Echoes of a forgotten freedom

I have always presented myself as a proud royal guard, and from a young age, I became passionate about the art of war.

So why, now that this goal has been achieved, do I feel so empty? Why, beneath my beautiful armor, do I feel like I’m suffocating? Why do I avoid my own reflection in the mirror? Why, when on leave, do I lie on my camp bed, drained of energy and will? Why do I have to force myself to eat?

I hate myself without understanding why. No one but me can provide an answer, and yet, this discomfort gnaws at me to the core. At night, I dream of being someone else, but by the next day, I’ve forgotten who I wanted to be. The rare times my gaze meets the mirror, I look at myself with contempt, as if I were nothing but trash.

What do I truly want? I seek neither glory, nor money, nor recognition. The affection of others means little to me, and love... I gave up on the idea a long time ago. The only mare I ever loved eventually bored me.

I close my eyes, letting my thoughts drift, but each time, I hit a wall of sadness, weariness, and an overwhelming sense of insignificance. Perhaps I have unknowingly sunk into a state of total detachment from this world. Even the princess, who once amazed me the first time I saw her, no longer holds that same magical glow. What once seemed beautiful to me has become a meaningless vision.

My memories take me back to my childhood, to foal school in Canterlot. The last in my class, I couldn’t stay still, preferring to explore the many streets and dark alleys of the capital, flying out the window at night. Every new discovery was more interesting than what the school tried to teach me, which caused my parents and teachers to despair, wondering what they were going to do with me.

However, it is true that seeing the royal guards in their shining armor, their serious and impassive gaze, as if they were above it all—anger, sadness, fear... above me, a simple foal with no future—left its mark. As for Princess Celestia, she sat upon her throne, her multicolored mane flowing despite the lack of wind, as if it had a will of its own. Her vibrant colors spread in contrast to the pure whiteness of her coat and the simplicity of her jewelry, compared to the unnecessarily complex attire of the decadent nobility of this city.

Yet, she embodied the face of Equestria, the very symbol of our nation, a figure who had stood for over a thousand years and, as my instructor had said when I was a young adult and took the step to join the guard, she would continue to reign forever. But it had been years since I could no longer believe in it. She was too pure, too kind, too indulgent... and, after the changeling attack, too weak.

My memories swirled in my mind as I opened my flask filled with cider, taking a long sip while lying on my bed. The sparkling taste eased my mind a little, but it didn’t chase away the deep distress that haunted me—a distress of which I was sadly aware. Alcohol, refuge of the weak. And me, at that moment, I was no better.

A bitter smile brushed my lips. What irony that I could be so disappointed in myself that my own misery almost became a form of entertainment... Another proof that I had become the resigned spectator of my downfall.

The alcohol gradually numbed my senses, urging me to close my eyes as my thoughts continued to swirl. My eyes slowly welled up with tears, while images of my parents, proud of me, as well as the last time I remembered being happy, passed before my eyes... The day I joined the royal guard, I realized that, lacking anything better, I had chosen the path that would make my parents proud, but without making myself happy.

I got out of bed and left the dormitory to head to the bathroom, where I locked myself in a stall. I exhaled loudly, letting my tears flow. I had no reason to be sad, but once again, they flowed on their own. That was why I wasn’t happy: I had unconsciously chosen to make others happy, without thinking of myself.

I channeled, in an intense mental effort, my darkest memories: the changeling attack. I replayed the scene, my hooves trembling uncontrollably. The chain of command was overwhelmed, becoming unreadable, while our princess lay on the ground and the enemies shattered Shining Armor’s shield.

Furthermore, I wasn’t on duty at that moment, but my trembling hooves had grabbed the first heavy weapon within reach, while orders and the sounds of battle echoed throughout the palace.

It was neither honor nor duty that had driven me to arm myself, but fear and my desperate desire to escape this place. I remember my intention clearly: to reach the nearest balcony, jump into the void, and spread my wings to flee from the assault.

However, on my way, despite myself, I managed to take a few invaders out of action that I couldn’t avoid around the corners of the hallways. My screams, amplified and distorted by the echoes, turned my terrified call for Celestia’s grace into a war cry in the ears of others. Some of my colleagues, recognizing my voice, now took me for an unyielding hero of the guard, when in reality, I was simply trying to save my hide from this walking Tartarus.

I still remembered the heavy and desperate blows I struck with that improvised club, the panic rising in me when the object broke, forcing me to strike with my own hooves against their black, sharp shells. The fear of these creatures spitting and buzzing slowly transformed into a pure surge of adrenaline, pushing my body to its limits, pulling me further away from reality as my senses sharpened. A metallic taste flooded my mouth, my eyes caught every detail... Was it at that moment that I truly felt alive?

The realization hit me suddenly, and at the same time, it brought a strange sense of relief: I was only alive when I was on the edge of death. My tears immediately stopped flowing, as if this realization had the power to stop them.

I replayed the sequence of events in my mind, and yes, now I remembered it clearly. My screams of fear had fallen silent, my heart was beating so fast it threatened to break my ribs, and a smile had appeared on my face as my gaze fixed solely on the enemies, my strength seeming to multiply in their presence. Yet, I also remembered being overwhelmed by their numbers, covered in their secretion, shouting a challenge before my eyes closed, letting me sink. I hadn’t opened them again until the battle was over, lying in the infirmary, covered in wounds silently marking a fierce fight.

Since my childhood, I had never dreamed of becoming a mere royal guard, a simple Pegasus serving an obsolete and powerless army. No, I wanted to live free, live for myself, far from this golden cage.

I came out of my coward's hiding place and returned to my camp bed to gather my few civilian belongings and the little bits of change I had saved. I didn’t even bother to officially resign; let them consider me a deserter, it didn’t matter. What were they going to do, after all? Be shocked? Deliver long speeches to their pawns? A small, amused laugh escaped me at that thought.

I had wasted far too much time in this farce they called the Royal Guard. It was probably out of pride that I had wanted to please Princess Celestia. As for Princess Luna and her Night Guard... I had never been able to stand them, always in the shadows, almost hiding, even when they were supposed to be patrolling the castle.

I left the palace through the grand gates, my saddlebags perfectly adjusted, and took a deep breath: this was the beginning of a new life.