Now open your eyes while our plight is repeated
Still deaf to our cries, lost in hope we lie defeated
Our souls have been torn, and our bodies forsaken
Bearing sins of the past, for our future is taken
Answers, from Final Fantasy XIV.

Then.

Adlaborn, Year 11 Anno Equestria. 3,489 years before the dawn of the Anno Harmonia.

Two foals laughed as they ran along the shallow stream outside the capital of Adlaborn, the Charopolis. It was a tall, shining alabaster citadel, standing in the midst of a snow-tipped forest deep in the north of the world. Yet for all its remoteness, the joy that existed here was palpable.

The villages and towns surrounding the Charopolis were not merely home to the Reindeer, Sint Erklass’ children all; they were also home to many other beings. There were mainly groups of Griffon refugees, or else members of the lesser equine races who had yet to migrate to one of the grander nations of Equines forming in the south and west. It was a diverse enough collection of beings that Galatea, trotting along the road towards the Charopolis under a simple brown robe, did not stand out, even at her height.

She had to admit – there was something truly beautiful about this place. Lights shone faintly in the evening, as lamps lit in the trees along the road that led up to the grand citadel.

Yet for all it was beautiful, this city was not what Galatea was interested in. Stealing away down a lonely path, Galatea slipped into the trees and disappeared in a brief miasma of light, her horn glowing softly as she activated a charm of concealment. For she could sense them here.

Her sisters.

Soon, she came upon her charges, playing near a shallow stream that had yet to freeze in the enchanted winter.

One was an alabaster filly, physically nearly twelve years of age, with a mane that shone pink and a wide smile. Upon her flank there rested no soul mark yet. Alongside her ran a mare with a deep blue coat and a paler blue mane, laughing as she leapt along the path.

Both were watched over by a tall, strong-looking Reindeer stag who watched them from a few metres away.

“Be careful, you two!” the scarlet Reindeer chided gently as the two fillies played. “You’re not so sure-footed that a stray stone in a stream wouldn’t hurt to trip on!”

“You worry too much, Papa!” the smaller filly called back to him. “We’ll be fine!”

“Yes, we’re having fun!” the taller filly added, laughing as she spread her wings and flapped a few feet into the air, before descending none-too-gracefully to the stream with a great splash.

“Celly!” the smaller filly shouted. “You splashed me!”

As she said this, her horn glowed and a small wave of water rose up and flew towards Celestia, who laughed as the icy water doused her.

“Alright, alright!” Sint Erklass said, trotting up to them both, laughing all the while. “You’ll catch your death of cold if you keep that nonsense up. Come now, let’s get you inside.”

Even as he said it, he paused, looking up. For a moment, Galatea stilled, filled with a sudden dread that he could see her.

“Alright,” the Reindeer said after a moment. “Both of you, go on now. Speak with Aletta, she will see to it that you’re dried and made ready for bed.”

“But Papa!” Celestia whined. “It’s nowhere near time for bed!”

“Celestia,” Sint Erklass said in a sterner tone. “You’ve been good today. Don’t spoil that goodness by acting up now.”

Celestia lowered her head. “Yes, Papa.”

“Yes, Papa,” Luna echoed.

“Go on, then,” Sint said, motioning with one hoof. “I shall speak with you later.”

The two foals turned and trotted away, heading back up towards the Charopolis. Sint Erklass remained, silent and still as a statue as he watched them go. Galatea did not stir either, waiting for him to move.

“I can sense thee, even if I cannot see thee,” the Reindeer said after a moment, without turning around. His tone had become stiffer, more formal. “Thou art meant to be kept secret from them, not from me. Step out, daughter of Faust, so that I may know thee better.”

Galatea took a deep breath, before stepping out from the trees, allowing the concealment charm to end.

Sint Erklass turned, his eyes taking her in, lingering for a moment upon her soul mark with a frown.

“The watchmare Galatea,” he finally said, looking to meet her eyes. “I wondered when thou wouldst find us.”

