//------------------------------// // The Hall of Honor // Story: Ofolrodi // by Imploding Colon //------------------------------// Along the Omega side of the Tree of Mothers—a location that Rainbow Dash, on the other portion of the plane, would likely have once equated with “north”—there formed an elaborate... deformation of the wooden megastructure's complex root system. Nevertheless, “deformation” would very likely have been an insulting term for the beautiful complexity that Rainbow and her companions were presently observing. The roots here—ginormous structures of their own merit—rose upwards from the stone earth in multitudinous, winding, conjoined shapes. It all amounted to a delicate, ancient dance of winding wooden structures, many of which had evidently been hollowed out to form bunkers, living quarters, and storage compartments—complete with windows, doors, and supportive lattice platforms. The elaborate and frankly random root formations even put the skycrapers surrounding Abaddon's Nest to shame, albeit at a notably smaller scale. Practically speaking, the branching materials resembled the exposed root structure of a bald cypress tree, only more pronounced—not to mention absurdly magnified in size. Also—instead of a swamp—the roots rose in and out of the dense arid stone of the sun-less wastelands. Rainbow and her friends found themselves capable of observing all of these details—and more—mostly due to the fact that they had a remarkably lofty view of the vast array of meandering megaroots. This was afforded by one pronounced root—singular in hits thickness and purpose—that ran from the curveside face of the Tree and wound its way clockwise towards the Omega side in a majestic curve. The ascending surface of this one particular root was shallow enough that it afforded countless Bloodwing bodies to march up its slope, undisturbed by gravity. In fact, very few soldiers flew on their way to the Hall of Honor. The whole of Lexxic's armry was content to march on bare hooves, as if they were ritually ascending a grand winding staircase towards some palatial event of great magnificence. Thanks to the entry “ramp” of the thickest root being situated along the Curveside face of the Tree of Mothers, most members of the Dark Vigil—who were mostly camped along the Alpha shadow of the Tree—predominantly used this particular platform to reach their destination. As a result, Rainbow and her companions found themselves awash in a grand migrating sea of sarosians—all stallions—marching their way towards the nebulous location of the Hall of Honor. It grew very very crowded, and Shriike in particular grew more and more nervous by the minute. However, this was no by-the-book military march. It became quickly evident that every soldier in attendance was “at ease,” and that they weren't being forced to march in some regimental fashion. In fact, every Bloodwing came across as enthusiastic, relaxed, and even jovial. Whatever regularly transpired at the Hall of Honor, Rainbow Dash could tell that the soldiers of the Dark Vigil were more than pleased to be involved. She couldn't even tell if attendance was mandatory or not—but it didn't appear to particularly matter. Looking left and right, Rainbow got the striking sense that nearly everypony employed by Lexxic and the Sons of Nightmares were invited to this occasion. What's more, not a single soul looked ready to complain. Their fangs glinted between bouts of laughter and moments of boastful pride. Shouts and hisses filled the air, and brothers-in-combat greeted each other whole-heartily as separate companies blended together more and more, becoming one with the winding roots of the Tree. As the path grew and more crowded, it grew harder and harder for Rainbow and her fellow Heraldites to not stand out. More than a dozen hoof-fulls of battle-worn stallions glared in angry confusion at the sheer audacity of these female-and-alien ambassadors trotting among them. But not a single soul tried anything. The presence of Lexxic and his most trusted subordinates likely prevented any brash actions on behalf of the bulk of the Dark Vigil's finest. Lexxic trotted towards the front—along with Masser and Lukaas. Meanwhile, Azarias and Sypher took up the rear—providing “protection” to the avatar of Luna and her group—and it was quite apparent to everyone that no soul alive was going to risk challenging either the Second or the Fourth over the matter. This brought ease to the Penumbrans—but only for a little while. More than once, Rainbow Dash caught Azarias glaring at Ariel. No doubt the exchange back at Central