In the dark of the night, the soon-to-be father unicorn, Crimson Emerald sat with the other male ponies around a small fire. The mares were off in a nearby tent, tending to his mate, Heartsong Emerald. She was, by Equestrian standards, a rather beautiful Pegasus, who he was fortunate to have found himself with. They had been sitting in the dirt, silently, with short, quick glances at each other here and there, for nearly an hour. Only the closest friends of the Emerald family and members of the Resistance were present. Hidden guards were positioned in a ring, watching for any Soviet intruders that may happen upon their camp. It was unlikely for them to be discovered this deep in the woods, but they had to be sure.
Despite being a strong, battle-hardened mare, Heartsong still couldn’t keep herself from crying out in pain every so often. Each yell would startle the stallions from their silent meditiations. As time went on, the tension was building. Due to their oppression from technology, no one knew how the foal would turn out. Was Crimson going to have a colt or a filly? Was it going to be a unicorn or a Pegasus? Or perhaps even an earth pony, nopony could tell.
At the end of the hour, the guards traded positions. Those who were at the fire previously, including Crimson, now stationed themselves in the outer ring in the cold, dark, forest. It wasn’t all that much different; still silent and dark. But now, it was lonely and cold. He didn’t seem to mind much, after all, it was for his mate and his unborn foal. Standing vigil, he had even more time to think to himself: How will this birth affect him? How will he be able to secretly raise a child in Stalliongrad? And, how will this pony be able to change the outcome of the resistance when it’s all over? Will it be the one to— He never completed this question, for his thoughts were suddenly disrupted by a loud, collective gasp that came from the tent.
Crimson wondered for a second if he should leave his post and run towards the nursing tent. When he saw the other guards advancing there already, he decided he should too. When he arrived at the entrance, guards who had got there before him, spread apart to let him pass. Crimson nervously walked through the gap of stallions. With nothing more than a nod from the closest pony, he stepped through the flaps of the entrance. Seeing his mate laying in the middle of the room, Crimson gave her an inquisitive and worried look. She replied with an equally worried look back, and yet calmly said, “Come look for yourself.”
Slowly trotting up to the side of the bed, he looked at the small bundle of whatever rags the mares could come up with, that held his newborn foal. A large, shining, teal eye followed his until he stopped and started to pull back on the sheet covering his foal’s face. He quickly got the answer to one of his questions; it was a unicorn. Crimson stared in amazement at his child’s horn, imagining what kind of magic it will be used for some day. The horn itself was a pale-gold color, just like the rest of his head and body.
“He’s wonderful...” Crimson finally said. Without pause, Heartsong told him to keep going. He raised his brow curiously, but didn’t question it, figuring she just wanted him to see its gender. Filly or a colt? As he continued to pull the fabric further off the newborn, he brushed his hoof against something feathery. He ignored it initially, but soon realized what it was he was touching. He pulled his hoof back quickly as if he had made contact with white-hot steel. Eyes wide, and mouth agape, he was speechless. Crimson glanced around to the other mares, all who were equally shocked, and then to Heartsong who announced, “He’s an alicorn.”
Unsure of what to do, Crimson just nuzzled Heartsong quickly before stepping to the entrance and summoning one of the stallions to him. The pony he called for was one of his closest friends, and the captain of the guards from The Resistance, Trotski. After explaining his newborn’s attributes, Crimson was surprised to see that Trotski kept his composure. “Are you not worried? Or do you just not care!?” yelled Crimson. “I am neither of those comrade, I am content.” replied the captain with great sangfroid. “Do you not see the terrible possibilities that could become of this?” Crimson asked rather angrily. Trotski, just as calm as before, answered, “Of course I do, but I also see the wonderful potentials that may occur as well.” Crimson grunted, and then sighed, still undecided about what to do. Then the captain added, “If you cannot make this decision yourself, perhaps we can seek council from the Queen of the Resistance herself.” “That’ll have to do I figure,” said Crimson, “But, until then, he is going to need a name.”
Crimson turned back to his mate and asked her what her ideas were. After a long while of rejected names, due to reasons such as they were too cutesy, or were too hard to pronounce, the parents finally started to get onto something; The colt, being born under The Resistance, it would only be symbolic and correct to make his name subtly defiant against the Soviet rule of Stalliongrad. Their main color being red, the opposite was green (which is also half of the color of the colt’s hair). “But why in Equestria would you name anypony Green?” Crimson said sarcastically. “How about Veridian?!” interjected one of the mares, “It sounds lovely and matches your family name.” Crimson looked back to Heartsong and looked for her approval. She thought for a moment and eventually decided, “Veridian it is then, Veridian Emerald. I like it.”