Felaccia’s history seemed to be little more than a list of wars, if Andean Ursagryph was honest with himself. A long series of brutal events, only ascribed glory and honor long after the deeds had faded into shadow. There was triumph to be found, despite that. They had driven Tirek from their lands some thousand years ago. They had kept Discord’s eyes off of them during his manic rampage. They had risen up against the crumbling changeling empire that had sought to enslave them.
Just as often, though, the tale of Felaccia was written upon the gravestones of its people. And the peoples they warred against.
Too often, there had been back-and-forth wars with their eastern neighbor; Saddle Arabia. It varied by the decade whether Saddle Arabia was encroaching on their borders in a land-grab, or Felaccia was descending upon their cities to loot and plunder gold and jewels. To the south, their neighbors the Zebras stood at a wary, constant watch after the expansion wars fought by Berkut and his predecessors. To the west lay the sea, and the distant halls of the alicorn princess who ruled the very dawn and dusk.
Andean paused in his morning walk to admire the artistry of a tapestry hung proudly on the wall. It depicted a significant battle of the Dragon-Griffon wars fought during the Second Age, when the Changeling Empire was in its death throes. Though the dragons were impervious to traditional weapons, the griffon craftsmen had been taught how to enchant swords with powerful gemstones. Two such swords, the twin Wyrmslayer blades, could be seen cutting down enormous dragons in droves. Driving the creatures from griffon shores.
Andean ran his talons through his thick beard of black feathers. This, too, was perhaps far too pretty a depiction of the event. Tales were surfacing, not of dragons encroaching upon griffon lands, but fleeing the threat of the Grotesques; horrific crystalline monsters who devoured dragons as their only natural predators. Pressed between the zealous protection of griffon territory and violent persecution from apex predators, it was little wonder the dragons kept to themselves these days.
The tapestry was art. Exquisite in design, in material, in craftsmanship. The crimson of blood and fire intermingled and glistened in the sunlight. The vibrant colors of scales and feathers drew the eye in a never-ending journey across the battlefield. Even the story it told was ageless. Still, it sat there as a testament to the violent history of Felaccia.
Andean sighed and rested a talon on the hilt of his great sword, Euroclydon. He rubbed the glistening, enchanted red pommel stone with a thumb. Today, there would be no need to draw the sword. There would be no need to fight for his life or the lives of his family. But he knew the day was all-too-quickly approaching. More war was coming. More bloodshed was called for.
There was one room in Castle Roc that had no tapestries, no paintings, no real artistry on display at all. It was a simple room carved into the stone wall many years ago, when griffons had first settled within the ruins of the ancient changeling city. Chairs stood side-by-side in rows, all facing the same direction. A pedestal stood at the far wall, upon which sat an old book. Andean entered the room and gently closed the door behind him, barely making a sound. He took a seat not in a chair, for he was far too large for it, but in the center isle that divided the room. He stared quietly at the book, whose cover held a single word: “Canon.” The book held a collection of tales and songs, an exploration of the sapient species and their particular gifts, and a telling of the creation of the world.
Andean looked over the empty chairs that surrounded him. Very few griffons in the palace ever came to the chapel. Fewer still when he was there. He found it a place of quiet solace, somewhere he could think without fear of interruption. Sometimes he read the book on the pedestal, sometimes he sang softly to himself, sometimes he would speak with the Being who was the primary subject of the Canon.
The ponies called this Being— the deity who had brought their world and their lives into being—“The Creator” or “The King of the Universe.” The griffons, on the other hand, more often referred to the Being as “Sheesha,” an informal griffon word that meant “Papa,” as the book said that all life derived from Him.
Andean found it hard to call the Being something so familiar. He hadn’t even called his own father Sheesha. Not even as a hatchling. He had referred to his father as “Vreen,” something more akin to “Lord,” “Master,” or even “King.” He had always considered that to be a mistake on his father’s part, inspiring fear more than love. Andean had taken great precaution to cultivate a far closer relationship between himself and his two daughters.
