A Failure.

Princess Celestia was a spineless, lilly-liver, yellow-bellied failure.

Sure, the matron of day had accomplished many feats in her eons of life; she helped organize the muddled union of earth ponies, unicorns, and pegasi. She quelled the scalding temper of an old dragon king, forging a treaty that maintained peace for untold centuries. She single-hoofedly guided a nation of poorly educated pumpkins who later thrived into teachers, pioneers, architects, and--heaven help them all--leaders.

She even won a staring-contest with the sky. Twice.

But none of that mattered today. Today, as she stood before a golden door in a dimly-lit chamber far beneath Canterlot, Celestia was a failure who’d somehow forgot how to say ‘no’ overnight.

“Is this it?” came Twilight Sparkle’s sickeningly pitched voice.

Celestia sighed and said, “Yes, Twilight. As I promised.”

It was stupid--so unforgivably stupid--to promise Twilight such a thing. Nopony had walked within those mossy, dank walls, or even stared at those towering golden doors for thousands and thousands of moons.

It was a bad place, a sinister place. Both Celestia and Luna had strictly forbade all contact with that chamber, a decree that had held strong and tall until virtually forgotten among the generations.

But then there was Twilight Sparkle. Little Miss Twilight-I-Must-Know-At-Any-Cost-Sparkle.

Celestia drowned out the other mare’s jittery squeals by listening to the crackling torches along the cobwebbed walls.

“This is so exciting!” Twilight cheered. “I can’t believe this has been here the whole time, and you’ve never told me!”

Celestia blinked but said nothing. Of course she never told Twilight, lest the excitable menace would ask one too many questions. She didn’t want to endure the flatout interrogation for hiding it, the thinly veiled guilt trip, the ‘don’t you trust me as an equal’ tirade, and the unforgettable puppy-dog eyes.

Kind of like what happened earlier that very same morning.

“So,” Twilight began slowly, “what’s he like?”

Celestia’s breath hitched. Of all the millions of questions she anticipated, for some reason, that wasn’t among them.

She stared hard at the dulled, golden door, ignoring the curious purple eyes that got her into this mess in the first place. “It’s… been many years, Twilight. It’s difficult to say,”

That was a lie and Celestia was almost certain Twilight knew that, but the younger mare smiled all the same.

It’s okay, Celestia,” Twilight assured. “I plan to find out myself, anyway.”

Celestia released a heavy sigh and said, “I know…”

Twilight turned to the larger mare with a thoughtful frowned. “I… I understand you don’t want me to do this, but--”

“You’re right. I don’t.” Celestia’s cold answer made Twilight shrink away. The sun princess  chewed her lip. “Forgive me, it’s just… Every time I told you of old enemies, your first instinct was to eliminate them. Why the change?”

“Well, you only ever told me when they threatened Equestria. But this one, according to you, hasn’t threatened Equestria since long before Tirek and Scorpan, and won’t do so for a very long time.”

Celestia exhaled through her nose. “He is… not like the others, Twilight. He is different and a thousand times more dangerous.”

Twilight’s grin returned. “So you’ve said.”

Celestia nearly groaned. “Then why? Help me understand.”

“Think about it,” Twilight said. “Every time we used the power of the Elements on a foe, something changed in them. It happened with Luna, Discord, and even Sunset Shimmer. That has to mean something.”

Celestia creased her brow. “I’m afraid I don’t follow your reasoning,” she said.

Twilight turned back to the large mossy door. “The magic of friendship has the power to change. The role I now play in this world demands that I prove it, and for starters, I wish to speak to Oberon.”

Celestia gave a sagely pause, her eyes closed. “I’m not one to argue facts Twilight, especially proven facts. But you didn’t mention Tirek, or the Sirens.”

Twilight visibly tensed, her feathers bristling. Celestia saw this and readied to apologize when…

“Tirek is… different,” she muttered with folded ears. “When my friends and I used the Rainbow Power, I thought he’d simply lay powerless before us. Instead,” her ears wilted more, “we sent him back to Tartarus.”

Celestia stared at the younger alicorn thoughtfully and placed a tender hoof on her shoulder. “I didn’t know it troubled you so,” she said.

