//------------------------------//
// 4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 8. Where the Monsters Dwell 
// Story: The Wanderer of the North 
// by Alaxsxaq 
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4. The Twin Goddesses: Part 8. Where the Monsters Dwell


A harsh iron clank accompanied the portcullis while it rose, the spiked iron bars spraying dirt as they ripped from the ground. Tall creatures regarded a unicorn sternly, snorting from their pierced snouts. The stallion kept his nerve, in too deep to back out now. His dark cloak lightly waved in the breeze; the iron crown sitting upon his head was plain—the iridean diamond was far too precious to bring out here to the den of thieves.

Each of the two guards, one dark brown and the other tawny, gave a quick nod of respect. The unicorn simply responded with cold red eyes; minotaurs seemed to have manners after all. A silver third specimen of their kind stood not far from the gatehouse, dressed in quaint trinkets of shell, wood, and poorly-worked gold. The broad horns jutting from his head were tipped with ornate orbs. He smiled and outstretched those strange hands these minotaurs possessed.

“My Lord,” he spoke with a voice higher than the pony would have expected, “Welcome to Mareposa. We have a reception awaiting you in the palace meeting hall; if you’d follow me.”

Prince Noblesse Oblige of Trottingham nodded in approval, allowing himself to be led by this liaison. “And I am to call you?”

“Khalkâs, your Highness.” Not a hint of an accent colored his voice.

As the Prince trotted behind the minotaur, he could not help but find agreeable the courtesy he’d so far received. A messenger had been sent directly here following his withdrawal from the Congress, requesting an audience with the horde’s leader on the promise of alliance. Noblesse was surprised to learn the request was met not only with warm reception, but indeed enthusiasm. A return to Trottingham to order affairs, and he set out for Mareposa.

The reports were true. Ruined buildings were colored by ash, stone edifices reduced to broken foundations. Tattered Mareposan banners lazily drifted in the wind, fixed within the rubble. Bloodstains littered the paved streets; mercifully the bodies seemed to have been carted away. Minotaur warriors sat on the dispossessed stones, sharpening their weapons or gorging themselves on oats and wine. Several snorted at the Prince, but none of these beasts dared to touch him.

The only ponies within the city seemed to be the mustangs. They shouted and chattered in their unpleasant language, and galloped about unbathed and ungroomed. Noblesse Oblige sneered at the sight; necessity only brought him here.

Amidst the streets of Mareposa, nestled behind the jagged crests of ruined buildings, the former royal fortress lorded over the “graveyard” like a silent colossus. Through their course towards the inner keep, the spire of Mareposa’s great stronghold never left the Prince’s sight, even as more interesting things came into view.

Swooping overhead, dark equine-like things flapped their leathery wings. They were training, but stopped and landed about thirty feet to his left, all watching the Prince with their eerie golden eyes. Noblesse was…intrigued; bat ponies were little more than myths in Equestria proper—it seemed thestrals weren’t complete fiction.

Khalkâs led the Prince and his guards through a couple more open spaces and courtyards, one of which housed an actual dragon; a slithering bronze drake. It slept on a pile of shining armor; obviously the dull creature thought them to be gold. They were in fact brass. Noblesse Oblige rolled his eyes, hoping these ancient beasts wouldn’t become distracted at the first ornate warhelm to catch their fancy.

Ever closer to the heart of the city, the party came before the gates through the inner walls. “Quite the eclectic force you’ve assembled here,” the Prince muttered, “Tell me; how many eye the eastern riches?”

“’Riches’?” Khalkâs began with a bright grin, “Equestria’s Reckoning is not here for simple gems and colored metals. The selfish and short-sighted of us care for such temporary things. Our prophets speak of a far greater purpose.”

The minotaur’s cryptic and brooding tone caused Noblesse to take a pause. “Land? Dominion? A new home?”

“They speak of the Gods’ mandate. The old reign of the Ponies has ended; a thousand years since their king vanished. The world descended into misery and blight. Now it writhes under its own decrepitude.” Khalkâs continued to walk forward, but turned his face to the Prince, “Newer, stronger blood will end this age in a cleansing wash of fire and steel. Those who have been forgotten or hated, relegated to this cruel land, are the ones to take the dominion.

“A leader has been called forth; a God in flesh to command our army and seize victory. A hundred thousand gather under our banners to greet the coming of this new age. Now tell me, your Highness,” Khalkâs turned back to the road, “Can our goals align with yours?”

Noblesse thought a moment, passing through the inner gate. He slowly grinned wider and wider, “I think so. I too wish to do away with needless remnants of the past.” Let this horde have their faith in dread gods; if it makes them fight better…

He looked up and saw the fortress. It was largely intact, save for some damages caused by what he assumed were battering rams. A noise then startled him; something like the blaring of trumpets. Noblesse Oblige looked to the right to find a makeshift series of pens crafted out of crude stakes. Striped ponies…what were they called—zebras, exotic transplants from far to the south, handled large hulking grey beasts with massive tusks and long noses. Every step they made seemed to shake the earth.

The Prince stopped and backed away in apprehension. Khalkâs chuckled, “Fear not, my Lord. Those are elephants. Zebra beastmasters spend a lifetime taming them; we are in no danger.” Sure enough, one of the “elephants” was placated when its handler presented a bale of hay.

Noblesse stared for a time, in awe of these giants. What sort of havoc could these animals wreak on an unsuspecting army? Khalkâs’ voice shook the Prince from his stupor. “Yes…well, continue,” he uttered, clearing his throat.

Proceeding into the stronghold, Noblesse gazed upwards at the high vaulted ceiling. The foyer possessed numerous doorways and ramparts leading to the battlements around its central tower. Right now, minotaur and mustang watches patrolled. Some traveled up the ramps to survey the city whereas others guarded chests and mounds of treasure won by presumably high-status warriors.

It was clear the stronghold had suffered during the siege, as its walls were cracked and bare. In fact, it almost seemed as though the entire thing had become ruins, only recently reoccupied. Where were the inhabitants? Had they all been killed or driven out?

One of the thresholds led to a corridor, a staircase leading higher and deeper into the tower. Past the fire pits of idle warriors and ripped remnants of the once-glorious red carpeting, Khalkâs led the guests up to the next level. In the subsequent chamber a large stone doorway stood, tiny boreholes all that remaining of the massive doors once set within. Tall braziers roared in the corners, a series of long tables dominating the meeting hall.

At the far side of the room, plates and pitchers cluttered the Lords’ table, several champions of the races here in Mareposa feasting and drinking, occasionally even chasing the female company brought to alleviate the worst distraction on campaign. Noblesse remained solemn as he strode towards the mustang seated in the middle of the table.

Several mustang mares, clad in golden bands and chains, admittedly did catch his eye. They had a sort of exotic beauty to them—no, far more important things remained at stake. Khalkâs stopped at the table’s edge and turned back to Prince Noblesse. He smiled and held his hands behind his back, “My Lord, this is the Great Warchief of the Mustangs, Chesikkeshi” Khalkâs gave a slight bow to the chieftain, “I present Prince Noblesse Oblige of Trottingham.”

Chesikkeshi…Jasicus finished sipping from his cup and stood up. “Welcome here to Mareposa.” The chieftain spoke somewhat slowly; deliberate rather, combating his accent with clear speech, “You are welcome to anything here in our hall.”

Noblesse didn’t respond. He kept his stare at the chieftain, then levitated up an apple from a plate. Rubbing it on his vest, he gave it a sniff and took a bite. Jasicus himself took a pitcher and poured two cups of wine, drinking from his first. Noblesse hesitated at first, but then accepted the gesture and drank quickly to quench his steadily-building thirst.

“Borukul midenil,” Jasicus said as he waved a hoof. Khalkâs nodded and began walking out of the hall.

Feeding on the apple, Noblesse obliged watched the mustang for a while. He was tan, mane a reddish-orange. He wore a mustache and goatee, along with a necklace of silver and rubies. A number of warrior braids hung from his mane, a couple feathers tied to them. A surcoat clasped his torso, adorned with a warm collar of wool. The distinctive cloth-metal helmet of the mustangs rested to his side, a golden diadem riveted to the iron crown of the headgear.

“A minotaur serving a pony?” Noblesse spoke at last.

“The servant of my ally; Khalkâs brought you here for the pleasantries. The Minotaur King is currently occupied. Interesting fellow, is Khalkâs not? My shamans have impressed him.” Warchief Jasicus finished his apple to the core, “He is a bullock, you know; eunuch.”

“Really… I had my suspicions.”

Jasicus cleared his throat, “Though I am sure you didn’t come for…how you say…gossip. Your messenger said Trottingham will join us. Why?”

Noblesse raised an eyebrow, “Does it matter? Know simply our aims coincided insofar as disrupting Equestria’s lords are concerned.”

Jasicus did not sneer or huff as he stood up; the only indication of his dissatisfaction was the slight increase in the intensity of his breathing. “Forgive me if I view this all with suspicion…”

“There is nothing to suspect,” Noblesse replied, willing his patience to elongate, “I have taken great risk to be here. I do have a measure of valuable information; all I ask is that you clearly define the goals of this great horde.”

“Depends on whom you ask. Minotaurs want glory, Dragons want treasure, Zebras want adventure, and the bat-ponies simply want a purpose.”

“And your mustangs? Your domain could be grand here on the plains.” Prince Noblesse then glanced at the chieftain’s humble wardrobe, “But that isn’t your ambition, is it?”

Jasicus let out a deep breath, “When I was a colt, my father told me of spirits that galloped across the sky, dragging along the winds and rains. I wondered about the worst of the seasons, and asked ‘Are they cruel?’ He replied ‘No, they are simply wild. Drowning storms and freezing snows follow the tracks they make. The burning summer sun scares them away.’ I came to understand our brief respite in spring and autumn.”