Headquarters didn't particularly win any favors. For most of the trek, Rainbow kept herself positioned between the Sons of Nightmares in the rear and Ariel and Shrike... just to be absolutely careful... A metal talon tapped on Rainbow's shoulder. She glanced at Wildcard. The Desperado gestured towards Omega. Rainbow looked—and for a moment she couldn't particularly figure just what the silent griffon was wanting her to see. Perhaps it was everything: Adjoining the massive winding root that they were trotting on were several smaller—but still grand—root structures winding upwards from Omega. These too had platforms and lattices built alongside and between each other, affording even more rivers of velvety sarosian bodies to ascend the lower trunk of the Tree of Mothers, eventually joining their current tributary as they converged on a single point. The destination in question appeared to be a clustered nexus of wooden structures that dipped, bowing slightly into a veritable “crater” set within the tumorous support branches that lingered the thickest along that portion of Bloodwing territory. But beyond all of that—and standing out against the bleak horizon of Omega—was a tall and rigid structure, situated half a kilometer away from the furthest reaching root. At first, Rainbow Dash thought that perhaps this object was another tree—but that didn't seem very likely. While tall, the structure didn't even remotely match the Tree of Mothers in its scale. In fact, if the twilight was a little bit dimmer, she'd not be able to make it out at all in the shadow of the Bloodwing home. Now was the first time Rainbow observed the Omega horizon unobscured beyond the Tree, and her mind struggled to make sense out just what the slender opaqueness blocking out the starlight could be. Then Seraphimus spoke up, chilling Rainbow with how effortlessly she read the petite pegasus' mind: “It appears to be a docking structure of some sort.” Rainbow's brow furrowed. Surrounded by militant sarosians—in a bleak land devoid of a sun, and with an enormous tree towering high above her—the long-traveled soul momentarily forgot that she had ever actually been to places as spectacular and unique as Ledomare. “You mean for stationing dirigibles?” Rainbow Dash remarked. “Airships of some kind?” “That would be my guess,” Seraphimus said with a nod. Rainbow turned in mid-trot to gape at the former Talon Commander. “Rohbredden had airships?” “We had a lot of things.” Seraphimus looked back at her. Deadpan. “Before you came.” Rainbow's ears folded back. “Well, when you put it like that...” “Rainbow, darling...” Rarity spoke up. Rainbow glanced at the ghostly mare. “Hey Rares. Sense any... uhhhh... zeppelins roundabout?” Rarity ignored that question, pointing Edgeside. “Feast your eyes, if you can...” Rainbow squinted, struggling to look past the heads-heads-heads-and-more-heads of the sarosians trotting before and around her. “You may have to crane your neck a bit...” Rainbow attempted to do so. Even still—she struggled to see anything of unique importance in the arid bleaks beyond the Omega face of the Tree of Mothers. She considered taking wing, but... that would likely not go well while surrounded by a crowd of dutifully marching Bloodwings. She wasn't about to rock the boat, especially when Lexxic was going so far out of his way to make her and her companions feel welcome... and safe. So she settled for what little she could see. And see—she did—albeit faintly. There were several dark dips in the stone landscape. Torch-lit paths and wagon trails led between the Tree and the multiple destinations. Rainbow spotted heaps of broken stone and earth accumulating alongside multiple avenues. She reasoned that the patches of darkness were—in fact—quarries that had been dug deep into the earth after centuries upon centuries of the Dark Vigil mining the local landscape for every available resource. But one quarry in particular stood out from the rest. The patches of unearthed stone that surrounded its perimeter were noticeably paler in texture. What's more, a bone cold glow of light emanated from somewhere deep within. The longer Rainbow stared at it, the queasier she felt inside—accompanied by a shiver that ran nauseating circles between her gut and her skull. It was like the opposite of looking at the warm harmonic mark of the Midnight Armory—which stood almost perfectly opposite of the quarry in question. “The pit?” Rainbow dryly spat. She looked aside—specifically at Twilight. Twilight nodded. “Ever since Rarity pointed it out, I've sensed an absence of harmonic resonance from that