Twilight reached over and lay her own hoof on her mentor’s. “It’s not what happened that bothers me, but why it happened. Tirek was the very last to ever be sentenced to Tartarus all those centuries ago, yes?”

Celestia nodded. “We deemed it too inequine in later years.”

“But, even then, it only came to that when something so full of hate, so full of resentment, refused to let it go.” Twilight looked away. “When we used the Rainbow, I… I felt it. All the pain, the hate, like my stomach was on fire. I felt the betrayal that he did when Scorpan turned on him. But with it, I felt… emptiness, lost hopes, as if waiting for something that never came.”

Celestia nearly choked on her tongue. “You… Why haven’t you talk about this before?” she asked.

Twilight looked back to the other mare with a soft, sad smile. “Does it matter?”

Celestia said nothing.

“That emptiness? That biting cold, that betrayal? I felt it from the Sirens too, but they…”

Celestia waited a beat. “But…?” she prodded.

With a short laugh, Twilight shrugged off Celestia’s hoof and stepped closer to the large door. “I believe there’s still hope for them, and even Tirek, to appreciate our way. Scorpan did, Discord and Sunset Shimmer did too. I have to believe Oberon is no different.”

Right then, Celestia knew she couldn’t convince Twilight otherwise. But really, the sun princess could only blame herself. One bonding, talkative night, a few too many glasses of wine, and a casual slip of the tongue started all this. And Celestia wasn’t getting out of it.

She stared at the ancient lock, an old lock, the same lock she’d once used to protect the Elements of Harmony. A lock she seriously considered changing after this meeting.

“Very well, Twilight,” Celestia said. “As you wish.”

She lined her horn with the lock’s hole and plunged. With a translucent glow, rusty shifts and clanks erupted from the door. She pulled away, and the encrusted door shifted open with slow, groaning speed.

Twilight coughed and waved the ancient stench that billowed out from within, while Celestia simply stood there. Staring into darkness.

“Come.” Celestia marched inside, and Twilight followed her into that darkness.

Step by step, they traveled, and wall-torches burst to life and illuminated the straight path. Celestia counted those torches, if only to remind herself how long ago she’d been here.

Minutes past, the dank stench became thicker, and mites of dust actually became visible through the torch-light.

Finally, the corridor ended, and another opening guarded by golden swirling light stood before them. Celestia’s horn sparked, and the light faded.

“Wow…” Twilight whispered.

Chains. each link as thick as a pony’s body, Stretched like pulled yarn. Weaved like a spider’s web. Glowing like the Star Spider’s migration. Celestia took it all in, the calming glow, the thickened air, the smooth hum of archaic magic.

And the lone figure tangled amidst the web of chains.

Celestia looked down at Twilight and could only fathom what the younger mare was feeling. Though the spastic shaking and shrunken pupils gave her something to work with. The moment Twilight walked ahead, Celestia very nearly jumped in her path.

She calmly followed instead.

“That’s him, isn’t it…” Twilight whispered again. “Equestria’s oldest foe. I… I can’t believe I’m even breathing in the same room.”

Celestia said nothing as every step toward the kneeling prisoner deepened the pit in her stomach.

Her eyes darted from one wall to another, scrutinizing every corner, scanning every brick. No tampering. No sabotage. Just as she hoped, it looked exactly the same as it did the last time she visited. Or, at least, she thought it did--it was so very long ago.

Both mares stopped just feet away from the prisoner. His breath echoed with the magical hum, slow, rhythmic breaths hissing into Celestia’s ears.

Twilight stepped forward. Celestia quickly reached for her but stopped herself. She was safe; they both were. The prisoner’s fore-limbs were shacked from knuckle to elbow, toe to shin, enchanted with long-forgotten and powerful runic symbols that could empower a lock to withstand a meteor strike. His neck was shacked similarly, as was his bare torso. Chains from the brick floor, hooked to the neck-shackle, ensured little to no movement, binding the prisoner to his knees.

He wasn’t going anywhere.

“H-hello?” Twilight gently called out.

