I’m not me when I fall asleep. I’m half of a whole. I’m incomplete. My friend is darkness, and I fail to see how I can ignore her when he calls to me.

---

The sound of beating wings and talons rattling against glass echoed in Stygian’s ears, then vanished along with the rest of his dream.

He sat up in bed. The moon shone through his bedroom window. He peered closer. It seemed important, though he didn’t know why. Outside, the same quiet streets of the same quiet Vanhoofer suburb stared back at him like a blind man. He missed his old village, where each house had its own distinct imperfections. The future was so square.

Going back to sleep proved impossible, so he dug his dream journal out of his nightstand drawer and flipped it open to the next empty page. Along with the date, he wrote in neat horn-writing:

Something important. Couldn’t remember.

The quill tapped a slow rhythm in the top corner of the page until the dots of ink formed a single large blot. He set the quill down and turned back to the last page, then the page before that, then the page before that.

Each one read:

Something important. Couldn’t remember.

Something struck him as he flipped through the pages. He rushed back to his most recent entry and added:

Decisions. Time. Scared. Somepony else.

He paused, then corrected:

Somepony else Something else.

---

The Hanhoofer Public Library was his first and only haunt when it came to libraries. The delicate stone architecture was a comforting reminiscence of the castles of his own time, and the colossal history section helped him get up to date on everything he had missed while trapped in limbo (currently he was only eight hundred years behind the present, and closing fast).

The literature on dreams, however, was less than helpful. Large quantities of crackpot fortune tellers and mind-mattered self-help guru-phonies piled up in between a scant quantity of peer-reviewed literature. Most of the usable papers were written by Canterlot scholars in typically long-winded fashion.

A few, however, were much more accessible. Those papers were all written by a single author: Twilight Sparkle, Ph.D.

He had his first lead. Papers in tow, he stopped by the post office and sent a letter via the dragon express letting Twilight know he was interested in setting up an appointment to discuss her work, and wondering about her availability over the next few months.

The response took barely five minutes. Tomorrow afternoon, it said. And bring the papers.

Stygian once again marveled at the pace of the future.

---

The train ride to Ponyville took nearly five hours. Stygian took his dream journal with him, expecting to nap those five hours away. But each time he started nodding off, the train would shudder and jolt him awake. Eventually, he gave up and stared out the window.

Forested hills gave way to swaths of industrialized farmland. Stygian recalled his old village’s meager plot. Everypony’s collective toil would cover perhaps ten percent of these new farms. Row after endless row of mounded earth flew by, impossible to count, rhythmic as a tide.

Soon his eyes grew heavy. As he nodded off, he saw a conjuring of his imagination, two dots in the distance getting closer by the second. They suddenly whirled towards him and came into focus. They were eyes, yellow like hot steel.

The train lurched to one side. Stygian’s head smacked the window with a thunk. The memory of the dream fractured.

The scenery outside had returned to forested hills. It looked vaguely familiar--Ponyville must be close.

He pulled out his dream journal and tried to recall what he had seen:

Anger Cold. Uncertainty. The future The past. Limbo

---

Ponyville’s grand castle was grown to inspire awe, but the crystal buttresses and soaring towers made Stygian feel awkward. He remembered this place only as a shadow of a memory.

Inside, he waited for princess Twilight in the main foyer. Castle staff and occasional guests wandered by with polite indifference, totally unaware of who he really was. Or maybe they knew and didn’t care. Equestria had no shortage of reformed villains, after all.

After what seemed like hours, Twilight appeared in the hallway, tiara and wings and all. Stygian bowed low. She laughed aloud.

“We don’t do that anymore,” she said.

Stygian blushed. “Forgive me.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for.” Twilight guided him down the hallway towards the castle interior. The glow of the crystal walls dimmed to a more subdued hue the deeper they went. “Truth is, some ponies still bow. But I’m trying to make them stop.”

“Why would you want them to stop?”

“It makes me feel like a tyrant. I wanted to start a new tradition of addressing royals with hoof bumps, but the old-money nobility shut that down.”

“Ah, so the nobility is still insufferable.”

“Some things stay the same.”

They came to a conference room as large and tall as the main foyer. A long table made from a single piece of crystal dominated the room. To one side was a refreshment cart stocked with modern teas and coffees in bright packaging alongside chic electric kettles. Twilight made a beeline for the cart.

Stygian plopped down in the nearest chair and stared up at the ceiling. “How many decades did it take to make this?” he asked.

“It was grown in a few minutes,” Twilight replied without turning his way.

Stygian shook his head. It took just as long for his tea to steep.

---

“So tell me all about your dreams,” Twilight said. “I’m no princess Luna, but I’ll help any way I can.”

Stygian sipped his tea and tried to put his thoughts together. The tea Twilight chose tasted too fruity and sweet for his palette. He longed for the bitter, funky-tasting, fermented tea he used to drink in his own time. He wondered if the recipe still existed.

“My dreams have been strange,” he started. “I’m overwhelmed by the importance of what I’m experiencing, but when I wake up I lose the memory of it.”

