The Wanderer

by Aventicus

Rating: teen
Tags: Drama, Gore, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Mystery, Starswirl the Bearded, Adventure, Discord, Violence, Death
Length: 5670

The adventures of a time-travelling leyliner and secret apprentice to Star Swirl.

Plato, a leyliner, a profession from the times of ancient Equestria, has been sent on an age-spanning quest to right the wrongs of history by his mentor Starswirl that the great sorcerer could not prevent himself.

Art by fekranz on Instagram

Published 2025-02-08 00:40:00 UTC
Last updated 2025-02-08 00:40:00 UTC

Chapter 1 - The Fading Lullaby

The discharge of the battle overhead rained literal fire down upon him, and it was all he could do to avoid every crackling meteor careening through the branches.

“Oh, this is bad! Very, very bad!” he sputtered amidst gasps for air. A quick dodge, a speedy sidestep, and a clumsy roll forward that’d leave a bruise or two carried him in a furious panic through the chaos. His burning muscles begged him to slow down if only a little, but it was either a little pain for a moment or a lot of pain for a while. Fire and debris careened around him with a cacophony of crashes and raging infernos.

“Damn it all! This would be a good deal easier if I had that book!” he panted. But what choice did he have? He had to escape the castle immediately, which had been far too destroyed for him to retrieve the arcanum going the normal way. He dug hard in the dirt springing himself into a turn past an old, overgrown willow tree, only to be met with a blockade of burning branches.

No good, looks like it’s the long way around, he thought. With a tight about-face, he propelled himself back into a gallop, soared past the willow tree again and turned down the path toward the sprawling gardens. The heat grew ever more intense as the descending hellfire consumed the great woods, the smoke making it difficult to see the trail, but having spent years wandering these paths in rigorous meditation or hapless daydreaming, the way was not hard to find. It took him only a few more perilous minutes of sprinting when a break in the tree line came into view. Just beyond it stood the Royal Gardens. A magisterial work of botany, architecture, and landscaping. It was also a maze. A maze skirted with cast iron fencing all around, save for the exit. He cursed, knowing when the fire spread here, it’d be a death trap. What on earth made royalty so obsessed with boxwood mazes? No matter, this was the only way and with a less than graceful leap he plunged through the trees, tumbling onto one of the many carefully tailored lawns.

The poor groundskeeper would die of shock if he were to witness what was about to happen. Before him, in stolid silence loomed the unblemished maze with its wrought iron trim, impressively defiant against the hell that burned so fiercely close. He’d no time to admire it with the heat nearly roasting his rear and made for the service entrance. Chained! Of course. He could buck it open, maybe.Better to try than die. Pulling from his adrenaline, he reared and roused as much strength as he could, contracting the muscles in his hind legs to spring load them with enough kinetic force before releasing it in one explosive movement. *CLANG!* Damn! It didn’t work, but he noticed the gate was rusting pretty well at the hinges. The first kick put a good crack in them. Just one more will do, he thought.He re-positioned himself and kicked again. The cracks split open fully and the gate crashed down into the dirt path beyond. “Ha!” he exclaimed and bolted into a world that would be his salvation or his doom. Where’s that shed? he wondered. A few paces ahead at a corner stood a red, well-maintained little hobble of wood and nails. In it, more for the aid of the general staff than the groundskeeper, was a map. Not only for the maze, but also for the entire complex. Another good kick bucked the door in. Hanging on the back wall was that precious piece of painted parchment. No time to be careful, he ripped it from the nails tacking it to the wood. Heat was starting to cook the atmosphere around him, so he started a half-trot down one lane of the maze splitting his gaze between where he walked and where the map told him to go.

A forced left, thirty paces to a second left, ten to another. Then a right, a left, fourteen more paces to reach a tri-split, then straight into a right, another right, a third right, a left, a deadend? Hells! A deadend?! The map had guided him to his doom. The air wasn’t getting cooler to boot. What in Equestria was up with this map? Maybe they hadn't updated it. Flipping it over, he found the note he was looking for:

"LAST UPDATED: 7th day of Umbrum, 266th year of Harmonia Aetas"

