In the beginning, there was naught but Chaos, and the two dragonequi, brethren lords of Chaos, whose names are Discord, the eldest, and Strife, the cadet, ruled the universe. And whatever the one created, the other soon destroyed, so that nothing could endure for long before being thrown back into the primeval void; and the heavens were in perpetual turmoil. Such is the way of Chaos, that everything under its sway shall perish ere it can flourish and thrive.

But it came to pass that in the midst of eternity, which knows no beginning and no end, Strife was visited by a vision of both glory and beauty; he invoked his mighty powers and out of the confusion summoned the world of Equestria, that he populated with magic and wonders innumerable. And as Strife glanced upon its creation, he became so enamored of it that he decided to settle there; so he descended inside, and, dazed, beheld all the marvels he had devised: the Sun and the Moon, the plains and the mountains, the clouds and the rain, the flowing waters and the ice, the earth and all the plants that grow on it. And he was glad that he had brought forth such a flawless design out of his own mind, for it seemed to him more magnificent and perfected that aught else he had already conceived.

But Discord was also enthralled by the world his brother had crafted, and his heart was suddenly lit with both ire and jealousy. And thus he spake to Strife: ‘Anon wilst thou relinquish thy lordship upon ye realm thou madest, for in sooth yon desire I to reign, lest I destroy what thy wit has wrought.’ But Strife nould, and so the two brethren entered into a long and bitter fray; at the end, Discord was the strongest, and he smote his kin down in a forceful blow. There, sprawled upon the earth, lay Strife, defeated and helpless, weeping bitter tears, for he knew he was dying, and would never enjoy the marvels and sweetnesses of the world he had dreamt and created. Six tears fell from his eyes, and where they seeped in the earth a sapling grew; and later, that sapling became a tree that blossomed and bore six fruits in the guise of six gemstones of different hues. And so were the Elements of Harmony begotten, that are none but the laments of him who conceived Equestria, and lost it almost forthwith.

Then Discord, in a last fit of wrath, seized a steel blade and ripped the guts of his brother in two, and lo! where the blood that flew from the gash stained the ground rose three dragons and three alicorns. The three dragons flew away, and of them it is spoken in another tale; but the alicorns gathered around the twitching body of Strife. And before he parted, he blessed each of them with powerful magic and one talent, and these words he uttered: ‘Thou, Celestia ye fairest, shining as bright as the Sun in its noon, thou shalt have ye power to command to dawn and dusk; and thou, Luna, akin to ye night, thou shalt ride the Moon, and no dream nor vision shall ever escape thy keen and piercing eyes. Together, ye shall also wreak me for my death, and by you my brother shall be overthrown and deprived from what he has reft.’ But then his voice faltered and what he softly murmured next nopony could hear; and then, after final throes, he passed away.

So begun the tyranny of Discord that lasted for eons uncounted over Equestria; but natheless, at last Celestia and Luna reaped the Elements of Harmony from the hoary tree, and with their help, they fulfilled the prophecy. Of this mighty deed much has been told elsewhere.

But there was a third alicorn, like and yet unlike to the two others: for he was no mare, but a colt. And to him strange powers were given, that he alone wot, since they were given to him in Strife’s last inaudible whispers.

And that third alicorn is I.

Only Celestia and Luna are aware that I exist. No pony else has ever seen me, and none ever will; neither can anypony, bar my kin, fathom where I live, on the rim of this world, nigh the great deep that surrounds it. I, and only I, know the name I was given, for it was never spoken aloud; thus my sisters call me ‘our brother’, ‘him’ or ‘Third’. But seldom do they ever speak of me, because they shun the power I wield.

Forsooth, I am the most powerful pony of all Equestria.

Some call me Fate, others call me Destiny. They implore me in their youth, they celebrate me in their adulthood, they fear me in their eld, for I decide of their existence and of their doom. Without I, they would not be complete and their existence would be in vain; without I, they would err and their lives would be pointless and absurd; without I, the world would be devoid of magic, and the Sun and the Moon unmoving.

I am the weaver of the threads of each living pony’s life.

