Spirits are an intriguing conundrum in Equestria. One might assume that the existence of magic provides undeniable proof of the spiritual, but this is far from the truth. Magic, as wondrous as it may seem, is not as mystical as most believe. At its core, magic is a science—a force governed by strict, measurable rules. While terms like “Force” or “Energy” might be more accurate, they lack the allure of the word magic, and so the term persists.

Meta-physical phenomena, however, exist in a realm of their own. Take the princesses, for example. While they might be considered celestial, they are not deities by definition. They are born, they live, and they will one day die. The difference lies in the extraordinary difficulty of their passing. They do not age (as far as we know), and their rapid healing abilities are deeply tied to their respective domains—be it the sun, the stars, or even love itself.

This brings us to the concept of the soul. Despite centuries of magical advancement, we lack explicit proof that such a thing exists. It has been proven that magic is not the force sustaining life; a creature can survive without magic, though not without significant challenges to their well-being.

And what of spirits? Ghosts? Necromancy? Where do these phenomena fit into the equation?

The short answer is: we do not know. Perhaps, long ago, somepony discovered the truth, but if they did, such knowledge has long since been lost to the ages. Today, beliefs and assumptions about the spiritual realm are as varied as the ponies who hold them. The definitive answer will likely remain elusive until we ourselves pass from this world.

That said, there is one fact we have managed to ascertain: ghosts are not the souls of the departed. These entities are constructs of pure magic, formed from the residual energy left behind after a pony’s passing. They often act out the emotions or deeds that defined their lives, but they are no more than fragments—echoes, if you will.

While not common enough to be an epidemic, ghosts have historically appeared more frequently following tragic events. Fortunately, we have learned how to dispel them.

Which brings us to the matter of the ghost of Lost Ledger.

As it turns out, Light Ledger once had an aunt named Lost Ledger, who was originally meant to inherit the position of Archivist. However, her sister, Lead Ledger, was chosen instead. This decision created a deep rift between the siblings, one that persisted until Lost’s death. Following her passing, her magic manifested as a spirit, bound to the Archive she had once hoped to oversee.

Fresh and I managed to track down this spectral presence, though not without difficulty. The ghost had begun warping space and time within the corridors, creating a surreal maze that defied logic. At one point, I am reasonably certain I caught a glimpse of my future self—a moment I would rather not dwell on. Eventually, we escaped the labyrinth and summoned a Dispelling Crew to handle the matter.

I have never been present for a dispelling process and I must admit I am not a fan. After using a shield spell to trap and bind the creature it is then 'dismantled' magically speaking. The process was coldly efficient, and the crew carried it out with a dispassionate air, as if they were handling little more than a routine chore.

Fresh, however, wore an expression I couldn’t quite place. He didn’t speak of it afterward, and I didn’t press him. But something about his silence lingered with me.

As I was preparing to leave for the day, a gentle tap on my shoulder stopped me. Turning, I found Miss Belle Bottom standing behind me, her posture hesitant but purposeful.

“Is there an issue, Miss Belle Bottom?” I asked, noting the faint tremor in my own voice.

She quickly shook her head. “Oh, n-no problem. I just wanted to thank you.”

“For the ghost or for that stallion’s behavior?” I asked. I’d checked into the matter earlier, and Fresh had been right—the stallion in question turned out to be a repeat offender, his record littered with similar incidents.

“For both, s-sir. You and Fresh handled everything, and I—” She hesitated, her eyes lowering. “I know I could never do anything like that.” A sad chuckle escaped her. “I’m not much of a mare, am I?”

I frowned, shaking my head. “Miss Belle Bottom, you give yourself far too little credit. While you may not be the bravest mare I’ve ever met, you’re intelligent and resourceful. More importantly, you’re the first face our patrons see, and your kindness makes them feel welcome. That’s no small feat.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, a flicker of vulnerability melting into something calmer—something more assured. “Thank you, Mr. Catcher,” she said softly, her voice steadier now. “I’ll… I’ll let you go. Have a good evening.” She offered a small, genuine smile before turning and stepping away.

