A child faced his father. He was trying to build his dad a tower, a massive monument to earn his praise. But his dad shook his head and kicked the base of his tower, sending the bricks scattering into dust. Like the ripple of falling dominoes, the bricks toppled from the tower. He fell miles to the ground, as his three older brothers looked down on him from their towers and laughed. He descended through the ground into a chasm of wet clay, wriggling worms, and skeletons. The eyes of his brothers and his father, gleaming like distant stars, still mocked him from their perch.
“You are not like your brothers. They got it right the first time, but you? You’re pathetic. You’re no son of mine.”
Yellow Bolt jerked awake from his bed, heaving and sweating, eyes shifting across the room, terrified that at any moment all he had accomplished would tumble to the ground. His raised his caramel-brown hoof trembling with fear. He swallowed, and took ragged breaths. Slowly, he managed to calm himself.
“All this, and you’ll still never acknowledge me, will you?”
His father’s emerald eyes pierced his mind and uttered a single word that hung in his ears like an echo: “Never.”
Someone knocked on his door. He headed to the door still groggy eyed and opened it.
“Yellow Bolt.” Sky Chaser entered the room, carrying a newspaper with a pensive expression across his face. “Have you seen this?”
Yellow Bolt took the evening newspaper and read about Spike’s visit to the hospital. A part of him grudgingly had to appreciate the dragon’s kindness. It was certainly more than his father would ever show him.
“It’s all over the news. Ponies are talking about him like he’s some sort of hero. Baltimare’s starting to waver in their position. If this keeps up—.”
“What’re you going to do?”
“We need to put pressure on Prince Blueblood to ban Spike. I think I know some ponies who might be able to help us with that. Are you with me?”
“I want nothing to do with those ponies Silver used to hang out with.”
Sky Chaser recoiled in disgust. “You think I’d go to them?”
“I don’t know what you’d do and frankly I don’t care, but you’re not getting to the dragon-haters through me. And if you think I’d visit them, you’re dead wrong.”
“I thought you would visit a group your own father founded.”
Yellow glared sharply. “Don’t go there. My father chose it. I never chose him.”
“Fine, but my point still stands. We need to stop the lizard before he can compete, or else he might…”
Sky Chaser’s voice faded into a sharp hum that prickled Yellow’s ears. His head throbbed. Across his back, jagged scars and old bruises seemed to reopen. He remembered every blow. Every belt that whipped across his back, smacking furred flesh. A father’s disappointed eyes watching. His three sons whipped the youngest son, a caramel-brown fifteen-year-old. The disobedient son committed a heinous crime: making friends in Dragon Town. All at once, the memories deflated him, draining him of any resolve.
“So what?” Yellow Bolt snorted before chucking the paper back at Sky Chaser. “If he competes, then he beats us all. We remain losers. That’s that.” He turned around and went back to his bed.
“You’re giving up? Just like that? You were the most outspoken against him.”
“Yeah well, I don’t care anymore.” Yellow said. “What’s the point? He’s going to be in the Games, doesn’t matter what you do.”
“But…”
“It doesn’t matter.” Yellow sank into his bed, turning on his side. “Nothing does.”
“How can you say that?”
“He’ll be the first dragon to compete in the Games and win a gold medal. Losers like us? We don’t get to be the first or best at anything.” He chuckled ruefully. “We’d be lucky to qualify as footnotes in a children’s history textbook. We can’t be anything more than what we’re born to be. Mistakes, embarrassments. That’s all I’m meant to be.”
“Just listen to me.” Yellow rose up from his mattress and turned his gaze to Sky Chaser. “Silver Shine’s saying that the lizard just did this to get ponies on his side. That he probably doesn’t really care. We still have a chance if Prince Blueblood acts now.”
“You know what the wonderful thing about government is?” Yellow Bolt snickered. “It’s designed to get nothing done. It’s designed to ignore the voice of the people and listen to the money, the authority. And guess what? Spike has direct access to Princess Celestia herself. Authority doesn’t get higher than that.”
“But Prince Blueblood is in charge of the Games, not her. Royalty isn’t allowed to interfere in the Games unless they’re patrons.”
“And who do you think is in charge of Prince Blueblood?”
“The taxpayers.”
Yellow Bolt raised an eyebrow.
“Come on, we can’t let the lizard win.”
“Stop that.”
“What?”
“His name is Spike. Not lizard.”
“Since when do you care?”
Yellow turned his gaze to his still trembling hoof, away from Sky Chaser. “Since the royal guard started following my every move. And you’d be careful to not let them catch you calling him that either.”
“Is that all?”
“What else could there be?”
With narrowed teal blue eyes, Sky Chaser studied Yellow’s face for any betraying emotions. “I almost think you like him.”
“Yes, absolutely everything I’ve said shows I like him. After all, I’ve only ever shown support for him and Rainbow Brash.”
“Alright, alright. I’m just saying we could use your help.”
“I’m not going up against Princess Celestia, okay? I’ll sign whatever petition you want, but I’m not about to join a protest march or whatever.”
Sky Chaser responded with a sneer at his teammate’s willful surrender. “Well, it seems like you really live up to your name, yellow.”
His face turned red with anger. Sky Chaser wisely decided at that moment to leave, so Yellow Bolt was left to grumble under his breath. Once again, his thoughts turned to his father, glaring from his hospital bed. Yellow Bolt was the first son to arrive, as soon as he heard the news of his father’s relapse. He had told his father everything he accomplished at Rainbow Falls, hoping for once, to find some long overdue glimmer of respect. His father only coughed. That same sooty voice he’d known since childhood, grinded like iron fillings. Then, he looked at Yellow with stern, unforgiving eyes, lined with crust and wrinkles. “Three years to qualify for the Games? Your brothers got in on their first try. And you let a baby lizard beat you? Ponies are supposed to be smarter than those gem-hoarding monsters. We have magic, flight, actual culture. You’d let that ‘thing’ beat you? You’d betray your own race? Your brothers never lost to a pony, much less a griffon. But losing to a lizard? An inherently evil creature? You’re an embarrassment to your own kind.”