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Throughout the ages we have dreamt of a past we cannot recall.

What manner of chastisement is this to which we have been subjected.

The dreamers dream of memories lost, their own.

- Anonymous

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I

I must write in this tome to preserve the events which have befallen me, before they are lost in the melting sanity of my mind. How foolish I was to not see beyond the veil of reality. To see the beings who dwell behind the curtains, to know them, to become them. Such an abominable thought that is--

This document will contain all recollections I can set down. I hope that this will allow me come to terms with what may or may not have been the truth. What I am about set forth not only has bonds to Equestria, but also to the origins of The Elements of Harmony. Do not think my recounting of these events to be the ravings of a mad stallion. Instead, treat these words as a first account testimony. As the words of witness, to the tireless efforts of a most terrifying influence. To those who find this tale, do not follow in my hoofsteps. To give clarity into my actions, I must take you back to the circumstances I grew into.

I was born and raised in Canterlot to parents who were significant members in the Unicorn Aristocratic Society. An insufferable group of Unicorns who flaunted an air of superiority, demeaning any they saw as insignificant. Needless to say, I was born into wealth and privilege. My relationship with my parents was not one of tenderness, I had always felt more of an investment between two parties than a beloved son. There was little time for any emotional bond between us. My father was often occupied in his work documenting inventors, while mother held a prestigious position as a tutor to the private sector.

Ever since I was a foal, I was troubled by night terrors and waking hallucinations. I spent many nights in the grip of these horrors. On the most rare of occasions, my mother would hear my cries. Entering my chambers, she would show me the only memories I have of her endearment. Her touch was like static skittering through me as she stroked my mane, whispering a soft lullaby in an ancient tongue. Her command of this foreign language was melodious and soothing to my shaken heart.

These visions have had a devastating effect on my psyche. I had always buried them under the weight of my studies, yet there were times when nothing could dissuade their will. I had always been a lone soldier in the constant battle that waged inside my tattered mind. To my father I would have appeared weak, afflicted with a pox that only those under our namesake would possess. I could not divulge such to my mother, her rare appearances at night to comfort me would have eventually led to suspicion of my mental state. My pen is heavy in my focus, I pursue the words that will not come forth. If I only knew--

Having now discovered the origin of these visions and the authority they carry, I am beyond shock. My thread in the tapestry woven by this force is greatly significant, but I still cannot fathom its importance. My parents were obviously concerned with my nightmares as I was always kept away from the eyes of the public. Nopony outside of my parents’ strict social circle was ever allowed in my company. This was due in part of ponies that showed signs of mental illness, vanishing. Questions to their whereabouts were met with quick denials. They were often spoken of vacationing at some unnamed resort. Looking back on their actions I can see easily how this would appear as sincere on my behalf. If only--

One of the many credos of my guardians was to put the family name first. It was unbecoming of me to tarnish our Unicorn crest with signs of mental instability. Illness of the mind was segregated to the lesser ponies of Equestria. In fear of expulsion, I learned to hide my feelings from society. I was terrified to be cast out of my home. To be forced to live amongst those my parents deemed under our kind. In an attempt to convince myself that the visions were only unfounded fantasy, I began to write my experiences within two journals.

I mention two journals. The second is hidden deep in the repository of my estate. The first met with an unfortunate accident. To say the least, my father destroyed it. He claimed the purpose for the destruction of my words was for my own protection. I now understand the brevity of his declaration. But during my more impressionable years, I had always been doubtful of his intentions. The contents of the first journal were innocent to me. Nothing more than the detailed passages of dreams and scattered doodles. Regardless, I respected his word.

He was adamant, that if these words were found by the underclass it would be disastrous to the household. He did not wish me to stop this practice, he was a documentarian himself. The mark he bore was was that of an inkwell and quill. He specialized in recording magical and scientific inventions for all of Canterlot. He only wished discretion in my writings.

Promising to comply with his wishes, I came up with a compromise. I would author my thoughts without a date, never naming anypony or specific location. If ever it was found by a group of fools, our family would be clear of public scorn. More importantly, I would not mysteriously vanish to the aforementioned resort. My parents held many social gatherings with dignitaries from their Unicorn society. I was welcome amongst the gathering but I was often found hiding on the fringes of noble chatter. In one instance I overheard two aristocrats whispering tales of a ‘vacationing’ noble. One could easily deduce the truth behind their fulsome diction. With such a truth I closeted the pains into my journal. I was entombed within the brickwork of my parents’ home. I've led a sheltered life. Locked away from the accusing eyes of a world that would deem me unfit.

