Amid the silent streets of Canterlot, Death stalked. The sound of his bony hooves on the the grey cobbled pavement echoed in the silence of the early hour. No wind was stirred up by his passing, and no shadow was cast beneath him by the early morning light. The sun had yet to rise, and only the faintest of glows suggested it was waiting below the horizon. The tall, black-robed figure of off-white bones went unnoticed by the remaining inhabitants of the city. This was as it should be. Death’s approach was rarely seen, but he never failed to be present when a pony’s time came. He was the first thing a pony would see when the spark of life fled their body, and he served as their final companion as they passed on to realms even Death did not visit.
Death’s dimly burning, eyeless sockets had seen it all, more truly than any other. He’d watched souls beyond counting come and go like shining flowers; budding in the dawn of childhood, brilliantly blooming in the daylight of life, waning and withering in the twilight of old age. Death had met Equestria’s ancient heroes. Death had met as well the vilest criminals, thankfully rare in the peaceful pony society. He had met, sadly, the wailing foals, helpless in death as they were in life. Sadder still were the laments of those pitiable ponies struck down just before their prime, never to know the fulfilling golden years of adulthood. Certainly, there was some consolation for the one who did nothing but console. Many a mare had departed contently, with friends and family gathered. Scores of stallions had looked down and nodded in approval, seeing their children carry on their legacies. Death had listened eagerly to the greatest minds of every age, and was gladdened by many ponies’ hoping to be reunited with loved ones. Whether or not there ever were such reunions, Death did not know.
Alas, in these dim days, in the twilight of Equestria, such bright moments stolen from the unforgiving passage of time were few and far between. The once-glorious nation of ponies was a shadow of its former self. Much of its former territory had been lost to invaders. The hostility of the warlike griffin tribes had caused thousands of citizens to abandon the great cities of the eastern coast, and the expanding dragon population to the south had made Appleoosa and other frontier towns uninhabitable. The Equestrian military forces proved incapable of pushing back the numerous threats. Equestria was a peaceful nation, and its guards were unused to war. All requests for help had been ignored by the increasingly reclusive Crystal Empire of the frozen north. On top of all this, there had been a major schism among the nation’s rulers. Luna had betrayed her sister, and raised an army against what she saw as Celestia’s “tyranny.” The catastrophic war which ensued had brought even more ruin to Equestria than the Griffin and Dragon attacks had.
That had been a busy time for Death, but not an entertaining one. Dying nations produce few ponies who would be interesting to one who had met the famous figures of Equestria’s golden age. The only recent bright spot in Death’s somber existence had come at the end of that war. The Lunar Republic lay defeated at the gates of Canterlot, but Luna herself was too powerful for Celestia to control. With the Elements of Harmony long gone, she could find no way to cure her sister’s madness. There had been only one option. Death still wished he’d had more time with Luna, but all good things must come to an end.
Death knew this better than most.
Canterlot was, in these days, the last sanctuary of ponykind. The upper crust of society went about their petty business, desperately trying to pretend that nothing had changed. They were wilfully ignorant of the refugees packed into the slums in the lower parts of the city. The common ponies had only the solace of knowing who the real ruler was. Celestia held the nobles on a tight leash. She was the final shining light of ponykind, still toiling after so many centuries to maintain the harmony and order which all ponies sought; but of course, even she couldn’t be there forever. Alicorns were once believed to be immortal, but Luna’s death had dispelled that illusion. Celestia was still a more than capable ruler; yet, nopony could fail to notice the reluctance of her wings to stretch as she raised the sun each day, or the weariness in her voice as she held court in her palace. As each day faded to a deep, moonless black, Celestia retired to her chambers with a coat ever so faintly grayer than it had been when she rose. Death would never wish for her to die. He was not an evil pony. He was glad to wait for his first and final meeting with the Princess of the sun, knowing that every day she carried on was one more day the pony race might endure. As fate would have it, however, Death was not kept waiting long.
