Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch.
The sound had accompanied the man for hours, heavy boots on fresh snow, wind whistling in his ear. The artic hellscape never ended. He could only press on.
Somewhere out there was a little girl with a big smile, and she was waiting for him. She had to be; she was all he had left.
Dead!
He stumbled, plunging face-first into the snow, the white powder already sneaking past his worn-out cloak to assault his numbed flesh.
Crying out, he slammed his fist against the wintry fluff. He outright refused to acknowledge that single, traitorous thought. She was alive. She had to be alive. Otherwise, what was all of this for?
The man looked up, trying to find anything that would let him know where he was… but no. He found nothing, and his strength was slowly fading. The deadly cold had an effective and growing stranglehold upon his limbs.
He got up, groaning under his injuries and the bitter bite of winter air. He had made a promise, and it was his duty to keep it. He kept trudging on, nowhere his destination. He had to find her.
Daylight receded, and with each step he took, his strength drained. His body would not last long. He had to find shelter against the claws of winter which so artfully harassed the Crystal Mountains. Until death or bodily failure, he would move on.
Little by little, the man's consciousness fled his body. One last step, and he was falling back into the snow. Loneliness, pain, and guilt tore at him, and there was nothing left to remedy it.
"Sister..." the man muttered weakly.
With each pained wheeze, every struggled movement, and each memory of happier times, he wanted to cry out in agony and frustration. He might soon be breathing his last... but he couldn’t stop. He would push his will to be stronger than anything in the world, or he would die trying.
He looked up. There was something there...
There it was. He spotted his chance. His last chance.
With a cry of pain, he pulled himself back to his feet, almost stumbling and returning his face to the snow the moment he was up.
He shuffled towards the dilapidated shack, which had so auspiciously become visible beneath the snowfall. Not the wounds, nor the cold and pain—physical and emotional both—would stop him. He was would continue to the end. He would fulfill his promise.
With great difficulty, he finally made that last step to the shack’s door. Opening it and stepping inside, he barely had the door closed behind him before collapsing to the floor in relief, even if at something so trivial as a barely held together shelter. He closed his eyes and smiled. His breathing was heavy and he was too weak to be comfortable, but it was enough. For the moment.
The man tried crawling forward, but made not an inch before groaning in surrender. His body had suffered too much, and now he was paying the consequences. Instead, he settled for darting his eyes about the place, trying to get a feel for his shelter. It took only a few seconds before he saw them.
A family of his fellow humans, butchered. The bodies appeared beaten, cut, and stabbed. There had been no mercy, not even to the tiny forms of the innocents, still clutching onto their parents. One was headless, but it didn’t take much searching for the man to find it. It had rolled halfway across the room into the limp arms of a child’s body.
He tried to hold back his tears, only to let it all out with a shuddering gasp. He’d never seen such brutality. It had been unimaginable only moments before.
He looked away, unable to bear it. Tears flowed as memories of the lost resurface in his mind. His parents, friends, and all the people he once knew, gone. Such violence brought upon his species, and for most of it, he could only imagine what it must have looked like. If he hadn’t run away, it would have been his fate too.
He never understood why the griffins and dragons did it. They never inflicted such horrors on any other species, and yet, they clearly wanted to make humanity suffer. The carnage had lasted a decade now, and he was beginning to feel that he might be the only one left—unless she was alive.
For hours, he laid there, waiting for some sign that he should—or even physically could—continue. It never came.
As night wore on, the wind picked up, lashing at his shelter like a stampeding Yak. The small, weak roof shook and swayed. The shack did not seem like it could endure much more.
Crack!
"AH!"
Part of the ceiling collapsed, half-burying the man in shattered wood. By the piercing pain in his left leg, he could only guess he had been impaled. Perhaps he could have been surer of that outcome, but his wits were too addled to make anything out for certain.
He screamed and sobbed, the pain nigh on unbearable. He wanted to shout at the world, shout that if it was going to take him as it had his kinsmen, it could at least do so quickly, without such agonizing preamble.
When the screaming stopped, he forced himself to hazard a look at the wound. He had to know just how bad it was.
Blood flowed openly, surging out in greater force with every heartbeat. He groaned. Men had died of much lesser wounds, and he suspected this would be his last.
An echo made its way through the shrieking storm, barely audible at first but growing every moment. Initially, he disregarded it as the imagination of a dying mind, but soon it was unmistakable. Two feminine voices, arguing by the sound of it. He almost let himself hope one might be his sister, but quickly shot that thought down with significant chastisement. Neither had the squeaky, uneven cadence of his sister’s speech.