The Great Warchief stepped around the lords’ table and approached Noblesse Oblige, “But then I was brought on a raid; somewhere around Fillydelphia. We traveled deep, almost all the way southwards to the ocean. The breezes, the trees, the delicious feasts…I learned life did not have to be so cruel. There your flying ponies can control the weather; they make it easier and far more pleasant.

“Zealots of all races here preach about the coming of the God that will lead our forces. The shamans and acolytes claim to speak with it…say we’ve been given a divine mission to claim Equestria. When we march east, we will take cities. And my mustangs will pillage and plunder, as is our way. I owe them their loot.”

The tan stallion, an earth pony, soon was a foot away from the Prince. He was slightly shorter, but his accented voice carried the weight of a leader who may as well have been alicorn sized. Noblesse narrowed his eyes, watching every movement of Jasicus’ face and listening to every inflection in his speech. “These warriors can have their treasure, and glory, and crowns, and heaps of conquered skulls. Chiefs can carve their fiefs out of the ruin of Equestria. All I want is a better home for my ponies; a place where we will not starve, or where each winter we will not have to dread freezing to death. A home where we can sleep in peace without fear of being devoured by wild beasts.”

Nothing in Jasicus’ voice or face conveyed any attempt to deceive; any indication of insincerity. “A truly commendable desire. Perhaps then we can reach a compromise,” Noblesse said, eliciting a grin from the mustang.

“Yes. You’ve come all this way, to betray your own kindred. So tell me, Prince Noblesse Oblige, what could you possibly want that cannot be found in the land of plenty?”

“Equestria’s clarity,” the unicorn spoke immediately. A small twitch caught his left eye, gone as quickly as it had come, “My people hold their ancestry greater than their progeny. They are infatuated with relics of bygone times. They are held back by a mythology that deifies a defective sort. A new age must rise, but you are incorrect about what ashes it shall be built upon.”

A long, deep breath was drawn, exhaled with rage-filled trembling, “Equestrians were never the issue. Their ‘gods’ must become memories, and then forgotten. I’ve come here to this desolate stronghold because I need to save Equestria from itself. It shall be a painful transformation, and the old great houses will be bled dry before its end. If your horde can refrain from destroying the entirety of my country, you can have all the gold, silver, and jewels in those damn lords’ castles. And your mustangs can have a breadth of fertile and rich land.”

Noblesse Oblige raised his hoof and held it forward, “A new home for your people in exchange for a renewed kingdom for me. Agree, and Trottingham’s banners shall march beside yours.”

Warchief Jasicus bent his gaze to the dark orange stallion’s hoof, keeping his eyes on it for a time. The mustang thought, realizing he was not the sole authority of this great western horde. “Targınguluyushu i chudorsokushu, you have consent. But the Minotaur King remains to be convinced, and I’m sure he should love to hear whatever valuable information you’ve brought.”

The Prince of Trottingham’s mouth curled into a devious grin, “Lead the way.”

Without delay Jasicus retrieved his helmet and donned it. A slight jerk of his head and the two rulers and the Trottingham guards cantered out of the meeting hall. Past the nobles, past the champions and their company, Noblesse and Jasicus descended the staircase and proceeding back out the hallways. Emerging from the grand foyer, the stallions continued their gait through the courtyard and out the gatehouse.

It was not far from Mareposa’s stronghold to the Champion’s Pit, the purported favorite place for this Minotaur King in which to recreate. A city block further down the dilapidated and ashen streets, a crudely-erected palisade of wooden stakes intermixed with the gruesome skeletal trophies of victory enclosed a large sandy arena.

The mere presence of Great Warchief Jasicus prompted the minotaur sentries to allow the Prince and his protection into the Pit. Greeting him was a systematized spectacle of slaughter. Throngs of the warriors endeavoring towards Equestria’s downfall were tiding themselves over with blood sport. Cheering and grunting, the rawest expressions of this horde’s savagery, accompanied the wails and cries of agony.

The best champions of the races involved, be it the brutally ferocious minotaur, the relentlessly tenacious mustang, or the uncommonly clever zebras, charged into the ring and fought not only one another, but also miserable captives—what remained of Mareposa’s citizens.

Those who had not the good fortune to either flee or die in battle.

Every minotaur camp and village possessed a Champion’s Pit, the very largest tribes an entire dedicated building. It was important to keep warriors honed, and appease their ravenous gods’ bloodlust. Mareposa’s pit was likely dug within the first week of occupation.

The outer circle contained the spectators, foaming at the mouth for more brutal sport. On the other side of the Pit, a special section was elevated and covered with awnings, servants periodically ferrying drinks and food for the nourishment of participating warriors and important attendees.

At the top of this special section stood a chair, the crest of its back adorned with a skull. Could that have been the skull of the fallen King of Mareposa?

Noblesse Oblige did not like this, even less so when it was noticed no creature occupied the chair. “Where is he?” the Prince demanded, shouting over the clamor of the crowd.

“Busy,” Jasicus replied, cleaving his pathway into the audience. Noblesse followed, instructing his guards to be extra-careful.

The spectators were loud, filthy, and absolutely without manners. They squabbled in their grating tongues and seemed to fly into a brawl at the slightest provocation. More than once did some unfortunate soul actually shove his Princeship, earning a swift knock from his guards’ hooves. The crowd didn’t appear to notice or care.

It was a grueling trial to get to the King’s section, but at long last the sojourn was completed. The Warchief took a seat on one of the benches underneath the awning, leaving enough room for Noblesse.

“What are we waiting for?” he asked, but was met by a quiet “shush” and pointing at the sand pit.

In the dug pit, off to the left, was a tunnel reinforced by timbers beneath the ring of spectators. From here participants were allowed, or more often dragged, into the arena. Presently a zebra warrior, clad in the tropical hardwood armor of his homeland, cantered around the pit and yelled out boasts. Across his striped fur various scars lined and curved into abstract images, exactly as if they were made on purpose.

He was a beastmaster, wielding a whip to spur on those large mounts—elephants. Noblesse could not understand the zebra; Jasicus anticipated this and leaned over to the Prince, “My Zebrican is poor, but I believe he’s announcing the kills he’s made down south.”

Upon closer listening, Noblesse recognized the boasting as having a distinctive rhythm, “Is he…singing?”

“Among their kind, poetry is considered a warrior’s art.”

A gong sounded forth from a stand in the outer ring, and three captive ponies were forced out into the arena by the lance of a minotaur warden. Given rudimentary weapons, they were sacrifices sent to die for entertainment.

The Zebra grimaced and cracked his whip. One pony, a unicorn, tried to beg for her life. The whip caught her throat, and so restrained on the ground she was impaled by the zebra’s broad sword. The two remaining then charged, one immediately tripped by the whip’s sting. Distracted, the zebra was caught by the other’s stone dagger. The wound was minor, and the warrior simply responded with his own slash, this one fatal. The other downed pony, bearing a deep gash on its leg from the whip, cowered beneath the victorious zebra.

Noblesse Oblige had his fill at that point, and did not see what befell the captive. There would be a steep price to pay for his people’s renewal, and this was but a taste.

The corpses were dragged back into the holding pens; gods know for what. The zebra basked in the glory of his victory and retreated back through the tunnel. And then…the crowd began to chant for a very specific thing, “Aurýx.”

The name rang in the air, rolling into a grand crescendo of anticipation. Drums accompanied the chanting, and Noblesse perceived a faint twinge of dread. “What’s happening?”

“That,” Jasicus pointed at the figure emerging into the arena.

A silver-blue minotaur, built like a mountain, trudged to the center. His horns were massive, virile and imposing. Wielding a mighty glaive, he raised the weapon and performed showy maneuvers with it. Hearing them shout his name, the minotaur bellowed and snorted, riling himself into a rage to better slaughter his opponent.

“Aurýx! Aurýx! Aurýx!” they continued to clamor, the bull all too eager to flex his impressive musculature for their enjoyment. Moments later another contender ran out, a thestral of all things. It was burly and mean-looking, sickly yellow eyes boring at the Minotaur. Dressed in iron armor, it flew up and shouted at the crowd, trying to elicit cheers from its corner. From the faint voice Noblesse figured the thestral was female, and perhaps a high-ranking member of their mountain tribe.

Saddling a lance, she landed and dug with a foreleg. Looking like an earth pony knight of the east, the thestral waited for the signal.

“She offended Aurýx, and this is their way of settling the dispute. Once one is in the pit, they fight, or they die,” the Warchief whispered. Noblesse Oblige simply stared on at the match.

The gong was rung, and the minotaur took at stance, holding his glaive with the tip pointed outwards. The thestral charged forwards at full speed, aiming her lance straight for Aurýx’s chest. He parried expertly, the din of clashing steel echoing through the arena. The thestral however used her momentum and catapulted herself into the air, returning to gore the minotaur’s head.

He dodged. She circled back and tried again. He dodged a second time, and caught her leg with his glaive’s edge. The thestral then landed at the far end of the arena, galloped and at the last moment lifted off with her lance, dying to taste minotaur blood.

The thestral mare was close, but ultimately unsuccessful. Aurýx turned his body, catching the lance’s shaft in his hand. Then, directing his body to make the most of the momentum, swung the doomed bat-pony around, letting her careen into the pit’s wall. The impact broke her wing and several ribs, and she hobbled up to her legs, wiping the blood from her lips. But before she even knew it, a sharp bone-splitting pain hit her hind leg. Aurýx had thrown the lance into the limb, and grinned maliciously as he stepped forth slowly.

It was all fun by this point.

Yanking out the lance, focusing her willpower not to collapse from the awesome pain, the thestral drew her sword. Aurýx however did not need to respond with much; the lance’s tip had severed a major artery in her leg. Bleeding profusely, the mare stumbled around, soon unable to focus. Her leg too hurt to move anymore, she stopped in place.

The minotaur approached, watching his opponent struggle to keep up the fight. The nearby sand now covered in a shallow pool of blood, the thestral fell onto her side. Her breaths short and raspy, she trained her yellow eye up at her vanquisher.

