> The Last Dragon Lord
>  by TheApostate
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> The Mother of Dragons
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------





‘Civilizations rise, and civilizations ground to dust as a result of our hubris. Rise and fall, fall and rise, such is the dance sempiternal of History.’



-Milkyaton, a popular Hippogriff historian.



‘Mother, a boat is approaching from the south.’

‘I see it.’ The air on the top of Mount Drakonin (also simply known as the Mountain) resonated with the simple reply of the Mother of Dragons. There she would lay in a makeshift stone throne between her periods of long slumber.

‘The young ones are asking if they can play with it. It also seems to be trying to impress you solely with its size,’ added Valyr, a black scale, purple eyes Validir. Second in size only to Cornelia, the Mother of Dragons and Last of the Magna Dracii, the Validir once played the role of what could be equated to an aristocracy for the Drakes, but one more based on size and physical potency rather than what is expected from the general aristocratic attributes of the more civilized parts of the world. Not that they cared for what the Small races thought of them.

‘Let it come, Valyr. Tell the others the Dragon Lord order it to be so.’ There was no emotion in her words; they felt mechanical. Nothing unusual for him. 

Valyr added that those who had ventured close had returned with the description of the yet-to-be-known creature. Some depicted it to be a Griffon, while others shared it was an equine of some kind with transparent wings. Cornelia did not care; whatever they were, it would be nice to meet new people. Particularly if they were of the more extravagant type. There was simply nothing happening on her islands that could amuse her. Everything operated smoothly and seamlessly on her isles. And for centuries, if not more, it had been the case.

‘Funny. Are you staying, Valyr?’

‘I need to mediate between Derkoma and Ophis. Again,’ he nearly cursed. ‘Aramunth should go in my instead if you want my opinion.’

‘If she had wanted him, she would have called for Aramunth. Just go.’ 

He nodded and departed, obeying the last of the Magna Dracii, the final representative of the Great Dragons that once roamed the Earth. For millennia until that point, she ruled her kind with an iron yet benevolent claw; none op­posed her, for none could. 

For all she ever knew of her kind – which was next to none – it only left her with sup­posing as them being an evolutionary dead-end. Created for some unknown reason – but most likely war. But the Dragon Lord cared little for her once-glorious species’ reason to be. They were said to reproduce little and possessed a lifespan far exceeding all extant creatures on Earth. Even the already quite old Validir shied in comparison to Cornelia’s age. It was said that the first of her strain lived for a millennium, but he was long dead by the time she came into being as her mother’s only child – a newborn never seen in centuries. And the last one at that. 

All her life, she had only known of her mother, with some vague, almost lost memories, of some third silhouette standing next to the fleeting visage of who she thought was still her mother. Or maybe it was her mind playing games to torment her what pass as a vain effort for entertainment. Maybe. Regardless, Cornelia outlived her progenitor – she outlived everyone. Their names even sounded more and more fake as time passed. Cornelia was unsure if she had anyone that kept her company. In truth, she had begun to doubt even if others like her she had ever existed.



Typically no ship or individuals would dare venture toward her realm in fear of the very beings that inhabit it. If they would, it would mean to meet her or discover the last Magna Dracii on their own accord if they were of the more adventurous type. While in her earlier years, she would have forced the latter out for disturbing her peace, she grew to yearn for new experiences like these. And only in her domain would she be able to witness anything remotely different and exciting; she was too much of a force of nature to effectively act on her wish without provoking unintended destruction. 

For those somehow unaware of where they landed or not knowing where she slept, Cornelia would let them venture inland and enter her cavern. She would be amused upon seeing the small ones wonder at the sight of her frame. If she felt like it and saw enough courage in the intruders, Cornelia would ensue a conversation with them. In the case they remained, they would have found a monarch wary of her position. And behind her pristine white scales, unblemished from the passing centuries, keeping her seemingly forever young, was a girl longing for whatever would pass as company. Her subjects, and even those she called close advisors, kept a fair distance from the Dragon Lord. Terrified they were to anger Cornelia when she endlessly repeated just desiring a group to entertain her in the ever trickling down eternity of her existence. And even when they tried to forge closer ties with their Mother, she could not help but to feel they were mimicking empathy toward her.

While the intruders feared she may wish to keep them on her island, Cornelia would permit them the freedom to depart whenever they so desired but demanded that they come back and visit, forgetting the different way they perceived time and traveled. 

Only one of all the visitors she met had returned to once more converse with her. But he had come back old and barely the Hippogriff she remembered him being. He had brought with him his family and enough resources to last them days. They conversed with her without going deaf through a barrier generated with crystals that dampened considerably the echo she exuded. He told her of the goings-on in his little part of the world, a part she dearly desired to visit following their conversation. She had only her imagination to take her there, forging a cosmopolitan world of cities and green landscapes, inhabited by impossible animals and incredible diversity. However, eventually, they had to leave for the last time, leaving her only dreaming of a life she longed for. 

The only times Cornelia would get out from her cavern was when her sleeping crystal would require rest and recharging. The sunbathing of her immense body reinvigorated her; she felt the need to spread her wings but the sight of flying drakes in the distance and ships she observed from afar dissuaded any actions on the Dragon Lord part. It had been decades since Cornelia last flew freely. And every time she attempted to take flight, the Mother of Dragons wondered if she still would be able to take to the sky. By hiding in her cavern she could slumber for months with no disruption or impediment to her health. But those long stretches did nothing to prevent her mind from gradually and indivertibly unraveling. There was simply nothing happening.

The Drakes, all-mighty they might be and how much superior they perceived themselves, seldomly envisaged proving their dominance over the other lesser races of the world. Forming empires and great kingdoms beyond their islands would only put them on the same level as the small races. The Griffons offered little in terms of resources or a manageable population – so prone they were to rebel against whoever dared to dictate their own way, even if their rulers were of their own kind. Zebrica was a poor land with little things they cared about. Only Equus would be worthy enough for conquest, but the presence of prodigious mages and the subsequent rise of those Alicorns had put to rest any ambition they might have had. However, the additional existence of the Crystal Empire, which lands would have offered the Drakes a feast beyond measure, was enticing enough for them to attempt any sort of territorial expansion. Equal to what their rich isles could provide but in far, impossibly inscrutably far richer quantities. Not that the distance traveled concerned them, it would take them little time for them to reach the northern plains, but the Drakes feared the Empire. 

The Empire existed. When was it founded? Cornelia would have been there but had forgotten about it completely. Even Imperial chroniclers lost the true origins of their realm and the Imperial Family ruling over it in an unbroken line. But the Drakes’ efforts at conquest had been recorded well. One that failed with the entire expedition disappearing or returning with tales of impaled kin and plains littered with the corpses of the fallen. Her sister in spirit, the Validir Sunflame, was the one that insisted on leading the attack against the Crystal Empire. Like most, she was never heard of again in the aftermath, leaving Cornelia alone. At least, it was what her fragmented memory was conveying and what she had been telling to the young ones.

She would tell them that while others demanded to avenge the death of Sunflame, she elected to leave the matter to rest and not pursue it. She would convey it little, but at times she let slip that the loneliness was getting more straining and unbearable. An admission Valyr had heard and vowed not to let be divulged. 

They had known of the Empire for a time before – that she was sure. But it felt bizarre for her how it had never been conquered before. And then the flashes of a giant serpentine, mongrel thing sporting a maddened expression, speaking prosaically and in a way that had fascinated as much as it had revolted her, coursed her mind. The presence of Discord as arch-master of Equestria had not shown the most attractive auspices for an attack. The Meister of Chaos Absolute rose to rule this land during the dying days of the Great Chaos – when the once inviolable cycle of the Sun and Moon were broken for what felt like an entire age of the world. During that preferably forgotten chaotic period, the Drakes had slept through most of the incessant random back and for of the astral bodies. The Sun would rise little, while the Moon would remain in the sky for longer, cooling the Drakes and rendering their movements sluggish. And the complete opposite would also occur, nearly burning them through exposure alone.

Cornelia, in what she thought was a twisted trick of fate, seemed to have inherited all of the best attributes of her race – as far as she knew it to be true. Not only was she as tall as the highest peaks of her domain. Her eyes were described as possessing twice the diameter of Celestia’s height and colored in a gentle blue said to fill the creatures she fixated with a mixture of both tranquil and dread. Her claws were able to render any surface to smithereens with barely any effort. And her fiery breath was described capable of melting entire mountain ranges with ease – or had it been just a dream of hers? It had been centuries since she last unleashed it upon the world. Even though, compared to the power displayed by the Chaos Lord, she would have been barely an inconvenience to him.

Fortunately to her, he had remained in Equestria for a reason unknown. Some postulated as it was due to the magical potential of the land, while others affirmed it was just what he first set his gaze upon when he had awoken from whatever infernal ritual that brought him into being. Or it was because he liked the strawberry found in the expansive forests of Equestria. Cornelia liked to think it was to taunt her into a foolish move to toy with her.

When the Alicorn Sisters rose in Equestria and the Cycle’s restoration that followed, Cornelia sent some of her own to ascertain the meaning behind such a turn of fate. The Princesses, later on, returned the gesture to the Drakes. Some years later, Celestia would be the first of the two to meet with the Dragon Lord in one of her first forays in non-Equusian diplomacy. While the proceedings went on with no animosity, Cornelia could not help but perceive who she called “the Equestrian Monarch” in a bad light. Behind the veneer of a calm, almost disgustingly beatific visage, the smell of deceit reeked ever so slightly perceivably from her. Celestia’s presence alone inspired Cornelia with little confidence in the truth of her words. She acted more like the isolated Ophis. And he was not the most beloved of the select group that were the Validir. However, Luna, in a later visit she undertook on her own accord, had proven to be more of Cornelia’s liking. Luna addressed her more directly. Expressing behind a thin veil of sarcasm, which her sister had kept buried under her honeyed words, of keeping a vigilant eye on the Dragon Lord. And Cornelia could not blame them for thinking so. At least Luna was more sincere on that front. A first impression that Cornelia had offered to replicate in a future meet up; which Luna had accepted. Though her visits were spaced out in time, both rulers developed a close bond.



The visitor landed, and behind it, a congregation of hooded individuals followed in unison. Her children left the beach alone, gathering in the rocky hills and the recesses of the Eye to spy on those rare visitors.
> The Perennial
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------





‘In eternity, obsessions are the only things that keep the mind sane.’



-Cerin Ayaera, Prosperin philosopher.



Since times immemorial, the Dragon Isles were described for their unique natural wonders; rich escarpments and mountains harboring the most prolific mines of precious gems, only second to those found in the cursed Crystal Empire, were what rendered the Isles the pride of their inhabitants. Where the Empire would share a modicum of its mines’ fruits with Equestria and the world, the Dragons guarded them fiercely for use as exquisite meals for the celebration of the Winter Solstice. During the celebration, all Drakes would unleash their flames at once – except for Cornelia – before the start of their hibernation until the Equinox of Spring, when another feast would be held. The sorcerer clenched his ruby necklace, hiding it beneath his plain-looking apparel, enlacing it with a spell of obfuscation. He knew the foul things could smell it.

