Snowflakes float gently out of a nighttime sky; set aglow, flashing and sparkling like miniature stars in the pools of firelight outside the windows of a small cottage. Weightless, they twirl and spin in the crisp winter air for a brief moment, and then vanish back into the moonlit darkness beyond the firelight.

Sounds of foalish exuberance come from inside the home and drift across the clearing the cottage is nestled into, while cherry scented smoke curls lazily from a high stone chimney and clings to the bare branches of the forest beyond.

Through one of the windows a trio of young fillies can be seen playing a board game; tiny metallic ponies stand upon various rainbow colored paths amidst dice and cards. The three fillies lie upon a woven, oval shaped rug that spreads out in front of a cheery fireplace - two are laughing uproariously while the third tries to hide her face a bit under a fledgling wing.

“Guys, stop it! It’s not funny!”

A red hued Earth filly snickers at the younger Pegasus, “Sorry Sunny – but you have to admit that your piece getting sent back to the start is pretty funny.”

“Is not Rose! Star cheated!” The bright yellow Pegasus filly points a hoof at the third filly, a dappled silver-grey unicorn who appears to be the eldest.

The Unicorn’s eyes go wide as she brings a forehoof to her chest in indignation, “I would never do such a…”

The yellow colored hoof moves from the Unicorn to one of the dice on the floor, “It came up horseshoes, and then flipped over to clouds – I saw it!”

“Star? Did you magic the dice again?” the rose colored Earth pony asks.

The Unicorn pauses a moment, trying to keep a straight face but fails miserably as she bursts out laughing again, “You got me. I had to do something – Sunny is the luckiest Pegasus in all of Equestria and she always wins…”

Sunny sits back on her haunches, her forelegs crossed over her chest, and scowls at the Unicorn for a second. “Cheater.”

The Earth pony smiles, “Oh come on Sunny, it’s all in fun – right Star?”

Star nods, “Knowing Sunny she’ll still win the game… It really was just for fun Sunny.”

The little Pegasus just sits there, a very cross look on her face, “Promise you won’t use magic and I’ll still play.”

The Unicorn sits back on her haunches as well and brings a forehoof to her chest again, “I swear to not use magic during the...”

“Pinkie Pie Swear…”

The Unicorn blinks, the mention of the most binding promise a young pony can make taking her by surprise. “Don’t you think you might be taking this a bit seriously Sunny?”

Sunny simply shakes her head.

Star sighs, “Very well… I won’t use magic during the game…” She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, and goes through the motions, “Cross my heart and hope to fly; stick a cupcake in my eye.”

Rose watches the oath and giggles a bit when Star places her hoof to her face.

Sunny shuffles her wings and smiles, and then lies back down to view the game board satisfied by her friend’s promise. “It was your turn Star…”

The Unicorn likewise smiles and lies down, carefully settling her tail around her back hooves as is proper, and picks up a card from the top of the pile with a forehoof. She scans the card and her eyes go wide again as her jaw drops.

Rose cranes her neck to try and see the card the Unicorn is holding, “What? What did you get Star?”

Star turns the card around so they can see; several dark trees with spooky expressions. “The worst possible card to draw… The Everfree Forest!”

Rose winces as Sunny laughs, “Well Star, it looks like you get to join me back here at the start for a fair game.”

The Unicorn continues to gape at the card as Rose moves the little Unicorn pony marker back next to Sunny’s Pegasus maker. She looks questioningly at the little Pegasus next to her, who merely winks back and smiles sweetly.

At that moment an older Unicorn stallion enters the room, “Girls, girls – it’s late, perhaps we should all call it a night and in the morning we can all go out and build a snow castle. Then we will have a real reason for some of my special cherry-mint hot chocolate!”

“CHOCOLATE!”

He smiles over the glasses perched upon his muzzle. While he and his wife had no foals of their own, it wasn’t uncommon for them to keep an eye on their neighbor’s foals during festivals and events… And being a hobbyist chocolatier, he had a firm grasp of the power the confection had over ponies of any age.

He sends them off to get ready for bed, and laughs at the antics in the small bath as they squabble and fuss over, well, everything!

Eventually the stallion herds the fillies up the short flight of stairs and into the guest bedroom. The tidy room isn’t much larger than the four-post feather bed that occupies the space, but with the front wall being mostly the stone chimney of the fireplace below, it tends to stay plenty warm - even on the coldest of nights.

The fillies all pile into the bed with a chorus of “tell us a story! Tell us a story!”

“A story you say?”

“Yes! One about the Elements of Harmony!” says the Unicorn. The Earth pony pipes up, “No, tell us one about the Princesses!”

The elder pony smiles as he tucks them in, looking from face to expectant face, “Well then, a story it is. But everypony has heard the stories of the six young mares and the Elements of Harmony, or tales of Nightmare Moon and the sisters Celestia and Luna. The story I will tell you is of a much more unlikely hero. A tale of a young colt, just a few years older than you lot he was, who had as big of an adventure as any famous hero…”

He clears his throat a bit and begins, “It was many, many years ago – back before Ponyville was much more than a general store and a train depot…”

“Father! Father!”

A unicorn colt, hide as black as the bottom of a well, charges across a freshly harrowed field with wild abandon - the haste of his passing throwing up a cloud of dust that swirls and sparkles in the late afternoon sun.

The farm is a modest affair, as is typical for rural ponies; a cozy home, an outbuilding or two, and a couple fields for proper crop rotation. The entirety of the property is just enough land to keep the family fed and have a little extra for the community.

“Father!”

The colt sees the whitewashed split-rail fence that cordons off the cottage from the fields and kicks up his heels happily. With a wide grin he puts forth a burst of speed; hooves flash as he leaps the fence, his white mane and tail whipping behind him as he clears the obstacle with room to spare, and slides to a stop at the front door in a cloud of dust and dirt.

He prances a bit, tossing his head and shaking out his mane excitedly before stopping his bouncing long enough to begin carefully wiping his hooves on the well-worn mat.

With heavy creak the door to the cottage opens in front him, and he looks up to see a large draft pony of steel blue coat and cloud white mane standing in the doorway.

