Esquestria: The House of the Sun - A pony cultist experience

[Sveta08]

I am too tired and my eyes are too full of things right now. It is difficult to focus, so I think I will write.
Get thoughts out of my brain before it creaks and makes a hole so I can think. Terrible apologies I haven't said more



All Maps point Home

---

There are fields outside.

It was the first thing you noticed you noticed. The fields. Because it's so easy to notice that it becomes hard to remember. It becomes so hard to forget that it's impossible to see. Of course there are fields outside. Where else would they be?

But there are fields outside and they are fields.
Today at least.
This time at least.


One of the rare moments you don't have. Where the clock is not ticking and time is not waiting and there is nothing to do but to remain. Where you can simply take a sip of tea, float the cup back to the saucer and watch. Listen.
Remember.


Silky is laughing in the garden. It is right to hear that.


There is music in the fields. Or, music in a different way. Even though the fields are gardens. But aren't just gardens. They are the family fields. The farms overseen by the Velvet estate. Though, not handled by you, it's still handled by your house. It's hard to remember that. It's hard to forget that.

But it's a nice sound.

Foals laughter outside. The sound of them playing and running and jumping and flying. Dancing in the fields. Thundering of hooves. Children laughing and screaming and talking and playing out in the fields.

And there is a rasp like honey. A word like sweet poison. And laughter becomes brighter and sharper and shrill.

A lady.
A monster.
A friend.

Playing tag with your daughter.


It was easier to see if you didn't look. Because it was right even though you rose to your hooves. As you ran down the stairs and went to join and speak and more, eyes you don't have saw. Memory that was yours even if it wasn't yours. It saw and heard

That there were fields outside. And that there were children that played outside. Laughing and playing and dancing unknowing. Learning, but unknowing of where they were. If the world they were in. And there were monsters in the fields. Beasts that ran and laughed and hounded the ignorant and blind. They played and played with long teeth and sharp claws, but they merely played.

Maybe it was the tea that let you see it.
Maybe it was simply something you already knew.
Maybe it was something you forgot.


But as you left the house a thought struck you. Hooves still beat the ground, but it struck all the same as you left to speak to a child and a monster.

What if the fields were fields, because they were outside the house?
Why did they call it seeing the world through the eyes of a child?

---

There are enemies outside the fields.

Not the monsters within. Within the fields were beasts that played and maimed and danced the same, but outside there were enemies.

Here at your home away from home, looking upon yet another report, the thought struck you. Monsters are here and can be dealt with, but enemies are outside. Monsters are mitigated and managed and fought. Enemies must be countered at each measure,cor else they would destroy everything.

That was, of course, what the report on the Changelings was.

Enemies that infiltrated. That wore the skin of their foes and threatened to swallow all whole. They fed on love and joy and wouldn't kill you. Not if they could help it. The story of the captors that had been rescued would be a new ghost story to tell around the campfire. Only, more real. More grim.

Maybe that was the point of the first campfire stories. To tell not just of monsters but of enemies. To capture the imagination and fill it with terrors so they might know them. That they might see the distinction.



Still, Iron Button needs a missive. What to tell and what steps to take. In the light and in the dark.



Such is the crimes you will commit to the enemies of Equestria. Of your home. To walk in light and dark. To teach ways older than old and stronger than strong to a new age. To a new era.
To take up arms against a foe for whom they are evil.


Who among them then?
Who among them have you made murderers of?
Have you exposed them to horrors true but otherwise unknown?

How could any stand against your actions now? Knowing the enemy at stake?

Another report passing by your hooves. Dissection records of a monster you yourself killed. A creature made by them, built from them, and somehow more. Steeped in powers they should not have, creeping here into this world. Invasive. Subversive. Unknown.

How much more you wanted to know. How much more you didn't want to. But had to. For the sake of others.

To become aware, to fight an existential threat. Enemies... Known or unknown.
Such was the strength granted and assisted by most recent an Ally. To destroy and grow by it. But. To have an enemy.

