I stand on the outskirts of our worn-down shelter, gazing across the desolate wasteland that stretches endlessly before me. The wasteland has been my home, for as long as I can remember. The barren landscape seems to reflect the emptiness within me.
My name is Nightfly, and I am an earth pony with no cutie mark. Yes, you heard correctly. Although I’m an adult. I don't have it. I’ve started to think that the cutie mark -thing isn’t for me. That maybe I would’n need one. Maybe I’m just not special enough. It still makes other ponies see me as a child. And I hate that.
Sometimes I feel like I’m nothing. No magic, no wings, no mark on my butt – just me, tethered to the ground. It's a constant reminder that I don't quite fit in, that I lack the extraordinary abilities that define my peers. Besides, it's no wonder why the earth ponies die first.
As the sun dips below the horizon, casting long shadows over the ashen land, I can't shake the feeling that I'm destined for mediocrity. The notion that I won't excel at anything haunts me, and I've spent my life in the shadow of that fear.
My mother, Morning Light, used to tell me stories of my father – a pegasus with a flame as his cutie mark. She spoke of love and all that, but she never told me why he wasn't here, why I grew up without a father by my side.
To be honest it's been a hard life. We survived on the fringes of this unforgiving wasteland, scrounging for scraps and relying on our wits to outsmart the dangers that lurked in the shadows.
My mother, with her cutie mark of a crystal ball, possessed the gift of foresight. She could predict the future, but even her visions couldn't prepare us for the inevitable.
Now, as I stand beside her bed, a harsh reality hangs heavy in the air. The room is dimly lit, and my mother lies frail. She looks so tired. Her once vibrant green eyes are now dulled by the weight of her impending departure. I never thought this moment would come, that I'd be faced with a world without her. We both know how sick she is.
I look at her white fur and her once bright green mane.
“Someday you'll fly, my girl,” she whispers, her voice a mere echo of its former warmth. Her words, a mix of comfort and prophecy, cling to the stillness of the room.
“No mom, I’ll never fly. I’m not a pegasus, mom”, I tell her with a shaky voice.
“Go there. You’ll find him there”, she says.
“Where? What do you mean?”
“Skyborne Heights…” she whispers. Right, she had told me that that’s where my father was. The only problem was that I had no idea where it was or how to get there.
My heart is heavy with grief when she reaches out a weakened hoof to touch my cheek, a final caress before she exhales her last breath. I stand there, paralyzed by the finality of her passing.
As the reality of her death sinks in, the weight of the world presses down on me. Alone now, I feel the ache of my own inadequacies. Celestia’s sake I can’t even pick up a gun to protect myself! How the hell am I going to survive alone?
I wouldn't want to leave like this. But as she always said; we can’t stay anywhere. We’d have to keep moving until we’d find a safe place. The wasteland had these little communities where ponies were together, so they’d be more safe. We used to live in one until it got blown up. It’s cruel when everypony just wants to survive. You have to get supplies somewhere and somehow. They decided to do it by stealing from us. And the danger is, that they aren’t the only ones.
I take everything I can fit in my saddle bag with me. Then I take a last look at my mother and whisper:”Goodbye.” And then my journey to Skyborne Heights begins. If she told me that’s what I’d had to do, I will do it. I will find him.
***
The air outside is thick with the scent of dust and decay, a familiar reminder of the harsh reality. The landscape stretches out before me, a canvas of desolation and twisted remnants of what was once a vibrant world.
My hooves carry me through the wasteland, each step resonating with the heaviness of grief. The memories of my mother's final moments play on a loop in my mind. Her words, “Someday you'll fly,” echo in the emptiness around me.
The journey is solitary. I press on, driven by an unspoken promise to fulfill my mother's vision for me. But as I traverse the terrain, doubts gnaw at the edges of my resolve.
The wasteland seems to stretch infinitely, an expanse of muted colors and twisted remnants of a bygone era. My mother's teachings, her stories of a father I never knew, provide a thread of guidance through the disorienting vastness.
Despite the pain of loneliness, a spark of determination ignites within me. I refuse to be defined by the absence of a cutie mark or the limitations of being an earth pony. I will find my own place in this world. That’s what I want to do.
As the remnants of our shelter disappear in the distance, the wasteland becomes a whole lot scarier. It’s getting darker.
The journey ahead is uncertain, and the wasteland holds both danger and potential. With every step, I get even scared. The night brings dangers on a whole new level.
Farewell to home. Farewell to shelter. Welcome loneliness. Welcome fear… As I press on into the vast unknown, the wasteland becomes my canvas, and I, a solitary figure against the backdrop of a world that has yet to reveal its secrets. Someday I'll fly, she said, and I am determined to prove her prophecy true.
***
As I traverse the desolate landscape, I stumble upon a grim scene: ponies, shackled and weary, forced into a life of servitude.
My heart clenches at the sight of their plight. Slavery, a dark stain on the remnants of our world. I can't simply turn away. I won't. The memory of my mother's guidance fuels a spark within me, urging me to act.
I approach cautiously, the air thick with tension. The overseer, a burly pony with a cruel glint in his eyes, oversees the enslaved ponies. My mind races as I consider what I can do.
My saddlebag, filled with supplies from our shelter, becomes a source of hope. I take a deep breath, summoning my courage, and begin distributing the meager provisions among the enslaved. Their eyes meet mine, a mix of desperation and gratitude.
But the overseer catches on, his eyes narrowing. Panic sets in as he advances toward me. I'm just a young earth pony, unarmed and outnumbered.
