Spike the Dragon sat on the rooftop balcony of the Golden Oaks Library. The night air nipped at his scales, and yet, he chose not to go inside. He had far too much on his mind. As he looked into the sky, the stars called out to him. Twilight’s borderline obsession with constellations provided him with the knowledge to read the sky.

The stars speak in a language impossible for mortals to understand. For their language is quiet and slow, yet at the same time it is constant and sparse. They speak of possibilities yet to come, or perhaps those that have already come, and have been forgotten.

Among the bravest of society, those who have dared to look beyond the night sky, the stars have filled them with a horrible terror. To stare into a truly infinite universe; one cannot imagine a worse truth. For whom is to say that the universe does not stare back?

Spike was snatched from his stupor as he heard a very loud woo, presumably from Pinkie Pie. With his wits then about him, he realized the air was indeed quite chilly, and not at all suited for a cold-blooded reptile like himself. The warmth of the fire drew him in as an addict to familiarity.

The door slowly cast light into his darkened bedroom. There upon his bed sat the infernal tome, an issue of Power Ponies, but not just any old issue. It was the issue where the Masked Matter-Horn and Radiance teamed up to fight off the scouting party of an alien invasion. The only problem was, the story resonated with Spike, maybe just a little too much.

The moment his eyes fell upon the lanky form of said alien, thousands of images flashed through his head of his friends fighting off the alien menace. As, honestly, that would not even rank in the top three weirdest things to have happened to them.

The newest conundrum, of which the world seemed to have an endless supply, was whether or not he should continue reading the book, join the party, or go to bed. Joining the party was out of the question as Twilight had barred his entry due to the presence of alcohol.

In a bout of unease, he grabbed the comic and hastily flung it out of his sight. It landed, sloppily, at the foot of Twilight’s bed, the pages folding over on themselves. His head hit the pillow, and he was out like a light, or at least that’s what he would have wanted to happen, however, his obsessive nature forbade sleep until the comic was properly stashed away.

With an effortful grunt, he flipped the blanket off, and reached for the comic. From his vantage point, he was able to see under Twilight’s bed. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a large, black book.

“Well now, you don’t belong there,” he reached for the book and brought it fully into his vision. While it wasn’t un-characteristic of Twilight to leave books scattered around the place, this just didn’t quite fit the standard. The book itself was also strange. Its binding was decrepit, and yet it was stable. Though it seemed the book would fall apart at the very notion of reading it, within Spike’s claws, he felt no give.

He glanced at the spine of the book, and though it was indeed decrepit, he was able to make out two words: Waking Dreams.

Spike sat upon Twilight’s admittedly comfy bed, holding the apparently ancient book in his hands. His fingers drummed its spine in concentration. His previous conundrum had evolved into a full blown predicament.

His body begged for sleep, yet his mind begged for answers. His curiosity eventually won out, and his claw slowly lifted the cover of the page. He found before him, a book. Honestly, what else did he expect?

His eyes creeped along the lines, “The eyes, once bleached by falling stars of utmost revelation, will forever see the faint insight drawn by the overwhelming question, as only the True Enquiry shapes the edge of thought.”

He didn’t even have time to question the absurdity of what he just read before the pages went completely black with ink.

“What the hay,” he dropped the book atop Twilight’s comforter, where it lay flat on its spine. From his angle, Spike was able to see a very long vine-like appendage lift from the book and creep towards him. His reservations left him along with his fatigue, and he expelled a plume of fire at the appendage.

The flames seemed to pass right through it, and slam into the book itself. The book however, sustained no damage, unlike Twilight’s comforter which now sported a burn in the shape of said book. Spike was helpless as the appendage wrapped around his neck, and pulled him into the book. His vision went dark.

When he awoke, the surroundings assaulted his senses. A foul, thick odor permeated his nose. A low, droning wailing seemed at the same time to be infinitely far away, and yet directly in his ear. Most distressing of all was the sight laid before him. Gone was Twilight’s bed, replaced by a horizon of green and white. He stood upon an island of cobblestone in a sea of black.

To his side, he saw the very same book that just abducted him. In an effort to put as much distance as possible between him and the book, he clawed himself away from the book and toward the black sea.

He inched closer to the liquid, and peered over the edge, where only his reflection stared back. Shakily, he dropped his index claw into the liquid, only to snatch it back. The liquid seeped into his scales, burning his flesh, yet not actually harming the skin. It was as though the liquid harmed him, rather than his body.

“What is this place,” he asked aloud.