particular location.” She gulped, then continued. “If I was to hazard a guess, I would say the sarosians are using that hole in the earth to deposit all of their—” In a fizzling ripple of light, Twilight Sparkle vanished. Rainbow weathered a dizzy spell, and in the ensuing blink she saw Discord hovering in Twilight's place, finishing her speech: “—Hari Kiri Rock!” He said, smiling crookedly. “I need scissors! Sixty-one!” Rainbow frowned. But before she could protest— “We didn't build it, of course...” Trotting firmly along, Rainbow turned from Discord to the First Son of Nightmares walking at a safe distance ahead of her. “Huh?” “We fostered it. The Hall of Honor, that is,” Lexxic declared. “A very very long time ago—barely a century after the Tree of Mothers was first planted—it was formed out of the upper roots... molded and carved to be a grandiose sanctuary of sarosian importance. It was meant to be a shrine—a devoted place of worship.” His helm tilted back slightly, catching a glint of starlight in Rainbow's direction. “Worship of Nightmare Moon, of course. However, as the war over the sarcophagus waged on... and the need for practical resources usurped all respect for tradition... the shrine was abandoned. At least in its initial purpose. What was once hallowed ground for meditating, dreamtrotting, and invoking the name of the Mother of Nightmares... decayed under pure abandonment... reduced to a dusty hovel for storing weapons, armor, and rusted old tools.” Lexxic—ever the showstallion—had marvelous timing. For even before the First Son of Nightmares finished relaying all of this info, the structure in question finally came into view. Rainbow Dash didn't even have to crane her neck; the thick root structure beneath her hooves had reached its peak, allowing her an unobstructed view of their destination. It loomed below, nestled within the swirling nexus of roots. No less than four winding structures converged on a central nub of petrified wooden thickness. It looked far from natural; Rainbow could only guess that those who first planted and grew the Tree of Mothers had concocted a large scale form of Arbortectural engineering: guiding many of the above-ground roots into one another over growth and time so as to afford a chunk of organic material thick enough to carve an arena out of. Which is precisely what they did. A purely circular building sank into the converged roots, with a lip of raised scaffolds lining the circumference. Upon the summits, no less than twelve metal spires stretched upwards at equidistant points. A multipiece patchwork canopy stretched between them. Rainbow guessed it was constructed out of some finely-woven material that disrupted the starlight from above. It was some form of hard burlap, or a canvas weave, or—as much as it twisted Rainbow's stomach to conceive—leather. If it was indeed the latter, then the material had to have been cured from an incomprehensibly large number of slain creatures. The sheer surface area of the multi-panel roofing was mind-blowingly daunting, to say the least. Upon each of the four roots that descended upon this low-level coliseum, rivers of Bloodwing might trotted and marched. A deafening roar—like perpetual waterfalls—shook its way through Rainbow's bones. She realized that the veritable “crater” formed in the converging roots afforded a massive echo chamber, resounding with all of the heavy-stepping hooves and bass masculine voices conjoining as one. It suddenly made some sense why the sarosians seemingly weren't permitted to fly their way here. Keeping low and heavy and heartful afforded them an enthralling resonance. They were inescapably immersed in their own might. As Rainbow's group wandered deeper down the sloping root structures and towards the arena waiting below, she wondered just how mesmerizingly loud it might end up being within the heart of the Hold itself. “My third act as Commander of the Dark Vigil,” Lexxic continued. “Was to restore this shrine to glory.” He trotted on three hooves—just long enough to raise a front fetlock for emphasis. “Not restoring it to its old glory... which our illustrious elders had evidently abandoned ages ago...” He resumed on all fours in a confident stride. “But fashioning it into a sanctum for Bloodwing meditation. I speak—of course—of feasts. Recreation. Trials of strength. Showcases of valor. And—most important of all—a stage to recount glorious tales of victory.” “For generations we stallions were no more than mere tools of war for the elders,” Azarias spoke up, which caught Rainbow by surprise. The Second maintained a neutral