“Welcome home m’boy! What’s this here ruckus all about?” He asks with a warm smile.

The colt grins, bright green eyes flashing, “Father! I was accepted! They want me back in Canterlot in a week to start formal classes!” The colt bucks a bit, excitement returning with his words.

His father crosses his front legs and with exaggerated nonchalance leans his rather large shoulder against the doorframe. “Well now, here ya had me thinking something interestin’ were going on, like the neighbor’s forge on fire again…”

The colt looks a bit crestfallen at his father’s lack of exuberance.

A moment passes; his father looks down at him with the stallion’s typical stoic earth pony expression - ears forward - as if expectant of the real reason for the colt’s gamboling and ruckus, before laughing heartily.

“Oh heck son, ya did good! Getting’ accepted into that there school for talented Unicorns ain’t no easy feat. I’m mighty proud of ya!”

He looks down at the colt from the doorway and points a hoof at him, “I suppose this means ya found a way out of plantin’ this year after all.” He says with a sly wink.

The colt rolls his eyes, “Father. You know what this means for me!”

“Aye that I do son – that I do… Just playin’...” He looks off towards the well pump, “Now, do me a favor a’fore ya come in – I was on my way to fetch the water for dinner, but if you can fetch it for me, I’ll go and get supper on a bit early,” he looks back down at the colt, “it looks t’me like they don’t feed ya very well up there in Canterlot as you’re nothin’ but hide and hooves!”

“Father… I’ve always been,” The colt drops his chin to his neck and gruffs up his voice imitating his father, “So skinny he’d have to stand up twice to make a shadow.”

There’s a slight pause, then they both break out in laughter. “Git goin’ boy – I’ll be in the kitchen…” And with that the father turns from the door and enters the shadows of the house as the colt trots off to fetch the water.

The father ponders the news as he walks the shadowed main hallway of the cottage - so much had changed since last year…

His son had always been good with school, getting good marks in his writing and math; better so than his sire ever got truth be told. But even so the boy had always been more of a farm pony – knowing more about crop rotations and planting schedules than parlor tricks and pointy-hat wizardry.

Sure, the boy had always been a bit small for the jobs around the farm - unicorns did tend to be smaller overall than earth ponies; was their nature. This of course meant he got no end of grief from the bigger colts in school… And when one lives in a farming community out on the border of Equestria and the Free Lands, there’s an endless supply of bigger colts.

But he made up for it with his quick wit and boundless enthusiasm.

The father enters the common room of the house and looks up at a painting above the mantle – the portrait is of a young mare of all black coat and mane, with a long ebony horn and brilliant green eyes. He smiles at her, “He’s probably better off for all the hassles they gave him - but still, I wish you was here ta’ see how he’s grown … and he could really use your wisdom right about now.” He looks out the window at his son; the colt’s horn glowing as the well pump's handle bobs up and down of it’s own volition, “I don’t know my hoof from my tail when it comes to this magic stuff…”

Looking back to the painting he continues, “I’d always just assumed the boy would take over the farm from me some day, probably have those big bullies from school workin’ for him too, no doubt.” He says with a nod.

“But that all changed last spring, when the boy’s magic just started really workin’.”

He smiles wistfully, “You should’a seen the way he got on – stuff floatin’ all ‘round the house and him in the middle of it all grinnin’ like a cat with a fresh caught mouse.”

He shakes his head with a chuckle, “Took some talkin’ to get the boy to do his chores the right way without all the flash and sparkle. He’s a good boy though, understands the value of a day’s work… Better’n most unicorns I’d venture.”

Looking up at the painting he smiles, “No disrespect darlin’.”

“Even so, them referral letters from his teachers at school – those were completely unexpected...” He sighs, “Even more unexpected is his acceptance today…”

“He’s all a-flutter about it m’dear, as he should be I suppose. I hear tell that school Celestia runs is plumb difficult to get into.” He pauses for a moment, in thought, and then to himself, “He’s growin’ up and soon’ll be leavin’ the nest for good…”

He sighs again and looks back out the window at the colt who is trotting back to the house, “I sure do miss ya darlin’.”

The colt returns and trots lightly down the short hallway trying to not spill any water from the bucket held in his mouth. He subconsciously skirts the squeaky board near the door that has been his personal nemesis his entire childhood, and this causes him to pause a moment to smile and nod; it is good to be back home.

The cottage itself is good sized, even though when his father built it there were just the three of them; his mother, father, and himself. But his father keeps adding a bit to it here and there every year, so it continues to expand. Still, coming back from Canterlot it all seems so small.

In a handful of strides he reaches the end of the main hallway: to the left, the kitchen and common room of the house, straight ahead, his father’s room, and to the right – sanctuary!

He enters the kitchen and carefully places the bucket near the sink, “Here you go father.”

His father looks, “Good, good. Now go get yourself squared away. Dinner’ll be ready in a bit, I’ll come find ya…”

The colt nods, turns, and heads across the hall.

His father’s voice floats out of the kitchen behind him, “I kept yer room the way it was when you left – didn’t want you ta come back to a store room or anythin’.”

The colt smiles as he enters his old room, his horn glowing faintly as he removes his saddlebags and places them neatly by the door, and then carefully levitates his books out of the bags and stacks them neatly on his desk.

He looks around and lets out a bit of a sigh... He’s been gone the whole winter in Canterlot, testing and re-testing, and trying to find his pace in the capital city – no easy feat for a country colt that’s used to his closest neighbors being a full candle mark distant.

He walks around the small room once, just looking at everything, and he feels an odd mixture of familiarity and strangeness. This is his room and he knows every item it contains intimately, but he’s been gone for so long it all feels, somehow, like he’s looking at someone else’s life…

His whole childhood, up until recently, is here in this room; the stuffed ponies on the dresser, bits of arts and crafts from school, the box of treasure he assembled from his adventures in the nearby forest – colored stones and other bits that triggered the imagination of a young colt – and, of course, his desk where he spent so many evenings studying.

And the clock…

The clock is unique in the collection as it’s not some bit of fluff from an over-imaginative colt or some detritus from a past class project.