Hearing footsteps approach and the voices growing louder, he pushed himself further under the fallen wood, attempting to hide himself. It was a painful effort, pushing back, and it probably made his injury worse, but he knew better than to be caught out in the open by what sounded like quadrupedal creatures. They were probably griffons—the very same that had hunted him and his sister, no doubt.
With nowhere left to go, all he could do was wait for the four-legged death, and hope it passed him by. Of course, he might die of his injuries anyway, but it was better that than be tortured to death by griffons, or to die screaming in the burning agony of dragon’s fire.
For the umpteenth time, the shack's door rattled under a gust of wind. Every time it did, his breath got heavier, images of intruders breaking it down filling his mind. He released one last tear, closed his eyes, and waited for everything to end.
The door swung open, accompanied by the loud squeal of a rusty hinge. Almost immediately, it was followed by the steady clip-clop of hooves on wood floor. Not griffons then. The man almost sighed in relief, before realizing he wasn’t out of hot water—or cold weather, as it were—yet. They were still a serious unknown, and if he had learned anything, it was that unknown was dangerous. Just then, the man would have given his left pinky for a way to see through the wreckage that was his hiding spot.
The hooves stopped, and the dying man stiffened. He waited, but... nothing happened. An uncomfortable quiet filled the room, the sound of wind and creaking wood the only thing to accompany him. The suspense only made him more anxious.
"What are you doing here?"
The man sighed. They’d seen him. Perhaps he wasn’t completely covered, or perhaps they had noticed the fresh blood on the floor. Either way, he was caught.
He pushed a plank out of the way with a bloodied hand, giving him a clear view of them and them of him. They were ponies, one light coated and the other dark, but not of a kind he recognized. Pegasi and Unicorns, Earth and Crystal—those he’d heard of. These had both wings and horns though, and stood tall enough to be mistaken for a horse. Then again, maybe they were, for all he knew—though he’d never heard of a horse with a cutie mark, such as the sun and moon these ponies respectively wore.
His breath hitched as their eyes met. One set was pink and the other turquoise, each bearing down on him with an analytical wariness.
"I'll ask you one more time," the dark-furred pony warned. "Who are you, and what are you doing here?"
The man opened his mouth to respond, only to cough and then grunt at a newfound pain in his side. Something was stabbing into him there, though it was only one more hurt among many.
"Answer me," the dark pony insisted, clearly agitated by his silence. If she noticed the injuries, she clearly did not consider them a priority.
The white pony frowned, concern tinting those pink eyes. "Sister, I don't think he can—"
"I just… want to... f-find her," he finally answered, his voice breaking almost beyond understanding, both due to a lack of oxygen and because he could feel himself ready to break down into sobs at any moment.
"Excuse me?" the dark one asked, confused.
"My sister... p-please," the man pleaded breathily.
The dark one twisted her head to the side in apparent confusion. "What in the name of Tartarus are you going on about?"
"We just want to help," the white pony added, taking a concerned step toward him as she eyed his injuries.
"We do?" her companion asked, clearly surprised.
The white-furred pony nodded. "Yes, he needs help, and I will not allow an innocent to suffer on our watch."
"What makes you think he’s innocent?" The dark one countered. “Even in defeat, his kind has proven exceptionally dangerous. It would be reckless of us to assist without at least ascertaining his motives first.”
"Just look at him." The white pony waved a hoof in his direction. "He is unarmed, weak, and altogether helpless. Not to mention that he may very well be the last of kind. We can question later, but if he is to be saved, it must be now!" She stopped and sighed. “Please, I know they have attacked before, but do not fight me on this, sister.”
The dark-coated pony paced back and forth for a moment, bent down to examine his wounds, then returned to her sister’s side with a frown. "Very well. Help him."
The white-furred pony smiled her thanks, then slowly approached the human.
The man leaned back, uncertain what exactly her “help” entailed, and locked his eyes on her horn, now glowing golden. “Wha—?”
"Don't worry,” she assured him. “We only want to heal your injuries. I promise."
He flinched as a flash of light enveloped him. It stung along his wounds and evoked a sudden nausea, but was over before he could say a single word in response. With the fading light came a newfound strength, matched only by the lightheaded dizziness that kept him place. He wasn’t sure if he was going to throw up, or start laughing in relief. That was, until he realized the implications of that spell. To heal him so easily, the two ponies must be exceptionally powerful. He gulped. This could still end disastrously for him.
The white pony bent down closer to him, casually tossing aside any remaining debris with her magic as she did. “All better? It would certainly appear so. My name is Celestia, and this is my sister, Luna.” She gestured with one hoof to the other pony, who still eyed him warily from halfway across the room. “What is your name? Where did you come from?”
