Money. Power. Retribution. Follow the rise of Orion Abrasax, a human in Equestria and heir to a multibillion-bit industrial empire and a disgraced Ex-Captain of the Royal Guard as they embark on a warpath against Equestria's wealthiest.
“In normal times, evil would have been fought by good. But in times like these, it should be fought with a different kind of evil.” A new player enters the fray, and the war for Equestria has begun.
In an alternate, semi-futuristic, crystalpunk Equestria, the Six Imperial Families have ruled the land by proxy, dividing society by stature and establishing their dominion over the crown with their immense wealth and influence. The most powerful of them all, is the infamous Abraxas Family. With their monopoly on Lacrima, the crystalline power source of all Equestria’s magical technology, they have built an international multibillion-bit dynasty across the world. Follow the rise of Orion Abrasax, a lone human in Equestria adopted into House Abraxas and now heir to the family fortune; and Shining Armor, a dishonored former Captain of the Royal Guard, wrongfully accused and sentenced to Tartarus for crimes he did not commit. When ambition meets retribution, both man and stallion will embark on a venture that will shake the very corridors of power. Thrust into the dark, unforgiving world of business, money and politics, they will show Equestria that sometimes business can be personal... very personal.
“So tell me Captain, do you have the courage to ride with the Devil?”
The honeyed words of the strange creature resounded off the chrome walls, his clear Trottingham accent rolling off his silvery voice in a way that made Shining Armor's blood run cold. In an instant, the world around him fell to silence, with nothing but the clicks of his stainless steel shackles against the metal table and the feint buzzing of the lamp overhead. The white stallion remained stoic, but the involuntary twitch in the corner of his eye betrayed his curiosity. The individual on the other end of the table clasped his hands together, fingers entwined as his lips stretched in a thin smile.
The creature in question had introduced himself as a stallion, yet bore no resemblance to a pony, or anything Equestrian for that matter. The black, three-piece business suit he wore had been tailored to match the contours of his body with the utmost precision, giving him a lithesome appearance. Yet, there was nothing effeminate in his bearing, though the sweet yet musky scent of smoked fire lilies and gooseberries led the former Captain to question that last deduction. What stood out, however, were his eyes.
Piercing irises of dark violet gleamed with a subtle glow like beacons in the black of night, and though most ponies did their best to hide their true nature, there was nothing subtle in his demeanor. Behind that cordial façade, those eyes bore something evil, sinister even. Despite his best efforts, Shining could not avert his gaze, as if bewitched by the sight of them.
His name was Orion Abraxas and that was the day they met.
A day Equestria will never forget.
Orion groaned at the familiar gush of parting velvet and the searing warmth of the morning sun on his bare skin. “By the Old Gods, Clarence,” he groaned, pulling up the bedsheets in a desperate attempt to return to the comforts of Princess Luna’s domain.
“I wish for once, just once, that you would sod off and let me sleep.”
“Etiquette, my Lord,” a mature voice chided.
“To Tartarus with etiquette.”
The sheets were engulfed in a luminous shade of purple and floated off. “Equestria rises with the morn, and I’m afraid you do as well.”
Orion rubbed the vexing temptation of sleep from his eyes as he smothered a yawn with his peculiar spider-like appendages. He learned long ago that they were called hands, and their nimble extensions fingers, though having been raised in a family of ponies, Orion had always felt uncomfortable referring to them by anything other than hooves.
“And such language is most unbecoming of a stallion of your stature.”
Stallion.
He chuckled at the thought. At times he wondered if the Equestrians had forgotten. Orion was no pony, that was a fact, and even after years of searching Equestria’s vast archives, no script or scroll offered him the slightest clue to his origins. Still, growing up an exotic being in a foreign land was no easy task, especially among the Entitled. As such, managing perceptions and confronting prejudices became a daily routine, as depressing as it seemed. Perhaps time had finally liberated their minds, or perhaps they had chosen to stay their tongues in light of his Transcendence. Either way, optimism was better than ignorance.
Well, at least they stopped asking if I was for sale.
Orion turned to dull-grey unicorn stallion brewing a fresh cup of tea by the silver dining cart next to him, chamomile with a smidge of mint judging by the distinctive aroma. A well-pressed tuxedo complete with bow tie adorned his broad, well-chiseled frame and not a hair on his mane out of place, or a thread out of line. If perfection had a name, it would have been Clarence Cavendish, the Head Butler of Abrasax Manor. All these years, and never once had Orion seen the old stallion out of uniform.
“I’m not even out of my pajamas yet, and already you’re chastising me. Honestly, sometimes I wonder why I keep you around,” Orion griped, running his fingers through the dark violet highlights of his messy jet black hair.
Clarence ruffled his thick, greying mustache. “Because then, my Lord, you would actually have to start doing your own chores.” Clarence levitated the two-piece set of china into Orion’s grasp.
“Touché, Clarence. Have mercy, please. It’s too early for a joust.”
“Believe me, Sire. As much as I would like to entertain your mood for jests, time waits for nopony.”
“Funny.” Orion lifted the cup from the saucer. “I thought time was a commodity I could afford. All of Equestria seems to be on sale as of late.”
“But the early bird catches the worm, or so the saying goes.”
“Touché again,” Orion replied. “Alright then, what’s on the itinerary today?” He moved the cup to his lips, taking a deep whiff of the majestic aroma. “By the Old Gods, how I’ve missed this.” His eyes slipping to a close as he sighed.
“Aside from having to address the executive committee—”
“Not looking forward to that.”
Clarence snorted. “—you have a press conference at eleven, then a pre-lunch cocktail with the Canterlot nobles.”
“Definitely not looking forward to that.”
“And knowing them, all the noble Fillies and Gent—”
Orion scoffed. “Come now, it’s just us. Speak freely.”
“As you command. Every Entitled whorseson with a silver spoon stuck up his arse is simply dying to meet you.”
“Now that—" Orion gestured with a wave of his finger. "—is the Clarence I know and love,” he said with a grin.
“And then, of course, your scheduled tea session with her Majesty.” Clarence raised a fuzzy eyebrow. “Although, I am curious as to how you managed to procure such a meeting. Her Majesty is quite the busy mare.”
“Magic,” Orion said, sipping on his tea.
Noticing the apparent scowl on the face of his trusty butler, the young Lord rolled his eyes. “Well if you really must know, I may or may not have said some things during our rather interesting conversation back at the Pony Summit. A conversation I merely wish to continue.”
“If I may be so bold as to pry, my Liege. It doesn’t have anything to do with that now, does it?”
He shot the old stallion a wry grin. “My word, Clarence, is that concern I hear?” Orion climbed off the goose-feathered mattress, flinching a little as the bare soles of his feet as they made contact with cold marble floor.
“Concern, and more. In truth, I shudder to think on what you intend to accomplish. More so on the repercussions which await you should her Majesty not share your perspectives.”
“Oh, pish posh. You worry too much, old boy.” Orion waved a dismissive hand. "Besides, Princess Celestia is an absolute darling, and I simply adore her."
Clarence narrowed his dull amber eyes. “That was no jest, my Lord. Ten years ago, I swore an oath to Lord Sol that I would keep you safe. I know you intend to honour his memory, but your father wouldn’t have wanted—”
“Clarence.”
Clarence froze, taken aback by Orion's sudden change in tone.
“My… my apologies, Sire." He bowed his head. "It was not my place.”
In the presence of a noble, such contempt would have been warrant for discipline, but instead Orion gave the old butler a reassuring smile. “Have I ever given you reason to doubt?” He placed both cup and saucer upon the silver cart. “Have a little faith, I know what I’m doing.”
Clarence sighed in resignation. “That confidence, Sire, is the sum of all my fears. You may not be his blood, but you certainly are your father’s colt," he said. “Well, idle chatter aside, I have prepared the bath.”
"With those lemon scented bath beads I love so much?” Orion said, a chipper tone in his voice.
“Unfortunately, we no longer have those in stock. I’m afraid you are just going to have to settle with the Jasmine ones for now.” Clarence made his way to the cart.
“Oh, by the Maker, not the Jasmine ones!” Orion smacked his forehead. “Prince Blueblood adores them, and the last thing I want is to end up smelling like him.”
Clarence rolled his eyes. “Believe me, Sire. With everything happening today, I sincerely doubt the press would choose to squander their precious time describing the way you smell.”
“Touché, and that makes three.” Orion chuckled. “You know me so well, Clarence. I don’t know what I would ever do without you.”
“Get another butler for starters,” Clarence levitated the silver tray and taking it with him as he trotted out of the bedroom. “I shall return to dress you once breakfast is prepared.”
“Marmalade please, not jam. I hate strawberries, and I would like my eggs sunny side up this time around.” Orion smoothened the wrinkles on his silk pajamas. “Now, isn’t he supposed to call—”
He looked over his shoulder, eyes falling on the stick-like device vibrating upon his bedside cabinet as a familiar chime reverberated across the alabaster walls. “Speak of the Doctor, and he presents himself.” Orion smirked as he grabbed it.
With a pull and a twist, he then tossed it into the air. The black mechanical device lay suspended and began unraveling itself, spreading across in a foot-long screen of neon blue bearing a flashing icon a phone. The name, ‘Doctor Whooves’, spelled out in a set of illuminated letters directly beneath the digital photograph of a brown earth pony with a silly grin plastered on his face.
And he wonders why nopony returns his calls.
He swiped the icon off-screen with a wave of his hand. “Good morning, Doctor.”
Orion jerked his head when the screen came alive with a blotch of brown. “Is this thing on? Horseapples, I never could get this boneheaded contraption work.”
“Hoof down, Doctor. It’s working perfectly fine.”
“There we go,” Doctor Whooves said as he came into frame. “I never should have trusted those tabloids and converted to Pear. Overpriced piece of junk.”
“I’ve always preferred PONY myself.” Orion folded his arms, making his way to the grand glass window overlooking the baronial manor’s expansive courtyard. “Call them peculiar, but the Neighponese know their Machina.”
“That, I agree, Lord Abrasax.”
Orion lifted a hand. “Doctor, we’re not in public, Ryan will do. All this formality is making me nauseous.”
“Right.” The Doctor cleared his throat. “Back to the matter at hoof, I have assembled the data packs you requested, and I have an update from our engineers. First, would you like the good news or the bad?”
“I prefer my desserts first, if you would be so kind.” He leaned his back against the window.
“It’s brilliant, the preliminary field tests are complete and N.O.V.A. works like a charm. In fact, I’ve never seen more promising numbers, take a look for yourself.” the Doctor swiped a series of diagrams and charts into the screen.
“And don’t get me started on the Machinas. The dual crystallic cores work in complete sync, and all systems are running at full capacity.” He sighed, a clear smile on his face. “It seems that the A.E.G.I.S. Initiative is a go.”
“Music to my ears,” Orion said. “Good work, Doctor. Papa would be proud.”
“On behalf of every pony on my team, I thank you, but we couldn’t have accomplished this without the Founding Fathers. The math, schematics and designs were all decades ahead our time. It is an honor to breathe life into such genius.”
“So, how much longer before we move into full production?”
“Well, if everything goes according to plan, by Luna’s second moon. But...” the Doctor’s voice trailed off, ears splaying backwards.
Orion arched an eyebrow. “But?”
“I’m concerned as to how much longer we can keep all this a secret, Lord Abra—” He stopped mid-sentence. “I mean Ryan. We are talking about a decade’s work behind Princess Celestia’s back, and considering the nature of it all, some would say its grounds for treason.”
“Who, the Entitled?” Orion scoffed. “You leave the House of Lords to me, and though I would rather have my bottom impaled on a giant cactus, parlaying with nobles and bureaucrats is what I do best. Your true concerns however, should be on her.”
The Doctor shrugged. “I knew you were going to bring her up eventually.”
“What can I say? I am literally head over heels. How long before she’s functional?”
“As soon as the final power calibrations on her Crystal Core is complete, and once she’s airborne, she’ll be the most majestic thing to ever grace the Equestrian skies,” the Doctor said.
“That she will, which leaves the final piece of the puzzle,” Orion said.
“Speaking of which…” the Doctor swiped an icon shaped like a manila folder into the screen. “Would you care to elaborate of your irrational choices in ponies? I mean, what in Celestia’s name were you thinking, having me gather these files for you? Illegally if I may add.”
“Are you questioning my excellent judge of character?”
“Quite the opposite, really. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you've gone stark raving mad.”
“Doctor,” Orion lips stretched into a thin smile, making the brown stallion cringe at the sight of it. “You should know by now that in our world, sanity is an overrated state of mind.”
He moved away from the window. “And besides, Equestria has gotten a little bit too mundane for my taste. Wouldn’t you agree?”
The Doctor’s face went slack. “Um…”
Orion then snapped of his fingers. “Now give me my green vegetables.”
“Oh, oh right!” the Doctor shook himself free of his daze as he swiped another graph into the window with a wave of his hoof.
“Well, as you know, Abrasax’s stock is soaring higher than ever. Our analysts in Manehattan say we’re set to climb several more points by week’s end.”
“Correct me if I'm wrong, but weren't you were supposed to give me my veggies? I honestly fail to see just how that leaves a bad taste in my mouth.”
“Would you please let me finish?” the Doctor said. “According to the data, the possibility of that depends entirely on the press conference later today. At this very moment, all Equestria has their eyes on you, especially our investors and stock holders.”
Orion bit his bottom lip. “I... I never knew the conference leveled with such importance.”
“Could you honestly blame them? Next to Princess Luna’s return, you being named heir to one of Equestria’s largest corporate empires is possibly the biggest news since the invention of the Crystal Core. In fact—” the Doctor swiped a window into the screen as an audio file began to play. “—it has been all over the Vine since you returned from Trottingham a week ago.”
"Equestria, a land of myth and magic which now thrives on the wings of industry."
Orion folded his arms as he listened.
"Hi, I am Rip Runner of the Canterlot News Network, and today it is my pleasure. Nay, my privilege, to introduce you, Equestria, to one of the world’s most iconic Entitled families, and how thieir renowned contributions to science had set Equestria on a road to the future."
"Hundreds of years ago, explorers in the heart of the Frozen North uncovered a deposit of magical elemental crystals of power. The crystals, later named Lacrima, sparked the catalyst of what would be Equestria’s greatest discovery— Machina."
"The prodigious foal of both science and magic, these marvelous machines have propelled civilization to exponential heights. From agriculture, transportation, construction, logistics, even medicine; all aspects of society have enjoyed great leaps and bounds in their fields."
"Then, with the dawn of the Industrial Age, came the rise of the first generation of who we now know as the Imperial Families of Equestria, though none deserve more recognition than that of the one and only Abrasax Family. Having dominated the Lacrima industry, have built a multibillion-bit corporate dynasty across the globe."
"Although, it was the invention of the Crystal Core, the brain-foal of Lord Sol Abrasax is what lifted the Abrasaxs to the very pinnacle of corporate success. Visionary, genius; the son of the late industrialist, Lord Libra Abrasax had revolutionized Machina in which the world had never seen before. Replacing the now obsolete Crystal Engine, the sheer power of the Crystal Core opened a myriad of possibilities which led to the invention of larger, more powerful machines in the decades to follow."
"Then, ten years ago, came the passing of a legend. As Equestria mourned the death of Lord Sol, ponies around the world watched in apprehension as they are faced with the obvious question. Who will ascend the Abrasax throne? Who will step up and fill the void left by the greatest innovator Equestria has ever known? All expectations inevitably fell on Ares Abrasax, Lord Sol’s eldest and most eligible candidate. Not only is he an honored graduate from the prestigious Stalliongrad Academy in Trottingham, Lord Ares is also a decorated athlete and a former Sergeant of the Royal Guard.”
"Surprisingly enough, fate took an interesting turn. For at the Reading of The Will, Lord Sol left the future of Abrasax Industries not to Ares, but rather to Orion Abrasax, his Transcended son and second youngest foal."
Orion drew a deep breath, his fingers digging into his arms as the turbulent memories from that dreaded day flooded his mind. He shook his head, banishing his thoughts as he made his way to the dressing room mirror at the end of the room, stepping past the wooden stool table and the crystal chess set on top of it.
"Thirteen at the time, young Orion Abrasax, now heir to the Abrasax fortune was only in his sixth year through Stalliongrad Academy. As such, the temporary leadership of Abrasax Industries fell to Lord Fancypants, Lord Sol’s lifelong friend and godfather to Orion."
"Ten years had passed since then, and thus, the prodigal son returns, having graduated summa cum laude and is anointed the new President of Abrasax Industries. His eminence, Lord Orion will be addressing the public later today at Abrasax Towers in downtown Canterlot. There is no telling what the future holds for Abrasax Industries, but this reporter is hopeful that like father, like son, he will usher in a new age for Equestria".