“That’s normal enough. Plenty of ponies dream but can’t remember. It’s like our brain’s way of processing and decoupling the thoughts that get jumbled up through the day.”

“Fair. But the past few nights they’ve changed. I still can’t remember them, but I believe they have something to do with limbo.”

Twilight stiffened. “What exactly do you remember from those dreams?”

“Hardly anything. Just feelings.” He opened his dream journal to the most recent page and flipped backwards. “But it’s definitely about limbo. I know that place too well to be mistaken about it.”

“Even today, limbo is still a fairly unstudied state. It’s so dangerous to get to and difficult to get out of once you’re in that most researchers can’t get approval to go there. That’s if they’re crazy enough to want to go. No offense.”

“None taken. I’m aware of that much based on my own limited research. Seems there are still some places that shun the light of modernity.” He considered his tea once again. “It’s comforting in a way.”

Twilight shifted in her seat. Something hung on the tip of her tongue, barely restrained.

“You can ask me whatever you’d like, Twilight. I’m an open book.”

In a single breath, a dozen questions spilled out of Twilight’s mouth at once. Stygian blinked in surprise. After nearly a minute of non-stop nerding out, Twilight paused to catch her breath.

“Let’s organize those questions,” Stygian said.

A blush sprang up on Twilight’s cheeks. “Of course. Sorry. Let’s start with the time versus experience question. Time doesn’t move in limbo, correct?”

“Correct.”

“What did you feel not moving through time?”

Stygian sipped his tea and pursed his lips at the taste. “It still feels like you’re moving. Just in a different direction. Sorta like moving in a dream. You walk through a still image, or a short scene. You see something that sticks out to you--it could be light moving through a tree, or water lapping against a boat. It arrests all your attention. It gets bigger and more clear and more focused. You think you’re getting closer, like you could fall into it, but you’re not moving at all. It’s the rest of the world that’s rushing up to meet you.” He looked down. The ground was still there. Thank goodness. “It makes me dizzy thinking about it. We’re not meant to be unbound from time.”

“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“You’re very considerate, Twilight. But suffering makes us strong, and I am a much stronger pony because of my experiences.”

Twilight nodded resolutely. “Do you think limbo could be calling to you somehow?”

He shook his head. “As charged-up as it is, limbo is still just a place. It’s as sentient as this conference room.”

“Then perhaps it’s a vestige of the shadow.”

“The shadow doesn’t bide its time. If it were a remnant, it would have taken me over months ago.”

“But it could theoretically call to you from limbo.”

“I suppose. But time and limbo aren’t on the same page. Past, present, and future don’t exist. It’s removed from time. So something in the distant past could be reaching forward, and it’s just as likely something from the future could be reaching back.”

“Fascinating.”

“You see why this vexes me so. It could be the first traces of shadow from a thousand years ago. It could be something that hasn’t even happened yet.”

Twilight’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know that.”

“With that said, I don’t think it’s that.”

“Oh.” Her voice fell. “Why?”

Memories of darkness flashed through his mind. “I’m never going back there as long as I live. If whatever’s causing these dreams can reach into my mind, it would see that much and find some more susceptible pony to haunt.”

He saw another question stalled on Twilight’s lips. He knew what it was but had no interest in entertaining it. A question of mental strength was a silly one, anyway. It was anecdotal at best and unscientific at worst.

To get her mind off the question, he flipped through his dream journal, hoping against hope some forgotten words would spark a memory. “I wish I had more to offer you. These dreams feel tremendously important, but the specifics just aren’t there.”

Twilight tipped up her tea cup and went for a refill. Stygian looked at his nearly-full cup, then took another half-hearted sip. The tea hadn’t cooled at all during the course of their conversation. The cups must have been heated magically.

“I wish I had more to offer,” Stygian said.

“You certainly do,” Twilight said as she returned to her seat. “Why did you write to me about this?”

“My neighbors and colleagues in Vanhoofer are still scared of me. If I told them I was dreaming of limbo, they’d probably call the police.”

Twilight giggled. “You’ll find ponies much more open to radical ideas than in the past. If they really are your friends, they’ll appreciate you opening up to them. Start slow. Be honest. Be kind.”

Her advice clogged Stygian’s next thought. “I just--” He paused. “I also came to you because you’re an expert. I don’t need answers, just more opinions.”

“Spoken like a true academic,” she said. “Do you really want my expert opinion?”

“Of course.”

“There is a great network of dream therapists in Vanhoofer. I can give you the name of one and you can start as early as tomorrow.” She flashed an encouraging smile, but the table was so wide and the gap so profound that all that tenderness and care dissipated before it could reach him.

“Thanks,” he muttered.

“Have you talked to anyone about your time in limbo?”

“There’s not much to talk about.”

“Well, maybe it’s time to start sorting through whatever’s there.”

Stygian sighed. “Perhaps. Thank you Twilight. You continue to surprise me with your open-mindedness.”

Her face lit up with a massive smile. “You’re too kind. That’s just the nature of knowledge.”

He raised his mug. “So it is.”

Just then, The centermost gem in Twilight’s royal crown blinked red and went, bleeeep.

