//------------------------------// // Part Fifty-Nine // Story: The Princess and the Kaiser // by UnknownError //------------------------------// Flurry watched impassively as the chef placed the bowl of fried grasshoppers in front of her with a fanged smile. The grasshoppers were piping hot; a few popped like popcorn kernels. Echo leaned over and snagged some with a leathery wing, tossing them into her mouth dexterously. "Pretty good," she offered through crunches. “Is this another delicacy?” Flurry asked Amoxtli. The Thestral had a bandaged wing, and sat at the far side of the open bar, next to Echo. Several guards stood around the little restaurant, deterring the gathered crowd from approaching. Thestrals looked curiously at the large filly in a purple uniform leaning on the counter. “It is a common snack,” Amoxtli replied, smoothing down her purple mane. “They pop and jump in your mouth.” Flurry sat up straighter on the stool, staring down at the chef and owner. He smiled back and gestured to the bowl with a wing and a winking golden eye. Flurry understood it was a challenge. She picked up the stone bowl between her forelegs and poured a large amount of the grasshoppers into her mouth. She chewed noisily and kept her blue eyes from twitching. The bugs were indeed hot, and seasoned with a peppery spice. It overpowered the taste of grasshopper enough for Flurry to swallow. She set the bowl down with a thud on the countertop. “Not bad,” she coughed, then retrieved her canteen from her saddlebags with her horn and gulped down the aftertaste. The chef did look impressed; he pushed a stone cup forward with a hoof and returned to the open stove. A roaring fire was underneath the metal plate. The Thestral began chopping several fruits and vegetables with deft hooves, searing them on the hot surface. Flurry pushed the bowl to Murky. He sampled a grasshopper critically and shook his head. “Not as good as shrimp,” he announced. “What good is a bat pony that can’t fry shrimp?” “They don’t have shrimp,” Nightshade sighed. She slumped on the countertop beside her brother. Her muzzle was still bruised and swollen, but the sticky ointment had drastically reduced the swelling. She scratched at it whenever Flurry wasn't looking. “They should get some shrimp,” Murky retorted. “We’re not that far from the coast.” “Shrimp are gross,” Amoxtli said from the other side of Flurry. She leaned forward to glare at Murky. “We do not eat from the sea.” “Missing out,” Murky shrugged. “Shrimp are the insects of the sea.” “No, they aren’t,” Flurry sighed. “Different taxonomy.” “You wanna tax shrimp?” Murky asked, aghast. “Forget it,” Flurry groaned. Her stomach growled. The chef’s ears twitched and he beamed over his shoulder at the Princess, chittering in a tribal language. He began to chop faster and throw more things onto the stove. “He says he has just the thing for your hunger, Princess,” Amoxtli translated. “Looking forward to it,” Flurry replied. She took another swig from her canteen. “Why do you not drink from your cup?” the Thestral asked. “Is that an insult?” Flurry asked back. “I'm sorry. I don’t drink from open sources out of habit. Changelings.” Amoxtli said something to the chef; he left the stove briefly, then returned with a bottled soda. It was an old Fizzleberry Pop from before the war; the soda was doubtlessly very flat, but the cap was intact. Flurry inspected the bottle and popped off the cap. “Thank you.” The chef nodded and returned to his stove. She took a swig from the soda. As expected, it was flat, but the fizzleberry still tasted better than grasshopper. “The natives broke Murky’s radio,” Nightshade whispered. “You told me,” Flurry reminded her. “Caballeron’s fixing it.” “I don’t trust him.” Echo nodded along with her older sister. “They’re only playing nice cause of these,” she said, rubbing a hoof against her flowery necklace. “There are hundreds of thousands of bat ponies right here in Tenochtitlan,” Flurry replied. “Millions across the southeast, surely. We need their help. I’ll eat crickets and grasshoppers all day if it buys Equestria a chance.” “Night,” Echo corrected. “It’s nighttime, Princess. The Moonspeakers gather at midnight.” “Right,” Flurry acknowledged. One good thing about getting knocked out, at least. I don’t feel tired. The chef flared his wings behind the counter, humming some wordless tune. His leathery wings were decorated with blue paint, including several swirling symbols that didn’t match his cutie mark of a chef’s hat. Flurry leaned back on the stool and studied Amoxtli's wings. She had deep purple markings on her unbandaged wing, with only a few similar symbols. “Are you a different tribe?” Flurry asked over Echo's head. “Yes, but our tribes are from the same area. We share the language,” Amoxtli replied. She extended her wing with a wince. “You will not understand the meaning.” “We would if you explained it,” Echo muttered. “We do not explain our ways to outsiders,” Amoxtli replied with a whicker. “I don’t want to be an outsider,” Flurry retorted. “You are. You cannot change that.” “I am the Princess of Ponies,” Flurry answered. “You are ponies.” “Are we?” Amoxtli asked. She poked her bandaged wing with another wince. Flurry closed her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “All you had to do was talk to me. I didn’t fly out here to start a fight.” “You want our help in your war,” Amoxtli stated. “It’s your war, too.” “And