Downed, weakened, and broken, the thestral mare offered no resistance as Aurýx the Minotaur King cleaved off her head with his glaive. Holding it up for the audience, he growl and bellowed like a bull during mating season.

The cheering and stomping of the minotaurs in the stands was loudest, and they bumped chests with pride at their unbeatable leader. Beating his own chest, Aurýx paced around the pit. “Ekthòrō khỳptos têrapsyseis? Ekthòrō?” he asked in Minotaurican, a clear invitation for further sport.

No creature in the stands dared to answer the challenge, except for one other minotaur. This newcomer charged through the outer ring and leapt into the pit, bearing a heavy axe and shield. He was jet black, with thick shaggy fur all over his body. Clashing his blade against the iron lining on his shield, the challenger replied, “Têrapsyti galikémathe Bovâridēx!”

Jasicus furrowed his brow and shook his head, lightly tapping Noblesse Oblige on the shoulder, “That is Sphenôkleos, a rival chieftain. Only the very strongest can lead the drove.”

The Prince of Trottingham studied the black minotaur. It was a point made in the Congress, as he understood from his agents’ reports, that many lords did not believe this horde to be stable. Constant struggles for supremacy within their ranks would certainly lend credence to this. Noblesse grew apprehensive at the thought.

Sphenôkleos immediately rushed to cut down his opponent. The crown, the honors, the glory…they would be his. He was far more heavily armored and armed, and fresh compared to the “King” who had just finished a duel. Aurýx saw his rival running closer and sighed, sidestepping perfectly when the axe crashed down into the sand. Now opened, Sphenôkleos could do nothing when the King’s glaive severed his right arm.

Now facing a surprised opponent, Aurýx pulled the large round shield to the side and lighting fast carved a gash up his viscera. Sphenôkleos lost consciousness and fell backwards, his entrails beginning to pour out. Aurýx didn’t even bother to boast or bask in his victory; he simply headed to the edge of the arena.

“It’s an almost daily occurrence for him. You’d think they’d learn…,” Jasicus mused.

King Aurýx came closer to his section, thirsty for the wine the servants brought out. Leaping over the low fence, he spotted the Warchief and some unknown unicorn. “Jasicus, thank you for coming to see me,” he grinned, making his way to the throne at the top of the champion’s box, “Now who is this pony?”

The Warchief stood up, “The Eastern Prince we heard about.” Jasicus bade Noblesse to rise as well, the two now standing before the minotaur at the base of his throne.

Now much closer, Noblesse could spot various scars over the bull’s body. A large ring hung from his snout, smaller ones pierced into his ears. Rough and defined, he had the form and presentation of a true warrior. And interestingly, around his throat was a necklace of what appeared to be dragon’s teeth. In the center of it, however, displayed as the centerpiece of the crude jewelry was a long white…unicorn horn? The Prince gulped quietly, hoping Aurýx did not wish to add another such trinket to his collection.

“Yes…ruler of…eh…Trottingham,” the King uttered, gulping from his cup. Further carnage continued in the background, its instigator leaning forward, “Why come here?”

The Prince cleared his throat, “To announce that the banners of my realm will fight beside yours, provided I can receive a few guarantees.”

“What reason for this? You are little pony,” the bull sneered in his thick accent.

“I have resources and information. Your forces are impressive, no doubt, but even so you will need every soldier available to win Equestria.”

Aurýx began to cackle, “Really?”

Noblesse Oblige now held himself with the regal dignitas and authority of an Equestrian Prince, “Of course. I can show you the best lands to plunder, the finest treasures to loot,” he took pause and smirked, “And the greatest warriors to challenge.”

The King turned to his peer the Mustang Warchief, “What does he want? What has he offered you?”

“A chance to rest…,” Jasicus intoned, “Prince Noblesse wishes the purported destruction of Equestria be restrained.” The Warchief glanced at the Prince, allowing him to continue.

“Yes, Majesty,” Noblesse then gave a slight bow of respect, if only to save face and win favor. From Aurýx’s self-congratulating snort, it appeared to work. “Enough to break the old order, enough to satisfy you and your army’s desire for riches, and enough to procure land for the Mustangs.”

The Minotaur King stroked his chin for a time, letting out a low groan. His gaze turned to the contests held in the arena, the matter still on his mind. He thought long enough for an entire match to transpire in the Pit, all the while Noblesse standing before the King, patience steadily wearing thin.

At last Aurýx grinned and spoke, “Our mission is not for us to decide. The Shamans tell us their visions, the Will of the Gods. We were told to march east and conquer.”

Prince Noblesse bit his lip, processing what he’d heard. His noble tact would be well-used here, “Perhaps we might summon the…shamans, and they can inform us of the Gods’ decision.”

“No need, horn pony. Soon we will have God of our own, in flesh. He can lead army then.”

“I…I don’t follow, Majesty,” Noblesse creaked. Those rumors…the world was filled with fantastical things, but surely there was a limit!

“In this city stood a temple. We tore it down and made altar of it. Shamans can use magic, strange ancient kind, and take from living to give dead. The God who speaks lies in Tartarus, to be made whole again.” Noblesse and Jasicus shared looks, both varying shades of perturbed, “Pony Gods place him there, now for vengeance he will give us this world.”

The Prince gulped again, “And…when is this enterprise of…resurrection supposed to be completed?”

“We use many tributes,” the Minotaur King replied in his broken Equestrian, “God must have much flesh. Soon, very very soon.”

“And when ‘he’ emerges, or whatever manner this god is supposed to arrive?”

“We follow command. We satisfy revenge and win Equestria. And slaughter any pony gods we find. What you call them?”

“Alicorns…” Noblesse answered, realizing his lips were curling into a malicious smile. “Now, am I permitted to remain here, King, until this reincarnated god arrives to discuss terms?”

“Of course! You are my welcomed guest!” The Minotaur rose from his throne and beat his chest.

“Then I suppose I shall wait until then.” The Prince  began to turn and head out the arena when he was stopped by a hoof.

“Not quite, Prince,” Warchief Jasicus announced, voice full of authority, “Your soldiers will fight with us, and we shall endeavor to afford you the most favorable terms, but we need you to uphold your end. What information did you taunt me with earlier?”

Aurýx sat back down on his throne and gave the Prince his undivided attention. Noblesse read the company like a large-font book, “Yes…certainly. A congress of Equestria’s lords have convened in the city of Canterlot. Your amassing has not gone unnoticed. Indeed perhaps right now its president Prince Petrafyrm is trying to convince all the lords to rally together.”

Aurýx lit up like an excited calf, “I was afraid there would be no sport.”

“Yet, several hesitate for one reason or another. In fact, they have sent a small scouting party right here to Mareposa, led by an alleged descendant of the last King of Equestria, trying to prove herself to the Congress.”

“Have we anything to fear from her?” The Great Warchief asked coolly.

“Perhaps a bit more than other scouts; she is an alicorn.” Noblesse responded, slightly startled when King Aurýx jolted from his seat.

“There will be no Queen for Equestria! What color is she? Will her coat go good with my palace?”

“White, Majesty, just like snow.”

This caused the minotaur to tense, thinking back into the recesses of his memories. His eyes widened when he found it, “With pink mane?”

Noblesse Oblige furrowed his brow, noticing again the long white horn dangling from the bull’s neck, “Yes…”

With a forceful thud Aurýx slammed onto his throne and leaned back, tightly gripping the armrests and flashing his teeth in that same vicious grin he’d been sporting throughout much of the day. Suddenly things had become much more interesting. He chuckled darkly and spoke in his native language, “Kiathōné.


*――――――――――S――――――――――*


For miles and miles, stretching on until the eye could see no more, a sea of grass. Following along the grand river, every hour or so a new village appeared. Always abandoned, and always a broken shadow of rubble and ash—dead silent, the only noise the creaking of a not-quite destroyed waterwheel against the current. It never changed, and after the first five, it ceased to surprise anypony.

Four travelers trekked further up the river, its banks curiously stuffed with that unique blue reed. The lead pony, distinctly smaller than the rest, periodically shouted in his native tongue, interpreted by the dark alicorn he rather more preferred to her giant white sister. In fact, the alabaster mare kept close watch over him, ever-ready to telekinetically send her sword flying at him should he try to escape.

But all through the day he proved rather helpful. He knew the way, and seemed to enjoy speaking with Lady Stellara, even if their words sounded like mere gibberish. The Wintermail had traveled across the known world, and learned a dozen languages, but Mustang seemed to have avoided the list.

For her part, Stellara managed to gather some information from her new “friend” Holrickendge. He was only seventeen, youngest son of a Mustang Chief. The Holrick Clan apparently was unique, preferring to find a nice fertile ley to settle and tend an apple orchard. They ran with the Mustang Warchief Jasicus because at the end of the apocalyptic war to strike Equestria, many mustangs hoped to migrate to the east.

Wintermail was always vicious to her enemies, but Lady Stellara couldn’t help but think there was more to this than first appeared…

“Genkeyesh,” Holrickendge said, pointing out his hoof. Sure enough, the faint dark outline of a large city with a tall central spire could be seen .

“What is he saying?” Wintermail asked, quickly reaching her sister’s side.

“We’re nearly there at Mareposa,” Stellara replied, looking up at the sky. The sun was getting low; only a few more hours of daylight left.

“Tell him he needs to get us inside the city too.”

Stellara rolled her eyes, “He knows.”

Henarion watched those two, far more than they might have realized. He noticed the subtle looks they gave one another, the little quips and jabs. And Henarion saw how that mustang colt looked at Taberanyn, and how it flattered her to have such an admirer. And he also noticed Nikóleva’s constant disapproval of her sister’s admirers; the soft sneers and scoffs that eluded Taby’s detection. The orange stallion frowned; that might become misinterpreted…

The sky became darker, and the city in the distance closer. Still those dead villages appeared along the way, sometimes bodies amongst their eerie ruins. Bones picked clean by wild beasts, precious items carried away by the very same savages holed up in Mareposa. Holrickendge described how the horde dispatched raiding parties in every direction. Mustangs, used to bitter cold, had done most of it during the winter. By now, he explained, nearly the entire former kingdom was deserted, its inhabitants fleeing to the relative safety of Equestria proper.