tone, despite the enthusiastic exposition. “We lived, fought, and died without retribution or recompense.” He nodded in the direction of the First Son trotting ahead of the group. “It was Lexxic who took a banal waste of space and turned it into something worth fighting form. An actual home... for our blood and bones to return to.” His scars tightened as he shuddered in contemplation. “The First Son gave us more than victory. He gave us all souls.” “And... a little bit of sparring before a fine meal certainly doesn't hurt,” Lexxic said, suppressing a chuckle. He was about to say more—but a few passing Bloodwings squeaked and cheered at the sight of him. He waved blindly back, smiling calmly and exchanging a few words in moonwhinny. A brief wave of jubilance rippled through the crowd immediately surrounding him. Masser shifted his weight, giving Lexxic a clear path towards their destination. Once the commotion had more or less settled, Lexxic cleared his throat and spoke once again to Rainbow Dash: “We inherited this place—like so many things. But... unlike most of the accursed weight that the elders have thrown on our diligent withers... this has turned out to be quite the blessing.” “Hmmmm...” Discord stroked his goatee, eyeing the raised root platforms cycloning them towards the sunken arena. “Unpredictable nature... tamed into divine purpose... … … but then abandoned to time and apathy... only to be restored to a new cause... … … inviting passion, rage, and vitriolic distrust of the maretriarchal establishment.” He tongued the inside of his mouth. “Mmmmmmmmmm—it's not entirely symmetrical, though.” A fanged smirked, aimed at the dragonequus' anchor. “At least he's got that going for him!” Rainbow did his best to ignore the ghostly chaotician. “So... this place does wonders for morale.” “Affirmative,” Lexxic said. Rainbow cleared her throat. “Guess it was good on the elders for allowing it.” “The elders didn't allow anything!” Azarias sneered and hissed from the rear. “The First Son forged the Hall of Honor from abandoned dreams with his own four—” A shrill whistle. Two pale wings spread upwards from Lexxic's position. “Tone it down a bit, Second. It benefits nopony to encourage an ulcer before a meal.” “Mrrrrnghhh...” Azarias clenched his fanged mouth shut. “Practically speaking, unprecedented victory in the face of a history of perpetual stalemate has... afforded me many things that only serve to improve the function of my brothers in combat.” Lexxic waved at a few more admiring Bloodwings. They were approaching the cusp of the coliseum's upper scaffolds now. “Don't get me wrong. Resources are indeed quite scarce. It's challenging enough to feed this army on a regular basis, much less afford moments of even the barest luxury.” “You could have fooled me, brother.” Masser smirked aside at the First. His tattooed muscles shone proudly in the starlight. “Every campaign heaps in a new haul.” “That's because the only true direction is forward. Unto the Sarcophagus.” Lexxic's fangs showed. “And when the Dark Vigil's goal is finally within our grasp, there will—then—be only one other direction.” “I can't imagine the Seared Lands somehow having lesser bounties,” spoke up Lukaas. Wildcard and Ariel exchanged glances. “Conjured from the Narrow...” Masser mused. “...and unto the Narrow we return.” “A linear mindset,” Seraphimus stated. “Indeed.” Lexxic nodded. The Former Talon Commander's feathered brow furrowed. “I much prefer more rounded strategies,” she said. “Victory is easier to approach from multiple angles... with several winding avenues to approach the same conflict.” “Perhaps that works under the glare of the Solar Deceiver. But here...” Lexxic slowly shook his head. “Caution is what led our elders into perpetuating suffering, decay, and retreat. It was a vicious cycle of absurdity. But no longer.” He trotted tall and proud. “I have proven that being direct and brutal yields results. And—in time... with enough faith and patience on behalf of the High Polished... I will bring the Dark Vigil to absolute victory.” “Sounds awesome and all...” Rainbow's voice rasped. “...but it can't all be that easy.” “Think about what you say before you say it, Sparky,” Discord hummed ghostily into her ear. Her tongue rested on the roof of her mouth, but she nevertheless clicked into the next speech: “Somepony's gotta pay the price for shortcomings at some point or another. No war is ever won without—” “Sacrifice?” Lexxic's helm tilted. The pale slab caught the last glint of starlight before passing beneath the darkness of the Hall of Honor's entrance. “Dearest