//------------------------------// // Chapter 1 // Story: Beyond the Veil of Sleep // by Starscribe //------------------------------// Mira was born to rule. She thought of it while begging for grain on the side of the road. She reminded herself when scavenging through the middenheap for scraps of moldy bread. She dreamed of it while catching moths during the deepest darkness of the night, collecting all into her basket. Only when it was filled could she fly home, watchful every second of her flight in case a particularly cruel pegasus was following her. It wouldn’t be the first time. Being small and pathetic sometimes helped ponies feel enough sympathy to donate to her, but it also made her an ideal victim for an endless banquet of cruelties, if only they could catch her. Mira didn’t let them catch her. The queen of nightmares might be banished, her parents dead and her tribe cursed to be hunted vagabonds, but that didn’t mean she would forget. The reminder was in her name: Mira. “I was there the night the princess gave it to you,” Kallisto whispered to her, when the nights were cold, and her stomach was empty. “Foal born of peace into a world filled with warm summers and short winters,” she said. “Message of friendship to all ponies she meets.” But that wasn’t the life Mira knew. Her body was lean, growth forever stunted by poor nutrition as she matured. But she had come out the other end far better than some. She wasn’t slow of thought like some of the other children, forever grasping at basic concepts and the first to die when winter came to their scattered caverns and shelters. She hadn’t ended up flightless either—Mira’s wings had kept growing even when she stopped, so much that they sometimes made her look small by comparison. Nowhere near their missing princess, but larger than some adults. Mira landed in a patch of jungle far from Hollow Shades, far enough that even the scattered farmsteads were nowhere to be seen. There were only towering trees on all sides. The clan in exile burned no fire near the cave entrance, for the Solar Army would see the smoke and hunt them down as a rebellious remnant. It didn’t matter that they hadn’t raised weapons against Equestria any time in Mira’s memory. The ponies of Hollow Shades hadn’t forgotten, that was certain. She heard it in their whisper—or sometimes got it told directly to her face when they donated a few grains or berries to her beggers’ basket. “Your parents did this to you,” they would say. “You betrayed Equestria. You’re lucky we give you anything.” And when they thought she wasn’t listening, what she overheard was even worse. “The princess shouldn’t have let them surrender. It would be kinder if they died.” When the winter came, when the sky was empty of insects and the trees bare of fruit, sometimes Mira forgot her name. That was when she believed them. It wasn’t winter now, not yet. She still had a mostly-full basket, and a full belly. Everypony would, for another month or so. Then it would get hard, and there would be flesh-scent in the winter flames. “Step forward, pony. I see you there,” barked a voice. Nacht always sounded harsh at first—he had to be, to keep the daywalkers from finding them. If that happened, she knew as well as everypony that the Solar Army would need no proof of wrongdoing. They would come, and crush Understory like they had broken so many others. She took the basket out of her mouth, settling it around her neck as she stepped into the cave. She grinned up at Nacht as she approached, wings spreading to make herself seem bigger and older. “Or what, Nacht? You’ll bite me?” Understory’s entrance cavern was kept entirely natural, without so much as a glowstone to illuminate the interior. If ponies passed by outside and peeked in, they’d find nothing but a pair of suspiciously well-armed bats inside, blocking off a wide cavern into further darkness. With only the faint starlight glowing through the entrance behind her, the world was colorless to Mira, but perfectly clear. Her gold eyes adjusted in seconds to the gloom, ears perking to add every echo and sound to her mental picture of the world. Like her wings, they’d kept growing even when she stopped. “Maybe when you’re older,” Nacht said, his tone relaxing instantly. “Three days this time? Slim pickings with the daywalkers?” She nodded glumly as she approached. “Couldn’t quite fill the basket. But the temple needs me. Kallisto’s supplies must be running out by now.” “You still honor that old nag,” said the other guard. Mira thought his name was Lud, or something equally dense. “Waste of life, orphan. What good did serving the moon get us? She can promise the world, but all she left us with are nightmares.” Mira stiffened, her tail sticking out straight behind her. “I know how many bats think that way… but you’re wrong. Things were good when Nightmare Moon was in charge. We didn’t have to hide from the stars deep underground. We only ate bugs when we wanted to.” “Don’t bother with Lud, he can barely see past the steel of his helmet.” Nacht patted her gently on the shoulder, urging her deeper in. “Ain’t that right, Lud?” The other guard growled in response, very faintly. Mira sometimes stayed to chat with whoever was on watch, maybe for hours. It wasn’t like she had anywhere of her own to sleep in Understory. But if Nacht was on duty, he always let her use his bunk. Unfortunately, Mira’s hearing was excellent, and she couldn’t help but hear them as she walked through the confusing maze of passages beyond. They were utterly black, beyond even sharp bat sight to illuminate. But one of their kindred need only feel for certain marks on the stone floor, and follow them. Listening all the while to what the guards said as she left. “I don’t see what you’re waiting for, Nacht,” Lud grunted. “She’s plenty old enough. ‘Sides, orphan don’t got no father to come asking after your conduct, does she? You keep actin’ so sweet on her, so take her.” Mira shivered, wings wrapping tightly around her sides, ears pressing flat. But it wasn’t nearly enough. “You’re as dumb as the caves themselves, Lud. She’s pretty, but life’s more than pretty. What if she gave me a foal, eh? Raise a child in this place? We’re meant for more than this, Lud. Maybe others will