where were you?” Amoxtli asked with a hiss. “Where were you when we were forced to work in the sweltering sun? When we were beaten and whipped? We saved ourselves.” “The Princess has risked more than you could ever know,” Nightshade snapped. “You haven't seen her fight. She came here alone and played your stupid games.” "You've never seen a miracle," Murky whispered quietly, then returned to his bowl. Flurry almost missed what he said. “You abandoned all the old ways,” Amoxtli sneered. When she leaned forward on the stone countertop to glare at Nightshade, Flurry saw the lighter fur along her back in narrow strips. She had seen it on the ponies from the mines. Whips. “You were in one of the plantations,” Flurry said quietly. Amoxtli leaned back. “We saved ourselves,” she repeated, “as we always have.” “I’m sorry.” “You are not one of us,” Amoxtli said, more resigned than angry. She gestured to Echo. “Switch seats.” “Why?” Echo asked back suspiciously. “I will not harm your Princess,” Amoxtli promised. “Switch, please.” “Go ahead,” Flurry nodded. Echo grumbled and hopped off her stool with fluttering wings. Amoxtli scooched over and pushed Echo’s bowl down. The Thestral regarded Flurry Heart with tired eyes. “I am told that alicorns have the best of all tribes.” She laid a foreleg on the table. The thick gray fur was matted and coarse. “Your leg, Princess.” Flurry pulled a boot off and rolled up her sleeve. Her left foreleg had a bare patch and the gash from the ricochet had healed into a thin red line. Otherwise, her pink fur was svelte to the touch, even when dirty. “Your fur is not like ours,” Amoxtil commented. She lowered her foreleg and stared into Flurry’s icy blue eyes. Her slit pupils seemed sad. “Your eyes are not like ours.” Flurry Heart was quiet. Amoxtli extended her leathery wing again. Flurry did the same; her wingspan attracted a few looks from the crowd. “Your wings are not like ours,” Amoxtli continued. She raised her upper lip in a sneer, exposing her fangs. “Your teeth.” She pointed a foreleg up. “Your horn. Your ears. What do you have from us?” “Stubbornness,” Nightshade stated. “We have heard the stereotypes of earth ponies,” Amoxtli dismissed. “We are not known for that. You are not like us. You never were. The Moon claimed us as her own, but the Nightmare came the closest. Is it any wonder why we followed her?” I’m not going to convince them to help. The thought struck Flurry like a blow from a hammer. The chef placed a bowl of fried vegetables and fruits before her, waving his wings through the steam. “How does the Conclave work?” Flurry asked. “A vote?” “Yes,” Amoxtli nodded. “A simple vote. The Tlatoani has a vote as well. Sixty-five votes. My tribe will vote against you.” “Why?” “You killed the Moonspeaker’s cousin,” Amoxtli said without any anger. Flurry turned to the bowl and ate quietly. It was delicious. Light Narrative will vote for me. Maybe that will swing some of them. She glanced back at Amoxtli's wing, then the chef’s. “I didn’t come here to hurt anypony.” Amoxtli nodded in acceptance. "Do not worry." She pointed to symbol at the base of her wing, a swooping swirl in a figure-eight pattern. “This means unity. All of the Tzinacatl bear that mark now, sworn to set aside old grudges and band together. In practice, not so much.” “Can other ponies have that mark?” “Trusted friends,” Amoxtli responded. “Eat. It is almost time.” Flurry finished the bowl, thanked the chef again, then spent several minutes in a bathroom beside the stony diner. It was really just a glorified hole in the ground with a bucket of water, but Flurry was used to squatting along roadsides and avoiding jungle fauna. She looked at the burning Crystal Heart on her flank before adjusting her pants and purple uniform. “Yep,” Murky nodded as she left. “The mark of fine bat pony cooking, that.” “Enough,” Nightshade hissed. She pointed a wing down the street to Light Narrative. The Tlatoani had donned a feathered headdress instead of his black cowboy hat. He walked stiffly on his wooden leg, but had discarded the eyepatch in favor of a glowing amber jewel in the eye socket. “It’s time,” he nodded to Flurry Heart. “Please, follow me to the Conclave.” “That’s quite a look,” Flurry offered. “I prefer the eyepatch, but somepony tore it up,” he turned the jewel towards Nightshade. “The headdress isn’t optional.” “Can my friends enter?” Flurry asked. Light Narrative bit his lip. “I would recommend they do not.” “They’ll be on their best behavior,” Flurry gave the siblings a warning look. “That is not why.” Light shook his head. “They are not…” “Oh,” Nightshade whickered. “Say it, big boy. Say the words.” “They are not of the Tzinacatl,” Light Narrative finished. “No, we’re not real Thestrals,” Nightshade snorted. “We’re just half-breeds. Bat Ponies.” “They go with me and stand to the side,” Flurry decided with a hard look. “They are my friends.” “So be it,” Light Narrative sighed. “The vote will be cast after a period of debate and discussion.” Flurry Heart followed the guards down several streets, across three bridges and towards the waterfall. There was a small path that led around the waterfall and behind it, and another cave beyond that. The underground city watched the small procession leave; a few Thestrals waved. Flurry waved a wing back, uncertain if they were waving towards her or Light Narrative. The statues of rearing Thestrals bared their fangs. The gems