Yet, in his long life, Maloghurst seldom ventured there to observe those truly wonderful spectacles – everyone seldom ventured there. While beautiful through natural wonders and geography, the Dragons, unfortunately, had taken the Isles as their home. And, in his opinion, desecrated them completely. Sometimes, utterly – the Feast of Claws on Smaug Island came to mind. There, a once verdant island existed once but the Validir had transformed it into the grounds of their annual tournament occurring on the day of the Summer Solstice. Surprisingly enough, Celestia had never been invited by the autonomous Ignovians to the opening ceremony of lighting up the Eternal Flame more incandescently with the black oaks of the western Charcoal Woods. Forests, the Drakes had not settled, preferring the proximity to their feeding source while having a picturesque view to look at.

In the Dovashore and the Spiky North, lay the crystal mines the Drakes used for sustenance. However, these only were finite resources. Under the Mountain the Dragon Lord had taken for residence, a secretive group of Drakes known as the Crystal Singers cultivated the precious stones in the immense chthonian depths. The means utilized are only undertaken by those with a great will to withhold the mental duress put on them. For centuries have they been in their act, and not even the Dragon Lord herself could force her will upon them. They are sacrosanct individuals; if harm ever would come to one of their numbers, be it from a drake or one of the small races, you would have the entirety of Dragon kind on your back. The experience of a past Validir exiled to the eastern archipelago and left to die a slow death for simply injuring one of the Crystal Singers was proof enough and a lesson of the seriousness of their status is taken. Ophis had been put, by the Singers’ request, as their group’s nominal leader. Though he never ruled them – the bolstering was enough of a reward in and on itself.



The shore made itself apparent in the distance, a black sand beach barely perceivable without getting a few meters from it (or a few apples away, like the Equestrians would tend to say in their [REDACTED] ways). As he landed, he recalled hearing of the Crimson Isle, a part of the greater micro-archipelago of the Eastward Islands, whose sands were colored red from iron deposits. On the Crimson Isle, since times immemorial, the Validir would congregate to lay down their differences without resolving to infighting and senseless feuding through honor duels or simple sport. The Dragon Lord would have typically presided over the attendance, but Cornelia had broken this tradition – she frankly stopped caring for the young ones’ short-sided tribulations and aspirations. Ironically enough, per Drakonian legends, the sand’s vermillion color was a result of the first Validir shedding his blood to signal for the rest of his kin the cost of constant fighting following a series of almost mythological battles that had dwindled the Validir to a shadow of their once glory.

He moved inland, letting the hideous things that are the Drakes peer down at him with malicious gazes. Where the Validir and the Magna Dracii are all majestic indeed; almost sculpted to perfection with their pristine leathery wings, immaculate teeth, and sharp jaws. The others – the vast majority of the race and what can be considered as the common flock – are tall compared to other races but still smaller in height than their counterparts. Some were earthbound, most had wings, and of the latter, a portion would have bat-like wings instead of the back-bound wings. 

Where in other races some individuals would be called beautiful, Maloghurst found it difficult to ascertain what a beautiful Dragon must look like outside very rare exceptions. He had been told as having an utterly divergent sense of aesthetics – and it might as well be true – but he noted what the different cultures and races considered attractive throughout their existences. The crushing majority of which he did not fall into, except perhaps for the dirt-ridden Hounds. But he had to admit: they are indeed diverse in their looks. In this aspect, he considered them beautiful. 

Immediately, he was greeted with the most iconic sight of the Isles; the Eye of the Mother. The Mountain of Cornelia rests in the center of this truly gigantic geological structure of fifty kilometers in diameters (or a few hundred giant gallons of apple cider made according to the Albion standard) seemingly created in ages impossibly long ago – even before any of the sapient races of the world had evolved. The greater structure was made of an ensemble of ripples formed in concentric circles separated by river valleys said to have been carved by Cornelia herself – but as with most things in her life, she forgot if she had invested herself in its formation whatsoever. Water ran freely, but little to no trees grew on the riverside; the old volcanic rock was too infertile for anything to be sustained in. For the earthbound Drakes to head toward Cornelia, a great path had been sculpted by the Great Dragon – and for some reason, she recalled it quite keenly. Makeshift bridges had been constructed; simple in design and look, but beautiful in their own simple way. Only around those bridges, trees would grow. Squamata, as Protector of the Wooden Lands, insisted to her peers and Cornelia to arrange those passes as a way to properly honor their Mother. 



Maloghurst approached the Great Dragon’s Mountain with an assured walk, confidence reeking out of him like the stench of his degraded frame. The Drakes smelled his rotting limbs from the distance; it appalled them, liberating his sharp eyes from their sight. The Perennial’s body was somehow both putrefying and stagnating in form and vigor simultaneously. He was not dying, nor was he exulting with life – Maloghurst just existed. And existed he had.

Syln, a powerfully built Validir and latest great winner of the Feast of Claws, unbothered by the sorcerer’s stench, blocked the congregation’s path to his Mother. Syln’s deep green scales lacked the threatening feel like others of his kind would at first inspection. However, a more pronounced glance showed scars and empty patches of scales strewing his skin. His silver claws showed the sign of battle wear, and his long tail indicated extensive use. But Maloghurst was little impressed. He only saw the last remnants of a dying strain. Of all the Validir, only three were female; with only one, Derkoma, having a descendant able to bear children. He might be vile to them, but the Dragons’ propensity for self-destruction baffled him for how contradictory it was to the evolutionary norms of every race extant in that world. 

The Validir asked Maloghurst in a carefully chosen tone to convey his origins before meeting the Great One, as Syln implied. Maloghurst grinned at first, amused to hear such beasts would care for history or know anything outside of their precious islands. He had no desire in disputing the Validir – it was too hot for his liking to display his debating skills. A few days-old volcanic eruptions had yet to have their heat fully dissipate.

The sorcerer introduced himself to the Validir with a calm tone, giving off the patience of death and the weight of countless centuries behind every word he uttered. Maloghurst had difficulty completely recalling his origins – if at all. From what he conveyed to Syln was that he once was a Griffon, or possibly a Pegasus, or probably any strain of equine-kind; he wasn’t sure himself – it was so long ago. Maloghurst was there when civiliza­tions rose from the dirt of the river banks upon which the first city was established. He was there when the equine tribes united to form Equestria. He was there when the first nations rose in Griffus. He was there when the fires of Trinity swept the continent. And he was there when civilizations began to delve into the darker mysteries of magic. Cultures were still figuring out the extent to which they could utilize the magical talents of the few gifted with it. Many struggled, particularly those harboring the naturally gifted Unicorns, in those early days – but he had mastered it like none other. He extended his life in all manners he taught himself. Maloghurst skinned, stole the life essence, hacked his rotting limbs to replace them with freshly cultivated ones, cast foul spells of his creation, and evaded countless assassinations. He passed through impossible odds, improved himself, and outlived all those that once challenged him. He was what all his moniker signified – he was the Perennial.

If his memory served him right, he had been brought to be an equerry in the court of some monarch in Zebrica or was born as a simple farmer in what is now Vedina. And probably may have been the descendant of the first Thestral dynasty that once ruled parts of northern Equus – the name of which neither he nor History recall, just a few remnants they left after their collapse still tell of a once glorious past for their isolated people. Or simply it was just his victims’ memories playing with his own – who could say. Not even the conclave he once presided over, and his now-dead confidantes could have said. The soul is a fickle thing, acting on its own uncontrollable whims. The conclave had been wrought of the same roughage as Equestria and always dabbled in the deepest recesses of the esoteric that let its users revel in their creations and the liberty it would offer them.

For the most part, it had been his life, acting in his corner and untrammeled by the outside in some kind of foul pact strock to provide the means and peace it would assure. He had even gone to the length of protecting the villages under his rule from outside predations during the Great Chaos. But it had all come crushing down when the Two arose. Ever since he had been fleeing the devastation Luna had brought upon him in her campaign to rid Equestria completely of their taint. The power she had showcased devastated nearly all cells his conclave had occupied, with him barely escaping with his life and the few grimoires when the Equestrians moved into his laboratory. They had never aligned with Discord, but the actions of some rogue elements had been enough to incur Luna’s wrath. Many members were often taken off-guard in their personal crafting chambers. There was no clemency shown; Luna was indiscriminate with those beings. For her it was clear; they profaned life and, in turn, did not deserve to live.

In his isolation, Maloghurst did not remain idle, however. He toiled in secret with the meager resources at his disposal to retake his place of rightful dominance. To then ascend as head of the disparate elements of the myriad of cults and cabals which, following their nominal leader’s slaying, had been fleeing Celestia’s last push instead of her sister and were hiding away from them. The fact the leader-thing had been slain, to begin with, had surprised Maloghurst. But it was a welcomed gift from cursed Luna’s part nonetheless. 

However, Syln was only vaguely told of the sorcerer’s ambitions. Lest to say, Maloghurst hated Luna and, by association, her sister as well. Centuries passed, and his hatred never subsided. 

Syln smiled, but his instincts were telling him to not let Cornelia meet the fetid creature. But she had let Maloghurst move forward; he would never challenge Cornelia’s decision.

He knew it was wrong, but the knowing pressure in his mind was telling him to comply with whom he had always called his Mother.
> The Offer
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------





‘Always inspect the merchandise before making a deal.’



-Thomas Warnek, Aquilean economist.



Maloghurst continued his ascension, untroubled by the juniors frustrating gaze, remembering why he religiously avoided children. Horrible things better kept to their parents’ care to destroy their lives. A thing that surprised him was how promptly regular individuals were ready to dispose of their young – almost to an all too playful manner. It was always perturbing to see how they committed massacres beyond his initial instructions. Cruelty seemed to be ingrained in every creature – the Equestrians ironically displaying it more prominently than any other. In fact, he saw more Equestrians performing these acts than Griffons.

His procession kept a fair distance from him but not far enough for them to be caught unnoticed by the more playful Dragons. Syln gave him a final apprehensive glance and left, walking toward the Eye’s eastern edge, next to the Woods edging on Squamata’s fief. Aramunth waited for him, leisurely relaxing between the Sun and trees’ shadows with some of his flock. 

‘And your instincts fail you again!’ Aramunth joyfully proclaimed, waving away his company. ‘You should have followed the order.’

‘It is wrong. Something is not right.’

‘Every loss to Valyr proves something, no? Your uncanny instinct can falter.’

He stiffened his pose. ‘I let Valyr win for him to save face in front of others. He can get really jealous. He-he.’

‘Like Derkoma says: “when you are average in everything, you tend to get jealous of everything”,’ he chuckled.

‘She was referring to you in that one. I was there when she said it. Valyr knows how to fight and have-’

‘Also good fights?’ he quietly laughed.

‘Ah-ha! That’s why I like being around you!’