Wintermail gave a heavy sigh, wondering if ever there could be a world where ponies did not have to know this cruel sight. From the burnt buildings, shattered windows, empty homes, and bare bones, it was quite clear that should King Auburn Flare recover his birthright, there would be nothing of value to rule…

By the time the party had closed within a few hundred yards of the city, it was dark. Star and moonlight illuminated the path, and the suburbs around Mareposa afforded a measure of cover from any sentries standing watch atop the walls. Holrickendge led them through the damaged roads, coming eventually to a point in the formerly impregnable walls of Mareposa that had been shattered.

Exactly what had been strong enough to break down a solid mass of stone twenty feet thick Wintermail did not know. Perhaps a war-machine, or very powerful magic—though how could minotaurs or earth ponies have done something like that?

The three alicorns crawled over some of the large jagged stones filling the gap. The Mustang youth turned to Stellara, “Kontuyajıratsayıt elirgeyigh, i poltakhajıratsıladz.(Stay in the shadows, and they will not find you.)”

“Wogachıyıl duruvakh röjüppüreyeteyil,(Thank you for all your help,)” the midnight mare said, smiling slightly, “Hö duruyum?(But what of you?)”

“Midenim kelenekpire duruvakh rükeyenelzegek; kontugurnurpa midenim münüshü. Boruk sola; jontam midenimil tsuyul birenziyil muskakıjıksagıladz zesez törez.(My debt to you is repaid; I’m going back to my clan now. Good luck; perhaps our two peoples can learn to share this land.)” Holrickendge looked up at Stellara, the moonlight softly touching her features in the perfect way, periwinkle mane dancing in the breeze. It seemed natural, really, to see her in the night beneath the field of stars.

He shook himself and gently shoved the mare, “Elirgeyesh.(In the dark.)” The alicorns now concealed, the mustang gave a slight bow and turned around, galloping away loud enough to divert attention away from the wall breach.

Stellara made a wistful grin, “I hope he doesn’t get killed…”

The urge to say something snide was strong, but Wintermail swallowed her pride and placed a hoof on her sister’s shoulder. A tender moment later and the three regained their serious composure, well aware they were in the midst of perhaps the most dangerous place for Equestrians—alicorns at that, to be.

Expertly curving through the environment, always staying out of the light, the trio kept all eyes peeled for any sight of movement. Wintermail led the column, deciding that the largest and strongest, not to mention the most vulnerable with her white fur, ought to be at the forefront of any confrontations. Stellara was next, all but invisible with her dark blue coat. Lastly, Henarion was prepared to stave off any pursuers and buy time for his nieces. He however truly hoped that things would not come to that.

Silent and concealed, the party slithered through the winding streets of Mareposa, all empty as the occupiers were likely asleep, drunk, or both. Not a soul was heard beyond the walls, but just to be sure Wintermail paused and focused her magic. Her various trainings had strengthened her abilities, magic chief among them. The more she and her sister practiced spellcraft and exercised with ever more complex and demanding displays of their power, the stronger it became; like any aspect of one’s self, be it body, mind or soul.

And with their far greater lifespans, this gave alicorns an immense potential for sheer power. Now Wintermail was preforming the same feat she’d done many times before; the subtle sensing of magical auras. Every living creature possessed one, perhaps if only minuscule; but it could be detected.

When the white mare had first done the technique, she could barely “see” the Librarian’s very visible and impressive aura. Now a year later she could extend her range a hundred yards, and pick up auras roughly as weak as a small dog.

This would be sufficient. Wintermail detected no creatures in the area—it seemed the entire surrounding blocks were empty. Sustaining the aura-sense for too long caused a crippling headache, and she relaxed the field when the first throbbing began.

“We’re clear for now, but keep quiet, and keep to the darkness,” the Knight whispered, utilizing her slender frame for the utmost stealth. Henarion only trusted her so-called “magical sense” so far, still keeping complete awareness around him and his wards.

Stepping down the pathway, Wintermail took care not to shift or dislodged any sitting rocks or debris. One such object stayed her hoof, and she raised the other to stall her followers. Flaring up her horn with the dimmest of light, the alicorn saw a small shard of pottery, painting with little designs that surely would have made more sense with the entire pot.

Creeping her head inside an open window frame, Wintermail saw a potter’s studio, cupboards and tables broken and splintered. The window shutters hung off their mountings or sat upon the cold stone ground. And further within the shop hundreds of small ceramic chips littered the floor. A latent rage flared again within; this had been somepony’s livelihood, something they and their family had built. Perhaps it hadn’t been much, but it was theirs. And these…savages…these barbarians destroyed it for no other reason than they hated beauty—maybe out of jealousy that their own crafts could never have such skill and polish.

But shops could be rebuilt. What made this sorry sight downright tragic was the owner very likely was deceased.

Wintermail stared at the shop for a few more moments. She’d seen the “fruits” of this great horde; they were awful and terrible, but disturbingly familiar. Why then did the sight of this plundered shop inflame her so? She grew almost disappointed there were no opponents to face in the area.

“What are you waiting for?” said Stellara in a piercing whisper. Wintermail promptly killed the dim light at her horn’s tip and resumed her step.

Against the backdrop of moonlight, the trio could now discern the tall spire of Mareposa’s central stronghold. There was probably the best place to catch a glimpse of what sort of things Equestria could expect. Holrickendge apparently, if Stellara’s translations could be believed, spoke of some arcane and twisted order that inducted mustangs as shamans. They purportedly “use magic like the horned ponies”; quite absurd. What wasn’t so far-fetched but magnitudes more horrifying were the rumors of sacrifice.

The mustang youth’s words were clear enough; even if the rumors of black magic and wicked mages could not be substantiated, it was clear the horde’s relationship with their fell god went far beyond mere divining and theological debate. The shamans intended to draw “Discord” from the underworld, regardless if such a thing were possible or not.

And to do so, as Holrickendge explained, they carved out the hearts of sacrificial victims; no doubt in large part the inhabitants of this poor city.

Coming to an archway linking two adjacent buildings, the three alicorns finally spotted a twinge of torchlight glowing from a narrow alley. Soon they would leave the empty sections, and more inspired tactics would be needed to remain undiscovered. Crossing the street, Wintermail daintily crept to the edge of the building corner that led into the alley. Emanating out her auric senses again, she found only a few still bodies, likely sleeping or in leisure.

Where were all the warriors? The horde allegedly numbered around a hundred-thousand. Now to be sure Mareposa could not comfortably house so many at once, and little satellite camps contained various tribes and clans. Yet, surely there ought to be at least…a dozen in one spot.

Wintermail very low announced her frustrations with the situation. Stellara thought a moment and replied, “Perhaps they’re all…watching something. A game or other spectacle.”

Of course! Wintermail mentally kicked herself for being so oblivious. She knew damn well minotaurs loved their feats of strength, and mustangs archery and racing. But then Wintermail looked up at the sky, “Wait…at night?”

Stellara shrugged with an impatient bite. Wintermail scoffed, but before she could speak a blue glow adhered to the stony walls on the other side of the street. It lasted only a second.

“What was that?” Henarion asked, careful to keep his voice down, “A lightning bolt?”

“No; there wasn’t any thunder, and in that case the storm would be too far away for the lightning to flash like that…,” Wintermail mused.

The three shrugged it off as a chance event of nature and proceeded through the alley. Emerging into a small courtyard, they pushed against the right building, hidden in the shadows beneath the balcony overhead. From Wintermail’s sense those nearby were inside the homes; no need to change that.

The first few blocks offered actually very little different from the outer reaches of Mareposa; really only that the lighter portions were much brighter. The two sisters alternated between utilizing their sense to keep the route safe. Mostly groups of three or four; a couple instances of ten or so. One time, deeper into the heart of the horde’s occupation, a contingent of warriors rushed down a thoroughfare.

The auras were never clear on their race, and what they said could be interpreted as nothing more than faint mumbling. Yet something had alerted their attention. Had the alicorns been discovered, and it was now a race to find them?

Wintermail decided it was too late to turn back. Best to stay hidden for as long as possible.

It now in view, the trio gazed at the large spire. The alicorns knew as they grew closer, the difficulty would rise. How to continue became disputed.

“We’ve been lucky thus far…very soon I think we’ll have to fight our way some,” Henarion voiced, grim-faced.

“We’re in the hornet’s nest. If we become trapped, we might not be able to fight our way out; even with your fancy fire trick, Nikóleva.” Stellara said, less joking than not.

“I’ve been practicing,” the white sister smirked before returning to a serious demeanor. The knight however was disallowed from uttering another word when that same blue glow streaked in the sky. Wintermail’s initial suspicions were confirmed: it was no lightning bolt.

Those were jagged and branching, streaking across the sky like a celestial trickle of water. This was a straight line. Lightning traveled from the clouds to the ground; This very clearly shot upwards into the clear night sky. And lightning made a distinct booming or cracking sound; the only noise this column of eerie blue light produced was a faint and agonizing wail. A creeping current of dread flowed over the alicorns’ bodies, making their hair stand up and a greatly uncomfortable shiver rattle their bones.

Wintermail and Stellara slowly turned their heads to one another, seeing in their eyes the same thought. Simultaneously they rushed, as quickly as could be managed by two large mares who needed to keep each step silent. Looking around to check his rear, Henarion trailed his nieces, now more paranoid than ever.

Thought gave way to instinct when the sisters crept and slithered, following the turns and twists of the alleys. Wintermail periodically pulsed her aura sense, moving all the while. The strange blue beam that shot into the heavens was exactly the sort of thing the trio had wished to see. How long would it last? Would there be a third instance?