I have sampled every color, every hue that ever existed in Equestria, and distilled them into shining strands, some plain, some multicolored; my swatch is all but infinite: one could count a million of different shades each day during a year and yet not exhaust it.

When a new foal is born, I pick three threads from my collection, shear a sample of each and interweave them into a new thread: the thread of his or her life; and the colors of the strands become the colors of that pony’s coat, mane and tail. When he or she comes of age, I pick, out of a great store, one label, and I pass his or her thread through the eyelet thereof; upon that label I have drawn a unique picture, sometimes realist, sometimes abstract.

And that picture becomes his or her cutie mark.

Then, I knot the thread into a loop, and so I forever tie the label to that pony’s fate. The loop I place bestridden upon a nail that I drive into one of the walls of my house. And when two lovers betroth, I remove one of the nails, and put both loops on the remaining one. And if they beget offsprings, I fasten the new threads to the same nail, until the children are old enough to earn their own cutie mark.

When they are freshly shorn, all threads of life glow as brightly as the strands they are made up of, but with each passing day, their light dwindles, slowly for some, faster for others—on that I have no control—until it is no more than a faint glimmer; and when at last this feeble spark fades into dullness, it is time for me to harvest the loop.

Some days I thus collect a few, but some other days many more, extinct loops, from which I reclaim the labels by cutting each one in turn—thereby unraveling the soul from the body. The labels I put carefully back in my store, in case I might decide to reuse them; the threads I throw in the hearth of my fireplace, where they are consumed and returned, along with the soul of the departed, to the primordial spring of life, that bestows solace and oblivion.

Thus my home, albeit shrouded in eternal twilight, is resplendent with gaily glimmering colored yarn bracelets that hang from uncountable tiny pins. And on the pinnacle beam, far above all others, I have placed the two most sparkling ones, those that I first made, whose light never falters, because in their core lies a sample of the primordial strand, extracted from the very essence of the world: one is white, the other blue, they are the loops of my two sisters.

Sometimes I am enthralled by all those glimmering bracelets, and I fancy they are the notes of a grand symphony, which is the symphonie of life in Equestria. And my heart is delighted that through my diligence, everypony finds his place and his way, in the midst of the universal harmony that was once bred out of the nethermost chaos.

I, alone in all Equestria, have no definite cutie mark; but on my flank appear, in an endless variance, all the marks I designed; my coat, mane and tail also shift endlessly between all the colors I employ. From one instant to the other, I never look the same; that is why my sister also call me ‘the ever changing alicorn’.

Some days I spend drawing and designing new cutie marks on my bench, mingling colors into pastel tints or gradations, creating forms and concepts. When I want to reproduce an existing object or a living being, I merely have to walk to my window; thence I can gaze at the entire world until my eye is caught by a particular detail, vegetable or animal.  For if my sister Luna can pierce through the veil of dreams, my sight is not impaired by obstacles, distances or sizes: I can, at will, scrutinize any object or living creature, be it giant or minute.

I always strive to render every existing thing in the semblance of its true shape, for there is in Nature beauty beyond reckoning. And since I revere the number three, because three we were, my sisters and I, when Equestria was made, I oft come up with cutie marks representing thrice the same object, symbolizing thus our threefold leadership (even if Celestia is the most renowned): three horseshoes, three apples, three flowers, three clouds, three raindrops, three sweets…

But I am also fond of finding new ideas and representing them into more conceptual, and sometimes even puzzling figures: geometrical doodles, fractal combinations. And they to whom I bestow these uncanny arts possess strange talents: some can dream of a far-flung past or foretell the future; some can perceive weird dimensions in space or eerie perspectives; some can feel invisible forces or influences; some can twist their body into bizarre postures, shrink or swell at will; some can, in turn, bring about things full of wonder and awe, or cast dreadful spells… But most of the ponies inherit more mundane creations, and those enjoy a peaceful existence, content with the ability they were granted.

My responsibility is grave, and I cannot be derelict in my duty; I have to maintain balance in the Equestrian society, preserving the equilibrium between each known talent: if too many pass away that have the same ability, I must be careful to endow, as soon as possible, a reasonable number of young ponies with that particular skill by bestowing the corresponding cutie marks to them. Thus harmony and justice are preserved and Equestria remains a blessed place to live in.