‘You don’t see me complaining. Ophis, though…’

‘Look… Aramunth… I know where you are going with it. So, let me conclude by saying that he is, indeed, an orifice.’

‘Just because he always lands last does not mean he is bad. Just get over it,’ said Aramunth, a tad annoyed by Syln’s posturing.

‘Give me two or three centuries to think about it.’

‘Sure. Take your time.’ 

It was Syln’s time to chuckle.


 



****




‘Dragon Lord,’ the sorcerer hissed in an oddly perceivable voice. ‘I am Maloghurst, the Perennial.’

‘What are you hiding, thing?’ Even with her initial stupor at the fluidity of his voice, she was mostly disinterested in the small one’s presence.

‘I am a mage, Dragon Lord,’ he bitterly corrected. 

She did not care for his title. ‘What are you hiding, mage-thing?’

‘I won’t perturb you much, Drake. So, I will cleave directly to my intention: I require your assistance.’

She restrained a laugh, letting it out in a loud giggle. Cornelia then spoke in a resonating whisper, ‘Very well, little sorcerer. Show me what you and your clique have to present me with.’

He despised her tone. But in his intent, he presented Cornelia with his creations. Things wrought from the survivors of the wreckage of griffonian vessels and augmented to become instruments of his war. A war to help him carve an empire in the south of Equus and the islands connecting it to Zebrica. And threw between the mention of each unbelievable goal some bits of his past – but assured her that Syln knew it all. Maloghurst took pleasure in keeping the most interesting parts hidden into what he deemed was superlative proof of his skills as a storyteller. The Sisters had left the area devoid of their presence at this point in time, and by striking into the left behind places, he considered himself as a future contender to their rule. They formed an empire that lacked imperial monarchs and the name that goes with it, restricting the land for their people alone. And so, when the coveted land would be under his control, he would allow the last Great Dragon to freely sail the sky of his realm, granting her total freedom of movement. While he had not stated it, Cornelia was sure that the Sisters’ powers would be not far from his list of prerogatives. Celestia and Luna had alluded of it being the goal of many enemies they faced early on. With Celestia referring to it as being a frankly dull and unoriginal goal – “a total lack of originality on their part,” she had said. 

The Dragon Lord peered closely at the hooded things. They were Griffons in body alone, their wings and legs stripped from them and replaced with sturdy, spider-like limbs, contorting easily in all manner of form and permitting the half-dead Griffons to easily walk wherever their master would command. Some appeared dead, their eyes bleached with their head barely keeping a straight posture because of their half-rotten necks. Others looked directly at the Dragon Lord with still full eyes, but they were ones filled with artificially subsided dread. Not in fear of her, but it was a gaze born from the scars of the surgeries Maloghurst performed upon them. It was a look simply demanding to make it all end.

The memories of her old Hippogriff companion sparked, Cornelia gradually rose her immense frame, the ground around the sorcerer trembled, and Dragons in the distance fled at the sense of perceived danger, while others moved forward to their liege, only backing off to an unuttered order. Syln resisted, but a piercing glare from azure eyes obligated him at the same level as his lesser.

Cornelia let out a light chuckle, prompting the thing to embed their limbs into the rock in an all too mechanical motion. ‘Explain to me why should I even consider – even for a modicum – to assist you in that all so obviously ill-fated quest of yours? You are presenting me with aberrant things. Creatures of foulness and detestability. Things you have used to distract yourself within the eternity you have gifted yourself. And look at yourself – you are mad. Derange and lost to your own hate. I care not for the power and freedom you are offering. If you want anything coming close to solace in your life, thing; I can offer you death. A quick, merciful end to a life of misery in reach of a goal unattainable. It is, believe me, your best and most worthwhile outcome than to end in another more gruesome one. Now, Maloghurst, tell me – do you want to die?’

But she did not receive the answer expected from this supposed last remnant of an age of myth. More of those mongrels abruptly appeared in front of her and a myriad of emplacements, veiled by the exotic magic wielded by Maloghurst. A piercing howl followed, wrenching the air apart, pushing all traces of it out of the path of the vibration. It rendered her movement null. Her wings retracted, and the claws kept fixed on the rocky slope, clenching it until it was turned to dust. Her scales resonated intensely and crackled at the impossible sound. She tried to open her mouth and burn the damned sorcerer, but her mouth refused to comply at the command. Maloghurst observed with a maddened gaze the last Magna Dracii struggling to resist the onslaught of noise. 



She managed to retreat somewhat into her cavern, but an ill maneuver of hers broke its ceiling on her back.

The fragmenting of the mighty and proud Drakes. The breaking of such power. The fact that she will soon be under his unwavering thrall was stimulating. After all these years, he still had not lost it – he still had the capability to wrought destruction. Maloghurst clenched the necklace beneath his clothes. It had been a gift – he was absolutely sure of it. From whom, though, he did not remember. But it had always been with him – he had always worn it. And his tic had never left him. 

Maloghurst relished that moment; so close was he to his ultimate victory. The entire race suffered as their Mother did. Soon, his revenge would be enacted. 

It… was… fascinating… 

On his own, he forced an entire race to kneel. Soon, he will become their new lord. 

The skin of the smaller Drakes unraveled, and their wings disintegrated. Their muscles liquefied into putrid goo. The eggs burst, letting the embryos slide dead on the rocky ground before turning into an unrecognizable jelly of flesh and blood. Syln and Aramuth, beset by half of Cornelia’s numbers, felt their muscles atrophied, and the blood vessels of their eyes burst.

Then the noises began to wane – the cacophonies were dying through the same process designated to subdue the Dragon Lord.

Cornelia managed to open a single eye. Their beaks were cracking and shattering; eyes burst out of their sockets or simply detonated in a soundless deflagration of gore; their feathers had been long gone, and the now exposed skin began to melt at the force of the vibrations, tearing and ripping their bodies apart. The blood-covered damned creatures appeared as red dots on the brown rocks. The legs of all began to break. Their eyes jutted out. Some regained consciousness, comprehending the inconceivable grim reality of their situation. They stopped to regain control of a body they were once its master. The liberated mongrels peered in dread at the giant drake. Azure blue eyes looked back at them in a predator’s glare, piercing, uncompromising, and cold. There was no hatred, no emotion in them; the beast had the aura of a killer. Then the pain rushed into their newly awoken minds, paralyzing them in impossible agony and maddening them to an instant. Using what was once their claws, the now sentient Griffons killed themselves before the tremors or the Great Dragon could deny them their last free act. 

Cornelia gradually regained control of her functions and raised her claw toward the mesmerized Maloghurst. But the claw was caught in an invisible shield, holding its integrity under mild duress only a few meters from him while he prevented her from raising the second deadly instrument. The Great Dragon did not relent. She pushed further as something primordial took hold of her. 

Sparks grizzled in the air. Taking notice of them, Maloghurst amplified their intensity, provoking the beginning of a roar as Cornelia hardly withheld. She forced her jaws shut. The few still living Griffons in his vicinity were forced back under his control, ordered to expend the last of their force on arresting the Dragon Lord’s resistance. 

Syln and Aramunth intervened to save their Mother, putting aside her orders and letting the headache take root in them. If only a dozen had been able to force them into their knees, they could not begin to fathom the tremendous pain Cornelia was being put through. 

They raged and raged, clawing at full force the barrier, desperately attempting to tear it open. The electric jolts amplified but failed to dissuade them. But the sorcerer shield resisted even the additional might of the two Validir; their strength increasingly diminishing at every hit.

Aramunth, losing his mind from the impossible shrieks, put aside their ill-fated attempt and began digging at the barrier’s rim. Concentrating all his strength on his forward arms, Aramunth removed huge chunks of ground; the shield followed the carved geography in a spherical fashion. The Validir grabbed another chunk of ground, though his arms refused to answer his orders. He was losing his breath – and it gave him an epiphany. He turned toward the equally tired Syln and urged him to cease. Motioning his plan, the two smothered the rocks in flames, raising their temperature. Maloghurst held on the second claw faltered and Cornelia thundered it on the barrier. A brief lull in the cacophony stretched in an invisible wave as the claw hit. Another hit. Again. And again. Two fingers broke, but she continued to rain hits on the Perennial. Maloghurst did not back off, grabbing from within all the magic he possessed. His features lost their fake youth. He began to truly rote. He expended more magic to keep his body one. 

The barrier briefly flickered under the tremendous kinetic energy of the Dragon Lord. Cornelia’s claws fell on the Perennial, burying the sorcerer and whatever abomination caught in her revenge underneath, leveling the nearly liquefied rocks. Ending the life of Maloghurst with one simple motion. But Maloghurst had not found himself cursing and damning the creatures and decisions that took him to the end of the ordeal that had been his life. It had not been idle, however. It had not been a boring one. He regretted not being able to visit the Crystal Empire one last time. Of all the places he had ever ventured to, it was the only place he found himself returning to more often. He could not pinpoint the reason why he expressed such adoration to the Empire. As the claws closed in, quick images conjured themselves in his mind’s eyes. Maloghurst, the Perennial, the Warlock of Eternity, and the former head of the Cabal of the Veracious Bearers, died with a grin illuminating a face that never was his. It had been, all things considered, a good life.



The two Validir’s fire reached her, scorching the Dragon Lord on the chest and the legs – scaring and melting her scales. They ceased just as she thundered in a roar said to have been heard to the borders of the Crystal Empire. An impossible sound rippled through the air, stunning all in motion as it swept through unhindered, transforming into the deadly strike of hundreds. She rose waves that only died on the kilometers-far continental coast. 

Cornelia staggered at first, rising to her full height and spreading her wings in all their ancient majesty. She peered down at the two Validir, freezing them in place as they were distancing themselves to let their Mother a path for her to rest. 

They had attacked her. 

They were going to assail her once more.

They were going to kill her. To kill her kind for their own power. For their own ambitions.

Maloghurst was not dead; he lived. He still lived! They were his accomplices!

She would be no weapon to be brandished. She was the last Great Dragon, and until her body fails of its own accord, she will be the Last Dragon Lord.

Cornelia unleashed her internal rage. Aramunth was the first to get caught in her fury, boiling his scales away like water. His blood vessels exploded as the vapors were desperate to find their way out. The eyes became filled with red, blinding him completely. He could not breathe anymore as his lungs shut close. The skin oozed out from its holds, letting the exposed bones melt into nothingness. His teeth had been gone alongside the entirety of his skull, vaporized in the first second of the three Aramunth’s death had taken.

Syln was partially caught in the blue flames, scorching half the surface of his body. The pain felt was nothing the hundred-time victor of the Feast of Claws experienced. Then it vanished as his heart started pumping faster. His brain told him to stop all movements, but Syln had to calm down Cornelia. He spread his wings. Then an immense jolt coursed through his being. Syln lost consciousness; he let himself fall from the cliff.
> The Calamity
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------





‘Fire is just nature’s hygiene.’



-Tarrask Varanus.