“Gawrock melchila
Kroota kree Vakelra
Kretchwaugh Vreen
O Sheesha chakii”
His quiet song was interrupted by the doors opening to admit an elderly griffon, one with an owlish face and milky eyes. The steady thump of a wooden cane echoed above the slam of the doors. The old buzzard was cloaked in warm folds of blue cloth, and his right talon held a glistening, azure-hued ring.
Andean looked the much-smaller griffon up and down. He had known the lord for more than five-hundred years. He had once been Andean’s staunchest supporter; recently, he had come to dread conversations with the old one. “I rarely see you in the chapel, Bubo.”
The griffon, Lord Bubo Tigris, took a seat beside Andean and stared at the plain walls. “I’ve come to have words with you, Your Grace.”
“We are in the chapel, Bubo.” Andean sighed and rubbed a talon across his bald head. “In here, before Sheesha, there is no king nor lord. No male or female. No noble or pauper.”
“Your Creator Being’s influence only extends to these four walls?” Bubo scoffed. “Fine. Then I shall speak with you as in the old days. Andean.” He held tight to his cane, tapping his ring against the wood. “Your folly has grown even more brazen of late.”
“Ah yes…” Andean grimaced at the Canon, feeling a weight descend upon his shoulders. “That folly in particular, again?”
“Inviting ponies to our shores!” Bubo’s wings creaked as he spread them in a weak attempt to intimidate Andean. “When we are so close to unlocking the secrets of raising the sun! Can’t you see they merely want to sabotage our efforts?”
Andean shook his hefty head. “When did you become so apprehensive of good intentions?”
“When those selfsame good intentions left my son bleeding out in the dust. There was a time you, too, were wary of the Equestrians.” Bubo pointed his cane at Andean, glaring at the griffon king with one eye closed. “It was bad enough that your eldest allowed ponies to come to griffon soil to fight Felaccia’s enemies. Now you want them to come back?”
“Those very same ponies could have destroyed the Sunspear the first time they arrived. But they did not.” Andean held empty hands out to Bubo. “They could fight against us, seize the sun for themselves and declare war upon anybody who would dare wrest it from them. But they do not. Luna sees what Celestia was blind to; if the alicorns fall, another must rise to control the Celestial Objects. She is coming to help us, Bubo.” Andean lifted a talon to his chest, where a deep pain ached in the depths of his heart. “And… they bring a gift far too precious for words.”
“Bribery. And calculated muzzling.” Bubo scowled, his skull casting shadows over his sunken eyes. “Which gift do you refer to? Health for your youngest? Or harboring the exile you call nephew?”
Andean shut his eyes softly. After a moment’s hesitation, he whispered something that was as true as it was dangerous to admit. “Either one would leave me in her debt for eternity.”
Bubo’s eyes widened. He sighed and bowed his head, leaning on his cane as if the strength had left his body completely. “Then it is true, what they say. Your heart is no longer fit for kingship. Any who would prioritize family over the kingdom…” The old griffon coughed dust from the back of his throat. “I will keep your words in confidence, in memory for our years serving Felaccia together. But I will also fully support your opponents. The other lords are already speculating over possible successors.”
Andean’s talon found the bandages beneath his beard. “Their victory would be hollow without my body at full strength.”
“The castle ramparts crushed your lungs, Andean!” Bubo snapped. “You shall never again regain your full strength!”
The words echoed around the chapel until they were merely a ringing in Andean’s ears.
Andean took in a soft breath through his beak. “Bubo, I once asked you, when you first approached me with the kingship… ‘What right do I have to think myself king?’” He turned his head to one side to look Bubo in the eye. “What would you have answered?”
Bubo stood up and shuffled for the doorway, breathing heavily. The reply was quick and sharp, lacking any touch of what had once been warmth. “The words of the Canon are three-thousand years old, leaving its relevance back in the First Age. Its followers have doomed you with a prophecy of death that is soon to fulfill. Your own people are abandoning you. In all these years of singing and praying, has there ever been an answer from Sheesha? A voice of comfort?”