Galatea sniffed. “Sint Erklass, Guardian of Joy. I should not be surprised that thine magicks proved able to sense mine own.”

“Thou art gifted with a great portion of thine mother’s strength, but for all that thou have not gained experience,” Sint Erklass retorted. “Thou hast a long road ahead of thee yet, Galatea.”

“Perhaps,” Galatea allowed.

He smiled. “I see thou hast thine soul mark already.”

Galatea glanced at it, before looking back at him. “I awoke with it.”

“Truly?” the Reindeer asked. “There, I admit to surprise. Thou awakened full-grown, then?”

Galatea inclined her head. “It is so.”

“I see,” Sint Erklass said slowly, frowning at her. “I regret I could not be there for it. I knew the place of thy making, but it was all I could do to see to it that these two were protected.”

He motioned to the Citadel behind him, and Galatea nodded.

“Mine mother had great respect for thee, Sint Erklass,” she said. “I trust thou knowest best how to honour her children. Any advice thou hast to offer, I will gladly accept.”

“And I would gladly give it thee, daughter of Faust,” Sint Erklass replied. “Thine mother entrusted to me the charge of all of her children’s lives, not merely thy sisters’. To me, thou art a daughter as much as they, and thou shalt always have a place here.”

Galatea felt a sudden rush of blood to her cheeks. “Thou speakest kindly, Guardian of Joy, but I am no being’s daughter save Faust’s. I cannot accept such kindness.”

“And yet it is offered to thee all the same,” Sint Erklass retorted.

She nodded, and risked a small smile. “It is… gladdening, to see they have such love from thee.”

Sint Erklass smiled sadly.

“I cannot bear children of mine own,” he said quietly. “I was made, mine body forged in the darkest ages of the world long past, and in the making some joys were taken from me, even as I became the Guardian of the world’s joy. So for me, the chance to love as a father, to raise new lives into the world with care and devotion, is a blessing I could scarce have imagined.” He paused. “Besides which, they are the children of mine dearest friend. Since she cannot be mother to them, it falls to me to act as father.”

He turned to look back at the Citadel of Joy, before looking back at Galatea with a softer, sadder expression.

“Why do you stand apart from them?” he asked, reverting to a more informal mode of speech. “They would welcome you with such joy, all the joy in their boundlessly loving hearts. Why would you not wish that?”

The question caught Galatea off-guard, and she frowned at the Reindeer.

“You were there when I was born, Guardian of Joy,” she said simply. “You know full well what my task is, and that I must stand apart to fulfill it.”

“I know that was your mother's intention,” Sint Erklass said with a slow nod. “That does not mean, however, that I agree with it.”

Galatea narrowed her eyes at him.

“You were her friend,” she said in an accusatory tone. “Does that mean so little to you that you would doubt her even now?”

“She was my finest friend. Indeed, I loved her, as dearly and as deeply as I have loved any being in this world,” Sint Erklass agreed without reproach in his tone. “But one thing you may learn in your time is that being someone’s friend does not mean you agree with everything they decide, nor that you cannot think that they have made foolish choices.” He sighed. “There are many things I do not… did not agree with the Fausticorn on. Your fate – your solitary life – is but one.”

Galatea’s frown did not soften. “Why?”

“It seems to me to be…” The stag paused, as though considering the best way to answer her. Finally, he shrugged. “Unnecessarily harsh.”

“Harsh?” Galatea repeated, her eyebrows rising to meet her mane. Then, to her own surprise, she laughed, feeling a wave of cold amusement. “Perhaps it is. But it is necessary, Guardian of Joy.”

“Why?” he asked in turn.

She paused, her eyes once more going to the direction the playing foals had gone.

“They seem so loving now, when they are young and innocent,” she finally said. “But they will not be that way forever.” Her expression hardened. “Imagine one day that they choose to conquer this world, to become tyrants the likes of which have not been seen since the darkest times.”

“That will not happen,” Sint Erklass said at once.