Apocrypha

“What the hay was that,” he covered his eyes with his hands. The voice had no point of origin, he felt as though it was everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

Fear not young Spike, no harm will come to you here.

“How do you know my name?”

I know all there is to know. Such as a name is trivial for one such as I. Please, young Spike, open your eyes.

Against his body’s best wishes, he slowly removed his claws from his face. The entity before him was indescribable. No Shape, no texture, nothing that could even indicate it was alive. There was one discernible feature however, the eye. In the center of the entity sat the great eye of a goat.

“Who, or what are you? Where am I?”

I am Hermeaus Mora, daedric prince of knowledge, and this…is my plane of Oblivion, Apocrypha. Welcome.

“Why did you bring me here?”

Interesting, what leads you to believe I am the one to bring you here? Why would you not assume that you came…to me?

“You said this is your plane, and that book,” he pointed at Waking Dreams on the floor, “brought me here,”.

Did you not choose to read the book?

“Well, I did open the book, but I didn’t want to come here.”

Such wants are…irrelevant. You held the book in your own…hands, and against all of your knowledge, you opened it. Your curiosity led you here, but it did not bring you.

“How do I go home?”

If you tire of this plane…read your book again. You shall return to your own realm, for a time. The lure of Apocrypha will draw you back.

He picked up the book, and pressed his claws between the pages.

Before you go, if you were to impart a donation of knowledge into my realm…I would greatly appreciate that.

Spike wanted nothing more than to rip the book’s pages open and return to his home. Yet, he did not.

“Donation? Didn’t you say you knew everything?“

The…tactile…existence of facts allows them to be easily categorized. What I seek is far more ephemeral.

“What do you want?”

Reason. It is one thing to know the stars align…it is quite another to learn why.

What I seek from you…Spike…is just that. Why are you not called by your true name?

“My what now,” he shook his head, “Spike is my true name, I’ve had it my entire life.”

Interesting… Tell me Spike, what does the name Durinaar mean to you?

“Should I recognize it? ‘Cause I don’t.”

Fascinating, a Dovah that does not even know his own tongue. Young Spike, you have given me a great boon of knowledge this day, and as a reward, I shall grant you the knowledge of your true name.

“Whoa now, let’s just hold on a second. Firstly, Spike is still my name. Secondly, what good is knowing a name if I don’t know the language it’s written in?”

Fret not, for it was always my intention to grant you my knowledge of the Dovah tongue along with your name.

“And if I refuse?”

Your curiosity will go unsated, and you will inevitably find your way back to me. Back to this exact scenario.

“You…won’t force me to learn it? That’s how Twilight always does.”

Knowledge is not a book that needs to be jammed onto a shelf. Knowledge is the flow of the words on the pages. You can not force knowledge upon one who does not already wish to learn.

“Ok, well… Then I accept your reward.”

Very good

Rushing wind filled Spike’s eardrums as his mind was imparted knowledge of Dovah tongue. He sealed his eyes as thousands of years of language ingrained itself.

You understand it now. Don’t you Durinaar?

“Yes,” he opened his eyes, now completely void of curiosity, “I do.”

“Dur-in-aar. Cursed. Master. Servant. I am Durinaar.”

Spike woke in Twilight's bed, upright. The book still sat within his claws, now closed. His head throbbed, pain gripped his skull like a vice. As he lowered the book, into his sight came the large burn mark left by his struggles with the book. The entire experience with the prince faded from his mind, and the sight of a very disappointed Twilight took its place. He began to pace back and forth atop Twilight's bed.

"Oh no... Twilight's gonna kill me! She'll force me to move out, and...and...", tears started welling up in his eyes. The combination of tears, post-Apocrypha headaches, and elevated position eventually led to Spike misplacing a step, and tumbling down off her bed. Spike landed head-first on the oak floor.

The collision rattled his senses, it was as though his body had been restarted. Thankfully, his fearful stupor did not carry over to his new position. Righting himself, slowly, his gaze once again drifted to the burn. His eyes surveyed the pattern on the comforter...blank. The comforter was a blank, uniform color. Spike's eyes lit up. If he could just exchange out this one for another similar one, surely a tipsy Twilight wouldn't be any the wiser. He began un-doing the magically fitted bed, grumbling all the while at the convenience of unicorn magic.

It had worked, he was safe, for now. Spike ran a claw across his brow in a gesture of finality. The bed was made, albeit a bit messily, and the book was hid safely beneath his basket. Not a moment too soon either, as a large yawn exited the little drake's mouth. He dropped down to all fours, and slinked into his basket, allowing the blanket to cascade over him. It was paradise.