avatar, the stallions of the Dark Vigil have suffered the sacrifice for eons.” A deep breath. “This generation is different. The sacrifice is wholly and completely mine.” His jaw tightened as he passed like a crescent moon into the shadows. “It will be my brothers and their sons and their sons' sons... who will reap the glory of the victory wrought in this day and age... and they shall be the ones to return to the Narrow.” Discord smirked at Rainbow, wagging his eyebrows. Rainbow stifled a groan. She could tell that there was no leaving Lexxic's proximity anytime soon. The phantom dragonequus wasn't about to be replaced by her five dear friends. Rather than dwell on this, she took stock of where Shrike and the Heraldites were positioned. Keeping close to them, she observed the developing interior of the noisy domain where they had been collectively herded. Immediately, a series of stairs descended down steep vertical corridors illuminated by faint bluish runestones. The walls had a pale sheen to them, and for a while there Rainbow Dash mistook their surfaces for polished stone—when in fact the entire domain had been intricately carved out of petrified wood. For the life of her, Rainbow couldn't imagine the sheer power and creative magnitude that had to have gone into such an architectural feat. This only grew more and more jaw-dropping the further she proceeded into the Hall of Honor. After traversing three adjoining flights of stairs, Lexxic led her group into the next chamber. It turned out to be a large circular corridor that—as Rainbow guessed—ran the full circumference of the coliseum. The walls here were even steeper than the stairwell, and if Rainbow looked straight up she could see a winding crescent of ghostly starlight wafting down from the scantily exposed heavens. Torches were mounted high at interchanging positions along the inner and outer curve of the corridor. This allowed for a dim, warm, and almost enchanting aura of amber light to fall upon every ancient detail of the place. While the circular corridor felt narrow, it was far less restrictive than the winding roots that initially brought the sarosians there. Both the inner and outer walls were perforated by tall wood-carved columns with plenty of space for entering/exiting bodies in between. What was once a series of converging paths turned into a convention center of sorts. The echoes here reverberated more, belying the sheer mass of warriors—both seen and unseen—who were congregating absolutely everywhere. Long lost friends and fellow soldiers embraced each other for the first time in countless cycles, laughing and shrieking up a storm. The air filled with song, with ancient hymns befitting the dance of the torchlight against soot-stained carvings of old. There appeared to be no hurry to go anywhere or do anything. Lexxic's group was the only portion of life making any strategic moment, and Rainbow couldn't stop to gaze at everything because she was a proxy to it... and to him. Rainbow had been to very few “arenas” in her lifetime. The last one nearly slaughtered her for the mere entertainment of Lady Pestiferous and her Searonese bounty hunters. This fact hung in her mind, because—without any prejudicial strings attached—she had to honestly confess that the warriors who filled these lunar halls were far more lively and warm-hearted than the cybernetic denizens of the land south of Aurum. Looking at every fanged smile and perking ear, she found it hard to believe that these creatures were ever capable of cruelty, malice, or worse. “To think, they throw themselves at death,” Discord stated. “And to cause death. They don't expect to wake up alive... or to go to sleep in one piece. They are always on the move—with no promise of anything but more violence. And so—they return here—and it's a glorious clusterbuck of noise, nonsense, and nimrods.” He winked at his anchor, gesturing at Shriike. “Just don't tell Twilight Decaf.” “... … ...” Rainbow Dash didn't even look at him. “What I'm trying to say is that I'm impressed.” His fang glinted in the torchlight as he beamed. “Their ancient predecessors built upon this hallowed ground a wooden circle meant for worship and order. And these delightful dogs of war have turned it into a fluctuating nexus full of zig-zagging felicity and farts. And they thrive on it. It's their only way they maintain morale—just so they can throw themselves into the unpredictable grind yet again.” He rubbed his goatee in thought. “Hmmmm... curious... … … Verlax—didn't she go on and on about 'circle'-this and 'circle'-that?” The fur on the back of Rainbow's