"It was once said that there was no greater naval force in the world than the Equestrian fleet.”
-Journal of the Wanderer
Along the coast, where the black tongue of the deep licks the gray sand of northern Equestria, lies the ships of the once-great Equestrian empire. Their great engines are silenced, their driveshafts bent and the propellers gifted to the deep. From a distance, one may mistake them for icebergs. However, there's no mistaking the great guns nestled on their decks, the cold barrels jutting out to the sea, waiting for an enemy that would never come. If one were to stand upon the deck, provided they could clamber across its icy surface, they'd be able to see for miles across the cold waves.
If one were to stand upon the beach, they could still make out the golden glory of the sun painted upon their hulls. Take a hammer or torch and cut away the ice, and one can see their reflection in the hull, almost like a mirror to days gone past. Some of the ships, like the great cruiser "Sol'rex" have, over time, been rocked by the waves. In these ships, punctures have appeared along the interior of the hull. If someone were careful, they could make their way inside.
Inside the great ship, the decks run at a slant and breath steams in the frigid air. It's not altogether quiet as one may expect, but, instead, is alive with sound. The creak of metal, the dull thump of the waves upon the exterior, the groans of the hull as it shifts. Below it all, a beat like that of a heart radiates through the passageways. Quiet—so quiet that it might not even exist at all.
It is here in these cold halls that a secret hides: a room with a simple designation. Something so benign that anyone traversing the corridors would pay it no mind. It is not the room itself that is the great secret; it’s the banks of consoles within. For it is the tactical center of the ship where a war may be waged upon the sea.
If one were to knock the dust from the consoles, they would find that they are silent and cold. Their readouts show naught but a dim reflection of the one staring into them. One would perhaps wonder why even bothering to dust them off in the first place.
It is not all cold here, either. There is a faint hint of heat from deep in the hull. Locate the midships and ignore the warnings on the thick, sweating metal hatches and open the doors with care. A great engine lays within, warnings and etchings playing upon its surface. The engine itself is not the source; it was silenced long ago. The source was its power—a core which had eaten through the side of the casing and now rests in repose like some great, multi-hued beast.
The counter mounted to the wall would simply read 3.6.
It would be wrong.
Traveling from the source of the heat back into the cold corridors, one may stumble upon all manner of keepsakes hiding in the private places. A picture of a lover, a carving of a long-lost friend, a token of appreciation... and more. The Equestrians who once inhabited the ship carried these things aboard. Things which gave them comfort, joy, love and lust, all now in their final resting places like shrines to what once was.
Making the way back to the main deck, one might momentarily mistake the cool and quiet of the upper passage ways for calm. This assumption would quickly be disproven as the bulkhead is ripped away by the winds. While the deck is high above the grey sand and black surf, it is not high enough to be clear of the whipping, bitter winds. The great guns of the ship point far out to sea. Upon each of the great turrets sits an eye. A mechanical eye, yes but an eye nonetheless. Its green lens stares out to those deep, dark waters, waiting, watching for any sign of an enemy that has long been defeated. They hunger, as it has has been far too long since their appetite was sated.
High above the deck, faded signal flags whip in the breeze. Their once-vibrant colors have been stained and bleached to near unreadability. However, if one knew the flag codes, they'd read the final tale of Sol'rex and understand its unending mission—the great sacrifice it undertook.
The stairs leading to the bridge are guarded and trapped. There's no way around these restrictions. And yet, if one is careful, they can be disabled with utmost care. All the bulkheads have been welded shut to prevent malfeasance. The Equestrians reasoned that someone—at some point—may have attempted to disable the great ships.
All of this, of course, precludes the invasion, the storming of the beaches, the burning of the homelands, the salting of the fields. A fool's errand, really, as the final battles for Equestria took place nowhere near the great ships. Nowhere near the sea they jealously guard.
Locating the bridge is no great task. Like with many ships both large and small, it is the highest point. The doors here are sealed—not just by welding, but by magic, too. Runes run along the exterior. Warnings etched deep in the doors signal the doom that would befall any such trespassers.
Luckily, there is another way. On the floor below the bridge, there is a radio room. The radio itself is not important, as the only things it plays now are the sounds of a dead world, the whispers of the mad, and static. What is important, however, is the conduit that runs between the radio room and the bridge.
It is too narrow a gap for any but the smallest being to pass through. Even then, it’s a tight fit.
Upon reaching the bridge, one might hope to look out upon the black seas and along the coast, spotting the next of the great ships. They would be sadly disappointed, for the Equestrians sealed the bridge in armor. Ironically, not a single trace of sunlight is to be found on the bridge of the Sol'rex. A ship whose construction was said to be bathed in sunlight from the moment the hull was laid, to the final moment when the captain's chair was slotted into place.
In the case of the captain's chair, its spot is conspicuously empty. If one were to guess as to its current location, a great manorhouse deep in the countryside would be a fairly safe bet, gathering dust in some long-forgotten storage closet or personal museum. Like any great treasure, its worth comes from its story—and its story ended the moment the Sol'Rex was thrust upon the grey sands.
Despite the darkness of the bridge, if one is quiet and still, they may notice the outline of a door. This door, unlike the standard bulkheads of the ship, is completely flat. No markings or warnings adorn its surface; in fact, there's no indication of any sort of protrusion or mechanism to open it.
However, if one looks carefully, a series of small domes near the ceiling can be found. A bright light will not reveal what's in these domes, other than a tiny reflection of the self in their mirrored surfaces.
It was said that every great Equestrian ship had a door like this. That if one was to press an ear to the door, they'd hear whispers.
This is, of course, nonsense. Doors do not whisper. They do not whisper of secrets. They do not whisper of codes. They do not whisper of signals. For those are the things that died with the world.
However...
If one were to ask politely while displaying the insignia of someone who once held immense power...
The door may open.
Inside, lies only madness.