Echoes of a forgotten freedom

The bowl of stew that the old mare had served me was a true delight. The steam rising from it enveloped my senses with an enchanting, rich, and warm fragrance, while the aroma teased my nostrils with a comforting sweetness. Each bite tested my tongue, so used to the bland and monotonous meals from the mess hall. This stew even surpassed the pretentious "luxury" restaurants in the capital, where the food seemed to have lost all soul, reduced to a mere display of appearances.

I took my time, savoring each moment, without haste. The world could stop; nothing mattered as long as this dish warmed me from within. My gaze drifted for a moment to the street, watching the passing crowd. It wasn’t a captivating spectacle, nor a defining moment, yet my attention lingered on the younger ones, the foals whose eyes sparkled with a mischievous gleam, the glow of an untouched dream. Their energy seemed almost palpable, like a breath of fresh air cutting through a stuffy room. Their wings quivered, eager, as though waiting for the impulse of the wind to unfurl.

The contrast with their parents was striking. The adults, weighed down by the burden of social conventions, struggled to suppress their freedom, keeping them within the narrow boundaries of a supposedly "civilized" society. In a world where agitation and effervescent dreams were seen as disturbances to be suppressed, these young pegasi were a breath of fresh air, a reminder that this sanitized existence was not natural. It had been imposed upon us, rooted in our society so that those without ambition could thrive, taking refuge from the change and surprises the world offers.

But how long could this last? I stood up, my thoughts interrupted by the unpleasant sensation of the artificial texture beneath my hooves, which caused me to let out a soft grunt. I carefully placed the bowl back on the stand with an almost ritualistic reverence, then gave the old mare a slight nod, while feeling the weight of my thoughts settle back into place, heavy with every passing moment.

I really needed that drink...

Back in the sky, I was once again drifting through this impersonal assembly of clouds, searching for a bar that might look decent. Everything seemed strangely artificial, as if every element had been designed without soul. The signs, though colorful, reflected neither spirit nor personality, and the names they bore, when legible, were just pale wordplays, lacking flavor.

Finally, I resigned myself to land in front of one of these indistinct bars, all equally devoid of character. I entered noisily, even though the place was open at this hour, as the locals were either working or at least pretending to.

I barely took a moment to observe the décor, expecting nothing remarkable, yet I could not escape disappointment. The furniture was mundane, a series of raw wooden chairs and tables. The walls were decorated with frames of random music groups and banal posters, seemingly chosen out of obligation rather than taste.

There was no warmth here, no story hidden behind each object, no trace of passion in the arrangement of the place. It was as if the place had been created to be forgotten, a mere stop between two insignificant destinations. The bar, a long gleaming wooden counter, seemed to have never known the shadow of a customer, as if the memory of those who had come had erased itself as soon as they left.

The bartender looked up at me, likely due to my noisy entrance. His movements were mechanical. He was a dull dark gray pegasus, with a tired mane hanging like an old curtain. His wings stayed still, folded against his back, as if he had forgotten that they were meant to fly.

The only thing preventing me from judging him more harshly was the indifference that his existence stirred in me. I approached the bar and placed my hooves on it without ceremony, without emotion.

“What can I get you?” His voice, without conviction, escaped as he gazed at me absently, wiping an already clean glass.

“Phoenix Heart.” I stopped him with a sharp gesture of my hoof as he reached for a shot glass. “The bottle.”

The bartender blinked, seeming barely to understand. His lost gaze rested on me for a moment before slowly moving to the bottle. He barely shrugged, as if he had no idea what I truly meant. But he obeyed, without asking questions, and retrieved the bottle with the symbol: two fiery phoenixes forming a heart.

I smiled as he placed the bottle in front of me, and I flicked off its cap with a swift motion of my wings. A warm, spicy, almost mystical scent escaped, sharply contrasting with the cold atmosphere of this place. A sigh escaped me, not of relief, but of frustration. It wasn’t just the bar that lacked life, it was the entire city.

With the bottle in my wings, I finally brought it to my thirsty lips. “Are you sure?” The bartender asked uncertainly, as if trying to redeem a moment of life in this dull world.

I didn’t bother answering him, and took a long sip of the burning liquid. My tongue was on fire, and I could feel the heat of the different spices running down my throat, but in a delicious way, a strong liquor that offered much.

My smile widened as I placed the bottle back on the bar. The glow of the orange liquid, caught by the dimming light of the place, seemed almost alive, like a flickering flame in the darkness.

“You’re empty,” I finally said, breaking the silence with a voice tinged with contempt.

The bartender seemed startled, as if my remark had suddenly pulled him from his stupor. “Pardon?” he replied, his folded wings twitching slightly without ever spreading.

“Two bottles to go,” I said bluntly, my eyes fixed on his, searching in vain for a sign of life.

“Sorry, but we don’t...”

I slammed my right hoof down onto the counter, making it crack under the impact. A small spark appeared, marking the pristine furniture with a crack. I stared at him intensely, my gaze leaving no room for discussion.

The bartender, completely thrown off, slowly nodded. “I’ll... I’ll get that for you.” His gaze fled from mine before he trotted quickly to the back of the bar.

I took another sip, waiting, a smile slowly spreading across my lips. At least, I had left a memory in this soulless place.

I launched myself out of that dull city, abandoning its bleak, lifeless atmosphere without regret. I wasn’t trying to understand where this departure would lead me; my wings finally spread, free, choosing their own path. Gradually, the artificial shapes of the clouds, traced by the shadow of the buildings, gave way to their true wild beauty, a sky where each cloud seemed to float unhindered, carried by the pure breeze, unbroken by the shadow of the city’s frozen walls.

My thoughts, like a gentle wind, drifted southward, toward the mysterious lands beyond the Macintosh Hills. A region almost forgotten, whose whispers and legends barely circulated in Equestria.

The idea of this untamed land, still scarcely explored, stirred in me an almost uncontrollable fervor. My heart raced at the thought of hidden wonders, buried secrets, and even the dangers that lay in wait, lurking in the shadows. These dangers didn’t scare me; on the contrary, they seemed to give meaning to every beat of my heart and lend new strength to my wings. Isn’t that the life promised to the bold?