Maybe that's what enemies were. Threats that could upend it all. Should they not be dealt with. Maybe not immediately. Maybe not soon. Maybe not in your lifetime. But they are a threat, and if not dealt with...

But they are a distraction.
You do not succeed by killing your enemies. You do not improve Equestria by stopping their plans. You cannot improve in a perpetual state of violence. Even your newest Ally can see that. Stopping them only stops their harm, only mends the damage. It does not... Improve. It doesn't better. It is simply... conflict.

Enemies are a distraction.
Enemies must be dealt with.
Enemies are outside the fields, and threaten them.

---

The second floor was the right place for a bedroom.

It was far harder to place that idea than the others. And even in doing so it was too distant from a useful answer. Too far from the point it was meant to be to make much sense. And honestly, it hardly did.

A bedroom on the second floor was habit more than anything. Interior design following patterns and aesthetics from long generations past. As long as the home didn't open into the bedroom, what did it matter, so long as there was separation?

But that was just it.

So long as there was separation. All from long generations past recounting.
There was something hidden there. Some reason long forgotten. Some purpose to it. Or perhaps, purpose was the wrong way to think of it?

After all, you weren't going to be so young forever. A bedroom where you didn't have to climb the stairs wasn't wrong per day, but it felt...
Acquiescence.

Because it wasn't about the bedroom was it? Sometimes it wasn't a bedroom.



Sometimes it was the infinite hallways of The Royal Castle in which you ran.



Missives sent by pony to the one, running every length of those halls. Some flying, most running, but never too fast. It was disrespectful to run in the halls of the Princesses. So they hastened. The breadth and the depths of twisting halls and turning corridors and more flights of stairs than should have been to go where they need be.

Every path led somewhere important after all. It wouldn't have been built if that wasn't the case.

Kitchen and Garrison and Private Quarters. To Record Rooms and Pantry and Library. Study and Lab. Garden and Workshop.

The guest rooms of course. Dignitaries, and Counsilers and Emissary. Those who were truly important in a way the laypony simply wasn't. When they were withing the chambers of the Princesses, the ways to them were here.

And of course, the path to the Audience of the Princess herself. Rare used in these times, least not quite by Celestia.

A most important path that was. None of the others would mean anything if that wasn't there. A chamber, or master bedroom. The...

The place? Was it that?

Ax was certain to know, but prying answers from her was more difficult by far. Even if Silky was so sweet as to help, this was too... vague. Esoteric. How do you even ask about the domain of such a snake?

... No. The chambers weren't her domain. It was the space between them. The halls and paths and -

Leave the idle thoughts later.
You arrived.

---

You were not supposed to be here.
Cadence was not supposed to be here.
Frankly, no one was supposed to be here.

But you were. And she was. And you had to be.

Up
Up
Up beyond the throne.
Up past the quiet secret paths of the castle.
Up hidden away in the most obvious parapet.
Was the chambers of Celestia herself.

You were not meant to be here. The air frank rippled with power. With heat. With pressure.
Stones buckled and warped and cracked. Flesh burned, fur scorched, magic withered.
All was beholden. For here...



Here was power.



Here was the ruler of Equestria.
Not merely the seat of power. But her home.
A place you were not meant to be. No mortal was.

---

You did not have time to consider it then.
Not when there was far more important things at stake. Not when an errant thought could lead to a fall like death. Not when there was more important work to be done.

You did not consider it on the carriage ride home either.


Not as you left your troubles of work outside.
Not as you walked through your gardens.
Not as you walked into your home.
Not as you climbed your stairs.
Not as you slipped into room.
And certainly not when you nestled up against Stormy.



For you are Velvet Covers
And on your flank is a book of all history
And for as long as it is
It's incredibly short




Glory shines
And all basks in its splendor
Palest reflections

 

[OurLadyOfWires]

That was the best possible future. Silky Stream knew that.