Survival instinct took hold, and the rage she felt could not be abated. Cornelia rose to her full height and descended the Mountain, set on scorching her realm of Maloghurst’s taint.

For the first time in the lives of all, they observed a ball of deep blue flames engulfing the sky above the Dragon Lord’s throne. For a moment, a second sun was blazing brightly above in the heavens. They thought Cornelia was calling for them. As they approached, flames hacked down on their numbers. 

They ran, congesting the air in their flock. Cornelia aimed and disgorged bleu rage. The Woods were set ablaze, filling the air with the black smock of millennia-old trees and the evaporated water of the rivers. Those that had not died from the flames suffocated as the dark debris clogged their lungs. They then fell in their hundreds, breaking their bones or dying on impact. The survivors that could limp away from the carnage fled to the closest caverns, even striving to seek refuge with the Crystal Singers. Though even they were unsure if their status would be enough to protect them. Nevertheless, headed by Karendas, a Crystal Singer that had served his coven for 373 years and an old drake by then, guided many hundreds to safety. Until a pair of enraged azure eyes noticed them. A second later, flames reached Karendas and his followers. They rose defenses, exerting their formidable minds considerably as she first hit. A second fiery deluge and they were incinerated by who they had once called Mother. The Crystal Singers closed the entrances, outing all those that had entered, hoping Cornelia won’t crumble their ancient dwelling. And still, they would not countenance letting hope dictate their ways – the Crystal Singers retreated deeper into the cavernous underground. 

More fled. Crystal Singers had been killed, and Validir had been killed; they were all going to feel the end of the Last Dragon Lord’s fire. And they knew not of the reason why. The Eye’s walls crumbled into piles of magma and the field of crystals melted into a liquid mesh of infused colors. Dragons went to hide in the confusing labyrinths the crystals formed, to only be swallowed by the cascading rumble of crystal. 

One swing of her wings sent whole flocks plummeting down to their fate. Trees were wrenched, rocks turned, and rivers were drained of water.

Squamata raced toward the fire, using his wings to divert the harmful gas. He ordered survivors to join his side, even though he had to relent as the Validir’s senses dulled from the lack of oxygen.

He landed to catch his breath. Squamata lifted himself between her and the fleeing smaller Drakes, hoping desperately to make Cornelia return to reason. But Squamata saw the hulking bulk of Cornelia soaring toward him. Midair, she grabbed him by the neck with her jaws, throwing him to the ground. With a swift move of her claw, she cut his stomach open, letting the viscera drip out of his guts. He tried to reason with his Mother, but his words were cut brutally short as she plunged her teeth into his neck, riving it apart.



Chordata flew behind Cornelia and clawed at the Dragon Lord’s neck. Cornelia reeled, motioning her neck ceaselessly with great force as more Drakes joined the Validir. Some attacked Cornelia with their breath, trying to deplete the oxygen around her.

She crushed them with her teeth, shredding them into piles of disintegrated meat. Cornelia grabbed Chordata’s wings. The Validir entered all her claws deeper into Cornelia’s flesh. Blood spilled out, and Cornelia continued to pull unbothered; Chordata felt her wings’ bond to the body dissipate. Then, in a rapid pull, the wings were torn off, and the Validir’s limbs broke under the impossible strain put by Cornelia. Chordata bellowed in excruciating pain, lost to her Mother’s roar. She clenched her teeth in the last effort to withhold the pain. 

But eventually, even the most defiant had to concede defeat. Chordata had no strength left in her. In desperation, she let off, letting herself fall in an attempt to converse with the vengeful Magna Dracii.

Before any word could be uttered, Cornelia impaled Chordata with her claw before swiftly and effortlessly removing them, letting the blood and viscera scatter the rocks and the nearby Drakes. Somehow no important organs were hit, but her arteries had been struck, but Chordata knew none of it.

‘Why, Cornelia!’ she cried out. ‘What have we done!?’

‘You are corrupted!’ she powerfully boomed. ‘You are in liaise with the sorcerer! Trying to bring down our kind!’

‘W-’ The claw plunged back. Cornelia moved it inside the dying Chordata, rippling through her body in an aggravating sensation that left her almost paralyzed. ‘What sorcerer!’ she managed to shout. 

‘The Perennial! Your master! You are all his abominations!’

‘B-but you are our master… You al-ways wer-’ She tasted blood now. Chordata knew her time was ever so limited. ‘Mother…’ she cried out with all her sorrow from a mouth full of blood. ‘… I beg of you to not kill us. Please. We knew not of this Perennial’s intentions! We followed you… We always did. Excuse us, Mother. We…’ Her heart’s beating accelerated and breathing became an effort on its own, the Validir’s body desperately trying to keep her alive as she slipped into the ever-night. ‘… we are terribly sorry for having failed you.’

The claw clenched, but no more pain was registered by the dying Validir. 

‘I accept my death. You ordered me to die… Then so be it.’

‘He has ordered you!’ she rasped.

‘My Mother has ordered me…’ And Chordata slipped forever into her final goodnight.

Cornelia removed her blood-stained claw. She peered lengthily at Chordata’s corpse, expecting her to rise from the dead. But the night had truly fallen on the Validir’s mind. The rage abated. She now tasted Squamata’s blood, poisoning her breath and sense of smell with its irony scent. The hanging pieces of meat between her teeth tasted foul. Her stomach turned. She felt the puke ascending to her mouth, holding on to it back.

‘I am no tool…’ she repeated to herself, unable to contain the mounting grief. ‘I am the Dragon Lord. I am the Mother of Dragons!’ she bellowed.

Her children were truly frightened, they were escaping their home, resisting the unknowingly uttered order. They were fleeing her. Centuries. Centuries! Centuries of existence. Of witnessing the Isles thrive under her, all gone. And Cornelia herself was the culler. 

Perhaps… Perhaps, she was a weapon. Perhaps there had been no Magna Dracii before her. Cornelia tried to recall her mother’s face but only was met with a blur, nothing but empty shapes occupying a background she had become dull to – she had forgotten her past. Were her memories another trick of the mind? Has she fabricated her entire past? Had her kind existed beyond her? Were Sunflame and the others real? Has it all been a lie she made herself believe? Cornelia wasn’t sure anymore. 

Maybe she had always been intended to be her race’s end? That sorcerer had awakened the thing within – a predator she had forgotten its existence. She was no mother. She was nothing but a tool to an end – a thing to kill her own. 

‘I am the Mother of Dragons…’ she said aloud, grasping every word as life support.

Her mind churned in search of a reason. An excuse for having perhaps doomed her children – to the reason why she couldn’t remember the faces of the previous Great Dragons. 

Cornelia was lost and confused. Never in her life had she come across such thoughts. It had been so peaceful not a day before. She had let Maloghurst get close… But why? Why had she permitted herself to be this lax…? Why now? 

Now or later, why would it matter? The day would have come regardless of when you would awake to your past self – to be what you are.

‘Enough!’ Not knowing to whom the order was directed, but the Drakes heeded her and ceased in their track – compelled to turn toward her. Valyr, Derkoma, and Ophis could do nothing but peer in bewilderment at the carnage unleashed. The once clear sky filled with black clouds and the smell of burned wood and seared flesh. And in the midst, the sullied body of Cornelia appeared closer to a thing of nightmares – a monster – than their liege and Mother. 

One day or the other, you would have snapped. More would have died. The corrupted and the pure. The innocent and the guilty. The sturdy and the frail. The honest and the deceitful. The Mother of Death; in a way, you always were her.

Cornelia had failed her kind. She failed herself. Maloghurst was the trigger and the escape of her long-dormant insanity. 

Taking her claw, she carved an incision in the place Syln and Aramuth had unwantedly wounded her. The wound never went far past the upper skin, but enough for blood to trickle out and fall on Chordata’s ruined corpse.

A final order was uttered, commanding her children to stay far from her. And for the last time, Cornelia took flight in direction of the continent, leaving the Drakes unsure of their Mother’s true motives.
> The Aftermath
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------





‘And you, my father, look how things are bright; bright in the dark bay.’



-Unknown poet.



‘Excuse me?’ demanded Celestia to the kneeling Duke of Fillydelphia and the Countess of Dappleshore with an ever so obfuscated hint of worry beneath her voice but noticeable enough to make Luna’s ears twitch. ‘The Dragon Lord has gone mad?’

‘Yes, your Highness,’ he answered, keeping his tone assured and his eyes away from both Sisters.

‘I am surprised she has awakened for once,’ jokingly added Luna. ‘And it would explain the thunder we heard.’

Celestia briefly smiled on the side. ‘Is there material damage to be deplored?’

‘No, my Lady. However, Baltimare, we, and others would require assistance in providing for the injured Dragons.’

‘How many are still trickling in?’ asked Luna.

‘We did not conduct a census-’

‘So, great numbers?’ she insisted.

‘Yes, but when we’ve left, they were sustainable numbers. We can accommodate for the foreseeable situation. But we are not experts in their biology – mages are required.’

Celestia spoke. ‘The request is granted, Duke Jade Jester. We-’

‘Equip them,’ added Luna with all the authority of her title. ‘Equip those able.’ 

‘The levees and militias were already partially raised, your Majesty. All mages are all on full readiness.’

Luna nodded and began to utter a word, but the older sister spoke in her stead. ‘We will convey to address it further with our advisors. There, you and the Countess can present the further needs of the Dragons more clearly together. However, before parsing more of the matter – may you leave us alone?’

He bowed, still not making eye contact, and left, constantly wondering if he had conducted himself properly in front of his rulers. 

‘Can we survive the Dragon Lord?’ inquired Celestia, letting her concern out to Luna.

‘We will. Because… simply we will,’ she answered dourly, almost annoyed by the question.

Celestia returned with a quiet acceptance of the fact. In all their years, there had been little to prove them the contrary. Both of them are immortal after all – they had to eventually come to terms with it. Immortal, but not un-immune to a well-placed wound or the wrath of a Magna Dracii. Her time with Cornelia had proven it.

Luna continued. ‘Equestria can be rebuilt in time, but I don’t want to have all these lives on my conscience.’ She paused to turn. ‘I will lead armies down south-’

‘You will pass the jungles?! Are you mad?’

‘I know what I ought to do, Celestia,’ she nearly snarled. ‘Firstly, however, I will contact Valyr on my own; better to not provoke them with a false display of force.’

‘True. You want me to follow you?’

‘No,’ she asserted. ‘Secondly, when I finish with Valyr, only the Pegasi will follow me south; the others will stand on the outskirts. You can stay here and stand vigil around Canterlot and the region surrounding. Also, tell Jade Jester and whatever the other ones are named to prepare the Dragons they have under custody for a potential engagement. Even if only as basic auxiliary forces.’

‘They are injured, Luna. They will not be too welcoming of such demands.’

‘Just do what I say. If they want to dream of a future in Equestria, they should fight for Equestria. I trust you to fulfill these demands.’ She walked away from the thrones.