It is obviously very old… It sits on a six-sided base covered in fine filigree metalwork and tiny gems that allow the myriad tiny gears and shafts in the mechanism to peek through. The clock’s face itself is silver, with four concentric rings of runic designs, and polished to a mirror’s shine. The hands that radiate from the middle of the dial are made of bright gold; each ending in a different color of crystal.

It was beautiful to look at; obviously a masterwork from some clockmaker in Canterlot, but what made it most unusual was that it had four hands. The typical hours, minutes, and seconds as any other clock, but with an additional hand for... Date? Year? It was impossible to say.

It also simply refused to keep the correct time… The hands of the clock were perpetually moving, slowly, but without any rhyme or reason that the colt could discern.

He had found it wrapped carefully in thick black velvet and secured in an ironbound oak box, hidden in the hollow of a fallen tree in the forest last spring.

Since he found the clock it has had a place of prominence on his desk, right near the window so that it’s polished face and gems can reflect the sunlight up to the ceiling - where it creates all manner of spectacular patterns and colors. Last summer he spent a great deal of his free time laying in his bed watching the interplay of colors, light, and shadow created by the clock – imagining far off places and deeds of daring do…

He smiles at the memory and reaches out with his magic, adjusting the clock a bit to catch the last rays of the sunset, when it suddenly ignites with a bright flash of radiant colors... Instantly the room fills with light, making the small flecks of dust glint and sparkle as they float gently in the air. Above, on the plaster ceiling, brilliant streaks of orange and yellow light and deep amber shadow dance and shimmer.

He shies backwards a bit in surprise, but the patterns above catch his attention as they dance – such depth to the colors, almost pictures…

He sees the image of a coastal village expanding before him as if he is flying towards it at a high rate of speed. Hundreds of ponies below him appear to be gathering for some sort of party and as he catches a glimpse of a banner; it’s the solstice celebration!

Another flash and the ponies scatter in all directions as the buildings behind them catch fire and burn. To his right ancient standing stones flicker and flash in shades of red and orange as strange creatures crawl up from the ground between them; they are long, thin beasts - like strange dragons with wicked looking spears.

The scene swirls like smoke and is replaced by four concentric rings of strange glowing runes that rotate slowly. One of the runes flashes with a brilliant orange light and the ring is sits upon stops, and then the others begin to spin faster.

He feels so very tired all of a sudden...

Out of nowhere a shadowy black unicorn leaps into his field of view, startling him as her smoky form moves across the ceiling. She prances a bit in agitation, and then lowers her horn and moves menacingly towards the runes. Her horn glows with intense blue green light and the runes dissolve back into formless shapes and colors.

She nods with finality and turns to look at him, holding him transfixed in her emerald green gaze. Her eyes flash and sparkle in the darkness, and he feels the lethargy lift from him.

She releases him, and her expression changes to one of sadness as she tries to say something, her lips moving silently, but he can’t make out the words. Suddenly she turns and leaps into the perceptual distance, vanishing back into the shadows as the scintillating lights fade.

Her eyes… “Mother?”

“So is it just how you remembered it? The room and all…”

The colt blinks and looks around at the room hastily; the fading sunset casts a dim shadow of the window across the desk and floor, and faint splashes of color on the ceiling from the clock – but he sees nothing unusual…

“It’s… It’s, yes, just like I left it. Father? Did you see anything odd just now? I thought – for a moment…”

His father sticks his head in the room and looks around, “Hmm… Nope. The floor could use a bit of sanding and a fresh coat of varnish though. You okay son?”

The colt nods his head; “I’m just a bit giddy from my acceptance, I suppose – tricks of the light…”

His father noses the colt’s shoulder as he turns, “Dinner’s ready. Come on into the kitchen and let’s get caught up - you can tell me all about Canterlot…”

The colt looks around the room once more and quietly mutters to himself, “I’ve always been a bit of a daydreamer, but that – that was something else entirely…”

Metus trotted into his study hurriedly and locked the door behind him with barely a thought, the heavy iron bolt sliding home with a very final clank. He did not want to be disturbed during the task he was about to perform, and had left clear orders to that effect with his steward… The simpleton was generally quite dependable, but this was no time to take unnecessary chances.

He had felt the device this time, as surely as if he’d bumped into it in one of the passages of his manor… Somewhere out there in Equestria the device, “Aeon” it was called, had awoken for a brief moment - and he would find it this time…

He walked around a ring of bookshelves situated along the outer edge of the chamber, each filled to near capacity with ancient works and unusual curiosities. As he walked, his eyes scanned the titles of books the Royal Guard would confiscate in an instant should they be discovered - fortunately, long ago, he'd paid the right people the right favors to alleviate that threat. He halted, mid pace, and horn glowing plucked out a large and very old tome from a shelf near the floor then turned and trotted across the room to his desk with the book floating along next to him. He set the tome down with a thump and began to flick through the pages as he muttered to himself. A quill, glowing with his magic, scratched away at a scrap of parchment next to him as he read.

Occasionally he would stop and examine the parchment, nodding to himself as various bits and pieces of the spell came together, or quickly pacing across the room to fetch yet another ancient book.

After a final flourish of the quill and some more scrutinization of the symbols he had been sketching, he got up and strode towards the center of the room as the most recent book closed with a muffled boom behind him. In the center of the round room was a large nine-pointed star carved deeply into the bare flagstones of the floor, and at each point of the star stood an intricate silver candlestick holding a large black candle.

He extended his will to the wick of the nearest candle, setting it alight with a thought. It jumped to life with a greenish flame that sparkled with it's own magics, and it burned in a smoky, oily fashion with the aroma of exotic incense. Slowly walking around the pattern on the floor, he ignited all the candles in the same manner before taking up a position in the center.

He smiled inwardly; a casting this complex was very dangerous - but seeking great knowledge often required great risks, and he was confident in his abilities.

Head raised, he began to chant in a sharp, guttural language; sounds not normally associated with unicorns flowed forth and his horn flickered with the complex spell. Brow furrowed and ears back, he strove to recall complex verses in the ancient tongue of the dragons, and still maintain control over the energies he drew to himself.