The chains rattled deeply as his head jerked, his closed eyelids tightening. Twilight flinched. The prisoner’s featured relaxed, and his breathing regained rhythm.

Twilight cleared her throat. “I… I’ve heard fascinating things about you,” she started with a nervous smile. “I’d like to know more.”

Her response was a reverberating groan, like a stormy whisper so loud it could crack diamond. Twilight squealed and stumbled back.

Silence. Then, a cleared throat.

“Apologies,” came the prisoner’s quiet, cracked voice. “My Equestrian… somewhat lacking.”

Twilight gulped and lifted that smile again. “You speak a different language?”

“Yes,” he answered after a beat.

Twilight turned to Celestia, her smile turning to an exciting grin. Celestia didn’t return it, instead held her steady glare on the prisoner.

Twilight turned back to him. “My name’s Twilight Sparkle. And you’re Oberon. Right?”

“Yes,” he answered. “What... do you wish... to know

“Your form… are you human?”

A quiet scoff escaped the prisoner’s lips. “You… jest?”

Twilight’s smile fell. “No, I just…” She cleared her throat.” I understand your appearance in Equestria was met with… mixed results,” she said. “Results that led you here. Can you tell me what happened?”

Oberon’s stony expression cracked. “Ceausia… did not… say?”

Twilight’s head tilted. “Excuse me?”

Oberon paused. “Daybringer… did not say?”

The purple alicorn mouthed his words, then turned to a frowning Celestia. She returned to Oberon.

“She did… I merely want to hear it from you,” Twilight said. Her face becoming firm. “What happened two-thousand years ago?”

“Salvation. Sought… salvation.”

Full cooperation. For reasons she woefully misunderstood, Celestia became worried of that.

“You caused quite some havoc for this ‘salvation’, so I’ve been told.” Twilight said.

The chains rattled again as Oberon slowly shook his head. “No… choice.”

Celestia felt her jaw set, teeth smoothly grinding behind her lips. Twilight eased down onto her belly, forearms curled beneath her.

“So you were forced to engage Princess Celestia and Princess Luna in combat?” she prodded.

“Yes.”

“I see…” Twilight looked at the floor for a moment. “Why Equestria?”

“Life… Mana… Rich.”

Twilight frowned. “Did you wish to take that?”

“No. wanted… to share.” Oberon answered. “Wanted… peace.”

Twilight rested her chin on a lifted hoof. “That’s very different than what I’ve been told, Oberon. That you were imprisoned for crimes against our entire nation, that you destroyed without batting an eye.”

“Moonraiser… Daybringer… tell desired words.” Twilight frowned at that. “Feared… power. Feared… conviction. Weak. Stupid.”

“Don’t talk about them like that,” Twilight firmly demanded. She took a breath. “From what I know, you’re not of this world. Tell me… why did you leave yours?”

Oberon’s brows slowly curled up, and his head lowered. “Kingdom… family… threatened. Sought salvation.”

Twilight’s firmness gave a little. “Kingdom?”

“Yes.” Oberon answered. “Searched… many worlds. Equestria… richest. For kingdom… would move planets... would break laws.”

“Would destroy?” Twilight suggested carefully.

Oberon didn’t answer, his face blank.

Twilight stared at the floor again. “I see…” She looked to Oberon again. “I understand your powers were among the greatest Equestria’s ever known. One would think your capture to be impossible.”

Oberon frowned, taking a hissing breath through his nose. “Moonraiser, Daybringer… Elements… Harmony. Took… freedom. Denied… salvation.”

Twilight pursed her lips and said, “You speak as if they wanted this for you.”

“Does not… matter, “Oberon answered, his frown subsiding. “Trapped here. Kingdom… without king. Children without… guidance.” Twilight’s brows curled up as she mouthed the word ‘king’. “Avalon… at war… in my absence. Fate… uncertain.”

A single tear ran down the prisoner’s dirtied, bearded face, and Twilight covered her lips with a hoof.

Finally, Celestia could see no more. She stepped in front of Twilight and faced the bedraggled creature.

“You’ve always had a knack for withholding information, Oberon,” Celestia said.