Andean bowed his head. “Not audibly.”
Bubo stood with his hand on the door handle, looking over one shoulder. After a moment, saying nothing, he slammed the door, leaving Andean in the cold chapel.
“I’m sorry, Sheesha,” chirped a small voice.
Before Andean could react to Bubo’s departure, he spun his head around to behold a small griffon girl sitting in the front row. She flared the silver-speckled feathers on her neck and looked up at him with kind, worried eyes.
Andean breathed a sigh and scooted closer to the tiny griffon. “Stella, when did you come in here? I didn’t notice your arrival.”
“I was here before you.” She kicked her hind legs in space, folding her wings tight against her back. “I didn’t want to interrupt your… ‘discussion’ with the lord.”
“No lords in the chapel, Stella.” He rested a talon on her chair, touching a finger to her soft feathery head. “Only Sapients, equal in mortality.”
She closed her eyes as her father rubbed her crest. “I still call you Sheesha.”
“Because that’s my name. I became a Sheesha the moment Corona came into the world. And again with you.” He furrowed his brow and spread a wing to shadow his youngest daughter. “These days, I am beginning to feel it is a far more fitting name than ‘King Ursagryph.’”
“I like you as my Sheesha.” She reached out a tiny talon to touch one of his clawtips. “The doctor is coming with Vreev L—I mean, Luna, isn’t he?”
“He is.” Andean covered up his grimace by turning away from the small girl. “It’s been… Two years since your operation. It’s high time for a checkup.”
“I know.” Stella tightened her grip on her father. “He said it could come back at any time. Without warning.”
“We will know. And you shall be well.” Andean touched her head with a wingtip and hefted himself to his paws. “I swear it.”
Stella followed her father out of the chapel, her talons and paws falling softly on the cold stone floor. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“I shall keep this one.”
Stella flapped her wings to catch up to her father’s head, which had far outpaced her in the wide hallway. “Some things you can’t control, right? Like Momma’s sickness.”
“Stella, please.” Andean sat beside a shattered stained-glass window, one that had been blown out during the recent battle for Roc. A cloth covered it, letting in faint sunlight but keeping the roaring wind at bay. “For as long as you have lived, I have fought tooth and nail to keep you safe. Ever since—” His beak snapped shut of its own accord. He forced it open even as his throat constricted against his breath. “Ever since we lost your mother, my every waking moment has been in service to making you well. I’ll not spare even a moment doubting.”
“Sheesha…” Stella tilted her head to the side, her ears tilting down. “I’ve been thinking a lot. About my leukemia. About Momma. About how… where she is, she isn’t sick anymore. She isn’t lying in bed, losing her feathers. She’s whole.” She clasped her talons together, as if she was praying even as she spoke to him. “If I pass away, I’ll become a star. Glistening in the night sky. Watching over you by Momma’s side. I think that would be okay, don’t you?”
Andean felt his chest nearly crumble in on itself. He scooped her up in the palm of his talon and held her close. “Stella, what brought you to this kind of thinking? Tell me truly.”
“It’s…” She didn’t meet his eye, instead looking at her clasped talons. “I heard about the prophesy. The one the zebras gave you. The lords were whispering about it.”
He heaved a breath and leaned against the stone wall. He brought her close to his beard of feathers and stroked her wings. Memories came rushing back, fresh as the day he’d first started having the dreams. A dark monster, ripping his daughters away. His kingdom in shambles. His own limbs powerless to fight back. He’d told this dream to the zebras of Giraffrica, and asked if there was an interpretation…
He lives a life of anger and wrath. His death will be swift if he continues that path. His life will be ended, in the dream it was seen, by a frightened child whose heart is clean.
Back in the day, he had not taken kindly to this foretelling.
A black-feathered, gray-coated griffon in luscious red robes trotted down the hallway, his razor-sharp beak pulled down in a frown. “Your Grace! The Equestrians have arrived! Your presence is required at the harbor!”