Suddenly he was surrounded by brilliant emerald fire. Dragon fire. The candle flames had expanded to become roaring infernos, charring patches on the ceiling - yet, somehow, he felt only the barest hint of the blast furnace around him. The very air crackled with barely contained eldritch energy that he was about to harness.

He stopped chanting and took a deep breath, clearing his thoughts, and then recited the words he’d just written on the parchment – holding the arcane symbols he’d sketched in his mind’s eye.

“Ieo denenne mesenne che’cai!”

He closed his eyes, visualizing the threads of the spell he was shaping with his will, and with the gentleness of releasing a butterfly he let the symbols flow into the pattern…

And the knowledge he sought appeared in his mind with a force that physically slid him back a pace.

He grunted and leaned forward into a gale of magical energies that assaulted his thoughts with numbing power. He strove to remain as a leaf carried along upon the torrent of arcane power, and not simply be incinerated by it. He had no idea - he was not prepared - he…

No - that line of thought simply would not do...

A feral grimace graced the unicorn's features as he fought for control. Hooves slipping slightly he took one difficult stride back into the center of the spell; the horn upon his brow flared brightly with the effort to control the energies around him. He steadied himself and concentrated on the image floating before his mind's eye, committing it to memory.

His liege was right; the Aeon was immensely powerful…

There was something else, some crucial bit of information that was subtly hidden here - hidden in plain sight and therefore easily overlooked. With the practiced thoughts of a master, he walled off and silenced the small part of his mind not fighting against the titanic powers vying to incinerate his very essence. He gingerly felt around the spell; a nudge, a thought, a careful twist of purpose and the knowledge sprang free...

He winced again as a new image struck him like a hammer blow, but this time he was better prepared for it. As he strove to memorize the fleeting image he gasped, it couldn’t be - it was forbidden! But, there it was nonetheless...

There was a son?

The shock of this caused his control to waver; he began to notice the inferno's heat around him - felt himself being inexorably devoured by the spells in play - it was time to end this.

After the second image had passed his mind’s eye, memorized in every detail he could manage, he quenched the spell - guiding the feedback of an unprepared grounding around him. A ripple of arcane power exploded from the center of the room, blowing loose parchment from the shelves and tables into the air to flutter about like wounded birds for a moment before the intense heat reduced them to fine ash.

The candles instantly went out - their deafening roar and unbearable heat gone in the instant from one heartbeat to the next - and a deathly chill permeated the room in the inferno’s absence. There was an utter, complete silence as Metus stood in the center of the room - legs splayed and head bowed in exhaustion as fine ash fell like snow. But he wore a wicked smile despite it all.

The spell was over. He had the knowledge he needed and then some.

The silence was broken by laughter…

After dinner the colt tells his father of the wonders of Canterlot, the capital city of Equestria, and the home of the Princess Celestia. He waves with his hooves as he talks, emphasizing the grand scale of it all – the lofty spires hundreds of feet tall and the great halls that are large enough to hold a thousand ponies. He talks about the expansive parks, the decorative promenades, and all the shops and homes that line the streets there.

He describes in great detail the Royal Observatory, with its truly massive telescope and even more massive golden dome - which can be seen miles away from the capital. It is the center of Equestrian astronomy, a topic that has always fascinated the young colt, and even the walls inside the building are festooned with astronomical charts – some even created by Celestia herself. He then tells his father about the Great Library, the largest building in Canterlot, with its massive stained glass windows and acres of shelves and tables. And then he talks about the castle proper, and the very fancy ponies that come and go from there day and night. And just how many ponies seem to live in Canterlot…

“And my quarters at the school are huge; there’s a bedroom, a study, the bath, and even a small alcove for making snacks. And there’s a big fountain out front with some famous pony on it… Though there are a lot of fountains, and art everywhere – tapestries and banners and statues… The student rooms are right off this great big plaza where we all, the students I mean, get together and discuss classes and things... And… Well, I’ve just never seen anything like the place!”

His father nods with a smile and a raised eyebrow, “Sounds very … big.”

“And, and –“ the colt pauses for a moment and looks quizzical, “it’s funny how things are kind of backwards there… Everyone in my class is a unicorn, except for this one earth pony named Hawthorne – and she’s there because her talent with growing stuff is really, really powerful and they think she might need training to control it. But, the other ponies in class can be so mean to her… I’ve been kinda sticking up for her because I know what it’s like being different…”

He pauses another moment, thinking of things his father might be interested in hearing about, and then suddenly sits bolt upright. “Oh, and the Princess! I have to tell you about her!” The colt looks completely smitten, “She’s so beautiful… I saw her the night I went to the Grand Galloping Gala!”

The stallion looks skeptical as he interrupts, “You went to the Gala?”

The colt looks a bit sheepish, “Well, I didn’t actually go to the Gala… I figured it was far too uppity of an affair for little old me – I mean, I don’t own anything half as fancy as them folks was wearin’. But I did volunteer to help out by pushing the desert cart around, cause it needed doin’, and everypony else in class said they was too busy. Like you say Father, ‘ain’t nothin’ so unimportant that someone ain’t gotta do it.’”

His father chuckles a bit. He’s always found it endearing how his son gets just a touch of country twang when he gets worked up.

“So I was pushing the cart down a hallway and there she was, just walkin’ past towards one of them curvy staircases with about ten of those really fancy ponies in tow… They was all talkin’, but I don’t think she was listenin’ and she looked somehow – tired, maybe even a little sad.” He pauses a moment, as if remembering something fondly, “And I remember thinking to myself that she really needed to have more fun, because it was her party and all, and it just didn’t seem fair that them fancy ponies weren’t lettin’ her have any fun…”

“And she just stopped, right then and there, like she’d been turned to stone or something – and them fancy ponies all ended up in a big pile as they each tried to make sure they didn’t bump into her.” He laughs, “Anyways she turned and looked at me like I’d said something… She’s got the most amazing eyes…”

The colt just kind of hangs on that thought a moment, staring off at something only he can see – until the stallion quietly clears his throat.