in their eyes reflected the light from the cave, making their eyes glow in the dark. Flurry Heart passed under them, then behind the waterfall and down a small tunnel. The guards bracketed the group, carrying spears and holstered pistols. The tunnel abruptly ended in a large, spherical cave. A mosaic of the full moon was upon the floor, worn down with time and countless hooves. If Flurry hadn't recognized it from her dream, she wouldn't have realized what it was meant to be. Seats of white marbled stone had been carved into half of the cave’s walls, forming an amphitheater. It was shaped like a crescent moon. Thestrals sat amongst the stone seats, chattering loudly in several languages. A hole in the roof poured down moonlight. Several mirrors reflected and amplified the moonlight, catching the moonbeams and throwing them about the room. The moon must be directly overhead. The Thestrals wore a mix of Equestrian clothes, beads, headdresses, and feathers. Some were very old, and a few appeared to be as young as Flurry herself. One was clearly a filly. All of their wings had unique markings in a variety of paint colors, but Flurry could pick out the swirling figure-eight on each Moonspeaker’s wings. A few noticed the Tlatoani and screeched, but most were still involved in their own discussions. Caballeron and Jungle Trek stood to the side with a few other non-Thestrals as observers. Nightshade, Echo, and Murky joined them. Light Narrative coughed and advanced to a pearl gong, slamming his wooden leg against it. It reverberated through the room. The Moonspeakers quieted and looked down from their seats. They shuffled together to sit in the middle of the crescent. There was a circle of moonlight in the center of the mosaic below them, and Light walked towards it. Thematic, Flurry resisted snorting. A full moon within a full moon. “Moonspeakers,” Light Narrative said gravely. “Tlatoani,” the crowd answered in unison. “We have gathered to hear the appeal of Hope,” Light began. “Flurry Heart of the Crystal Empire seeks the aid of the Tzinacatl. She has passed the trial of the Dreamspell.” Some of the Moonspeakers murmured under their breath. “We shall hear her words, and question her. And we shall vote.” The Moonspeakers stomped a hoof against the stone seats. Flurry removed her hat and gave it to Echo. Light Narrative stepped aside from the pool of moonlight and waved a wing for Flurry to step forward. Flurry took a breath and pushed it out with a foreleg. She trotted forward into the moonlight and stared up at the Moonspeakers. The Thestrals stared back with varying levels of interest. A few looked bored; some looked outright contemptuous, glaring back with narrowed eyes. “Thank you for hearing me,” Flurry began, speaking clearly and loudly into the hall. Her voice echoed. “I am Flurry Heart, Princess of the Crystal Empire, Princess of Equestria, and the Princess of Ponies.” She smiled; it felt fake on her muzzle. “This is my first time in the southeast, and the first time in your city. Thank you for allowing me entry.” One of the Moonspeakers snorted. Flurry ignored it. “I am here to ask for your help,” Flurry continued. “I have signed a ceasefire with the Griffonian Reich. I fought with them in the north over the borders of the Crystal Empire, but now we are fighting together against the Changeling Hegemony.” “We,” Flurry paused when Light Narrative shifted a wing. “I need the Reich’s army and tanks to push through the south to Appleoosa. We can cut off the oil fields and liberate the south. This war will determine the fate of Equestria for the next several centuries. Please, help me fight for it.” “Let them die!” an older Moonspeaker screeched. “They did nothing for us!” Several more voices cried out in agreement or refusal, devolving back into tribal languages that Flurry didn’t understand. A shoving match broke out amongst the Moonspeakers. Light Narrative trotted over to the gong and slammed his hoof into it, sighing. I suppose that explains how he got the job. “Please, Hope, tell us your plan,” Light Narrative requested. “The Kaiser’s army can match the Changelings in the field. They need their supply lines through the southeast. The army encircled in the Badlands needs to regroup.” Flurry licked her lips. “I need your help. I need your scouts and your soldiers, your warbands. We can push the Changelings out of Equestria and finally end this. I cannot offer what you have already claimed. The southeast is yours, and I will respect that. I know that Equestria has wronged you-” “You understand nothing!” a mare screamed. “You slaughtered my cousin! There is nothing left to bury!” “I wanted to talk,” Flurry said back. She tried to keep her voice level. “I said I wanted to talk. I did not attack first.” “Liar!” “She does not lie,” Amoxtli shouted from the sidelines. “She gave a warning. She healed my wings and took the Dreamspell willingly.” The Moonspeaker spat something at Amoxtli that made the younger mare physically reel back as if struck. The other Moonspeakers beside the angry mare hissed and shoved her, arguing over the words. Light Narrative slammed the gong again. After the reverb faded, one of the younger Moonspeakers, a filly with pierced ears, asked, “Tlatoani, you questioned Hope in the dream.” “I did,” Light Narrative confirmed. “What was her bearing?” “Civil, if confused,” Light replied. “She followed readily, and offered apologies that are unneeded. She