Once and only once during the long history of Equestria, I made a slight mistake: the knot holding the thread of a young filly to her nail was too loose; it unraveled, the thread fell and partly untwisted, and the poor foal sunk in a deep coma. I immediately warned my sister, and begged her to bring the victim of my clumsiness to me. She arrived, bearing a graceful filly with a pink coat and multicolored mane and tail—alas, I already knew this too well. ‘She is an orphan,’ she said, ‘but that’s no news to you.’

‘Indeed,’ I confirmed, ‘I have gathered the loops of her parents a while ago. Why did they pass away?’ did I ask, for if I attend to ponies’ souls at their death, the cause of it escapes my grasp.

‘They have perished in the fire that broke in their house, trying to save their daughter,’ she answered somberly. I then gazed intently at this beautiful infant, asleep, so frail, helplessly sprawled in Celestia forelegs.

‘What’s her name?’ I inquired softly, almost in a whisper, as if I feared to awake her, although she could not hear anything.

‘Cadenza.’

‘I shall look after her,’ I proposed. ‘Be so kind as to create a small sample of the world, only for her, somewhere nearby; I shall cure her, and take care of her, until she has fully recovered. Then, I shall beckon thee to come and take her back in the world below.’

‘Are you positive that’s what you want to do?’ She gave me a sidelong glance, perplexed. She hesitated. ‘You’ve always been alone…’

‘Trust me,’ I tried to reassure her. ‘If I make a mistake, I must redeem myself.’

‘Very well, but remember: if you wish that she returns to the world below, she must not see you, nor even suspect your existence. If you flout this rule, I will have no choice but banish her forever.’

‘I shall visit her only during her slumber. But, please, oh please!, don’t leave her alone; give her little companions for her to play with during the day.’

So was it done: my sister conjured up an extension of Equestria, nigh my own place, and populated it with a humble but cozy cottage, a big sward, trees and many animals such as birds, rabbits, squirrels, bees, etc. Then we both entered into this tiny paradise and she tucked the delicate body into a large and soft bed. I watched her thoroughly, mesmerized and touched by that sweet foal, so fragile and innocent. Celestia cast a spell, and there appeared on the bedside table a jug, a glass, in which she poured some water, and a plate full of oat flakes.

‘It is done,’ declared Celestia when all was ready, ‘and up to you now. I’m expecting news.’

‘Do not worry,’ I added, ‘nothing will go amiss.’

‘I hope so,’ she sighed. ‘So long, Three!’

I nodded a goodbye; my sister glanced a last time at the bed; she seemed to be on the verge of speaking again, but she suddenly vanished in a great white flash. I tarried some more in that room, lost in thought; I could not turn my eyes away from this filly. I was craving to cuddle her, fondle her, tell her that it was just an evil nightmare, that she would soon awake; beholding her unmoving, so vulnerable, was breaking my heart. Yet, colts and fillies, I had seen, examined, observed, followed millions thereof, to grant them their best-fitting cutie mark. Was it because of the closeness, or something deeper? I could not reason out why this child, who was, a moment ago, just one amidst so many others, had suddenly become so important.

But I had to leave, to come back to my bench, in order to mend her thread and look after all the other tasks that were waiting for me.

I picked the untwisted strands up from the ground, wove them again and reattached the thread, being this time very attentive to knot it tight. I then rushed to a window, and, thence, scrutinized anxiously the room of Cadenza. She stirred, opened her eyes, still dizzy, whispered some words I could not hearken to; she looked around, reached a hoof out for the glass that she sipped gracefully. When her thirst was slaked, she put the glass back on the bedside table, rolled onto her side and seemed to doze off.

She would need a few weeks, at least, to recover.