The colt jumps, “Oh! Sorry…” and looks sheepish again; “Anyways she walked over to me to get some of that flavored ice stuff they have in Canterlot – which is really awesome by the way.” He shakes his head, “She knew my name Father – just, out of the blue; never seen me before ever, and there she was, the Princess of Equestria, chatting with me like she was our nearest neighbor.” He laughs, “And boy did it fluster them fancy ponies. I could see they was tryin’ to figure out if I was someone important.”

“Anyways, she’s so – big! Bigger than you even! And regal and powerful and, her mane and tail are – wow, and well, she just can’t be explained really. I could feel her though, like a really powerful spell - it’s like she is magic.” He pauses for a breath; “Everyone in class says she’s immortal and has been ruling Equestria for thousands of years, and that she moves the sun and the moon across the sky…”

The colt yawns a bit, “I’ve never seen anypony quite like her. She’s so very nice though – you’d like her... Have you ever met the Princess father?”

His father nods slowly, “Yes – a long time ago…”

The colt’s eyes go wide, “You have? Does she really live forever? Why is she so big? She’s got wings and a horn, how’s that happen?”

His father chuckles and holds up his forehooves to stave off the questions, “Easy, easy… It was a long time ago, before you were born even, and I was only in the room during a discussion. But, you look like you’ve had enough for one day – it’s a long trot from the train station to here after all. Why don’t you turn in and I’ll get this here mess cleaned up. We can talk more in the mornin’.”

He adds with another laugh, “Besides, there’s work that needs doin’ and we country ponies get up mighty early for you city folk.”

“Aww, c’mon father,” the colt yawns again, “I’ve only been gone for the winter… Not sure if that qualifies me as city just yet.” But he nods sleepily and gets up to head for his room.

A half hour passes as the father gets the kitchen cleaned up in silence, it’s obvious that he’s got things on his mind as he hangs the dishtowel and extinguishes the lantern on the table.

He walks into the main room; pale, silvery light from the full moon outside streams through the windows and lights the room. The painting above the mantle shines in the cold white light that chases the colors from everything save the mare’s green eyes.

He looks up at the painting, “He needs to know... I made you that promise, the promise that he’d know - when he was old enough… He’ll be gone back to Canterlot in a week, and he’s not a colt any longer no matter how young he looks to me...”

He turns and heads for the door, “I’ll tell ‘im tomorrow… I sure hope he takes it well – it’s a doozy of a tale darlin’.” And he is gone from the room.

In the silence the emerald green eyes of the mare in the painting flash and flicker for a brief moment…

The mornings do in fact come very early on a working farm.

Just as the sun broke the horizon, before even the rooster was awake, the smell of pancakes was drifting leisurely through the house. The scent of cinnamon and spices tickled at the sleeping colt’s mind, prompting formless dreams to make way for basic hungry.

The colt yawns widely as he stumbles into the kitchen. He weaves a bit, blinking in the light, before plopping down on the bench opposite of his father. “Apple cinnamon pancakes?”

The stallion folds down the top half of his morning paper and looks over the square glasses perched on his muzzle, “You sound surprised…”

“Well… It’s just that you never…”

“Never cook?”

The colt nods as a small container of syrup on the counter is surrounded in a field of magic and lifts gently into the air. The glass flask floats over to the table where the colt plucks it from the air and pours a bit of the sticky sweet stuff on his stack of pancakes. “You always say you can burn water, so I always do the cooking…”

“Well, with you bein’ gone all winter I decided to see what I could do in here. Found I kinda liked cookin’…" He laughs, "It sure beats grass sandwiches three times a day.”

The colt chuckles and grabs a bite, and his eyes go wide as the sweet apple and cinnamon flavors dance on his tongue… His father was right; this certainly did beat grass sandwiches!

“Wow!” the colt exclaims around a mouthful, “This is really good!”

The stallion laughs, “Glad ya like ‘em. I can’t take all the credit though - its Maybell’s recipe. You remember her? From up the road apiece? Who would’a thought I’d have something to talk about with that old hen…”

The colt grins at the thought of his father in his work harness, and Maybell in her ever-present blue sun hat, swapping pancake recipes across a picket fence. The mirth would have to wait though; more pressing matters were on the colts mind - mainly devouring his breakfast.

After breakfast is done, the kitchen is cleaned, and the other morning rituals completed, they meet outside.

They both stand in front of the house in the low morning sun; the father with his draft horse proportions, close-cropped mane and short tail - and the colt, almost as tall, but with his wild mane and tail. But the colt is far thinner - almost frail by comparison.

That they could be related, and yet so different, was just one of the many wonders of Equestrian genetics.
It was nearly impossible to determine Equestrian lineage from looks alone; they tended to be a kaleidoscope of color possibilities, and there was a completely random chance of inheriting all, part, or none of the parent’s coloration. Added to this was the fact that any foal from any pairing could be any one of the three types of pony - earth, pegasi, and unicorn… Family lines could get very complex, very quickly.

This didn’t pose too much of an issue within their close-knit families. But as a society it tended to force a pony to stand on their own merits when away from home - for there was no way to look at somepony and know anything more than what one was told and, perhaps, something from their cutie mark.

Ponies, by and large, simply couldn't do stereotypes...

The elder sizes up the younger - it seems like just a few months ago his little black and white colt barely came to his chest, and now he was nearly full grown. Like all Equestrians, the colt was walking within hours and was nearly the size he is now in just a few short years; and wouldn't show any real signs of aging until his last decade or so. This tended to make all Equestrians look to be about the same age. But, to the stallion, it seems like such a short time has passed as his foal grew up…

He stops his reminiscing and gets focused on the day ahead. “So… I need to get the south field plowed and ready for planting, and I need to get into town and pick up the roofing supplies I ordered a month ago - that mill’ll fall down this spring from rot if I don’t get that there roof patched up. Think I can get ya to take the cart into town and pick up those supplies?”