I remain there for a moment more before moving on. The weekend is approaching and I have a new project to take care of.

I awaken today with a rare sense of vigor. I have a project—one I am particularly eager to begin. Four days ago, an elderly stallion delivered a scroll to the Archives, claiming he had no use for it, being a pegasus. Upon examining it, I discovered not only that it was magical but also that it might have been penned by Princess Luna herself over a thousand years ago. Not one to let the opportunity go to waste, I immediately requested that I be allowed to research the scroll myself.

While Light Ledger has informed the Princesses of its arrival, I’ve been granted temporary authority to study it until further notice. Should they decide to restrict access, I plan to learn as much as I can in the meantime. The overtime pay for working through the weekend is a welcome bonus.

As I approach the Archives, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in one of the grand windows. With no one around to witness, I pause for a moment, allowing myself a brief appraisal. My dim gray coat gleams faintly in the morning light, thanks to a quick shower before setting out. My lavender mane and tail, combed back as usual, lend me a tidy, if slightly severe, appearance.

My gaze lingers on my eyes—vivid green irises that seem to shine unnaturally bright in the sunlight. Green is an adequate color, I suppose, but I’ve always felt it clashes with the rest of my features. It’s uncommon among unicorns and has even startled a mare or two during past, shall we say, “attempts at romance.” Among ponies, green coats, manes, and tails are perfectly normal—a helpful trait for prey animals to blend into their surroundings. Green eyes on a unicorn? Not so much.

Contacts might be an option, but altering the appearance of my magic is a far more difficult prospect. Casting an illusion spell every time I levitate something would be more effort than it’s worth.

Shaking my head to dispel the thought, I step through the great doors into the Archive’s cool, quiet interior. The building feels empty without my colleagues bustling about, though the solitude is precisely what I had hoped for. Out of habit, I glance toward the receptionist desk, almost expecting to nod a greeting to Miss Belle Bottom.

As I walk toward a secluded study table, my thoughts drift back to her. When she thanked us for dealing with the ghost, I had been ready to clarify that it wasn’t Fresh or me who caught the specter. The Dispelling Crew handled everything after we managed to escape and report it. But when Miss Belle Bottom began putting herself down, my response shifted in a way I hadn’t intended.

I don’t usually comfort others; it’s not part of my job. I’m neither a therapist nor a parent. I suppose the stress of witnessing the dispelling process influenced my reaction. Yes, that must be it. And yet, seeing her smile afterward was... not unpleasant.

I force my thoughts back to the present as I arrive at my study table. Spread before me is an array of tools: multiple quills, bottles of ink, notebooks, notepads, and a wealth of reference materials that might even make the Element of Magic herself jealous. At the center of this carefully arranged setup sits the scroll in its original binding, pristine and untouched since its arrival.

I nod with satisfaction, cracking my neck in preparation for a long day of research. My eyes drift to the scroll itself, taking in its unique details.

The scroll is unlike any other I have encountered in my years at the Archives. Its exterior is wrapped in dark indigo vellum, the material smooth but resilient, as if imbued with an ancient magic. Elegant silver embossing runs along the edges, forming delicate, swirling patterns reminiscent of constellations. The wax seal securing the binding bears Luna’s crescent moon emblem, still faintly shimmering with latent magic—a testament to its age and preservation.

When unrolled, the parchment within appears unnaturally pristine, untouched by time. Its surface carries a faint, otherworldly sheen, as if reflecting light that isn’t there. The text is written in a flowing script, elegant and precise, with characters that seem to shift ever so slightly when viewed from different angles. The ink itself glimmers faintly in hues of blue and silver, lending the words an ethereal quality.

Faint runes are etched into the margins, subtly pulsating with magic. Their purpose eludes me for now, though they appear to respond to the faintest touch of light. The scroll emanates an aura of quiet power, almost as if it were aware of being observed.

I decide to begin with some basic research. I’ve already gathered a selection of history books from the local library—specifically those released after Princess Luna’s return, when her existence was reintroduced into public knowledge. A great deal can be learned from history, after all.

