[url=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iMJPZ-mu-Ts]Arcon was floating.[/url] There was no up. No down. No left or right. There was only him in the moment-- and the music. Harps and violins of ponies past. Rich clear horns. This was true flight, a sensation of endless falling and rising. Colors soared around him like wind, humming in tune with the flow. The doorway opened. For the first time in a long while… Arcon felt… he felt… Blast. What was the word? It was on the tip of his tongue… Alive. That was the word. Alive. He felt alive. With each note, the melody carried him higher and higher. The colors ruffled through his mane and feather, forming shapes and familiar patterns and the alicorn found himself lost in them. The world was a river around him, and he allowed his mind and body to be carried along with where it took him. Alive. This was all broken by the soft clip-clop of hooves upon stone. The colors withdrew to the recesses of his mind, and all that was left was mere noise. Beautiful, but the immersion had been ruined. Arcon waited for the last chords to fade, and then all the remained was the faint blips as the record skipped. His guest afforded him the luxury of a few moments to gather to his thoughts. “Where did it take you this time, M’Lord?” The sandy alicorn languidly opened his eyes to the endless expanse of the azure sky above. It was a rare day in the Wastelands, to be sure. But for the first time in the past few weeks, the skies were clear as clear and pure blue as the faraway seas. No cloud trekked across its breadth, and the scorching sun baked down all it shone upon in these lands. The warmth soaked through to his feathers, his wings splayed across the ledge he currently rested on. The same ledge that he had landed on in his impromptu landing. It had taken some time to clear the rubble and smooth the rough sandstone to a grain of his liking. To the fair edge of the ledge, overlooking the Wastes was a raised dais hewn from the stone and it was here that Arcon chose to nest. The alicorn had commandeered all manner of cushions and pillows for this makeshift bed, not unlike a futon. Nearby, a gramophone stood on a rather flat rock, a stack of records selected by Arcon himself at random next to it. A vinyl record, ‘The Pastoral Symphony’ by a Beethoofen spun silently in its tracks. “A hill in my Mother’s garden,” Arcon sighed dreamily, resting his chin at the edge of the dais. “It was covered in pasture of सूरजमुखी, shining bright and warm. White grass. My siblings.” Arcon struggled to put it into Equestrian, as clunky as it was. “A great tree of gold with silver leaves and amber fruit. The tang of… well, the closest things to describe them would be strawberries, and fresh cream. It was… the memory of the dream of those things.” Silent Dawn would not understand. Every time he came up here, he asked that question to Arcon. The alicorn humored him as best he could. How could a mortal ever possibly comprehend what he himself did not in this form. It merely was. Even now, trying to fit it into words was like describing the Elder Sister’s night sky with something as plain as ‘Stars and Moon.’ It was so much… अधिक “I trust this is important?” Arcon asked with a tired yawn. “I’m afraid nothing truly interesting. Merely the latest status reports . Rather tedious things,” the archivist answered, unrolling the scroll. “Something to lighten the monotony then,” the alicorn jested with a rare smile, as he pulled another record from its casing, switching it with the precious Symphony. When the needle touched the thread, Arcon instantly regretted his decision. [i]“Soulja stallion off in this hoe Watch me crank it Watch me roll Watch me crank that soulja stallion Then Mare-Do-Well that hoe Now watch me you-”[/i] Arcon raised an eyebrow as he scrutinized the label, a small grimace on both his and the alicorn’s lips as the serene silence was blasted to smithereens. “And how many of these are currently left?” “I would say roughly several hundred thousand, if not millions. It’s currently the most popular song in Equestria and-“ Silent Dawn had not the chance to finish his sentence before the alicorn had ripped the recording out and pitched it into open space. The two watched as it spun out of sight, and Arcon stared intently after it into the void. After a moment of tense silence, he was rewarded with the faint sound of vinyl shattering against the rocks below. With sigh of relief, the Alicorn smiled and laid back down onto the futon. “Breathe not a word of this to anyone,” he warned. “I wouldn’t dream of it, M’Lord,” Silent Dawn promised with a dry smirk, before clearing his throat and turning his attention back to the scroll. “Progress on the antechamber is fully accomplished and we hope to move the Doorways to it by tomorrow. The heating, lighting, and air filtratrion enchantments in Library Sections H32 to H86 have finally been carved and we can begin filling them with our backlog. The day after tomorrow, our acquisitions at Greenfields will have been fully catalogued and accounted for,” the archivist declared. This earned him a cross look from alicorn who leaned his head over to peer at the scroll. “It has been nearly a month since the incident,” Arcon reminded him, his brow furrowed. “Why has it taken you so long to achieve this?” Silent Dawn was taken aback, and nearly dropped the scroll. He was