The colt looks out over the acres of field for a moment, then turns with a reassuring expression, “Why don’t I get the south field plowed and you take it easy today and go visit in town? I can handle that old plow, no problem…”

The stallion raises an eyebrow, “I don’t know… You really think you can handle that plow? It’s mighty heavy for such a…” He stops himself with a cough - noting the colt’s expression, “such a - hot day…”

The colt nods, “I’ve walked beside you for years now father; I know the depth and the angle, and how to do the turns, and - I’m not so little anymore!”

His father considers for a moment before nodding. “Well, if you think it’s that easy I don’t see why not - that and I’ve not just wandered the isles of the hardware store in a long while... Though, I still think ya might be a bit too citified now for that old plow - ya know, that soft livin’ in Canterlot and all.” he adds with a wink.

The colt laughs, “I’ll show you ‘citified’ you old nag!” and he bolts off towards the plow shed, handily dodging the playful kick from his father.

His father shouts after the him, “I should be back right before lunch… This ‘old nag’ would have the south done by then - can you manage as well oh mighty unicorn wizard?” He laughs as he hitches himself up to the cart and heads out - over the rise and out of sight.

The colt chuckles, “Unicorn Wizard… I’ll show him!”

In the shaded interior of the shed the colt stands and stares at the old plow. It slumbers peacefully, highlighted in a shaft of early morning light that spills from a high window. It is a massive machine; the wheels are as tall as he is, and the whole contraption is easily three times wider to accommodate the two offset plow blades. It is made entirely of old oak and forged iron, and looks to weigh as much as a house…

He gulps, wondering what his boasting has brought him.

The colt walks around the plow to stand between the traces and carefully magics the pulling harness over his head. The harness itself is quite large for him, being made for his father’s width of neck and chest - but he makes due. And after a few moments of buckles and clips, he leans into the collar to get things rolling...

And absolutely nothing happens. The plow doesn’t even so much as squeak with his effort...

He shakes his head, “It can’t be that heavy!” It is right about then he notices the blocks of wood in front of the wheels…

Feeling a bit foalish, and happy his father isn’t around to see, he magics the blocks out of the way and staggers forward as the plow settles on its wheels.

The colt leans into the weight, hooves scrabbling on the hard pack dirt for purchase, and slowly he gets the massive metal and wood contraption moving. He guides it carefully out of the shed, past the house, and down the path to the south field.

He trots along happily with the plow in tow. The sunrise is beautiful this morning, a cool breeze plays amongst the trees that ring the property, and the wild birds have begun their day in song. As he heads down the shallow grade towards the bottom of the south field he grins widely. “See, I told him this would be easy…”

Nearing the end of the path that divides the fields he quickly discovers a bit of a problem; stopping the plow once it is moving is another matter entirely from getting it moving in the first place.

He overshoots the end of the south field at a pretty good clip, shouting “Whoa! Whoa you infernal contraption! Whoa!” Despite locking his forelegs and practically sitting down, all he manages to do is create four long furrows in the path that lead into the rough at the end. He quickly finds himself a fair ways past the end of the path and belly deep in weeds – and still attached to his current object of hatred; the plow.

He scowls, “This is hopeless! How am I ever going to manage this thing?” He lays his ears back and snorts once, then digging deep he pulls, twists, hops, and brute forces the plow out of the rough and into the south field.

The colt pants and rests a moment as he looks over the expansive south field. From this vantage point it looks huge - far bigger than he thought it was... And his ears go out to the sides as the enormity of his task sets in. “I’ll be at this for a week – at least…” he mutters.

Sighing, he unhitches himself to walk around the plow. He recites the settings for the machine from memory as he magics the various parts into alignment. “Set the depth just so, the angle has to be like this…” Once satisfied he’s got everything set right, he hitches himself back up and heaves the lumbering monstrosity into motion…

A couple hours pass as the colt makes pass after slow pass across the field. Eyes to the earth he concentrates on putting one hoof in front of the other, keeping his lines straight, and getting the job done. After all it was his boasting that got him into this - he hopes enough hard work can get him out of it again…

He strains at the harness, sweat flecking across his shoulders and chest as the plow bites into the field, turning it to the side and creating that fresh, loamy earthy smell that is so much a part of his foalhood. Another row, another turn, and back the way he came…

From the corner of his eye he sees his shadow next to him as he struggles with the plow. Another, fainter shadow is superimposed over his; immense and taking strong, measured strides - his father.

Every year his father would plow, and sow, and reap, and mill while the colt tended to his schoolwork. His father repaired the house, fixed fences, and hauled stones for the foundation of the forge while the colt sat in classrooms and dipped quills in ink.

It didn’t seem very fair and was something he’d bring up on occasion with his father, but he’d always say, “You’re meant for bigger things Tenebrae” or “We all do what we can do in kind - yours is a different calling.”

Another row, another turn, and back the way he came…

His shadow plods along with him, now on the other side; its steps echoing his own motions as he drags the plow through the earth. Suddenly out of nowhere a sharp whip crack sound echoes across the field. A sharp pain lances across his left haunch making him jump both physically and mentally - snapping him right out of his wool gathering.

He looks around the field, and then up at the sun - which is much higher now… And the job is only part way done…

Looking back he sees the left trace has snapped, cleanly split in two, and that was what lashed his flank. His heart sinks. “Well, there’s no way I can get this done before lunch now…”

“Or is there?”

He ponders, “The busted trace means I can’t pull the plow, but perhaps I can magic the plow along… I’ve never tried to move anything this heavy though.”

He nods, “But if I don’t get it done father will have to do it, and he’s got so many other things that he needs to do...”

The colt squares himself up, plants his hooves firmly, points his horn at the plow and concentrates…

Magic is one half knowing what you want, being able to clearly focus on your intentions, and the other half is having the will to make it happen.

Since last spring he’s had plenty of will – his latent magical ability was actually fairly potent for one so young - but he’s always had problems with focus. That’s what he would be learning in Canterlot starting next week – focus. But that would be then, and this was now; right here in this field it all came down to him being able to make this spell work…

He begins by closing his eyes and holding the image of the plow in his mind. He then carefully adds the action of using it to harrow the field - and hears the plow creak as his power begins to fill it. A small bead of sweat trickles around his horn and down his muzzle.

