//------------------------------// // Chapter 1: Breeze // Story: A Song of Storms: Of Skies Long Forgotten // by The 24th Pegasus //------------------------------// When I look back on my life, through all the highs and lows, through all the choices I’ve made, in the battles I’ve fought and the enemies I’ve killed; when I see the ashes of a nation, once mighty and proud, now scorched and blackened beneath my hooves, I wonder: in what light will my descendents view me? Will I be a hero to the pegasi, the one who led them away from destruction so that we may start anew? Or will I be scorned across the generations, remembered now and forever afterwards as the pony who stood guard while Cirra burned? ---Excerpt from Commander Hurricane’s journal 22nd of Soaked Plains, 402 After Empire (759 Age of Tribes) Chapter 1: Breeze The sun was slowly reclaiming more and more of the sky from the darkness of night. It started with a faint glow to the east, and minute by minute, a tiny sliver of the golden orb pierced the horizon, growing and expanding in luminosity and brightness. The radiant disk finally revealed itself in its entirety, its yellow rays spreading forth across the land and bringing light and warmth to the denizens of the continent. The sun pursued the fleeing moon, and where there was once darkness, the aura of life fell down onto the planet from the east. The sun’s rays glanced off of grassy hills and valleys that defined the terrestrial boundaries of this portion of Equus. The rivers that had etched the valleys out of the ground over the course of thousands of years caught the sunlight as their own personal toy and scattered it before releasing it from the sapphire blues of their waters. High above, lazy cumulus clouds drifted over the land, projecting their obtuse shadows onto the plains below. The shadows lifted on a quaint settlement built around the hills just to the east of the fertile plains that separated the town and the vast expanse of water that marked the ocean to the west. Several dozen thatched roofs picked up the amber glow of the sun, and the streets began to emerge into the light as the shadows of the houses flanking them on either side retreated to the walls. A lone flag, consisting of a cyan horse’s head with open wings displayed on either side against a field of stars in the night sky, twitched gently from its flagpole atop the building in the center of the settlement. In the fields just beyond the edge of town, the blanket of darkness unwrapped itself from the land and scurried to the west against the advancing light. But a part of the darkness remained, a small figure that walked the fields, towing an iron plow behind it. The darkness was a stallion, and he paid no heed to the transition from night to day as he worked. The stallion was tall and well-muscled, dragging the plow across the cold earth with ease. His coat was a charcoal black complemented by a short, pale steel-blue mane and tail. The wings folded against his sides were powerful things, black with a touch of silver at the wingtips. His magenta eyes glinted in the early light, cutting through the remaining scraps of shadow that lingered on the field before him. Adorning his flank was a cyclone, pierced by a lightning bolt that arched towards the ground below it. The darkness clung to that image as long as it could manage before it was finally spurned away by the sunlight. The stallion grunted as he reached the end of the field and turned the plow around to start again in the opposite direction. Sweat already glistened on his neck and flanks, but he paid it no mind. He had been working on plowing the fields long before the sun arose, long before any other pony had even stirred from their slumber. His work was his life, and he might as well put all he had into it. When the sun was halfway to its apex, the stallion unhitched himself from the plow and laid under the shadow of a nearby tree. He pulled a few carrots out of the saddlebag resting against his left side and munched on them pensively. He stretched his wings in slow, rhythmic circles, relaxing the muscles and restoring blood flow to the sore limbs. He was momentarily distracted from his thoughts by the squeals of foals playing in the nearby hills, reminding him of days long passed. But he had work to do, and when he finished his breakfast, he walked back to his field and hitched himself up to the plow again. As he hauled the plow down another swath of field, a young pegasus mare came out of the house to his right. The light-brown mare smiled at him and waved a wing, then went to the storage shed behind the house, returning with a basket full of seeds. She began to walk along the fields where he had already plowed, carefully depositing the shells that would give rise to next fall’s crops. By noon the field had been carved up and down its entirety, so the stallion dragged the plow off to the side and unhitched himself from it. He was about to return to the house when a soft flutter of wings alerted him to an approaching pegasus. The dark stallion listened, and by the pacing and pitch of the wing flaps he could tell who it was. He had known this pony since his foalhood. “Ho, Silver Sword. I was wondering when I’d see you today.” The pony known as Silver Sword possessed