He glanced between them, considering his options. Confronted with strange creatures, his first instinct was to lie or refuse to tell them. That would get him nowhere though; he knew that. He sighed. “Alfred. My name is Alfred. We lived away to the south of here, until the griffons came. They..." He let out a shuddering breath. “Well, I think you’ve seen their handiwork.” He pointedly did not look at the frozen corpses.
“We?” The dark one, Luna, raised an eyebrow. “Just how many of you are here?”
“I..." His gaze dropped to the floor, along with another tear. “There was... it’s just me now.” He gulped, then looked back up, meeting Celestia’s eyes. “You... you didn’t happen to see a girl on the way here, did you? She’d look like me, but younger.”
She shook her head. “No. You mentioned a sister earlier. Is that who you mean?”
“Yeah.” He gave a solemn nod, slowly pushing himself to his feet. “Please, help me find her. She’s all I have left. She was with me, but we got separated in the blizzard." He sniffed. “I think something terrible might have happened. She’s only a child.” He closed his eyes, thinking back to the ease at which he’d been healed and thus the great powers which he was now beseeching. He hated to beg, especially of something that could kill him as easily as bat an eye, but they were probably his only hope left. He just had to suck up his pride, ignore his fear, and let go of anything but his goal.
He reopened his eyes, carefully providing each of the two ponies with measured, yet imploring gaze. “That magic you used. Could you use it to find her? I’ll pay any price, make any sacrifice, but please, find her. She’s too young to understand any of this, let alone deserve it.”
The two ponies shared a glance, engaging in a form of silent dialogue so rich he almost thought they were using magic—though, then again, he was pretty sure he’d seen human women do it too. It only lasted a few seconds, but by the time it did, Luna’s expression had softened and she finished with a single, small nod to her sister. That nod alone filled Alfred with more hope than anything else he’d seen so far.
Celestia turned back to him. “I am sorry, but our magic cannot do as you ask.”
And in an instant, his hope was crushed.
“But," she continued, “we recognize that you are not a threat, and if we get the chance after this storm ends, we will do our best to—"
A horn blast sounded in the not-so-distance, cutting the pony off. Both swiveled their heads in the direction of the noise and perked their ears up, concern etching their faces. The sound had been unmistakable. A griffon war horn, used to communicate between units and intimidate enemies. If one was being sounded, that meant there was more than one group of griffons.
“It is time to go,” Luna announced without hesitation. “We cannot risk getting caught between their forces. Too often their kind attacks first and asks questions... well, never.”
Celestia nodded, already at the door and peering into the snowfall. “We can go east then cut south. There should be shelter somewhere along that route. I would hate to fly in this weather for long.”
Alfred’s eyes widened as he realized what was about to happen. They were going to leave him. “Wait!” He took a step forward. “What about me? I know we don’t know each other, but you won’t just leave me to die, will you?”
The two shared another one of those downright eloquent looks—if such a term could ever be applied to a mere meeting of the eyes—then Luna gave a sigh and a roll of the eyes. “Fine. You may...” she paused to let out a huff of annoyance, “ride with us upon my back. If you’re going to slow down anypony, better me than my sister. She is weighed down plenty as is.”
Celestia let out an offended gasp. “Are you calling me—”
“No time for that, sister,” Luna interjected with a smirk. “We must be away. Come, hairless ape.” She trotted over to Alfred’s side, lowering herself to the floor so he could climb on.
Alfred wished he could say that he smoothly slid right on, taking it all in stride, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. In fact, it took Luna clearing her throat like she’d just swallowed a horseshoe to get him to stop gawking and do as he was directed.
Once he was in place, awkwardly adjusting his legs to stay clear of Luna’s wings, he wrapped his arms around her neck. When she gave him an annoyed glanced, he eased up, only for her to testily inform him that he better hold tighter or learn to fall gracefully. He chose the former.
With a hop, a skip, and a bound, they were out of the shack and into the air, the lack of warning nearly making Alfred lose his grip. He opened his mouth to comment on just that, but ended up choking on a mouthful of the pony’s blue mane, sent billowing by the wind.
The war horn sounded out again, quickly followed by another from the opposite direction. They weren’t as frightening coming from below, until Alfred remembered that griffons have wings. Luckily, if they had seen the two ponies taking flight, they had not deigned to give chase.
Luna rocked to the side, pushed by a particularly powerful gust of wind coming out of a nearby pass, and Alfred almost lost his grip. It didn’t help that with the touch of frostbite already gracing his fingertips and the bitter wind buffeting them from all sides, he could barely even feel his grip past the numbness in his limbs.
Then it all stopped, the two magical beings passing through the cloud layer, and along with it, the snow. The cold was still there, but no longer were they being thrown back and forth like a stray leaf in the wind.