“So, needless to say, muck up the press conference, and Abrasax Industries will be neck-deep in red for a good quarter.” the Doctor swiped the window off the screen. “That being said, what are your impressions on the Vinecast?”
“It was a little over the top, but not the worst I’ve heard.” Sighing, he took a moment to gaze upon his reflection, rubbing his fingers over his roughly-shaven face. “I think I may keep it. What do you think?” Orion looked over his shoulder back at the screen.
“Um…” Once again, the Doctor’s face went slack, having been caught off guard.
“Yes, I think I’ll keep it!” Orion proclaimed. “Adds a bit more finesse to my otherwise more coltish features. I don’t want to look too much like a stooge, and I certainly don’t want to come off as too intimidating either. Or perhaps I should start growing that porcupine Clarence loves so much—”
The Doctor gave him a deadpan stare. “Can please we return to the matter at hoof?”
“Fine, fine. If you would be so kind, transfer the files to my tablet. I want to review them before addressing the committee later today,” Orion said, moving his head closer to the mirror as he inspected his chin.
“Files transferred. How else may I be of service?”
Orion spun around with cheerful grin on his face. “As a matter of fact, I—”
“Anything else that doesn’t involve me breaking any laws,” the Doctor said sternly.
“In my defense, I did not know that was a crime.”
“How in Celestia could you not know that hacking into Equestria’s central mainframe was against the law?” The Doctor threw his hooves in the air. “I could have been arrested, locked up in Tartarus for the rest of my natural life, and with my posh accent and feathery brown mane, they would make me the belle of the ball.”
Orion snorted. “Please, loopholes are made to be exploited. Besides, a stallion as smart as you is far too clever to be apprehended by the likes of inept amateurs.”
The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck as his cheeks flushed with a shade of pink. “Well I am fairly clever, and—” His eyes snapped wide open, garbling incomprehensibly as he shook his head from side to side like a wet dog. “Still, that doesn’t mean that you could just—”
“Say, how fast can you get your suit tailored?” Orion interrupted.
The Doctor looked as if his train of thought came to a screeching halt. “I… I beg your pardon? My suit, whatever for?”
“The conference of course. It is as you said, the future of my company depends solely on success of this conference, and with that in mind, I have certainly no intention of being on stage by myself.”
“B-b-but… I… I am certain that there is somepony far more suitable—”
“Oh, poppycock! You’re perfect. Now go get ready and I’ll pick you up in two hours.”
“But Sir, I—”
“Ta-ta, Doctor Whooves,” Orion took a singsong tone as he swiped the window off-screen, ending the transmission.
He narrowed his gaze at the icon left on screen and tapped on it. Selecting the first file, he brought it to the center of the screen and stretched it to full resolution. His eyes trailed along the words ‘Tartarus Maximum Penitentiary’ marked at the top end of the sheet. Waving his hand, he scrolled through a list of documents strewn across a series of open windows. Recurring words like dangerous, erratic, volatile and mentally-unsound did nothing but fuel his growing curiosity.
He then came to a series of photographs. Fellow inmates, judging by their trademark orange jumpsuits, though it wasn’t their identities Orion found interesting, rather their ghastly injuries.
“By the Old Gods.”
Deep gashes, broken bones, severed limbs; the list went on. Orion felt his innards began twisting in knots with every expression of pain, anguish and regret frozen with every captured frame. How he thanked the Maker that breakfast was yet to be served, lest he empty Clarence’s signature Quinoa Salad all over the manor's prized Saddle Arabian carpets. For the sake of his appetite and his mental wellbeing, Orion swiped past the rest of the photos. Not until the final document did he lay eyes on the infamous convict.
Thus, that same insidious smile began taking shape. “Race: Unicorn. Linage: House Sparkle, Fourth Generation. Profession Prior To Incarceration: Captain of the Royal Equestrian Guard. Gang Affiliations: None,” he read aloud.
Keeping his eyes on the screen, Orion wandered to the chess board, removing the luminous, crystal carved white knight from its place. “Crime: First Degree Murder. Sentence: Life imprisonment without parole.”
He turned his attention to the photo of a white unicorn stallion with a mane of sapphire blue and sharp cerulean eyes. Orion took interest in the rather peculiar tattoo on his left cheek. Tribal, he deduced, but unlike any he had ever seen. Perhaps there was a story behind it, one he intends to learn in due time.
“Shining Armor.”
Glowing eyes of dark violet settled on the piece in his hand as a slow, crafty chuckle escaped his lips.
“Papa, must I go?” Orion’s breath materialized in the cold evening air as he spoke.
It was the middle of winter, and yet the Crown City Grand Central Station bustled with life from all corners of Equestria. The sporadic sounds of claws and hooves were never-ending, scampering like little mice across the dull emerald-tiled platforms. Sharp whistles of steam screamed into the dusk, followed closely by vaporing clouds of smoke.
Orion tugged on his leather coat, hugging himself to keep warm. The bitter cold seeped through his woolen gloves, numbing his fingers until they felt thick and stiff. In truth, he envied his fellow Equestrians, and how the Maker had blessed them in ways that they remain impervious to the elements.
“Are you afraid, my boy?”
Orion’s dark violet eyes rested on gentle navy-blue unicorn well into his twilight years. He was dressed in a charcoal business suit tailored from the finest vicuna, complimenting his rugged features to a fault.
Orion nodded, earning a smile. “It is quite alright. Fear is but a natural response to change.” Lifting a hoof, he petted the young colt on the head. “In fact, I was too when I was your age.”
“Then, why are you sending me away?” Orion sniffled as he fought through the tears. “Do you not want me anymore?”
Keeping the smile on his muzzle, the old stallion placed a gentle hoof on Orion’s shoulder. “You misunderstand. I am not sending you away.” The sound of his warm, husky voice had always soothed the young colt. “Stalliongrad Academy is the one of the best academies in all the land, and it is there where you will receive the best education Equestria can provide.”
“But Papa, Trottingham is so far away. Why must it be Stalliongrad when there are plenty of other schools here in Canterlot?”
“Because you…” The old stallion poked him gently on tip of his nose. “My boy, are an Abrasax, and the prestigious halls of Stalliongrad have nurtured the Abrasax Family for generations. It was my alma mater, and my father’s, and my grandfather’s. It is tradition.” He caressed Orion’s cheek. “And what have I told you of tradition?”
The young colt shrugged. “That it defines us in our entirety.”
“That’s my boy.”
Orion jumped at the sound of a brass horn, and the gruff voice of the train conductor called out to the huddling crowd. One by one, they began boarding the train.
“Lord Sol.” Clarence trotted up next to the old stallion as he floated a pair of suitcases with his magic. “My apologies, Sire, but we must make haste.”
“I know, I know. Just… just give me a moment,” Sol removed a small jewelry box from the confines of his coat pocket and opened it. “I realized that it was time.”
Orion’s lips parted at sight of the golden, cross-shaped brooch. “P-Papa… is that?” He pointed to the lavender gemstone encased within.
“The Stone of Luna, one of seven Abrasax Stones. They are the heirlooms of our house.” Sol gestured to his own golden brooch bearing a white stone, pinned to the knot of his scarf. “And this one is yours. Wear it with pride.”
Orion took the box in his hands. “It’s beautiful, Papa. Thank you.”
Sol chuckled and shook his head. “Truth be told, of all the Abrasax Stones, I hold that one closest to my heart.”
“How so?” Orion arched an eyebrow.
“You see, it belonged to your mother once, Maker bless her soul.” Sol took on a more somber expression. “She was a kind mare… a good mare, and though she had never met you, I am certain she would have loved you as much as I do.”
Orion threw his arms around him in a hug, catching Sol by surprise. Fur as soft as velvet brushed against the little colt’s cheek, taking in the familiar scent of smoked fire lilies and gooseberries. “I’ll treasure it always.” He looked up with a smile.
“Oh, Orion.” Sol returned the hug. “I will miss you dearly.” He kissed Orion on his forehead. “Now try not to trouble Clarence, and do give my regards to Cassiopeia and Neon when you arrive at Trottingham Station.”
Orion nodded, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Fare thee well, Papa.”
Sol favored him with a rueful grin. “Maker guide you always, my son. Strive high, walk tall, and most of all, never forget who you are, an Abrasax.”
That was a lifetime ago.
Orion circled his finger over the lavender gemstone beneath the knot of his scarlet tie as he peered through the backseat window at a Canterlot he no longer remembers. His father would tell him stories of old Canterlotean buildings with walls of polished marble, and how their towers of onion-shaped domes would graze the clear blue sky. Now in their stead lay towering structures of brick, concrete and steel enameled with nauseating shades of grey. Holographs and streams of bright neon set the dreary, midmorning streets ablaze with billboards and all manner of trivial infomercials.
The city was bursting with life as ponies of all races walked the pavements, eyes fixed on their crystal tablets as they bustled about their business. Thousands from all spectrums of life thrived in the Crown City, the heart of the empire under Princess Celestia’s watchful eye. Noble or pauper, they all got by one way or another. Orion sighed as he shifted his torso against the lavish leather seats. Canterlot had changed, that was a fact, but a far cry from the glorious capital it once was.
There was once a time where ponies used to walk these quaint cobblestoned streets with a sense of dignity and refinement. Now it was just another city, and how it reeked with the stench of capitalism and progress. Orion may be an advocate for the technological advancements of ponykind, yet tragically he remained a sentimentalist at heart.
“In other news, notorious unicorn-supremacist faction known only as The Firstborns have claimed responsibility of a series of bombings across Fillydephia in the past several moons.”
Orion’s attention was soon robbed by the floating neon-green screen suspended behind the driver’s seat, broadcasting the last news feed from the Canterlot News Network. His fingers clasped together, eyes narrowing ever so slightly as the newscaster continued.
“The Firstborns appeared a year ago amass protests against the use of Machina as propagated by the Church of Arcana Eternia. Believers had long argued that the use of magic belonged solely to the unicorns, and that existence of Machina is in fact heresy.”
“Albedo, the leader of the Firstborns, has sworn that his fellow believers will not rest until—”
Orion changed the feed with a wave of his hand. This time to a backdrop of burning buildings, scattered rubble and the forlorn expressions of escaping refugees.
“Two years had passed. Yet, the Redeans see no end to their bloody conflict, with thousands dead, and thousands more on the run, seeking shelter and sanctuary from neighboring nations. President Armin, the newly-elected representative of the Redenia after the shocking assassination of his predecessor, Presiden Mustasfar, had—”
The feed switched yet again with another wave of his hand to an earth pony newscaster accompanied by live footage from Canterlot’s Hall of Justice as the camera narrowed in on rather familiar face. Orion bent himself forward, eyes wide in attention, and ears perked with interest.
“Today, Lord Argus DeSenti of the DeSenti Family.” Orion scowled at the mention of the name. “Was acquitted by High Court earlier today for the rape and murder of the young earth pony filly, Daisy Springs. The acquittal came with insufficient evidence, and the mysterious disappearance of a key witness.”
Argus DeSenti, one of Canterlot’s most notorious nobles. He recognized that no good, low-life scum of an earth pony anywhere.
“When questioned, Lord DiSenti had only this to say.” The camera then zoomed in on the alabaster earth pony bearing a smug grin behind his dirty blonde mustache. “It has been taxing couple of months, but I am glad that through it all, justice has prevailed.”
A feint glow irradiated from Orion’s violet irises.
“Terrible thing what happened to that little filly, and I sure hope they catch the maniac responsible, but from here on out, it’s no concern of mine.”
“The shocking murder of Daisy Springs comes as the sixth high-profile murder this year. Based on a recent study, the crime rate in Manehattan had risen by twenty percent in over the past decade, and with local law enforcement already stretched to the bone, this reporter fears that the numbers will continue to rise.”
He scoffed through clenched teeth, but before he could change the feed, the words ‘Breaking News’ flashed in red as it streaked across the emerald screen accompanied by images of burning buildings with walls scorched and riddled with bullet holes. Bodies littered, ash-like on the cobblestoned streets in puddles of red, caked with dust and soot. Trails of blackened smoke tainted the clear blue sky as the island burned, blockaded by a legion of war ships and blimps. Orion then felt a ghostly chill roll down his spine like a Windigo’s embrace.
Galahd… Artemisia!
Galahd is an island kingdom hundreds of miles off the coastal city of Manehattan and had long served as a key port between the Eastern Kingdoms and Equestria. As a colt, Orion spent many a summer at the Grand Palace, mostly in the precious company of Princess Artemisia. Their fathers were close friends and their families had remained as such even after Lord Sol’s passing.
“Breaking news. Chaos had broken out in island nation of Galahd with the invasion of a private military corporation named Gjallarhorn under the directives of the East Karaba Trading Company, leaving behind in their wake, insurmountable damage and civilian casualties. As of now, Gjallarhorn forces had seized control of the main port and erected a blockade surrounding the entire island, halting all traffic in and out of the kingdom.”
“A representative of The Company, Orm Jaafar, had this to say.” The camera panned to the sight of an obese camel draped in tight silk garb two sizes too small. The fabric tugged at his diamond studded buttons as if clinging for dear life. He straightened his fez and cleared his throat.
“For decades the East Karaba Trading Company had done business with the Kingdom of Galahd.” His accent was clearly Saddle Arabian. “But we have deemed that the newly imposed taxes and raised import tariffs for all Eastern traders are both unwarranted and discriminatory at best. Therefore, the Company had no choice but to intervene. I wish to inform the citizens of the world that we have tried to initiate a more… peaceful solution, but they had paid us no heed. We at the Company seek your understanding, and by Mualla’s will, we will reach a more favorable outcome.”
“The East Karaba Trading Company had vowed that the blockade will continue so long as the King refuses to adhere to the Company’s demands. His majesty, King Adel Anoushiravan, had decreed that the Company’s actions was a declaration of war and a direct violation of the Thirteenth Equestrian Accords while his daughter, Princess Artemisia, the Crown Princess of Galahd, has vowed to seek the immediate intervention of Princess Celestia in hopes that she and the Royal Equestrian Guard would put an end to this injustice. Stay tuned as we bring you more—”
Orion terminated the feed with a harsh swipe his hand across the screen as it dissipated soon afterwards. There will be no aid for Galahd. Princess Celestia may be revered by all as the true Equestrian monarch, but in truth she is but a slave to her own crown, shackled by the very system she had created. Her influence and power had diminished over the decades, shadowed by Parliament and its politicians, but none worse than the Entitled.
The crème de la crème of Equestrian nobility, and members of the House of Lords had long leveraged on their immense wealth and influence to bend their fellow politicians and even the Solar Princess herself to their will. Knowing the House of Lords and how adamant they remain in preserving their own self-interests, any talk of military intervention would take months, if not years. By then, Galahd would be nothing more but piles of stone.
You were right Papa. This world is burning down all around us, and nopony seems to care.
Orion drew a deep, staggered breath and exhaled sharply. He clawed his fingers into the arm rest by his side, his nails dug hard into polished leather as if to contain the searing rage surging within like Hellfire. The rich and powerful, they take what they want. Without fear, and without mercy.
And they laugh… they laugh at the poor, at the downtrodden, but by the Old Gods…
They will not laugh at me.
The vehicle jerked to a halt, returning the young Lord to the real world.
“Hey, I’m drivin’ ‘ere.” The earth pony in the driver’s seat waved a hoof in the air. “Dumb, flippin’ feather brained, cat-pigeons!”
“By the Old Gods, Albert, what happened?” Orion turned his attention to a group of juvenile griffins outside who returned Albert’s outburst with some rather obscene gestures.
Albert turned around. “Sorry ‘bout that, false alarm. You alright, Gov’ner? Nothin’ broken I hope.” He offered a look of concern.
Orion waved a dismissive hand. “Still in one piece, Maker willing. Just, be more careful. The last thing we want is to draw attention to ourselves.”
He knew that such desires were merely wishful thinking at best, considering the crowd of ponies already amassing outside snapping pictures with their hoof-held devices to a hymn of oohs and ahhs. After all, Orion’s mode of transport is not particularly the most subtle of vehicles. Dubbed the Hermes by his late grandfather, the car was fifteen feet from bumper to bumper, supercharged with sixteen cylinders, and a quad-crystal core with six wheels and a nine speed transmission. To Orion, such knowledge was no more than meaningless refuse, but tradition requires an Abrasax to know his family heirlooms by hard.
“Righty do, Gov’ner. Hold on, ole Albert’s gonna get you all there safe and sound.” The seasoned chauffer shifted gears and leaned on the accelerator as the car began moving yet again.
“I have no doubt.” Orion gave a nervous chuckle, already regretting having Clarence stay behind to go shopping for more scented soap.
