In the Luna-blessed moonlight, under the sacred star-studded sky, the cobbled streets of Canterlot sing to me, aching to see the glory of our final retribution. Soon, I whisper back. Soon. These streets and I, we know: The shadows, those pockets of darkness whose edges only sharpen when the sunlight becomes oppressive, are growing long over the land as the night begins to rise. Destiny is coming to Canterlot, and to all of Equestria.
The cobbled streets of Canterlot sing to me: three sets of hooves falling on cobblestones make the rhythm, and the hidden rage of generations is the melody.
“Cufew soon,” I mutter darkly. “We should be careful.” The three of us part ways and take separate paths towards our shared destination. Even though it’s good to let the Tyrant’s enforcers see us practicing good and proper Friendship, constant caution is an unfortunate necessity in our line of work.
We aren’t separated for long--the hideout is very nearby. Our three paths meet in a tiny “room” with cardboard “walls” in the crawl-space beneath a house. The hideout is dark, cramped, and dirty, but to us, it is a moon-blessed place, more sacred than all of Equestria’s citadels to the sun. It is the perfect place for three friends to plot the birth of a new, darker world.
There is no table covered with plans and maps, and there wouldn’t be even if there had been space for one--all we need is the three pony heads crowded together here.
In the darkness, my voice is the voice of our cause. “Identify yourselves. The code.”
“The moon is my strength,” the fiery-red earth pony to my right says. Her voice is gravelly and full of violence. “The disc is my shield and the crescent my blade. Blood Tide. Second-order Nightbringer. Reporting.”
Blood Tide glares at the other, smaller member of the group, a silver pegasus who shrinks back slightly under her eyes. I feel a shock of fear. Is this it? After all this time, have we been infiltrated by an impostor?
“Th... the moon reveals all,” he says quickly when he sees both me and Blood Tide reaching for our weapons. “The night is my veil from the glare of the sun and... I’m Silver Shadow, third-class Shadow-walker, and I’m reporting! Okay?”
I nearly drown out the word “reporting” with my sigh of relief. Both of my comrades, their own codes complete, look at me expectantly.
“The moon is our leader,” I say evenly. “The moon will rise and shine over a new land. Crescent Sword. Leader. Reporting.”
Blood Tide, impatient as ever, doesn’t wait for me to ask before speaking up. Her voice rumbles with righteous menace and perverse pride. “The assassination was successful.” After this many operations with her, I could tell in the low light from my horn that she was suppressing a victorious smirk. “In fact, it was easy. Got a tougher target for me this time?”
“If all has gone well,” I reply, “Silver Shadow will know the answer to that.”
Two sets of eyes fall on Silver, who shrinks back slightly. “I had to abort,” he says quietly, turning away and trying to hide his face behind his mane. “The target is... um, the mission was harder than I thought it would be. They got, you know, really close. I was... um, a little scared.”
“So you just RAN?” Blood Tide snarls. She looks to me with coldly smoldering eyes. “Leader, why do you always bet so much on this coward? If it had been me on that mission, I--”
Silver hangs his head miserably. “I’m sorry,” he says meekly. “It was really hard. I don’t... I mean, I didn’t...”
“We’ll use teamwork,” I interrupt. Silver brightens. Blood darkens. “Remember, our Friendship is truer than their enforced harmony. Here’s the plan...”
The same cobblestones that sing to me in the moonlight are hot and hostile under the glaring sun. I glance around at the surrounding mockery of Canterlot through narrowed eyes. Concrete shimmers with heat mirages, and stone walls burn white as if possessed of a light of their own. This city was beautiful, once. Maybe even as recently as last night. It will be beauitful again, and soon. Darkness will fall, and the streets will sing a new song to the beat of angry hooves.
We are the ones who will drive the sun back until it has disappeared beneath the horizon. We are the ones who will usher in the new, the glorious night.
Blood Tide runs a hoof lovingly along the edge of Starstalker, her favorite blade. Perfectly balanced, ingeniously scythed at the edges, curved into an elegant V with the mouth-grip forming an A. When properly braced, this weapon allows Blood to tear a swath through our enemies simply by charging through them and letting the deadly edge of the weapon framing her head glide through exposed flesh. Blood had once taken pains to explain the fine details of this weapon to me, and I remember the look on her face as she did. It was the dark gleam of one who knows what a weapon is for, and loves it.
“Do you know what you have to do, Blood?”
“I know where I have to do it.” There is no remorse in her voice; there never is. “And I know who I’m gonna do it to.”
There comes a silence between us, but only a momentary one. Then I nod. “That’s the signal. Go. Moon guide you.”
“Moon guide you,” Blood agrees. And then she grips Starstalker between her teeth and charges down the path.