Unfortunately, my first discovery is not about the scroll, but about how difficult it is to read documents from such ancient eras. The language is dense, overly formal, and riddled with archaic phrasing. Since professional editing is a relatively modern practice, authors of the past had to rely solely on their own command of vocabulary and dictation. An impressive effort, certainly, but it does little to help me understand what I need.

Undeterred, I shift my focus to magical history, where I finally come across something of interest. It turns out that certain branches of magic were invented or discovered by the Princesses themselves. Shadow Magic, surprisingly, was first uncovered by Princess Celestia, though the more in-depth studies of its properties were conducted by her sister. More to my surprise, however, Princess Luna was not the leading authority on illusionary magic, despite being widely regarded as the most skilled in its application.

For a fleeting moment, my thoughts drift to changelings, and my face twists into a grimace. If any beings could be considered true masters of illusion, it would be them.

Shaking the thought away, I return to more pressing matters. From what I can tell, the scroll is based in illusion magic. Whether that means the parchment and ink themselves are enchanted to obscure its true contents, or if the spell written within is tied to illusion in some deeper way, remains uncertain.

Another challenge in deciphering ancient magic lies in its written form. Just as spoken language evolves over time, so too does magical script. Variations in syntax, dialect, and structure make interpretation difficult—especially when the original writer’s linguistic influences are unknown. The same spell written in two different magical dialects could behave in vastly different ways, making historical magic a puzzle of both language and intent.

Fortunately, in this case, I have a significant advantage. Since I know the scroll was written by Princess Luna, I can reference other spells penned by her hoof—such as Silverstone Silence or Starry Gaze—to determine patterns in her magical writing. Luckily we have a copy.

And, as always, I know exactly where to find them. A short trip later, I’m back in my seat, ready to delve deeper into my research.

Silverstone Silence is a specialized illusion spell created by Princess Luna during the Silver Era. Unlike conventional silencing spells, which manipulate sound waves to dampen noise, Silverstone Silence instead replays an exact replica of all sound within the area at the moment of its casting. This creates a form of feedback nullification, effectively canceling out noise with perfect accuracy. The spell is reportedly ten times more effective than a standard silence spell, but it comes at a steep cost—it requires twice the concentration and magical energy to maintain.

Starry Gaze, on the other hoof, is a visual illusion spell designed for performance rather than concealment. Luna created it a few years before her transformation into Nightmare Moon, and it is believed to have been one of many attempts to win the admiration of her subjects. The spell enhances one’s presence, subtly drawing the attention of those nearby—essentially an inverted version of Notice Me Not. While I can appreciate its craftsmanship, it’s not a spell I would ever personally want to use.

Regardless of their individual functions, what makes these spells valuable to my research is the fact that they are exact copies of the originals (which, of course, were securely locked away long before my time here). This allows me to study Luna’s writing firsthoof—hoof-writing? Horn-writing? Whatever the proper term, it lets me compare her script to the mysterious scroll.

After careful examination, I allow myself a small moment of satisfaction. Her distinct flourishes are present in both spells, and they match almost perfectly with the writing on my scroll. More intriguingly, the script bears a stronger resemblance to Silverstone Silence than to Starry Gaze, suggesting it was written during the Silver Era as well.

This is only the beginning. I doubt I’ll unravel all of its secrets tonight, but with the Princess unlikely to retrieve the scroll before tomorrow, I have time.

"What?!"

"Please don't yell, Catcher. I've got a hangover and these pills aren't doing a damn."

Normally, I would call out the Royal Archivist for his foul mouth, but at the moment, I have more pressing matters. Lowering my voice to a tolerable level, I continue.

“What do you mean ‘they already took them’? I was supposed to have that scroll until Monday. And they took Silverstone Silence as well?”

Light Ledger nods, rubbing his temple. “I’m sorry, Catcher, there’s nothing I can do. You’ll still get your overtime pay, of course, but the only reason I’m even here is because they needed me to unlock the doors.” He manages to offer me a mildly sympathetic look.

I am not in the mood for sympathy.