From the most tender ages I was drawn to the unknown. I showed considerable promise in the fields of astronomy and arcane translation. When I peered through the lens of my father's telescope, I was spellbound. Contained within the heavens was a power exceeding the understanding of anypony. I became envious of the ancients of our world. They had witnessed the mysterious eclipse long before me. Seen the dusted comets paint the night sky with their tails of ice. They stood in speechless-awe in the dancing glow of the aurora. They built their societies, languages and incantations drawn from the constellations. Harnessed the innate magical properties of the heavenly bodies. The majesty of creation, the destructive violence, the infinite capacity. How this all felt familiar to me. I had a compelling need to understand the magnificence of the cosmos, so began my studies. I found that the more I occupied my mind in the texts of old, the less intense my visions became. It had become easier to sustain a semblance of normality as their intensity subsided into strange, kaleidoscopic recollections. No longer were they torturous and chaotic shambles of horrific images. Instead they became images of other worlds, populated by creatures which defied my understanding.

As I grew into a young colt, I thirsted for knowledge. An entire world existed beyond the ivy entangled brick of my home. One evening, I petitioned my parents to attend a more public station of education. This request was immediately dismissed. My father insisted that my education would fall to their tutoring, he and mother shall school me in the ancient arcane. Their goal was to retain their principle, 'purity of mind'. The true reasoning behind this private tutoring? To shelter me from the pandering influence of the Sub-Unicorn integration. To retain the highest noble mind that was unclouded by the fetter that has crept into the Canterlot education system.

I accepted his explanation; he was my father and his word was law. How detestable you must find me now, yet do understand, this was the only world I have ever known. The library in my homestead was filled with books. A massive collection containing the unique knowledge of ancient civilizations. The words of their scholars, scientists and astronomers were all priceless. Not that you could not put a price on knowledge, but In certain circles, shady deals are not uncommon. No other collection in all of Equestria could parallel the catalog my father had assembled. Not even the Royal Canterlot Library was in the same league.

I became a recluse within the boundless halls of my father's library. You may claim my rearing to be the product of a xenophobic ideology, unrealistic and prejudice in its sense of superiority. I'd submit to those who expressed such a declaration, yet truthfully, public interaction did not appeal to me. My world existed strictly within the considerable repository of my birthplace. The manuscripts there filled my mind with knowledge beyond that of any professor in Equestria's schools.

During these times I began to feel an emptiness grow within the heart of my being. As my intellect blossomed, so did the chasm grow, becoming an all encompassing void. I could not describe this feeling in my journal with any other word. I could only describe it as such, a void. Regardless, I wished to become an unrivaled force in my chosen field of study. My mind became a forge, smelting ingots of knowledge that nopony could fathom. My exhaustive efforts culminated in a doctorates degree. Despite being privately tutored, I was awarded honor status from the College of Magic. The plaque still hangs on the wall in my chambers.

Most Unicorns used their magic in conjunction with their chosen craft. Sculpting, fashion, or other such trades. The strength of my magic was elementary at best, I could perform the most menial of tasks uninhibited. But I harnessed my powers to the understanding of ancient text and cosmic knowledge. Certainly a niche practice, but this skill was one that I held over any Unicorn in Equestria. During my commemoration, the applause of my peers had little effect upon me. I smiled, thanked the headmaster, then promptly exited the auditorium. Any stallion who was granted such an accolade would have reveled in this acceptance. Yet I only felt estrangement.

After the acceptance of my accolade, I received many invitations to various schools and social gatherings. I responded to these invitations with immediate dismissal. The lies I wove for my absence were the product of my mask of normality. I could not shake the feeling that my conception was from another time. I was an alien of pure mind, within the algae of cultural mediocrity. The chauvinistic dogma of my parents made me apprehensive to the outside world. I watched the city change as the days went by, and I could not find a place for myself within it's cocoon. I was alone.

Shortly after my commemoration, a dreadful affliction fell upon my father. I cannot explain to you in detail the nature of his illness. In retrospect, I am partly ashamed how I handled this turn of events. I felt not sympathy for my sire, but an unbridled animosity. How dare he saddle me with the affairs of his estate. All I wished, was to wander the hidden grove of bound parchment. Escaping into the words of historical scholars, sheltered from the intoxication of the world.

No more than a fortnight passed before the lord of the manor expelled his last breath. The air within the lord's room was somber as I entered. The servants of his care were standing against the far wall in an attempt to give his heir a semblance of privacy. Their sadness was cut deeply upon their faces, but I was a rock. My heart towards this stallion was as onyx as the stones in the foundation. I felt a sudden swell inside me as I stood over his emaciated face. How peaceful he appeared in this state. The look upon his face was one of acceptance, as if he had finally completed his task in life. The face of tenderness, features which were never bestowed upon me while he was of this Earth. Perhaps I was a disappointment. Were not my achievements in accordance to his ideology? Did he see me as a Sub-Unicorn? One of those he vehemently demeaned during his rants at dinners and council? I could not understand my feelings as I looked upon the lifeless Unicorn.