neck rose on end. She turned to sneer something at the Lord of Chaos— “To think...” Lexxic's voice wafted towards Rainbow again, snapping her back to the corporeal world around. “...our fore bearers couldn't even be allowed to indulge in something as blissful and righteous as... this.” He waved a pale hoof at the thickening-and-thickening crowd. “The soldiers before the First Sons had nothing to fight for. Nothing but false promises... the dream of a future that was completely unreachable.” “Allow me to guess,” Rainbow Dash spoke. “Until you came along.” “I am giving them a present and a future,” Lexxic insisted. “But... it is not the same future that the elders perceive.” “Wouldn't that...” Rainbow Dash slowly arched a nervous eyebrow. “... … ...be troublesome at some point or another?” “You're implying that they haven't thrown their tantrums already.” Lexxic's nostrils flared under his helm. “And curtailed my glorious campaign at every turn.” Rainbow Dash looked left. “... … ...” She looked right. “... … …Malaak.” Lexxic merely nodded. Rainbow sensed the same gesture from Masser, Azarias, and Lukaas. Sypher remained silent as a stone. The First Son spoke on: “She is but one of many manifestations of the elders' stubbornness... their refusal to exorcise the banal and pointless traditions of the past. But—at every turn—we continue to show them that the new strategies of the Bloodwings—the legacy of the First Sons—is greater, smarter, and more resilient than any wrench they attempt to throw in the works.” “I can't help but wonder if all of the petty... fights could be avoided if you and your higher-ups just had an honest heart-to-heart talk?” Rainbow suggested. “You thinking that I haven't tried, avatar?” Rainbow bit her bottom lip. “There are actions that speak louder than words.” Lexxic smiled back towards her. “The elders wish for you to be an extra ear by my side. So be it. You shall have it filled in due time.” Rainbow's eyes remained on Lexxic as she trotted slowly through the flowing crowd. At some point, a certain dragonequus drifted directly behind her prismastic scalp. “Can you afford to give him the cold shoulder, I wonder?” Rainbow merely gritted her teeth. “Lexxy'kyn! “Syl'drym Lexxy'kyn w'lynna sym'l thrym!” Rainbow's head turned towards the thickest pocket of the crowd as jubilant shell-bursts of praise emanated louder and louder—all collectively aimed at Lexxic's figure. As the First Son approached the inner wall of the circular corridor, the bulk of the gathering Bloodwings pivoted and shifted to form a path for him. Soldiers bowed. Warriors cheered. Veterans hissed and shrieked in melodic reverence. “Lexxy'kyn m'shrynmhii syl thr'ymma!” “Eee-eee-eee-eee!” “EEE-EEE-EEE!!!” “Hyl'wrym symyllym Lexxy'kyn m'shrynmha!” “Lexxy'kyn wr'ynlym s'lymma!” “Lexxy'kyn! Lexxy'kyn! Lexxy'kyn!” At first, Masser and Sypher marched boldly ahead of the First Son, forming a protective barrier before him—as if by habit. But Lexxic rested his hooves on their withers, gently pacifying the stallions before urging them aside. The higher ranking Bloodwings obediently gave him space, and soon the Commander of the Dark Vigil's army was trotting majestically down the invisible path that had been forged for him in the crowd. He bore a blind smile, tilting his helm crookedly—as if picking the perfect angle for the chaos metal to resonate with the vibrations from the cheering, exultant masses. He slowly spread his leather wings outward, the pale tips barely brushing against the muzzles and waving fetlocks of his penitent followers. The chanting of his name reached a fever pitch, with his top officers following closely behind—along with Rainbow Dash's group. She could sense Ariel wincing—struggling with the urge to cover her ears. Seraphimus and Wildcard looked on edge, and Shriike's glasses nearly rattled off. When the tumult reached the point where it threatened to numb the nerves in everypony's collective molars, Lexxic let loose a shrill whistle. There was a pale flicker of light. Rainbow suffered a wave of dizziness, teetering sideways into Wildcard—who steadied her. When her ruby eyes blinked through the fog, she saw the five daggers from Lexxic's helmet shooting upwards like comets, hovering in a pentagonal formation of flickering pinpricks above everypony's velvety ears. The noise climaxed in one prolonged cacophony of applause. Each and every one of the thousands upon thousands of soldiers within view of the First Son stomped their hooves against the ancient floor. Shriike found it difficult to stand upright, much less keep her pen and scroll