The world was in peace.

Ponykind, and all of its neighbors, was safe.

The Mansus was still accessible in her dreams.

So yes, that was the best possible future. By every possible metric, and by everypony's standard. And that made her very, very happy.

Even though she was already so old that, very soon, she would no longer be a part of that future.

It felt like yesterday, when she was still a filly. It felt like she just got her cutie mark last week, and that she still had so much to do. Granted, she knew she had already done plenty, and that she taught her foals well enough for them to keep up the good work when they are gone.

Yes, Silky Stream taught her foals, and she watched as they taught her grand-foals. And if she looked really hard, and took some liberties that could be mistaken for arrogance, she thought that she could see the effects of her hard work around her.

"Well, I didn't make nearly as much of an impact as mom did," she mused out loud. "Or Selene, or any of my other sisters. But they work in such a grander scale that…"

She trailed off, letting her mind wander as a smile slowly formed on her lips.

"It's alright. How is it that Cherry always says it? Ah, of course. Our kind is meant to build the canvas, but your kind is meant to paint on it," she said to the empty room. And not for the first time, she couldn't help but come to the same conclusion she always did. "And I'm awful glad that I get to paint on it. Being an immortal sounds so dull, really. I'm glad I just get to do one thing well, and then pass the torch to the next generation."

She thought about that, and then she thought about other things besides, and at some point she just started thinking about nothing at all. Letting the empty room, and the sound of a nearby ticking clock, keep her company.

Until finally, a knock came through the door.

"Mother? Are you awake?" one of her daughters, her daughter, walked into the room, her voice a familiar whisper.

Silky considered pranking her. Pretending to be asleep or dead or something else besides. But she decided against it. Not today, she thought. Not today.

"Yes dear, I'm awake. Is everything ready?" she answered.

"Yes, mother. The Salon is ready and the Visitors are in place. We are ready to begin when you are."

Silky Stream, the elderly mortal matron of the Velvet family, gave her daughter a small nod as she got up from her seat.

Because today, she would add her last brushstroke to the grand painting that is Equestria.



- - -



The preparations for that day were… extensive. In a sense, Silky Stream could say that she had been preparing for that day her whole life.

And of course, that day wouldn't have been possible if she had worked alone. After all, no great work can be done by a single pony.

Her mother, and the other immortals who loved her so, laid out the groundwork. They saved the world from the hate of ice, and the wrath of fire. They negotiated this bright future into existence. They brought about this land where the New is enthroned and the Old is honored.

And most importantly, for Silky's work, her mother brought back the season of Numa. That fog-chocked season, that only lasts an entire day, when the world was the most open for suggestions.

Her daughters, and the other mortals who followed her, set the stage. The work and works they have done is beyond counting, and their achievements were sometimes as small as a hoofshake, or as grand as a new life. But each and every one of them was important. Each and every one of them was another step, oath or bargain that led to that day.

As for Silky herself…

Well, the groundwork and the stage can only be put to use if the main actress is present.

"Everything looks wonderful dear," she said, to her daughter's delight. "Perfect, even! I couldn't have asked a better pony to prepare this feast."

Silky Stream said that as she gazed down at the Salon, the fine dinning hall of the Velvet Castle, all propped up and ready for a grand meal.

The walls were adorned with banners and tapestries, of glories past and future.

The mosaic walls were shining bright, dripping here and there with the cold drops of the outside mists of Numa.

The great dining table was ready, with eight honored chairs (four on each side), eight guest chairs (one for each companion), and one humble chair (at the center, to make a proposal) all laid out where they should be.

And then of course there was the feast itself. Nine dishes and nine drinks from nine cultures, each of them a joy to the senses (and worth a small fortune) prepared by a deft hoof.

The proper things, in the proper manner, in the proper order.

Velvet, help us all.