Then again, the young Lord hadn’t the heart to hold Albert accountable. In days of old, the automobile remained not just a luxury confined to the Entitled, and they weren’t subtle about it either, adorning their mechanized chariots with polished plates of gold and precious stones. Now, with the evolution of Machina, every laypony with bits to spare could finally afford themselves a decent set of wheels, and the roads were filled with them.
Orion rubbed the back of his neck. First the buildings, now the carriages. There was a time he used to wave at the passengers, savoring those flabbergasted expressions when they caught sight of the strange little creature in the back seat of this cherry-red monstrosity. Now, all he could see is his own reflection in the tinted windows of yet another four-wheeler.
“You know, Gov’ner.”
The young Lord returned his attention to the old stallion in the driver’s seat.
“Wish I’d told you this sooner, but I’m glad ya home. Been a long time, that’s all.”
Orion graced him with a smile. “It has, hasn’t it? How’s the family, by the way?”
“Doin’ alright, thanks for askin’. Me lad got married last summer, heard the lass is now with foal. Can ya believe it? Me, a grandpappy.”
“Well, that’s wonderful news. So pray tell, is it a filly or a colt?”
Albert chuckled. “Now, now, settle down, Gov’ner. Bit too early to tell, but I have it in me bones that it’ll be a colt. You mark me words, ole’ Albert’s got gift for this sorta’ thing.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Orion crossed his legs and clasped his hands together. “Do extend my heartiest congratulations to your son.”
“Will do, Gov’ner. Will do.” Albert’s emerald green eyes shifted to the rear view mirror. “By the way, me family and I would love to have ya over for when the foal arrives.”
He cringed as Orion’s eyebrows rose with surprise. “I mean… that is, if ya not too busy with ya businessin’ and all. Me lad and his lass are throwin’ a little get together and I was hopin’—”
“Of course I will, in fact, I’d be delighted,” Orion replied with a bright smile. “As my father used to say, the most important thing in life will always be family. Personally, I believe family is something worth celebrating.”
“Praise Celestia for that, Gov’ner. You know, I’ve never told this to anypony before, but twenty five years ago, I lost me job when ole Rickabee went tits up in debt.”
“Rickabee?” Orion repeated, recalling a page in an old textbook back at Stalliongrad. “You mean Rolls Rickabee, the former owner of the Rickabee Candy Company? Didn’t he used to own that chocolate factory off the south side of Canterlot?”
“Aye, and me wife and I, we was newlyweds then. With me lad on the way I knew I needed bits, and fast, but I was not a clever pony, never finished school so nopony would hire me,” Albert said, his words laced with spite as he tightened his hooves around the ivory wheel.
“I won’t lie to ya, scared I was. Worried ‘bout how we was going to raise our lad without a roof over his head, ya know. So I did the only thing I could do…”
Orion’s body stiffened. “Oh, Albert, please tell me you did not.”
“Tried to rob an Entitled, I did. I knew they would have me head for it, but I was desperate enough to try. Well Celestia must be smiling on me that day, for the stallion I tried to mug was yer old man, Lord Abrasax. Gave me a good ole thrashing, he did. Never stood a chance. Swear I could still feel his hoof on me jaw.”
“I can imagine. Despite his age, Papa was well versed in Abrasax martial art, Vis Stella Bellum.” Orion pulled a sly grin. “In all his years, I doubt anypony had ever bested him at Still Way.”
Albert took a deep breath. “Anyhow, when I could take no more, I dropped to me knees and cried.” He chuckled. “Don’t believe I had ever cried so hard in me life. Told Lord Abrasax everythin’, even begged him to spare me life. Thought I was a goner, I did. ‘Stead he brought me back to Abrasax Manor, offered me some bits and a job.”
Orion laughed. “That’s Papa for you.”
“Lord Abrasax saved me and me family that day. It’s a debt I can never repay.” Albert’s eyes wandered back to the rear view mirror. “Yer father was a good stallion, Gov’ner, a kind stallion, and don’t you let any wanka’ tell ya otherwise, ya hear?”
“Thank you Albert, that means a lot,” Orion said, just as the car came to a stop to the subtle screeches of rubber against the asphalt.
“Alright, here we are, Earl Court.” The old stallion pulled on the brakes. “Though, if ya don’t mind me asking, are we supposed to be waitin’ for somepony or somethin’?” Albert searched the empty streets for signs of life. “I mean, there ain’t nothin’ ‘ere but that ugly ole phone booth.”
“Patience Albert, he’ll be here. If I know the Doctor, he’s rarely late for any—” Orion paused as the doors to the phone booth opened with a burst of steam. His lips curled into a thin smile. “Well, well, speak of the Doctor.”
The brown earth pony coughed and grumbled while he batted away at the cloud of steam. Orion gritted his teeth at the sight of the pitiful moss green suit he had on, feeling a small tinge of remorse for having dragged the poor introvert out into the real world.
Emphasize the small.
He followed the discontented stallion as he circled the car, making his way to the empty seat on the left. “Never again, never again!” he exclaimed as he opened the door.
“Doctor, how nice to see you all prepped up and ready to go.” Orion gave his heartiest grin only to be met with a nasty scowl.
“Do you have any idea how much it costs to get a suit tailored at the very last minute?” the Doctor cried, slamming the door shut behind him. “My liver and kidneys, that’s what!”
“I’m guessin’ we have our passanger, ain’t that right, Gov’ner?” Albert narrowed his gaze at his rowdy passenger in the rear view mirror. “Should I be concerned?”
“No, no, Albert, he’s fine. I promise he’ll be on his best behavior. Won’t you now?” Orion gestured to the Doctor who growled in response. “Anyways, Abrasax Towers, and on the double.”
Albert nodded, shifting gears as the car began moving again.
“Not to mention it took for-flipping-forever to find the old thing,” the Doctor added.
Orion rolled his eyes. “Oh, come now, Doctor, you’re being overdramatic. Besides, if you paid more than hoof’s worth for that atrocious thing, I’m afraid you had been played for a sap.”
The Doctor’s face puffed up. “O-Overdramatic? A-Atrocious? I’ll have you know that this suit is an antique, woven from the finest Yakyakistan wool, not to mention—”
“Oh, for Elysium’s sake, just send me the bill and I will take care of it personally, but for now I need you to focus,” Orion said as he helped straighten the Doctor’s blaring yellow tie. “Your presence here is not by petty impulse.”
The Doctor gave him a long, leveled stare. “Do forgive me if I find that extremely hard to believe.”
Orion bit his bottom lip, then cleared his throat. “Okay, maybe it was, but since you’re here already, I need you to do something incredibly important for me.”
The Doctor’s ears perked to attention.
“Important? Well…” The Doctor rubbed the back of his neck with a rather silly grin on his muzzle. “If I can be of service, then I—”
“Splendid!” Orion exclaimed with a clap of his hands. “Now here is what I need you to do.” He gestured for him to come closer.
The Doctor leaned forward.
“I need you…” Orion said.
He nodded.
“…to introduce me at the conference.”
The Doctor fell face-first into the car’s leather floor.
Orion’s face washed blank with surprise. “Well… That was rather… unexpected.”
“How in Celestia’s green earth could that possibly be important?” The Doctor jumped to his hooves screaming as Orion backed himself into a corner. “You could have gotten anypony with half a brain to do it for you!”
“But…” Orion gestured with his finger. “I don’t want a pony with half a brain. In fact, I want a pony with—” he poked the Doctor right in between the eyes with that same conniving smile, stretching from one side of his face to the other. “—your brain, more precisely, the brains belonging to that of the engineer I intend to make my new Chief Science Officer of S.W.O.R.D.”
“Chief S-S-S-Science Officer of S-S-S.W.O.R.D?” the Doctor stuttered, his jaw going slack as he stood over the young Lord gasping word for word. “S.W.O.R.D? T-t-The S.W.O.R.D?”
“I did not stutter, did I? I figured the purpose of this press conference was to introduce me as the new President of Abrasax Industries, so why not kill two birds with one stone?” Orion raised an eyebrow when he realized the Doctor had stopped responding, or breathing for that matter.
“Doctor Whooves? Equestria to Doctor Whooves…” Orion snapped his fingers in a bit to get a response. “Doctor!”
“Yes, Sire. I mean Lord Abra– I mean Ryan!” the Doctor blurted as he snapped to attention.
“So, do you want the job or not? Or would you rather I’d give it to Doctor Gallifrey?”
“I’ll take it, I’ll take it!” the Doctor flailed his hooves in the air. “For Celestia’s sake, I’ll the job!”
“Then, it shall be yours to keep.” He clasped his hands together. “And I look forward to watching you move the audience with your truly emotional speech about me.”
The Doctor crossed his arms, sulking into his seat while he did his best impression of a Giant Equestrian pufferfish. “Can I be perfectly honest for one second?”
“Why certainly, Doctor, go right ahead.”
“You… are one evil whorseson.” He stared daggers the young Lord.
A wry grin appeared upon Orion’s face. “And don’t you ever forget it.”
Albert chuckled. “You sure are ye father’s colt, Gov’ner.” He pulled down on his chauffer cap. “Well, Abrasax Towers in sight, though I’d stay put if I was you. Least ‘till them royal Bobbies can come get ya. Whole thing’s lookin’ a bit barmy from here.”
“Speaking of speeches.” The Doctor turned to the young Lord next to him. “I assume you already have one prepared for the conference?” Orion cranked his neck in the Doctor’s direction with an obvious scowl. “Excuse me, just who do you take me for?”
The Doctor sighed. “Well that’s a relief.”
“Of course I don’t.”
The car shook with the sound of the Doctor falling face-first to the floor.
“You really ought to stop doing that,” Orion chided.
My dearest Artemisia… stay strong for as long as you can.
For I promise you, they have no idea what’s coming.
In the heart of Canterlot stood the majestic Abrasax Towers, headquarters of Abrasax Industries and the crowning glory of pony engineering. Many a pony had gazed in wonder at the towering monoliths of pure crystal and steel, glimmering like spires of pearl and silver in the radiance of the morning sun. Dubbed ‘The Stairway to the Stars’, it remains to this day, the tallest pony-made structure in all Equestria. Not to mention, over the years it had become a sort of a tourist attraction.
Not that it mattered to the young Lord. Orion held little to no regard for his forefathers, and respect was a word he used with great discretion. His ancestors had long considered pride and vanity virtues rather than transgression, and Abrasax Towers was proof of it. What the common pony may perceive as a subject of awe, all he saw was a shameless testament of power and glory. A proclamation of preeminence and prestige, as well as a grim reminder to the mundanes and the degenerates who would dare aspire to challenge it.
“Now just a little more,” said the turquoise pegasus mare, dabbing Orion’s nose with one of her puffy makeup brushes she had clutched between her teeth. “And, we’re done!”
Sitting atop a standard dressing room chair, Orion leaned forward, rubbing his chin as he inspected his reflection in the mirror with squinted eyes.
The mare swallowed hard. “So… do you like it?”
Orion huffed. “No… no I don’t.”
“Oh…” the mare bit her bottom lip as she turned away. “I’m so terribly sorry, Lord Abrasax, I—”
“I love it.” He faced her with a smile. “Excellent job, Roxy, bloody well done.”
She blushed, rubbing her hooves together as she gave a nervous smile in return. “Oh, it’s nothing, really. Just… doing my job.”
“Oh, stop being so modest. I’ve been tended to by countless mares such as yourself, and believe me when I say, I have a gift for recognizing talent when I see it.” He tightened the knot of his tie and adjusted his golden brooch. “I’ll be sure to mention you to Aunty Shores when I get the chance.”
“A-A-aunty S-S-shores? As in… Sapphire S-S-Shores?” Roxy’s eyes went wider than the Hordsons River. “The Sapphire Shores?”
“Know her?” Orion patted his charcoal-black suit vest as he flashed a grin. “She’s practically my fairy godmother. My father was an avid fan. Took me to each and every one of her concerts. She even sang at his—” He paused, only to close his mouth with a mournful look on his face.
“Lord Abrasax? Is… is everything alright, Sire?” Roxy’s expression grew soft with concern.
Orion perked to attention. “Oh, my apologies, I must have forgotten myself there. Anyways, where was I?” he asked, adjusting his ruby-studded cufflinks.
“Sapphire Shores?”
“Ah, yes. Well, my father was fan. Although, I honestly can’t say I shared his penchant for pop music, but over the years Sapphire Shores had grown rather fond of us, and I of her,” he said, leaning down as he came eye-to-eye with the mare. “All that beeswax you read on the tabloids? All lies.”
He then slipped into his jet-black blazer. “I’ve never met a kinder, more humble pony in my life, but I digress. You have a gift, Miss Roxy, one that should be recognized.”
“I… I don’t know what to say. Thank you, Lord Abrasax,” Roxy said, her emerald green irises glistened as if it was taking all her willpower not to lose herself then and there.
“Just do me a small favor.” He gestured with a finger.
“Anything, your Grace.”
“Please come by for all my current and future events. It takes real talent to make this ugly mug look the least presentable,” he said with a click of his tongue, making her blush.
“We’re ready for you, Sire,” said a bulky brown earth pony with a clip file in hoof. “The Doctor’s speech is almost done. Follow me, please.”
“There’s my cue. Good day, Miss Roxy, and Maker willing, we’ll meet again soon.” Orion got to his feet, leaving the mare completely flustered.
Whoever arranged this conference needed to redefine their understanding on the difference between a conference and a concert. Watching from behind the folds of the velvet curtain, Orion saw an ocean of ponies so vast, it spanned beyond the courtyard. If not for their suits, cameras, and courteous dispositions, he would thought they were here for a separate matter entirely. Although, he couldn’t help but scowl at the sight of picket signs at the far end of the crowd being levitated by a group of unicorns as they marched in a circle.
The Church of Arcana Eternia, why am I not surprised?
Orion was no stranger to these unicorn supremacists and their ongoing crusade against Machina. Bloody Luddites, the lot of them, he thought with a resentful scoff. Unfortunately though, Equestria was very liberal in regards to rights of assembly, and even under the watchful eye of dozens of Royal Guards and Abraxas Security personnel, their presence remained a warrant for vigilance.
“As the saying goes, every great inventor, historian even scholar was inspired by the accomplishments of those who came before, and aspired to be just like them. My inspiration, was of course, the late Lord Sol himself.” The rich Trottingham accent directed Orion’s attention to the brown earth pony at the podium, and his lips lifted upwards in a broad smile.
“I remembered all those years ago at the thirty-seventh Canterlot Young Inventor’s Competition. I was but a little colt, but an aspiring inventor nonetheless, but sadly, the glory of a champion was not mine to claim.”
The Doctor paused as his eyes of cobalt blue searched the yearning faces in the crowd of what Orion assumed were tell-tale signs of ample curiosity. Public Speaking 101: Tell a story, draw them in, and keep your audience engaged. Perhaps he may have misjudged the stallion after all, his charisma had the crowd eating out of his hooves the moment he took to the stage.
“But imagine my surprise when I was approached by Lord Sol himself, who was at the time, one of the competition’s esteemed judges. He came to me, and he said—” the Doctor cleared his throat and did his best impression of the old stallion “—my boy, failure is but a cobblestone in the path to greatness, but talent may only get you so far. Broaden your horizons, work hard and above all, persevere. Believe in yourself, and perhaps one day, stone by stone, you’ll pave your own path to the stars.”
The stallion wiped a tear from the corner of his eye to the sound of thunderous applause. “I’ve held those words close to my heart, and it made me the stallion I am today.” The Doctor then lowered his head, ears drooping as he shrugged. ”And like you—” He scrunched his face at the crowd picketing unicorns as one of them hurled a rather racist slur, only to be hauled off by one of the guards. “Most of you, I was devastated at the news of Lord Sol’s passing.”
“But…” There was a pregnant pause in the air before the Doctor continued, this time with a proud smile. “From the void left behind by the greatest pioneer we’ve ever known, comes a new breed of leader. Though young, he’s a stallion of insight. One with a dream, nay, a vision for a better Equestria.” He turned to the crack in the velvet curtain. “And from the moment we met, I knew that the immortal soul of Lord Abrasax lives on. Sure, he maybe cocky little upstart, and little arrogant to boot—”
Orion’s smile immediately turned upside down as he glared at the Doctor with enough daggers to fill the Royal Equestrian armory. Note to self, revoke the Doctor’s hot latte privileges when we get back, he thought.
“—has the tendency to come off little obnoxious from time to time, and has a penchant for showing up at important events completely and utterly unprepared.” The Doctor inhaled and exhaled with a most blissful expression as if the weight of the world had just evaporated into thin air. “But there is no place on Celestia’s green earth I would rather be, than at the side of Lord Orion Abrasax.