Oberon took a hissing breath, his face scrunching into a deep, dark scowl. That scowl fell, and he smiled. “You… finally speak? Done… hiding in… dark?”

“You didn’t tell her about your promise or your outrageous declaration of war, “Celestia said.

Oberon scoffed. “Easy when… provoked… Daybringer. My promise... noble.”

Celestia’s nostrils flared. “Noble? Colonizing a flourishing kingdom, and disregarding the possible casualties was noble?!”

“Parts of land… open before. Uncharted. Could’ve… shared,” Oberon said. “You… feared power. Feared conviction.”

Celestia’s hoof itched to scrape the floor. “We asked you to leave,” she said.

“Could not... leave. Told you why.”

A shallow, humorless laugh escaped the sun matron’s lips. “It’s amazing, really, how little you’ve changed, even after two millennia.”

Oberon was silent for a time, unmoving. “Agreed…”

“Your negotiations were unacceptable, Oberon. The change would’ve backlashed Equestria to another cold age.”

“Could’ve… uplifted… ponies. Could’ve united… both lands. You… could’ve saved… Avalon.”

Celestia bared her teeth. “Don’t you dare accuse me. Your kingdom was already at war. A merger would’ve dragged us into the fire with you. War is not our way. Not my work!”

Oberon laughed. It was a scratchy, choppy noise, like a dog panting atop a smoking chimney.

“Your work?” Oberon asked. His head jerked up toward his shackled forearm, tugging at the binding chain, then whispered, “Your work.” His eyelids, for the first time since their arrival, opened. And splotched, colorless eyes lifted to a now-trembling Celestia. “Your work.”

The white mare muffled a strangled noise behind her pursed lips, her eyes narrowing.

“Why talk… when judging… all you do?”

Celestia--of all ponies in Equestria--snorted, hot breath jetting from her nose. She turned the other way and marched for the exit. She barely noticed Twilight gawking at her, but didn’t really care; she just couldn’t be in that room another second.

“We’re leaving, Twilight,” she huffed.

The younger mare shook out of her stupor. “What? But I haven’t even--”

“Now.” came Celestia’s sharp, echoing demand.

Twilight stifled a yelp, her wings unfurling a bit.

As Celestia stormed off, Twilight shot several uncertain glances between her old teacher and her curious new acquaintance, whose destroyed eyes were closed again, his head bowed, his rhythmic breathing returned.

“I didn’t know you were blind,” Twilight muttered. “Was it…? Did she…?”

“Daybringer… very different mare… back then,” Oberon muttered back. Then he smiled. “Or… perhaps not.”

“Twilight.” Celestia firmly called.

With shuffling hooves, Twilight teetered away from the bearded prisoner, her eyes never leaving him. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

But just as she turned to leave…

“Wait.”

Twilight whipped her head back to Oberon, who seemed to be straining. His dried, cracked lips pursed as his jaw grinded and set. She heard a faint crack, and Oberon grunted in pain. He worked his jaw one last time. A louder crack.

With sharp but quieted breaths, the old king calmed his features, blood dribbling from his chin. A lone tooth fell from between his lips and onto the dusty stone floor.

Twilight gulped.

“Take,” Oberon said.

“Pardon?”

“Take,” he repeated.

She hesitated, but lifted the bloody tooth with her magic. She shuddered at the surprisingly strong copper-like scent.

“Wh-wha--” She cleared her throat. “What am I supposed to do with… this?”

Oberon didn’t raise his head again. “Feed… with magic. You… will know.” Twilight eyed him sideways. “You seek… answers? Wish to know… past… to know kingdom?”

Twilight hesitated again. “I… yes. Yes, I do.”

Oberon nodded. “Then we… will meet… again.”

Twilight stared at him for a moment longer, then tore herself away, never quite realizing how fast she ran out.

Twilight’s hoofsteps faded, the golden barrier resealed the entry, and Oberon was left in solitude again.

“We will meet again. Twilight Sparkle.”

Three days.

Three days since Princess Twilight heard about King Oberon. Three days since she’d learned invaluable things about Equestria’s distant past. Three days she’d purposely avoided Princess Celestia.