is a year younger than you, Moonspeaker. She does not share the sins of the Sun. Love offered us many things, if you recall.” An even younger Moonspeaker spoke up with a squeaky voice. “And she offered her blood willingly?” Light Narrative adjusted his headdress. “She offered flesh.” He gave Flurry a look with his eye to stay quiet. A ripple passed through the Conclave. “Truly, Tlatoani?” one stallion asked. “What did she offer?” “Her ears,” Light clarified. “Both of them in succession, before I could respond.” The Moonspeakers spoke quietly amongst themselves. Flurry’s ears pinned back, twitching at the memory. “Why?” a mare asked loudly. She was wearing an open dark shirt with tribal emblems stitched onto it. Her golden eyes peered down at Flurry suspiciously. “Perhaps she knew it was a dream?” “The Moon offered her eye and said we would be all she needed!” another mare added. “Only one eye!” another retorted. "For knowledge!" “A wing!” an older Moonspeaker screamed. “We know it was a wing!” “You think the Moon did not know she was dreaming?” a stallion asked harshly. “Yet you think a filly can outwit the Tlatoani?” Light Narrative banged the gong again. Flurry subtly looked at Caballeron. He mouthed “Debated,” to her with a wink. “Moonspeakers,” Light Narrative requested, “I was chosen because I was an outsider. The southeast is our home, and our home is part of Equestria. Hope has come to us to ask for our help to reclaim it.” “Why did Hope cut off her ears?” the mare in the shirt asked. “I wish to hear her answer.” Flurry looked at Light Narrative’s wooden leg. “I was told to ‘offer what I would.’ I chose my ears.” “Did the Tlatoani not explain that only blood is needed?” Flurry gave Light Narrative a look. She wasn’t going to say anything about his offer to lie. “He tapped the bowl with his wooden leg and removed his eyepatch. I know that Thestrals will die if the Conclaves accepts; I know they will be maimed. I will never ask you to do something I would not.” “You misunderstood,” the mare laughed. “You took it as a challenge.” “And I still cut off both my ears,” Flurry replied. “Even on alicorns, those don’t grow back.” “I just tapped the bowl,” Light Narrative nickered. “It wasn’t a signal or suggestion.” “You removed your eyepatch.” “For the ceremony!” “Why ears?” the mare interrupted Flurry and Light Narrative. “Why not a leg or eye?” “I need everything else to fight,” Flurry answered bluntly. “One of my commanders is missing an ear. He’s fine.” I should’ve just torn out a few teeth. “And you intend to fight,” the mare hummed. “I have fought,” Flurry corrected. “I intend to keep fighting. I fought in the sky over Nova Griffonia. I fought in the fields of the Crystal Empire. I fought in my home. I will fight with my army, for as long as I am able to.” “Why should we fight for you?” a stallion challenged. “Because you came here and asked?” “You don’t have to fight for me,” Flurry answered. “Fight for yourselves. If Chrysalis wins, she’ll come back here. They'll burn the jungles to the ground. We have to work together.” “Let her come!” a Moonspeaker shouted. “We beat her armies once! They’ll never take our caves.” “They will burn the jungle, foal!” the Moonspeaker next to the other replied. “Our caves will wither in smoke and fire.” “We have endured a thousand years of suffering,” an old Moonspeaker pronounced with a faint voice. It took Flurry a moment to locate her in the crowd. The mare’s yellow eyes were clouded over, blind from age, and her muzzle wobbled. She had a young colt whisper in her ear, describing something. “Who have you brought with you, Hope?” the old mare asked. Flurry glanced at the siblings. “My friends from New Mareland. Siblings.” “I shall speak to one,” the old mare announced in a feeble voice. “The eldest, if they are siblings.” Light Narrative gave Flurry an even look with his eye. Flurry waved Nightshade forward with a wing, then stepped out of the moonlight. Nightshade walked into the pool of light, staring around at the Moonspeakers. She touched her shabby necklace of flowers with a wing, and adjusted her uniform and purple band. The Imperial Snowflake caught the light and seemed to shine. The old mare leaned down, as if looking at Nightshade. “What tribe are you from?” Nightshade grit her teeth. “I am from Sunset, in New Mareland.” “You have no tribe,” the old mare decided. She spoke something in one of the tribal languages, then her cadence changed with the next sentence. It changed again with another. “Do you know what I said?” “No,” Nightshade ground out. “My grandson says you have no markings upon your wings,” the old mare stated mockingly. “You have no allegiance?” “I serve the Princess of Ponies.” “As her little pet bat,” the old mare spat venomously. “She dragged you down here as if you could help. You are a half-breed like the ones in Baltimare.” Nightshade hissed. “You wretched old nag. You think your markings make you better? You think that justifies shrugging off their lives?” Light gave Flurry a desperate look. Flurry scanned over the Moonspeakers in the audience. They glared down at Nightshade. “You think you’re all better than me, huh?” Nightshade challenged. “Because I was born a city bat instead of in a stinking cave?” The Moonspeakers screeched angrily at the insult. Nightshade screeched back. “Guess what? It didn’t help! You think the hornheads or the featherwings saw me any differently? You think the