“Aye, Chamberlain Corvus.” Andean bit back a sharp retort. Torn between his family and his country twice in the span of five minutes. He set his daughter down and pointed a stern talon at her. “Never again think that you need to trade your life for mine, Stella. Never.” He stood to his feet and checked the strap of his scabbard. “Come now. Princess Luna will be looking forward to seeing you again.”
Stella sighed, casting a glance at the dragon war’s tapestry as she fluttered down the hall. “Yes, Sheesha Vreen.”
Martial Paw’s talons gripped the bow of the Buttercup’s Folly. The flagship of the Equestrian Navy jolted beneath him as water sprayed his feathers with every ocean wave that rebounded from the high cliffs that marked the border of Felaccia. He looked up, up, up at his homeland, a sheer drop into a vast ocean. Dangerous even if you could fly, due to the fierce winds that buffeted the shoreline.
The only halfway-safe pathway through the cliffsides took the form of a long, snaking canyon that led to the vast caldera that housed the capitol city of Roc. Any travel aboveground was subject to storm-like winds and the fierce, giant birds that gave the city its name. If one wanted to enter Felaccia, they had to be skilled, careful, and a little bit crazy.
Martial’s heart swelled at the sight of the Two Kings, massive statues carved into the mouth of the canyon. On the left was a lion, seated in a regal posture, its paws resting upon a sword that had been stuck into the earth; Daphnes, King of Red Lions. On the right was a great eagle, its wings folded, a lightning bolt clutched in an upraised talon; Thorondor, Lord of Eagles. It was said that their childrens’ marriage had united their kingdoms, and their offspring had become the first of the griffons.
The canyon, though dangerous, was plenty large enough for Luna’s entire floatilla to pass through unhindered, even flanked by the Felaccian Ironclad warships that guided them. Martial recognized a few faces bobbing around the decks, but decided against calling out to them. His presence in Felaccia was tenuous enough a prospect as it was. There was little need to make himself a nuisance.
The clomp of hooves and the rattle of armor drew his attention to his right side, where an orange-coated, green-maned mare leaned on the railing beside him. Captain Care Carrot wore a specialized version of the Equestrian Royal Guard armor, one that did not change the appearance of her coat to the guards’ classic white or gray. Her helmet was clipped to the side of her backplate, out of the way until decorum and tradition called for it. She looked up at him with a cheeky grin. “Hay, Marty. You’re lookin’ like you’re ready to vibrate right out of your feathers.”
“I’m giddy enough to puke, in all honesty.” He brushed down his crest, though the wind kicked it back up right away. “Last time I was here, it was illegally. The time before that, I was a murderer.” He offered her a shallow smile. “I’m glad to be here under more peaceable circumstances.”
“You and me both.” Care patted his shoulder and turned her attention to the canyon walls that loomed overhead. The distant piercing screech of a full-grown roc sent a visible shiver down her spine. “I’m gonna get to meet your family, right?”
“Yes. You already know King Andean, Corona, and Stella… Which I suppose leaves my father.” His voice grew quiet, distant even to his own ears. “It’s been more than a decade since I’ve seen him.”
Care furrowed her brow. She leaned her side against the railing so she could face him directly. “Anybody else I should know about?”
“Not especially. The Polemaetus Clan practically disowned my father after he lost his title and I went into exile.” He tapped a talon against the hilt of his rapier. Something dark brewed in his chest, just beside his heart, but he summoned the courage to quell it. “It’s why I go by Martial Paw, rather than Martial Polemaetus.”
Care opened her mouth with a pop. “Ah. I figured Martial Paw was your attempt at a pony-esque name.”
“Partially.” Martial turned his head to one side to look her directly in the eye. “Did I succeed, by your measure?”
“Eh. Good effort.” She winked. “I’m pretty partial to ‘Marty’ myself.”