And three days she’d thought about Oberon’s last words to her. Three days she’d stared at that tooth and force her eyes away again and again. And drowned it in bleach, understandably.

It was a trap. It had to be. Oberon had two-thousand years to plot and scheme, just waiting for some naive little snot to hear his sob story and bust him out. He had ample time to fabricate an ample tale.

The facts didn’t lie, but they also didn’t stop Twilight from standing before that door. The same door that housed the bedraggled prisoner. The door with a lock that only Celestia could break.

She stared at the door, then at the tooth floating in her magical grasp.

Feed magic. You will know.

It was a trap. It had to be.

Her horn glowed with a hot-white flash, as did the tooth. The light faded and nothing changed. Twilight waited, staring at the tooth with sharp eyes. Still, nothing happened.

“Huh,” she muttered. “Probably for the be--”

The tooth exploded with harmless light. Twilight shielded her eyes and clenched her teeth. The light faded, and the alicorn squinted over her raised arm.

Her arm fell as she gawked at the diamond key floating before her, it’s jagged shape gleaming against the dim corridor. Her eyes swung from the key and to the large keyhole in the door. Then back at the key.

It was a trap. It was definitely a trap.

She levitated the key to the hole, lined it up, and plunged it inside. With a strained turn, Twilight heard the rusty innerworkings clank and spin once again. The door slowly opened, rusted hinges groaning like a sleeping bear.

With a calming breath and her chest held stiff, Twilight took the key and sauntered inside.

She thought carefully of her questions as she walked the second corridor, even rehearsed a few: ‘What was your kingdom like?’ ‘How long have you ruled?’ ‘What sick, ungodly abomination possessed you to think colonizing Equestria was a good idea?’

But when she reached that door, she feared she’d forget every last one of them.

Her horn sparked, and a beam of purple light shot at the swirling barrier. She smiled as the barrier faded, then gulped as she realized she’d just committed a felony. Then again, she long-since knew breaking into a prison was a felony.

It was too late, though; the unending hum of magic, the glimmering web of chains, the bound prisoner in her sights? Twilight had gone too far. She entered that prison with the best intentions. And, to her, backing out from good intentions was no better than breaking the law.

Ironic.

“Oberon?” Twilight called, ignoring the chilling echo. She heard nothing but that low hum. No chains, no movement. She sauntered forward. “It’s me, Twilight Sparkle.”

Chains rattled, and the alicorn stopped in her tracks.

“Ah, Twilight,” came that same low, cracked voice. “I was beginning to worry you might’ve forgotten about me.”

Twilight frowned at the center of the metal web. “I… I see.”

Oberon laughed that choppy, wheezing laugh and said, “Surprised? You shouldn’t be. I’ve had time to polish my Equestrian in your absence. Perhaps now, I will seem a little more cordial.”

So he was expecting her? Like he knew she’d be there, like he knew she couldn’t resist a chance to learn something? Twilight frowned harder, her guard fully raised.

“Come closer, child,” Oberon said. With tensed muscles, Twilight gulped just to wet her throat and stood her ground. “You needn’t worry. Unless ‘trust’ is still a rare commodity in times of peace?”

The mare closed her eyes, sighed, and began walking again, the clop of her hooves suddenly all too loud. As she stepped closer, the darkness slowly peeled from the prisoner’s features. She bored her eyes into him, studying, processing, searching for anything different from what she saw three days before.

She found nothing of the sort. She saw the same prisoner exactly as she left him. Without freedom. Without hope.

She stopped only a few feet away from him.

“Surely you understand, Oberon,” Twilight began, “ that we thrive on trust. It’s a base foundation for Harmony, for our very kingdom. But given your, uh… track-record, I’m not sure how you may see that.”

Chapped lips curled into a smile. “You don’t trust me?” Oberon asked.

“No.” Twilight answered, her frown held strong.

Oberon gave a short laugh and said, “Good. The mark of a wise leader, keeping a new acquaintance at a sword’s length.” Twilight’s eyes softened a bit, but quickly hardened again. “But, as I recall, you sought more than formalities. You wanted knowledge. So then…” Oberon lifted his unkempt-haired head to Twilight, opening his blotted white eyes. “What do you wish to know?”