Their flight brought the alicorns to a small courtyard, kept in darkness. Yet a glimmer of light caught Wintermail’s eye; pale moonlight reflecting off dozens of tiny, shimmering items. Her curiosity mandated a glance to her right. Finding a slumbering drake, curled atop a mound of some sort of treasure, the mare held up her hoof. With Stellara and Henarion stayed, the knight made a long stride that ended in a noise so soft as to be unheard. The other two copied the motion, gliding without a sound past the dragon.

Such a task was not difficult, and was over with no issue in a few moments. But it proved true the words of that green drake encountered in the forest.

Thought about that could be spared later, though. The trek to the center of Mareposa could not delay. Deeper and deeper, the faint auras of mustangs and minotaurs—presumably that’s what they were, became denser and more frequent, facilitating less direct routes into emptier areas. One gauntlet, however, was guarded by five mustangs, reclining on a small patio. Drinking and laughing as they do, the only option would have been to travel on the wall furthest from them. Yet, by some cruel divine prank that path was bathed in moonlight.

Clearly an alternate approach was required. Wintermail patted her chin with a hoof, “We could…ascend up to the roof, and walk along there. We’d have a wonderful vantage point.”

“We’d be caught dead without anything to hide behind,” Henarion scoffed, “Besides; I wouldn’t trust those shoddy roofs to hold our weight. And I don’t wanna take the chance there being sentries up there.”

“We could fight.”

“You can’t just hack and slash your way out of every dilemma, Nikól. We cannot risk even one raising alarm,” Stellara said, studying the mustangs and their surroundings. “Sometimes one has to act a little more clever…” Scrunching up her face, the midnight alicorn exercised her most potent weapon. Not long afterwards she grinned. Locating a small rock against the base of a nearby wall, Stellara wrapped it in her magic and gently, silently, and low to the ground floated it over to the alley on the right. Losing sight of it, she charged up the telekinesis and threw it as fiercely as she could against that far wall.

It worked precisely as intended. The mustangs all grabbed their swords and rushed to investigate, completely abandoning their patio. Stellara opened her wings and nodded, producing the loud lift-off flap when the shuffling, hoofsteps, and shouting were loudest. The alicorns then darted down to the other side of the street, touching down with an elegant daintiness.

Safely tucked in another dark corridor, Wintermail looked at her sister, “That was rather smart.”

Stellara smiled widely, but Henarion’s gruff voice cut the tender moment, “You two can bond later. Keep moving.”

The mustangs trotted back to their post as the alicorns slipped away. Two city blocks further and on the air voices muddled together in an indistinct ambiance. They’d found the bulk of their army, Wintermail figured. Still hiding in the shadows, the white alicorn used her height to see what awaited in this brightly-lit and full space. Hundreds of ponies and minotaurs crowded past the buildings, fixated on some point that couldn’t be seen from Wintermail’s current position.

A faint scream could be heard, along with…chanting? Moments passed, and the air around the alabaster knight felt charged, causing loose strands of her pink mane to stand up. Then that blue column ejected upwards, howling crackling from the beam. It ceased after a second, accompanied by cheering from the crowd.

Searching the surroundings , Wintermail spotted a nearby multi-story building, the door hanging open on their side. She crept towards it, Stellara and Henarion copying the action when it was certain they would not be caught in any line of sight. Wintermail ducked to allow herself inside.

It looked like an old inn or tavern, but whatever furniture it had contained lay on the ground in splinters and shards. They had come in through the back, and were afforded the luxury of being concealed from the crowd on the other side, lest they seen the entrants through the windows that were no doubt broken.

Producing a faint beacon from her horn, Wintermail led her companions to a staircase. Pressing a hoof on the step, she heard it creak but otherwise remain solid. Sharing an apprehensive glance with her sister, the mare lowered a second hoof on the steps, and then a third and fourth. Carefully she climbed the staircase, her long strides finishing the ascent in a couple steps.

The second story had clearly been the living quarters of its former owner. A small iron stove sat against the wall, its hatch hanging downward from the abuse it had suffered from the invaders. Seat cushions were torn, and claw marks decorated the walls like a vicious mural. Shattered windows gave adequate view of whatever spectacle drew in this crowd and produced that blue light.

However, the room was not unoccupied. A lone spectator, a mustang from the looks of it. Wintermail turned to face down the stairs and held up her hoof. Stellara cocked her eyebrow and stopped. Wintermail gulped and drew her dagger. Closing her eyes, she focused her will and snatched the pony in her embrace, coating his mouth and nostrils with magic. The sickening squelch of her steel slicing his throat, and final convulses of a dying pony, and Wintermail was left with a limp corpse. She set it in a nearby room, unable to not notice it was no mustang; the stripes were unmistakable.

Zebras had come to join the fight, and Wintermail understood their ways enough to deduce they’d brought their giant grey mounts. Perhaps those are what had first broken Mareposa’s walls…

Stellara poked her head out from the stairway. Receiving the signal to advance, the young sister crawled to the building’s edge, lying down so only her head was visible. Wintermail did the same, and Henarion not long after.

From the perfect observation post, the three alicorns took in the scenery. The crowd was arranged in a circle, the inside of which was quite open. In the very center was a stone platform, accented with dull red splotches—easy enough to figure out what those were. Around the rock slab of an altar stood a minotaur dressed in some strange robe embroidered with odd patterns. Around him were mustangs. Stellara identified them as shamans, the feathers on their headdresses and beads hanging from their necks a clear a sign as there ever was. A number of figures stood apart from the crowd; a large minotaur and a couple ponies. They were too far away however to make out any discernible characteristics.

The beating of drums blared, and the crowd formed a pathway from the outside in, allowing a band of warriors to drag some sorry soul to the altar. Screaming and shouting for reprieve, the pony—a yellow unicorn, begged for mercy. A disturbing chant rose from the voices of the crowd, all ignoring the prisoner’s calls.

Gnashing her teeth, Wintermail pieced together the mystery of the city’s inhabitants. Hoof shaking, her magic began to involuntarily engulf Eónadin. Stellara placed a hoof on her sister’s shoulder, “Wait.”

Then in the scene below, a number of dark-colored…pegasi…swooped in and gave the mustang shamans hollowed-out gourds. Stellara looked keenly and realized those pegasi did not have feathers…but instead possessed wings like a bat! They intrigued her, for reasons not quite clear. They deposited the gourds and turned towards the alicorns. Ducking, Stellara then perked up once they'd passed and spared one final look at these unique bat-ponies.

Events below recaptured her attention. The shamans drank from the gourds, seething as one might do so after a very strong liquor. The earth ponies then belted out and opened their eyes, revealing…green light? A violet shroud, not dissimilar to the one Lady Stellara imposed on her sword Ailéránen, wisped backwards like a mantle of energy. The blue mare recalled that day in the Canterlot library…

The shamans put this magic to use and restrained the captive unicorn, violently dragging him through the dirt and across the hard rough stone platform to the altar. Slamming the doomed stallion on the surface, the shamans utilized their power to completely immobilize the victim, his cries for help only ending when they covered his mouth with magic.

The robed minotaur acolyte then approached, brandishing a shiny black rock. Wintermail watched helplessly; she knew what would happen. The poor pony, unable to even scream—he’d die alone, knowing nothing but agony and helplessness. The white mare’s heart pounded, almost trying to break from her ribs. An uncomfortable rawness itched her throat, and Wintermail could not stop trembling with nerves. A cold sweat washed over her, her eyes sore from not blinking. At last she felt a few tears trickle down her cheeks. There was nothing more, in this moment, or any moment before in her life, in which she had felt so torn, so trapped, and so helpless.

She could spread her wings, draw her blade, and save that stallion. It would have been the right thing to do; nopony would have faulted her for saving an innocent from death. A perfect story from the great romances in the library would have its hero save the victim, slay the villain, and live happily ever after.

This was no book. She could charge forwards into the crowd, kill the shamans, kill the minotaur, and spare the unicorn. But then Wintermail would have to contend with the warriors who seemed only to desire destruction and bloodshed, especially when an alicorn was concerned. She maybe could fight them off for a time, slay perhaps a hundred. If she truly pushed herself, Dame Wintermail could even perhaps send a thousand to their maker.

But there’d be more. Wintermail could then run or fly away—a while. One true arrow, and she’d be downed. Snared like an injured bird, the alicorn would most certainly be herself dragged to that altar. The Dame had gone on a mission, upon which a great many ponies depended. Dead, and she’d be no use to anypony. And if she died, what honestly was the chance the same would not befall her sister, or Henarion?

Therefore, against all her instincts, against her base nature to protect and help, Wintermail could not, would not move from her spot. The conflict inside made her sick, and she wanted to at least turn away. Maybe then she might at least pretend the horror to be of a lesser sort. But that would be grandly disingenuous. If she could not save him, or even try, Wintermail owed this nameless, blameless stallion the viewing of his demise. Whatever her reasons for not acting, she would know exactly what remaining in the safety of that house entailed.

“This is what we fight against…” Wintermail whispered.

The horror did not disappoint. Swift and precise the acolyte dug his black knife into the sacrifice’s chest, yanking out his beating heart. Blood trailed from its vessels, and the poor stallion thrashed and wailed as best as his constraints allowed. A terrifying, haunting muffled scream emanated from his agonized form as he arched his back in the slight hope of alleviating pain. The acolyte grinned and spoke vile incantations, holding up the heart.

Stellara covered her mouth, almost unable to process the cruelty. Henarion, having lived a life full of terrible and regrettable sights and deeds, had to take a step back himself, bowing his head and breathing deeply.

The ritual was not finished. The shamans flared their black magic, and summoned rivers of blood from the stallion, leaking onto the platform and curving with its designs. Soon the crimson turned purple then electric blue, and that begrudgingly familiar column pulsed to the heavens in a wicked perversion of the rituals of old.