Martial smiled at that. He tapped the pocket watch hung around his neck, feeling the rhythm of the passage of time mingle with the beat of his heart. “Daring was partial, too.”
It seemed to Martial that Care wanted to answer that, but stopped herself. She returned to looking at the passing stone walls and the lapping waves of the sea-bound river. She tapped her forehooves lightly against the bow, letting her head tilt side-to-side with the flow of the Folly. “Do you plan to stay in Felaccia after this mission is over? As like an Equestrian envoy or something?”
Martial shook his head, spreading a wing to shade her from an oncoming spattering wave. “Don’t worry about it. Equestria’s my home now. I wouldn’t abandon the Knights of Harmony, now or ever.” He turned to shake the water from his feathers, which brought a particular changeling into his line-of-sight. “Speaking of the knights! Good morning, Blankety.”
Blankety Blank—‘Mandible’ to his fellow changelings—trotted across the deck towards his friends. He was disguised in his usual body of choice: A white-coated earth pony with a white mane and pink eyes. The only splash of pigment on his body was the color wheel cutie mark he had chosen for himself. Care met him a few steps away with a quick, warm hug. Martial ruffled the changeling’s mane as he took up position on the griffon’s left side.
“S-sorry I’m late,” Blank said quietly. “Had a correspondence with Celestia that couldn’t wait.”
Care leaned over the railing to see around Martial’s chest. “Anything we should know about?”
“A l-little.” Blank flattened his ears against his head, a very pony-esque bit of body language in Martial’s mind. “Solitaire was attacked by the sirens and the Unseelie Court. All the prisoners are free or dead.”
Care’s frown grew fierce. A faint haze of magic surrounded her horn. Martial hoped it was unconscious. “Any word on Caution Tape specifically?”
Blank shrugged. “Not that I kn-know of.”
Martial backed away from the railing and knelt down a little so that his head was in line with the other two. “Caution who, may I ask?”
“My old partner,” Care said, clicking her tongue with a huff. “Back when we were Celestia’s bodyguards. He got thrown in prison after he tried to assassinate her.”
Martial’s eyes shot up. “That would put a damper on the relationship.”
“No horseapples.” Care scowled. She scuffed a hoof against the deck. “He was a real mentor to me, in the guard. Never woulda guessed he was crazy. When he was caught, he kept sputtering on about how he did it for love.” She looked back to Blankety and gestured in a spiraling motion to her head. “What kinda love makes somebody murder a helpless person in their bed?”
Blankety Blank’s tail swished back and forth. “Love is blind. It’s not supposed to be blinding.”
“Right?” Care trotted back and forth in a short line, not getting far before whirling around with a grunt. “We should—I should be there.”
“We are not.” A gentle touch from Martial’s wing guided her back to the railing. “We are here, with a very important mission of our own: Keeping Princess Luna safe.”
“I know. I know.” Care rested her chin on the railing. “Doesn’t make the situation any more wonderful, though.” After a moment, she let out a chuff. “Well, maybe we’ll run into him. Who knows? Maybe he wants another shot at the princesses. Maybe he just wants to go die in a hole.”
Martial clasped his talon around his beak, a griffon expression that meant he probably shouldn’t say what he was about to. “Maybe we can help him along. Shovels, anyone?”
“He can d-dig his own grave.” Blank shielded his eyes from the sun as they exited the canyon. “We’ve got more important things to think about.”
The water-filled caldera spread out before them, its walls carved into steps. Each level held the greenery of farms and the bustle of towns. Even from this great distance, griffons could be seen flying to and fro, either on their own wings or airships. Silvery-colored ironclad warships dotted the lake at the base of the caldera, which parted for the flotilla to pass. The shadow of a massive roc hid the sun from view, before a mighty thunderclap scared it away. The sky was dotted with airships and floating boulders that all held weapon emplacements. The boulders were held aloft by the glowing stones stuck to their undersides, enchanted by griffon artisans to be lighter than air.
In the center of the lake, in the heart of the caldera, rose the majestic Castle Roc.
