Smoke, fire and steel. My life has been nothing but the hissing of flames, the burning scent of smoke in my lungs, and the clanging of hot bronze and iron for as long as I've lived. Or at least as long as I can remember. The rattle of chains, the sting of the whip, day in and day out. Cradle to grave, like everyone else. We're born, we work, we bleed, we die, and bring forth yet another generation into this crapsack world.
“Hey! Stupid ape!” a voice growled from behind me as I paused to scratch my ear. Oh no, not one of them, “Keep moving! There are more weapons to be forged, and your shift isn't over!”
“B-but I’ve got an itch!” I protested, vainly hoping that for once, just this once, an excuse for a little respite might be taken seriously. “It’ll only take a second, I promise!”
“I said, keep moving, stupid monkey!” the overseer snapped. I winced at the familiar sound of the whip cracking against the floor, the sound that drove thousands of slaves a day unceasingly forward, without rest, without mercy. “I don’t give a buck about your fleas! This should remind you of who’s in charge!”
Tears welled up in my eyes as the lashes struck me, white-hot pain against my back. I bit back a cry of pain and tried uselessly to grab the cord of leather, but the overseer just laughed and struck faster. As always.
“Every once in a while, one of you dumb apes forgets that you’re nothing but beasts of labor,” he jeered as he struck me again, and I was unable to hold back a cry of anguish this time, falling hard onto my knees under the weight of the blow. “Now get back to work, fleabag!”
Whimpering, I slowly rose to my feet, ignoring my stinging back and my bruised knees, and nodded meekly, shuffling fast over to the next workstation. My chains rattled and scraped against the floor as I hastened over, reminding me with every step of what I was. I began returning to working on a bronze spear, my hands moving automatically even as my mind recoiled from the task, numbed from years of doing this over and over. It was not a comfortable routine, but I did it with all the emotional input of a rock, getting back to the steady rhythm of heating, hammering and cooling, heating, hammering and cooling, over and over again as sparks flew in my face. I’d once asked for a little protection when I was younger and more naive, some goggles or even a neck-cloth so my neck wouldn’t get burned. The hundreds of scars on my back reminded me to never try that again.
My name is Jeffrey Carey, age eighteen. Like every other human in the world, I’ve lived my whole life as a slave to pony society. I worked deep inside the Canterhorn in one of their many workcamps to craft all sorts of items that ponies have difficulty crafting due to their lack of hands. Because naturally, it’s easier to make us do it than try to figure it out for themselves.
A long time ago, eons before I was born, we humans ruled the world as the Dominant Race; or so my father tells me, anyway. My mother agrees, but as a pony sympathetic to the plight of humans, for obvious reasons, she may simply be biased.
We were supposed to be the spitting image of the Creator, the stewards of the world, the destined ones. We built villages, then towns, then cities, then countries, and even sprawling empires. We even reached for the heavens, travelling to other worlds to explore.
My eyes teared up again as I thought about everything my parents taught me. My siblings were lucky to have been born as ponies to their human/pony union. They didn’t have to slave away like I have. They instead could pursue their dreams, gain an education, and see the outside world. All of my education was from my mother and siblings teaching me in secret. If Man was so great once before, we haven’t been for a long time.
The ponies came one day, overwhelming us and conquering us. The human mind was supposed to be the ultimate thing in the universe, making us superior to all, and yet, they overwhelmed us with magic, weather and brute strength. We didn’t get a chance to think or plan. Before we knew it, we were in chains. In the blink of an eye, we went from rulers to slaves. Funny how monstrous fate and destiny can be when it’s no longer on your side.
Nopony but our taskmasters remembered us at all, and the Age of Man was long dead, destroyed by weather weapons, them taking control of the heavens and endless waves of Earth Pony shock troops. Our “destiny” was dead, our legacy buried in ruins, and we thought we would all live out the rest of our pathetic existences in chains, baring our backs to their villainy. Some of us even thought our ‘Promised One’ was nothing but a pipe dream, but at least it gave us a little hope, whether misplaced or not.
