#164
Summer. Day 175. Evening. Clackerton.

Back home again. Used the staff to teleport home after taking the portal back to Canterlot. There, Apricot and I waited for hours to get an audience with Celestia. I told her what had happened, including the first of many things to come: the islands of Light Fringe reemerging from the depths of the ocean. Most of the designs will be reclaimed by the planet's nature in due time. A process that could take hundreds or thousands of years. I told her word for word: “Old magic will need to be tamed once more and I will become the deliverer.”

After her scribe had finished writing, she dismissed me. Wishing me luck in my future endeavors. Should we ever meet again, she would gladly set up a table for tea and listen wholeheartedly to whatever tales I have to tell. She suggested that Twilight might do the same. She is a literary nut, after all.

After being dismissed, Apricot found our way outside the city walls and gazing into the distance. Ponyville is a small place from here. Vaguely, I could make out Clackerton sitting even further away. Atop a long, meandering hillside the converged in the mountains behind it. One would need a telescope to see this place clearly from there. A might powerful one too, I imagine.

I had a slow walk home, focusing on what to say to father. Part of me wanted to run away and Apricot simply wouldn't let such a thing happen. Not to mention that it wouldn't help the situation a whole lot, either. After I got home, I sat on the couch and began writing, absentmindedly fiddling with my pendent. I waited there for even longer, it felt like, waiting and waiting. Drudging through every word I needed to say.

The door finally creeped open. A long and dreadful moan it made. I looked to the opening it created, the rays of sun light giving way to my father. He stood there with his head drooped, exhausted by his still relatively new job. He closed the door and saw me sitting there with my crippled wings. “So... I guess you being here means she's gone now?” He spoke dryly. I merely nodded. “She told me the story and what was going to happen. Hard to believe, isn't it?” I nodded again. After that, he went to take a nap from an exhausting day.

Then Busy came home. She too, was wearing a distraught face but not one that was brought on by grief. I put up a front to keep the tears away and told her the story. I wondered why mother hadn't told her while she was visiting, in whatever manner she was. I suppose it's too late ask about that now. Busy cried her heart out just as I had done. And immediately began to plan things out for a quiet funeral afterward. Something that hopefully wouldn't attract a whole lot of attention. Still, we needed a proper excuse for why she died, it's been months since the mafia incident.

Busy told me that I should worry about getting some rest and let her sort out the issue. I swear she'll work herself to death one of these days. I could say the same about father, though. I'm trying to rest but my mind is still hopelessly wandering about things I shouldn't concern myself with. I've been finding myself drawn to that thin book the Designer gave to me. Should I open it or leave it be?

#165
Summer. Day 176. Afternoon. Clackerton.

The Designer's book is an amazing thing. He had mapped out the world, the stars, galaxies, and beyond. Knowledge that far surpassed any of our own. All of his notes about this world and inhabitants were stored in this thing. I say thing because, well, upon opening it, I'm greeted with a screen and merely with a touch it explodes into several hundred screens. At some points they were as abundant as the stars in the sky. I rifled through and glanced over the texts he had written, in both his own script and and option to convert it into several other languages I couldn't begin to comprehend.

I felt so overjoyed until I came across the millions of images he had stored. A visual and annotated history of his kind, all the way up to the date he exterminated them. He mourned the fact at the time and from some later notes I found, he never quite shrugged off his 'sin'. In his extermination, he had killed everyone he had ever known. I saw the images of when he was younger, with family and friends. Moments that were eternalize through photographs and artwork. There was even a picture of his degree. Doctorates of Astrophysics and Biology, it read. A smart man, driven mad, I think.

I flipped through the screens some more until I found the staff. It was the last piece of research he had written. It seemed that only after he began researching about Rebirth was he able to craft it. After digging through hundreds of old notes, he was able to form the connection just before my mother had arrived at his place. In making the staff, he used ancient methods of enchanting stones and infusion techniques. A process that required the right stones, a small bit of blood from its creator(s), and the proper wood. In this case, he used part of the Golden Tree from Light Fringe, square cut stones the deviated from the same parent and as I mentioned before, his own blood. There's one more note at the bottom, however. In order to enchant it properly, he needed mother and she poured all of what she could into it.

The connection between thought and magic was unexplained, however. A missing link is there. Sure a unicorn could cast magic at will, but when it comes to an enchanted item. What connects the mind to the object. Physically touching the item, speech, or something else? Even the Designer failed to fully understand the concept despite his kind having similar technology. However, it seems that that required something implanted on the brain or an item to be worn around the hands and/or head. What his kind had, I wonder what will happen when others get a hold of it?