“Now, as the new Chief Science Officer of S.W.O.R.D., I have the honor, the privilege, nay, the pleasure, of introducing the new President of Abrasax Industries. He’s my inspiration, and above all, my dear friend. Fillies and Gentlecolts, put your hooves together for the stallion of the hour. The one. The only, Lord Orion Abrasax!”
Orion emerged from behind the curtain to the boundless sounds of cheers, thunderous hooves and camera flashes. Making his way to the podium, he took the Doctor’s hoof in hand, giving it a firm shake and a hug.
“How’s that for an introduction?” the Doctor whispered into Orion’s ear with a haughty undertone. Orion, however, responded with an immediate scoff.
“Well, you could have refrained from being a tad bit overenthusiastic.”
“Consider it payback for parading me like a pouncing Pomeranian. That being said, I’ve set the ship in motion. All you have to do is bring it home.” The Doctor then broke the hug.
“Bring it home?” A grin spread over Orion's face, wide and open. “Doctor, I intend to blow it straight out of the water.”
The Doctor rolled his eyes. “To each his own, I suppose. Break a foreleg. Well not literally, mind you.” He petted the young Lord on the shoulder as he made his way off-stage.
“My gratitude to Doctor Whooves, and his inspiring speech.” Orion rested both his hands on the crystal podium and faced his audience, which was brimming with anticipation. “Fillies and Gentlecolts of the press, my fellow Entitled, delegates, acquaintances and of course, strangers from distant lands. Some of you may already know me, but for those of you who don’t, allow me to formally introduce myself. I am Lord Orion Caelum Abrasax, fifth premier of House Abrasax, Transcended, and newly appointed President of Abrasax Industries by will of my late father, Lord Sol.”
He then graced the crowd with a welcoming smile. “I would like to thank you all for gracing me with your fine presence. Truly, you honor me greatly.”
The crowd erupted into round of both enthusiastic cheers and applause, though they began quieting down as Orion lifted a hand. “You know, I’ve watched my father speak from this very podium more times than I could count. Never in my wildest dreams would I dare to imagine, that one day it would be me standing here in his place.” His chest heaved with a heavy sigh. “And that I would be doing it alone. It’s rather daunting actually.”
After a short pause, and a deep breath, he continued. “I’m assuming that this is the part where you expect me to speak of Abrasax Industries, and my vision for the future, or perhaps inspire you with my lifelong achievements.” He grinned and narrowed his gaze ever so slightly at the crowd. “But you’re not here to be inspired, you’re here to be enlightened. So let us try something new for a change, and go straight to the Q and A. Questions, please.” Orion heard the Doctor groan from behind the curtains.
In an instant, the front row erupted into a state of disarray with ponies piling upon one another like eager little preschoolers as they called out to the young Lord with their hooves in the air.
“Yes, you over there. Miss…” Orion pointed to a purple unicorn mare with a silver mane.
“August… Lavender August, Baltimare News. Lord Abrasax, the latest issue of Horus Magazine had you ranked as one of Equestria’s top ten wealthiest individuals. So how exactly does it feel? To be under twenty five with more coin than you can possibly imagine?” She pushed back on her thick, black-rimmed glasses.
“Funny you should ask.” Orion rubbed his chin in thought. “Last night I had a most horrifying nightmare. You see, I was being chased through the Everfree by a walking, skulking… tax collector. Gives me chills just thinking about it. I have to admit, Princess Luna does have a cruel sense of humor.”
The audience then erupted into a roar of laughter.
Orion chuckled slowly and warmly. “My apologies, I simply couldn’t resist. On a more serious note, Miss August, it actually intimidates me, and I believe anypony in my stead would be wise to feel the same. Well, next question please.” He then gestured to maroon unicorn stallion. “Yes, the fine gentlecolt over there.”
“Yes, Ran Winkle of The Sentinel. Lord Abrasax, Abrasax Industries has a presence in almost every known corporate sector. So as the new President of Abrasax Industries, would you care to share your visions for the future?” The stallion levitated his recorder into the air.
“Well, I’ve always wanted to launch my own line of socks.” Orion took on a rather cheesy grin, earning yet another hail of laughter from the audience. “Over the past several moons, S.W.O.R.D. and I had maintained a close working relationship as we remained diligent in continuing my father’s lifelong work.” He tapped his finger on the podium’s surface in contemplation, feeling like a giddy little teenager with a dirty little secret, “And the truth is, we have something extraordinary in the works. Something I believe will change the world as we know it.”
“That’s a pretty bold claim, Lord Abrasax.” Ran Winkle stated as the sounds of awe and amazement danced in the air above the crowd like a hymn, brimming with pure anticipation. “In fact, I believe your father, Lord Sol made a rather similar statement thirty years ago before he unveiled the Crystal Core. Would you care to elaborate on that, Lord Abrasax?”
“Patience my good stallion, all in due time.” Orion gestured with a wave of his finger. “There is still much work to be done, but I can tell you, and you can quote me on this, it will start a war.”
“A trade war, you mean?” Ran Winkle asked to which Orion responded with a Cheshire grin that lit up the young Lord’s face like a sallow candle in a dirty paper lamp.
“Yes, let’s go with that.”
Orion then snapped his fingers and turned to the crowd. “Any more questions? Come now, despite the rumors, I swear on my honor that I will not relieve you of your mortal souls.”
“Hey, Lord Abrasax.” A dark brown earth pony in a fedora lifted a hoof into the air. There was presumptuous undertone to his Manehattan accent. “I gotta a quick question for ya.”
“Yes, you there.” Orion gestured with a point of his finger.
“Inky Quills, Manehattan Daily.”
In an instant, the young lord felt his brash enthusiasm dilute with a tinge of regret. The infamous tabloid had earned a rather charming reputation scrutinizing and at times crucifying the Imperial Families for little over a century. Needless to say, they had drawn much ire and controversy, so much in fact that even their fellow reporters avoided them like the bubonic plague.
“As ya know, Lord Sol makin’ ya his heir had been the talk of the town since day one.” Inky flipped through the pages of his notepad. “I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is, at least what everypony’s been askin’ lately, is that why would he choose you, and not yer brother?”
The young Lord’s expression washed blank with shock, suspended for brief second, but long enough to betray his bravado. A small smile played on Inky’s muzzle like a prized angler, and Orion could have sworn he saw the stallion mouth the words ‘Fish On’. It was a blatant declaration of war, and the reporter was out to claim his pound of flesh.
Smug little bastard, he gritted his teeth in thought, but the show must go on. “Isn’t that the question of the day?” Orion brought the microphone a little closer. “Finally addressing the elephant in the room, I see. Well, my father—”
“Would risk runnin’ his family’s company to the ground?” Inky interjected. “Let me remind you, Abrasax stock took an epic nose dive after Lord Sol named you heir. Ticked off a whole lotta’ investors who had their bits on Lord Ares.” He tilted pushed his fedora forward. His exaggerated simper was a flagrant testament of his nefarious intentions. “And personally, I don’t blame ‘em, considerin’ Lord Ares’ outstanding portfolios. ‘Stead they got you.”
Inky’s statement drew inaudible but distressing murmurs from the audience.
Orion swallowed hard, struggling to retain his composure. “I’m afraid you exaggerate, Mister Inky.” A nervous chuckle escaped him. “The devaluation of stock is a common occurrence with every significant change in management. It is common knowledge and—”
“Abrasax Industries had seen two hundred and forty nine billion bits in evaporated wealth over the course of ten years,” Inky read aloud from pages of his notebook. “Now I ain’t no accountant, but that’s a whole lotta lost bits to me. Hard-earned bits your loyal investors watched go right down the drain. Losses which could’ve been avoided if Lord Ares were standin’ at that podium right now, ‘stead of you.” He smirked as if savoring his ten minutes of fame and the impending victory about to come. “But I’m sorry, gettin' a bit off topic here. Back to my question, and I’m lookin’ for yer personal perspective, why did ya think Lord Sol picked you, ‘stead of yer brother? Why did yer father believe that you, outta’ all yer brothers and sisters, have what it takes to be the President of Abrasax Industries?”
Orion took an unconscious step back, breaths quick and heart racing, but like the walls of Galahd, his well-constructed bravado had fallen. Inky had him played from the start. The stallion's entire offensive was an elaborate plan, catered to but single purpose, to leave him utterly defenseless. Orion never stood a chance.
The audience exchanged conversations with one another, their words soaked with slander and premature accusations while they debated their personal perspectives. Orion was losing them, along with his morale. As the seconds ticked by, the young Lord tilted his head, staring in resignation at his own reflection as he contemplated surrender, and weighed the repercussions that may follow.
He closed his eyes. Slowly but surely, the world around him, faded like shadows in the blackness of his mind. At that moment, he recalled a memory. Ten long years, and yet, he still he remembers it clear as day. The sound of raindrops against the clear glass window, glowing neon in the downtown lights. The unbearable stench of alcohol and bleach smeared across every square inch of the ward. The soft beeping of a cardiac monitor entwined with the ever-stretching pumps of a breathing apparatus.
Most of all, Orion remembered the look in his father’s golden eyes. That forlorn expression draped with both grief and sadness. He remembered the endless questions coursing through his mind as he laid in his father’s final embrace. His father’s greying beard now damp with bitter tears. He remembered his father whisper his final words. Words the young Lord would cherish for all time.
“Walk tall, my son… and remember… I will be with you… always.”
Orion’s lips stretched into a smile as he lifted his head to the crowd. His purple irises seem to glow as he zoomed in on Inky Quills. There was a delicious moment where the stallion’s smile died faster than wisps of smoke dissipating after a snuffed out candle flame. “An excellent question, Mister Quills.” Orion unhooked the microphone and held it firmly in his hand. “Yes, why did my father choose me?”
He then stepped around the podium to the middle of the stage. “Why did the one and only Lord Sol Abrasax, make yours truly, and I say quote from all the articles I’ve read over the years, primarily from The Manehattan Daily, your distinguished tabloid if I may add—” Orion gestured to Inky Quills. “—this misshapen creature, this abhorrent thing, the heir to the Abrasax fortune, hmm?” His eyes swept the crowd, studying every expression upon their now solemn faces. “Yes, why not Ares? Why not my dearest brother? Certainly, he was a far more suitable, not to mention capable candidate than I am.”
“So, why didn’t he? Why would choose to risk everything on me? Why would he put his inheritance, his birthright in my hooves?” Orion’s voice grew louder and more erratic with every word. “Why would he risk soiling his reputation, his life’s work, his legacy? Why, why, why, why!” He shouted and the crowd jumped.
There was an unnerving silence across the entire courtyard before Orion continued. “But then again, why would this humble old stallion choose to save this poor, unfortunate soul? Why would he offer him a name, a home, a family to call his own? Even with five beautiful foals, he decided to open his home to sixth? And above all, shower him with so much love, that he could never want for more.”
Orion started to pace back and forth across the stage. “As a colt, I hardly remembered a time I wasn’t by my father’s side. In fact, I followed him around so much, he started calling me his little shadow.” He forced a chuckle. “I spent most of my foalhood in his private study, just watching him work. When he wasn't working, he sought to inspire me with stories of great ponies and their triumphs. Stories of Starswirl the Bearded, Xander the Great, and Orpheus the Courageous to name a few.”
“Fillies and gentlecolts, I have sailed illustrious canals of Altissia, traversed the fiery deserts of Akkadia, and even conquered the frigid mountains of Yakyakistan. I’ve seen the insides of countless mansions, consulates, and palaces so grand they take your breath away.” Orion took a deep breath. “Yes, I have seen the wonders this world has to offer, and yet it pales in comparison to my father’s study.”
Once again there was soft murmuring in the crowd.
“Why, you ask?” Orion continued. “Because as vast, and as beautiful as our world may seem, I was forced to accept at a very young age the harsh reality that I was the only one of my kind. Certainly, being an Entitled meant living a life most could only dream of. What you don’t know, however, is that behind my romanticized existence was a never-ending battle to validate my worth not only to my fellow Entitled, but also my own kin.” Orion’s gaze narrowed ever so slightly, his words now laced with spite. “And believe me when I say, it wasn’t pleasant in the least.”
Orion traced his fingers over the purple stone worn pinned beneath his tie like a badge of honor. “But whenever I'm with my father, I felt as if the tenebrosity of this cruel and vicious world had no power over me. For even in the most darkest of days, he had shown me courage in adversity, humility in mockery, and loyalty in ambiguity. Lord Sol Abrasax was more than just a father to me. He was my mentor, my guardian, my pillar of strength, and most of all my dearest friend. They say, as a foal, one’s aspirations are often limited by their perspectives of the world. Back then, my father was my world, and all I ever wanted was to be was to be just like him.”
“So much, in fact, I even tried to walk like him, talk like him, and even enjoy his tea the way he does. Oh, and it’s Chamomile with a slice of Apple Crumble, by the way.”
The crowd laughed, though not as enthusiastic as before.
“But I can’t do it… I knew I couldn’t, and I never will, because there is nopony in this world, like my father… like my Papa.” Orion choked on his words. “And now he’s gone.”
“And for the first time in my life, Miss August.” The mare perked at the sound of her name. “Even surrounded with wealth beyond compare, I’m scared. I’m petrified, because no amount of coin can ever erase the fact that not only do I stand the helm of one of Equestria’s largest corporate empires, but I stand against an entire world who had deemed me wanting from the start, not because of who I am, rather what I am, and I quote yet again from the exalted pages of the Manehattan Daily which had described me so perfectly—” Orion glared at Inky Quills with ruthless eyes, forcing the stallion to look away. "—the Abrasax Family pet."
The crowd gasped in both surprise and revulsion.
Orion shrugged. “But… fear is a choice, and one can only remain hesitant for so long, isn’t that right, Mister Winkle?” he said to the stallion from before. “You asked me of my visions for Abrasax Industries, because like my investors, you seek a sense of assurance. Investor confidence is a term I’ve grown grotesquely familiar with. Everypony wants security, and as such they expect me to be just like my father.”
“And to answer your question, Mister Qills!” Orion called out suddenly to the stallion in question. “I don’t know why my father chose me in my brother’s place, but know that I never asked for this.” He then gestured to the towering structure behind him. “Any of this, but what I do know is that I am not my brother Ares, and I’m certainly not my father. I’m not the stallion that he was, I’m not half the stallion he was.” Orion then gripped the broach tightly in his hand. “But I am an Abrasax, and I am my father’s colt. Fillies and Gentlecolts, you looked to me for assurance, but for now, all I can offer you in return is not just faith, but a promise. Believe in me, and I will show you wonders.”
Not a single pony in the crowd, not the guard, press, visitor, even protester made a sound. The world had come to a halt, until a slow round of applause broke the still silence, by none other Inky Quills himself. What followed was cacophony of applause and cheering, whooping, hollering, clapping, and stamping of hooves as palpable excitement buzzed through the charged air.
Orion’s smile shone like stars in the dark. His cheeks felt damp to the touch, oblivious to the tears streaming down his face. He lifted his gaze to the heavens above as his heart brimmed with pride.
Papa… I did it… we did it.
“Well, I’m afraid that’s all the time I have for now. Now, if you would please excuse me, I believe I have a job to do.” The young Lord took a hearty bow before heading for the curtains behind him. Almost immediately, the reporters up front attempted to rush the stage, hurling more questions at the young Lord, only to be held back by security. A spokespony stepped up onstage and took hold of the microphone.
“Fillies and Gentlecolts, please settle down. I assure you that Lord Abrasax will continue taking your questions at pre-lunch cocktail later today.”
Orion pushed the velvet curtain aside as he stepped backstage. “How is that for an introductory speech?” He said flashing the Doctor a cocky grin.
“What in bloody Hell was that?” The Doctor asked, half-throwing his hooves in air. “Tell me, have you absolutely lost your bananas?”
“I find your question abhorrently racist.” Orion stepped past the brown earth pony as he proceeded to unhook his black trench coat from the nearby rack.
“Would you please take me seriously for once?” The Doctor stormed up to the young lord, his hooves thundering across the makeshift wooden floor. “Admit it, you dodged a bullet. You rode into battle vulnerable and unprepared, and somehow by sheer dumb luck, you emerged unscathed,” the Doctor snapped. “But luck is a fickle mistress, you know that better than anypony.”
Orion bobbed his shoulders and rolled his eyes. “Oh, by the Old Gods, contain yourself. Don’t you think you’re being a tad bit overdramatic?” He then stopped, and shrugged. “Okay, fine. I’ll admit it. It was rather foolish of me, and I should have known better. I apologize.”
The Doctor blinked in surprise at the sudden comprehension. “Did… did you just admit that I was right?” he asked as the young Lord’s lips curled with crease of amusement.
“It was a onetime thing.” Orion then swung the coat over his head before allowing it to settle upon his shoulders like a cape. “Savor it while it lasts.” He then proceeded toward the exit.