Though the ground was no longer clearly visible, Alfred couldn’t help but peer down, as if some sign of his sister’s presence would magically appear somewhere in all that white and gray. He knew she had to be somewhere down there—not far at all, all things considered—but she might as well have been waiting in Tartarus itself. Completely unreachable.
He leaned down, sighing into the purple pony’s mane. There was nothing he could do. He’d offered anything, been willing to do anything, and still, he failed.
Luna twisted her neck to look at him from out of the corner of her eye. “Are you crying?” She paused, glancing to Celestia ahead of them. “It is your sister, isn’t it? I am sorry, but there is nothing we can do. Should we return now, the griffons will surely attack.”
“She’s all I have left.” He sniffed. “My parents, dead, my friends, dead, my neighbors, dead... and now my sister...” He shook his head, unable to vocalize the rest of that thought. For over a year, since the death of their parents, he’d been her sole caretaker, her sole defender. Now, he was nothing more than a failure with no reason to keep on living, no purpose at all in the world except to be a curiosity for strange creatures who’d never heard of a human. He scoffed to himself. Worthless; that was the word he was looking for.
Luna leveled that piercing, turquoise gaze against him for only a moment following his response, but given the sympathy he saw in those eyes, she’d seen plenty. Facing forward once again, she spoke without looking at him. “I... I suppose I can sneak back here and take a look around, once we get you to safety. No promises, but I can at least try to find this sister of yours.”
He blinked. “Really? You would... do that for me? You don’t even know me.”
“Tis not for you,” she responded levelly. “If a child is out there, perhaps freezing or injured, she deserves to be found. I will help her if I can.”
“Thank you.” He nodded, a hopeful smile pulling at his lips. “No matter your reasoning, I thank you. If there is anything I can offer in return, just ask. If it is in my power, I will do it.”
“Yes,” she mused. “I’m sure we can discuss that a later date, if at all. For now, just relax. I shall return as soon as you are safe.”
He nodded again, finally allowing himself to relax, leaning against the pony whom he owed his life. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” he breathed, each repetition quieter than the last. It wasn’t much, but he finally had a glimmer of hope. No matter how unlikely it was that she’d find his sister, he could hold onto that little glimmer until the moment she returned with the news. For the time being, that was all he could do. He would weep later, whether from joy or sorrow, he did not yet know.
Luna landed softly in the snow, carefully eying her surroundings for any sign of a griffon presence—or dragon, for that matter. Other than some tracks mostly erased by fresh precipitation, there were none—well, other than the very thing she’d landed to investigate. From the air, it had appeared to be little more than a mound in the snow, but it nagged at her curiosity enough to warrant landing and checking it out.
Her horn alit with a purple glow as she picked up the fresh powder and tossed it aside, revealing the secret hidden beneath. She sighed. It was, unfortunately, just as she had expected. A body.
Reaching one hoof out, she turned the body over so she could see its face. It was that of a young girl, eyes iced over and flesh turned blackish-blue with frostbite. Her last expression was still frozen in place. She died afraid.
Luna levitated the body into the air and examined it for wounds. There were none. That was one piece of good news at least. It was far better to die of cold than by the torture of a griffon’s talons.
She set the body down with a sigh. She knew it was a long shot to begin with, and it was a miracle she even found anything at all, but Alfred would be absolutely heartbroken by this. Of course, she didn’t have to tell him. She could say that she didn’t find anything at all. She tapped her hood to her chin in thought. A lack of closure, or news of the worst kind? A difficult decision.
She eyed the body again, this time looking for items of sentimental value. That way, she could at least come back with something to show for the outing. A silver bracelet was all she found, and though she knew not whether it was important or merely a trinket, she slipped it into a bag at her side. That done, she quickly used her magic to bury the body far deeper than it was before. It seemed only respectful to keep it from being eaten by wolves or used as a landmark by travelers.
That done, she launched herself back into the air, wheeling around to return from whence she came. There was still the matter of what to tell Alfred, and she suspected it would take the rest of the flight back to come up with an adequate answer. His heart was already broken, and she feared that if she told the truth, it might drive him to self-harm. It would be an incomparable shame to lose the last known human to something as avoidable as suicide. As it was, she or Celestia would have to check in every now and then to make sure he didn’t off himself.
By the time she got back, her mind was made up. She would tell him the truth, but not today. Not tomorrow either, nor next week, but someday she would. Someday. In the meantime, she would hold her tongue, and keep that bracelet safe. It was only for the best. She just hoped that, one day, he would understand, and eventually learn to forgive her for it. She let out a sigh. That was going to be a very bad day.
The End.