V

The gloom of the tunnel scurried from the light of my lantern. Huddling around the cusp of its glow, squirming like a mischief of rats. Much like my distaste for the cold, I had grown weary of the never-ending veil of darkness. A darkness that for the longest time had sheltered me from a life outside of these hewn walls. Looking inside myself I had a renewed vigor, a yearning for discovering a world outside my sanctuary of books. If only I knew then what I know now. How feverish I am while I recall these thoughts. The world my mother wished to protect me from, the world my father wished to show me.

For such an absence of candles or sconces, the tunnel was quite warm. The air was heavy with an odd humidity, carrying a curious scent which tickled my senses. The scent was faint, but the stillness of the tunnel let it cling to the air. As I inhaled the damp odor, it enticed a primal part of me. I cannot give any specific name to this scent, but it was empowering to my more primitive senses. The tunnel was short, about ten feet in length and on a slight downward slope, expanding into a humbly furnished study. My mind was anxious yet I felt at ease in the strange warmth of this place. How contrast my father's study was to the crypt like chill of the library when its sconces were doused. I levitated the lantern upwards where I was surprised to find the ceiling elevation was vastly different. The ceiling of rock was simply cut in an arching fashion and stood upwards of fifteen feet. I found the craftsmanship to be quite crude in comparison to the lavish decoration found in the library's masonry. Judging from the floor-plan of the manor, this room must have been cut directly into the mountain which our home was built beside. The very rock which Canterlot itself was situated.

The faint ticking of a clock matched my staggered heartbeat. I began to feel like an insect, a creeping parasite feasting on the leftovers of my sires life. I felt a tightness upon my heart, a stinging chill in the humid surroundings, haunted and venerable. I most certainly was a trespasser inside these stone walls. The stubborn vermin of blackness seemed to fight the light of my lantern, trying to snuff out its existence. Some echo of my father survived in this place. The coldness he showed during life manifested itself inside the boundaries of the stone room. Its ghosts protecting his secrets from foreign intruders. How superstitious I have become in such a short time. One certainly cannot blame my fearfulness considering recent events. Even the most studious of minds can be broken by the burden of grief and emptiness.

I was taken aback as a sudden clap came from above me. The glass shade of my lamp fell to pieces on the floor, bounding on the plush carpet at my hooves. I cried out as I felt a touch on my withers, spinning 'round to find only darkness. A wave of heat flushed across my face, and I cursed the spirits I had created. I had to keep my mind clear and lucid, I cannot give in to fanciful incarnations. For years I had repelled their taint. Why now did I succumb to them? I felt the brass key press firmly against my chest. This simple brass-work must be the cause of my lack of will. Yet I cannot rid myself of it. It was an important piece to the world my father wished to show me. I could only continue convincing myself that the return of these dreams were from the discovery of hidden emotional scars.

Regaining my bearings I looked to the ceiling. My lantern had become hitched upon something that hung from the crudely cut roof. Refocusing my grip on the lamp, I pulled on its metal framework. It jostled against its snare as the screech of metal against metal rang throughout the study. Focusing on the wick I pulled it upwards, exposing the flame to the soaked weave. The thirsty flame brightly illuminated the ceiling, revealing its trapping to be a magnificent chandelier. I unhinged the lantern from its hook on the gold-plated frame.

The most startling feature of this chandelier was the lack of candles, nor was there a wax basin. No, this was a device designed for Unicorns or a regal Alicorn. The center of the chandelier held a large, blown glass orb. Eight seamless appendages extended from the base of the center sphere, resting on the housing of the outer framework. Each finely crafted tube ended in a glass bulb. Inside the glass sphere was a cloudy substance I was not familiar with. The gold plated frame was pressed with a strange decoration. Waving lines crossed in all directions, coming together at the head of bulbous cephalopod that was etched into the side of the frame. This was certainly a unique device. I suddenly remembered having seen a sketch of such an instrument in one of my father's documents when I was a foal.

My father once had an eccentric client who specialized in magical devices catering only to Unicorns and Alicorns. A sketch of his invention and its instructions lay out one evening on the dining room table. Father must have been called away from his work and I happened to pass by, taking a cursory glance at it. To my young eyes it was an astounding device, and now to see it made a reality above me was a spectacle to behold. I thought back on that document, trying to remember how it functioned. In my minds eye the book materialized, every scrawl of my fathers quill was legible and intact. The instrument was powered by a single spell of radiance focused on the central globe. The gaseous essence contained inside of the sphere will react with the spell causing illumination.

I focused on the spell, casting it into the center of the glass orb which began to shine brightly. The essence inside the sphere sparked to life, swirling violently in the throes of light. The growing energies traveled down the molded glass tubes, pooling within the blown bulbs. The bulbs shone with a brilliant glow, lighting the entirety of the study. A magnificent device indeed.