I had no idea if it was true, but if it was, I wished I could do something about it. The taskmasters sure loved to gloat about how they crushed us so long ago, so maybe it was true. I still couldn’t do anything, though. All I could do was wait. Wait and hope that the Promised One would come to free us. He who we spoke of in whispers and shadows, defiant in that small way to the last, a final, desperate, hope for one who would save us from bondage. A human with the power of an Alicorn, one with the power to overwhelm our oppressors, breath hope back into the husks we had become, restore what had been broken and marred by centuries of slavery’s cruel toil, and ignite Man’s Second Age. The Promised One would come as a lightning strike on a cloudless day, swift and unseen until he was in the midst of us. Some of us had been born with pony abilities thanks to interspecies unions: Mages, Icarii and Druids, but they had their abilities sealed at birth to prevent any chance of rebellion, so if the Promised One walked among us, none of us would know, possibly not even them.
Foals born to such unions were far more lucky. My siblings all had the superiority of the human mind, and could enjoy lives even most ponies would envy. They had rights. They had value, dignity, worth beyond merely what they could shape or do.
Me? I was just a slave. An animal. A beast of labor who just happened to be able to talk.
Looking down, I realized I’d finished the spear already, and dipped it in water before placing it with the other completed spears. That was normally how it went, honestly. I’ve been doing this so long my hands just… work regardless of where my mind is wandering. Probably for the best, considering what happens if I stop. Still trying to ignore the itch, I turned to make my way back to the first station to continue my endless labor when the sound of a whistle blew. My shift was over.
“Now get back to your quarters, filthy ape!” the unicorn overseer from before snapped. I can’t remember his face. To me, he was just one among many. Just another whip with a body attached to it. “Eat, go right to bed, and don’t come out until it’s time for your shift tomorrow morning!”
Nodding once again, I shuffled off to the living space I shared with my father. It was just barely close enough for me to reach it before the curfew bell rang, but I made it. I didn’t ask what happened to people who got there after. And frankly, I didn’t want to find out. My mother lived separately from us, but she could visit us, as she bought my father to be able to marry him, making the two of us her property, even though we still couldn’t leave the workcamp.
Our place was little more than an artificial cave carved into the rock, like thousands of others along the wall of the Canterhorn caverns. Not even the nice part, at that. No crystals, no pretty glittery limestone. Just dull rock. I’d heard stories that it wasn’t like that above. In the caverns above, the walls glittered and shone, and there was color everywhere. And even higher than that, there was what my mother and siblings called ‘sunlight.’ Light brighter than any fire or torch, without sparks or hot metal to hold. I’ve personally never seen it even if I know it’s there. I would like to, some day. Dear Creator, just once. “Hello, Jeff,” my father wheezed softly as I entered the place we called home. It was small, cramped, often smelly, and had no furnishings except for an elevated rock to serve as a table for eating. Still, it was better than the forges. By far. “I heard you crying again. Is everything alright?” The emerald orbs in his face that were once so vibrant, so full of life, looked glassy and distant. His auburn hair was wiry, and his fair skin was sickly pale. He was getting worse.
“I’d love to complain, but I can’t,” I replied dryly before a fear struck me, my tone shifting as potentially nasty situations popped into my head, each more worse than the last. “I... I hope I got all the spears done right. If they find even one imperfection, they’ll—”
A flash of light cut me off, instinctively shielding my eyes. I lowered my hand to see a vibrant yellow unicorn mare in our little hovel, gasping for breath from magical exertion for a little bit before looking at me with a smile. My heart leapt in my chest as I couldn’t help but smile back. Of all the ponies I had seen today, I knew at least she was happy to see me.
“Hello, Jeffy,” the mare said warmly as she approached, enfolding me into a warm hug as soon as I crouched to meet her at eye level. You’re home, her eyes silently promised as I buried my head in her withers, my eyes prickling with tears. You are loved. You are worth something even if the world says you aren’t.
“Hi Mom,” I whispered, holding her tight as she ran a hoof through my cobalt hair, inherited from her father, comfortingly. I wasn’t ‘slave’ or ‘fleabag’ or ‘stupid ape’ here. To her, I was ‘Jeffy’, I was ‘Son’, a child, not a slave. “I got whipped again,” I muttered quietly, tightening my grasp around her.
I could immediately hear the sharp, angry intake of breath. “What? I told them not to use those barbaric torture devices on you two!” she huffed, blowing a few strands of her purple mane away from her azure eyes as she pulled back a bit to look into my green ones, as if trying to find the faces of my overseers written on my eyes and go give them a lashing. “George, what about you?”