levitating. The visitors to the Hall of Honor watched as the daggers slowly drifted back down, each resting back in their collective notches set within Lexxic's helm. The First Son stood tall and proud, and already a respectful hush rolled through the army-at-ease, as if everypony immediately knew that a speech was at hoof: “Brothers... warriors... champions... veterans... selfless souls of the Nightmare...” Lexxic gestured broadly with his wings. “...from the Narrow we fall... and unto the Narrow we return.” His wings tightened at his side. “But on this cycle—and in every victorious motion going forward—we celebrate the victorious and mourn the fallen.” His fangs flashed in the torchlight, matching the pale gleam of his helm. “We must never forget! Pain is temporary! Fear is a river! And that which flows between—blood—blood is forever!” “BLOOD IS FOREVER!!!” “W'YNLPPA S'YLMEM WAAL'AASA!!!” “W'YNLPPA S'YLMEM WAAL'AASA!!!” The circular chamber of the Hall of Honor filled with ear-splitting shrieks, echoing in a rotating salvo across every petrified surface of the place. “EEE-EEE-EEE!” “EEE-EEE-EEE!” “LEXXY'KYN!” “LEXXY'KYN!!” “LEXXY'KYN!!!” Shriike gnashed her teeth. Seraphimus had to steady her as the clerk fought to keep from vomiting due to sheer skull trauma. “I-I'd h-hate t-to s-see th-these n-nimrods a-attempt t-to u-use a-a l-library!!!” Nopony heard her—which was probably a good thing. Rainbow Dash watched as Azarias joined Lexxic's side. Interestingly enough, the cheers grew a little louder as the Second appeared by the First Son's side. The respect that the Bloodwing army had for Lexxic's chain of command was more than obvious. Azarias could be seen speaking directly into Lexxic's ear. The First Son waited patiently until he could fully consume Azarias' words. There was a nod, and Azarias gestured in the direction of a solid flank of soldiers. Lexxic immediately moved towards them. Craning her neck, Rainbow Dash did her best to observe the proceedings. She realized that the soldiers were... noticeably smaller than the rest of the crowd. It soon became obvious why: they were bloodcolts, none above eight winters old. Upon seeing the First Son of Nightmares approach, the company of no-less-than-twenty miniature sarosians gasped and shrieked in growing enthusiasm. Their captain—a teenager with proud battle-scars—issued a commanding howl, and the youngsters collectively bowed before their approaching Commander. The ecstatic crowd fell into respectful silence as their stately leader approached the line of youngsters. “At ease, champions of the Vivil,” Lexxic said in a firm—yet warm tone. He approached a single member of the contingent. “You, little brother. What is your name?” The colt in question was visibly shaking. Nevertheless, he stood tall and resolute with a courageous scowl, saluting with his leathery wing. “Commander! Spek'kl, Fifth Wing of Bloodcolt Bleak Formation Delta, Sixth Root! Commander!” Lexxic's helm tilted in the firelight. “And what is your battle-name, Fifth Wing?” Spek'kl paled, eyeslits shrinking in horror—as if he made the biggest mistake of his life. “Uhm...” He gulped a lump down his throat. “Wry'spek'lym, Commander. I am Wry'spek'lym.” Lexxic slowly nodded. “You must never forget that, brother. In the end—it is the one thing that shall follow you back into the Narrow, where flesh and screams cannot. Do you understand?” “Commander. Yes, I understand. Commander.” “Memories are all we have for this brief break in the thread between eternal Nightmares. Live and relish—as much as you strive and fight for it.” Lexxic's lips curved. “Wry'spek'lym, honorable Fifth Wing of the Sixth Root, how would you like to sit at my right hoof in the Hall of Honor tonight?” The bloodcolt looked as if he might fall over. His companions hissed and squeaked in mixed enthusiasm and envy. Fighting a shaking sensation, the child soldier merely beamed. “Eee-eee-eee! Absolutely! I—!” He bit his bottom lip, nearly producing blood. A clearing of the throat, and he stood tall again, saluting with a wingtip. “Commander! It would be an honor, Commander!” “Mmmm. I would imagine so.” Lexxic ushered him towards his side with a wing before aiming his smirking muzzle vaguely towards the crowd. “But don't be expecting a ticket to the Lower Roots. That'll be Sy'lukas'ymb's responsibility in a few more winters.” The immediate cluster of bloodwings surrounding the scene boomed with uproarious laughter. Lukaas' nostrils flared, but he merely rolled his slitted eyes and said nothing. Spek'kl blinked in obvious confusion, but he shrugged it off by joining with the