He strains as the mass and weight of the plow forces his hooves deeper into the soil, his efforts to empower it pressing back against him. He can see, through closed eyes, the thin filaments of magic; pale blue streaks of light like so many fireflies swirl around the plow as he spins the spell.

The image flickers and blurs before him, the strain of the spell causing him to lose that precious focus and he can feel his control of the magic slipping…

In his thoughts he wanders back in time - to all those years of coming down the road from town, returning home from school and seeing the fields done, or the fences mended, or more work done on the mill. He remembers the feeling of wanting to help his father, but being too small - too weak.

And here, now, years later and practically full grown, he was still too small and too weak. Once again he had failed, once again he won’t be able to finish the task he’d set himself to; and his father would have to work harder for it - to fix the plow, and then finish the harrowing…

The spell had to work! He grits his teeth and much like getting the plow out of the rough at the end of the path in the first place, he digs deep...

Bright lights flash in his vision as he squints from the strain and pours himself into the spell, opting for brute force over finesse. If his focus was going to fail him, his will certainly would not – he would not allow it to. The horn upon his brow flashes and flickers, sparking fitfully as unshaped magic fluoresces and falls from it. He pushes harder yet, reaching his limits through sheer force of will. His world draws inward, his vision being reduced to a tunnel of bright light surrounded by darkness…

His knees buckle; the strain simply too much for him to withstand. The magic he called forth flows back into the world around him, like pouring water back into a pool, and leaves him empty. He dimly feels himself fall onto the freshly turned earth as everything goes black.

A gentle female voice whispers in his ear: “The truth - you must know who you are…”

The field is gone - it simply ceased to exist between heartbeats. Suddenly he is lying with his nose between his forelegs in the tall, cool grass of a nighttime hillside.

He raises his head and blinks; above him the twinkling blue-black dome of the heavens imperceptibly turns, while low on the horizon the disk of a full moon casts the world in shades of blue and silver.

He immediately thinks this is some sort of dream - perhaps a hallucination brought on from wrestling with that old plow. But the spot on his flank still smarts from where the trace got him, and he's never heard of a dream where your flank hurts...

Looking around though, he notes he's never seen anywhere quite like this either. From here on the highest hill around, all he can see in any direction is just more dark rolling hills dotted with tall silver trees. In the far distance he can just make out the sparkle of a river as it winds its way through the serene landscape. Above him, at the very crest of this hill, sits an enormous oak tree; its broad branches holding a sea of silvery leaves that seem to shine with their own inner light. The leaves sway slowly in the cool currents of the evening breeze.

And suddenly standing next to the tree, as if she had been standing there for eternity and had simply gone unnoticed, is a tall unicorn mare with the deepest black coat and the most amazing green eyes. Her long ebon mane and tail float on the gentle breeze; around her neck a thin golden chain holds a single teardrop shaped diamond that flashes as she breathes.

He knows this mare – and his voice catches in his throat; “M – Mother?”

She nods once and smiles, “Oh Tenebrae, you have no idea how long I’ve waited…”

He surges up onto his hooves and takes a cautious step towards her - craning his neck forward, ears perked... "Is this? Are you ... real?"

She returns the gesture - gently touching his nose with her own; it is warm, velvety, and very alive. “Yes, I am real - enough…”

She steps forward suddenly, dropping her head over his withers and hugging him to her chest with her neck - her tears wetting his mane. In an instant memories flash before him; looking up into her smile, her tender and loving touch, and the gentle smell of - her. He breathes in her scent, like that of rain clouds and lightning... Yes, she is real enough...

He sighs into her mane, “If this is a dream, I don’t want to ever wake up…”

“This is a dream, but your father would be heartbroken if you didn’t awaken…”

“So I really am dreaming…”

She doesn’t want to, but she lets him go, “Well, yes - and no… It is hard to explain without knowing a bit more about what this actually is,” she motions with her head indicating the hills and trees, “But, for now, know that this too is real enough.”

“Tenebrae, we do not have much time, but for this moment - I... just want to look at you.”

She smiles at him as they stand there under massive oak, and he can feel the love in her gaze.

“You’ve certainly grown” she says after a moment or two, “you must be nearly as tall as your father now.”

Tenebrae nods, “He speaks of you often - he misses you very much.”

She raises her head and looks into the distance behind him, at things only she can see. The moonlight edges her dark form with silver, and he can see the tension in her long neck as she struggles to contain her emotions. “I - miss him too Tenebrae… How is he?”

“He would say he’s ‘fair to middlin’ I expect.” The colt says with a smile.

She chuckles as she looks into the past, “You sound like him you know…” She looks back to him, “Tell him when you see him shortly that his mad mare misses him will you?”

Tenebrae nods.

He looks at her, his eyes huge in the moonlight, and she can tell he has so many unanswered questions – so many things he wants to ask and say. She sighs, “I want so much to tell you everything, to learn all about you and your life, but there is no time - they search for you...” She leans in and nuzzles his forelock a bit, “We must be quick.”

Her seeming to know his thoughts gives him pause, and he looks at her with a touch of confusion.

She turns, takes a few steps away to stand next to the oak tree, and once again looks out into the distance. “Your father would never tell you who I really am, to protect you from certain - truths. But the Aeon has found you - as have they, and now you must now know...”

She sighs, “I worry that what I am about to show you will seal your fate Tenebrae, but to withhold myself - to not show you who your mother truly is - would be to lie to you further… And I cannot do that now.”

She lowers her head, an expression of sadness; “You never asked for any of this - it was my own petty greed, my desire to keep my immortality at any cost that has placed you in peril… And for that I am truly sorry…”

He can hear the doubt and sadness in her voice. “Mother? I... I don’t understand…”

She turns again to face him, her emerald green eyes steady on his… And she suddenly grows larger; bright blue and green highlights flow and twist hypnotically in her dark mane and tail, which now float gently on currents that are contrary to the light breeze stirring the leaves. Her horn grows long, a twisted spire of ebony that rises from her brow and shimmers with its own iridescent light. Finally she spreads her wings, stretching them to their full ten meter span and flaring the primaries a bit before folding them carefully back against her body.