‘Of course,’ relented Celestia.

‘I’ve sent the order for local levees. I expect it to be complete in a week,’ she felt the need to add.

Celestia raised her eyebrows and then quickly rested them. ‘Will it be enough?’

‘At the start – yes.’

‘At the start…’ she worried.

‘I will make sure it does not evolve past “the start”…’ She doubted herself for a moment, but her sister needed reassurance.

‘Good luck… Stay safe.’

She halted. ‘I will. I promise.’ Luna’s half-smile did not sit well with Celestia, but Luna was gone before she could question her more. And Celestia wasn’t sure if she wanted to know the obvious.




****




Valyr and Derkoma landed on the ruined edge of the Mountain. Ophis had gone his own path – as was expected of him. He, quite surprisingly, seemed to have shown some modicum of care for creatures outside himself. Though it was perhaps to not finally turn his back on the corpses-strewed land. They could not judge him for no longer wanting to peer directly at the ruins of their domain. 

The two Validir friends kept the remains of Chordata and the corpse of Squamata purposefully from their field of vision. The only thing that kept them moving forth was the hope of finding Syln and Aramunth – or, at least, what could be left of them.

Deep down, Valyr had an awful suspicion of their fate but kept it from Derkoma. He never understood their relationship; she seldom sought his aid when disputes would break out, but she would jump directly to defend him if anything would occur. Though she never minded that. Aramunth never had been the sharpest of the bunch, instead boasting a carefree attitude that she found appealing. Valyr did not care enough to question Derkoma and Aramunth about the nature of their relationship, but he had always thought that he and Syln were closer. Again, he did not care. But their death would desolate him if it had turned out to be true.

Through their careful walk, one question plagued them: What happened? Why had Cornelia done it?



They grabbed a sharp rock and in the other claw an abrasive crystal.

They all gathered behind the ruined escarpments, their presence further hidden by the fumes of destruction and the heat of magma. 

In unison, they surged from the walls of the outer Eye in a prompt attack on the two unsuspecting Validir. They drowned their lords in fire, raising the temperature to unprecedented levels, forcing a retreat of the initial force for the second wave to come forth. One of the first wave lunged forward in front of her peers and plunged her make-shift weapons into Derkoma’s scales, piercing her skin. It took her little effort to crush the dragoness but then her fellows harried themselves upon their sovereigns – Derkoma clearly their main target. Another managed to reach the heart, to then be killed by Valyr’s rapid actions, still fending off his own assailers. They wanted to disgorge their internal inferno; the landscape reminded them how bad it would make them appear. 

Hundreds continued to pour onto the Validir. Every attacking Dragon was killed effortlessly, but they were determined and left slashes on their scales and cut deep into their exposed flesh. Gradually, Derkoma weakened, but Valyr, used to the damage Syln would inflict, was not openly bothered by them. Using his tail, he crushed flocks upon the confused ground. His wings hurled many more meters ahead, distracting them enough for his tail to cut them down in drove. Though in his action he had left his front almost exposed, and with the defense of Derkoma, injuries mounted rapidly. One managed to sneak past his attention and land a cut on his right arm, severing a vein and ripping muscles. Valyr readily ended the attacker’s life with a punch, slamming it to the ground and leaving nothing but a red dot. The pain was intense; his fingers ached from both motions. Yet he did not relent. He continued his battle. 

Derkoma had the leather of her wings torn open. While distracted by his assailer, a group moved from behind the dragoness and impaled their makeshift swords on her exposed back. 

She bellowed a roar like Valyr had rarely heard and lunged forward, attacking frantically and randomly all that came in front of her. Flames bellowed between clenched teeth; she clawed, tore, and rendered all that stood in front with seamless ease. She was more exposed; even as her injuries tallied, Derkoma did not waver and attacked, attacked, attacked.  

Seeing his chance, Valyr moved forward. 

The acting leader of the small army, wearing the garment of a Crystal Singer, understood the turn things had taken. The Singer ordered a withdrawal. 

The thought of attacking them and drowning them in flames passed through the Validir minds; the sin of the action would stir worse repercussions upon them.

‘Are you alright?’ panted Valyr.

‘I-I am.’ The pain of her injuries jolted, but she forced it down. ‘I… pant… am,’ she said again with great effort.

‘Can you walk?’ He restrained his breathing.

‘I… yes… I think I-I can do fine.’ She stiffened her pose to a less exposed one, letting away the defeated dog silhouette she had offered. ‘Let us find Aramunth and Syln.’

Valyr nodded, but remained beside Derkoma just in case. 

Not thinking twice, and ignoring the blood gushing down their scales and limbs crying for respite, they rushed to the Mountain, dearly hoping to find their kin there.

First, slowly, they walked toward both friends’ favorite hanging spot. There, those that had been their flock joined the Validir, though they kept an apprehensive eye upon them. The sentiment was foreign to them. The Dragons would dispute, but it had never come to attempted assassinations. They were, they had thought, better than that. Petty revenge was simply the work of the lesser races.

However, some of those that had joined proved useful: they knew where Syln lay, though, for his status, they were unsure.



‘Let me help you,’ said Valyr, extending his left claw to the injured Syln; Derkoma dug the rocks still surrounding the Champion of the Feast of Claws.

Syln eyed him with the aggression and apprehension of a predator. ‘I don’t require your help, cur,’ he grumbled in a stiffened roar that made Valyr reconsider aiding his friend.

‘You are gravely injured. You can’t be serious.’

‘Valyr is right,’ cursed Derkoma. She pushed the Validir aside to tend for Syln.

‘Wh- Where is she?’ growled Syln.

‘She flew away in this direction.’ Valyr pointed toward the forest of once Squamata.

‘We-’ something in her back stinged. ‘We d-don’t know where exactly,’ added Derkoma.

‘Curse the Great Dragon.’ The slur surprised them. Syln, the most loyal of the Validir to the Mother of Dragons, cursing Cornelia? Then the Calamity and his charcoaled scales reminded Derkoma and Valyr of the reason behind his words. ‘Are your children okay?’ asked Syln, cursing as Derkoma touched his exposed skin.

‘They were on my Islands – so yes, they are fine. Excuse me, Syln.’

‘Right… I’ve forgotten. You both fought? You look horrendous, Derkoma.’

She took him between her arms but struggled to lift his bulk. Valyr moved to assist. Syln cursed every combination of words he had learned or imagined. He could almost force them to put him down with his still working claws, but they carefully laid him on a more even ground – on a slate they could lift when needed. 

‘Where is Aramunth?’ asked Derkoma.

‘Incinerated. Completely evaporated,’ sighted Syln.

Something changed in Derkoma, like defeat and complete capitulation took her over in a second. Her eyes narrowed, and her expression darkened. The pain of her injuries did not seem to phase her, as something deeper had been taken from her forever. She fixated Syln with vacant intent; he took one of her claws with his dark charcoal one. She accepted it without returning the grip back. And Syln wished he could have done something to save Aramunth.

Valyr gritted his teeth, forcing the misery of the revelation down his soul. He could wallow on his own later.

‘I know she is powerful,’ said Ophis, appearing from behind a pile of rock, ‘but this much… Even the Crystal Singers were not spared. What has happened to the Great Mountain, Syln?’

‘She snapped,’ he grumbled. ‘The old hag snapped. A griffon, a pony, or whatever it had moved in-’

‘Just like that? He just waltzes in?’ Valyr raised his voice. For the usually quiet and contemplative Validir, it was surprising.

The surprise calmed Syln’s rage ‘She lit him move unimpeded! You should have destroyed it!’

‘Like I could! It was her wish!’

‘Always excuses!’

‘Shut it!’ roared Derkoma, letting go of Syln’s claw and marching a few steps away from the rest.

Valyr ignored both of them and turned to meet Ophis. 

‘Have you addressed the Crystal Singers?’

‘Those still on the surface I could find. Most have found refuge in the caverns. I will wait a bit before contacting those.’

‘No. You will force your way through,’ ordered Valyr. ‘We need their talents more than ever. And gather every one of them on the surface; I will follow you from a distance.’

‘Why-’

‘And who are you to give us orders?’ accused Syln. ‘You might be her favorite but it does not make you our leader.’

‘It is no time for bickering.’ Valyr tried to ignore him as he approached Ophis.

‘He is right, Syln,’ said Derkoma, defeated. ‘At least, he might be able to calm her if she returns.’

‘Don’t defend him! We need retribution. We need to find Cornelia and kill her.’

‘Chordata, Squamata, and Aramunth,’ listed Ophis. ‘All dead. We are the last remaining – with your children, Derkoma.’

‘We have to defeat her; to kill her in her grief,’ again proposed Syln, barely holding his wrath.

‘Do it then,’ said Ophis in an annoyingly calm tone. ‘I won’t participate.’

‘But you would not object?’ asked Syln with a hint of excitement.

‘If you chose to do so, I don’t care what course you elect to follow – all of you,’ he pointed out.

‘If you are done negotiating your own plans,’ objected Valyr, ‘the future of our race is at stake here.’

‘As long as she lives, we will never rest. And you, Derkoma, do you agree?’ he sneered.

‘The continentals are the problem. They are to blame,’ she said, not wishing to add more to it.

‘Do you really think Luna would endanger us?’ wondered Syln. 

Derkoma nodded in approval. ‘Why not? She is apprehensive to us.’

A message appeared next to them in glistening green, yellow flames; in a sound that felt like air was being sucked away as it appeared.  

Valyr took it and read it. ‘Speaking of which: she is coming here. In an hour.’



The air churned around the gathered Validir – they had not strayed far from the Mountain but enough to keep Syln safe from unwanted claws. A form made itself extant, slowly materializing into a cohesive whole. Valyr wondered if it was simple theatrics on Luna’s part or the actual display of teleportation. The Crystal Singers were the most potent magic users of their species, but even the old Karendas had not been that powerful to wield that kind of magic. He and his peers could levitate and conjure crystals with outstanding speed and deadliness when required. However, the effort would drain them utterly for a while.

Ophis and Derkoma stood behind Valyr, with the former staying a good distance from the rest except for  Syln. Each of them had an opinion of Luna and her distant sister; Valyr liked her but stayed apprehensive, Derkoma was neutral but preferred to not be in her presence, Syln and Ophis did not care but each on his corner. Aramunth and the rest of their dead brethren shared that spectrum; Aramunth helping Derkoma to warm up to “the Bringer of Night".

‘Greetings.’

‘Princess.’ They bowed, though Luna sensed Derkoma’s ever-present disgust towards her presence.

‘I… What happened? We were told of the Dragon Lord going mad.’

‘She did,’ answered Derkoma, holding her anger. ‘Your friend, killed Aramunth, Chordata, and Squamata. Explain this to us, little blue one.’

Luna ignored the slur; she directed her to walk toward the grumbling Syln.

He met her directly in the eyes, and with a sudden movement, he lunged forward. Reacting quickly, Luna rose a protective bubble around her. Syln did not care and grabbed the ball, trying to unsuccessfully burst it and crush Cornelia’s collaborators.