Cadenza was back to life. Finding herself suddenly alone, stranded in the midst of nowhere, did even not distress her the slightest; she accepted the fact, showing a sort of fatalism, unexpected in a foal of her age. When she felt strong enough to leave her bed, she ventured her lovely face outside, discovered with delight the few acres Celestia had wrought for her, which immediately became her playground: each day, she was capering around, blithely, singing at the top of her voice, speaking to herself, to the animals—that she had immediately tamed—, to the sky, to the clouds. The faintest gust of wind, the warbling of birds, the scent of a flower, the transient shadow of a cloud, everything was a subject of mirth. Despite her solitude, she was never complaining nor getting bored; behind her wide almond-shaped orbs, she was radiantly happy.

I, on my side, was spending almost all my days watching her through one of the windows of my home, laughing when she was laughing, trying to guess what she was singing, or fancying that I was playing with her and introduced her to the hidden secrets of Equestria, that only to me and my sisters knew. Every night I slunk into her home, bringing her victuals; I used to stay nigh her for a long while, unmoving, watching over her, listening to her breath; I did not dare touch or even brush her mane, lest she would awake. Sometimes I crooned a lullaby, or whispered a tale set a long time ago. Back home, I was wondering if, by the next morn, she would remember it.

She was ten days into her recovery when the impossible happened: I noticed that her thread was slowly rotting away, untangling as if the strands were refusing to stick together anymore. I was at a loss, desperate, paralyzed by the fear that I might lose her forever; as a last resort, I called my sister for help. She came promptly.

‘What’s going on? You seemed so panicked!’ she asked me, gazing around.

‘It’s… It’s Ca… Cadenza,’ I stammered, with tears in my eyes. ‘Look: her thread of life is shrinking at an accelerated rate; if nothing is done, within a few hours she will leave this world!’

‘Calm down!’ she said. ‘What happened?’

‘I don’t know… I don’t know… her thread disaggregates spontaneously, I have no clue why.’ I crumpled on the floor, hid my face behind my hooves. ‘Why her? Why her?’ I blubbered. ‘She is kindness ponified.’

‘What’s the matter with you?’ Celestia was visibly baffled. ‘I've never seen you like that before!’

‘I am sorry… I think that…’ I faltered. ‘I think that I love this little girl, that’s all.’

‘You? Love someone?’ she scoffed. ‘Are you kidding? Ponies for you are mere yarns that you weave, knot and eventually shear. You never cared for anypony, barring your sisters, maybe.’

I did not reply. Celestia bit her lips, sat close to me and hugged me. ‘I’m deeply sorry,’ she apologized mellowly, ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you. But, it’s still hard to believe.’

‘The time draws nigh,’ I retorted, ‘when thou also shalt take a young filly under thy wing.’

She seemed to pore, as if trying to pierce through the mirky mists of the future. But, as she knew quite well, I was the only one to possess the gift of foresight. My prophecies were never in vain.

‘Follow the desires of your heart,’ she finally declared.

‘Thou dost know what it means, I suppose?’ I raised my head. ‘There is but a single cure for this.’

‘Of course I know!’ she giggled. ‘Anyhow, we badly need help down there. I shall adopt her and rear her as my niece, and grant her leadership over the Crystal empire. But don’t linger, if time is short.’

I embraced her in joy. ‘Oh thanks! Thanks! Thanks! I shall reward thee a thousand times for this. If ever thou hast a favor to beg, please do!’

‘I shall remember,’ she smiled. ‘Now, hurry. I will join her so that she won’t be alone during the transformation.’ She nuzzled me tenderly, then left.

I rushed to my workbench, grasped the scissors, and cut a bit of this primeval thread that throbs with pure energy, the one that will endure as long as the world itself endures; then I entwined it with the remnants of Cadenza’s thread. On the spot, the wounded strands were set ablaze, and regenerated in a wink of an eye. I walked to my window and there I saw her, next to Celestia, in the royal hall of Canterlot’s palace, nonplussed, discovering with delight her new tiny wings, spreading them, trying to fly, flittering a few inches above the ground before crashing, sprawled on the ground, beaming. She was out of danger; I was carried away with gladness, shedding tears of joy, as if I had drunk an elixir of pure elation. ‘My’ Cadenza had become the fourth alicorn.