"Well then, it is time to begin," Silky said, to which her daughter answered with a respectful bow as she took her leave.

With that, Silky Stream sat alone upon the humble chair, at the edge of the long table, and she looked down upon the seats to her right and her left.

Then, she took the small bell in front of her, which was waiting next to her own plate.

And then-

Ring, ring, ring.​

-she invited the guests.

From eight separate entrances came eight honored guests, each of them with a companion by their side. The expressions on their faces were an array of emotions. Some of them were amused, some of them were disgusted, but none of them were surprised.

None of them were surprised because, in the end, they had all been invited. All of them knew what to expect.

And Silky Stream knew these honored guests very well. She had known them since she was a filly, the eight immortals from the old world.

Of course, Silky Stream also knew their companions well… after all, she quite literally made them. Granted, making them companions had been an effort in itself. But that was not the time to look back at old victories.

No, that was the time to host a feast.

And given the honored guests presents, she was the only one in the whole world who could do it.

"Welcome, everypony," she said, before anypony else could truly react.

And then, she began her magnum opus.

Silky Stream has activated her skill [VIOLENCE IS FORBIDDEN AT THIS TABLE]​

Spoiler: Skill

[VIOLENCE IS FORBIDDEN AT THIS TABLE] (Esoteric Trait): During an Event, you may pick a Trait of a willing Guest. For the duration of the Event, that trait will be nullified (treated as nonexistent). This may be applied even to Traits that are archetypal, Hours-sponsored, or that are otherwise usually considered "untouchable."

Because Silky Stream wasn't just there to host a feast. She was there to make a proposal.

So of course, she had to ensure that…



[IMMATERIAL] has been nullified.

… that her guests were properly present.



[ANTISOCIAL] has been nullified.

[IRRATIONAL] has been nullified.

[SHE IS JUST A PAINTING] has been nullified.

… that her guests were able, and willing, to speak.



[HE WILL NOT RELEASE ME] has been nullified.

[CRIMINAL] has been nullified.

[MARRIED TO A MORTAL] has been nullified.

… that her guests were allowed to choose for themselves.



[OH HATED FOE] has been nullified.

… and of course, that no violence would take place at her table.



She said that, and she watched as the impossible happened.

Because upon her invitation, and with nothing but her words, the eight honored guests sat around her table. Four guests of Order on one side, and four of Change on the other. All of them from the far past, and all of them joined by companions from this future.

And with that, at long last, her work could begin.

"Thank you for coming to this, my last tea party," Silky Stream said, using the one and only privilege she had as a mortal.

After all, her honored guests would not have come if they knew there would be more tea parties, and more invitations. They would not have suffered each other's presence, if she had joined them in eternity.

But she would not have received her cutie mark if she didn't know how to bring ponies to her table. Even if it was, quite literally, the last thing she did.

"Now, the reason I called you all here is very simple, my dear friends," she said to the table at large. "You all belong to the past, and this world is galloping towards the future. However, that does not mean you need to be left behind."

She said that as she poured herself a cup of tea, not needing to look up at their familiar faces to know how they would react to her words. She knew them too well.

"So, I have a proposal," she said.

She said that to her friends, and she said that to her foals, and she said that to the whispering mists coiling outside.

And, impossibly, they all listened to her.

By the end of that day, the past was married to the future, the old was made new, and tomorrow turned just a little brighter.

And the last story that Silky Stream told would echo throughout the world for the rest of time.





Author's note:

Spoiler: A/N

The wrathful cries of a newborn, and the sleepless nights that follow, are not something I would wish upon my worst foe. Even if there is a certain joy attached to it.
Still, as they slowly subside, I finally find the time to come back here.

I hope you are all doing well! Please enjoy a short omake as I reheat my writing engines.

And as for inspiration, it comes from the quote from Narnia: "Violence is forbidden at Aslan's table."
I quite enjoy the parallel of how highly Silky is thought of, in this future, for her to be compared to that other figure.