I closed down the screen, my eyes had begun to ache staring at the screens for a bit too long. If I'm not too busy for the next week or so, I'll head into Ponyville and help her start getting all this on paper. I have no idea how long this thing can stay and the fact that it's the only one of its kind. However, it does pose the question, should we record such information and distribute it? As it is now, it's harmless, but in the future, it might create such a strong divide among everyone that it'll cause nothing more than problems. It's part of our history too, however. Another question, if we ever venture out there, beyond our own solar system, can we get back?

There are far more questions than that, I imagine. It's really something I don't want to bother with. I'm honestly tired of thinking about the effects of what have occurred there. Maybe I'm just tired and just need some rest. Mind is awfully jumbled at the moment.

#165
Summer. Day 176. Afternoon. Clackerton.

Well, as luck would have it, Busy gave me two weeks for me to rest and adjust. It's needed but I'm afraid I'll still be rather busy. I've been rifling through thousands of more documents. The Designer was not a pleasant man when he was angered or when he had to directly intervene. To name a few points, he summoned a massive storm to hold off the invasion of a kingdom, destroyed an entire army of upwards of a million troops and wiping out a mountain range in the process, and the last one involved a powerful battle between him and thirty dragons that lasted many sleepless days.

His fights were absurd. Astounding that the man hadn't been killed long before I met him. Even more interesting was the fact the incidents were always linked to natural disasters instead of his own hands. To cover up his marks, he went so far as to reshape the landscape itself. Something that spewed legends about mystical changing lands that never held a singular shape. Even the clouds seemed to be scared of him.

Every one of these incidents he took great care in documenting very carefully. Some of the writings even matched the history books of today. Meaning that some knowledge has, in a way, already been passed on. I wonder however, who he would've passed that knowledge down to. There are literally millions of possibilities.

Tomorrow I plan on going into Ponyville and discussing these matters over with Twilight. Knowing her, she might have a few good suggestions on what we can do about this. My first thought is not to tell any one at all, keep it secret. Therein lies a problem, however. Secrets can leak and thus create doubt. Which in turn can have even greater and far more drastic effects than intended.

Another thought on my mind is that this staff does not feel like something the Designer would have created with his own hands. It's too... earthen, or familiar. It constantly draws my attention in doing so as well. Rather annoying honestly.

On a different note, Busy says the funeral will be held in a few days time. I'm glad of that, I'm not sure why.

#166
Summer. Day 177. Evening. Ponyville.

I headed over to Twilight's library to find something rather unusual, her not being there. I brought with me the staff and the book. Inside I found a note on the table, written to Spike. Telling him that she would be back soon as she was venturing with another potential suitor for marriage. Not really all that surprising. She can't really keep her nose in books while her friends are off living their dreams. I wonder why she hasn't found one that has suited her yet. Surely she should have found some one to her liking. If it keeps up, she'll wind up with a few unpleasant rumors surrounding her.

In the mean time, I stopped by Rarity's boutique, held idle conversation until I brought up the ending to my story and the two things I brought back. She told me that Twilight would love to mull over that information. She would adore the staff greatly and the book, more so. An awkward silence fell upon us then. I'm not sure why I'm so open with her as I don't feel the same toward her as I do toward Apricot. It's oddly comforting, really.

To my surprise, I ran into Pinkie Pie on my way out the door, who was carrying a bunch of gemstones filling a bucket she held atop her head and on her back was Spike. We exchanged quick greetings as we passed by one another. I left the boutique to the sound of shrilled happiness. Rarity obviously overjoyed that her friends found what she needed. Not sure why I didn't ask Spike how long Twilight would be out for.

Regardless, I wandered around the town for a few hours, well past nightfall and found myself taking to the local inn. When I dropped my bags off in my assigned room, I heard a muffled yelling from the next room over. Two voices arguing incoherently, a sound that was drowned out by my own thoughts and the low hum of the book's screens scattered about my head once more.

I looked over the information that the Designer had on the thirty dragons he battled either to the death or forced them to surrender. Many were much of the same: green scaled fire breathers hoarding troves of treasures, meaner than bulls, and tough as nails. The ones he took greater notes of were far more deadly. One spewed poison gas, another breathed icy cold fire, and others took to disguising themselves as large precious stones. They all varied in size too, the largest he managed to seal away at the bottom of an ocean.

