Author's Note: I do not own Fallout: Equestria nor Project Horizions. A basic understanding of theses stories is not required to enjoy this tale, but I highly recommend it to get a better background of the lore and characters. Fallout: Equestria belongs to Kkat, Project Horizions and Goldenblood belongs to Somber. I also own neither My Little Pony nor Fallout. This story can also be found at my Wattpad under the same name by TheRandomestKatEver (Me)

Mahogany Dusk, Spearmint and Night Sky are all my characters. You may use them if you want but please credit me and link me so I can read your fabulous story!

"I never asked for this."

A white unicorn of elegant yet petite stature wrapped a small piece of chalk in dark red magic, nearly the same color as her mane, which she had been named for. She gave a winning smile at the camera, frozen forever in the image.

The faded magazine article boasted the talents of the mare. Mahogany Dusk; Head Professor of Magic at Princess Luna's Academy for Gifted Unicorns.

A mouthful, for sure, but one of which she had been proud.

40 fillies and colts to a class, 5 classes a day. Two hundred foals. Lives she impacted every day.

And she wouldn't have changed it for the world. She would have done it until the day she died.

Fate, however, had other plans.

For in the devastating flash of the Pink Cloud that hit Littlehorn that day, one Mahogany Dusk met a horrible fate. Radiation ate away at her flesh , causing her once brilliant ivory colored coat to come off in patches, her mane, her namesake no less, falling out in hoof-fulls.

The magazine was taped to a mirror, which reflected the rather terrifying image of a undead creature; a unicorn mare with twisted white hide, some of which was missing in patches, sometimes with gaping holes showing what was left of her irradiated innards, most notably a patch of skin over her mouth gone, revealing skull from the top of her muzzle to nearly her chin.

Caught in a hellish limbo between life and death in the Equestrian Wasteland.

Not exactly my cup of tea.

Yes, this grotesque mare is, unfortunately, me. I stepped away from the mirror after a moment of depressing self-pity and omnipotent narrating, turning to instead trot down the rotten and crumbling walkway that led from the little fillies' room to the library. The room had once been my favorite, aside from my classroom.

Often times after classes had ended for the day my students and I would congregate here for wild stories of magical lands and stories of pre-war Equestria. Of course, my peers did not approve of my tall tales, especially Goldenblood; a handsome stallion with wisdom beyond his years. An incredible teacher and friend with a stubborn insistence of reality in teaching. The foals should be taught without fantasy that wouldn't better their minds.

My stories provided an escape from test scores and the uncertainty of their futures. A ray of optimism in a pessimistic world. Perhaps that same optimism caused our downfall. It was my students whom lead a starving group of zebra refugees to our gates, hoping to find shelter; instead they found death.

I shook my head to clear it of wandering thoughts. It no longer mattered. No amount of stories nor regret could bring back the dead.

All I can do is teach the next generation to be better then those in the past. The only problem is my lack of students. Pink Cloud exposure kills most anything aside from Ghouls. This is both helpful and hindering; on one hoof I am protected from the sole dangers of the Equestrian Wasteland aside from other Ghouls. I am free of others who would attempt to scavenge the school.

On the other hoof, I have no one to share my knowledge with unless I venture into the Wastes. When the Pink Cloud hit the Academy, most of the foals and teachers died instantly. Few were transformed into Ghouls, but their minds were warped.

Some became Repeaters - eternally doomed to repeat the actions before their deaths. Some as simple as erasing chalkboards that no longer exist. Some as complex as teaching the same lecture over and over or repeating their last school day. There is no intelligence; only a robotic repetition of actions. Attempts to converse are met with either blank stares, complete ignorance or in rare cases, violent outbursts.

Teaching becomes difficult when there is nopony to listen.

So I spend my days here- wandering the school, searching for any salvageable books or artefacts. Any scrap of knowledge that might better Equestria. Lately, I have been having issues finding new things. I have read every book in this library, learning everything from zebra languages, fighting styles and enchantments to the history of Equestria from the rise of the Princesses to the Last Day.

I have searched every crevice, unlocked every safe and collected every document worth having. But now, I have found every secret within these walls.

I've considered venturing out into the Equestrian Wasteland but my fear holds me back. Perhaps it's a bit foolish, but I fear facing the remains of the land I once called home. It's easy to ignore the apocalypse when you confine yourself to a mostly-intact library. But beyond these walls lies more knowledge. Even potential students.

I walked to the crumbling balcony, gently pushing the doors open. I had dedicated my first 10 years of consciousness to cleaning and fixing the library with restorative magic. I had initially hoped to find some way to reverse the Pink Cloud effects and repair the school. However, the spells and incantations weren't made for such a concentrated blast nor a single unicorn.

Resting my hooves on the railing I had once so lovingly restored, I stared first at the dark, cloudy sky before bringing my eyes down to the dusty, dead earth. It had always been nothing but a valley, with nothing but grass as far as one could see. I missed the simple green life of the grass.

How many ponies could be fed with such a simple crop? Could the radiation be cleansed from the ground?

So many questions that could be answered with more research. Taught to the next generation. Restore Equestria to a fraction of its former self? Surely there were ponies whom could help me with my research? Didn't I owe it to the surviving members of the equestrian race to teach them to better themselves.

It was settled, then. I would gather my things and set out on a journey to find information.

For Equestria.