The Doctor made good on Orion’s suggestion as he sniggered to himself like a crazed cartoon villain. “Oh, just so you know,” the Doctor said as the young Lord paused in his step. “I was touched about what you said about Lord Sol. I never knew he meant so much to you.”
Orion’s expression softened. “I loved him dearly, still do, and I would give it all up in a heartbeat, if it meant having him here by my side,” he said as the Doctor offered him a smile in return.
“Now come along, Whooves, you can lollygag on your own time. Right now, we have work to do.” Orion pushed the door open and stepped outside.
The Doctor shook his head and followed after him. “Let’s go change the world.”
There was something therapeutic about well-lubricated gears whirring in perfect unison. Orion leaned his back against the crystal wall of the see-through elevator, watching the holographic digits on the elevator doors climb higher with every passing second. Not to mention trying his very best to ignore the good Doctor, who was looking as if he was being dangled by invisible strings from above. Orion hadn’t the heart to chastise him, though. The earth pony had every reason to be excited. Only a hoofful of individuals had ever had the privilege to visit the President’s office at the very pinnacle of Abrasax Towers.
“Oh, I believe I can see my flat from here, right there by Whitehall Park.” The Doctor was practically prancing about the crystal elevator as giddy as a schoolcolt, much to Orion’s amusement. “This is absolutely breathtaking. I’ve never gone past the hundredth floor, myself.”
Orion cast a glimpse over his shoulder to the Crown City beneath his feet which was sprawling with life as far as the eye could see. His father had a saying once: From up here, we watch the world turn, masters of our own universe. From up here, in our castle in the sky. Orion had always considered the phrase to be grotesquely arrogant, but from up here, he could at least understand the gravity of those words, and the burden it came with.
In the far distance stood the Grand Canterlot Palace, perched magnificently upon the eastern cliff of the Misty Mountain and overlooking the capital in all its grandeur. The last remaining testament of pure Canterlotean architecture preserved through the ages and home to Equestria’s sovereign rulers. A waterfall stood prominently in the background. Its white water cascaded down a series of rocky outcrops, tumbling down the mountain in a series of mini-waterfalls, ever shrouding the palace in a thin silver mist. As such, the keep’s alabaster walls always glistened and shone in the radiance of Celestia’s morning sun. It was magical to say the least.
“I would get used to it, Doctor.” Orion slid his hands into his side pockets. “You’ll be making this trip a lot more often, and believe me when I say, it loses its charm after a while.”
“I believe I’m beginning to grasp why you would choose to spend your waking hours in Lord Sol’s office.” The Doctor squinted his eyes at the palace’s topmost tower as if to steal a glimpse of Princess Celestia herself. “If it were me in your place, I’d probably never leave.”
Orion chuckled. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.”
“Well, that’s easy for you to say.” The Doctor puffed his cheeks and crossed his forelegs. “You weren’t the one stuck underground like a sewer rat the past decade.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing, M’lord,” the Doctor replied.
The holographic numbers 180 lay splayed on the crystal doors as a chime reverberated throughout the elevator. They were soon greeted by an automated voice of a mare.
“President’s Office, Top Floor.”
The Doctor’s ears perked. “Wait… was that… was that Sigourneigh Weaver?”
“I would so love to tell you, my friend, but unfortunately, her contract demanded her absolute anonymity.” Orion snapped his fingers and flashed a grin. “Oh, shoot, now see what you made me do.”
“I am sworn to secrecy.” The Doctor raised his hoof.
The doors soon parted. “Welcome back, Lord Abrasax.”
As both stallions stepped onto the office’s polished Saddle Arabian marble floors, the Doctor gasped in awe. Orion, however, breathed a sigh of relief. I’m here Papa, I’m home, he thought, making his way to the center of the room. He ran his fingers across the secretary’s mahogany desk. This was where Charity Kindheart used to sit, many years prior to her embarking on her journey to becoming one of Bridleway’s most famous costume designers. Orion sighed at the thought. Charity was one of the few ponies in his wretched foalhood who treated him with kindness rather than scorn. A testament of her namesake. Perhaps I should go say hello one of these days. I wish you the best of health, Aunty Kindheart.
The loft was massive. One would even dare to say it rivaled that of Princess Celestia’s throne room. Wide beams of light gushed in through its crystal windows, enhancing the off-white textures of the surrounding walls. The furniture sets were simplistic, minimalist at best, streamlined with polished, smooth and sleek surfaces. Almost a dozen portraits of Abrasax past Presidents lay framed and mounted on the farthest wall, their names carved in gold.
“Is that what I think it is?” The Doctor pointed to the grand hickory desk at the far end of the loft. “Is that the Voyager Desk?”
Orion rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Yes, Doctor. Yes, it is.”
The Voyager desk is said to be a gift to Doctor Dorado Abrasax, the first Lord of House Abrasax, by Princess Celestia herself in recognition for his greatest discovery, and for his relentless courage in the face of certain death when all others had failed. It was built from the timbers of the H.M.S. Voyager, the loyal vessel abandoned after being trapped in the ice during the near-suicidal expedition to the Frozen North a thousand years ago. Like the Hermes, and the Abrasax Stones, the Voyager desk stands as one of the many priceless Abrasax Family heirlooms. Orion smiled, it was exactly as he remembered it. Not a pen out of place, nor a book off the shelf.
“Oh, sweet Celestia…” the Doctor muttered, looking as if his jaw would come unhinge at any given moment. “To be in Lord Sol’s place of work. His temple of brilliance. This one’s not worthy.”
“Just keep your drool off the carpet. It was a gift from King Sharazan of Yakyakistan. Elysium forbid he starts throwing one of his legendary temper tantrums over a bloody stain the next time he decides to visit.”
The young Lord then lifted his gaze to the sizeable family portrait which hung prominently above the desk. Painted on the canvas were the regal images of six ponies; their visage captured eternally within the masterful strokes of brush.
“Ponies of House Abrasax, I presume?” the Doctor trotted up to Orion’s side. “Well, almost all of them.” He glanced over to the young Lord.
Orion offered him a weak smile. “Papa never did manage to get the family back together for another. I’ve lost count on the times I’ve caught him just staring at it in silence, and always with wistful eyes. I’d like to think that this painting reminded him of different times… happier times.”
The Doctor rubbed his chin. “I recognize Lord Sol, but sadly not the rest.”
Orion was appalled. “Surely you jest, Doctor Whooves.”
“Well begging you a pardon, your grace, I have a P.H.D. in Quantum Mechanics and Chrystal Engineering. My syllables, however, did not involve a thorough study of the Abrasax Family tree.”
Orion pursed his lips and waved a finger in accusation. “Confess. You’ve been spending time with Clarence, haven’t you?”
“I’m not at liberty to divulge any information pertaining to what I may or may not do on my time off,” the Doctor said, a smug grin on his face. “Humor aside, though, I am genuinely curious.”
“Cheeky.” Orion grumbled to himself. He then gestured to the snowy pegasus mare with a bright golden mane seated next to Lord Sol. A kind smile gracing her muzzle. “That’s Lady Diana, Papa’s late wife. I suppose you may call her my mother, but unfortunately, we never acquainted. She passed soon after the birth of my younger brother, Leo. Papa used to tell me wonderful stories about her, and that she was the kindest, most beautiful mare he had ever known.”
“I’m terribly sorry,” the Doctor said with a heavy sigh. “I’m pretty certain that you and Lady Diana would have gotten along swimmingly.”
“So I’ve been told.” Orion then gestured to a pair of ponies, a tawny pegasus colt and beige unicorn filly, seated in front of Lord Sol and Lady Diana. “Those are the twins, Corvus and Carina, and that’s—” he pointed at the silver teenage earth pony with a mane of marigold and lime highlights, next to Lady Diana “—my darling sister, Cassiopeia.”
“That’s Lady Cassiopeia?” The Doctor’s stare was so intense, his eyes threatened to pop right out of their sockets. “My word, she was even more beautiful then. You know, as a colt, I used to have this enormous crush on her and—” He stopped the moment he noticed Orion’s deadpan stare and swallowed hard. “Uhm… just forget I said anything.”
“My gratitude for sparing me the details of your liquid dreams.” Orion then gestured to the final pony seated next to Lord Sol. “And of course my brother—”
A shock, like lightning, ran through him as he balked at the image of a maroon unicorn stallion with a mane of charcoal black, and piercing crimson eyes. A deep scar ran across the top of his muzzle, long and crooked, starting a hair above his left eye and ending on the right side of his jaw. A ghastly medal of honor he had gained during the Dorssian Invasion. The young Lord felt his hand tremble. He curled them into fists, gritting his teeth as he turned away.
“My brother… Ares. I think you know him well enough.” His voice was sour as poison. “After all, his colorful reputation has a way of proceeding him.” Orion stepped away in the direction of the crystal glass window.
“Ryan…” The Doctor’s gaze softened with concern. “I know that I maybe overstepping my boundaries here, but despite the way you feel about him, he is still your brother.”
“If you had seen the way he looked at me at the reading, Doctor, I fear that you may disagree.” His dark violet eyes settled on a group of weather ponies working diligently in preparation for the downpour scheduled later today. “It was as if the wrath of the Maker was given flesh that day… and if not for Clarence…” Orion chest heaved with a heavy sigh. “But then again, perhaps if it were me in his hooves, I would bloody well feel the same way… at least that’s what I keep telling myself.”
“Please don’t.” The Doctor took a step forward as Orion glanced over his shoulder. “Don’t blame yourself. The cause of Lord Ares’ grief isn’t a burden that you should bear.” He trotted over to Orion’s side and rested on his haunches. “You said it yourself, Lord Sol chose you for a reason, and it’s about time you start believing, not just in your father, but also in yourself. Just as I believe in you,” the Doctor said with a bright smile.
Orion offered a smile in return. “Thank you. A stallion couldn’t ask for a better friend.”
“Friend, and accomplice, mind you.” The Doctor nudged Orion’s leg with the butt of his elbow. “If the A.E.G.I.S. Initiative does indeed go pear-shaped, know that I have absolutely no intention of spending the rest of my bloody days in Tartarus by my lonesome.”
“Believe me, Doctor Whooves.” Orion tucked his hand into his side pocket, and pulled out a piece of toffee. “Should our plans come apart, prison would actually be the least of our worries.” He unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth. “I simply must visit this Ponyville one of these days. Bon Bon’s candies are simply to die for.”
“Well, well, I see that his eminence, Lord Abrasax is already making himself at home.”
The sound of the smoky voice with a Trottingham accent turned their attention to the alabaster unicorn stallion in the midst of stepping out of the elevator. He stood with a sense of bold presence, a clear reflection of both his pride and status as an Entitled. “Hello there, Old Sport.” He wore the warmest of smiles.
“Uncle Fancy…” Orion’s face lit up like fireworks. He rushed the older stallion, falling to his knees and throwing his arms around Fancy’s neck. “Uncle Fancy, by the Old Gods, how I’ve missed you so!” He hugged him tightly.
Fancy Pants staggered backwards as he fell to his haunches. His face puffed up like toad. “I missed you too, Old Sport, but like all living creatures, I do have to breathe.”
The Doctor had to smother himself to avoid sniggering out loud or risk being on the receiving end of Orion’s scorn.
“My apologies, Uncle Fancy.” Orion broke the hug and proceeded to pat the wrinkles from stallion’s charcoal tuxedo and waistcoat. “This is most unbecoming of me.”
Fancy fixed his wavy azure mane. “Oh, phish-posh, old boy. I’m right as rain, and besides, it’s not the worst thing you’ve done. Remember the time you tackled me into that pool at the Lulamoon Grand Hotel in Haywaii, and in front of the Duchess of Windsor, no less.”
Orion groaned. “That was years ago, Uncle Fancy. I was six, and you did promise me a game of Polo.”
“You know, the Duchess still brings it up over tea,” Fancy said with a chuckle. “She said it was the most hilarious thing she had ever seen.”
Orion sighed. “I miss those days. I miss Papa.”
Fancy patted Orion on his shoulder. “So do I, Old Sport. Not a day goes by where I don’t think about him. But you’re home now, and that’s all that matters.” He stood up and waved of his hoof. “Now stand up and let me have a good look at you.”
Orion’s lips curled into a grin. He climbed to his feet and turned in place, arms spread apart like a mannequin in a boutique. The older stallion studied him from top to toe. His azure eyes followed every curve and couture, from the cross-stitches in Orion’s waistcoat to the golden broach forged in the shape of a crossed star, and the lavender stone encased within.
“By Celestia’s rising sun…” Fancy choked up, putting a hoof to his muzzle as he grew misty-eyed. “You look just like him when he was your age.”
Orion had to laugh. “Albeit the fur and horn, I presume.”
“I can see the years in Stalliongard did little to relieve you of your sharp sense of humor.” Fancy made his way to the center of the loft with Orion by his side. “Although, I have to admit, it was one of the things I missed the most about you.”
“Humor, yes. Sharp, however, isn’t the word I’d use to describe it,” the Doctor interjected, sauntering up to the older stallion as Orion’s face scrunched up in annoyance. “Doctor Hooves, pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lord Platinum.” He extended a hoof in greeting.
“Oh, Doctor Hooves. What a pleasant surprise.” Fancy took the stallions hoof and gave it a hearty shake. “By the way, congratulations on your new appointment.”
“The honor is all mine, Lord Plati—”
Fancy Pants lifted a hoof. “Please Doctor, call me Fancy. Formalities are reserved for acquaintances, not amongst friends. Besides, etiquette has a way of making me nauseous.”
The Doctor shot Orion a glance and smiled smugly. “Now where have I heard that one before?” To which the young Lord responded with an obvious scowl.
“And by the way, Old Sport, your aunt Fleur sends her love, and to tell you that she feels absolutely dreadful for missing your big day.” Fancy shrugged. “I swear that witch Photo Finish works my poor chéri to the bone.”
“Please tell Aunt Fleur that I thoroughly understand. I know the life of a top fashion model can be rather taxing, even for her. Besides, she is one of the most sought after mares in all Equestria. I certainly wouldn’t wish to spoil her opportunities. Have you spoken to Ruby and Onyx recently?”
Fancy’s eyes lit up at the mention of his son and daughter. “As a matter of fact, I did, and hearing that you were finally coming home drove them absolutely ecstatic. You know how fond they are of you,” the older stallion replied with a grin. “They’ll be flying home from Altissia the week after, and just in time for the gathering.”
Orion chuckled. “Altissia? My, those lucky devils.”
The sounds of sliding elevator doors and boisterous chatter sounded behind them. Orion, Fancy, and the Doctor each turned their gazes to the sight of half a dozen stallions of different races stepping into the loft. Old Gods above, give me strength, he thought as he buried his forehead in the palm of his hand. The tasteless banter. The extravagant Armane suits. The eye-watering stench of Saddle Arabian perfume and Akkadian tobacco. Heck, Orion would recall his father’s old corporate entourage anywhere.
“Oh, and I hope you don’t mind, Old Sport.” Fancy Pants turned to Orion with a cheeky smile. “I took the liberty of informing the company directors that you’d be in your office. They’ve been positively dying to meet you.”
“How very thoughtful of you, Uncle Fancy.” Orion spoke through clenched teeth as he forced a smile. “And just when I thought this day couldn’t possibly get any worse.”
“The sooner you get this over with, the better. Just think of it as pulling off a Band-Aid. Quick and painless.” Fancy took a seat, ushering the Doctor to do the same with a wave of his hoof, in which the good Doctor complied. “And besides, I’ll be here with you every step of the way.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Orion glanced at Fancy, who was looking at him at the corner of his eye, an obvious smirk gracing his muzzle.
“Considering how I’ve waited ten long years for this moment. Do an old stallion a favor, and try not to disappoint. Eh, Old Sport?”
Orion chuckled low under his breath. “I’ll see what I can do.”
The sudden sound of frantic hooves against the floor robbed the young Lord of his immediate attention, drawing his gaze to a young earth pony mare about his age. She was petit, with off-white fur, and cyan eyes. The mare muttered through frantic breaths, saddle bags slapping against her sides as she bumbled her way around the group of stallions. Her two-toned mane and tail were a mess, a reflection of her anxiety. In fact, Orion almost felt sorry for the poor soul. But she is a cute one, if I don’t say so myself
“I’m here!” she exclaimed as she slid to a stop, almost tripping over herself. “Sorry I’m late, Lord Platinum—” she turned to Orion and bowed her head. “—Lord Abrasax. It’s my first day, and this whole building is a maze.”
Orion stared humorlessly at the older stallion. “If this is your way of implying that I must fulfill my duties as the family heir, know that I find your sense of humor both dark and appalling.” he said as the mare’s eyes shot wide open.