He closed his eyes, and...nothing. He had been so tired just a few minutes ago, and yet here he was, not asleep. He relinquished himself to his pillow, and simply allowed his mind to wander. Naturally, his thoughts drifted back to Apocrypha. Was that all just a dream? It certainly didn't feel like one, then again neither did any of his other dreams. He was much too terrified, however, at the prospect of it not being a dream, that he dare not open the book again. Eventually, the drake's nigh-infinite supply of energy finally ran dry, and he slipped into a gentle sleep.

Standing back upon the cursed cobble, his gaze focused on an infinitely far away concept. The wailing had returned. His gaze cast upon an impossibly tall tower, styled similarly to Canterlot Castle. A very humid wind past over him, carrying with it the stench of moldy paper. Immediately before him, a large, intricate petal of iron sat above the black liquid. The drake took a step over the sea of black, then another, and another. This pace increased until he was fully committed to walking the length of the petal. Looking ahead, he spotted the entrance at the bottom of the tower.

Unbeknownst to the small drake, he had wandered close to the edge of the petal. He was made ware of his surroundings by the splashing of a long, black, vine slinking out of the black. His instincts took over, and he launched himself back, away from the edge. The vine, seemingly acting on instinct, slammed the ground where he was, before slinking back into the depths. In the distance, he could see another stone platform. With great intensity, he ran for the platform, inadvertently admitting to the vines his location. In front of him, to the right of the path, a vine rose and prepared to attack. In the split second he had, Spike's mind was flooded with the language imposed on him by the prince.

The fear left his body, and a deep breath he took, "FUS!".

He was once again awoken, this time however, was due to the force imparted onto Twilight's bed, specifically by his skull. Despite the darkness, his dragon eyes granted him sight. That of which, was not what he expected. The side of the wall across his basket which he usually faced was in shambles. Alongside that, Twilight's bed was now greatly perverted, exposing the untrodden wood beneath.

His head, already throbbing, now addled, allowed for a brief respite in the form of a quickly dissipating numbness. He weakly stumbled to his feet, all the while keeping his claw on his head. As his senses returned to him, the situation began to fully sink in. Forget a small burn on the blanket, he had just destroyed half of their room! There was no way Twilight and the others hadn't heard this. There was no more hiding it. He fell to his rear, and a salty liquid began to form in his eyes.

However, as he waited, and waited, nothing ever happened. Nopony came to the door, there was no spontaneous teleportation from Twilight. There was simply, nothing. Eventually, he worked up the courage to open the door. Nothing, not even the sounds of a party. He glanced back at the destroyed room. Guilt welled up within him, if only he had never opened that accursed book. He had to leave, if not to avoid their wrath, then to avoid damaging his home any further. He gently walked down the stairs, pausing at the last step.

There, in all their glory, were the Elements of harmony, absolutely plastered like drywall. Rainbowdash was splayed out on her back in the middle of the floor. Rarity had procured the counter as a makeshift fainting couch. Applejack was sat back in a chair with her hat over her face. Fluttershy was cuddled up with Owlowiscious. Most fittingly perhaps, was Twilight, muzzle-deep in a book, completely out cold.

On any other day, Spike would have rejoiced in the hilarity of the situation. The current climate, however, was just too unstable. He daintily planted one foot onto the ground floor, expecting some kind of retaliation. None ever came. The stroll to the font door seemed to extend with each step. Finally, he reached the entrance, his hand reached out to grasp the handle. As he did, a thought came to his mind, where was Pinkie Pie? In his attendance taking earlier, he hadn't noticed the pink pony. His heart caught in his throat, an he turned to find her. Oddly, however, no matter how much he looked, he never saw her. That is, until he looked up, and saw her, hanging from a bundle of balloons, asleep.

The tension within his body left through a thunderous exhale, and what replaced it was an intense embarrassment. He flung the door open and stepped outside into the chilly night air. The first flakes of snow had just begun to fall, and the ground was collecting wet patches. His eyes took in the landscape of Ponyville, many houses still had their Nightmare Night decorations up. Despite the festival of the eyes, none of it felt a safe refuge. His friends were all in his house, and he wasn't quite sure the residents of Ponyville had forgiven him for the Dragon Greed event, not enough to take him into their home unannounced. No, odd situations require odd solutions. His head turned to the end of town, and there he saw, the entrance to the Everfree Forrest.