I picked up the shards of glass from the large red rug which sprawled over the entirety of the floor. The three walls from the entrance were draped in elegant tapestries, possibly there to hide the shameful stonework of the study. Each tapestry showcased various historical events in Equestria's history. On the side walls were common place designs pertaining to the banishing of Nightmare Moon and the founding of Canterlot. Others held depictions of Griffon-kind and mythological creatures. A few of the smaller pieces had silhouetted oceanic figures amidst a dark blue background. The slithering appendages of the figures were reminiscent of the likeness etched into the chandelier. The largest and most intricate of these pieces was affixed to the back wall. It depicted, in exquisite detail, the quelling of rebellion and the union of the three kingdoms. In front of the woven scene sat an oak desk. My father's desk. The plush seat and desk were both rustic in their craftsmanship. A simple mantle clock sat on the end of the desk, keeping time for its unseen master.

I extinguished my lantern and set it and the shards of glass on the desk. A long table against the left wall held a number of curious instruments. Many of them were badly aged, as if they had been excavated from the earth. Strange daggers fashioned from dark green stone, crude scalpels and a cracked mortar and pestle. Each piece had a similar design, yet were noticeably from different eras. Various clamps, forceps and long hooked rods; all had an identical decorative scoring upon their handles. It was the same as found on the tarnished silver chain about my neck.

As I walked the length of the table I wondered why my father would have these items. Did he have a secret archaeological fascination? All I ever knew of my sire was his ideology and his work documenting magicians and inventors. Were these artifacts of another age? Of a culture long forgotten? Why did the chain have the same markings? Why would he keep these out of sight? I began to grow angry. He knew my love of cultural anthropology, these instruments obviously served a spiritual purpose to their kind. How dare he hide such a thing from me.

Turning quickly I slammed my hooves on the desk cursing my father. I became furious, the primal essence cast aside my more rational mindset. I ran across the room, knocking books to the floor. Throwing a small weigh scale, shattering its level against the far wall. Kicking the side table, spilling over a box of brass weights to the floor. Was this what my father wanted me to know? That he held knowledge over me? Was superior to me in all aspects I held as unique to me? I screamed as tears stung my eyes. I ripped the tapestries off the walls, trying in vain to tear them to shreds. I could not fathom why my parents treated me the way they did. Was this the grand reveal of a practical joke? The final punchline? Proof positive that my parents saw me as nothing more than a 'Sub-Unicorn'?

My vision swam in the crimson sea as a silhouetted figure sat in my father's chair. As if jumping in time the figure was walking towards the hall and out of the study. I wanted to follow but I fell to the floor, the room twisted and I was lost. I found myself walking through the halls of my library, looking down I saw hooves of ebony. Slithering black tendrils snaked under my every step, curling over the floors. This was not my body, I was seeing through the eyes of a phantom. It went through the canals, past my desk and up the spiral staircase. Into the foyer where the moonlight shone through the windows. Up the grand staircase and right towards the bath hall. I could hear the heavy breathing of this beast, but I could not persuade its movements. Passing through the door into the bath hall was the tan mare, cleaning the marble tiles. She looked up, her auburn eyes becoming soft. She smiled and bowed, asking if there was anything needed. I shouted, kicked and screamed but it all proved fruitless. I was simply a spectator. I could hear the thoughts of this phantom as it spoke in a voice that was not unlike my own.

The destiny of this being is beyond the graces of one such as yourself. Come with me child. I will show you the truth of this world.

Her smile vanished as she slowly walked towards the phantom, appearing to be in some kind of trance. The beast turned and started to leave but stopped before exiting the bath hall. He looked into the standing mirror, to my everlasting horror, I saw myself in the reflection. The burning intensity of my eyes filled me with such dread that I lashed out with everything I could muster.

I flailed wildly upon the floor of my father's study. I was a ravenous lunatic, fighting off the ghosts of a warped mind. Slowly I became still, the sound of the ticking clock bringing me back to sanity. I opened my eyes, the chandelier shone brightly, a celestial sun hanging in the canopy of rock. I struggled to my hooves, my head was throbbing. A vile taste sat in the back of my throat as I stood. My legs shook under me as I made my way up the small incline of the tunnel. I fumbled with the lock as I pushed the door open. I began to gain strength as I charged through the library, past my desk and up the spiral staircase. The door to the foyer was open as I ran into dining room and flung open the kitchen door. It was dark, the fires were doused and the cook had retired for the evening. I ran out and leapt up the stairs three and four steps at a time. Turning right down the hallway I saw the door to the bath hall was left ajar. Pushing through the entrance I saw a lone wash bucket near the cast tub. A small pool of water on the marble floor reflected the moonlight. She was gone.

I returned to the study with a listless gait. Circling the desk I sat down in my father's chair. It creaked in protest, as if sensing somepony other than its former master. I held my head in my hooves as I stared at the clock at the end of the desk. Its thin hands were pointing to 11:29, it was late and I was alone. I could feel the void inside myself deepen as my head felt heavy, unable to process all that has happened. I began to convince myself that the tan mare was safe. That she must have gone home for the night. She would return in the morning, giving me her kind smile and blessings of the day. I sighed heavily, leaning back into the plush chair. On the desk sat a badly damaged book. It looked as if it had been the unfortunate victim of a flood or left out to the elements. Perhaps it was my lot in life to call the worn pages of books, friends.