Figures. Today was the 5th of Lunus and he guessed the grounds staff hadn't completed their final draft of this month's botanical cartography. Typical royalty sought for no more than a regular boxwood maze. The sisters preferred theirs enchanted. He was amazed they ever had time set aside to consistently re-navigate this thing. It would explain much, he mused. But how was he going to get out now? No use trying to punch through the hedges, unless one enjoyed wandering inside greenery indefinitely. But he was an earth pony. There was a good chance he could find the exit using his wits alone. Fates willing, he had enough time. Stowing the map in his satchel, he quickly set to do a week's work for a team of ponies in less than ten minutes. The winds had just shifted and assuming they remained blowing opposite of him, he may have more time. Turn here, march there, left, left, straight ahead, right, left, right, right, straight and on and on he went, speeding his steps with every change in direction. His determination slipped steadily into desperation as his decisions became panicked guessing instead of careful guesstimation. Rounding another turn into a lengthy stretch, he was certain he saw an opening into what could be the courtyard entrance. The blaze had been creeping along the hedgerows, nearly cutting him off at points and redirecting him at others, but now he could taste freedom. He broke into full gallop and nearing the opening a cruel realization struck him: this wasn't the entrance.

It was baffling, this maze. An artwork born of malevolent whimsy and latent chaos magic. The courtyard he'd walked into was almost the same as at the entrance's, the key difference being the statue placed at the fountain's center. I thought you two hated Discord, he thought. Something meant to demoralize those lost among the twists and turns. The joke of false hope, encouraging navigators to break or persevere. Not a problem, he felt he was near solving his way to the exit from this point. However, the wind he hoped his ally had decided to blow against him in force. He watched as it drew tongues of fire along the tops of the surrounding hedgerows, crisping the leaves, sealing him within. The flames had decided here would be his tomb. It would have been mesmerizing if not for the depressing message it sent. A breeze caught him in the face while he watched, shaking him from his trance.

Hells, what now? Though it’d since stopped spouting water, there was enough in the fountain’s basin to shield him from the heat. Hopping up onto the bulwark, he tossed himself in where he lay beside the draconequus, petrified in an eternal cackle. A blur of pink and white soon zoomed by overhead, followed by a streak of dark blue blasting shimmering beams at the blur it chased. Gale force gusts following in their wake violently spurred on the fire and hurled chunks of flaming greenery into the courtyard around him.

"Hells!" he cried, narrowly diving out of the way of a sizeable branch that speared straight into the statue's foundation, splintering into a hundred different directions on impact. Water won't be enough if I'm impaled, he thought. He stood to brace against the wind as it blew recklessly against him. *Fweee-thock!* "Augh! Damn!" The rock that clocked him in the head and the blood trail it left was warning enough to stay behind cover. "Oh no," he said, for his eyes caught the sky-skirmish speeding its way back toward him. He scrambled to submerge himself as deep in the shallow basin as possible, where he watched through blurred vision gold and blue beams colliding, sparking, missing their targets and coming far too close to him. One in particular shot by not more than three paces above. It was brilliant, blue, blinding and he could feel how it heated the water the moment it passed before vanishing. Wait a minute, he thought, wondering if his guess was right. Breaching the surface in a single, graceless motion that almost sent him back under, he jumped to his hooves scanning for where the blast hopefully carved its way through the maze. He wasn't disappointed.

"Thanks for the company, crazy old bastard." He patted the petrified draconequus on the knee and before racing off, noticed something unusual about it. A crack, small and shallow. Something took a decent chip out of you, he thought. A sparkle in the basin drew his attention next. There on the bottom was one of his scales, green and gleaming.
“It unfroze,” he muttered in wonder. Then, looking up at the cackling chaos lord asked him, “You wouldn’t mind, would you?” Reaching into the water, he snatched it quick, placing it in his soaking satchel. He sped away to the charred hole musing that a single scale was a small price to pay for enslaving the world. This time, he saw for certain the clearing he'd been desperate to reach just on the other end of the seared chlorophyll tunnel. It reeked of magic, not in the way the maze did generally. It made sprinting to the exit difficult, because each breath he took was fouler than the last. Magic always had a charged scent, a crackling that lightly tingled the nostrils. The stronger the spell, the more it blind-sided your nose, going as far to even singe the little hairs inside it. Discord had a very distinct stink to him, even when encased in stone. Nothing you could put your hoof on, but unpleasant all the same.

But this odor… Hells, if he didn’t clear out of there soon, he was going to vomit. In short order, he’d made it, coughing out the pungence, breathing in deeply the fresher air. Back down the way, he could see the flames lapping at the statue, consuming every flower, branch, leaf and root the beautiful gardens were so well known for. A shame it had all come to this.