mudponies gave me the time of day? We’re all the same!” She flared her wings. “We’re all bats to them! Sit in your cave and act smug. Pretend you’re better!" Nightshade's muzzle twisted. "Or go join those lunatics down in Zebrica!” The Conclave erupted into angry screeches. One of the Moonspeakers leapt down from her seat with a feral snarl in a glide. Nightshade countered the lunge with a roll and smashed her hoof down into the back of the mare’s head. The Moonspeaker slammed down into the circle of light, hissing and struggling with Nightshade atop her. Light Narrative pounded the gong with his hoof; it didn’t help with the chaos. Flurry pulled Nightshade off the Moonspeaker with her magic. Despite her injuries, she was utterly trashing the older mare. “You wanna pretend to be better!?” Nightshade roared. Her New Mareland accent grew incredibly thick. “You wanna sit in a cave and laugh as Baltimare hangs fillies!? You’re just as bad as all the others that punched down on us!” Nightshade jabbed a hoof towards Flurry. “I follow her cause I want to! Cause she’s worth it! Cause she treats us like we’re worth something!” Light Narrative slammed the gong and ushered a line of guards forward. They stamped spear butts into the stone and circled the crescent, quieting the raging Moonspeakers. Flurry noticed that several were fighting amongst themselves in the seats rather than directing their anger at Nightshade. Caballeron and the others had backed against the wall. He rolled his eyes at Flurry when she caught his look. Flurry dragged Nightshade to her. “I ain’t apologizing. Room full of Wind Riders,” Nightshade spat. “Just the other direction.” The alicorn drifted her over to her younger siblings and dropped her with a low sigh. Flurry trotted into the moonlight and helped the Moonspeaker up, casting a healing spell onto her muzzle. One of the mare’s fangs was chipped. She glared hatefully at Flurry, then flapped her wings up to the others and folded her forelegs in a pout. “I know you have been neglected!” Flurry shouted. “I know you have been spat on and forgotten! Do you think it will be better afterwards? You can stay here and nothing will change!” “We outlasted the Sun!” a Moonspeaker answered. Several screeched in agreement. “The Moon will come again!” Several more voices screeched in disapproval. “The Moon abandoned us!” “Lies! We shall wait a thousand years more if we must!” another yelled. “What is your plan?” Flurry interrupted. “What will you do? Wait? Watch as ponies die?” “As they watched us die!” a mare agreed readily. “As they used us!” Several Moonspeakers whinnied in support. “All you will do is prove them right to hate you!” Flurry argued back. “We will outlast them!” Flurry looked down at the mosaic of the faded full moon, then glanced at Caballeron and Light Narrative. They both looked resigned. Debated, Flurry thought. “What did Luna tell you?” Flurry asked. Her voice overpowered the arguments in the seats. “What did she offer?” “You know nothing of us,” a stallion insisted angrily. “Then tell me,” Flurry said at a normal volume. “We were the Moon’s favored! She promised us the night!” another stallion spoke up. “She promised we would be the stars in the sky!” a mare disagreed. “She taught us the Dreamscape.” “We taught her that!” “How did you get here?” Flurry interrupted. “Why is the southeast your home?” “We were driven here!” “No, it was a gift!” “A blessing from the Nightmare!” Several voices hissed at that. “A curse!” “We fled the cold!” “Who built the statues outside?” Nearly half the room immediately tried to claim credit and descended into shoving matches. The old Thestral mare attempted to speak, only to be drowned out by the arguing. The little colt flapped his wings and screeched a high, warbling blast that made Flurry’s ears pin back. The Moonspeakers cringed and looked to the colt. “Thank you, grandson,” the old mare said politely. Her voice immediately turned dangerous. “You mock us, Hope.” “You don’t know,” Flurry stated. “None of you can agree. Your histories did not survive a thousand years.” Most of the Conclave hissed down at her. “You come into our sacred home and insult us.” Flurry shook her head. “I understand.” “You understand nothing!” the old mare coughed. Several Moonspeakers hissed with her. “You stand before us and laugh!” Flurry took a deep breath. “I do understand. What do you know of my home?” “We know enough of Equestria,” a stallion insisted. “I was not born in Equestria,” Flurry replied. “I was born in the Crystal Empire. I was born before the Crystal Heart. May I tell you about my home?” The Conclave quieted. Light Narrative lowered his hoof from the gong and waited. “We don’t know how the Empire started,” Flurry began. “We don’t know how old it is. We don’t know who made the Crystal Heart. We don’t know who the first Crystal Empress was or what she did. We have no history, no records, and no legends. We have nothing but scattered ruins through the north. “The Empire was gone for a thousand years. It did not suffer in silence; it was lost. King Sombra killed Amore. His destructive reign was so cruel and so complete that the crystal ponies do not remember their grandparents. They barely remember Amore. They remember suffering in the mines, praying for the Sun and Moon to save them.” She raised her wings. “The Crystal Ponies cannot tell me about Amore’s mother, not even her name. She has been forgotten. Everything