Seeing that there’s nothing I can do, I let out a frustrated groan and stomp away from the Royal Archives, leaving Ledger to lock up.

I stomp all the way down the road. I stomp all the way home. Then, instead of stopping, I stomp right past my house and down the pathways, my frustration refusing to let me rest. Eventually, I find myself at Canterlot City Park, where I finally come to a halt. I’m tired from my little tantrum and need a breather anyway.

I am no less angry, mind you.

Sitting down on a bench, I scowl at the pavement, my thoughts still circling the same frustration. They took the damn scroll before I could finish my studies. That means there’s no chance in Tartarus I’ll ever see it again—unless I somehow become the next Element of Harmony, and that sure as hell isn’t happening.

I probably would have sat there sulking even longer had a familiar voice not pulled me from my thoughts.

“Whatcha doin’?”

Looking up, I see Fresh Breath standing in front of me, dressed casually (which is to say, wearing nothing, as is standard for ponies). His blue coat nearly blends with the sky, and his head tilts slightly as he regards me, causing his scruffy black mane to shift to one side. I hadn’t noticed before, but his mane is actually quite long.

"I'm not in the mood right now, Fresh Breath. Something just—"

"Just Fresh."

“Whatever! I just got completely screwed over by the Princesses, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Fresh plops himself down beside me, looking thoughtful. “How so?”

I give him a flat look. As if he could ever understand how I feel right now. I doubt something like this would bother him in the slightest, and yet here he is, pretending to care. Rolling my eyes, I lean back against the bench.

“Not that it matters,” I mutter, “but we got a special scroll at the Archives—one I wanted to analyze. I was told we could keep it temporarily before it was sent to the Princesses. I thought temporarily meant a few days. Turns out, they only meant one.”

“And that wasn’t enough time to study it?”

“Of course it wasn’t!” I snap, jumping up from the bench and pacing. “If I were studying a book, that’d barely be enough time to get past the glossary! But no, since it’s an ancient magical scroll, they’re just gonna pretend nopony cares enough to study it! That’s me, Fresh—nopony. The idiot guards couldn’t read dragon runes to save their lives, but since it’s a retrieval mission for the Princess, they’ve gotta get that sweet, sweet promotion!”

Fresh never interrupts, never interjects. He just sits there, watching, listening. For a stallion so prone to constant chatter, it’s… odd. Eventually, I run out of steam and slump back onto the bench, slightly out of breath.

“I just…” I sigh. “I really wanted to study that scroll. And now I can’t.”

Silence lingers between us for a moment before Fresh hums lightly to himself. Then he speaks.

“The scroll would be kept at Canterlot Castle, right?”

I glance at him. “Uh… yeah, I suppose.”

“With, like, a million guards and stuff?”

“A million’s a bit of an exaggeration, but yes.”

“And two Princesses actively present at all times?”

I narrow my eyes. “Are you going somewhere with this?”

“Would you feel better if I said no?”

“Honestly? A little.”

“Then no.”

I pause, then let out a sigh. “I retract my previous statement.”

“Then yes.”

For a moment, I just stare at him, completely lost in whatever absurd logic we’ve just stumbled into. Then, despite myself, a small smile tugs at my lips.

Perhaps I am overreacting. After all, I made significant progress with my research. I could spend the rest of today refining my notes before dropping the matter entirely.

As I begin to settle, my stomach suddenly growls. Blushing slightly, I turn to Fresh. “Hey, Fresh, you wanna get… something…?”

He’s gone. Not just walking away gone. Completely, utterly disappeared. I blink, looking around. I hadn’t heard a single movement. Not a hoofstep, not a rustle of grass.

Deciding that this is likely a Fresh doing Fresh things sort of situation, I shake my head and focus on finding food.

…Seriously, though. I didn’t hear a thing. The fact that he’s that stealthy kind of scares me.

Author's Note

A bit of exposition in this chapter. I love lore drops and analytical characters like Drift make that easier to do.
Also, some of you might be wondering why we have an Adventure Tab on this story despite no adventuring happening yet. Its coming, don't worry. I've had this story in my head for years now. I know what I'm planning.

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