a light gray coat that was the inspiration for half his name. His mane was a darker shade of gray, though interrupted with streaks of silvery hair. The pony was of average height, slightly smaller than the dark stallion who had spoken, but with an equally well-toned muscular build, the signs of hard work on a farm combined with the regular practice and discipline of training. Silver Sword spent an hour every day training with the weapon that gave him the latter half of his name, and the conditioning was visible in his body. Adorning his flank was an image of a pair of crossed swords, further emphasizing how much enjoyment he found in practice. “Ho, Hurricane! Done with the fields already, eh?” Silver Sword spoke with much more enthusiasm than Hurricane. Even though the two pegasi were of the same age, the farm work hadn’t managed to dull Silver’s energetic nature, and Silver would be much more likely to be caught zipping through the clouds than Hurricane on any given day. The gray pony was probably cutting his chores right now, Hurricane supposed. “I just like to get it over with,” said Hurricane, “And then it means I don’t have to listen to Twister harp on about the colts in town for another few hours.” At the mention of the dark stallion’s sister, Silver Sword waved a wing to the brown mare. Twister acknowledged him with a nod of her head and continued planting the seeds. “Ah, who is it now? Cold Canter? New Frost?” “Hard Rain.” Hurricane rolled his eyes as he named Twister’s newest crush. Silver Sword almost did a double-take. “Hard Rain? Ha! She sure knows how to pick ‘em, doesn’t she?” remarked Silver. Hurricane chuckled in agreement. Hard Rain was the Mayor’s son, and as such he had access to many of the things Hurricane and the rest of the farming families didn’t; money, books, and clothes, any of which Twister would kill for. Hurricane’s family had little in the way of money, a few old books, and one good set of formal attire each for any social events in town they were invited to. Which were many, but they only bothered to attend a few a year. “I have no doubt about that, Silver. One of these days maybe she’ll actually get serious about her love life and pick a good colt to settle down with.” “Or maybe one of these days a good colt’ll get it through his head how great your sister is,” Silver joked. Despite Twister’s flirtatious attitude she was very intelligent and hardworking, not to mention beautiful. With her long, black mane and large golden eyes, Hurricane had no doubt that she’d find the right stallion eventually. Unfortunately, despite their father’s prestige, the other ponies in town looked down on her as a simple farm pegasus, and with the social hierarchy anyone marrying down was frowned upon. And Twister knew that she could do better than another farmer’s son. After a moment, Silver gasped and flicked Hurricane's shoulder with a wingtip. “Hey I almost forgot, guess what I picked up the other day!” The stallion pulled an envelope out of his saddlebag and passed it to Hurricane, who opened the envelope and looked at the two tickets neatly packaged inside. He smiled and handed the tickets back to Silver Sword. “You got tickets to the festival? That’s awesome, Silver! I would kill for a chance to go this year,” Hurricane was happy for his friend. Silver Sword had always wanted to go to the capital and attend the celebrations for the nation’s founding. Tomorrow the mighty Cirran Empire would be celebrating four hundred years of its existence, and for the milestone year the parade would be larger, the festivities grander than ever. To be able to go to Stratopolis and partake in the celebration was a once in a lifetime event. Hurricane wanted to go more than anything else, but… “Why do you think there are two tickets, Cane? It took a year to save enough bits to get them!” Silver pulled out his nearly empty coin purse for added emphasis. “So, you wanna come with?” Hurricane shook his head. “I’m sorry, Silver, I really, really wish I could come, but I’ve got too many responsibilities here to just head off for a few days. We have to start planting this year's crop, and Father...” Silver Sword was a little crestfallen, but tried to cover it the best he could. “Oh, well, that’s okay. I understand. I’ll just see if I can find someone else who wants to go.” He paused. “How is your father, anyways? He doing alright?” Hurricane nodded. “He’s doing better now than he was last week, at least. He was actually out of bed when I got up this morning.” “That’s good to hear. The doctors ever figure out what’s wrong?” “No. They’ve tried to do what they can, but he’s finding it harder and harder to breathe. Last week he was coughing up blood – just a few drops, but still.” Hurricane sighed. “He’s already fifty-five. I guess such things are just to be expected when you get old.” Silver put his hoof on Hurricane’s shoulder. “Relax, Cane, he’s led a good life. The Legion’s proud of his service,” Silver’s words trailed off as Hurricane gave him a sorrowful look, “Erm, I mean, I’m sure he’ll get better soon.” Hurricane walked forward a few steps. Silver hadn’t meant any offense by that; every Cirran knew of the inevitability of death. His friend just tended to speak before he thought about his words. Silver Sword