the Empire ever achieved is gone. Not forgotten, gone. My mother did not even know if she was descended from the Amore dynasty. I doubt it. The only proof I will ever have is the mark on my flank. I cannot trace my lineage back to even my grandparents.” Flurry looked around. “My mother and father are dead. My mother grew up in a village, a pegasus adopted by earth ponies. I don’t know what their names were, and I never will.” Flurry’s eyes narrowed. “Before the Thestrals were abandoned, the Crystal Empire was failed by the Sun and Moon. They failed to defeat Sombra. When it returned, the Sun and Moon failed again a thousand years later. It was Friendship and Love that ended him. “You have legends and stories to argue over. You still have history. The crystal ponies have nothing. We have nothing. We have every reason to sit behind the shield and watch Equestria burn. Instead, we fight.” Flurry stuck a wing at Nightshade. “The crystal ponies stand beside Nightshade and fight. How many saw a bat pony a thousand years ago? We stand beside griffons and changelings and yaks. We stand beside the ponies that left us to die because it does not matter what happened in the past. Whatever the Crystal Empire was, it is something new. This is your chance; there won't be another.” “You are not one of them,” a mare pointed out. “I am a crystal pony,” Flurry replied. “I was born before the Crystal Heart in the north. I am from the Crystal Empire.” Flurry sighed. “I am asking for your help, not demanding it. If you vote against me, I will leave. I will not trouble your cities and caves. All I ask is that you do not interfere with the supply lines and let the Reich's army withdraw. You can have the southeast. Maybe we will win regardless. In a thousand years, your descendants will argue over what I said, if they remember I came here at all.” The Moonspeakers spoke quietly with each other. “And if you vote to follow me, you will follow me as the Fifth Tribe, not the Fourth. Unicorns, Pegasi, Earth Ponies, Crystal Ponies, and Thestrals will stand as equals. We will fight as equals and rebuild as equals.” “And what will you do when they spit on us again?” a stallion challenged. “I will tell them not to,” Flurry said simply, “and I will kill them if they continue. I killed pegasus supremacists in Manehattan. I will not allow some of my subjects to abuse others. I am not the Sun. I will not coddle my ponies and ignore their faults.” “An easy promise, Hope.” “I intend to keep it,” Flurry answered. “I could stand here and make promises all night. The Herzlanders say that words are wind.” She stepped out of the circle of moonlight and nodded to Light Narrative. "Do what you will." The Tlatoani licked his fangs and stepped forward. “We will vote. The Tzinacatl shall follow Hope to war, or we refuse her and remain in the southeast. I vote in favor.” “That is unusual, Tlatoani,” a Moonspeaker interrupted. “You vote last.” “I was chosen to bridge the gaps between the tribes,” Light Narrative responded. “Hope has come here to ask for our help. If we refuse, we will be remembered as the monsters history always claimed we were. My home has descended into madness with that excuse.” “Perhaps it was a mistake to choose you,” the stallion replied. A few Moonspeakers hissed back and forth. “Perhaps,” Light Narrative admitted. “We vote tip-to-tail. If you wish to accept Hope’s offer, cross to the tip. If you decline, go to the tail.” The Tlatoani limped to the right side of the crescent, near the gong. He stood at the edge of the marble seats. The Moonspeakers sat in the middle for a moment, then the filly with pierced ears stood with a huff and strode to Light Narrative. She folded her forelegs and sat down above him. Nine younger Moonspeakers followed. “You are false,” the Moonspeaker that argued with Amoxtli called down angrily at Flurry. She stomped over to the left. A few more angry-eyed Thestrals joined her, glaring down at Flurry Heart. “Ears,” the mare with the shirt chuckled. She glanced down at Flurry. “You offer ears. You are impulsive, rash, and arrogant. We will not follow you to war.” She stood and swaggered over to the left, flicking her tail. “Exactly,” a Moonspeaker called out and broke to the right. “At least she offered something more.” Four followed him. The mare in the shirt looked surprised that only two others followed her lead. She scowled and her wings fluttered in agitation. Flurry stood and watched as the Conclave voted. The Moonspeakers seemed to take cues from each other, or vote out of spite against a rival in some cases. Two hissed at each other from opposite ends of the crescent. The Moonspeakers that voted for Flurry were young, some younger than herself. The other side of the room trended towards older mares. Flurry noticed that all nine stallions on the Conclave voted for her, and resolved to never ask why. The mare with the bruised muzzle from fighting Nightshade narrowed her eyes and snarled down at the Bat Pony, but crossed to the right and sat down. “Rematch!” she shouted across the room. “Name a time and place!” Nightshade called back. "You can't kill more Changelings than I can!" The old blind mare remained seated with her grandfoal whispering in her ear. She blinked languidly. A few Moonspeakers approached her to whisper a question, but she bared her gums at them and shooed them away with a scabby wing. She was the last one seated in the middle. Flurry