What the in the Hells is biting at my hooves? he wondered. A terribly irritating sensation nipping at his fetlocks interrupted his musing. He glanced down at them to find what looked like a dusting of soot. No, that wasn’t soot. Wispy black tendrils suddenly slithered up his legs, going straight for any orifice they could slip into. Jumping with a yelp, he did his best to shake the ichor from him, dropping into the grass and rolling until he was certain he’d scraped it off. Standing, he spun to check he was clean. Thank the Fates, “Stop, Drop, and Roll” worked just as well for arcane residue as for fire. Some of what’d he removed had already devoured small patches of grass, now withered into pitiful black fibers, while the rest wriggled around helplessly.

“I could use that,” he muttered and reaching into his satchel pulled out a vial, uncorked it with his teeth and with surgeon’s precision scooped up a skosh of the dancing blobs. Luna’s gotten into some nasty stuff, he thought marveling at the strange substance. He looked up to watch the twin princesses rage away in the fading light, but they were far enough from him he’d manage to get to Starswirl’s tower with far less trouble. He placed the vial back into his satchel and planned his next moves. Over to his right stood the maze entrance with the true courtyard. His eyes traced the way: Up the cobblestone road from the maze, into the atrium, down another path and across the bridge spanning the ravine. Wizards and their towers were what royalty were to their mazes, eccentric and obsessive, save for a few key differences. Sure, he well could have had it built among the parapets and ramparts of the castle proper, saving him and every other visitor the trouble of experiencing unnecessary exposure to the elements. There was a time when that was the case, especially when the old wizard spent half his time mentoring the protégé princesses. But a few magical “accidents” happened that resulted in enough collateral and casualties to convince wizard and wounded alike that the tower should occupy a spot away from most everyone else. It was decided then that having it propped right over the nearby ravine would risk the least amount of damage to everything and everyone should something go awry again.

It helped now it was the furthest from the scourge soaring above, but not so much that he’d totally lost his overhead cover. Should either of the princesses take notice of this random stallion, it could serve to severely complicate things. Speed was his best help now and thank the Fates for all that training he received as a page. Fore and hind legs swapped places wildly in his dead sprint to the tower. Pound, push, pull, pound, push, pull. With no trees to restrict his movement, he put all his energy into making it to that worn down column of bricks and cobbles. Up the path, through the atrium, down the next path, wind ripping at his face, across the bridge and finally to the door. What castle occupants that could evacuate in time did, including the guards that had escorted them into the forest, leaving it wholly unprotected. Just one more lock, he thought. Then I’ll snatch it and make my way out of here. No brute force would work this time. The seal on the door would have been a serious obstacle if he was ignorant of the keywords. Leaning close, he whispered gently to the glowing rune.

“Cum te in astra.” The rune brightened, splitting into four multi-faceted pieces before all falling to the ground in soft rhythmic tones as it played out a familiar melody. For all that gruffness, you’d quite the soft spot, he mused smiling. He took hold of the tarnished handle and hauled the engraved oaken slab outward until he’d given himself enough space to slip inside. If he’d shut it behind him then, he’d have sunk himself into a world of darkness. Though addled by the chaos of current circumstances, he’d enough wisdom not to do something that silly. The old keeper of this lonesome pillar favored crystals over your run-of-the-mill torches. Which, of course, required magic as the catalyst, but it wasn’t the only one. He pulled some steel-forked trinket from his satchel and rising up on his hind legs, started tapping it around one of the glinting imbedded rocks, pressing his ear against the wall between taps. Satisfied with what he heard, he brandished the object before forcefully striking it against the bulkhead’s cold stones. A musical ping resonated all throughout, singing each of the crystals to life in beautiful blue fluorescence. He couldn’t say he knew another pony who adored music so. It was one of the things that had endeared them to each other in the early days. A thing that had fortified an ageless friendship. The memory brought an unwilling sigh out of him. I hadn’t realized how much I’ve missed you, old friend, he thought. These years would be easier to bear. Before mounting the all too familiar staircase, he grabbed hold of the entry door to quietly pull it shut. He’d nearly closed it when he tripped over an uneven tile, handle still in hoof, and right onto his haunches, slamming the massive wooden portal shut with a thundering boom.