The overseer opens my saddlebag with his magic. “No!” I yell. He takes all that's in there. “Give those back!” I shout. I shouldn’t have stayed! I should’ve run! I can’t help everypony. I shouldn’t help everypony!
In a burst of determination, I break into a run. The overseer shouts, and the enslaved ponies seize the opportunity, chaos erupting around us.
I weave through the turmoil, dodging obstacles, my hooves pounding against the ground. I carry my empty saddlebag, a reminder of the choice I've made. At least they got something to eat…
As I travel through the wasteland, I think about the unicorns I used to know. I remember watching them amazed. The unicorns could manipulate the guns with their magic, a skill beyond my grasp. The earth ponies, like me, seemed powerless in comparison. I thought we were useless, burdened by our lack of magic and wings. I know that we’re supposed to be stronger, but that’s not true. At least not with me.
But still life has taught me the art of adaptability. In this world, survival was not about magic alone. We, the earth ponies, found our strengths in resourcefulness and resilience. My mother guided us through the challenges of the wasteland. I learnt so much from her. I never got to thank her for that… I stop for a brief second. I can’t believe she’s gone… Suddenly the harsh reality hits me again. I have no chance of surviving…
As the memories play out, a unicorn appears on the horizon, her horn aglow with the soft light of magic. She holds a gun, just like the others from the past. It looks so beautiful how her red colored magic creates light in the darkness. The soft glow of her horn illuminates the surroundings, casting an ethereal light on her features. My initial thoughts echo my past judgments— she must be the same, someone who has an advantage I don't possess.
I don’t know if I should approach her.
As she draws near, the tension in the air doesn't escalate; it dissipates. Her movements are deliberate yet calm, and her red eyes, while weary, hold a glimmer of hope. She doesn't brandish the gun aggressively; instead, it hangs by her side, as a tool of survival.
She offers a tentative smile, her name escaping her lips like a melody carried by the wind. “I'm Aurora Glimmer, who are you little one?”, she says, the words weaving through the desolation. The wasteland seems to hush, if only for a moment, as our gazes meet.
“My name is Nightfly…” I tell.
“Are you all on your own?” she asks. I nod. “How do you survive out here, all alone?” I ask, my voice carrying the weight of curiosity.
Aurora's reply is measured, her eyes revealing a history etched with both pain and resilience. “Survival isn't easy, but it's possible. You learn to adapt, find strength where you least expect it.”
“But unicorns have magic,” I remark, my gaze flickering toward her glowing horn and the gun she effortlessly carries with it.
“It's true,” Aurora acknowledges, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “But magic alone won't save you. It's the choices you make, the alliances you form. We all have our battles, earth pony, unicorn, or pegasus.”
“Don’t you have anything with you?” she asks.
“No… Some slavery ponies stole everything I had!”
“That’s unfortunate… Could I give you something?” she asks. But why would she want to help me? Could there still be something good in this world?
“Yes, please, thank you”, I say.
Aurora Glimmer leads me to some kind of place. I look around, taking in the desolate landscape. Ruins stretch out before me, silent witnesses to the world that once was. The air is thick with dust, and the remnants of a bygone era stand as monuments to a time long forgotten. Nothing looks good in this unforgiving wasteland.
Aurora Glimmer and I are in what was once a bustling city, now reduced to a maze of destruction. The structures that have weathered the test of time stand as lonely sentinels, while others lie in ruins, their stories lost to the ravages of the wasteland. It's a place where the past echoes in every crumbling corner, a stark reminder of what was and what has been lost.
We’re inside a broken-down building. There are ponies scattered around, and the air feels dusty. It's not a cheerful place. The walls are cracked, and the floor is uneven. Ponies talk quietly, sharing stories in small groups. The light comes from a struggling campfire in the middle, casting long shadows on the worn-out surroundings
When I look up, I see what should be the night sky. But it's not really the sky; it's just a bunch of dust clouds. The air is thick with it, making everything hazy and dull. There's no clear blue or shining sun in the wasteland, it’s just a constant reminder of the harshness outside. It's like the world is holding its breath, trapped in a never-ending dance with the dust that obscures everything above.
There's many ponies here walking around. They make their own kind of family. It looks like a place similar to where I used to live with my mother for a while.
Aurora gives me a saddlebag and I thank her. She smiles and begins to fill the bag with some supplies. In it, she puts a couple of water bottles, a small pouch of preserved food, and a worn but functional flashlight and a knife. It's not much, but in the harsh reality of the wasteland, every little bit counts.
“Thank you so much!” I say. And she smiles while picking up the gun with her magic.
Now I look around and it all reminds me of what used to be home. What if I stayed here? What if I didn't go to Skyborn Heights? What if-
Suddenly, a shot shatters the fragile peace. Panic surges within me.
Ponies attack, their motives unclear, but the desperation for supplies evident in their eyes. The air is filled with shouts and the thunderous sound of hooves, a stark contrast to the uneasy calm that existed just moments ago. A bullet hits Aurora.
“No!” I shout as her magic disappears around her gun and it falls. I try to help her but there’s not much I could do with my dirty hooves. If I stay here, I’ll end up like her. I need to get out of here!
Before I go I stare at the gun lying beside the fallen unicorn. It's a challenge, a test of my adaptability. I crouch down, using my hooves and mouth to get the gun with me. It’s heavy, and I struggle.
With a final push, I manage to lift the gun into my mouth. The metallic taste fills my mouth. I run away, leaving behind the scene of tragedy, carrying a piece of the past in my mouth and the resolve to navigate the challenges that lie ahead. Someday I’ll learn how to use it. Someday I’ll save someone's life with it.
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t save you,”I think, looking at Aurora the last time and then I run away.