counted the votes and her wings lowered. Counting Light Narrative, it was thirty-two votes against thirty-two. It was up to the old mare. Flurry gave Nightshade an icy glare. Nightshade looked like she was about to collapse in pure despair. The old Moonspeaker cackled and waved her grandson away. He fluttered down to the mosaic with a squeak. “Is it up to me?" she asked. "Hope rests upon the edge of a knife, it seems.” “You are the last vote, Moonspeaker Meztli,” Light Narrative confirmed. “Shut up, Light,” Meztli snapped. “I voted to name you Tlatoani out of pity. Your articles were terrible.” She stared towards the center of the room, blinking slowly. “Come, Hope. Stand in the moonlight.” Flurry Heart walked forward across the mosaic, hooves clopping on the stone. She stopped in the moonbeam. Meztli’s ears twitched as she listened. “You stand where the Nightmare stood, according to some idiots. She promised Hope. She called us to war. She gave us nothing but misery.” Flurry was quiet. “Have you nothing to say as Hope dies?” Meztli asked with a low, bitter laugh. “I think you made your decision long before I ever walked into this room,” Flurry answered. "I've known people like you all my life." "People," Meztli hummed. "All creatures are more similar than we wish to believe." She smiled with more gums than teeth. “My daughter would say the same. By right, she should be here in my place. She would vote for you.” Meztli fumbled with a slow wing, pulling a letter out of her dress. It was yellow with age. The old mare opened it with shaking hooves. “This was from the War Office in Canterlot. All of us here have received a similar letter. The Sun and Moon regret to inform me of her death.” She scowled at the letter. “They spelled her name wrong. There is no signature, only the stamp of two cutie marks. I still see this letter before me, even though my sight left me years ago.” “What was her name?” Flurry asked. “Why?” Meztli snapped. “She is dead. I have no body to bury. I do not know how she died. And I am lucky. By the end of the war, there were no letters, only death. Only empty places at tables. What would you write?” Flurry blinked. “What?” “How would you restore Hope to a grieving mother? To a father or son or daughter?” Flurry took a moment to think. “My mother wrote the condolence letters herself.” Meztli laughed harshly. “Every letter? Do you truly believe that, filly?” “It ruined her to do it.” “She could not have written every letter,” Meztli dismissed. “She would have spent every waking moment, and she would have still fallen short. Even then, those letters would lack Love, just as this one.” She brandished the yellowed paper like a knife between shaking hooves. For the first time, Flurry realized that her mother could not have possibly done what Flurry always believed she did. Her wings sagged to the floor and the feathers absorbed the moonlight. “I thought she did,” Flurry admitted. “I knew it hurt her. I remember her trying.” “I did not ask about your mother,” Meztli wheezed. “What would you write, Hope?” Flurry looked up at her and answered from the heart. “I wouldn’t write anything. I would be on the front, making sure her death meant something. No amount of words on paper can ease that pain. No medal. No speech.” “You understand better than the foals in Canterlot,” Meztli sighed. “What do you think of your name, Hope?” “I’ve been called worse things. Hope can be a weapon.” “How so?” “Hope can be a light in the darkness,” Flurry said slowly. “It can be a bullet, or a sword, or a spell. A victory. A burning convoy. Crates of weapons. Heads on sticks outside a ruined plantation.” “You think that is hope?” Meztli asked. “You do,” Flurry answered. “I never called myself Hope.” “Who are you, then?” “The Princess of Ponies.” Meztli folded the letter back up and reverently tucked it into her dress. “My daughter had hope,” she said softly. “She enlisted before the war, just after the reforms. She was one of the first to die. She fought for the Princesses, and I received this letter.” “I’m sorry,” Flurry said. “I think you truly mean that,” Meztli admitted with a long blink. “What will you do when you fail?” “Try again. Or die.” Flurry shrugged her wings. “I won’t run. My mother and father didn’t.” “Words are wind,” Meztli rasped. “I like that saying. Shame the birds invented it.” Flurry was quiet. Meztli stood up on shaking legs. “You came a long way to ask for our help, Hope. Was it worth it?” She brushed a wing against the stone seats for guidance as she moved to the left. A few of the Moonspeakers smiled viciously as they won. “At least I met my ponies,” Flurry sighed. “Are we?” Meztli chuckled. "We sneer at you and your half-breeds." “You're still my ponies." “You do know me well,” Meztli smiled. “I made my decision the moment I smelled you out in the city. You smell of blood and gunpowder. Like a soldier. Or my daughter.” Meztli paused halfway across the crescent. “Oh,” she announced loudly. “I got turned around.” Meztli shuffled back and limped towards the right. “I will give you the chance to prove your words, Hope.” “She lies!” the mare that argued with Amoxtli snarled. “Your cousin was an idiot,” Meztli snorted over her shoulder. “She shouldn’t have been in charge of a pantry, let alone a scouting party.” “You are blind,” the mare in the shirt added. “She is an overgrown filly!” “So are you,” Meztli responded. “At least Hope is honest about what