Then I came across a video of his last hunt, was actually far more recent, around the same time I was born. I pressed my hoof to the screen, hitting the play button. Sound kicked in and the video enlarged and the rocky cliffside pictured began to move. With great strides he advanced, his cane supporting him the entirety of the way. Upon the mouth of a large cave he paused, his breath heavy. He roared something in a foreign tongue and out peered the head of a dragon. A dragon with all to similar characteristics. Light purple, bright green fins, green eyes. Large and slender but without wings. Green smoke puffed from the dragon's nose.

There was, much to my surprise, no great battle that ensued. Instead, the dragon brought its stomach into view, revealing a massive wound inflicted by another source. He looked over the wound, feeling every part of the gash, which revealed its fair share of guts, and sighed. He spoke again to the dragon, as if it were his friend instead of calling it out. Put his hand to the place between the nostrils and appeared to tell it its fate. In a whisper, the dragon said something and the Designer reacted with a worried but assuring tone.

The video forwarded through a mass of jungle until he reached an empty bog. He encroached upon the territory of a grand white dragon with gold horns and a set of six golden eyes. Four wings and a tail barbed with spikes to the end. The sky was clouded with gray smoke and the dragon exhaled more of it with every step. The video shook with each, the Designer held still, unwavering. Again he roared in what I can safely assume, is the dragon's tongue. Vengeance and justice. In an instant the dragon fired a bolt of yellow fire from its mouth and followed with a swipe of a claw. The Designer blocked both with a shield, merely raising his cane. He mocked the dragon, then, his old voice rich with humored sarcasm.

The dragon, enraged, roared and brought lightning down from the sky with a stomp of a foot. The bolt dissipated, rendered useless by the Designer's shield. The man coughed and raised his free hand and muttered a few words. The earth rose up, shifting into massive, winding tendrils leaking masses of loose dirt and stone. The dragon tried taking flight but was quickly ensnared and forced to the ground with a devastating crash. Kicking up all manner of dirt and water. The dragon breathed out his smoke, creating a veil. The man reached out, grabbed at it and whipped it away. The smoke cleared and fear was quickly sinking into the dragon's body.

The Designer approached the dragon's nose, its muzzle kept closed by the earthen tendrils. He spoke again in an intimidating manner. He reached out and touched it with a finger. Nearly in an instant, life fluttered away from its eyes and its body collapsed upon itself. What was left was a mangled mass of bone, muscle, and blood the size of a volleyball. The tendrils fell to the ground and the Designer snapped his fingers, setting the mass of flesh aflame until it turned to blackened ash. Beneath that, a spine from its tail. Gold in color and lightly stained from the fire. As if he had spared it to it back to the other dragon as proof.

When he went back up the mountain and to the cave, he was greeted once more by the quickly aging purple dragon. He showed her the spine and she smiled rather weakly and gave him an egg. Purple with darker spots. He stayed and chatted with the dragon about all manner of things until the dragon passed on. I wonder why he didn't use any sort of healing spells to heal her. Perhaps the damage was too great and such a spell would likely cause the same spell I went through.

Regardless, the video forwarded to where he got to Canterlot Castle. He looked down from the mountain''s peak, the dragon's egg carried under one arm. He teleported into the throne room, where Celestia sat without the presence of her guards. He sat the egg down on some hay he summoned before politely bowing to her and standing straight once more. “Celestia,” he croaked out, as if the fire from before had burned his throat. “This egg shall be hatched by your future student, Twilight Sparkle.” my eyes widened.

“The same Twilight Sparkle I am currently looking to take under my wing?”

“Yes. Don't worry about the 'what ifs'. She will succeed once the time comes. This egg shall be a test for her. At that time she will earn her cutie mark. I have already buried the baby's mother.”

She mused the thought with a hum. “Very well. What will you do now? Since your friend has been slain?”

He nodded. “Wait. That's all I have left to do before I finally fade away.”

“At least have one last cup of tea then.”

Even though I couldn't see him smile, I could feel him do it. “That would be lovely, Celly.”

After much small talk I skipped through, I found the end of it along with the final question. “Say, you've never told me your name.”

He had his back to her, relying on his cane once more. He stopped and turned his head, “It's been so long, I can hardly remember.” In a small, muffled coughing fit, he continued, “Perhaps someone else will find out for you.” He smiled and walked away, slowly teleporting back to the dark and lifeless labs he called home. “Indeed they will.” he whispered.

I flicked off the book then, letting my mind take in this new information. Now I have to tell Twilight. It would be better than leaving Spike without an answer to a question he may never ask. The argument next door is still going, influenced by more anger and tears than before. I may just have to go over there myself and tell them to shut up. A familiarity with part of a word struck my ears and my has been perked. I can't have any more of this.