A lone gaunt figure skittered across the grayish-white blanket, almost drowning in the mass. Most of it was snow, as could be expected from the city hungrily circled by Windigos, but some of the flakes falling from the dark sky, permanently concealed by the endless winter night, were coming from a completely different source.

It was the namesake of that hurrying figure, an emaciated filly – Ash. Her coat, never immaculately white as it could be, was atrociously dingy and marred with soot, standing out from the pale landscape, forcing her to constantly seek cover in the remains of Canterlot, which were either frozen solid or burning to cinders.

Ash ran from shadow to shadow, trying to avoid exposure both to the deadly elements and to the eyes of those who meant trouble, which meant everyone. Over the years, the number of Canterlot’s inhabitants had reduced dramatically, but their aggressiveness only increased, fueled by hunger and cold growing along with the snowbanks.

Finally, Ash came to a pause inside a long tunnel, half buried under the heterogeneous fallout of the city’s death, cluttered with concrete debris bristling with rusty spokes. Once it was a proud skyscraper reaching for the firmament with the needle of its spire, now it was but another of innumerable ruins comprising the last city in Equestria.

A shaking hoof, cracked from the cold and covered in bruises, rose to her face to wipe away a tear. Ash looked at the stripe of cleanliness left on her fetlock with that drop of salty water. She’d never cried before, not even when the things from the Abyss slaughtered her family and friends, devouring their bodies right before her. That moisture wasn’t a result of her pent-up grief and frustration spilling from her eyes in a rain of sorrow. Under the glistening eyes was a smile, wide and genuine, stubbornly refusing to leave her grimy muzzle.

Ash, who was born a mutant amongst other mutants, deep under Canterlot, never wanted to get to the surface. She had her life, she had her hunt. Her kin, disfigured like her, were there. But something happened, though nopony could say for sure what exactly. She wasn’t there, she was born a bit less than a year after the Apocalypse began.

Some said that the Mutant Lord emerged from the ground, laughing, bringing the great calamity with him. Others claimed that it was the Prophet’s secret weapon, used to turn the tables of the war being lost. Ash was convinced that it was the fault of those weirdos, the Cataclysm Watchers, who had finally dug deep enough, stumbling upon the Abyss, the Bottomless Void, letting out the neither dead nor living things they contained. They killed everypony she knew, after all. Unlike the Mutant Lord or some mysterious device, the horrors from the unfathomable depths were real.

There were many other rumours, fragments of them caught on the wind as Ash was eavesdropping on the surface dwellers. About the Mechanic Divinity, who reaped both flesh and metal beings without a single word. About a dragon living near the remains of the Broken Wall. Retribution coming from gods, like once happened to some distant land. A few words here and there, their meaning lost to her.

Listening to the survivors was the limit of her interaction with the overworld's inhabitants. She was an abomination from the Deep Tunnels. Tall, much bigger than an average pony of her age, sporting both wings and a horn. And white, stupidly, inconveniently white, though now her coat’s natural color was finally getting some use. A pretty timid pony by the standards of her brethren, but still a monster to everypony else.

Until this day Ash had hated the surface. Driven out under the snowstorm of the sky by the murderous beasts from the impenetrable darkness, she suffered from cold and hunger to an extent she didn’t know before. The Deep Tunnels surely had their own perils, but Ash grew amongst them, she knew how to avoid and… exploit them. The death freely given by Canterlot from around every corner was new to her, missing her often by sheer luck.

Yet Ash witnessed something that had changed her mind forever, chaining her heart to the horrible, howling, sucking void of the heavens. She still couldn’t stop smiling from the sheer beauty of that sight.

It was another of the monotonous cycles, marked only by the color of the sky slightly paling. She was shivering from the cold, but refusing to move, her eyes glued to a torn hoof laying in the middle of a dead-end alley. The rats were amongst the few survivors of the winter without end, and they were just as hungry.

