense in my world, but how am I supposed to answer that? And the cutie mark thing... it sounds more like a cooking contest than anything serious.

"Arthur Green, twenty-two years old and… um… tribe…" I dramatize a little, puffing out my chest, and gently tap my hoof against my chest to add some epicness. "I'm a lone wolf, dude! No one chains this pony up!"

The guard finally looked up, arching an eyebrow with the same excitement a rock would have watching moss grow around it. He let out a long sigh, as if it was the umpteenth time he'd heard something so stupid that day, and with a grimace he turned back to the paper in front of him.

"A prankster… Earth pony. Place of origin and cutie mark," he said with that same overwhelming apathy.

Ah, so tribe means the subspecies of pony. Ok, mental note taken.

"I come from Ponyville," I replied, with a casualness worthy of someone who just didn't survive a tyranny of endless parties.

The guard looked up again, this time with surprise mixed with something that could be described as pity, as if he saw me as someone who had just won a reality show after spending months eating tree bark and worms. Great, just the image I was going for.

“And… about the cutie mark,” I said, nervously scratching the back of my neck, “I have a… little problem there. Could you enlighten me on what exactly that is? Just out of curiosity, of course.”

The guard stood still for a moment, clearly confused, until his eyes lowered to my flank. Seeing that I had no mark there, his face instantly changed expression. Suddenly, he looked as if he had seen someone trip over a box of orphaned puppies. His voice lowered in tone, filled with unexpected empathy.

"Wow... I'm sorry, buddy. I didn't know you... hadn't gotten your cutie mark yet. It must be... hard. But, hey, don't worry, everypony has their time. Maybe one day you'll find it."

Then the thing on my butt is called a cutie mark, what a curious little name. But the most important thing is that he just saw my butt? Well, my flank. But the most curious thing was his expression, looking at me with pity just because I don't have anything back there.

"Uh... yeah, I guess." What am I supposed to say? Thanks for the condolences? Although, if I'm being honest, not having a little drawing on my butt wasn't exactly the most worrying thing in my life at that moment, I thought, "I guess not all of us can be lucky enough to have a decorative butt."

The guard nodded solemnly, as if he had just given me some great life advice.
"Well, you can come in. Good luck... with everything."

"Thanks, I appreciate it... I guess." Trying not to laugh at the absurdity of it all, I quickly slipped through the doors as the guard looked at me with a mix of understanding and pity. I definitely needed to find out more about this world. Or at least find someone who didn't think my lack of back tattoos was some epic tragedy.

Author's Note

Arthur arrives at the gates of Canterlot.

He discovers that there are apparently more ponies in a similar situation.

After some revealing questions for Arthur, he manages to enter the iconic Canterlot. What awaits him there?

Thanks for reading.