It was exhilarating. The rush of an emotion forgotten washed over Luna. She felt powerful; able to take all of them at once. She knew she could do it. It would have been simple. But she resisted the call; it would have been too problematic.

Derkoma rushed to force Syln to liberate his grasp. 

Luna ordered her to leave them aside. Immediately afterward, an electric discharge disgorged over Syln’s body. Syln roared in a brief whimper and let go of Luna as he began to fall. Luckily, she was able to levitate the Validir before he would have reached the ground.

Luna remained sky-bound, fearing any other attack. She hesitated to heal Syln, but finally elected to perform it in the end. 

An immediate spike of unbearable pain took over her. She staggered and fell. 

Valyr moved forth and grabbed Luna like a doll. She rested her head for a bit, unsure if Valyr or Derkoma had spoken to her. She woke up shortly after, founding herself still in Valyr’s claws; she did not debate. She found the thing funny and elected to play with it further.

‘I should make a doll big enough for you, Valyr.’

‘Quiet.’ She knew he liked those kinds of gifts; a secret only Derkoma and Squamata knew of.

Derkoma smirked at her remark. Then the Mistress of the Eastern Isles raised her claw to preemptively stop any further word from being uttered.

‘A boat is approaching,’ Derkoma had noticed. ‘And fast.’

‘He lives!’ shouted Syln, vibrating the air with great force. 

Valyr lowered to see if Luna had withheld the roar well.

+Cornelia was worse+ she whispered in his mind; even for him, Luna’s chosen method of communication from behind her sound-proof envelope ached too much for him to hide.

‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t-’ He cleared his head. ‘Don’t ever repeat it.’

‘Excuse me, Valyr.’

‘Accepted,’ he grunted. He then threw Luna like a bird you would free after catching. Taken aback by his act, it took her a second to understand what had just happened. Nearly catastrophically landing on the ground before catching herself midflight, Luna eyed him with distaste, but Derkoma put a break in their inevitable talk.

‘Be calm, Syln. Ophis,’ she gestured for him to approach, ‘confirm it to me.’

Walking almost uncaringly, Ophis obliged. ‘Oh!’ The surprise changed his monotone voice. ‘The Banished is coming for a visit… How convenient.’

Syln ponderously rose to then let himself fall on a rock wall. ‘I hope Varanus knows where the bloody murderer has gone to.’

‘Be weary of him,’ warned Derkoma. 

‘I will assist,’ assured Luna, not knowing who that Varanus was; it had been a couple of decades since she and Cornelia had met. 

None objected to her offer and none wished to expand on that mysterious personage.



A slender-built Drake came down wooden embarkation. It was not something frugal: barely put together though appearing as solid as the greatest ships wrought by the shipbuilders of Marywich (the old name of Manehattan). The Dragon was half-hooded, protecting his back head from the Sun and wary of the hood falling from his head. He was holding a wooden walking staff in his left claw; Luna sensed nothing malicious out of the staff, though Varanus had an aura of power.

‘You haven’t changed,’ welcomed Valyr without any pretense of diplomacy.

‘And you have – all of you. Syln,’ he shook his head in a sarcastic display, ‘I don’t like the colors.’

Syln grunted in buildup exasperation. He then moved to adjust his numbing arm. As soon as the Validir stood on his two legs, he was pinned down and forced to the ground with a force that made him roar in unsupportable pain. Valyr and Derkoma reacted but found themselves fighting for every breath like fishes out of water; coupled with injuries taken prior, they joined him on the ground. Ophis had not wished to meet eyes with Varanus.

Luna was the next to feel something wreathing her, promptly acting like a weight on her soul. It did not take root long; she denied it from holding her down. Her horn shined in a bright blue hue. Tarrask looked at it and saw the anger-focused expression of Luna; the first signs of fright enveloped his face. She could feel the magical energies coalescing, sensing with great alarm that she was withholding some magical spell of untold power. Every escape route and contingencies raced in his mind, not wanting to feel what the Alicorn would deliver upon him. 

He could gradually make his way back onto his ship, cloaking it to hide its presence. He could run to the undergrounds and stay with the Crystal Singer. Surely, Cornelia’s friend would be sensible enough to not attack the most respected cast of their kind-

The glow surged in intensity; an intense flash followed with a great discharge nullified the Varanus’ hold and powers on the Validir. He could still feel the magic coursing, but a far cry from being able to slam a Validir to the ground.

She walked toward him, limping briefly at the start. He did not run.

‘You are powerful, Tarask.’

‘Tarrask,’ he corrected with a certain enjoyment. ‘And yes – I was gifted with those powers.’

‘Gifted by whom?’ her voice was like an avalanche.

‘By my birth, Paranoid One,’ he smirked. ‘I was chanced upon by fate to have earned my powers.’

She returned the gesture. ‘To have been able to… calm the Validir – you are more than gifted.’

‘I can assure you, Night Maiden, I am like you: born with those powers.’

‘But I was not exiled for mine.’

He chuckled. ‘That’s what you were told? I am terribly sorry for who the supposed paragons of the Dragons lie. Oh, I was not exiled for those – I could have been a very talented Singer. I was exiled for my only crime had been to have seen the truth of the madness of precious Cornelia before any of you ever had.’

The revelation of the Validir’s lie was not especially unexpected. In fact, she half-expected it to be something of that sort – she would wait for Cornelia to reveal more about the true historical background. ‘And you come here to espouse leadership?’

‘Why not? I am not a slave to her will like they are. Besides, the time of the Validir will come to an eventual end – right, Derkoma? The Validir don’t have descendants; they are their last generation. However, we are numerous. We are many; we can be self-sufficient. The Dragon Lord will be me or anyone else of my rank. You are a dying breed; you are unnatural. But we are not. We are true creatures. You are not and never will be.’

‘Define “true creature”,’ proposed Luna, interested in what he would laden her with.

‘Those that are not self-destructive. Derkoma’s children will be the last of them. Afterward, there will be only us.’

‘And what about the Mother of Dragons?’ curious to hear his answer.

‘A fancy name that was taken by a being that was mother to nothing except compliance and oblivion.’

Syln faintly grunted; Varanus laughed to himself.

Luna stood beside him, equal in height next to the slender built, silver sharp eyed Tarrask. ‘And my sister and I?’ she asked, half curious and wary of an answer that could displease her. 

‘Also unnatural.’ The words hit hard; he had said them with the surety of someone knowing full well that he was right. ‘Though, you are more divine in nature. Unlike them and Cornelia, you Sisters are part of the natural order.’ He paused to twirl his staff in his claw. ‘On the topic of you most esteemed personages – what is Harmony, Princess Luna?’

‘Harmony is the want to improve your people livelihood and make them achieve their greatest potential, thus the entire realm’s potential.’

‘How do you arrive at that greatness? Through which means?’

‘According to the circumstances at present.’

‘Wonderfully vague! Genius move from you both,’ he sarcastically boasted.

‘I don’t wish to debate with you on the nature of ideology, Banished. I have no time for you.’

‘Of course you don’t,’ he chuckled, holding on to a retort he wasn’t sure how well she would take it. ‘Does the Friendship thing you so espouse a part of that ideology?’ the word was saccharin.

Luna forced the first words that came into her mind to retain their mind-bound selves. ‘It does.’

‘Now I feel stupid even asking.’

She smiled; it appeared more like a smirk. ‘You are not the maddened cur you were described as.’

He half-bowed in respect. ‘Of course not, Queen of Night.’

She winced. ‘I am no queen.’

Tarrask laughed. ‘I’ve wagered you would lie. Yes – you are not queen – but you and your sister sure act like ones. Like empresses even. Like-’

‘Watch your words, Banished,’ she threatened.

He did not budge. That being standing in front of him with hidden pride was immensely powerful (he heard the stories of old and the reverences of isolated tribes). But he had witnessed a slither of Cornelia’s anger; Luna's posturing did not faze him anymore. ‘The truth always hurts. I have experience with those living in illusions. It does not matter in the end: a title is a title, and only those worthy can wear it, Maiden of Dreams. An empress or lady; it means nothing if you are respected regardless.’

‘I have no time nor care for your politics-’

‘Of course, Lady of Night. That is one of the reasons I’ve returned here after being so unceremoniously quieted by the Validir and their slaving bastard Mother.’ He pointed the staff to the Fire Sea in an incredibly rapid movement that took Luna aback. ‘Somewhere in the northern and eastern jungles. For more details, however, ally with the local tribes. Some – I have no doubt – will readily accept to assist you. And trust me, Princess Luna, if things move according to your inner wish: it will be the last time you will have to deal with us.’
> The Labyrinth of Night
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------





‘The better jokes are those that last the longest and are still able to conjure a smile.’



-Discord.



‘Princess,’ entered Captain Azure Shadow into Luna’s tent, delivering the scouts’ findings.

‘Speak, Azure Shadow,’ said Luna, relieved to finally have some development. ‘But first – are the scouts okay?’

‘All returned safe and unharmed. As were the locals they interacted with,’ he added.

‘That’s a relief,’ she jadedly smiled. ‘What do they have to tell us?’

‘The Dragon Lord has been spotted only a four-hour flight south-west from here, almost near the Badlands – but they doubt spotting her again would be too much of a hassle.’ Luna snorted. Azure smirked but forced himself to remain professional. ‘She is peaceful and simply retracted on herself. The scouts even described the Dragon as being… sorrowful and lamenting to herself. M-’

‘Lamenting? What was she saying? Excuse me for the interruption.’

‘Unintelligible mumblings, my Lady. Nothing more in Beorkaty’s reports.’

‘Thank you, captain. You can thank the Thestrals and our own scouts on my behalf.’

‘Will do, my Diarch. But… what will you do now?’

Her mouth moved between a smile and a blank expression, to finally settle on neither in exasperation. ‘I don’t know. Try to converse with Cornelia? What do you think?’

‘Will prove more beneficial than our first assumption-’ Luna grabbed her head in a sudden motion, holding on to the rooting headache. ‘Princess! You two-’

‘Leave me,’ she snapped. ‘All of you, leave!’

‘But-’ he insisted.

‘Leave!’ she shouted the order.

‘You are going alone?’ asked Azure Shadow, letting those words slip out unintentionally in the tone of an order. ‘Excuse me,-’

‘Don’t mention it,’ she rasped, lifting her head and eying him aggressively. ‘Yes, I will be going alone. And if I do not return in two days or you feel threatened by the Dragon Lord in the meanwhile, retreat to Equestrian territory. Tell my sister to ready herself, and I want a portion of you to make sure she made due on my request. If not, do it yourselves under the privy of my name and my personal seal.’ 

Her headache turned into a hammering, she closed her eyes and slowed her breathing. Luna murmured curses that held between a low and loud whisper. Azure raised an arm to tranquil her, but relented halfway through. It felt wrong, almost disrespectful. 

‘Understood, your Highness.’ 