Opening the book I was shocked to see it was the journal of the Pegasus explorer I had failed to find in the library. Pulling the chair closer I gently turned the brittle pages. All the text was written in an arcane codex. This practice was not uncommon with explorers and inventors, coding their work to safeguard it from theft and plagiarism. I scanned the opening preface, the text was written in an old script that not many could decipher, but I was quite familiar with it.

From an early age I had always found the intricate art of translation to be second nature. It became apparent that this would be my calling in life. It was during a most intense session of translation when the mark appeared on my flank. I was studying the script of an extinct, northern Unicorn culture from an archeologists journal. It contained ancient incantations which nopony had been able to decipher. As my young eyes stared at the orientation of the symbols, a sudden epiphany came to me.

I retrieved a book which contained a diagram of the constellations in the northern sky. Carefully removing the page from the book I laid it over the symbols. I associated the structure of the constellations to the corresponding arches of the ancient runes. The more ample stars in the constellations harmonized with the bolder strokes of the runic script. If this cultures history and language was based on worship of the heavens, then perhaps the grapheme of their text was established by the stars themselves. I spoke aloud the names that most closely intersected the markings.

A bright beam of light emanated from my horn as a map of the northern sky appeared before me. The stars which matched the strokes pulsated, emanating the gentle tones of the pentatonic scale. It wasn't language specifically, it was their symbols for musical notes. As I worked on the manuscript I found their spells and language were based on the stars and the harmony of sound. With this discovery, the likeness of an open book the shade of burnt sienna appeared on my flank. Its pages were held open as wisps of light reached outwards from the open crease.

I began skimming through the entries of the journal. The coded script was almost second nature to me. Most of the pages were filled with the typical fodder found in works pertaining to exploration. Weather logs, prideful flowery monologues, wildlife observation and crudely drawn cartography. I began to feel like I was at the end of my tether when I noticed the script of the last passage greatly differed from the previous entries. The slant was hurried and the size of the characters varied, as if the scribe was in a panic. Transcribed it was as follows--

It is night, the moon is gibbous and waning. I have seen them, I have heard their cries. Horrific abominations have materialized from the raging storm around me. I feared the old legends of Windigoes, yet these abominable constructs are not of this world.

I have taken all my drink which only spelled a transient surcease. My sextant lost, my rationed supplies no more than a meager serving. I feel my time has drawn near and the clutches of hopelessness will carry me their slave.

Within the coordinates I have set down 82 28N 62 30W, against the western face lies a glacier. When the high sun shone bright, I saw a curious rock formation under the pack of ice. Foolishly I left my course to explore this. Forgive my haste, but I fear I have not much time.

The next morn I rose early, returning to the glacier only to find the curious formation had been revealed. The rock itself was bare and dripping with melt. The day was not warm and this melting only bore deeply into my curious nature. Feeling myself bold, I ventured into the mouth of the glacier. I now ask myself, did ever anypony find that which did not wish to be found and rise to meet another day? The cylindrical maw seemed to swallow me whole as I ventured deeper into its snaking tunnels. My eyes were deceived as I witnessed the alabaster blocks of a cyclopean structure stretch before me over the last rise.

The architecture was of nothing I had ever seen before. Illogical curves met bending alleyways. All were set a glow through the porous skin of the unnatural glacier. I wanted to flee yet I felt an unnerving presence within my mind, calling me to venture deeper into the caverns. Even as I write I feel I have gone mad. I landed on a great staircase leading into an oval shaped promenade. The looming arches were wicked in their appearance, gnarled and rigid, like the appendages of a crustacean. I stood in front of a tunnel. A gust of warmth was expelled from its depths, as if a dragon slumbered in that darkness. I fled. Nopony was meant to witness such things.

The end is near. I hear their cries all around me. I will bury this record in my camp as testament to my discoveries. I only pray it will see the light of day and dissuade anypony from this unnatural place.

Turning the page only revealed bare paper remaining. This Pegasus' tale had never been told to anypony. Yet my father had the original account inside the halls of his personal library. How many times had I walked passed this log, only to put to memory as an explorers attempt at fame. A chill ran through my being as I closed the book. So much had happened to me in such a short time. I cannot describe to you my mindset.

The coordinates listed in this Pegasus' journal were the same as what was written on the parchment from my father. This location must be the destiny my father had wanted me to discover. Perhaps his possession of this journal was a gift to lead me to this grand discovery. I admit the thought thrilled me.

I looked at the destruction I wrought in the room. I began to clean up when I noticed a faint crease in the rug. The table I had thrown over was dipping slightly into the floor. I pushed the table aside, stomping a fore-hoof into the sunken impression. The hollow thud of wood answered back. I pulled the corner of the rug away, revealing a wooden hatch. The wood was soiled and discolored with age. My heart began to pound as I felt the scored silver chain begin to dig into the line of my hide.