Every time I turn my back on one of them, every time I send one of them off on a mission, I hear a voice telling me that I might never see them again. Especially Blood Tide. With her especially, I worry that the next time I see her might be at her trial.
I hear a distant battle-cry, a muffled one made with a mouth clamped around a weapon’s grip. And, with both hooves and heart, my pace quickens.
Too early. She’s started the diversion too early! Did they attack her pre-emptively? Did she find an advantage that she couldn’t resist? I abandon the guise of an ordinary stallion going about ordinary business, and start galloping full tilt towards my position. Gravel crunches loudly under my hooves, and some of the civilians turn to look. No time to deflect their suspicion--Silver needs me in position, right now.
I slow to a steady trot as I turn a corner into a narrow alleyway, one of the few shadowy places left in this sun-soaked city. I rear and jump vertically, fluttering my wings for extra height as I aim my hoof at a certain spot in the near-darkness...
My hoof hits something cold and metal. The rusty ladder comes crashing down with a deafening clang.
I don’t take the time to be mad at myself for the noise. I climb. Twice, I think I hear voices behind me. I don’t look down. I climb.
Making it to the roof, out of the shadows and back into the oppressive heat, takes about a thousand years longer than I want it to. As soon as my hooves are on flat ground, I’m running again. A thousand paranoid possibilities spin through my mind in the space between the fire escape and my vantage point. Stick to the plan, Silver, I think desperately as I run toward the edge of the building. It’s just a small glitch, just stick to the plan, the plan, the plan--
I skid to a halt, duck behind the low wall encircling the roof, and peek over.
The square white box, our objective, is sitting on one of Goldenheart Cafe’s outdoor tables. Good. Just like my intel had suggested.
Also sitting at the table are not one but two guards, in full uniform. Blood and Silver are nowhere to be seen.
I wait. Ten seconds pass. Twenty. When thirty comes around, I have to look away. My vision is getting too blurry for me to see very much anyway. We were so close.
I start heading back to the ladder I had used to get up here, but then I stop. No.
It won’t end like this.
Not after all that Blood and Silver did. Not after all that they gave.
I turn around and gallop towards the edge of the building.
The mission was technically a success, except that I was the only one who attended the debriefing. I’m the last one who is still “free” to walk the oppression-scorched streets of Canterlot. Fortunately, my next mission is an extremely simple one.
Fortunately for me, and unfortunately for the Solar Tyrant.
It’s the worst mission plan I’ve ever come up with. It leaves everything to chance, because I don’t have the time to cross-check my intel. It doesn’t have a backup plan, because if plan A fails, it’s all over. And it doesn’t have any escape routes, because planning for an escape would be pointless.
This plan uses every resource available to me: One righteous cause. One stolen piece of key intelligence. One pegasus--a pegasus who’s neither a fighter nor an infiltrator, but a pegasus who’s suicidally determined to finish what he started.
And, of course, the simplest resource, but the most important one: One discreet but deadly weapon.
It is early afternoon on the sun-baked, cobblestoned streets of Canterlot, and the sun is about to set.
The sound of the oncoming parade starts as a faint thumping of bass drums--the heartbeat of the Solar war machine. The rattle of the snares and then the high-pitched melody bloom from there, usually some kind of cheerful, upbeat tune that’s perfect for masking the true purpose of these parades. Everypony knows that the real meaning of a parade is to remind citizens of the size and power of the Celestial military. The trumpets blare, the flutes chrip, and the hooves of the Empire’s loyal soldiers smash rhythmically against the surface of the city.
I sit in my own personal patch of twilight, cradling my weapon like a precious child--for it is thanks to this weapon that the new world will be born. The shadows in this darkened second-story bedroom are my only protection, but they will be enough. I peek outside to see the first rows of guards marching down the street that passes directly beneath the window that is my camoflage, and my only protection from a swift end to the mission. Fitting, that a common window would provide me protection on this final, most important mission in the campaign to liberate the common ponies.
There she is, in a grand chariot pulled by a team of her most loyal slaves. All I can feel my heart thump against my ribcage, and all I can hear is the blood pumping through my ears with every throb. It only takes a few minutes for her to come into range, but those few minutes feel longer than the thousands of years of oppression that she has inflicted upon this land.
When she finally comes into range, I do not hesitate. With the redemption of ponykind finally at hand, I howl out one last battle-cry, throw myself over the railing, and hurl the rage of the people at the Tyrant’s face.
“For the New Lunar Republic! LUNA NOCTIS NOBIS ETERNUM!”
Princess Celestia jerks sideways in her chariot as the side of her head is suddenly splattered in bright, chunky red.