I came back to my bench with her thread of life, opened one of my cutie boxes, and gingerly picked up a label decorated with a big red heart.

I placed her loop close to those of my sisters.

When Celestia visited me the next time, she exposed a clever design: she wanted six of her subjects to wield the Elements of Harmony: ‘I am weary,’ she admitted, ‘of bearing all the responsibility of the kingdom. At least, this one I can depute.’ But she did not know who they could be.

So we started by choosing some cutie marks that we both liked. We ended up with four of the ‘three’ type: three balloons, three butterflies, three apples and three diamonds; and two ‘iconic’: a multicolored thundering cloud, representing speed and temerity, and a fractal six-pointed star design symbolizing the six loftiest arcanes of magic. Then we selected six mare-threads amidst those I had recently shorn: one pink, one white, one orange, one blue, one yellow and the last one purple. And my sister told me that these six fillies were to get their cutie mark together, the same day at the same instant.

So I set the labels aside, in a dedicated box. When Celestia told me the time was ripe, I hammered a nail, took out the six threads and, almost all at once, passed them through the labels I had carefully prepared: the pink thread with the three balloons, the orange thread with the three apples, the white thread with the three diamonds, the yellow thread with the three butterflies, the purple thread with the fractal star, and the blue thread with the cloud. Then I suspended the six loops to the new nail; thus was the destiny of all six mares loosely tied, and they were bound to meet.

And I thought it would be over for those six. But Celestia apparently had further plans anent them. Several years after, she came back to me, unexpected. We bantered about trivialities and her various labours as de facto queen of Equestria; at last, she asked me if I still remembered Cadenza. ‘Of course!’ I protested. ‘I watch her almost every day; I am very proud that she has grown and become mature enough to assume her job as the head of the Cristal empire, even if it is not an easy task. I have witnessed every moment of her wedding, this awful adventure with the changelings. I am so glad it all turned out so well. But why do you ask? Is there a problem?’

‘Do you recall telling me you would grant me a favor if I asked?’

‘Yes, name it!’

‘I would like you to transform the purple mare, Twilight Sparkle, into an alicorn, as you did for Cadenza.’

‘Didn’t I forecast that thou wouldst come to me with such a plea?’

‘Nothing escapes your wit,’ giggled Celestia. ‘That’s one of your gifts.’

‘But,’ I replied, ‘if I fulfill thy request, I will have to cut her loop, so thy protégée will pass; albeit I will not throw her old thread in the hearth, so that her soul remains within the bounds of Equestria, before I entwine her new loop, she will wander alone in the ethereal planes, a rather dread experience for anypony unprepared to it.’ But Celestia assured me that she would accompany her during her brief sojourn in the uppermost rim of the world, and she bade me, on the contrary, to wait a couple of minutes before readying the promoted loop.

So did I; and when I knotted the new thread, the new alicorn was sent back to the mundane world, so that she could join her five other friends. But I seized the opportunity to further intertwine the six loops together, thereby mingling the fate of the mares forever; henceforth shall they thus share every success and every failure; this Celestia did not command, but it was my own design. And I predicted that the deeds and feats of these six shall be told and sung for a long time.

Alas! It is the lot of everything, in the midst of eternity, to decay and fade out. I know that after uncountable years, even time itself will grow weary of flowing: one fateful day, in a remote future, all my strands will finally be exhausted. With the few left scraps, I shall weave the last pony’s thread. I already know what cutie mark I will give to him: a single golden ouroboros.

But, he too will pass away. Thereafter will Equestria be left bare, as it was at its beginning.

After rising reluctantly the hoary Sun for the final day, my two sisters will visit me, despondent and fatigued by all these centuries of leadership and labour, and they will in turn beg me to cut their loops and burn them, so that their soul can leave this worn out world. So I will summon the three dragons that were with us at the beginning, and bid them to engulf my house in their fiery breath; thus shall everything be consumed, and the world shall end into ashes.

But from these hot ashes shall our father Strife be reborn, and he shall seek his brother Discord; together they shall finally settle their age-long dispute, and reconcile. What they shall do next, I have not been granted the grace to foretell.