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2677 14.87 KB 221
/pj2023/ Last Flame
By NHanonCreated: 2023-02-07 20:25:44
Updated: 2023-02-22 12:25:41
Expiry: Never
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>She set it ablaze…
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>A yellow glow washed over the area within seconds.
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>Warm, birthed by flames, fights against the cold around her.
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>What once was a collection of the past, is now coalesced into its present state – a pyre.
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>Little by little, it burns away, going off to a better place; a better future.
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>Since the very beginning of time, this ritual has been performed.
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>However, in every other previous instance, it was done by those who were older, more knowledgeable, wiser, and greater than she could ever be.
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>A random pop, and/or crackle will reverberate throughout the air every now and then.
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>Smoke wafts about, though not unpleasantly, but instead, as more akin to incense that soothes ones self.
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>Despite that, there is no calm whatsoever here.
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>But that is how it is supposed to be, because it is all done for a simple reason – to let go, and to free one.
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>For everything – great and small – must be let go at some point or another.
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>When watching this ritual take place in a time before, it had a strange sort of beauty.
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>Again, there is none of that here.
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>Change was thrust upon her, much like this duty has been.
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>What lies here now is something else entirely; a far more primordial type.
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>To put simply: loss itself.
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>A warm, wet bit of essence makes its way down her cheek, then falls freely to be swallowed by the snowy earth below.
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>As much as she yearns to turn away, or to express /particular/ feelings, she cannot.
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>To turn away would be wrong.
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>To express would sap what little is left.
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>All that can be done is to accept what is – to hold onto it, remember it – in its entirety.
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>Once the fire dies, the embers will begin to cool.
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>Once the embers fade away, only cold ash shall remain.
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>Then, and only then, can she do all else she needs, or wants, to do.
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>Those who have done this ritual before did it, so shall she.
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>It is her duty, it is in her blood, forever eternal as the stars themselves.
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>Standing here, waiting, watching as the pyre burns, Crystal Rose can only let her mind float like a feather on the wind.
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>Despite the warm clothes worn, cold air still manages to nip at her amber coat.
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>Perhaps it is not the cold that bites, but the spirits themselves who bite.
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>She would not doubt it, not even for a second.
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>After all, the spirits can be cruel, especially to those who deserve it.
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>Being apart of all things – this world and the next – they do whatever/whenever they will.
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>In the paleness of winter however, among the greatest spirits stands strong, absolute – death.
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>Young ones fear it the most out of all other spirits.
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>And why wouldn’t they? It takes, and takes, and never gives backs, or stops.
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>No amount of pleas, nor any kind of bargaining can convince it otherwise.
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>As such, it is taught to not fear death, but to instead, welcome it as an old friend when it arrives to claim any.
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>That lesson (like many others) is supposed to be ingrained.
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>In her however, it failed to take root.
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>Because in truth, she knew that all within her tribe feared death just as much as the youngest do.
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>So they too, failed.
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>That fact always remained hidden somewhere behind their eyes, away from all others.
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>Not her, though.
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>The mark adorning her flank ensured that.
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>A rose represents a tie between others – love and friendship.
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>But unlike other flowers, hers is crystalline in appearance.
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>So although she could make ties with another easier than most, she also possessed insight to what lay within.
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>To the tribe, this was a blessing.
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>It meant that she could help out in certain matters, and even possibly become a leader in time.
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>To her however, this is a curse.
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>For it lead to knowing far more than she ever wanted to know.
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>Certain… truths, should remain unknown, always.
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>Such memories are thankfully locked away at this time.
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>That does little in the way of their mere presence, though.
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>Another bit of essence departs from her once more.
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>All she needed to know – everything – is laid out here before her now.
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>She lacks the intensity of the flame that burns.
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>She lacks the wisdom of the wood that fuels it.
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>She lacks the grace of the wind that strengthens it.
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>What she lacks most of all, is company.
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>There on the pyre, becoming one with the ancestors, is the only other member of her tribe.
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>Crystal Rose is alone.
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>Everything happened so fast, without mercy, but, with reason.
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>Long, long ago, before her time, when the tribe was young, they made a grave choice: casting aside the great earth mother.
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>While half agreed, the other half, did not.
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>Disagreements lead to conflict, a great bloody one.
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>From the first stone cast, to the last body to fall, the great earth mother watched, and wept.
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>The battle came to an abrupt end after some time.
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>Those who survived, splintered into two groups, and went their separate ways.
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>Neither side cared to learn from what had happened.