The towers and ramparts of the castle were carved down rather than built up, having been formed from a single, solid mountain by changelings two millennia ago. After the fall of their empire, the griffons had taken up residence in the caldera and refined Castle Roc according to their ideals and needs. Widening tunnels into hallways. Turning air vents into stained glass windows. Building rooftops and walkways from wood. Most entrances to the castle were high in the air, difficult to access without wings or an airship.
One entrance lay at the base of the castle, in the midst of a heavily-fortified harbor. A wide cavern mouth greeted the Buttercup’s Folly as its mainmast just barely managed to sneak beneath the edge of the stone. The sunlight faded and was replaced by bioluminescent lanternlight beneath the castle.
Martial Paw took in a deep breath. He could see King Andean Ursagryph and his cadre of personal guards; the Blitzwings. Kretchwaugh, in the griffon tongue. They stood to either side of him, holding swords and volleyguns at a tense rest.
Martial might have been one of them, once. He might have even become their captain, were it not for his great mistake. He looked down at the formal uniform he wore. It was a blue suitcoat, bedecked with medals awarded by the Equestrian Military. Because most creatures in service to the Equestrian Crown were ponies, this suit had to be specifically tailored for him by Lady Rarity.
He had returned to Felaccia at last, as the envoy of a foreign army.
The Buttercup’s Folly was docked in short order, its gangplank leading down to Felaccian soil. Martial stood at the top, looking down on the griffon soldiers awaiting his arrival. A shadow at his side stepped forward, revealing itself to be Princess Luna. She nodded to him, so he set off down the ramp. He stopped at the bottom and looked expectantly at his uncle, the king.
Andean Ursagryph drew his broadsword, Euroclydon. The red pommel stone flashed with inner lightning. “Martial Polemaetus, you were exiled for cold-hearted murder. Your home and title can never be regained. Your honor is lost and your family is broken.”
Martial Paw’s wings shook as his one-time king spoke in his booming, resonant voice. He answered with a trembling voice of his own, as loudly as he could. “I now return to these lands as Martial Paw, a griffon in service to Equestria.” He bowed his head at the neck, shutting his eyes tight against oncoming tears. “I swear, so long as I live, if I ever break another law of Felaccia, let my punishment be tenfold.”
When he had regained his composure, he was able to look upon the massive griffon king once again. His eyes immediately met Andean’s gaze and saw something he did not expect. Warmth. Welcome. Relief. Rather than the king of a nation, he saw a thankful uncle welcoming a wayward nephew home. It threatened to spring forth from Martial as tears.
Andean lowered the sword tip to Martial’s shoulder, a blow of justice tempered with mercy. “Though you were fated to never return, we now welcome you as a new creature, repentant and restored. So long as you accompany the Equestrian Princess, you may move to and fro across Felaccia.”
Martial took a deep breath and stepped from the Equestrian ship to the Felaccian harbor. Andean sheathed the blade and moved forward. Before Martial knew it, he was pulled close in a warm embrace by the larger griffon.
The king spoke in a hushed voice that only Martial could hear. “Chakii… Kroota kree koroo.”
“‘You’ve returned… My friend and son.’”
Andean looked aboard the ship and gestured a talon. “Come, Princess Luna. We have much work to do, and little time to do it. It is good to see you again, my friend.”
Princess Luna descended the gangplank with long, graceful strides. Her wide smile seemed at odds with the serious tone of her voice. “Aye, King Andean. We have little time to waste with niceties, though I am loathe to neglect them completely.”
Blankety Blank and Care followed close behind, Care with her helmet firmly attached, and Blank wearing a more formal uniform similar to Martial’s. Luna was, of course, dressed in her usual gilded raiment.
“I wish to give Dr. Fine an area to work in as soon as possible. He needs time to set up.” Luna and Andean matched each other’s stride as the king led them towards the spiraling staircase that led upwards into the castle proper. “Then we need our gemstone artisans to meet with your scientists posthaste. The sooner we open communication, the sooner we can make further progress on the Sunspear.”