Stygian raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry,” Twilight said, “that’s just a reminder to keep me on schedule. I have to go feed Owlowiscious.”

“Your pet?”

“One of them. Would you like to meet him? He’s very outgoing for an owl.”

Stygian’s expression lit up. “I thought cats and dogs were all the rage.”

“He’s an exception to the norm.”

“He’s in good company, then,” Stygian said and cracked a smile. “I would love to meet him.”

“Great!” Twilight started towards the door, but paused halfway across the room. “Do you mind waiting for just a few minutes? I have to feed him, and I’m not sure--it wouldn’t...”

A simple realization dawned on Stygian. “It wouldn’t be polite,” Stygian interrupted.

Twilight nodded. “Normally I feed him in the den. I don’t like upsetting my guests, and that’s usually what happens when they find out--”

“That he’s a carnivore.” Stygian blushed. “Sorry. Still getting used to having conversations again. I know he’s a carnivore because I used to have a pet owl. Way back in the day.” His voice grew soft and distant. “Way back.”

He looked down at the floor for a moment, and when he looked back up Twilight was right in front of him, draping a wing around his shoulder. “I know this world is a big adjustment for you,” she said.

He shrugged. “Same dirt. Same sky.”

“But a different time.” With her wing still draped around him, she led him into the wide hallway snaking through the belly of the castle. “I know Owlowiscious hasn’t had many other pets to play with lately. Some company would be really good for him.”

Stygian’s face brightened. “That sounds lovely.”

---

The den where Owlowiscious lived was gorgeous, but Stygian couldn’t take his mind off the mouse cage in the corner.

The design of the den was drastically different than the rest of the castle. Laquered wood panels with deeply expressive knots lined the walls. On the opposite side of the room, an opening too small for a pony to fit through had been carved into the crystal, leading up and out of sight. A large fireplace dominated one corner of the room. Flickering light from an ever-burning fire served as the room’s sole light. A set of formal chairs sat in front of the fireplace, casting their tall shadows on the opposite wall.

The way the shadows flickered reminded Stygian of a forest at twilight. He took a step forward, and the illusion was shattered by the not-so-natural feel of linoleum under his hooves.

He turned to Twilight to inquire about the floor, but before he could the sound of beating wings grabbed his attention. From the opening on the other side of the room swooped Owlowiscious. He hovered for a moment, assessing Stygian, before hooting once and alighting on a coat rack that doubled as a bird perch.

“He’s very pretty,” Stygian remarked. “Would he mind if I got closer?”

“Not at all. Just go slowly.”

Making himself as obvious as possible, Stygian walked towards Owlowiscious’s perch. He sized him up as he approached, his massive yellow eyes radiating awareness. They bore through everything they touched. Stygian couldn’t help but marvel at them. This creature was every bit as alive as he was.

As he got within a few lengths of him, he hooted once and flittered his wings like he was about to fly away. Stygian paused, one eyebrow raised. He considered him up and down with those unwavering eyes, hooted again, and lowered his head. It was consent to approach, as clear as if he had spoken it aloud.

A smile broke across Stygian’s face. He reached out and scratched Owlowiscious softly behind one ear.

“What was your owl like?” Twilight asked.

“Bigger talons,” he said absently. “Pretty.” As he spoke, Owlowiscious moved his head so Stygian was scratching his other ear. “His feathers were light grey, like a mouse’s fur. Ironic, right? And his eyes were yellow, too.”

Owlowiscious straightened up, cuing Stygian to stop. His eyes moved from Twilight to the fireplace, then over to the extra-large mouse cage in the corner.

In an instant, he flashed his wings and disappeared into the shadows that clung to the high ceiling corners.

“Looks like he’s getting hungry,” Twilight said. Her eyes moved to the cage. “I want to remind you about what I said earlier.”

“I lived a thousand years ago. We weren’t so averse to blood back then.”

Twilight nodded, then went over to the cage. She stuck her hoof inside, hesitated, then chose a live mouse at random from the dozen or so in the cage. “I don’t like to stay for this part,” she said as she set the mouse on the ground. “You can wait with me outside.”

The mouse, sensing danger, squeaked in its feeble mousy voice. It scurried beneath Twilight, and when she stepped towards the door it bolted around the baseboards, trying to find a nook or cranny to squeeze into.

Stygian’s eyes flashed from the mouse to the ceiling and its dark shadows. He thought he saw a flash of feathers. A moment later, a flash of yellow eyes. Then he turned his eyes to the mouse again. “It’s never bothered me,” he said. “It’s a part of nature.”

Twilight paused by the door. Stygian felt her eyes on him.

“Nature is so violent, isn’t it?” he said. “It’s a good thing ponies today find this sort of thing distasteful. Back then, this might be considered fascinating.” Something moved in the rafters. “Entertaining, even.”

Just then, Owlowiscious dove from his hidden perch in a flash of feathers. The mouse disappeared in a flash of talons and gore. Twilight jumped. Stygian blinked.

The two ponies stood there silently, transfixed, as the owl picked the mouse apart into little pieces.

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