“Never better, Crystal,” he replied, trying to stifle a cough, though my mother wasn’t fooled.
“Even if the papers only say you’re the property of Crystal Dancer, you’re my husband, George Carey,” Mom snapped. “Don’t lie to me. I’m concerned for your well-being! If you don’t recover, they’ll put you down!”
“Jeff’s more important,” Dad wheezed in response, trying to discreetly hide a much-used handkerchief and failing. “If you do it, you won’t have to worry about my health anymore, dearest.”
Letting go of me, my mother trotted over to the makeshift straw cot my Dad was lying down on. He’d been sick for three months, thus being unable to work. If it weren’t for my mother interfering, he’d have been put to sleep several weeks prior. But with her constantly bringing him medicine and reminding them that he’s her property, she bought him more time. But I had no idea how much longer she could stall for his recovery.
This is just how things were for us, normally. We live as long as we’re useful, and then, no more. Man has but a short time to live, and is full of misery. We come up and are cut down like flowers or grass, with no more mind or thought given to our passing than an insect.
“Are you sure, love?” my Mom asked nervously, nuzzling my Dad before pressing a hoof to his forehead to check his fever. Her voice was just soft enough to make it clear I was not meant to overhear. But I still could not help but listen in, her voice soft but earnest, as if talking about a secret not meant for unguarded ears. “George, you can’t, not yet, not now. He’s not ready. Your family has been marrying sympathizers like me for fifteen generations, and though he is what we were aiming for, I’m still leery. I had to seal it myself before they could take note, and using that blood sample stolen from the palace medical ward was already high-risk enough!”
Blood sample? Stolen? What on the Creator’s green Earth did Mom do? “Mom? Dad?” I piped up, shuffling over to my parents curiously as the clinking of my shackles caught their attention. I had to know what this was. Whatever it was, it sounded important. What was I not ready for? “You’re talking about me as if I’m not here! What’s going on, and what’re you talking about?”
The two stiffened at my approach, exchanging nervous glances for several minutes before Mom finally cleared her throat. I recognised the determined, but anxious glint in her eyes—she was about to give me another lesson on subjects I was forbidden to have knowledge of, as she and my siblings had time and time again, always checking over their shoulders for prying eyes and ears. Teaching a human anything not related directly to their assigned tasks was absolutely forbidden. No loopholes, not even for human children of ponies. My maternal grandfather tried teaching one of his human daughters, and he was never seen again. Mom refuses to talk about it, but she still taught me anyway, even knowing full well what it might cost her.
“Your father’s bloodline is… well…” My mother trailed off and cleared her throat again, before shaking her head and looking me in the eyes as I crouched again to meet her at eye level.
“For many generations, your father’s ancestors have intermingled with taskmaster ponies sympathetic to the plight of humans,” she explained hesitantly, as if she would rather be talking about anything but this topic. “These sympathies were born from love, but after we discovered that human infants born to a human/pony union can have pony abilities, we came up with a plan. It would require love to keep it going, but our plan was to eventually bring a human into the world with the powers of an Alicorn: the Promised One. The rumors of this promise spread through the humans like wildfire, instilling them with hope for the first time in eons.” My eyes widened. I had a feeling where this was going but... that couldn’t be right, could it? A little spark of hope, long-since buried, was slowly inching towards the surface of my mind.
Sighing happily at the thought, her eyes closed as if in deep contemplation, my mother continued. “The hope that one day, you’d all be saved gave you hope, and you were able to bear your burdens far more easily. Generations passed, and still, there was little progress. Until it became my turn. I fell in love with George, bought him so I could marry him, then pilfered a sample of Princesses Celestia and Luna’s blood from the palace infirmary.” She paused for a moment, the weight of her words and the implication of them seeming to catch up with her. My mind was buzzing with more and more questions even as the answer began taking shape. “After transfusing the sample into myself, we tried to have a child, and you were the result, Jeffrey.”
She gave me a long, piercing look, as if trying to make me understand with her gaze alone, hope and fear and even a glimmer of pride in her eyes. “M-mom?” My voice was shaking at this point, confusion blocking my ability to comprehend. “What… what are you getting at?”
“Jeff,” my Dad whispered. “The Promised One? He’s you.”