Twilight shuddered at those broken eyes and couldn’t help but turn her head away. A long silence stood between the two, the magic hum fading into monotony. Twilight looked back to Oberon.

“What happened to your eyes?” she asked.

“Did I not answer that last time?” he offered, gaining more silence from the still-frowning purple pony. “Very well. When your ‘Elements of Harmony’ took my magic, I was... understandably upset. I attacked Celestia and she retaliated. Simple as that.”

“No it isn’t,” Twilight retorted. “I know Celestia. She’d never do something so… so cruel. Not even to her worst enemy.”

“Oh? A clash of values so soon?” Oberon smiled wider, his chapped lips cracking and bleeding a little. “And here I thought you’d bore me to tears like the last pony I spoke to.”

Twilight barely contained her scoff. “Don’t change the subject. With all that I’ve heard about you, how can you expect me to believe your punishment wasn’t well-warranted?”

Oberon’s smile waned a bit. “Twilight, mine is not to barter your trust. Was that not clear? I promised you answers, nothing more.”

Twilight took a breath, if only to cool the burning lump of coal in her chest.

“What was your kingdom like?” she asked.

Oberon’s smile took a unique turn, falling from amused to peaceful. “My kingdom,” he breathed. “My kingdom was vast, carved with hand, hoof, claw, and fin. It spilled over our world, Avalon, like a hurricane of vines, trees, and mountains. Even the stones unturned were part of our kingdom, our way of life. Nature and civilization alike were at peace. They worked together, created homes with one another, created music… love.”

Twilight had only just realized her jaw was slightly agape. She closed it and cleared her throat. “Pretty serene for a kingdom fraught with war,” she said.

Oberon’s smile vanished. “As Avalon grew, it’s magic became scarce, magic that helped nourish my subjects--my children.” He paused, bowing his head a little. “Many of them grew… afraid, worried of their fate.”

Before Twilight could even stop herself, she stepped closer to the bearded creature, and the last shade of darkness revealed the rest of his slightly wrinkled face.

“What happened to them?” Twilight asked softer than she was even aware.

“Avalon’s peril became undeniable. My children… they looked to my queen and I for guidance, pleaded for a solution we simply did not have. Some took it better than others.”

Twilight tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

Oberon grimaced only a little. “Avalon was soon divided. Some stayed by my side and promised to help find a solution. The others? Well… I trust you can imagine a half-planet-wide insurgence?”

Twilight’s hoof lifted to her lips. “Civil war…” she whispered.

“Yes.” Oberon muttered back. “Many believed I was unfit to rule, that I didn’t belong on that throne. Less charitable voices said I was the sole cause of Avalon’s descent. Many rose to speak and act against me, against my reign, and their numbers grew until it could no longer be ignored.”

By now, Twilight lied prone on the mossy stone floor, her forelegs crossed.

“Why?” she asked.

Oberon chuckled. “It was never mine to question the temperament of the creatures beneath my rule. Though if I had to guess, I’d say my upbringing held much responsibility.”

Twilight raised a brow. “Upbringing?”

“Let’s just say I wasn’t the first to rule, but I was the first to protect and serve,” Oberon said.

Twilight’s eyes whipped side-to-side, as though searching the floor for answers.

“You… you were a guardian. For the rulers before you?”

Oberon scoffed in disbelief and muttered, “Quick as a whip, this one. Yes, Twilight, I was.”

Twilight’s eyes focused on the prisoner again. “You were a fighter. A soldier,” she offered.

“Yes,” he answered.

“Is that why you battled Celestia and Luna?” the alicorn asked with a squinted eye.

Oberon sighed through his nose. “We’ve been through this. They left me no choice.”

“I don’t accept that,” Twilight said firmly. “I refuse to accept they would fight anyone so willingly. At least not without trying to negotiate.”

“What do you want me to say, Twilight? That I was completely unreasonable? That I forced my views and ways unto them? That I withdrew my sword first?”

Twilight swallowed a curse that nearly slipped out.

“I tried to reason with them. I wanted to share my culture, my way of life. But…” Oberon paused and sighed again.