Cursing, he whispered harshly to himself, “Damnation, Plato! Are you trying to call the whole of Everfree down on you?” He could only hope the princesses were too far off or distracted to have heard it. Faint sounds of explosive magic echoed in the distance, but hadn’t ceased. Though in here, he may have woken far worse things. Starswirl had a bad habit of hoarding and a worse disregard for safety. The tower’s relocation was due to a few cats his insatiable curiosity had killed. Now his own satisfaction, life-dependent need really, brought him back to remove the only thing between the world and whatever had survived the years locked inside. If time hadn’t neutralized it, it could prove to be a serious problem. He crept carefully towards the stairwell, doing his best to mute the sounds of hoof on tile. It was a slow ascent, unpleasantly quiet, soft echoes trailing each of his steps. The noise of his shaky breath did nothing to soothe his agitated nerves. There weren’t many floors on the way up. Most of the tower was comprised of the wide stairwell and its several landings that had rather spectacular views. A floor for storage, for the kitchen, a laboratory, another for storage, spare sleeping quarters, and on the very top, by far the most expansive of them all was the study. That’s where Starswirl spent most of his time when not attending to the twin rulers or adventuring around Equestria with the rest of the Pillars. Much, though noticeably neglected, remained the same. No one had been in here for hundreds of years, whether out of respect or grief or both. Equestria had lost a true titan of the age when he vanished. Hopefully, should all go well, he'd be the one to bring him and the rest of the Pillars back.

Nearing the study, a frigid chill rolled down the stairs easily bypassing the layering his clothing provided. Shivers took hold of him, but he managed to fight them off and continue the ascent. Wrapping his scarf tighter around his neck, he muttered, “I suppose this place has a memory too.” And stones had better memory than flesh and blood. The scars of that night were his perpetual ghost. Even though his pounding heart sought to betray his feelings, these past years had given him enough time to regard the specter as an acquaintance, a helpful reminder. The thing which motivated him above all else. Ice started to appear closer to the study’s entrance, gracing the steps and walls with shimmering branches before coalescing into shallow glaciers that coated the whole area.

And I suppose more than a memory of you still remains, he thought, cautiously watching where he planted his hooves. No need to have another accident here. Enough of his blood had already painted these old steps. He mounted the final landing, crossing it with precarious stability to the door. The cold had seeped out through the gaps, forming a frozen trim all around. Nothing a good tug couldn’t solve. Stuffing a part of his scarf into his mouth, he clamped his teeth on the handle, braced, and pulled back with calculated force. A few creaks in the seal gave way to cracks, indicating he’d made enough of a breach to pull it open normally. He spat out his scarf, switching his hold on the handle to his hoof and… paused. Nothing about this situation had really thrown him for a loop. The maze was a close call, sure. Still, it had been a very long time since he’d traipsed through this place. A long time since anyone had. There was only one thing he could imagine that would still be haunting the old tower.

Who can jump over his own shadow? That was one of the old sorcerer’s favorite lines. He’d toss it around more than anything else. It mixed dour cynicism with experienced practicality, but it was never an admittance of defeat. Really, it served as motivation to fight for the impossible, because he remembered how he’d always quip back to him, “There’s no shadow that can touch the stars.” And though his soul ached, he chuckled. Starswirl would have already opened the door and set to work, no matter what lie on the other side. With a new eagerness, Plato broke through the final seal of ice, baring wide the whole of the study, exposing the forgotten shadows that lurked with in. All of it, from roof to floor was covered in unmolested layers of ice. Every book, every tool, every paper, quill, and ink pot, not a one went without a boreal touch. Even the bed hung heavy with icicles. Wandering in, he found no trace of the shadows he feared lurking. It would be hard to catch sight of them in the darker corners, but the moonlight sprinkled in enough illumination for his eyes to satisfactorily scan the room. There it was on his desk, the front cover stamped with four swirling stars. By the time he’d made off with it, she’d hopefully have made it back and he could finally escape this place. He near bounded over to it, forgetting to be careful of the treacherous terrain, but his excitement carried him with surprisingly little trouble. The arcanum was caked under ice. A resonant glow pulsed lowly from the embossed stars. Good, the spell hadn’t worn off. His fastest and likely best option was to cut it free. Damn, he thought. Should’ve stopped by the kitchen or the laboratory. Reaching a hoof into his jacket, he pulled out a pocket watch. I’ve just enough time if I’m quick. He doubled back, counting down the mental timer he’d need to beat.