she is.” The old mare stopped and sagged into a seat next to another younger Moonspeaker. Flurry Heart almost collapsed to the floor. “Thirty-three votes in favor,” Light Narrative announced. “It is decided. The Conclave votes to follow Flurry Heart!” The right side of the room cheered with a screech and the guards slammed their spears into the ground. Nightshade, Echo, and Murky screeched as well, glaring up at the left side. Murky stuck his tongue out. The opponents hissed, but did not rise from their seats and pick a fight. Caballeron pointed over Flurry’s shoulder with a hoof, signaling her to wait. “There is one last thing, Hope,” Light Narrative stated. “You entered this city as a guest, and will leave as a friend.” Two guards dragged a large bowl forward and set it down in the moonlight, backing away. The silver bowl was heavily tarnished with age, and dented on one side. Some brown stains were in the middle, and Flurry wasn’t sure if it was rust or old blood. Light Narrative drew a sharp, thin blade with a leather strap on the handle. It wasn’t the blade from the dream. “Just a prick on the frog,” he smiled wryly. Flurry accepted the knife with her golden magic. She pulled her left boot off her foreleg and rolled up her sleeve as a precaution. Another guard stepped forward with a small box on his back. Light opened it with his wings and retrieved a silver necklace adored with fangs and feathers. Unlike the bowl, it looked pristine and glittered in the moonlight. “This necklace names you a friend of the Tzinacatl.” Flurry saw the looping figure-eight swirl in made of silver in the center of the chain. She glanced at Light Narrative's wings and saw the same symbol, then up to his headdress. It was there as well. The alicorn stared across the room at Caballeron. He raised his necklace with a hoof and jingled his own symbol made of brass. Jungle Trek shook one that was made out of refurbished shell casings. “That symbol means unity,” Flurry half-asked. She looked down at the old silver bowl. It barely reflected the moonlight from above; it looked nothing like the bowl in her dream. A thousand years. “Yes,” Light Narrative nodded. “As long as you wear it, you are a friend. Symbolically speaking. You don’t have to wear it forever.” The patches near her stubby mane itched as Flurry thought about her crown. “Am I a friend, or a Princess?” “You are Hope. We shall follow you where you lead us. All are bound to the Conclave's decision,” Light replied with a slight frown. That wasn't an answer. Flurry turned back to the knife, then stared over at Amoxtli. "What do you have from us?" Flurry looked at the Thestral. Amoxtli looked unhappy, staring up at her Moonspeaker with teary eyes. It cost her something great to speak out. The Moonspeaker did not look down at her. Flurry raised her left leg, turning it to look at the healed gash. The fur was still short around the injury from where she shaved it off. She sat on her flank and raised her right leg, gesturing for the necklace. Flurry laid it in her right hoof; she stared critically at the swirling figure-eight symbol. “Princess?” Light Narrative asked warily. “Am I?” Flurry asked quietly. “Am I your Princess?” she called out, louder. The Conclave quieted down. “What did you offer Luna? What did Luna offer you?” “You heard the versions,” Light whispered. “Keep the necklace,” Flurry stated. "Silver is not forever." She pulled the leather strap off the knife in her magic. “I am impulsive. I am rash. I am arrogant. I am stupid.” Flurry jammed the leather strap into her teeth and bit down. And I am your fucking Princess. The knife swirled in the air and stabbed down into her left leg at the top of the shaved patch. Flurry stared at the symbol in her other hoof as she worked, carving deep into the skin so the wound would scar. The thin blade made it easy to follow the pattern, and she finished in a few seconds. Blood splattered down into the bowl. Nightshade stepped forward with a horrified whinny while Light Narrative reared back. Flurry snarled at both of them through the leather strap, then spat it out as she finished. She set the knife down in the shallow pool of blood in the old bowl. Flurry smirked painfully after comparing the scar to the necklace. Got it right the first time. She set the necklace back in the box with a flash of magic. The guard didn’t react; he stared at her leg in shock. For once, the Moonspeaker Conclave did not need the gong to fall into complete silence. Flurry huffed, brandishing her leg in front of her and glaring at the left side of the crescent. A few stared back in anger, but many more looked away in shock or shame. Moonspeaker Meztli cackled as her grandfoal whispered into her ear. Flurry turned to that side. “I do not have your wings, your eyes, or your fangs, but I will have your symbol for as long as I live.” Nightshade rubbed a hoof over her muzzle, muttering. “Thorax is gonna kill me.” Flurry Heart thrust her left foreleg above her head, feeling the blood mat down her fur and trail into her rolled-up sleeve. The moonlight illuminated the mark for the entire chamber to see. “Tzinacatl,” she pronounced flawlessly, “will you follow me to war?” Meztli's grandson screeched high and loud, followed by the mare with pierced ears, then several guards. Nearly the entire chamber erupted in screeching that made Flurry’s ears ring with pain. It didn’t hurt as bad as her foreleg, but it was close.