The mustang shamans then channeled their magic into beams, firing purple streams that soon sprouted tendrils. They enraptured the stallion’s body, drawing from his skeleton flesh, blood, skin, and organs. When it finished, naught was left but bones and the fading chorus of…demons wailing from the depths of Tartarus, or so Wintermail could only imagine.

The light was gone. A few minotaurs approached with baskets and collected the bones to do only God knows what with.

By chance, this happened to be the last sacrifice for the evening. The tall minotaur and his two ponies addressed the crowd with words that were too faint to understand. The alicorns watched the crowd soon shuffle back out. Nothing to do but wait.

Ducked below the windows, the three shared looks of very disturbed individuals. “What was that?? It was…horrifying! I never…even imagined…” Stellara squeaked out between labored breaths.

“What did you bring us to?” Henarion asked Wintermail, his good eye bloodshot and dilated.

Wintermail heaved several times before responding, “If this cannot convince the Congress to act, then nothing will…”

As the crowd grew thin, and the warriors went off to their abodes, the alicorns regained composure, albeit incompletely. Once of sounder mind, it did not take long for the three to realize some creature might be using this building to live in temporarily. That lone zebra might have simply stayed behind to maintain the claim.

At midnight they’d try to leave, with or without any physical evidence; Wintermail would be damned if she stayed here any longer. Once the city was silent yet again, then they’d leave. But before that could happen, a door creaked downstairs and shut. Hoofsteps caused wooden boards to creak, accompanied by a strange language—a form of Zebrican Wintermail spoke a little of.

Backs against a wall, the alicorns drew steel and prepared; it was either one party or the other. The first came up, a tall male, mane proudly worn high like a helmet’s crest. There was nothing now to conceal the alicorns, bathed in moonlight. The stallion shouted in a deep voice, speaking words that summoned his companions from below. The stallion returned his attention specifically to Wintermail.

A single question was asked, with no intent to be understood by the alicorns. The white mare though recognized the meaning. The zebra was calling for his son, voice wracked with panic and despair. Wintermail’s lip quivered, feeling an utterly twisted mess of emotions. Images of every drop of blood she’d spilt in her life, of every soul cleaved from its mortal hold…even to her late father.

She let out a shaky breath and stared down the zebra, who dug at the floor and shot off with a gallop. Tensing her foreleg’s muscles, Wintermail rose her hoof and matched his careening speed with her own. Brute force sent the zebra crashing into the wall, wheezing at several broken bones.

No time lose, Wintermail loomed over him and grasped his head, using magic to cover his mouth while she jerked his neck. The crack sent a shiver through her body, and she let go of his lifeless body. Snapping her vision to the others climbing up the stairs, Wintermail saw Henarion and her sister take their opponents.

Stellara swung down her axe and decapitated one, the momentum of the zebra’s charge causing it to slam into another wall. A third pounced and pinned the blue alicorn, managing a knock to her snout. Magically she brought her axe underneath him and chopped into his belly, the mottled steel making quick work of bone. Blood seeped onto Stellara, staining her fur. The zebra’s face contorted into one final expression of agony and rage. She threw the corpse off, spotting a fourth and final attacker ready to finish his fallen friend’s work.

Henarion thrust forward, impaling the last zebra through his chest. It lost balance and fell down the stairs with a loud thud. Then with magic Henarion brought up his cloak and wiped his niece’s snout, and did the same with the blood on her stomach. Regaining her feet, Stellara located her sister, eyes telling all she needed to know. None of the three felt like remaining in the building any longer; time to escape.

But outside such an action could not be permitted. A ruckus had stirred above the streets, cracking wood and faint grunts coming from the upper story. An orange-brown unicorn and his associates, a tan mustang of great import and a towering silvery-blue minotaur, could not help but notice the commotion.

The mustang shrugged, figuring it must be a dispute between two different races, not altogether uncommon. The minotaur didn’t really care; the night was still young, and a feast awaited him in his new fortress. But the unicorn was of a more savvy and clever sort.

An agent, a spy could have peered on something they should not have. Had they been killed in the struggle? Why take the chance? Charging his horn, the unicorn swept a field of detection magic directed at the building. Three points of highly concentrated and powerful magic came to his sense.

Prince Noblesse Oblige recognized the scent like a red flag. Building up with rage, he endured the stabbing, stinging agony in his forehead. The arcane, ancient cosmic magic inducted into his horn, he stomped a hoof and directed the violet force at the foundations of the building.

Crackles of magical energy snaked up the walls, and soon the supports gave way. A thunderous crash echoed into the plaza as the home’s dislodged pieces piled up in a mound of rubble. Dust exploded forth, obscuring the vision of the Prince, Warchief, and Minotaur King.

When everything had settled, the final splinters of wood finding their place in the rubble, Noblesse spotted the three ponies hovering above. Smoke billowing from his horn, the fatigue of maintaining his connection to the cosmic well proved too great, but he managed to flash it once more, yanking the largest flying one to the ground. Bruised, she was dragged to just a foreleg’s breadth away. The violet shroud vanished, and the green sclera of his red eyes turned white once more.

“You,” he grimaced, wrapping a fetlock to catch hold of her pink mane.

Stellara and Henarion landed, brandishing weapons and readying to fight as much and far as they could. Wintermail though stood in shock, staring at the sight of that miserable pony whom had just done her harm. The alicorn grit her teeth and flashed her horn, conjuring up a slight pulse of magic that knocked the Prince back.

Furious, Wintermail drew her sword and ignited it with her magical flame. “Noblesse, I spare to call you Prince, you’ve cast your lot in with these villains! You have betrayed your people; sentenced them to destruction!”

The unicorn hobbled back to his feet, cracking his neck, “I’ve made the greatest sacrifice for them, and blackened my soul.” A resurged wave of energy crackled in his horn, the purple shroud returning; time to see how far he could go. “And I will not allow three alicorns to ruin everything!”

He fired an unstable beam of magic, arcing from horn to Wintermail in an erratic fashion. Simultaneously she channeled a cascade of fire to reduce the traitor to cinders. Both met halfway, and overpowered the other. The attacks dissipated in a fierce, orange-purple blast, and the two combatants were thrown backwards with titanic force.

Picking herself up, Wintermail readied for a second attack, but shifted her attention when the blue minotaur caught her vision—the very one who had nearly killed her over a year ago. He grinned and laughed, helping Noblesse up and slapping him on the back.

“You find her! Now at last, I can finish what I started!” King Aurýx said, a cruel smile preparing him for glorious sport.

Of all the minotaurs she could have encountered, it had to be him. Surprised, Wintermail slowly narrowed her eyes and prepared her stance. The alicorn had done a lot of growing since she last saw this creature. She’d learned quite a bit, and was now ready to put it into practice. There would be no humiliations tonight.

Noblesse drew his own blade and cantered forward, eager to murder this damn alicorn. A large hand stopped him and held him in place. “No,” the minotaur commanded, readying his glaive, “She is mine.”

The Prince was not happy, but could not object much to his new ally. He acquiesced through gritted teeth and turned his sickly green eyes towards the nearest other alicorn: Lady Stellara. Noblesse Oblige anticipated little with her; he would be sorely mistaken.

Meanwhile, the minotaur king stepped slowly, savoring each moment of the dread building in Wintermail. But to his displeasure, the alicorn did not display any fear or apprehension. Surely after their last encounter this pony goddess would be hesitant to fight. Instead, she held herself with the dignitas and honor of a Canterlot Knight. She snorted and waited for an opening, spotting the long white trinket around his neck, “I want my horn back.”

As the Heir of the Alicorns and the Minotaur King clashed, Noblesse rushed Stellara with his sword. She caught it with her axe and great sword, knocking her opponent’s weapon to the ground. He retaliated with a pulse of dark magic, thrusting the blue mare across the ground. Yet she held fast and rushed to attack.

And lastly, Warchief Jasicus brandished his curved saber and singled out the orange alicorn too left without opponent. The one-eyed stallion noticed and responded with his own great sword. Jasicus gave a slight bow and took stance. The twang of metal echoed as they locked blades.

Wintermail studied the minotaur’s steps, slow and careful as they were. Raising her wings and fanning them out, she calculated the perfect opener. Flapping her mighty white feathers back, the alicorn propelled herself at a speed far too great for most opponents to counter.

King Aurýx was different. He managed to catch Eónadin’s steel with his glaive, using the polearm to leverage Wintermail’s path away from him. She landed gracefully, twisting her momentum and engaging again. And once more the bull caught her blade, moving with her trajectory to prevent the far stronger metal of Eónadin from slicing his glaive in two. This time however the flames of her magical sword singed the top of his fur.

He grinned, patting down the smoking hairs. Then Aurýx stamped with his hoof and executed his own offensive. With blinding and almost supernatural speed the minotaur slashed and stabbed and parried. And with equally mystical talent Wintermail caught and redirected each maneuver. Side guards, hanging guards, close guards…he was not able to strike the Flamecaster.

And King Aurýx could not have asked for better.

Stellara and Noblesse fought with great ferocity. His sword strikes could not match the alicorn’s sheer reach and versatility with two weapons, but performing a relentless assault of his dark magic bursts he ensured Stellara was perpetually on the defensive. Ailéránen’s magical shroud absorbed and batted away the pulses and beams, but the Prince of Trottingham showed no signs of letting up.

The cosmic energy coursing from his horn into the rest of his body felt…intoxicating. Every attack, every shield conjured…the sensation of some part of him burning away like an impurity, only to be replaced by something…stronger. The pain…the pleasure…it all merged into mere…sensation.

Enraged and filled with lust for battle, Noblesse felt no ache in his mind. In truth, any more exposure and it could have been fatal. Sheer force of will kept the poison from claiming him all at once. He could recover at its end; now was the time to enjoy such power.