“By Celestia, Old Sport, what do you take me for? It’s nothing of the sort, and besides, that’s talk for another time. Preferably over a bottle of some fine Umbran Wine.” Fancy Pants chuckled as Orion rolled his eyes.
“And I remember how much you simply adore surprises.” He then gestured with a point of his hoof. “Orion, meet your new personal assistant, Miss Coco Pommel. Miss Pommel will be tasked with devising your personal schedule, and to assist you in any way.”
“Oh, that’s just beautiful. I do all the heavy lifting and he gets the personal assistant.” The Doctor grumbled under his breath.
“Did you say something, Doctor?” Both Orion and Fancy inquired in unison.
“Nothing, M’lords.”
Coco beamed. “That’s right, if you need anything. Anything at all, Lord Abrasax, just let me know.” She stepped forward, looking eager to please. “And I’ll be there on the double.”
“Tea,” Orion said suddenly.
“Um…” Coco’s expression washed blank with confusion. “Excuse me?”
“Tea, Miss Pommel, do you make it?” His gaze wandered over to the group of stallions from before for a brief moment, still caught in their pompous conversations, before returning to the mare in front of him. “It’s been a long morning, and I believe I’m feeling rather parched.”
“Oh… Oh!” the Coco snapped to attention. “Of course, Lord Abrasax, what kind of tea would you like?”
“Surprise me.” Orion’s mouth twitched into a smile, his eyes glinting with a sly humor. “I do love surprises.”
“I’ll get on it right away, and by the way—” Coco stopped and glanced over to the group stallions behind her “—shall I prepare cups for your guests?”
“Worry not about our little guests, Miss Pommel.” Orion’s violet eyes burned with a subtle glow, like malevolent wisps in the dead of night. “I assure you, they won’t be staying long.”
“Um… right.” Coco swallowed hard. “And… and you Lord Platinum… Doctor Whooves, sir?”
“Thank you, my dear, but I’m quite fine,” Fancy replied.
“Me too, I’m swell,” the Doctor said.
“Alright then. I’ll… go get the tea.” The mare darted away.
Fancy Pants nudged the Doctor with his hoof. “And here we go. Steady yourself, Doctor Whooves, this is the part you don’t want to miss.”
The Doctor glanced back at Lord Fancy with a raised eyebrow. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Gentlecolts!” Orion exclaimed at the top of his voice and the loft fell to an immediate silence. The six stallions, clearly in their twilight years, stood frozen as if Hades had called them by name. “My apologies for having you wait at my account. Please, come on in.” He waved his hand.
They shuffled inwards, moving like a herd of cockroaches with spurious smiles plastered on their wrinkled little faces. Orion’s gaze filled with disdain, narrowed in on the worst of them all, a beige unicorn stallion by the name of Dollar Bills, Abrasax Industries’ Chief Financial Officer. Everything about that pompous old windbag caused the young Lord undue irritation. From Bills’ poorly-fitted suit, to his haughty auburn mutton chops protruding from the side of his muzzle like the gills of a fish. As a colt, Orion had desired nothing more than to rip them off with his bare hooves and then relish in his screams.
“Lord Abrasax,” Dollar Bills spoke. His voice was coarse, almost like griffin claws to a chalkboard. “On behalf of everypony here, I welcome you back to Abrasax Industries. It has been too long.” He bowed, and the other ponies following suit.
“Come now, I’m certain you fine gentlecolts didn’t come all this way just for pleasantries.” Orion tucked his hands into his pockets. His smile glittered like poison. “I certainly did not.”
Dollar Bills blinked. “Well, on behalf of my fellow associates and I, we look forward to working closely with you as the new President of Abrasax Industries.” Bills levitated his oaken pipe from his coat pocket to his muzzle and clenched the bit between his teeth. “And like your father—”
Orion bent down and snatched the pipe from the stallion’s mouth.
“Please don’t.” He then shoved the pipe in Bills’ chest, leaving the stallion looking as dumbfounded as ever. “I believe the air is toxic enough as it is.”
“Well…” The old stallion proceeded to clear his throat. “As I was saying, Lord Abrasax.” Bills put his pipe away as he continued. “In the name of your father, Lord Sol, may Celestia bless his soul, we hope to honor his memory and usher in a new age for Abrasax Industries the way he would.” Bills smiled. “By keeping things the way they are.”
The young Lord, however, said nothing in return. Silence fell between them like a smothering cloak.
“Now that’s settled,” Bills exclaimed with a stride of confidence. “Know that we all support you a hundred and ten percent. Now, if you don’t mind me asking, what is your first order of business, Your Grace?” His band of merry ponies proceeded to put on their most eager faces like a pack of starving street dogs waiting on tattered scraps from a messy table. Orion felt his insides churn at the sight of it.
“I was saving this for our meeting later today, but since you asked so politely, Mister Bills.” Orion let his mouth turn up at the corner in a bitter smile. “You’re all fired.”
A moment of astonished silence passed between Bills and his band of bumbling ponies as shock mingled with terror on their faces. “I beg your pardon, My Liege?” His voice shook. “What do you mean, fired?”
Orion smiled in response. “How should I put this in a way that you impertinent blokes would understand? You lot are being let go, dismissed, sacked, given the boot, parting ways, offered a chance to pursue other career opportunities. Pick the one you find most appealing. I could go on all day, Mister Bills, but time is a precious commodity I cannot afford to squander,” he said with a sinister delicacy.
“Now, now, Lord Abrasax, let’s not be rash. My associates and I have been part of Abrasax Industries for a very long time.” Mister Bills put on a nervous smile. “We wouldn’t want to do anything your father—”
“If there is one thing I hate more than anything, Mister Bills.” There was something feral behind Orion’s eyes, something vicious and cold. “Is a rotten lily-livered coward who chooses to invoke my late father’s name in front of me to save his own wretched hide. Allow me to be absolutely clear. My father can’t save you. Not from me.”
The Doctor swallowed hard as he sought to loosen the now-stifling knot on his tie. Fancy, however, followed the unfurling events with an eager smile.
Bills, his face purpling, took a furious step forward. “Now you listen here, you grey-nosed little shit. I’ve held my tongue before, but I will tolerate your insolence no longer. I’ve been part of this company while you were still soiling your diapers, and I’m—”
“No.” Orion raised his finger, silencing the stallion once again. “You listen, the lot of you.” He circled the group of stallions like a ravenous wolf savoring his meal to come. As the curtains came down, the stallions were now forced to wear their true faces, and though some appeared remorseful, others were less than pleased. “Abrasax Industries’ overall profits have declined, by a total of fifteen percent in the past year alone. Five percent of which, you whorsesons stole, I ignored. In fact, I anticipated it considering how grotesquely clichéd you gentlecolts are—”
“Now see here—” Bills interjected, but was cut off yet again.
“—and the fact that you.” Orion reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a handful of monochrome photographs. He then tossed it in the old stallion’s now bewildered face. “Mister Bills, are a rat to the competition is also relatively tolerable.”
The Doctor took a moment to gaze at one photo in particular which settled down on the floor in front of him. It was a photograph of the old stallion in the midst of exchanging an envelope with griffin in the confines of a small Canterlot alley.
“Listen to me, you—”
“But what I will not tolerate are your continuous efforts to damage this company!” Orion’s voice boomed across the loft. “And I refuse to see my father’s...” He raised his finger once again. “Nay, my company, fall to ruin because of expired, worthless, thieving degenerates like you!”
Orion bent forward, putting himself at Bill’s eyelevel as the stallion gave the young Lord the most hateful glare he’d ever see on a living being. “I don’t know why my father decided to keep you fossils around, but you gentlecolts have clearly overstayed your welcome. Now, clean out your offices, then get the Hell out of my building.”
“This is an outrage!” Bills stomped his hoof against the marble floor. “I’ve given too much to this company, and I will not be ousted by some low-born, Transcended piece of filth.” Darkened veins webbed across his maddened eyes as if threatening to burst. “I won’t have it. You hear me, boy? I won’t have it!”
“Filth?” Orion feigned a gasp, stepping back. “Oh, you should have stopped with ‘little shit’. Believe it or not, Mister Bills, this is an executive decision, and not a personal one.” Orion stepped away from the group of stallions and returned to Lord Fancy’s side. “Because personally, and pardon my Prench, I would love nothing more than to have you strung up by your bollocks and flogged with a metal scourge. Such is Equestrian law for insulting an Entitled. Fortunately for you, I promised Clarence that I would be on my best behavior. Now, for the last time, sod off before I change my mind.”
“Lord Platinum!” Bills addressed the alabaster stallion. “Will you simply stand there and allow this blatant injustice to take place?”
“As much it would please me to aid you and your associates, Mister Bills—” Fancy wore a bemused grin. “—unfortunately, this alabastard, as you had so graciously referred to me as such over the years, no longer has the power or the authority. You answer to the true Lord of House Abrasax now, and I believed he just told you lot to sod off.”
Bills pulled a haggard breath. “This isn’t over,” he declared as he turned around and headed for the elevator, followed closely by his group of ponies. “This isn’t over, not by a long shot!”
“By the way, Mister Bills, feel free to voice your grievances with Pony Resources on your way out. I'll be sure to let them know you're coming.” Orion called after the disgruntled group as the elevator doors closed behind them.
“Well,” the Doctor said suddenly. “That happened.”
A laugh came from Fancy like a newly sprung leak, timid at first, then erupting into full blown laughter. Orion’s mouth twitched upwards, and before long, he too was laughing.
“Poetry. Absolute poetry.” Fancy wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “It’s been a long time coming, but by Celestia, it was worth every minute.”
“As President of Abrasax Industries, I am happy to be of service, Lord Platinum.” Orion exaggerated a bow. “That being said, I’m thoroughly surprised you hadn’t done it yourself.”
Fancy chuckled and nudged the young Lord in the thigh. “And relieve you of the satisfaction? I think not, Old Sport. It’s just not done.” The smile soon faded from the stallion’s face. “And besides, Bills was once a dear friend of mine… and your father’s.”
“Bills wasn’t always the stallion he is today.” Fancy shook his head. “There was once a time where even he believed that there was more to this world than mere profits and policies. Unfortunately, coin has a funny way perverting even the most pious of ponies. In time, wealth became his obsession, and friendship became his commodity. Breaks my heart.”
“I suppose it’s true what they say. There are no friends amongst Entitled, only those yet to put a knife in our backs,” said Orion with a sly grin. “Hence the reason we keep our enemies closest to us, isn’t that right, Uncle Fancy?”
The stallion’s muzzle curled upwards with a grin to match. “Taking Sol’s words to heart, I see. By Celestia, you truly are your father’s colt. In more ways than one.”
“As I am constantly reminded, not that I mind.”
Fancy’s horn lit ablaze with a magical aura and straightened his purple bow tie. “Now with all that refuse in its proper place, I believe there’s a comforting glass of liquid gold downstairs with my name on it.” As he headed for the elevator, he paused and looked over his shoulder. “Care to join me, Doctor?”
“Me… join you?” The Doctor looked at the stallion in surprise. “But… I can’t possibly… I mean, you’re an Entitled, and I’m just a…”
“Oh, come now, Doctor. As I said, there are no formalities between friends.” Fancy gestured with a wave of his hoof. “In fact, I insist.”
“Go on, Doctor. I promise your head will remain attached to your body upon leaving this vicinity. I give you my word,” Orion said with a chuckle. “I’ll be along shortly myself.”
“In that case, I’d be honored. Lead the way Lord Plat— I mean, Fancy.” The Doctor graced the alabaster unicorn with a smile and followed him to the elevator.
“The gathering’s next Tuesday, by the way. Everypony will be there, so try not to be late this time.” Orion tilted his head and arched an eyebrow at the two stallions as they entered the elevator. “You know how cranky brother mine gets when he’s kept waiting.”
Fancy responded with a light simper. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Old Sport.” He tapped on the elevator’s clear glass panel and selected a floor. “And tell brother yours that he should behave himself, if he knows what’s good for him.” The elevator doors slid to a close.
Orion heard hoofsteps as Coco returned to the office, balancing both a saucer and teacup upon a wooden tray on her head. There was something about earth ponies the young Lord had always found fascinating. For even without the gift of magic or dexterous appendages, they make up for their various shortcomings in a variety of numerous, not to mention and creative methods. Add Machina into the mix and they stand on equal par with even the most scholarly of unicorns and swiftest of pegasi.
“I’m so sorry it took so long, Lord Abrasax. I got a little lost on my way to the pantry,” she said with a sheepish yet apologetic smile. “I have your tea.”
“Splendid!” Orion took it in his hands and lifted the cup to his lips. “And you are excused, Miss Pommel. I remembered the first time Papa brought me up here, I got lost worse than a—” He took a sip, and reeled his head back in surprise. It was delicious, rich and satisfying with a buttery aftertaste. “By the Old Gods, what is this?”
Coco’s ears splayed backwards. “It’s one of my grandmother’s tisanes. She makes it all the time when I visit her in Baltimare. I found the ingredients I needed in the pantry, and so I thought… well…” She bit her bottom lip. “Do… do you hate it?”
“Hate it? Pfft. Surely you jest, Miss Pommel, because this tea is simply divine!” Orion mouth twitched into a smile. “I’m so putting you on tea duty from here on out.”
Coco blushed. “I’m flattered, Lord Abrasax.” She chuckled and rubbed her hoof. “Well, Lord Platinum gave me a whole list of things to look into, but if there’s anything else you need, feel free to let me know.”
“Thank you, Miss Pommel, I have a feeling we’re going to get along just swimmingly.” Orion took another sip of his tea and chapped his lips. “And that’s alright, I believe I’m quite content at the moment.”
“By the way, I took the liberty of preparing a list of questions and answers for your pre-lunch cocktail.” Coco reached into her saddle bag and removed several documents with her teeth. “There’s still plenty of time for you to—”
“You know…” Orion’s smile took a crooked turn. “Come to think of it, I believe there is something you can do for me.” There was mischief reflected in the subtle glow of his violet eyes. “Something that I’ve been simply aching to do for a very, very long time.”
Coco swallowed hard. “Please be gentle with me, Lord Abrasax.”
The conference hall was crowded to the brim. All the tables and bar stools were taken up by reporters, executives and a few distinctive faces from the House of Lords, though their names were beyond the Doctor’s current ability to recall. Ponies talked over one another, some deep in conversation, and others firm on debates. The smell of clove cigarettes and liquor was overwhelming.
The Doctor shuffled awkwardly in his crystal bar seat, or as he would like to call it, an overpriced torture device. It was both agonizing and cramped up his flanks. He would give anything to return to old Delilah, his trusty leather arm chair, sipping on his caramel latte in the comforts of his own office. The Doctor’s chest heaved with a heavy sigh as he lifted his wine glass and took a sip. He closed his eyes in absolute bliss, losing himself in its exquisite taste. It would seem Abrasax Industries spared no expense in the inauguration of their newly appointed President, considering how the wine in question would have easily cost him a month's wages.
“Truly is one of a kind, isn’t it?”
The Doctor eyes snapped open, his attention now on Fancy pants. “I concur. I must confess that it’s always been a dream of mine to try a glass of Chateau Margaux for myself.”
“It seems that you know your wines, Doctor.”
“Hardly, I can’t say I’m much of a connoisseur, Lord Fancy, but it does have a rather curious aftertaste.” He chapped his lips. “It’s a little light, fruity, and cherry-blossomy.”
Fancy chuckled. “Cherry-blossomy? My word, I’ll have to remember that one.”
Then, the Doctor caught a glimmer in the corner of his eye and directed his gaze to what appeared to be an ultraviolet tattoo, marked on the inside of Fancy Pants’ right foreleg, partly hidden by his sleeve. It was round, twice the size of an average Equestrian Bit, and glowed prismatically at certain angles. It featured the crest of House Platinum, framed symmetrically with three circles of Equestrian runes. There was no mistaking it, it was a Signum.
A Signum is a special mark. A regalia of sorts amongst the nobles of Equestria reserved only for the most prestigious of the Entitled families. Passed down from generation, to generation, a Signum bears an Entitled’s name, linage, family, and circumstance of birth. It is a mark that states one’s claim to a family and admits their status as part of it. The Doctor narrowed his eyes, his curiosity getting the better of him as he tried to interpret the runes for himself.
“Fancy Diamond Platinum. Son of Paraiba Platinum,” he muttered to himself. “Second Premier of House Platinum. Ascended—”
“Something interests you, Doctor Whooves?”
Fancy’s voice jerked the Doctor to attention. It wasn’t long before he realized that his head was now bent at an awkward position. “I know what this looks like, and I am terribly sorry. It’s just that… I’ve never seen a Signum up close before.”
Fancy then rolled up his sleeves placed his foreleg on the cocktail table. “If you had wanted a closer look, Old Sport, all you had to do was ask.” He drew a smile.