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>Ignorance, arrogance, both festered.
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>Thusly, a curse was placed upon them, at least, that’s what happened to her tribe.
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>Many moons passed, with the curse never coming to pass, which reinforced their beliefs that they were in the right.
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>But all things are paid for, in time.
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>Within this very year, that payment finally came in the form of four spirits.
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>The first, war, beat its mighty dreams; calling upon all those to bring conflict from inside her tribe, and from the outside.
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>The second, illness, brought forth a great plague upon the land – spreading like wildfire from the plants, to the animals, and of course, to the ponies of her tribe.
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>The third, winter, conjured the fiercest blizzard imaginable to strip them bare.
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>The fourth and final was there all along, death, who claimed any and all.
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>Young and old; strong and weak alike perished the same.
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>Except for her.
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>No cost seemed worth this.
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>Yet, despite the cruelty of this calamity, it was entirely deserved.
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>To deny one’s own parent, and to slay one’s own kin; to never learn from one’s own mistakes, that is a crime to be paid.
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>It is a lesson that the tribe taught, but never learned from.
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>Again, except for her.
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>The fire has died down a great deal since she let her mind float on.
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>In addition to what little remained of the pyre, only a little remained of the flame within herself.
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>From happiness, to sadness, all of those emotions and more, have become duller, like a worn out blade.
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>Although such a tool can be sharpened to be relied upon once more, there is no point.
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>This blade (her), is brittle and tired.
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>It should be allowed to rust away, and to finally let go at long last.
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>In spite of that desire, it cannot be granted.
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>Death will not claim her, for the great earth mother has deemed Crystal to remain living.
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>Here in the twilight hours, her magenta eyes glitter as the same as the few seen stars within the heavens high above.
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>Light, in almost all forms, is nearly gone.
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>Small puffs of warm air escape from her nostrils in short bursts.
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>Sounds that come from all around still make her ears swivel and twitch about.
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>Her silvery mane and tail gently move in the invisible wind that gently billows occasionally.
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>Somewhere, deep within herself, questions bubble to the surface.
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>Why was she chosen out of all other members of her tribe?
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>Was there not some pony more worthy?
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>Why does she live?
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>Why her?
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>Why?
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>Silence is the only answer that comes about.
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>In the lingering void, the embers have vanished entirely, leaving only a pile of frozen ash where the pyre once stood.
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>With no more heat left to resist it, the frigid air begins gnawing away at her very being.
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>Even if she were to let it tear her apart, death still would not claim her.
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>She would survive, suffer, and live on.
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>No matter what may happen today, tomorrow, or so on, she will not fall so easily.
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>But staying here in sorrow will do her no good, because in doing so, it would dishonor those who have fallen.
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>Although she may be young, lesser, and without the wisdom of those older, she must move.
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>Very slowly, she shifts in place.
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>Some snow, or perhaps ash, falls from the clothes that cling to her small frame.
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>Some noise from elsewhere shatters the silence in an instant, giving her some pause.
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>It sounded so close, yet, so distant.
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>As she listens carefully with her complete attention, it becomes more familiar.
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>A voice.
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>The one who it belongs to is gone, though.
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>It doesn’t stop speaking, and several more familiar voices echo along with the first.
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>The words themselves are incoherent, but, hold a meaning.
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>None of it is malice however, it is something else entirely.
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>Understanding settles in, and with it, she knows now what she must do, for things are clear – crystal clear.
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>So with one last look to what once was, she says a silent prayer, then begins to depart away.
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>Many other snowy, ashen mounds are passed by as she solemnly treads along.
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>What few remaining homes still stand among the wreckage that was once the village, her village, her tribe, her home.
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>She does not dwell upon them currently, for the time for that has long since passed.
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>Looming over all, atop the hill, is her destination.
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>The great hall.
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>Unlike everything else here, it remains completely untouched.
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>Whatever the reasoning for its unspoiled nature is unknown, but then again, many things are unknown.
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>Snow softly crunches under her hooves with every step towards the building.
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>Upon reaching the door, she pushes hard against it; letting out a small grunt in the process.
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>Just as it seems as though it won’t move, it finally opens inward with a loud creak.
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>Some light from within briefly blinds her, but as it settles, her eyes linger on the space before her.
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>Several candles are still alight from the last time she was here.
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>A small fire gathered at the pit within the center of the room still burns as well.
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>The tables and shelves still hold various items.
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>This place feels frozen in time, like nothing were wrong.
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>If only that were true.