Emanating overpowering magic, an arc of purple lightning sparking from his horn at erratic intervals, Noblesse trained his green eyes on Stellara and cackled. She responded with a sneer, along with a leap that saw her two weapons take subsequent slashes at her opponent. He parried both, the great sword with a magic shield and the axe with his own sword. But he was momentarily vulnerable, and Stellara galloped and bashed into him, throwing him onto the ground.

He managed to throw up only the merest of defensive shields when Stellara towered over the Prince and sent a thunderstorm of lightning from Ailéránen. Her horn had been charged to the point of smoking at the conclusion of the channeling, and Noblesse was reduced to a smoldering body, jolting at the last couple arcs of lightning.

He rose though, the dark magic repairing some of the worst damage; it would not let its host die. He prepared to engage the blue alicorn, but spotted the white one with the minotaur king.

Aurýx had managed a shallow cut on Wintermail, and she nicked his leg; such was the extent of their combat. The minotaur though became too overzealous, and stabbed down his glaive, missing the alicorn entirely, and giving her an opening. Folding her hind legs as tightly as they could go, she sprung forward and slammed into Aurýx with such force they both went tumbling backwards. But Wintermail could fly, and she salvaged her fall and lifted into the air, readying her flaming sword.

Pushing her magical channeling to the limit, the knight focused solely on the fire. Noblesse saw this spell about to be cast down on his ally, and made a choice. He sidestepped Stellara’s slash and jumped in the way of Wintermail fire-burst, holding it for a fraction of a second in his magical field before directing it back to one of the building lining the plaza.

It burst into flames, the stone melting down in a glowing mass of plastic rock. Wintermail heaved, trembling from the spell. She’d made a gamble and lost. The Minotaur rose up and beat his chest with a fist at Noblesse, who couldn’t respond in time before Stellara’s Ailéránen swung down to cleave his skull in two. The Prince caught it with his sword, but the force and make of the alicorn blade shattered Noblesse’s weapon.

Dumbstruck, the Prince was saved when Aurýx drew a sword from his belt—one he had been carrying as a sidearm.

It was Hordebreaker, the heirloom sword of the Mareposan Kings, and Aurýx’s war-trophy. “It might last a little better,” the Minotaur King shouted before trying to find Wintermail. He turned around and saw her galloping to the altar, sword ready to slice through it. “No! You will ruin everything!”

Aurýx ran after her, tackling the mare and proceeding to begin punching her in the face. Wintermail was no less vicious in the brawl, proving to be perhaps the only opponent he’s ever encountered strong enough to compete in melee. Now realizing at last he might not be able to hold her down forever, Aurýx called out to the shamans standing by the temple platform, heretofore watching the fight. “No time! Complete the ritual! Summon—“ his speech was cut off when Wintermail swung him downwards; now the alicorn was on top, smashing her hooves down on his chest.

The shamans looked at the minotaur acolytes, sharing glances of fear and concern. Tender was needed for the ritual, and it seemed there was no time to retrieve any prisoners from the cells. Upon their faces the same thought emerged…but which one of them would it be?

An auburn minotaur rose and nodded to his compatriots, then led the procession to the altar. Wintermail, in between giving and receiving blows with the Minotaur, saw the wicked clergy begin the ritual once more. Eyes widened in horror, she shouted after a rather exceptional left hook to Aurýx, “Taberanyn! We cannot let them finish! Stop it!”

"Yes, Sister!” the blue mare yelled in reply, parrying a slash from Noblesse’s new alicorn steel sword. Her axe Nocadecoë was made of a weaker substance, and would likely break under further direct contact. Therefore she led with Ailéránen and assisted with the axe, trying to leverage Hordebreaker from the Prince’s magical grasp. It glowed an intense green, the dark cosmic energy pulsating like a corrupted wound.

Stellara saw his bright eyes, cancerous and manic. There remained only the desire to defile and destroy within him. If even only one alicorn died by his hoof, he’d become that much closer to his perfect world. He charged his body with magic and slammed into Stellara, knocking her onto the dirt. Winded, she couldn’t stop him from pinning her. The foul unicorn grinned and bared his teeth; a ravenous predator standing over his kill.

But Lady Stellara would not go quietly. If today she were to fall and breathe her last, it would not be without dragging this unfortunate bastard with her. Her eyes trained on the altar, and already the minions were beginning the sacrifice. As Stellara turned her gaze back to Noblesse, she thought. Nikóleva was counting on her to stop that unnatural and putrid ritual. Untold numbers had suffered, and whatever this horde had conspired to pull forth could only be an unimaginable terror.

All of Equestria depended on this mission, more than perhaps they even knew. And Taberanyn would not let her sister down. “Taby!” she heard further away, coming from the dusty pile that was Wintermail and the minotaur king. Her will was now arrayed, and heaven alone could move it. Drawing from the stores within her, Stellara concentrated that magic in her horn. Throbbing, bursting…it energized her entire body long enough to utterly throw Noblesse twenty feet away.

Stellara’s eyes glowed an overpowering searing white, and she spoke with a voice like a chorus of gods, “Tremble, pray, plead…you’ve committed the crimes of treason against Equestria. By resolve of Lady Stellara Nightwrath, you shall become but memory.”

Prince Noblesse indeed trembled, but raised Hordebreaker to catch Stellara’s great sword. So full of power, Ailéránen made contact with the steel and forced it away, her sword’s tip sinking just below Noblesse’s skin. He wailed in pain before readying another burst from his horn.

But the blue alicorn was drawing her entire body’s worth of magic, comparable to the cosmic potential of a Tulicë; how mighty could the mare have been if she could summon the alicorn magic? The two locked horns, and Stellara won. Overcharged, Noblesse’s horn fizzle out, leaving him temporarily powerless. He writhed in impotence, spitting at his vanquisher.

She raised her axe, but not in time.

Off away on their own, the Great Warchief of the Mustangs and that old alicorn Henarion had been fighting. Their engagement was not marked by fancy displays of magical talent or supreme feats of physical capacity; rather, it was a pure duel of steel and mettle. Both were quick and skillful. For each’s age, they kept up remarkably well, and managed to catch one another with their blades.

Their own tasks were simply to prevent the other from joining the fray with the others. And they performed spectacularly. It was an elegant dance, almost rehearsed; every strike one made the other countered with little event. But sooner or later one had to emerge victorious.

Unless an interruption came. Warchief Jasicus saw his ally Noblesse defenseless against a raging alicorn goddess. He would surely die. Thinking only once, the earth pony broke off from fighting Henarion and galloped straight into Stellara, knocking her off balance and causing her to lose focus on her intense magic.

Henarion cared not a bit for this, and immediately uppercut to the chief, who performed a stunning hanging guard. Their dance continued.

Noblesse Oblige felt awfully ill, the effects of such prolonged use of alicorn magic creeping in with aching viciousness. He placed a hoof on his mouth and regurgitated the contents of his stomach. Weak and struggling to even stand, he was an open target.

But so was Stellara. She’d exhausted her magical reserves, and without the anaesthetizing effects of magical energy her bruises soon caught up with the mare. She spotted the altar, and the minotaur sacrifice laying on the stone, chest cut open. The shamans were conjuring up their violet beams, and the blue light was shining upwards.

Caught between finishing off Noblesse or stopping the ritual…Wintermail’s faint cries pushed Stellara towards the latter. Galloping as well as she could in her state, Stellara brandished her sword and decapitated a shaman. The remaining ones pounced at her, collectively knocking her back with magic she couldn’t defend against right now.

“Won…wonderful…,” she managed between wheezing coughs when she saw the Prince trying to fight her some more. Ailéránen could use more exercise…

Wintermail and Aurýx continued to brawl. She’d lost track of her sword, and couldn’t spare a moment to sense for it. The crude tumbling and trashing of their fight however did bring her in view of it. Attempts to grab it kept being interrupted by Aurýx, but Wintermail always retaliated with extreme ferocity.

Both battered and bruised, their attacks lost some of the dazzling speed of which they’d become characterized. Finally however Wintermail got a chance to bring Eónadin to her grasp, and with her fetlock curled around its bejeweled hilt she swung the blade down to drink minotaur blood.

Aurýx used his bare hands to grab the steel, accelerated just too little so as to not slice through his bones. Wintermail pushed down with all her might, but the King returned the effort. Then she tried to use magic and move his arms, but he held fast. Struggling and getting tired very quickly, Aurýx thought for another solution.

Wintermail forbade the chance, and channeled some of her remaining magic into Eónadin, bringing back the fiery shroud for a few moments. It was enough to inflict severe burns on the Minotaur. It backfired, however, and Aurýx redirected his pain into an additional boost of strength, throwing the sword and Wintermail a few feet away.

Both breathed heavily, covered in bruises, blood dripping from their snouts. Aurýx smiled and limped closer. “Whoever dies tonight, the other had to earn; eh, Kiathōné?”

The alabaster alicorn breathed in deeply and corralled her anger into more production energy, “Don’t call me that.” Such a crude, uncouth, disrespectful word was not becoming of a Knight of Canterlot.

A blast of red misty air shot from his snout, “Oh I can do much worse, Kia—“ when in a renewed inspiration of purpose and resolve Wintermail burst forwards and wrapped her foreleg around his right horn. It was long, thick, and proud…but the knight was able to use it as a point to swing him all the way around her. At the end of the circle, she suddenly jerked back.

Aurýx’s momentum however did not allow him to stop with his horn. It was sheared off, and Aurýx was left on the ground coming to terms with his deformity. A minotaur may have as many scars as they earn; proud marks of war and glory. But no creature, pony or otherwise, is to touch a bull’s horns.

“Fair’s fair,” Wintermail mocked. Aurýx bellowed and charged forward; the mare smirked. As he was about to descend upon the alicorn, she rolled onto her back and curled her legs. Wintermail bucked him in the chest, sending the bull flying twenty feet overhead before he crashed onto the ground. Hobbling back to his hooves, he immediately had to support himself with a hand while he used the other to clutch his side. He looked absolutely furious.