Her change takes him by complete surprise, so much so the typically wordy colt can only utter a quiet “Whoa…”

“I can only imagine this is quite the shock…” Her voice is the same, but it carries something – more – now, a quiet authority that even her best ‘mother voice’ could not approach. And much like his brief encounter with Celestia, he can feel her presence like that of a powerful spell given form.

He nods, and then narrows his eyes. “Mother?”

She nods, “I am.”

“But - you’re like Celestia.”

She nods again, “You could say that - though of that pair I would think Luna and I are more alike.” Before he can speak she shakes her head and dismisses the question, “Who she is, is not important right now…”

She gracefully walks back and stands before him - looking down upon him from her greater height. “It’s important that you know who you are, and more importantly - who they are.” She leans forward with her long graceful neck and touches her horn lightly to the center of his chest for a brief moment, “You carry a part of me within you, and that makes you a danger to their plans.”

Raising her head she looks back into his eyes, “We have no time… There is always so little time – even when one exists forever… Always know that no matter how dark the night, no matter how dire the danger, that I am always with you dearest of my heart. Tell your father that you know the truth - he can tell you more…”

She suddenly looks off into the distance, her ears twitch as if hearing something he did not; she stomps a forehoof out of frustration and her horn glows slightly. “They are close. I cannot keep you hidden much longer…”

She looks back to him, her presence changing from that of 'mother' to something else, something tall and regal and - very ancient. “I give you the only gift I can for the trials ahead my little one.” She raises her head and her horn glows brightly as she speaks; words he feels as much as hears are spoken. They are not loud words, but he can feel this place hum with them nonetheless; ”What little of my power lives in you, I give to you as yours – may your wisdom guide my light Tenebrae Lux, my Light in the Darkness…”

Those words, like a spell woven, banish the glamour and she is gone. The mighty oak, the hills, the trees, and the moon and stars - all of it whirls away into the darkness.

He is floating, somewhere. He cannot see anything and isn’t even sure if he’s right way up.

It begins as a warm sensation that fills him, as if for his entire life he’d been missing some piece that here, now, had finally fallen into place. The sensation of finally being complete fills a yearning he’s felt for as long as he can remember - but could not understand.

The sky above the partially harrowed field darkens as the forces swirling around the colt lash his mane and tail. He rises gently from the earth and hangs there limply, arcs of power spilling from him back into the ground around him. Small clumps of earth rise around him from the field as the power builds. Even the plow lifts slightly…

His mind whirls; the painting of his mother and her green eyes, the immortal standing before him with her warm loving smile, the fields of home, the fields of her sanctuary, the clock, his father…

He sees the fields of his past through closed eyes - last fall as he left for Canterlot, there, before him - in every detail, but as if through an imperfect window. He reaches out with his senses to touch the illusion of home that hangs before him - and the place he is now pops like a soap bubble.

The meeting with his mother fades from him, like awakening from a dream - it was all so real, but was it? He feels like he’s looking down on the two of them as they talked, and they are moving away from him. He can only hear her last words:

”What little of my power lives in you, I give to you as yours - may your wisdom guide my light Tenebrae Lux, my Light in the Darkness…”

A ripple of magic moves outward from the colt, washing over the field in a gentle blue white flash of radiance.

And as quickly as it began, everything returns to normal: The colt settles slowly back onto the ground, the radiance fades, the clumps of earth fall to the ground, the plow settles back into the field, and the sky clears…

Tenebrae gasps as if he’s been holding his breath and opens his eyes. He’s lying in a bit of a heap in his father’s field, looking at the wheel of the plow he was just trying to move…

“What the…”

He clambers back to his hooves and shakes the loose dirt from his coat, wincing a bit as he shakes his head to settle his mane, “Ow! Yeah, that was a bit too much… But, what a dream…”

He examines the plow and his ears go out to the sides, “I guess enchanting the plow is right out…” Walking around to the shady side of the plow he flops down on the ground and ponders what to do next…

But the dream he had gnaws at him. He tries to grasp some part of it, some tiny bit to hang onto so he can reel in the rest - but it is like smoke, and just as elusive. He remembers seeing her as an immortal, her saying that they had found him, whoever they were… And something about her gift to him – whatever that was…

Then as quickly he was back here in the field - a dream? Some bit of hallucination brought on from his exertions and frustrations with the plow?

But there was something urgent about the whole ordeal - something he needed to know…

While the colt struggles to recall the dream, he doesn’t hear his father’s approach… “Well, it appears you have things well in hoof Tenebrae…”

The colt literally leaps a meter into the air out of surprise and lands splay legged and looking like he’d just seen the pale mare herself.

“Father! I - it…” and all of his words come out in a rush; “the trace broke and I had to get the field done but I couldn’t fix the trace so I tried to use magic but it didn’t work and I’m sorry … I didn’t want to let you down…”

His father laughs. “I can see where you put your best effort into the task down there” the stallion nods in the direction of the bottom of the field, “and I see where that old trace I’ve been meaning to replace broke on you” he looks, “and left quite the welt.”

His father walks over and begins inspecting the plow, “You always worry too much Tenebrae – you did a great job and we’ll finish it up after lunch easy enough. I got a new set of traces for this 'ere plow while I was in town, so don’t worry 'bout it – there weren’t nothin’ to be done 'bout it - my fault really for putting off replacin' the trace in the first place.”

He removes the rest of the harness from the plow with practiced skill, “But, it’s important to know how to do a job the right way, and typically the hard way, a'fore using shortcuts to make it easier – and you did that. You’re old enough now that ya know when to use your power to ease a task and when to simply put your shoulder into it. Them city-bred unicorns would have started off with magic right away and just made a mess of things…”

His father turns and throws the broken harness over his back with a toss of his head, “Makes me happy ta know that when the day comes that you can magic that old plow – and that day will be soon you mark my words – you’ll not take the easy way out and shirk the job at hoof. Now, let’s get up to the house for lunch – I brought back some fresh blueberry pie.”

Tenebrae smiles and trots after him.