He and the soldiers standing guard behind Luna left the tent.

Raising her head, Luna put her hooves in front of her eyes, cleaning them as far as she could from their weariness. Luna briefly thought of casting a spell to make the pain dissipate, but she knew it would be for naught. She took off her crown, almost throwing it to the right side of the table. The crown nearly fell from it, but she had managed to hold it before gravity worked its tricks on it. 

She hadn’t slept well the last few nights, worried about what might have befallen Cornelia and perturbed by the constant bashings of their scared subjects. It had not been the first time she had let their fears affect her, nor would it be the last – but she could damnably wish so for the nth time. 

They worry so fast, she thought. Just shut it with the whole worrying and let me rest! If you were endangered then you would not have been able to deluge me with your unwarranted scares. But of course, you run with a random rumor from who knows where and you won’t shut up about it. You. Never. Learn. 

Luna knew it was only the start of her problems if she could not resolve the situation in a timely fashion. Eventually, she would have to unleash nightmares or let them wallow in their own doubts and fears. Her task was taxing; to choose who would be more worthy of her time than somebody else – to determine who would require administration above another – would eventually tire anybody, in particular when it would recur every night. And most of the time, the worst would be prioritized. And if she was too exhausted, it would be those of lesser exigencies. Regardless, there will always be people left behind, and a choice had to be made, and she would only have herself to elect which was which.

Luna could not simply take care of them all. She did not have the army of administrators and representatives her sister does. Speaking of which, she lacked the patience to calculate the demands of those in the material plane for things she knew won’t matter in the long term. Land acquisition, land separation, trade disputes, farmers’ issues, diplomacy…etc. She dealt with all of these at some point, but Luna dreaded having to countenance with the potentiality of six meetings, hear the bickering and lies of the parties involved again and again, and make a decision that would inadvertently be the total displeasure of anyone involved. But Celestia had found it simple – childish, at times. Luna had tried to emulate her sister’s ease and keep a charade up, but it disgusted her. She will have the time to adapt, and she wondered how long when this adaptation would finally nestle. Then again, everything comes to repeat itself after a while. At least Celestia could sleep knowing a particular mission was concluded, but Luna had to confront what are arguably more colorful and abstract aspects than her sister does. She worked with the most earnest truth; her sister worked with half-truths and earnest lies. Ultimately, there was the clear sense it was destined to the greater good.

Yet it was easy for Celestia. Everything is easy when the world is nothing but your perfect little sphere and so neatly arranged ceremonies and perfectly followed protocols. 

Pleasures in life are in abandon up there, after all. They do not have to perform her work. They stay in their castles away from the mess that reigns outside. 

To survive that realm, she had to adapt and learn to be discreet. She always possessed a preference for such methods, made more prominent and apparent during the early years. She had reached her pinnacle of involvement in general affairs back then. She was popular, well-regarded, and a true equal to her sister. She hated those days; it had taken one battle, the final one, to make her regret having ever fought those furlong campaigns. It had taken the loss of one, a friend she had held dear above everyone, to tip the scale. 

It was better that way, she thought. He was entering his late years, better that he had died with the semblance of what he once had been than who he could have become.

Luna found herself smiling ecstatically as if the anxiety of the whole situation seeped out of her. She knew it would be temporary, that it was only her mind reacting to stress. The feeling remained, but the gnawing pressure on her skull was gone. And for some reason, the thought of potentially battling the Dragon Lord made her tranquil – happy, even. To boast about it afterward. To revel in the… She ceased her imaginings. Even if she acted on that thought, everyone will eventually forget about it. This victory will become just a footnote in later retellings, like everything she had once undertaken in that world. It would not be worth betraying a friend.




****




Celestia was running circles in the throne room, waiting impatiently to hear the news Luna would impart her with. Her legs were tiring, and her mind raced to a plethora of scenarios of what could have happened to Luna. She should have gone with her… but it wasn’t her realm of expertise. Luna always was more comfortable when it would come to take the more exacting and direct decisions. A more brutal pragmatism Celestia found hard to properly muster. Though no ill message had been sent in the past two weeks since Luna’s departure. In theory, she had nothing to worry about. But something kept scratching her mind, telling her to stay on the ready. 

Then the door of the throne room opened, but only Captain Azure Shadow showed himself – without Luna.

‘Princess Celestia, Princess Luna excuse herself for-’

‘Where is my sister?’ she immediately asked, not caring the slightest for protocol.

‘I come to report on her behalf, Highness,’ holding on to a pinch of contempt. 

‘Where is my sister?’ demanded Celestia, repeating her words in something more akin to an order than a simple request.

‘Highness,’ he took a deep breath, ‘let me express myself in a clearer fashion: she has requested to be left on her own to deal with the Dragon Lord herself.’

‘Where is my sister?’ she insisted.

‘She has assured us no harm will come toward her person. Princess Celestia, Princess Luna will be fine; she is not harmed.’ He was not completely sure himself if Luna had been truthful. She had left him lingering behind with the vast remnants of her troops. When she had returned, she had come back alone and unharmed. He had asked what had happened to the Pegasi he had insisted to let accompany her. Luna told him they lived still but were sent to other errands she wished to name. She gave him orders, and that was the end of the ordeal.

Azure Shadow had not questioned her decision but could not help but feel disgruntled by it. He was not known to be exceptionally skilled at concealing his feelings from others. And while he and Celestia had rarely interacted, she noticed his unease while retelling the last interactions with her sister. 

‘To be clear – no one of your numbers had been with her the moment she finalized her decision?’ asked Celestia in her more collected tone.

‘No.’ Why did it taste so sour to say?

He sensed something had dropped for a moment; Azure felt the air weighting upon him like it had coalesced into one solid mass. Celestia turned to her throne in all the calm and regal attitude she could convey. Silence sat in, only disturbed by Celestia’s steps toward the two thrones. She sat in hers, and still, nothing was said. She was looking at him, but her eyes conveyed no emotion. She was just staring aimlessly at the floor, hoping to calm her. If Luna deemed the situation peaceful enough, then Celestia had nothing to worry about. But, again, it is of a Dragon Lord they were speaking of… Maybe Cornelia had inadvertently – or intentionally – injured her? Or maybe the cantankerous Lord was pursuing her, and she had only returned to warn them? But why hasn’t she called for her help then? But the Moon still rose…

The silence was uncomfortable and Azure wondered half-jokingly if an attack would occur at this very instance.

‘…Uhm…’ There was the sense of a question, but Celestia elected to not move forward with it.

‘Yes, Princess?’

‘I guess she always likes being alone. Even more so in the past years…’ She jadedly smiled, snorting as a random thought crossed her mind. Azure found himself emulating her but quickly hid it, fearing how she might interpret it. 

‘When she returned to you the last time, have you felt or noticed magic being used to hide any deformity?’ She only noticed the futility of the question after uttering it; she cursed herself for it.

‘No, Majesty. Even the mages sensed no…’ he was lost at the proper word to use.

‘I understand. My sister is like that at times. It is simply her nature,’ she answered thoughtfully. 

He thought it was signaling the end of their conversation; she asked one last question. 

‘How long will she be gone?’

‘I… don’t know. Princess Luna was not sure herself.’ 

Another unbarring silence settled in. Celestia closed her eyes, letting herself think but sleep was enthralling her. It was more peaceful that way. 

Azure Shadow lifted his head – he was not countenanced on festering the tranquil aura the Diarch was forcing him to live through. 

‘What should my purpose be at present, Highness?’

Celestia stared down at him in a gaze he had never envisaged coming from her – why was he experiencing stress in front of her? ‘Thank you for your work,’ she said nonchalantly. ‘Dismiss yourself. Return to your station.’

She does not care. ‘I obey, your Majesty.’




****




‘Has the Drakes been ordered as per Princess Luna’s demands?’ asked Azure Shadow to the Mistress of Voices, Starry Light – his cousin from his mother’s side.

‘The message has been sent not later than a couple hours now.’ She showed him a copy of the message. ‘And hello! How was the heat? Pleasant, I hope.’

‘Yes. Hello.’ He looked down at the text, rapidly scanning it. ‘A few hours ago?’ hurrying his speech.

Starry Light scolded him. ‘A couple of hours,’ she corrected.

‘Have you been lazy this time?’ he almost threatened.

‘I was lazy two or three times only! Stop focusing on those!’

‘Then why would you be sending it today?’ his frustration bubbled as he pointed at the written date. 

‘How Princess Luna ever chose you to be her favorite captain I wonder, cousin,’ she smirked. ‘Blame Princess Celestia, not me.’

‘I will.’

‘And the Duchess of Baltimare,’ she added. ‘You can’t imagine how many times I saw the Princess here for any sign of her sweet ass arriving. Maybe every hour or so. Blame her also. Blame her more.’

‘I will too.’

‘Brave little Pony,’ she mocked. ‘But knowing you, it will be something long cooking.’

‘No. I don’t know how to cook.’ 

She held on to her laugh, expecting to see a proud smile etching itself on his expression, but he kept his serious.

‘I don’t like what little Azure has become,’ she began. ‘He used to smile and speak more,’ said Starry Light, reminiscing of a time when he used to be the more expressive of the two.

‘And I was mocked more. It was years ago.’

‘And? I mostly remained the same. And it was just banter between cousins and friends. If you want my opinion, you transformed more into Luna by being accepted into the Guard.’

‘I’ve found that shutting up wields fewer annoyances in life.’

‘But we’re cousins. We can be open to each other.’

‘And? Family does not excuse or grant access to everything. You complain about me, yet I rarely was part of the clique. Only when it is impossible for you folk to ignore me that you do recall my existence. Excuse me then if I do not exactly hold you in the best regard. Family is nothing but a tool you brandish without shame. At least, I was recognized by Princess Luna herself, and not relegated to some forgotten toil with a fancy title plastered to it like you.’ 

She squinted, examining him. His armor was different from one expected of a captain of the Princely Guard; it was marked with silver trims and the insignia of the Moon on the frontal golden plate. It had not been a change requested by either Luna or Celestia but an alteration those under the direct attention of Luna wore as to differentiate themselves from Celestia’s own – which wore nothing to designate them as exclusively being hers other than the traditional homogenous gold-plated metal. The differentiation slowly took place over time, and Luna had not cared enough to ask about it. Of course, the traditionalist elements had complained to Celestia, but she had responded with equal disinterest. A rivalry of sorts emerged between the two parties. But with the traditional members holding a majority and, in turn, having a hold on the position of First Captain, Luna’s own developed separately and adopted sets of traditions unique to themselves – even as far as ignoring the First Captain’s authority. And for the guards standing further away from the capital, the slight changes to the armor became more apparent and showed more as forces solely loyal to her with their midnight black armor. 

‘I’m sorry…’ sounding genuine. ‘But next week, we-’

‘See? I was not informed until I backed you into a corner.’ 