Martial Paw fell into step behind them, with both Care and Blank taking up the rear. Before long, one of the Blitzwings came to his side. Captain Crested Barbary, a white-furred griffon with black-speckled wings, leaned close to speak in a low voice. “Welcome back, Martial.”
“It is good to be back, Crested.” Martial swallowed hard. “Though not restored, most certainly returned.”
“You are restored in King Ursagryph’s eyes.” Crested smiled at Martial, flicking an ear towards the king. “Your father’s and your cousins’ as well. I promise that the Blitzwings shall support you when others might not.”
Martial sighed through his nostrils. “I suspect one of those is Chamberlain Corvus?”
“He does not appreciate his father’s murderer being welcomed to the castle, no.” Crested Barbary raised an eyebrow as Care and Blankety drew closer, inserting themselves into the conversation. “Be thankful he merely wishes to have nothing to do with you. There are darker shadows lurking within the halls of Castle Roc. Griffons who would see the king and his entire family removed.”
“Got any descriptions?” Care’s armor murmured with inner magic, lending unnatural strength to her limbs and focusing her magic spells. “Blank and I can keep an eye out. Maybe confront them if they look like they’re outta line.”
“That,” Martial said, “is the exact last thing you should be doing in Felaccia. We’re here to support Princess Luna, not be the griffon lords’ thought police.”
Crested Barbary nodded at Martial’s words. “Keep to yourselves. I say this only so that you watch your backs, lest you find a knife embedded there.” He narrowed his eyes, shifting his gaze between the three of them. “Still… beware of a griffon with a metal beak. His heart is as cold as the wootz that encases his mouth, and his tongue is as sharp as his enchanted sword.”
Martial suppressed the urge to hiss. “Lord Aquilla Gildwing. I know him well enough.”
Blankety Blank furrowed his brow. “Enchanted sword?”
“Aye.” Crested patted the scabbard that ran along his flank. “Just as I was chosen to be the caretaker of one of the legendary Wyrmslayer blades, so he, too, was gifted its twin.”
Corona Ursagryph, crowned Princess of Felaccia, the Lady of the Crimson Wing, practiced quietly in the depths of Castle Roc. Few people were allowed in this particular room, and she was not one of them. Past the tombs of the ancient kings, into the very heart of the mountain, lay a room that had been sealed for over a thousand years. The walls were decorated with murals of the accomplishments of the Changeling Empire.
If murdering five then-current Bearers of the Elements, crafting a dagger to steal hearts, and enslaving ponies could be considered “accomplishments.”
Corona’s spear flipped around in her talons, coming to rest in a horizontal stance, pointed in the direction she was facing. The weapon was as long as her body, with a strong wooden haft and a wootz tip. She stared down the picture of the ancient changeling queen; River Cicada. The artwork, a combination of painting and relief, depicted the queen as determined, yet weighted with a troubled mind.
The real-life changeling queen accompanying her held the same expression, but she didn’t make mention of it. Drawing parallels between the young Queen Chrysalis the Second and her ancestor would have only brought the changeling more grief. The queen did her best to match the princess’ movements, hefting a spear of her own. Corona gently lifted the tip of Chrysalis’ spear to sit more parallel with the ground.
Chrysalis’ cloven hooves shook as she overcorrected her stance. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be, you’re learning.” Corona angled her spear, hopped forward a step, and launched the weapon across the room. It hit a hay bale dead-center and stuck fast.
Chrysalis stumbled during her hop and sent the spear flying tip-over-butt to clatter beside the hay bale.
Corona flew to retrieve her spear, looking over her shoulder to her pupil. “Between you and me, this might not be the best room for us to meet in. If only to save your mental health.”
“I’m not bothered by the pictures.” Chrysalis was a bad liar, if you asked Corona. She could never look you in the eye when she was hiding something. It’s also how Corona knew when she was being sincere, since her beautiful blue eyes radiated with a pure need for companionship. “I just need to get used to the spear’s weight.”