But a stench filled his nose that forced him into a violent fit of coughing. He struggled to purge it as its potence increased, stealing any precious air that could save his lungs. The darkness residing in the corners had been slowly spilling into the rest of the room while he puzzled on how to extract the book. Every inch of moonlight was swallowed and Plato, watching, became excruciatingly aware of the threat. He was keeled over, effectively being gassed, struggling to stay standing. If he fell, he wouldn’t be getting back up. Through his watering eyes, he found a chair to steady himself on and in those terrible seconds, he desperately tried to think up a way out. Then, hooking the chair in his forearm slung it ‘round hard down onto the ice, shattering both chair and cold encasement alike. Book freed, he took it between his teeth, breaking the spell and hopped up on the desk, launching himself through the window. Rolling onto the balcony over the shattered glass, he felt warm trickles of blood begin dripping from fresh cuts. Hells with it. Nothing he couldn’t patch up later. Behind him, the shadows poured through the broken window, splitting into individual plumes. They barreled towards him, angry apparitions trying to revenge themselves on a familiar intruder. These next moments were critical, forcing him between two choices: A hundred pace drop into a river that was at its seasonal low point, or risk using the arcanum again.

This time will be different, he decided. Each second slowed to minutes. Book in his left hoof, he quickly nosed to the desired page and parted his lips, ready to utter the incantation. Emanating from his chest, a muted glow travelling up through his forearm where from his hoof extended white, translucent veins that imbedded themselves into the tome.

“Praeni-“

*BOOM!*

The world around them flashed a thousand colors. The tower erupted in explosive vibrations before teetering, listing, leaning, then toppling, sending both shadow and stallion tumbling into the ravine below.

“Astraea!” Plato screamed against the cacophony around him. “Astraea!!” Black billowing arms reached toward him; the ground rose to meet him. “ASTRAEA!!” Ground or shadow, ground or shadow, his eyes snapped frantically between the two wondering which fate he’d meet first. He shut his eyes tightly, not wanting to see which it would be.

*POOF*

The ground was the lucky winner. However, it hadn’t claimed as its prize a pulped pony puddle. From what he could tell, he was fully intact. Daring to open his eyes, he was met with the sight he’d been hoping for ever since he’d travelled here.

Muzzle to muzzle with him was the face of the mare whom he loved, whom he missed, who’d been gone far too long. Those twin deep indigos regarded him with endless amounts of concern, of affection and soon they were hid behind her eyelids as she closed the space between their lips for a sorely missed kiss. Then, laying down beside him, crossed an arm over his chest to pull him into a tight, tender embrace. For what seemed like hours they remained there, doing all they could to make up for the lost years of intimacy, neither speaking a word. During one of their more passionate kisses, Astraea noticed a taste other than Plato… it was salty. He was weeping. It wasn’t hard to guess why. She pulled away to better see his handsome face, to admire the lovely reddish-brown of his eyes glinting in the starlight. What a blessing it was to know that the stallion they belonged to belonged as much so to her. An equal tragedy to know how long he’d been having to carry on without her. It plagued her soul with an aching too deep for words. She had felt truly his desperate longing, the deep hollows of his being ever since their separation. How could she not? She was his heart, and his heart beat for him with every ounce of her being.

Plato looked up at her, unable to hide his disappointment at how she’d decided to address the fact he couldn’t hold his tears in instead of maintaining their lip lock. He brought a hoof to his face to wipe away the little streams that stained it, hoping once gone they could resume making out- up, making up, for lost time. Her hoof caught his, gently pushing it aside.

“Don’t,” she said smiling sweetly. “It’s been too long since I’ve seen you with my own eyes.” Leaning closer, she nibbled his ear, whispering, “And I want to see all of you.” She planted a kiss on his forehead. “All that you are.” Another on his nose. “From your lowest lows to your highest highs,” a third on his chin. And softly nuzzling his neck said, “Knowing that every bit of it is mine.” A fourth kiss she left there before putting her muzzle against his again. “If your tears need drying, oh love my own,” her lips graced one of his cheeks, soaking away the mournful trickle. Wiping the other with her mane, she finished saying, “It is I who will dry them for you.” She returned her lips to his and did not remove them again for some time more. It was only when she’d felt they’d enjoyed enough of their reunion for the time being did she pose to him the question on her mind since the tower collapsed.

“Plato,” she began, her tone tinged in solemnity, “How long?”

If he believed that assuaging her worry through lies or dismissal was the best response, he’d be quite the unfortunate fool. He knew better, and she would catch a fib from his lips before it even slipped off his tongue. But he couldn’t look at her and turning aside answered,

“Seventeen years.”

Seventeen years!? “Oh, Plato…” What could she say? Seventeen years he’d spent on his own. If only she’d have made her way here sooner. The paths of stars were not easily tread. Attempting to dominate the wills of superheated giants was a task nearly infeasible, but her lineage lent her an edge. Only stars could bring stars to heel. Combined with the rhythmic thumping of his heart, she eventually managed to forge the right inroad back to Equus, back to him, and sailed it to its end just as the beats rose to their apex. Too close of a call. She’d reacted in time, thank the stars, but it left her shaken. Still, she quieted her mind and composed herself. Knowing Plato and all the trouble he was prone to finding himself in, he would need her to be his rock. His anchor. Especially after seventeen years of trouble.

