If I were to imagine a past life, I would see myself as I once was, long before the chains of this world. Back when I stood alongside my brother Scorpan, in a land far removed from the petty struggles of this realm. We were rulers, unchallenged and united, bound not by fragile agreements but by blood, ambition, and a shared thirst for power.
But as I dwell on that time, I feel the bitter pang of betrayal. Scorpan, once my equal, was seduced by weakness—by the hollow promises of harmony and servitude to a cause unworthy of his strength. I came to Equestria seeking dominion, seeking to claim what was owed to me by right of power and will. And yet, what met me was not glory, but deceit, failure, and exile.
Perhaps this memory is no past life but a shadow of truth, lingering in my soul. If there were other lives before this one, they must have been defined by conquest, for I have always sought to take what I deserve. Yet even in imagining such things, I am reminded that the present is all that matters. The past, whether real or imagined, is a lesson in betrayal and the cost of misplaced trust.