Corona strapped both spears to her back and surveyed the room. They were the only two living beings for several meters in all directions, separated from the world by a tunnel filled with griffon kings long departed. The room itself was dark save for the lamp Corona had brought with them, and the strange light that flooded in from the far side.
There, nearly obscured by overwhelming darkness and blinding light, was the control center for the Sunspear. It was fully enclosed by amber-colored, transparent hexagonal plates, and was covered with positioning knobs, levers, and numerous readouts. The light came from within the mountain that the castle was carved from; at its core was an impossible amount of crystals, all supercharged with magic. The ambient magic was so thick, that if anybody were to stand within it too long, they would be overloaded to the point where their fairy strings combusted. A painful death that Corona hoped to avoid at all costs.
“They’re going to begin work on it, soon.” Chrysalis’ voice was hushed, cowled by past disappointments and bolstered by future success. “It… it looks like we’re actually going to do it.” She looked up at the visage of River Cicada with her eyebrows lowered. “In the very same room where the changelings went wrong, we’re going to change the world for the better.”
Corona smiled, clasping a talon around her beak. “Is that why you wanna practice in here? To win an argument with a dead person?”
“I… well…” Queen Chrysalis II blushed, causing the black chitin on her face to turn a faint green. She brushed the blue mane from her eyes and fluttered her wings. “I think I’ve already won the argument. I’m just rubbing it in her face now.”
Corona snorted as the two of them walked out of the room and snuck through the tombs of the kings. It was a long hallway, with alcoves cut into the walls, each holding the skeleton and weapons of the kings in question. The only one that was empty was the tomb belonging to King Berkut, who had been reduced to ashes in the blink of an eye. Only a crown marked his ersatz resting place. Corona’s grip on her shoulder strap tightened as they passed. “We’ve both got arguments with the past going on.”
Chrysalis nodded. “I want to avoid the mistakes of my past… and yours. And Equestria’s. I’m not sure how, though.”
“I think we just have to do our best. Be true to ourselves.” Corona patted Chrysalis’ back and peered through the cracked-open door to the tombs. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Looks like the coast is clear, but—”
The door swung wide open, causing her to fall to the ground. She raised her eyes slowly, first seeing a set of four blue hooves, then long, graceful legs, then a smirking smile surrounded by a glistening, ethereal mane.
Stella poked her head above Princess Luna’s crown and smiled down at her older sister. “Hi, Corona! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”
“Princess Luna!” Corona hugged the alicorn without hesitation. The embrace was met with equal enthusiasm from the ageless pony. “I didn’t know you were here!”
“We had a strong backwind.” Luna laughed and held Corona at viewing distance. “You have grown even since I have seen the two of you. You are a lady, now.”
“My birthday’s not until this autumn, actually.” Corona realized with a start that she’d just been caught sneaking out of the tombs. She shared a hasty glance with Chrysalis. “Um, we can explain…”
“I am afraid your secret hangout spot is about to become much more crowded.” Princess Luna’s smile turned toward the changeling. “We have a lot of preparations to make before the Sunspear is fully operational.”
Chrysalis bowed until her nose nearly reached the floor. “It is a great honor to meet you once again, Princess Luna of Equestria. I look forward to working alongside you in restoring the Sunspear.”
Luna mirrored her bow. “The honor is mine. I look forward to getting to know you better in the coming days.” She rose, and touched Chrysalis’ chin to bring their eyes together. “It is my belief that if the Third Age was the Age of Ponies, this Fourth Age will be the Age of Unity. Look at this room and tell me I am wrong.”
Corona and Chrysalis looked around with a fire growing in their hearts. Changelings, ponies, griffons, all working together for a common purpose: To protect the sun and the people it supported. The mistakes of the past literally lay behind them, they themselves having provided the means to rise above them.
“’Kay,” Stella said. “What are we waiting for?”