The Doctor flinched. “But that would have been terribly rude of me!”
“As opposed to gawking at it?” Fancy raised an eyebrow.
“Touché.” The Doctor chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “It does look beautiful. I’ve always been curious as to why Ryan would always get a wee bit touchy about his own.”
“Because, Doctor.” Fancy engulfed his whisky glass in a shade of gold and swirled it. The slushing of liquid gold rattled a chipped ball of ice against the clear crystal. “It serves as an everlasting reminder of what he is… and that he will never belong.”
The Doctor blinked at the alabaster unicorn, clearly confused. “I don’t quite follow.”
Fancy took a sip from the edge of his glass. “Pray tell Doctor, just how familiar are you with the terms describing an Entitled’s circumstance of birth?”
“Not well enough, I’m afraid,” the Doctor replied. “Perhaps you would care to enlighten me.”
Fancy returned the glass to the table. “There are three… a Descended, an Ascended, and a Transcended. The Descended are pureborns, sired within the legal confines of Equestrian law which defines a legal union between any race and gender. Hence they are, by definition, the pureblooded descendants of a noble house,” Fancy said. “Now, a Transcended, however—”
“I’ve heard Ryan refer to himself as such on multiple occasions,” the Doctor said.
“A Transcended is a brand used for those willfully adopted into an Entitled family, so long as the adopted in question remain unrelated to the family by bond or blood. Mind you, that these occasions are indeed rare.” Fancy lifted his glass of whisky and took a quick sip. “Unfortunately, the mark of a Transcended remains a stigma amongst the Entitled, primarily because a Transcended is often of lesser birth. So you can understand Orion’s reluctance in discussing the matter.”
The Doctor nodded. “I believe I understand now, but what of the third one… the Ascended?”
There was an unnerving silence before Fancy chuckled weakly. “You know Doctor, as Entitled, we make mistakes. It is almost expected of us, really. However, more often than most, some mistakes aren’t so easily rectified.” Fancy lifted his glass to his lips and downed his whisky in a single gulp.
An angry and pained expression streaked across the unicorn’s face as he shrugged. “And whether out of guilt or desperation, it sometimes falls upon the Lord of the house to acknowledge those mistakes.”
The Doctor’s cobalt irises shrunk to the size of pinheads as he was hit with the painful realization.
“The brand Ascended is reserved specifically for those mistakes, Doctor.” Fancy took a deep breath, then exhaled. “You know, when Sol offered me the privilege to be Orion’s godfather, I accepted it wholeheartedly, not simply out of loyalty to my dear friend… rather because I know what it’s like to be alone… and unwanted.”
“Lord Platinum… I…”
Fancy shook his head. “You know, I think I could use another drink.” The older stallion stopped a passing pegasus mare. “Another glass of your finest Mahakaman whiskey, if you would be so kind.” He gestured with a shake of his glass.
“At once, Your Grace.” The mare nodded and took the empty glass in her tray.
“Much obliged.” Fancy smiled. He then turned to the Doctor, who was looking as if he had just discovered where foals came from. “Don’t look too shocked, my friend. It’s a matter of public record, and besides, I’ve made peace with my past.”
“I apologize… I’m just surprised you aren’t the least concerned about the matter,” the Doctor said.
“It is because I never forget what I am. The rest of the world would not.” Fancy placed a hoof on the Doctor’s shoulder. “I wear it like armor, and it can never be used to hurt me.”
“That… that is good advice.”
“It is, isn’t it?” Fancy chuckled. “I received it from a poor, misshapen soul from a distant land, many years ago. Shame… I never got his name, though.”
The crystal strobe lights danced overhead. A rainbow of bright neon streaked across the walls accompanied by a fog of dry-iced smoke. A spotlight directed their attention to the stage at the far end of the hall as the same spokespony from before came up to the microphone. Once again, the stage is swarmed with cameras and eager reporters looking to fill the pages of their notebooks with more of Orion’s snarky comments. The Doctor couldn’t help but groan at the thought.
“Good afternoon, fillies and gentlecolts. I thank you for your patience, and I am certain that the refreshments are to your satisfaction.” The spotlights centered in on the red curtains in the backdrop. “Now allow me to welcome back our esteemed President of Abrasax Industries, Lord Orion Abrasax!”
The crowd erupted in a round of applause accompanied by a quartet of musicians playing in the background. The curtain remained as still as ever as the showpony gave a nervous chuckle.
“Please welcome, Lord Orion Abrsax!” he declared yet again.
The moments passed, and there was still no sign of their esteemed guest. The Doctor could sense panic brewing in the room like a witch’s cauldron. He then felt something vibrate in his coat pocket. He raised an eyebrow as he reached for his mobile device. Flipping it open, he swiped his hoof across the clear, neon green screen, and revealed an instant message from no other than Lord Orion himself. What in blazes? The Doctor thought.
A mare then emerged from behind the curtains, half-stumbling over a hooves as she stared, petrified at the crowd of ponies before her. Coco drew an awkward grin and waved her hoof.
The Doctor felt as if his jaw would hit the floor. “Oh, no. He didn’t.” He then activated the message. “Sorry, old chap. Had to dash. L-O-L,” he read aloud. “Do me a favor and handle our little friends from the press. Consider this an I-O-U. I’ll be in touch, ciao… smiley face.”
He snatched his glass of wine and downed it in a single gulp, lighting his throat on fire as his face flushed red from the rage now boiling within. “Bloody, bucking Hell.”
Fancy immediately burst out laughing, so hard, that he started hammering the table in a most ungentlecoltly manner, drawing the attention of everypony nearby. “Oh, Sol,” he said, struggling to catch his breath. “If only you could see him now, old friend. You’d be so proud.”
“Your drink, Your Grace.” The mare from before returned, a fresh glass of whiskey on her tray.
“Thank you, my dear.” Fancy took the glass from the tray. As the mare left the company of the two stallions, he lifted the glass to the ceiling. “Here’s to you, old friend, may you rest eternally in the halls of Elysium, and as for the rest of my fellow whoresons in the House of Lords.” His eyes narrowed in rancor. Azure irises gleamed with malevolence as potent as venom from a cobra’s fang. “Better wrap up warm. There’s a wind coming… a wind of war.”
“Ya sure them reporters won’t start goin’ barmy over ya skippin’ out on ‘em, M’lord?” Albert tilted his hat to the guard at the checkpoint who raised the gate in response. The Hermes’ engines roared with elegance and might as it pulled up into the street.
“The privilege of being an Entitled, my dear Albert, is that society is compelled to be a bit more forgiving over our misdemeanors.” Orion fished a custom pair of wireless earphones from his suit pockets and plugged them into his ears. “Albeit, not always out of the goodness of their hearts.”
He chuckled at the Doctor’s reply as flashed green on his mobile screen. “Oh my, Doctor, I never knew you had such a colorful vocabulary.” He danced his fingers across the neon keyboard suspended over his wrist. “Love… you... too, ole’… boy. X-O-X-O.”
“I’ll take ya word for it then.” The earth pony gazed at Orion’s reflection in the rear view mirror as he leaned in on the accelerator. “Any destination in mind, M’lord?”
Orion swiped past the numerous playlists arranged on his mobile device and touched play. A hurricane of guitars and drums soon flooded his ear canals.
The Hermes pulled into the palace veranda, which was held up with ostentatiously detailed pillars, painted in brilliant white. A compelling mix of arches and gold-domed towers, the Canterlot Grand Palace was as majestic and exotic as they say. The gardens were kept prim and proper within the palace grounds. The regality of a reigning monarch extends far beyond personal appearances, it would seem.
Needless to say, such beauty warranted caution. From behind the car’s tinted crystal windows, Orion cast his gaze upon the squads of Royal Guards patrolling the palace grounds. Whether perched high on alabaster walls or austere like stone statues by the palace gates, they all wore that same steely expression. Eyebrows drawn stern with glaring eyes as if the earth itself had turned against them. It was either that, or their lustrous golden armors were in fact two sizes too small.
“Here we are, Gov’ner. Just give ole’ Albert a holler when yer ready to leave. Meantime, I’d be in the garage. I reckon me lass here could do with a smidge of wax.” The stallion drew a gap-toothed smile and patted the ivory steering wheel.
Orion chuckled. “Hermes is very fortunate to have you at her every beck and call, Albert.”
“That she is, Gov’ner. That she is.”
Orion’s gaze fell to the army of maids and butlers lining themselves like clockwork upon the palace’s polished marble steps. Etiquette demanded that every available servant at the time be present for the arrival of a Lord, especially the premier of an Imperial Family. Orion, however, hated the very notion of it. As a colt, even at his father’s side, he would remember the condescension in their eyes. Their twisted frowns of disgust and narrowed slits filled to the brim with judgment and hatred. Orion scoffed at the thought while he fixed his ruby-studded cufflinks. Perhaps being a Lord had its disadvantages after all. Back then, ponies needn't mask their prejudices in his presence.
The car door opened. “Good afternoon, Lord Abrasax,” a gruff, husky voice greeted him. “On behalf of Her Majesty, Princess Celestia, I personally welcome you back to the Canterlot Grand Palace.”
“Thank you, my good— Blargh!” Orion scrambled backwards to the edge of his seat as he laid eyes on a gargantuan Trottish Terrier with a mustache to match. “Great googly-moogly, what in bloody blazes is that thing?”
The Terrier blinked, or at least Orion thought it blinked. It was hard to tell through the thickness of its furred brows. They were the longest eyebrows the young Lord had ever seen on a living being. “Must we do this every time, Your Grace?” the Terrier asked, sounding more offended than surprised.
“Albert…” Orion cranked his head to his trusty driver. “I do believe that dog is talking to me… and somehow, it knows my name. Which could only mean one of two things. Either I have officially lost my rockers, or I am in the midst of being assassinated by Equestria’s most incompetent changeling.”
Albert bobbed his shoulders and shook his head.
The Terrier shrugged. “Hilarious, Your Grace. Do forgive me for withholding my applause.”
“That sarcasm…” Orion squinted his eyes and leaned in for a closer look, only to realize in fact that wasn’t an oversized pooch, rather a grey earth pony draped in a black tuxedo. “Reginald, is that you? By the Old Gods, man, get yourself a razor. I do believe there’s a jungle in desperate need of a good trim.”
Just like the illustrious halls of Abrasax Manor, the Canterlot Grand Palace’s very own avatar of perfection came in the form of Ser Reginald Whitehall, the crown’s most loyal servant in more ways than one. As Master of The Household for the past three decades, the old stallion’s list of accomplishments could only be rivaled by the breadth of his mustache. Known for his stringent, but efficient ways, the lesser servants would often refer to him as the ‘Demon of Whitehall’. Orion, however, had another name for him: ‘The Mustache of Terror’.
“Believe it or not, Your Grace, there existed a time when true stallions were defined by the exquisiteness of their facial manes, and not how loud they can scream like pansies playing video games on the Vine.” Reginald ruffled his massive patch of fur, making Orion cringe at the sight of it. “Perhaps you should try it for yourself, Your Grace. Add a bit of debonair to your life.”
Orion snorted. “And have ponies chuck dog biscuits in my face?” He shook head as he stepped out of the car, a brown paper bag clutched firmly in his hand. “Your thoughts are deeply appreciated, my dear Reginald, but I believe I’m perfectly fine the way I am.”
“So it would seem.” Reginald proceeded to shut the car door. The Hermes then drove down the veranda’s cobblestoned path. “Wise ponies say that the concept beauty is often defined by one’s personal perspectives.”
“So is good and evil, but that’s a separate matter entirely, and I believe I’d digress.” Orion tucked his hands behind him and leaned forward, curling his lips into a grin. “And dear old Clarence sends his regards, by the way.”
The older butler flinched in his step as the members of his staff drew a sharp, horrified gasp, the look of dread washed over their now panic-stricken faces. There is a fine reason why the name Whitehall is considered taboo in the Abrasax household and vice-versa, considering how both the Whitehalls and Cavendishes are mortal enemies. Orion was vague on the details, however; it involved a blood feud dating back hundreds of years, to the golden days of The Eternal Throne. As such, both Clarence and Reginald couldn’t stand the sight of one another.
“So…” Reginald said suddenly. “Cavendish’s Crimson Prince still draws breath.”
“Afraid so.” Orion took a nonchalant tone as he pushed back on his messy jet-black hair, weaving his nimble fingers through highlights of dark lavender. “In fact, I would dare say that even the nastiest beasties of the Everfree Forest wouldn’t be able to end the likes of him.”
The old butler raised his left eyebrow just high enough to reveal his violet eye narrowed in a glare. “Of course it wouldn’t. The old goat wouldn’t be worth hating, otherwise.”
“I’m certain the feeling is mutual.” A light smirk danced across Orion’s lips. “Well, as much as I’d love to stay and prattle on, I believe I have a scheduled tea session with Her Majesty. Now, if you don’t mind.” He gestured with a wave his hand and proceeded to climb the stairs. The maids and butlers bowed their heads as he passed them by.
“You do realize you are indeed a several hours early for tea.” Reginald trotted his way to Orion’s side, half-jogging to keep up with the young Lord’s long-legged strides. “Her Majesty is currently in the company of several important dignitaries.”
“Oh, poppycock, Papa always did say a Lord is never late for tea, nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to.” Orion flashed his pearly whites in the most salespony grin he could muster.
The golden arches of Redwood doorway soon widened out into a marble-floored grand foyer complete with ten-foot stained-glass windows. Dozens of royal tapestries bearing the coat of arms of every known Entitled House decorated the purple palace walls. The tapestry of House Abrasax, however, hung prominently from the ceiling above the bifurcated stairs, among five others. The air was scented with fresh flowers hoof-picked from the surrounding gardens and arranged in crystal vases. A trail of maroon carpets marked the floors beneath Orion’s feet like a pathway for the regal and the influential. The young Lord chuckled to himself. He never truly understood the significance of a red carpet, other than to appeal to one’s already inflated ego.
“I would hardly consider Lord Sol the epitome of punctuality, Your Grace.” Reginald droned and shook his head. “But I suppose I am willing to admit that you are very much your father’s colt.”
“My word, is that a compliment I hear?” Orion held his hand on his chest in feigned surprise. “I suppose the rumors are true then. The Demon grows soft in his old age.”
“But even the calmest streams hide the most vicious of monsters.”
“Touché, Reginald.” Orion said with a soft clap. “Well done.”
Reginald cleared his throat. “As I was saying, Lord Abrasax, Her Majesty is currently engaged, and it is crucial she remains undisturbed and—”
“Orion… is that… is that really you?”
The soft-spoken, yet familiar voice of a mare jolted Orion’s memories like a kick to a malfunctioning compressor. He shifted his gaze to a unicorn mare with a coat of sunlight orange and a marigold mane. She wore a black dress and white frilly laces, the standard uniform of a palace maid. Orion’s smile was as bright as the summer sun.
“Caroline, by the Old Gods, it’s been such a long time.” Orion fell to his knees and embraced the mare in his arms. “You look positively dazzling, my dear. How’s the family?”
“And look at you. A Lord of House Abrasax, and so much more handsome in person.” Caroline giggled and blushed. “And they’re doing fine, thanks for asking. Oh, I wish Pierson could be here to say hi. He was your escort here at the palace, remember?”
Orion chuckled. “Oh dear, how could I forget? I was but a colt then, and while Papa had tea with the Princess, the trouble I’d get into would put even the likes of Discord to shame. Poor Private Pierson had to peel potatoes for weeks.” He rubbed the back of his head. “I suppose I do owe him an apology.”
“Tell me about it. He would gripe about you for hours at a time back when we dated. He still tends to talk about you from time to time. Guess you can say he misses you.”
“Likewise, my dear.” Orion patted her foreleg. “I’m certain that husband of yours is around here somewhere, but should I see Mister Boulderface, I’ll be sure to give him my regards.”
Reginald cleared his throat. “Missus Silverstone, need I remind you that you are indeed addressing a Lord of Equestria, and he will be addressed as such. Also, if you would be so kind as to cease your small talk, for Lord Abrasax has more urgent matters to attend to.” The old stallion scrunched his face and flared his mustache. “And I believe you do too, Missus Silverstone” he added as Caroline swallow hard in response.
Orion flinched. “Well, isn’t he just brimming with rays of sunshine and rainbows?”
“No, Reginald is right, forgive me Ori— I mean, Lord Abrasax.” Caroline bowed her head. “May I at least take your coat?”
Orion smiled. “There’s nothing to forgive, my sweet Caroline, and it will always be Orion to you.” He proceeded to remove his prized trench coat. ”I hold a special place in my heart for those dear to me, so if there is anything you wish of me, Miss Caroline. Anything at all, feel free let me know, and I will do everything in my power to fulfill it.”