“You do not know the future any more than I do, Guardian of Joy,” Galatea said, and now she smiled, a sad smile that was matched by the resignation in her tone. “I was not made to know the future. I was made to anticipate all futures, and to respond as needed to any and all of them.” She sighed. “It may well be, if you do what you seek to do well, that they will become noble and good, and lead ponykind and the rest of the world into a new golden era. But they are powerful, and my mother knew this.” Her smile faded entirely. “So I must be their check and balance, and correct them when they stray.”

“I see,” Sint Erklass said slowly. His own eyes narrowed, and for the first time in their conversation, an edge entered his voice. “And how far would you go, Galatea? How far would you go to ‘correct’ them, should they stray that far?”

Galatea swallowed. “Only as far as I must, Guardian of Joy. Only as far as I must. Which is why I remain apart. I cannot do this without the impartiality of distance.”

“Because if you grew to love them, you could not bear to strike them down?” Sint guessed. Galatea nodded, and he scowled. “Would you strike them down, if the need was there?”

She did not answer, but that was an answer in and of itself, and Sint Erklass knew it. He snorted and turned away from her for a moment, looking back in the direction of the Charopolis.

“Thou shalt always have a place in mine halls and mine heart,” he finally said, without turning back to look at her. “And to me, thou shalt always be another of mine daughters.”

He turned, and there was such anger in his expression that Galatea actually stepped back.

“But know this,” he said. “If thou shouldst hurt them without cause, or fail to protect them when their need is dire, then, Galatea, thou shalt answer to me.”

Now.

Equus-Imperator.

Adlaborn, Year 7 Anno Imperator.

The words of long ago echoed in Galatea’s mind as she walked through the ruins of yet another Reindeer town. The bodies were gone, piled up into pyres that the Imperial Guard had set ablaze with magic. There would be no rotting, no carrion, and no remnant of a once proud race’s bones to litter the soil and sprout forth new life. Nothing left but the ashes of Adlaborn and the abandoned buildings that had once held life. And soon, whether in a year or a century, the buildings would return to the dirt, and nothing would be left.

I did fail to protect them, Sint Erklass, and yet you are not here to take me to task for mine failure, she thought, not looking at the ruin about her any more.

How could she? This place… this entire land… was now little more than a monument to her sins. Yet even as she thought it, she laughed.

There is hubris there, she thought idly, of a kind I should know better than to have. No sin of mine made this happen, not even the sin of inaction. I am not so vital to the world.

Forcing these dismal thoughts from her mind, Galatea continued on. She was heading for the Charopolis, the first city of Adlaborn. It had changed in the years since the fateful conversation, the first of a scant handful in all her long years, and yet it still felt familiar.

“Thou shalt always have a place here,” Sint Erklass had told her. Though she had never held a fixed abode… was this place her home? Did she even have one?

She shook such thoughts from her mind: she had not come here to reminisce. She trotted up to the ruined gates of the Charopolis, frowning as she approached the mighty citadel’s walls.

Once, long ago, these gates had been wrought of mythril and silver, twinkling with the light of the stars. They had been made using an art that not even Galatea understood – a lost beauty from the age before her awakening. Galatea didn’t know how old these gates – or indeed this city – were, and had never researched it, considering it irrelevant to her work.

Another regret, she mused. One can only hope the libraries here have survived, even in part.

It was a slim hope at best, but anything was better than nothing. For in Sint Erklass’ libraries, she had to hope that he might have held some answer to what madness had taken hold of Celestia.

Author's Notes:

Galatea’s meeting with Sint was certainly an interesting one to write. Obviously the depiction of Sint Erklass (and, indeed, Adlaborn itself) in the Reduxverse is different to how he has been shown elsewhere: it’s been interesting finding a balance between the original depiction and my own thoughts on the archetype.

But the Guardian of Joy is certainly a joy to write for, both as father and protector. And it’s interesting to consider his history with Galatea in light of Redux’s main story and his upcoming role there.