Shaken of that monster, Wintermail galloped to finish the business of the altar. One shaman was dead, but the rest focused on their hellish task. Brandishing her great sword, the alicorn cut down one mustang with no incident, and then an acolyte. After facing the Minotaur King, no opponent could prove as great a challenge.

The shamans flared their magic and restrained Wintermail. She was becoming tired, and couldn’t shake off the hold quick enough. The auburn minotaur sacrifice was nothing but bones when she could move freely again. The alicorn impaled another servant of evil, ready to slay a fourth.

Then Aurýx, an eternal foe by this point, grabbed her pink tail and swung her around like she had done him. “You cannot stop the new age!”

“Taby!” Wintermail wailed, fighting off the minotaur’s blows. Lady Stellara wiped the blood from her lips and walked away from Prince Noblesse’s beaten body. Before she even reached the altar, though, one more shaman had succumbed. The alicorn magic required for this fell perversion of nature took its fatal toll; they were not supposed to perform any more sacrifices tonight.

Collapsing as bloody cracks opened in his face, the dying shaman’s last act was to slow down Stellara. Once free, she impaled the final minotaur acolyte; leaving only one shaman to complete the ritual.

She stared at him like an angry goddess; like one of those above who had condemned Discord to an eternity of suffering. And now she could not abide their trying to free him. Completing the ritual required a living body—the corpses around them would not do. But the shaman was all who was left…

He figured it out, and faced the goddess with grand resolve. The shaman, a tawny aged stallion, hair grey with the stress of time and work, gave himself to the power flashing in his eyes. An earth pony was never meant to wield magic like so, but he’d learned and now was about to perform the most fateful deed since the Elder Days. It was all for a purpose…

Letting the cosmos empty its store into him, he held Stellara in place, her thrashes amounting to naught. The shaman, Oratargın, trotted over to the altar; his body would last less than minute under the intensified strain of alicorn magic. He grabbed the stone dagger and lay on the altar, trembling as he did. One final sacrifice, one final pain…this was for his people, for the mustangs and their new home. For every foal that died in the winter from cold and hunger…for every youth who died on a raid just so his clan could have enough food…it was promised Discord could help…

Crying out, Oratargin plunged the black obsidian knife into his chest, arcane magic the only thing keeping him conscious, and indeed alive. With zealous devotion he endured the precedentless hell of carving out his own heart.

Stellara saw it for herself, in all its gruesome detail. To watch it from a distant building was horrible in itself, but up close… The midnight mare knew her dreams would be haunted by this for some time to come. Shouting feverishly she tried to break the mustang’s hold on her. His fading life however soon lessened the magic restraint, and she broke free.

Wintermail now had finally placed the minotaur on his back, and sent two high-power jabs at his face. Too battered to rise up, Aurýx did nothing as the now-free white alicorn galloped to the altar.

The sisters caught sight of one another and each sent a beam of magic at the blue energy column, now mixed with the purple crackles of the shaman’s spell. It was no use; when their shots hit the column it bit back with a zap at their feet. Only barely did they manage to avoid the shock.

Wintermail then raised her sword, “Stand back, Stellara!” The primordial steel of Eónadin cut through the magic right as the last of the mustang’s flesh and skin were drawn into the stream. Arcs of pure energy spread from the path cut by the Royal Sword, and when it bit the slab of the altar, the stone cracked like a dried riverbed in the summer sun.

The explosion threw the alicorns back to where they had been at the start of the battle. Wintermail painfully stood up, wincing at every motion of her body. Stellara did the same, retrieving her weapons and dreading the current state of affairs. Aurýx and Noblesse recovered just enough to join the onlookers to where the temple had been.

Henarion and Jasicus, still locked in their duel, ceased hostilities when the shattered rubble of the altar had a blue glowing orb above it.

Wintermail’s pupils became pinpricks, “No…”

The Minotaur King made an evil, toothy grin, “Too late!”

The blue orb then enlarged and morphed into a cube. As it grew ever bigger, a second cube appear inside, the vertices of both becoming linked. Then in a manner that defied natural law, it…”turned” in such a way that the inner cube emerged on the outside and the outer shrunk in. From one of the ever-shifting faces of the...shape, a slithering white…clay? Some alien form escaped, rapidly becoming something more identifiable.

The white substance twisted and flattened, elongating and curling. Soon it took the shape of a skeleton…like a dragon? Pony? Maybe even minotaur? With bones, the new presence grew organs and then muscles and veins and sinews. Within a few minutes it had skin. Then it grew both hair and scales.

What finally revealed itself in the plaza before six shocked individuals was a chimera, a mix of creatures so eclectic it was if somepony had rolled a die to determine what each part of it would be. Without reason, without rhyme, without meaning…the arrangement was truly bizarre. A grey equine head atop a brown serpentine body ending in a scaly red tail and a little tuft of white fur. It did not match; the being was not symmetrical. Atop its head were adornments, one an antler and the other a gnarled horn. The left foreleg of a bird…the right of a…lion? A left hindleg ending in a hoof, the other like a green dragon’s. It flapped two tiny wings, a left blue bird’s and a right purple bat’s.

Upon its chin was a slender white beard. A lone fang hung from its lips. And beneath two bushy white eyebrows were yellow eyes of differing size and shape. Its red pupils suggested many things…the clearest mania and malice.

Lording over the plaza, the otherworldly creature breathed in, spreading out its arms. “Yes!!” it screamed, voice rising into a cackle as thunder and lightning appeared out of nowhere.

Tartarus had been no fun…and here was a whole world full of toys to play with…


*――――――――――S――――――――――*


“We had failed,” Celestia muttered, taking ample pause. Frowning as she gazed into the fire, the Princess of Day listened to the faint scribblings Twilight Sparkle made in her book. Only when it stopped did Celestia continue. Downing a full glass of water to refresh her throat, the white alicorn spoke again, “Luna and I looked at the fiend crawling out of that doorway, assembling itself with all the matter captured from those poor victims. Arcane and primal magic was needed to draw Discord forth, and only the same could send him back. We knew not how to wield such power…we did not know what we could even do…

“Beaten and bruised, blood dripping from our wounds, my sister and I simply stared in disbelief and shame. With the cruel and terrifying horrors suffered to bring Discord from the other side…what now could transpire with him in our realm?”

Twilight gulped, feeling a looming sense of dread, “What happened next? What did he do?”

Princess Celestia cocked her head and simply met the lavender winged unicorn’s eyes for about ten seconds. Then her downturned mouth curled into a coy smile, “That’ll have to wait until next time.”

“What?? You can’t stop right there!” Twilight Sparkle shouted a little louder than she meant to, “I…I…I must know!” The filly began stressing out; Celestia felt a little bad about finding her protégé’s current state even a tiny bit humorous.

“It’s very late,” Celestia said, glancing at the clock. “This last part went on a little longer than I intended…memories tend to come back at inconvenient times,” she giggled and went over to her desk. Magically unlocking a box on top, she pulled a small sheet of paper and levitated on her reading glasses.

Twilight Sparkle raised an eyebrow and lightly chuckled under her breath; Celestia took more than a second to adjust her spectacles. “Perhaps it’s time for a visit to the optometrist?”

“Don’t be absurd! I just needed to find the proper focal length.” Celestia cleared her throat and looked over the page, “It would appear we’ve reached the…halfway point on my story outline.”

“You wrote an outline?”

“Of course! I need to keep to a basic structure—there is a method to all this, Twilight.”

“Could I see it?”

Celestia replaced the sheet and locked the box, “You wouldn’t want to spoil anything, would you?” The purple mare huffed. “Now; off to bed. Tomorrow I’d like to take a break from this story…relax and focus on more pleasant things.”

Twilight groaned, but as she accepted Celestia’s wish she procured a second thought, “I could use that time to look over my notes and clear up any questions I have.”

The Princess’ ears drooped and she scrunched her face, “Yeah...yes that’s…right.”

Bright-faced and with a spring in her step, cheery Twilight Sparkle trotted out of the lower apartment’s living room and into the bedroom. At Celestia’s behest the lavender pony took the actual bed, while the white Queen opted to just remain on the couch—it was a gesture of kindness she didn’t mind making, and the couch would be comfortable enough. Twilight finally agreed to the arrangement about an hour before.

Celestia would stay up for a little while longer; a few missed hours of sleep never hurt her. The fire was dying down, and she’d refrain from adding any more logs. A faint laugh escaped her lips; right now she felt as though she were back over a millennium before, her sword and armor against the wall.

In the morning the Prince of Canterlot would summon her to court and she’d lead some sortie for the defense of the realm. She sighed, finally recalling that his duties had becomes hers long ago. He was deceased, passed away from the troubles of this mortal world—lucky bastard, singing and laughing with the angels above.

It was bittersweet embarking on this recollection of her past with Twilight. Filled with tragedy and sadness, but also adventure and good friendship. Perhaps most were no longer here to laugh and drink with her, but they could at least live on in the stories she told. It really was the least she could do for many of them.

Wintermail Flamecaster was now but a memory, but Celestia knew well memories were powerful things. Perhaps sometime soon she could visit those old places…reconnect with her past in a way simple storytelling could not.

And outside, underneath the starry sky, a dark blue alicorn perched herself atop the highest spire of Canterlot. Currently allowed some time to herself before returning to duties, Princess Luna gazed up at her bright full moon—well not quite full. Her mind alone, Luna thought of Celestia and all the things they’d endured together. The memories of long-lost friends and allies were still fresh in her mind; the events of a thousand years before felt just as they had the day after.

The most painful memories did not dim with the passage of time…uniquely so for her.

Princess Luna spotted a lone courtier canter out onto the castle wall, clearly looking for her. Spreading her broad wings she leapt from the spire and swooped down, ready to resume the work of royalty.