‘I was saying!’ she shouted. ‘It has been a decade since the rest of us did anything together. And I was getting sick of them and their behavior. I was going to ask if you wanted only you and me to do something. Not a fancy thing just… hangout.’

‘I have work. I will be in the south.’

He turned and left the room. Starry Light quietly cursed him a hundred times.

‘When I’ll return, though!’ he shouted from the corridor’s end. 

She laughed aloud. ‘Okay! I’ll be waiting!’

‘Okay!’ he shouted back the reply with restrained amusement.




****




A year passed. Yet, Luna was still nowhere to be seen.

More troops were diverted to the south. Those sent into the immensity and confusing warren of the jungles had been harried by Thestral and Pony tribes, attacking them for seemingly unfounded reasons, breaking the unstated truce between them and Equestria. Of course, retaliation came, but Azure Shadow’s and his troops’ unwillingness to commit to a campaign that could potentially lead to an inexcusable loss of life and leave defensive positions devoid of a diminishing supply of proficient mages. They were already lucky to survive the sporadic skirmishes between rival tribes that even local scouts were having issues predicting where they would hit with any accuracy. 

Diplomatic rapprochement and truce negotiations had been engaged in but amounted to no direct effect. Even Celestia’s intervention could do nothing to quell the often generational grudges in the short term. Celestia even came to plead in front of many a tribe’s heads to cease their bickering. Some would be swayed by it, though a significant number of majorly Thestral-formed tribes ignored her pleas or reneged weeks-short truces.

Azure Shadow understood Celestia’s worry. Someone was still rising the Moon. Someone surely was still acting with the tremendous power required to raise it. And who else than Luna would it be? Certainly not herself. 

Where was she?

During that year, the older Sister went herself in the search of Luna, but those personal searches would be short ones. However, someone still needs to be in charge of the realm and keep it whole. If she also would disappear, she could not fathom what would happen to those they ruled over. 

She let Azure Shadow do what he had done diligently. She had to.

Noble houses demanded endlessly why their scions were still being sent to the south when the Dragon Lord clearly was a none-threat. And with Celestia failing to deliver any worthwhile excuse, some decided to abuse the opportunity to enhance their standings. And, of course, she had been forced to choose the latter. It would, however, simply greatly divert their ire toward Luna instead.



A couple of months before year’s end, the Princess invited a congregation of tribal leaders to attend a meeting to put a final, if temporary, end to their bickering. The meeting, though, would quickly devolve from a semblance of civility to a slew of childish arguments about the most unbearably inconsequential issues, generationally inherited grudges and disputes related to things that became dull to Celestia’s hearing. 

One could bring out a small correction or even a phrase misheard could begin a fight between themselves. When it would be simple insults, she calmed them with ease – even enjoying their creativity, at times. But when it turned violent, Celestia would let the soldiers in. 

Yet, she continued in her endeavor but had to expedite the process through promises of wealth and Equestrian land, elevating them to the social rank of minor nobility rather than to more permanently resolve their issues. Many would take it up and never bother the Sister again. However, the latter offers became more demanding on the part of the tribal leaders, which led to the peacefully subjugated asking more from the Princess – even threatening to rekindle their attacks on Equestrian forces. Additionally, the Equestrian nobles that caught wind of Celestia’s scheme ventured to protest her decisions. Loans were contracted, and their rates would require future renegotiations. 

After a month of constant back and for, exacerbated by reneged promises and constant hampering, the Princess had demanded of all attendees to gather a final time and settle scores. 

Naturally, they all came. The great, peace-loving Celestia of Equestria surely had to be kneeling to their demands. The great monarchy – or diarchy as some declared – of Equestria was offering them with its impossible wealth all that they would ever desire. 

Stoically, she had begun by hearing each leader’s, what they now began calling, requests. Then, as usual, someone hurtled a word. Then the word bounced back louder. The shout then hit an unsuspecting mare; which led to a dispute; that led to a fight between two rival chiefs; which resulted in more disputes around the outcome. And there, a few minutes into tasting the entire cacophony around her for the nth time, the Princess’ eyes snapped open. No armed individual had entered the vicinity of their meeting place, but a crushing, all-encompassing quiet fell on the attendance in an instance as they collectively turned to stare at the deep purple ember of her eyes. 

One raised his voice in an attempt for a joke before being immediately shushed by a silent shout. An overwhelming weight fell on their souls, and some found respiration nigh impossible. The air felt heavier, boiling even. A tickling coursed across their skin, spreading underneath the epidermis. Some began to scratch, but there was nothing to focus upon. Red marks carved themselves on their skins, some superficial, but Thestrals had used their fangs to pacify the urge. The rare mages present and able to begin the arduous process of healing expended all their energy on wounds that Thestrals reopened in a desperate bid for relief. 

Then, to their complete and utter fear, she spoke. Her voice was deafening. Her guards, sitting on the outskirts, recoiled, and some ran. Thestrals lost fangs like others lost teeth. Chiefs lost their hearing or heavily impaired. Others lost consciousness at the powerful reverberations of unrelenting persistence. 

Some managed to escape but were apprehended before reaching the forest and imprisoned like the rest in hastily built cells. Those that managed to flee were not pursued. In an ironic taste for some, the Princess healed them all personally before releasing the more pliable back in the wild. 

She had uttered only a single, short phrase.



The Equestrians’ toil would turn easier in the aftermath but be still impaired by the ruthless climate and geography. But Celestia had succeeded in preventing more unnecessary losses. Afterward, she had only the aristocracy to answer to, and altogether different means would be demanded of her. The search for Luna would continue on a quicker base, but Luna’s faction in the Guard and the officer corps was too stubborn to answer Celestia’s whims. They might have been greatly diminished compared to their once height; Luna’s influence still held true to their behavior. And for once, there was something to make their talents worthwhile again. The Night Talons would not be countenance in being goaded with childishly decided orders. 




****




As the year since of Luna’s disappearance came to a close, the Princess would be awakened at midnight by her guards: someone had suddenly appeared into the garden. Taken by sudden wakefulness, and as a child going for a gift, Celestia rushed to, what she was sure, was her sister.

Reaching the garden’s gate, Celestia looked around with a beatific face in search of her sister. A guard pointed her toward the creature’s position, but none followed her. They were frightened by something, terrified even. A foul, almost benighted aura made them petrified of the prospect of even approaching the thing or peering at it. Only one had mastered enough will to glance, even if briefly, at the thing, and returned with anything close to a description. The Thestral began her lackluster and stuttering explanation to her ruler, but Celestia paid her no heed and moved forward, one goal racing clearly in her mind. 

It was Luna. Celestia could recognize that silhouette from anywhere. But Celestia was not met by the sight of the Luna she had known. A gaunt figure stood trembling under the pale moonlight. Her legs, barely holding her diminished weight. Her cheeks were sunken, and her rib bones made themselves clearly apparent – carving themselves in and out on her pale skin with every breath. Her breathing seemed heavy, almost pain-ridden. Her wings lacked feathers, and her horn sparked in pale blue, its tip almost charcoal. Her mouth was shaking as if repeating the same words over and over again. Luna looked at her sister with weary eyes withholding tears. Her gaze was hollow, vacant, staring at Celestia in a silent cry. 

Celestia immediately halted and teleported Luna between her arms, weary of embracing her. Luna let herself fall in the hug, resting her crown-less head on Celestia’s left shoulder, and closing her eyes for sleep. It calmed her breathing and receded her trembles. 

Celestia could not take her eyes from her sister’s ruined looks. She began to panic, forgetting all the spells she had learned in their long lives. She nonetheless tried to tranquil herself. But Luna needed her – she had to concentrate. Her breathing turned sporadic. Luna felt it but was too weak to convey more than a tired nudge of the head to her eldest. Celestia looked up to the sky, peering at the Moon and the constellations bestrewing the immensity of the dark. She thought it beautiful, enjoying the calmness it brought her. Everything was quiet. There was no one bothering them – they were alone. She lowered her head until it rested on top of Luna’s own and caressed her sister’s back. Both breathing rested. Gathering enough concentration, Celestia began healing Luna – to, at least, make her forget any immediate pain she was reeling from. But Celestia forgot to keep the embracing light; she tightened her hold around Luna, bringing her closer. She swayed both of them, reciting a song from a long-gone childhood. And the two sisters beamed. 



The Labyrinth of Night was sealed. The Sempiternal Oath was sworn. The Last Dragon Lord slept eternally; slept her true good night.



We are less than one and a half century before Midnight.
> Epilogue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

She slept; slept in the endless night, roaming the ever-horizon that stretched in front of her.

She dreamt dreamless dreams, basking in the eternal quiet. An ocean stretching endlessly, one she can mold and frame in whatever form she may desire. But the creator of the ocean was no fool; they made sure it would demand effort to be poured into the design. They made it would not be eternally peaceful. Nightmares could still occur. Her fears had not vanished in that granted eternity. 

Decades, if not centuries, passed by, in the recreation of her mountain forevermore, waiting for the promised visit of a friend that had yet to come. But she kept hope.

The realm turned weary, troubled. Was the realm dissipating? Had it all been it? Was her friend alright? Has something befallen her? 

For what felt like an eternity, she lived in a limbo-like state. Trapped in an increasing crescendo of terrors perturbing the peaceful realm her friend had crafted for her. And it rained, rained an endless storm. Everything darkened, and the light diminished to a dim flicker. She looked at it – it was as if it was battling, raging against its death. And for an eternity, the light raged and raged until it would be alight once more. Was the spell waving? Was her friend alright? Why hadn’t she visited yet? 

Then it calmed down. The ocean stretched more serenely than it used to before the deluge.

Was her friend finally alright? Why is there still torment to come?

A brief escalation. The blue clouds rumbled once more. 

A powerful, intense, and blazing light. Was it the intensity Syln and poor Aramunth had felt? Had they pardoned her? Could her kind ever pardon her?

The rekindled experience threw her off. The tormented ocean transformed into an avalanche of razor-sharp waves, slicing the azure mist that is her form.

A lull. And then the atypical serenity that had preceded. 

A blue mist formed, coalescing into a recognizable form. The wings were the first to appear, extending in an immense spread. Then the head showed itself; blue emerald eyes pierced the fog and focused on the realm’s resident. Finally, a smile carved itself; the long-awaited visit was there.

‘Took you awhile.’ Her voice echoed in the nothing-night, resonating in earnest joy. ‘Were you okay?’

‘Now I am better than I have ever felt. You cannot imagine how much I am at peace with myself.’

‘I can imagine. I saw it,’ the voice emulated a laugh. ‘How are my children? Have they recuperated? Are they still in horror of me?’

‘You are a legend for them. Respected as such. Remembered in stories. Some bad, some good. Some denounce your madness, others denounce the other’s madness, and others still praise you for wanting to deliver them from corruption. In the great scheme of things, you are neither loathed nor lauded. You are the Last Dragon Lord, the Mother of their kind, and that is enough for most.’

‘This much time has passed, then…’ There was relief in the voice. A liberation from doubt the visitor felt was too familiar.