“You were trespassing on our land, and possessed great power. What were they supposed to think?”

Oberon scowled and shouted, “And what would you have done, Twilight?! What if your children looked to you with lost, hopeless eyes everyday, crying for nourishment you couldn’t possibly give?! What if your kingdom was torn asunder by a war you could’ve stopped if only you’d known?! If only you’d paid more attention? If only you’d…”

His breath hitched, and his head bowed completely, shoulders trembling.

Twilight couldn’t recall when she stood up, nor when her wings flared open, but the frown on her face vanished almost immediately.

“I… I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t mean--I wasn’t trying to--”

“I don’t expect you to understand. Not you, Twilight,” Oberon muttered, head still bowed. “Just know that I’d have done anything to protect my children. And if that meant taking a new land where they could feed and grow strong…” He trailed off again.

Twilight said nothing that time.

“I want to know they’re still alive,” he muttered again his voice beginning to waver. “I… I have to know they’re safe. Oh, my children. I’d give my old crown just to see the Running of the Minotaurs again, to watch the Goblins build, to see the Water-nymphs create art in the very oceans just by swimming, to see the Dragons burn the sky with wing and fire.”

Twilight raised a brow as the fallen king continued.

“To see the Centaurs roam the land with watchful, protecting eyes. To see the Olympians sew historic tapestries from every won battle and celebration, to every loss and funeral. To see the Griffon fights and the roar of the crowd. To hear my beautiful Sirens sing of unity and peace.”

Twilight’s joints locked up.

“Hah. But fairytale dreams will be no more than that, I suppose,” Oberon said. “Surely, after two-hundred centuries, most of them have broken away and found new lands to call home. Perhaps they’ve found happiness in my absence, started families, learned to live again. Something any king would wish for his subjects. Something any father would want for his progeny.”

Deep breaths. If only, Twilight thought, she could’ve manage at least ten of those, her legs would’ve stopped shaking. They didn’t, of course. She had to sit. She had to let the gravity of this information sink in. At least sink in without hemorrhaging her brain.

“I… I’m sure they’re all fine,” Twilight could only whisper.

Oberon scoffed again. “Please, child. I lost my eyes, but I didn’t lose my mind. The chance of even half of them surviving is…” He lowered his head again. “It’s strange, you know? How  boldly I promised them. How much I assured them I would return with a solution.”

Deeply-rooted instincts screamed at Twilight. Instincts that told her to assure him, to ease him, to tell him that several of those creatures had survived, that most of them lived on Equus.

She didn’t.

“But… surely you had others: scouts to search other worlds for you?” Twilight offered.

“I did,” Oberon said. “The worlds they found were either magically-baron, or would’ve been if we shared their bounties. Eventually, I took the search into my own hands. And, well,” Oberon laughed, “we both know how that turned out.”

Twilight looked up, forgetting just how long she’d been staring at her hooves. “They had to know you did it for them,” she said. “That you left because you wanted the best for them.”

Oberon turned slightly away and said, “The last words I heard before I left were ‘I hate you’.” Twilight gave a short gasp. “True, Aria was always the pessimist, and surely she knew I did what was best for my kingdom, but… those words haunt me to this day.”

“Why would she…” Twilight took a shaky breath. “What did you say?”

The silence that followed lasted minutes. So many that Twilight thought he actually fell asleep. Until…

“To see what is right and not to do it, is want of courage,” he said. “That’s what I told her.”

Finally, Twilight could take no more. With wobbly legs, she stood yet again, shaking her head, staring at the fallen king, searching for the right words but failing spectacularly.

“Th-thank you for your time, Your Majesty,” Twilight squeaked out.

She hadn’t meant to squeak. Twilight had never meant to squeak. But something squeezed around her throat and lungs, and the longer she stared at the scraggly prisoner, the tighter that ‘something’ squeezed.

After a slow deliberate nod, Oberon lowered his head again, his rhythmic breathing returned, his form unmoving save for the rise and fall of withered shoulders.

She tore her eyes away from him.

As she turned to leave, Twilight steadied her hooves if only to keep herself from running out the door. She just skulked away, haunted by Oberons final words to her.