laughter of the adults all around him. “But enough of sludge-talk!” Lexxic beamed. “Onwards to the feast, brothers!” He marched with purpose through the inner ring of arched pillars, traversing into the open heart of the coliseum beyond. A frazzled Spek'kl scampered to stay at his side. “Our high-polished friends of the Third Root may or may not have... a gift for us...” The air thundered with mixed cheers, boos, hisses, and chuckles. Once more, the chaotic crowd cycled their way—flowing liberally through the inner spaces of the ancient sarosian structure. Discord looked on, visually impressed, his lopsided eyes locked on Lexxic. As Rainbow and her group felt urged on by the general flow of the crowd, she sensed Ariel giving her a pleading look. As if reading her mind, Rainbow Dash swiftly nodded. Ariel took it as a sign to speak aloud: “So... uhhh... is anypony gonna tell us just what this 'Narrow' is, anyways?” Azarias stifled a deep growl. Lukaas sighed and Sypher made tiny hissing sounds through his voice box. Most of the Bloodwings mimicked their disdain, avoiding the sight of Ariel and pretending as if she hadn't spoken in the first place. Only Masser—stumbling meatedly in one spot for a few awkward seconds—finally summoned the courage to answer the Penumbran's question: “It is nothing else but the very dark pocket from which all Sons of Nightmares were snatched!” Seraphimus looked at him. “I... I'm afraid I don't understand.” The Third Son snorted. “You wouldn't. All fabric of the Eternal Nightmare—the Miasma included—has been evaporated by the Solar Deceiver's searing gaze!” Rainbow was already wracking her brain. Thinking for Twilight Sparkle in the lavender unicorn's absence, she enjoyed a sudden epiphany. “The Narrow...!” She looked up at Masser. “You must mean... that dimension beyond space and time where Princess Luna rescued the incorporeal souls of all sarosians!” Masser looked as if he was going to vomit. “Hrmmmfff...” His ears folded back, and it was clear that he was sneering at something far older and more nebulous than the avatar and any of her companions. “...and just who says we were ever desiring to be wrongfully abducted in the first place?” And with weighted finality, he turned tail, lumbering to catch up with Lexxic and the others. Shriike's lensed eyes glanced up from the scroll she was scribbling on. Rainbow lingered briefly in place, chewing on her bottom lip. Wildcard shuffled into view. He threw Rainbow a cold look and gestured: “That is... troubling.” “Uh huh...” Rainbow smoothed her prismatic bangs back. “...I think some priorities have shifted since the Dark Vigil's Exodus began.” She looked up at the wooden edifices stretching above her. “Among other things.” It was then that Rainbow took notice—in the flicker of amber torchlight—that almost every visible surface of the chamber's inner walls had been meticulously carved... forming countless sculptures, effigies, and portraits of hundreds if not thousands of mares: the loyal servants of Nightmare Moon. They resembled in a lot of ways the equine figures in the mural that Rainbow Dash had witnessed above the entry dais at the base of the Tree of Mothers. However—one thing was noticeably different about these images. Here, in the Hall of Honor—a structure built by the Dark Vigil nearly a thousand years ago and belatedly inherited by the Sons of Nightmares—every single face of every single wood-carved mare had been noticeably marred. Hacked off. Stained with soot and chipped to bits with nearly surgical precision. All that remained was the bulky bodies of the figures, but none of the pretense. None of the glory. None of the authority. “Say what you want about this rowdy bunch of meatheads,” Discord tongue-rolled, drifting serpentine loops behind Rainbow Dash. “But at least they don't seem the type to turn their enemies to stone.” Rainbow exhaled slowly, venturing a reply to the dragonequus for the first time in days: “All would crumble down before it was even finished.” “Imagine that.” A glinting fang. “Maybe you have something in common with them after all, Sparky.” A wave of dizziness. Her eyes flickered red-on-yellow. Before either Wildcard or Ariel could comment with concern, Rainbow muttered: “Luna poop.” And she trotted coldly after their host. Shriike paused in writing for the first time in hours. “... … ...do I have to write those last two words down?” “Yes,” Seraphimus droned. Cold and heartless, like the mists off Frostknife. “You do.” Shriike clenched her teeth, looking away as she scribbled the characters in moonwhinny. “Annnnnnd there goes my soul.”