A gilded chuckle drew her from her thoughts. Of course, she was never good at hiding her emotions. It was utterly contradictory to her nature. He saw every crease in her visage denoting what her mind mulled over. Even then, he’d quite the intuition. Born of your own nature, she thought. He put a hoof at the back of her head to pull her close, touching his lips to her forehead.

“One day,” he said wistfully, “you’ll have to take me dancing in the stars with you.”

“Hmm, one day,” and she held his hoof to her cheek. “Until then, we’ve got work to do. And you,” she playfully poked his chest, “have seventeen years worth of stories to catch me up on.”

“I do love telling stories.”

“Yes, as much as you love hearing the sound of your own voice.”

He laughed and they both maneuvered off each other to stand. “Not as much as you do,” he teased back. She put a hoof to his chin, holding him still for a sudden kiss.

“And sometimes,” she smiled coyly, “I like you better quiet.”

His cheeks burned a deep red through the gray of his coat. It astounded him how she could still do that after all their years together. Not that he was complaining. Every day spent with her was a day discovering something new. And every day his love for her grew stronger. Seventeen years, he wondered to himself. He’d acclimated well enough to being companionless, finding ways to distract himself. Equestria had changed much, in some ways inexplicably. An ocean of discovery giving him plenty to occupy himself with. There even came a point where he’d checked his watch less habitually. Then forgetting it altogether. About six months ago was when it really became active and demanded his full attention. He realized then he’d have to get serious about making plans to get into the tower at the temporal crux. His hopes she’d make her way back to him then too were well founded. What a strange thing, time and space were. If only he could manipulate them on his whim instead of they doing the same to him. Like how she paved her way through the heavens. His abilities alone allowed him only to find and direct forces similar. Never to master them. It was with her, and the genius of Starswirl, that it had become possible. None of them could have predicted what happened, though. Travelling outside space-time then suddenly being ripped out of it was extremely disorienting. It didn’t help that whatever had done so severed Astraea’s connection to Equus and effectively to him too. Though years of practiced leylining along with the watch’s direction helped him land as close to the crux as possible.

“Did you happen to find out what shattered my way while you were here?” She’d guessed rightly at his thoughts.

Shaking his head, he replied, “No, not exactly. Maybe I could have if I’d followed where the breach came from, but that would have put me too far from the crux. Starswirl’s letter was clear on how critical it was to be there for it.”

“You were able to secure his arcanum,” she affirmed.

“Thank the Fates, I was. Nearly killed me getting it.” And I probably would have killed myself using it if it weren’t for whatever knocked the tower over.

Her nostrils flared as her eyes grew wide, hurling a new line of interrogation his way. “You tried to use it again, didn’t you!”

“I had no choice! I don’t think Starswirl realized he’d trapped remnants of Stygian in his study too! It was that or leap to my death.”

“Plato, you knew I was coming!” She touched a hoof to his chest. “You couldn’t trust me enough to wait a little longer? Didn’t you feel it when I rebuilt my way?”

His own hoof hooked on hers. “I did,” he paused looking for his next words. “I guess in that moment, those old shadows reminded me too strongly of that night. It felt like a chance…”

“Plato. My dear, silly, lovely Plato.” Taking his hoof in hers, she continued, “The chance you’ve wanted has been with you ever since then. Starswirl gave it to you that same night.”

“And I lost her for seventeen years.” Tears pooled in his eyes again.

“But now,” she replied, bringing her mane up to his eyes, “she stands here in front of you. Holding your hoof. Drying your tears.”

Author's Note

This is a story that's been in my head for about the last 7 and a half years. Every creative type wants to have a cool background story for their OC and its first ideas came to be when I watched "Lullaby for a Princess." Now that I've actually set myself to writing it, it's had to undergo some serious chronological and character restructuring, to include a "true" timeline of Equestria that includes the canon from the comics. That timeline isn't completed, but I'll be hashing it out over the course of this tale.

My first rendition of "The Wanderer" was back in 2015 when I was younger and dumber was a really awful HiE isekai of myself and good lord did it SUCK! I scrapped the whole thing to redo it and waited longer than I should have to complete chapter one. But looking at it now, it's probably for the best I write after the show's completion. I hope you all enjoyed it. There's plenty more to come.