being… chastised? “Lord Arcon, there were nearly thousands of works recovered from the fire, many of them in varying degrees of condition. Some suffered damage from the fire. It was no small feat to come this far with it. We can only do so much,” Silent Dawn explained. “For our Literary vaults, there is merely myself, my daughters, and half a dozens others. Your Art galleries are composed of another eight, and the Melody staffs the smallest at six.” “That would certainly explain the absence of songs worthy of my ears,” Arcon muttered beneath his breath. “It is merely an issue of ponypower,” Silent Dawn explained. “This brings me to the next issue that I wished to address with you again. Our… um…” he cleared his throat, a troubled frown coming to his face. “Our… [i]other[/i] acquisitions from Greenfields.” There was silence for a few moments, and the archivist took this as permission to continue. “As your well aware, members of the Scholarship serve to preserve and protect knowledge for all of ponykind; a goal you’re quite familiar with,” he noted. Arcon merely blinked in response. “Ten of our… guests, for lack of a better word, were experienced members of the order. Curator Gouache claims to vouch for their reliability and trustworthiness, and with your approval, we could add their numbers to our own.” “You are well aware that only those who carry my Key may enter the Hall Proper to work on the Collection.” For the second time in the past five minutes, confusion swept through Silent Dawn. “Then… why not give them a Key?” he asked uncertainly. “I will not. “ “But… they are beginning to get the impression that they’re being kept prisoner.” “I would hardly call the luxurious accommodations granted to them ‘a prison’,” the alicorn snorted disdainfully. “No,” Silent Dawn agreed, “They are quite comfortable and many of them are merely grateful to be safe from harm. Still, some wonder when… or if they’ll have the opportunities to see their families,” he said pointedly. “Then I fail to see the issue at hand. You will continue your duties as always-- except you will do so more quickly. You will have the works recovered from the Vaults accounted for in four moons time. No more, no less,” the alicorn settling back down onto the cushions. “You in turn will inform our guests that as long as they continue to behave and adhere to the rules of their confinement, they shall continue to be afforded the privileges given to them thus far.” “B-but that’s not right! We’d be no better than the houses then!” the archivist protested loudly. “You can’t just keep them locked up forever!” The alicorn’s onyx eyes narrowed dangerously at him and Silent Dawn shrunk back under the immortal’s gaze. With no small amount of trepidation, he realized that he had come dangerously close to crossing some unspoken line. His lord was slow to anger, and even slower to display any displeasure in things. “Do not presume, [i]Lord Archivist[/i],” Arcon sternly reminded him, his tremendous voice but a whisper of ice, “That your words will have any influence upon [b]me[/b]. It was I that found you in those sewers, and I can send you back. I have what I need of you. It is I, and I alone decide what occurs within this Hall. Nothing I do is ever without purpose.” “F-forgive me, Lord,” Silent Dawn stammered. Arcon had reduced him to a quivering mess on the floor, the tip of his horn pressed against the sandstone at Arcon’s feat. “I-I overstep.” “That you did,” Arcon muttered, settling back down, his voice losing its harsh edge. He stared down at the unicorn who remained prostrated, and small huff of disgust. [i]‘Get up you stupid child...’[/i] he thought to himself. When Silent Dawn would not cease grovelling, the alicorn gave a impatient snort. "What?" “Lord Acron, may I ask something of you?” the unicorn asked humbly, keeping his head bowed. Arcon lifted his head from the futon, a mask of neutrality once again adorned on his timeless face. “You may,” Arcon declared. His tone was now one of bored apathy. “They’re good ponies… and they’re loyal to what they believe in.” The achivist, still trembling, lifted his face from the dirt. "The face was not that of a unicorn stallion in his prime, but that of a foal looking up to his father for answers. “When we got to them, the Inquisition was just lighting the first of the fires. The workers there were willing to give their lives trying to save as many of those works as they possibly could.” Arcon’s gaze impassively remained locked on the dust strewn horizon. “If that is not the type of pony you find worthy of your boon, then wouldn’t that mean that none of us are?” “माँ, मुझे शक्ति दे.” Silent Dawn frowned in confusion as the response, but hadn’t the time to question it. The horizon exploded into a burst of light, a white pillar . From this distance, it seemed no larger than a needle against the quilt of countryside, yet the magic radiating from it was enough to determine its colossal size. Arcon saw the unicorn cringe, his hooves reaching to his horn. Like all magic users, they sensitive to the magic in the world around them. To gaze upon that much would be like staring into the sun; blinding. “What in the name of the sister’s is that?!” he exclaimed. The alicorn rose from his perch beside him and spread his great wings. “That-“ Arcon answered with a tired sigh a few moments later when the light faded away. “Is my sister…"