With echoing thunder the frozen veil of the snowy night was ripped, a gap between the death-bleeding ethereal bodies appearing, showing that there was another world beyond. It was full of shining, the most beautiful light Ash had ever seen in her short life. An orb, amazing and warm, gazed at her from the vibrant blue sky.

In fillylike wonder Ash reached out for it with her magic, and it answered, a moment later appearing on her flank.

She glanced at her backside – it was still there, the most magnificent thing, even though she didn’t know the name of it. But she was adamantly sure about one thing.

She must touch it again.

A lone gaunt figure slowly walked across the grayish-white blanket, leaving deep hoofprints, but the snow and ashes never reached even her chest. The storm screamed through the damaged walls around her, as if afraid of her leisured journey and glowing sightless eyes.

She had nothing to fear. Her power could rival that of the Forgotten Deity, but he was too busy with keeping the city from becoming an icy tomb. Despite his best efforts, the invisible wall would occasionally buckle in and rip for a few seconds, letting in agonized screeches and gusts of cold breath carrying fresh snow.

No breath ever carried her name, for she was born without one. She woke up in the darkness, surrounded by pain, already grievously wounded. She was left to die, but she refused to accept her fate.

A decade passed, but she still didn’t know what it was or how she was called. She was magic, trapped inside a body of arcanium, blind and voiceless, trotting around Canterlot, seeking answers. Ripping them out of bodies, tearing apart memories to find herself in them, but never meeting that mare.

Until recently. A creature of soft flesh with spidery metal limbs poking out of its back, skittering in the shadows, called Segfault. Years of aimless wandering finally led her to a clue, the name of a metal pony who felt like her. Even though she never talked, she knew it was her voice she heard in that recollection.

Heavy snow pelting the rotting skeleton of the Sky Palace tried to attack the only visitor of that long-abandoned place, but to no avail. Her metal body was ravaged by the fury of the malevolent weather and by the blessed insanity of equinoids and ponies, nicks and scratches covering her once perfectly smooth skin. Her hind legs were a mish-mash of metal and bones, held together with torn rags. A bulge of duct tape held together the shattered knee on one of her front limbs, a defect with which she was born.

She had been studying the grand ruin for so long, any other would have lost their hope months ago. But she had all the time in the world. What had never lived couldn’t die – she knew she was eternal.

A pile of debris rose in her path, peppered with ice and snow. Her magic scanned her surroundings, looking for a way to go around the obstacle. A few floors had caved in, resulting in a huge mess of broken concrete and armature. However, soon she discovered something that made looking for a detour unnecessary.

From the ruined ventilation shaft, succumbed to time and the elements, a lifeless body hung, an ornate casket at its hooves.

Her magic gingerly levitated it down. Soon she felt profound disappointment – it was what she was looking for. Who she was looking for. But the vessel was empty, locked in the awkward pose by the rust that permeated the equinoid corpse with the burned out gems.

Next came the box. Checking it was just a caprice, it wouldn’t likely conceal anything of importance. However, as her magic slid over the finely cut gems, that opinion quickly changed. One of the gems was whisked out of its bed, and the enchantment it contained, activated.

The tired voice of a young mare cut through the icy song of the Windigos:

"Entry log number 52-47/5 from April 5, 8^th year of the 5th Era. By Twilight Sparkle, Chief Scientist of the Royal Canterlot Research Centre."

Author's Notes:

It is over... or is it? This story is definately is, but it is not the last time you hear about Aftersound, nor it is the last story you will see from me. More about in the two blogs I promised a while ago. Aftersound Aftermath and Future Plans and Aftersound ‘Behind the Scenes’.

Aftersound Project Discord server - it's a little community dedicated to discussion of the story and whatnot. Everyone is welcome to join.
Pony Tales, a quite welcoming place dedicated to disscussing and working on many great stories (now including Aftersound). I think you may also find it interesting.

If you notice any mistakes sneaked in through the editing, let me know.
I hope you enjoyed reading this story so far.
Stay awesome.