It was early spring. She was sleeping. Death stood on bony hooves at the foot of the solar princess’ bed. He gazed on as the slumbering figure’s breathing faltered, slowed, and finally stopped. Death’s ears pricked forwards in the sudden silence. A glittering, four-legged form shook itself awake and rolled off the bed. The translucent figure stretched two majestic white wings that spanned the room as it climbed to its four powerful hooves. The figure froze, seeming to be aware of its surroundings for the first time. Nothing moved in that silent room, save for the figure’s prismatic mane flowing gently in an impossible breeze. The figure turned. Death’s pale skull came into focus in its eyes, and it recognized who it saw not from experience, but from some innate sense which every living being shared.
The ghost of Celestia sighed as the weight of millennia lifted from her shoulders.
She and death stood silently. Celestia’s knees began to wobble, and Death could spot the faint shimmer of tears about her eyes. The Princess of the sun sank to the floor sobbing softly, overcome with profound relief and a deep, heart-wrenching grief. Death knew he could offer no comfort to the distraught alicorn. He could do nothing but stand by her side and let her unburden her mind in peace. After a time, the sobbing ceased, and the princess’ breathing grew more even. Celestia’s words, the first spoken in that gray, fateful day, were faint when they reached Death’s bony ears.
“Done... It’s done, no more...”
Celestia lifted her head, her damp purple eyes gazing into Death’s lack thereof. “Will I ever see her again?”
Death remained silent, unmoving.
“Tell me!” demanded Celestia, her voice rising to a frantic pitch.
“Will I see her? Will I see my dear sister? Oh, sister...” Her voice fell again as the tears returned. “Luna... I’m so, so sorry...”
Death hesitated, uncertain. He wanted nothing more than to tell her that yes, her sister was waiting to welcome her, that the moon had forgiven the sun for striking her down; But she deserved better than honeyed lies.
“I do not know.” Death spoke at last, his voice like grating tombstones. “Not a soul passes by that does not ask me what comes next. I must answer you the same as I answered them: I do not know.”
Celestia took little solace in Death’s words as she slowly regained control of her breathing. She slowly stood, turned, and walked out to her balcony. She stood there, looking out upon her once-glorious city. The great marbled towers of Canterlot shone faintly in the half-light of the early morning. The sun had not yet been raised, and lay just below the horizon.
“One more time, old friend?” said Celestia softly.
She closed her eyes, and her horn began to glow. Death looked on as the princess of the sun spread her wings and began to cast her ancient spell. She rose gently, carried aloft almost as much by the force of her magic as by her wings. Celestea reached the peak of her flight, the light of her horn growing to blinding intensity. The brilliance faded, and she touched back down to the balcony. She opened her eyes, and gasped at what she saw. The sun was not high in the sky, as it should be. It had hardly moved, with only half of it above the horizon at all. Death could spot tiny sparks of light lifting from Celestia’s ghostly form.
Celestia stared at the golden semicircle for a long while before speaking.
“Will it never rise again?” she asked. “Is this the pitiful end of ponykind, this... this half-light?
“It is better this way. Would eternal day or night be better?” responded Death.
Celestia’s outline was wavering, and the orange sky behind her could be seen more and more clearly. Death knew what was coming, but he continued.
“Equestria has had its turn. The pony race’s history is on its final chapter, but there are more stories to be written. Who knows what comes next? Perhaps the griffons will get their chance at glory.”
Celestia shone with an intensifying light from deep within her soul.
“This is not an end, Celestia. Think of it not as a twilight, think of it as... a dawn, if you will. An everlasting dawn for all the world.”
Celesta’s figure was faint now, a mere ghost around a brilliant core. She seemed contented at last by Death’s words.
“I hope, for their sake, that they don’t make the mistakes I did.” she said.
Her barely-visible face turned skywards.
“Luna...”
If Death could have blinked at that moment, there would be nothing left of the pearly white alicorn when he opened his eyes. There was only a spark, glowing intensely, in the air before him where Celestia had stood. Death reached out and took hold of the spark in his bony hoof. That final name issued softly from the pinprick of light.
“Luna... Luna...”
He lifted it up, inspecting it. Under Death’s entropic gaze, the spark flared once, then vanished. Celestia had, after a long and glorious reign, departed from Equestria.
Death stood there for what seemed, even to him, an eternity. He watched the city slowly wake. Soon, they would notice the unmoving sun. He wasn’t sure how they would react to the passing of their ruler; but Death, the final shadow that stalks every mortal pony, knew one thing: His task, which he had performed since nearly the beginning of time, was almost at an end.