The mare could only blink her emerald eyes as she flushed redder than rose petal. “Thank you, Orion.” Caroline smiled as she levitated the coat from his hand. “May I also take your… paper… bag?”
“Oh, no.” Orion patted the bag in question. “This one stays with me.”
“It was nice seeing you again. Now, if you would please excuse me, My Lord.” With a final bow, she hurried down the east corridor.
“If I may be so bold, Your Grace.” Reginald took a step forward. His broad chest and stocky build served to emphasize both his stature and his rank. “As a Lord, it is imperative that you acquire some restraint when it comes to the ponies in your charge. Attachments and personal feelings tend to cloud one’s judgement.”
“And you, my good sir—” Orion patted the older stallion on his shoulder before climbing to his feet. “—are in desperate need of a soul.”
“Well, I am willing to haggle should yours be up for sale, Your Grace.” Reginald kept his insidious gaze hidden in the sinister shadow of his thickened brow. “I assure you that this demon will make it worth your while.”
“So you do have a sense of humor after all.” Orion said with a sly grin.
The sound of conversation and rambunctious voices echoed off the palace walls, drawing Orion’s attention to a group of five ponies making their way into the grand foyer from the corridor to the west. Ambassadors from the Ponies Republic of Xing, Orion deduced, judging by their thick oriental accents and local costumes woven in prized Xingese silk and gold threads. The fifth pony, however, was none other than Princess Celestia herself.
Orion curled a smile at the corner of his mouth, recalling the first time he laid eyes on the Alicorn Princess. Some would find it daunting the way she towered over the average pony, but to him, there was always something inexpressibly beautiful about her. From her coat of astral white as pure as first-fallen snow to her ethereal mane dancing in the non-existing breeze. Her cutie mark bore the gallant sun, a testament to the sovereign blood which runs through her veins. Celestia glanced up, a tinge of surprise reflected in her eyes the moment she caught sight of the young Lord. In that instant, gone was the feigned mask of diplomacy, and in its place, a welcoming smile.
“Gentlecolts.” She addressed her honored guests as the four oriental earth ponies were rendered silent. “Shall we adjourn to the pantry for some light refreshments?” she suggested, to which her guests nodded with much enthusiasm.
“Miss Sweet Star,” she called out to a passing pegasus maid. “Would you kindly escort these fine gentlecolts to the pantry? Prepare a hot pot of Jasmine tea and some red bean dumplings.”
“Right away, Your Majesty.” The mare bowed. “Follow me, Your Eminence,” she called out to the four stallions who then followed behind her while they chattered on amongst themselves in their native tongue. They soon disappeared at the far end of the east corridor.
Princess Celestia made her way to the center of the grand foyer. She even had a graceful way of trotting that made ponies turn their heads to watch. “Lord Abrasax, so you did decide to drop in for tea after all.” Her voice was soft and tender. Like a mother would speak to her foal.
“Greetings, Your Royal Highness.” Orion took a single step forward and flourished the solar princess with a fanciful bow. “Still as enchanting as ever, I see.”
Celestia chuckled. “Well, isn’t this a pleasant surprise? The Royal Equestrian bow. I must admit, it’s been decades since I’ve been greeted with such proper etiquette. It’s certainly a refreshing sight.”
Orion smiled. “Papa always was a stiffer for tradition. It’s like he always said—”
“Tradition defines us in our entirety.” Celestia said, returning the smile.
“Well, well, Your Highness. I believe it’s now my turn to be surprised.”
The Princess chuckled yet again. “Not that it isn’t good to see you, Orion, but you are somewhat early for tea.”
“Precisely what I was trying to inform Lord Abrasax prior to your arrival, Your Majesty.” Reginald stepped in. “I told His Grace, that you were in midst of some rather important business.”
“Yes, that, and I believe you mentioned something about a pre-lunch cocktail with members of the press and your fellow Entitled?” Celestia inquired.
“Oh, that…” Orion shifted his eyes and chuckled weakly. “Terrible tragedy actually. Apparently, one of our esteemed guests was caught milking his eel into the fruit punch.”
Celestia blushed. “Oh…oh, my.”
“Yes, he charmed the one eyed snake. Skinned his sausage. Made the bald stallion cry—”
“I believe you’ve made your point the first time around, Lord Abrasax,” Reginald snapped, having noticed the Princess growing redder with every idiom.
“—all over the crystal bowl.” Orion inhaled sharply with a tinge of dramatic flair. “It was haunting, Your Majesty, absolutely haunting. So with great distress, we had no choice but to cancel the event altogether. These are dark times we live in. Dark times indeed.”
“Good grief.” Reginald said flatly.
“How can we expect to keep our foals safe, when we have maniacs going about defiling tropical beverages? Oh, would somepony think of the juice? Haven’t they suffered enough?”
“But that is just horrible,” Celestia said. “I certainly hope they caught the perpetrator.”
“Alas, he was too quick for us. In fact, he was in and out before anypony could lay their hooves on him.” Orion sighed and sagged his shoulders. “Well, easy come, easy go, I suppose.”
“Yes…” Reginald narrowed his gaze at the young Lord. “He must have slipped past your security like he was never there.”
Orion reacted with a subtle scowl.
“Well, it is indeed a tragedy, and I am sorry you had to go through it.” Celestia lifted her head and took a deep breath. “However, as Princess, I must first tend to my duties. Besides, it would be rude of me to leave my guests waiting.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way, Your Majesty.” Orion waved his hands and grinned. “It was never any intention of mine to pry you away from your royal duties. Especially not on my account. I am free to wait in the library until the appropriate time.”
“Wonderful,” Celestia turned to old butler. “Reginald, would you kindly escort—”
“That won’t be necessary. I believe I can find my own way there. After all, I’ve spent many an afternoon in the Royal Canterlot Library.” He leaned in and petted Reginald on the head. “Now be a good boy, and keep the good Princess company.” Orion then bowed his head. “I’ll be seeing you soon, Your Majesty.”
The old butler snorted and ruffled his mustache. “Well I never.”
“Indeed you shall, Lord Abrasax.” Celestia returned a bow, then turned to leave. Reginald followed at her side. “Is something wrong, Reginald? You seem a little more uptight than usual,” she asked.
“I don’t like it, Your Majesty. It’s too easy.” Reginald scrunched his muzzle. “If that crafty little hooligan is anything like his father, I’m fairly certain that he would—”
“But alas, I almost forgot!”
“And speak of Hades, the soul of Lord Sol Clarus Abrasax lives on,” Reginald said.
“It would seem that I am now going to have to finish this exquisite slice of cake which I had brought all the way from Nancy’s Kitchen, the Princess’ favorite dessert parlor, all by myself.” Orion’s voice echoed off the palace walls.
Princess Celestia balked in her step. A subtle twitch in her ear betrayed her curiosity as a Cheshire grin unfurled on Orion’s lips like the mechanizations of his nefarious scheme. His lavender irises glowed ever subtly in the sun’s rays, flowing radiantly through the colored panels of the Palace’s stained-glass windows.
“Is it… Chocolate?” Celestia asked.
“Your Majesty!” Reginald snapped.
“Better...” Orion lifted the paper bag with a grin. “Strawberry.”
Celestia turned around, a near manic look in her eyes. “With extra cream… syrup?”
“Your Majesty, I must object. You have guests. Important guests, may I add!”
“Only the best for you, Your Majesty.” Orion chuckled. “So, shall we adjourn to the gardens or will you choose to deny this poor confectionery a chance to delight your royal taste buds?” He gestured with a gentle shake of the bag.
Ponies often say that if Elysium had a place on Equus, it would have been the Grand Canterlot Gardens. Acres of lush greens and manicured lawns and a vast variety of flowerbeds of painted the landscape with a fiesta of colors. There was an aroma in the air, sweet like a dab of honey on the tip of one’s tongue, yet pleasant like velvet on bare skin. Orion inhaled, then exhaled as he relaxed into the soft cushions while he sat beneath the maple tree, graced with the company of Princess Celestia herself.
“You know, Your Majesty, while I was still a student at Stalliongrad, there were nights where I would dream of this place.” He lifted the ornate porcelain tea cup to his lips and sipped, relishing in the light blend of spearmint and cinnamon. “But of course, its beauty pales in comparison to yours.”
Princess Celestia, laying gingerly upon the cushions opposite him, looked up with a scrumptious piece of Strawberry Shortcake in her mouth. She swallowed and chuckled. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Lord Abrasax.”
“On the contrary, Your Majesty, I believe the only destination I require would be that of your heart.” Orion said, his eyes glimmering with sly humor, earning a smile from the Princess. He then shifted his gaze to Reginald, who was standing huffily next a silver cart. “Reggie, old boy, I do believe that my cup is empty. Be a darling, and fetch me some more, will you?”
“At once, Your Grace.” The old butler ruffled his mustache as he hefted the ornate teapot from atop the cart. As he filled Orion’s cup, he leaned in closer and whispered. “May I please be frank with you for a moment, Your Grace?”
“I would be insulted if you didn’t,” Orion whispered back.
“You truly are despicable.”
Orion chuckled softly. “Aww, how sweet. I bet you say that to all the stallions in your life, old chap.” When the cup was filled to the brim, he took a quick sip. “Brilliant tea by the way. Now, if only if we had some biscuits, that would be perfect,” he said, bobbing his eyebrows.
There was a slow rumble in the back of Reginald’s throat before he addressed Princess Celestia. “Please excuse me, Your Majesty, while I go fetch His Grace some… biscuits.” He bowed as he turned to leave.
“Remember to sort them alphabetically. I like my Almonds before the Butterscotches, and preferably my Chocolate Chips before the Dutch Letters. Also, Macaroons and Macarons are two very different things!”
Celestia cracked up laughing. “My word, Orion, you are just terrible today.”
“And what of you, Your Majesty?” Orion tilted his head. A light simper gracing his lips. “Leaving your esteemed guests in the wind, and all for a slice of cake.”
“When it comes to Nancy’s cakes, loyalty is but an element.” Celestia levitated another piece of cake into her mouth from the tip of her silver fork. “And to be honest, the meeting was going absolutely nowhere. After the first hour, I was simply begging for a reason to escape, and then you came along.”
Orion chuckled. “Always happy to be the object of convenience, Your Majesty.” He rested his cup and saucer upon the maroon carpet splayed on the ground beneath him. “Although, I certainly hope the ambassadors wouldn’t be too offended. You know how awfully touchy these Oriental types can be.”
Celestia scoffed. “Please, I am a Princess of Equestria. They will wait. Besides, I was here when the Xingese had dynasties, rather than presidential terms.”
“In that case, let us pray they won’t crumble to dust by the time you get back.”
The Princess chuckled. “Oh, Orion, you remind me so much of your father… so much of Sol,” she said, taking a more somber tone. Her ears splayed backwards as she sighed. “I always did enjoy our conversations, and he always knew how to make me laugh.”
“Papa maybe gone, Princess, but he lives on within us all.” Orion touched the lavender stone pinned to the knot of his tie. “So long as we find it in ourselves to keep moving forward, the light that he had cast upon this land will never fade.”
“Which brings us to the real reason that you are here.” Celestia then levitated a golden device the size of common envelope from within the folds of her wing, and into Orion’s hands.
“So… this is what a Royal Pardon looks like.” He ran his fingers through the intricate designs shaped into the casing, and a crystal seal inscribed with the royal coat of arms. “So am I to assume that you’ve accepted my gamble?” he asked, a wry grin curling on his lips.
“You play a dangerous game, Orion, but it is hardly a gamble when the risks are yours, and yours alone.” Celestia lifted her teacup to her lips and sipped from its cusp.
“Well, I’ll admit that danger has its charms.”
“Still, I suppose I should warn you.” Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “The path you walk will be treacherous, harsh and lined with monsters bent on your demise. Knowing this, are you still prepared to dance with death?”
“But Princess…” There was a sinister, almost evil glint in Orion’s eyes, burning with the intensity of the midday sun. The light simper curled into a devilish smile. “I not going to dance with death… I am going to kill monsters.” The words left his lips in foreign tongue.
“The Elder Speech?” Celestia raised an eyebrow, then smiled. “And with perfect pronunciations too. It has been centuries since I’ve conversed in the language of the Old Gods. Even some of Equestria’s greatest scholars aren’t as well versed as you are.”
“I believed I mentioned that Papa was a stiffer for tradition.”
“Then I believe we have nothing left to discuss,” Celestia replied with a crafty chuckle. “I wish you, and your new friend, the best of luck. I believe you will need all that you can get.”
Orion lifted his cup to his lips. “I would raise a toast, but a cup of tea would be highly inappropriate. After all, we aren’t savages.” He took a hearty sip and sighed. “I suppose I owe you some clarity on the matter now that we’re both on the same page, so to speak.”
“That won’t be necessary, Orion. You have my trust, but I hope you understand that what you intend to unleash upon Equus is, and will be considered evil by the definition of most. In their eyes, you will be the monster, and not those you seek to destroy.”
“That is certainly not my intention, Princess. I’m sure in time they would think otherwise.”
“No, let them,” Celestia said suddenly. “My ponies need dramatic examples to shake them out of apathy, so become the monster that they already think you are. As for the real monsters, Lord Abrasax, let your crusade serve a grim reminder as to why they once feared the dark.” Celestia bit into her final piece of cake then rested the silver fork upon the now empty piece of china. “And should a day comes when true evil darkens our doorsteps, be the evil at my side.”
“If that is what you wish of me.” Orion bowed his head. “And just so you know, Your Majesty, I’ve always been on your side. As my father was.” His gaze softened.
“Your biscuits, Your Grace.” Reginald returned with a silver tray stacked to the capacity with a smorgasbord of confectionaries and a rainbow’s worth of macarons. “Do enjoy them. I sorted them myself. Alphabetically, as you had requested.”
“Splendid, my good man, your reputation is well-earned,” Orion said with a chipper tone in his voice as he popped a lime green macaron into his mouth. “By the Old Gods, these are magnificent.”
“Careful, Your Grace, wouldn’t want you to choke on it,” Reginald said.
“I shall do my very best to not disappoint you.” The young Lord then proceeded to take hefty gulp from his teacup.
“So tell me, Lord Abrasax…” Celestia spoke from behind her own ornate teacup, a mischievous smile dancing on her muzzle. “Just how many mares have you bedded since you arrived home?”
Orion did an immediate spit-take all over the old butler.
Reginald gave a blank, half lidded stare before ruffling the drops of tea from his overgrown mustache. “Very good spray, Your Grace,” he said flatly.
The young Lord hammered at his chest and coughed, swearing a piece of macaron had lodged itself somewhere at the back of his throat. “By the Maker, what kind of a bloody question is that?”
Celestia laughed out loud. “Oh, Orion, even after all these years, you still get so easily flustered over mares. I personally don’t see what the problem is. You’re single, handsome, one of Equestria’s most eligible bachelors—”
“With all due respect, Your Majesty, my love life is none of your concern.” Orion cleared his throat. “In fact, it’s not anypony’s concern. Why is everypony so obsessed with me getting it on with a mare?” He threw his arms in the air.
“And these just came out the cleaners, too.” Reginald mumbled under his breath.
Shrouded in shadow from upon the tallest tower of the Grand Palace, a desolate pair of cyan eyes gazed upon the three souls in the middle of the garden. An ethereal mane of sapphire blue bore the stars that lit up the darkened horizons like diamonds in the night. Her cutie mark, the majestic moon, was a testament to her birthright. As much as the regalia which adorned her slender frame.
A thousand years had passed, and upon her redemption, her true name and throne had been restored to her. Even then, the Equestria she knew and loved was gone. No longer did they look upon their Princess with eyes of love and adoration, rather with repulsion and fear. She was no fool. She had seen their dreams, heard them whisper. Speaking lies born of spite and malice. Mares would scare their foals into behaving by invoking her name.
The Night Princess narrowed her gaze at the strange bipedal creature. He was unlike anything known to Equestria, and yet the ponies had willingly acknowledged him a stallion. Orion Caelum Abrasax, they called him, the Lord of House Abrasax. But as far as the tabloids were concerned, a name was all they knew.
They knew not his pain, his sorrows, his fears, and most of all, his dreams. Not in the way she did. As a Dreamwalker, she had seen what he had seen, felt what he had felt. She had spent years learning of his thoughts, his aspirations, and above all, his secrets. The Night Princess knew that her actions were ill at best, but this strange creature knew her pain in more ways than one. The pain of being lost in a world not their own, and to be scorned for something beyond their control.
Though nothing could prepare her for the future he intended to shape. She saw it in a dream once. It was a dream heralded upon the backs of mechanized chariots of gold, and a tidal wave of evil’s blood unlike anything Equestria, nor Equus had ever seen.
“And so it begins…” Princess Luna’s words came as soft as a psalm. “War.”