inflict this life on the innocent, but I won’t.” She was mercifully too distant by the time Lud made his (likely crude) reply, face bright red with embarrassment all the way. He’s right, though. Dumb bats like Lud can crawl around in caves and only think of their next broth or bed, but the rest of us aren’t supposed to be this way. Her tribe couldn’t change the weather to keep the days sunny and the summers short. They couldn’t grow miraculous harvests in stony soil, and they couldn’t enchant the world around them with incredible spells. Her tribe were something bigger than that: seers, explorers, and fierce warriors. Ponies like Nacht were a reminder of just what they’d been. Proud, noble, kind. Brave. Now they were barely even survivors. It’s changing all of us. If all the foals are raised by parents like Lud, will there even be a next generation? Understory opened up to her, a sudden explosion of light. Glowstone shards of a thousand different shades illuminated the cavern ceiling from high above, twinkling stars in pale imitation of the surface world. Her clan had made the most of their banishment, despite solar rules on bringing more than one family of bats together at once. But with Equestria so hostile to their survival, what choice did they have? Those who tried to integrate often turned into the subjects of horror stories, whispered by traders from the north. The cavern was not even half the size of Hollow Shades, though it probably held as many ponies. The bats had colonized every crevice, driving wooden platforms into the walls and surrounding them with makeshift cloth to give their homes a little privacy. None of those homes had beds waiting for Mira. Her parents had been among the most loyal to the Nightmare Princess. While that meant favor and riches during her rule, it also meant a place by her side during the rebellion. Still, there was somewhere waiting for her, the only stone structure in all Understory. Because, of course, it was the only structure here, long before wars and rebellions and Alicorn princesses. The temple was called Artemis, though no one now living remembered why. It was located at the very center of the cavern, where a thin crack in the rock ran all the way to the surface. Through it, a ray of silvery moonlight cut straight through the smoke and gloom of the city, falling directly on the temple’s glass roof. Mira dodged through dense construction on the cavern walls, ignoring the host of inviting smells. Many of the wealthiest bats had clay hearths, and ate their gruel baked into cakes during the plentiful season. Not her. Not a filly with a name like Mira, whose family had walked beside their princess during her years of glory. The princess who had failed them. The towers and walls around the temple of Artemis suggested it had once had its own guards, probably as noble and fierce as those who served beside the princess herself. They were empty now, glass domes turned opaque with centuries of dust. The wall was split by a gigantic crater on one side, melted in the way of unicorn spells. With the gate so long rusted into a makeshift iron wall, Mira entered through the crater. She passed loamy beds of compost, where waste carefully tended produced succulent mushrooms under Kallisto’s careful attention. Curiously, several of the trays were filled with ripe mushrooms, swollen so fat that their heads poked from the edges. Were you saving these for me? Mira pruned them with her teeth, savoring the familiar flavor on her tongue. All the enriching protein, without the crunch and wings getting stuck in her teeth that bugs brought. She only took enough to fill the basket. There was a technique to this, after all, one she’d never fully mastered. Her own harvests were always clumsier than Kallisto could manage, despite her blindness. “I’m back, Kallisto!” Mira called, banging the ancient stone doors shut behind her. The temple’s upper chamber was a round stone room, with a skylight for moonlight positioned at its exact center. There was something strange about the glass there, a technique of artificers long gone. Somehow, even a wisp of moonlight became a brilliant silver glow when it struck, easily lighting the temple interior. Only on the new moon did they want for light. There were no more benches for worship, since no worshipers came. The walls and floors were all covered in carvings. It was a map, carved with exquisite detail. But this was no place in Equestria, or even the land before when their tribe had lived in peaceful isolation. This map depicted the Dreamlands, where sleepers from every tribe and every world dwelt together. Kingdom of fate and madness, where once Nightmare Moon had ruled. But before her, the explorers. Before her, the Temple of Artemis. “I’m here!” Mira called again, poking her head between ancient piles of books. There had been shelves to hold those once, before the clan used the wood to light a winter fire. At least they hadn’t used the books. She should be up here, Mira thought. She doesn’t go down until sunrise. The glow overhead was all she needed to see that the night wasn’t over yet. Fearful, Mira sped rapidly towards the staircase against the far wall, descending into the cave. There was enough living space for a dozen priests and temple attendants—but all those were dead now, except Kallisto. It was a lonely place, with lots of empty rooms. They didn’t even have locked doors or dusty furniture, since all that had been scavenged by other needful bats. Only Kallisto’s quarters remained, the first door near the stairs. Her door was shut, another sign of things that shouldn’t be. The clan might’ve forgotten her, but Kallisto never forgot them. She was always open to receive visitors, even in the bleakest sunlight of noon. “Kallisto?” Mira called, rapping her hooves on the door. “I’m back with supplies! Sorry it took me a little longer this time.” The silence stretched on into eternity. For one, terrible moment, she thought there would be no answer, and the last good thing in the world was gone. But then she heard a voice, feeble and distant. A voice so old it gave new meaning to the word, and made the towering jungle giants seem like saplings. “Is that Mira? Good… come in. We need to speak again before I die.”