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>There, towards the back of the hall, is where the elders once sat, and would deliver wisdom.
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>Along the wall behind there, is the history of the tribe itself.
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>When she was younger, this place was so much more massive, more mysterious, than anywhere else around.
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>Now here as a young mare however, the hall is smaller, simpler overall.
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>An uncomfortable feeling wells up from within.
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>Without another with her, it felt… wrong to be in here.
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>But after all that has happened, there is no reason to deny her further entry.
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>So in spite of whatever is felt, she must pass, she must.
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>Summoning everything that she is, Crystal carries one leg forward for a first step.
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>Once it is taken, the second comes easier, then the third, and so does the forth, too.
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>The door shuts quietly behind her, and a sudden burst of warmth surges throughout, pushing her further onward.
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>All of her being is drawn towards the wall at the back.
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>It takes her mere seconds to reach it, though once she does, the sheer size is incredibly humbling to behold.
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>Many times before in the past she has seen it, but now? It is much more different.
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>Ancient, arcane writings, and many, many pictures cover it from one end, to nearly the other.
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>Much time was spent carefully crafting this work of wonder, in fact, many lifetimes.
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>Starting from the very beginning, is where her tribe was birthed forth from the great earth mother.
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>She bestowed them with ties to the land; granting them the might and ability to tame it.
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>Harmony was had for a time, where they multiplied, became fruitful, and prosperous.
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>Everything was well, good, and just in the world.
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>Then came the great fall – casting aside the great earth mother, which lead to the battle, which lead to the splintering…
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>Her tribe lived on, traveling southward to where they are now.
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>Well, where she is.
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>Attempting to ignore that darkness, she turns to the final entry within the history – to what happened recently.
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>Unfortunately, nothing of what has occurred can be ignored.
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>So much loss.
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>So much pain.
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>It’s so…
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>She closes her eyes to shield them from the waters that threaten to escape from within.
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>Enough has been shed already – both and tears – so nothing more should be shed again.
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>Her resolve strengthened, she refocuses her attention back to the history.
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>Many moons have passed since the split, but the other half of the tribe must still remain back in the northern lands.
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>Are they even alive, or have they, too, fallen like hers has?
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>Even if they still exist, would they accept her?
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>It is taught that grievances can be forgiven in time.
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>It is also taught that they can be paid for as well.
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>So to be the very last, is that not payment enough?
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>Perhaps it is, perhaps it isn’t.
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>The past itself cannot be changed, only learned from.
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>The present is one exists currently, living in the moment.
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>The future is sought after, and is what one wishes to persist through.
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>She swallows down a hard gulp of air, then nods slowly.
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>Certainty now reigns true inside.
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>Crystal is the last, she was chosen to bear the burden of her tribe, and thusly, to reconnect with the other half of the tribe.
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>The great earth mother has deemed it so.
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>Because that is why she lives – to tie the two halves together once more, just as a rose symbolizes the ties that bind one another.
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>Going around the village, she begins gathering what little is left: food, tools, clothes, and the such, all for the journey.
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>Among the last places to visit, is her home.
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>No flame burns within here, nor does a sound occur when entered.
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>Coldness, not just the physical kind, but the spiritual kind, dwells in this small space.
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>Despite the certainty she possesses, she does not linger here.
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>Fear, or something else, hastens her gathering.
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>Not a further thought is spared to her former home as she promptly leaves it, nor is any other for the rest of the homes.
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>A few tasks still remain to be dealt with before the journey can begin.
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>The first, a message is carved out in the large ancient oak tree at the heart of the village.
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>Whomever else arrives here needs to know of what once was this place.
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>The second, and third task lay within the great hall itself.
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>Unlike before, the door opens far easier this time.
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>Yet now, no longer does the fire burn in the pit; only a smoldering pile remain.
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>Almost all of this place is dark, quiet even.
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>But there, a last flame still burns – a single solitary candle.
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>With its aid, and with a piece of bark, she makes a rough map for where the other tribe may be.
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>Almost everything is ready, save for one minor thing.
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>Crystal’s gaze falls upon the candle again, though now, this small light holds her attention captive.
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>Much like her, this is the last of its kind here.
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>And just the same, it too, must go.
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>Closing her eyes, one final set of prayers are uttered – one of thanks, protection, guidance, and lastly, what she needs most of all.
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>Hope.
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>May whatever follows after this, bring about a peace.
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>Her vision is set upon the last small flickering flame once more.
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“Farewell.”
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>She blew out the candle.
by NHanon
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