My eyes burned into the husk of my sire. A fire ignited inside me, a volcano rising from the void, a torrent of distemper ready to erupt. I began to taste the coppery residue of blood upon my tongue from biting my lip. The stinging pain was a reflex distraction to squelch my anger. The fire inside me was suddenly doused as my glazed eyes noticed a strange marking on my father's neck. I pulled down the heavy duvet. His thinned gray coat could not hide the faint line upon his hide. It traced all around his crest, as if he were lassoed. His struggles against the rope burning this line into his hide. I didn't think anything of it as I set the cover back and looked towards the servants. They would not look towards me, perhaps the fire in my eyes dissuaded their curiosity. After a moment I turned and left the room to the care of the servants.

The statuesque constitution of my mother endured time like a portrait, or so I thought. She grew feeble within the days of my father's passing. Her once unyielding mind seemed to crumble, I could only assume it was due to the burden of her bereavement. I found myself at an impasse when it came to her care. The tenderness she rarely showed me during my rearing I could not emulate for her. Unable to care for her myself and continue my studies uninterrupted, I searched for a suitable compromise. I managed to secure a small domicile outside of Canterlot. The previous owner was more than willing to take the generous coin of nobility. I sent my mother to this villa. I would not leave her helpless of course. She was accompanied by a throng of custodians who would cater to her needs.

I now sought the convenience of my father’s attorneys to handle the details of my father’s trusts. I callously etched my signature into the documents they placed before me. Endless statements of charitable contributions; shares and trustee approvals. The only one that left any impression, was that which pertained to the transfer of my stature. To become the lord of manor. Of the six servants in care of the estate, I dismissed all but two. Their only appointments were to maintain the manor's day by day affairs as designated by their trades. It was not long thereafter that silence filled the halls of my birthplace. The crux of my studies was the limitless capital my father had built since before my conception. My knowledge of economics were comparable to that of a mentally encumbered pony. I left the financial integrity of my estate in more capable hooves. Namely, the treasurer in standing at the Royal Bank of Canterlot.

The calendar days were forgotten to me. In my sanctuary, I was free to enjoy my intellectual pursuits. I lost myself in the ancient words of ponies long rendered to dust. How droll these frivolous writings may seem to you. Yet my mundane, isolated life was changed on a most undistinguished morning. I awoke to find a curious parcel on the console table outside my chamber doors. Its contrast was quite vivid as it sat upon the dark oak table. The weather beaten paper did not contain any markings of identification. A rough length of twine was wrapped around the parcel which dug into the soiled wrapping, cutting into the edges. Under its tightly woven knot was a securely held envelope.

I levitated the envelope where I was quick to notice the wax seal was broken. My eremite sensibilities fired the suspicion of my servants tampering. The wax seal was adorned with a circular sigil. Its markings were foreign to me, yet strangely native. The seal held the likeness of an equine skull. Several points along its length appeared to be horns, or some calcified appendage. The symbol was entombed within the confines of a five pointed star. My suspicions of tampering were dispatched as the seal cracked. To my astonishment it appeared to age before my eyes, crumbling into a pile upon the table.

I reconstructed the dried remains and stared at the bizarre emblem. The image seemed to elicit a hunger within me, filling my minds eye with hieroglyphic imagery. I scanned through the vast volumes of my brain, searching feverishly for any explicit image of the symbol. Yet my studious mind was no more than an empty vessel. Setting the wax sigil aside I opened the time worn envelope. The stationary was high classed, well disguised by its shabby carrier. To my surprise, the letter was penned in a most simplistic script.

My son,

I have not been forthcoming with you in regards to our family's history. The importance our lineage carries, and the purpose of the circles your mother and I were established. It was always my intention to bestow this knowledge onto you. Yet at your mother's insistence, I refrained. Perhaps it was her biological instinct to protect you. To shelter you from the unsightly truths of this world. Upon retrospect, it becomes apparent that this was the sole decision of your rearing.

I was reluctant to step out of the boundaries your mother and I agreed upon. Perhaps this was the catalyst which has burdened you with your cloistered existence. For that, if it offers you any comfort, I do apologize. I had always envisioned a greater role for you in this world.

Inside this parcel are the fragments of the sphere I wished to reveal to you. Perhaps this will re-awaken the strength you have denied and buried deep inside yourself. Showing you the truth which was yours by birthright.

A seed of discovery germinated in the emptiness of my soul. I had come to the point where I was so disillusioned with my parents that I annihilated any feelings I had for them. I was intimidated by the conflicting thoughts this letter produced. This was the last remnant of a beloved trust. A secret trust they were seemingly gridlocked against ever relaying to me. The swell of excitement inside myself was overpowering.

Picking up the small parcel I started down the bleak hallway. I paused a moment at the door containing the master bedroom, the lord's room. I do not know why I paused at the junction to the stairs. Perhaps I did have a deep seated respect for my guardians. A respect that this letter had brought back from the abyss inside me. Taking a breath I started down the staircase. The floorboards creaked as I descended the red carpeted steps. The sound was comforting to me, I felt levelheaded, I was grounded. Standing in front of the door in the foyer I felt an excitement I usually reserve for a new book. How this curious mystery enticed my mind. I opened the door to the only place I could find peace. The candlelit library, my sanctuary.