stepped back up to Hurricane. “Hey, if you need anything, you know I’ll always be here for you. Times like these, it’s good to have a shoulder to lean on.” Hurricane’s stoic expression remained unchanged, but his wings loosened slightly, a sign he appreciated the gesture. “Thanks, Silver. I should be getting some lunch anyways before I have to get back to work. Try not to have too much fun without me in Stratopolis.” “Don’t worry, Hurricane, I’m sure you won’t be missing out on anything too important.” Hurricane glanced at his friend. “Well, I guess, I mean, other than the four hundredth anniversary and such, and – I should probably stop talking now. See you later!” Hurricane chuckled under his breath as Silver Sword flew off. He never was one with a way for words. The dark stallion scratched his head as he thought to himself. They’d been friends for what, fifteen years now? It seemed like ages ago that they first met at flight camp. He hummed a tune to himself as he gazed out over his hometown, Zephyrus. The land the town was built on was known for the nearly continuous breeze from the west, thus giving it its name. Unlike the massive airborne cities interspersed throughout the continent, small pegasus settlements like Zephyrus were built on the land. It was much simpler for the pegasi to use materials such as wood and stone to make their homes rather than struggle to collect the massive amounts of cumulus cloud it would take to create even the foundation for the settlement. Projects such as that required the efforts of hundreds of pegasi to put together; Zephyrus’ population numbered only about two hundred by comparison. Flight camp had been a fun experience for Hurricane. It was there that he discovered just how fast he could push himself through the air. During just his second month at camp, Hurricane was already cutting through the skies, tearing wisps of cloud asunder with his great speed and agility. It was at flight camp that he earned his mark and met Silver Sword during one of the “friendly” competitions between youngsters organized by the adults. How much things had changed since then. Even though he and Silver were as close as ever, with each passing year they gained a wider understanding of the world around them. Life wasn’t all sunshine and butterflies as they had believed when they were young. Tensions with the griffons in the east were higher than ever, Hurricane’s father was sick, and the population growth in the surrounding area put more pressure on Zephyrus’ farming families to produce larger harvests. The fun things in life, like Day of Empire, were becoming increasingly harder to come by. As the dark stallion trotted back to the house, he tried to convince himself that he wasn’t disappointed about not being able to go with his friend. He met with marginal success. The smell of eggs and bacon greeted Hurricane as he walked into the house. He looked over to the kitchen, where a gray mare was preparing lunch. The mare was around fifty years of age, and her black mane and tail were quickly turning white. She hummed softly as she cooked the midday meal but stopped when she saw Hurricane and smiled, revealing a set of perfect white teeth. “Smells good, Mom,” said Hurricane as he walked up next to the elder mare. Hurricane was several inches taller than her, and she had to reach up on her hind legs to hug him. “Hiya, Hurricane. Done with the field already?” Hurricane’s mother, Raincloud, took the meat off of the stove and deposited it on a plate along with some eggs and lettuce and passed it to him. Hurricane placed the plate on the table and sat down, eager to dig into his lunch. “Until Twister finally finishes planting the seeds I am.” He took a bite of the bacon and let himself become absorbed in the crispy, greasy meat. The pegasus farmers found it difficult to produce enough grain for all of Cirra, so they regularly supplemented their diets with meat and other animal products, much like the predatory griffons to the east. But after pulling the plow for half the day, nothing was better than a warm meal and a cool drink. As he worked on his meal the door opened again and Twister trotted into the house. She quickly grabbed her plate and sat down next to Hurricane, devouring her food with a ravenous hunger. Hurricane was amazed at how fast his sister could down a meal. “You finished planting, Twist?” Hurricane eyed his sister, a smirk on his face. Twister took a huge bite of her lettuce and spoke around the food in her mouth, “Uh… yeah? Of course!” Hurricane smiled and turned back to his food, shaking his head. He flicked his sister lightly across the back with his wing. “You didn’t really, did you?” Twister tried to remove the guilty look from her face. “Hey, when I smelled food, I couldn’t just stay out there. The hunger was killing me!” As if to emphasize her point, she dramatically threw a hoof up to her forehead and leaned back, which caused her to fall out of her chair. Hurricane laughed as she unwound her limbs from between the chair and table and jumped back onto her hooves, annoyed. She tried to hit him behind the head with her wing, but Hurricane merely ducked under it and poked her under the shoulder, where she was most ticklish. Twister leapt back and angrily hit him in the foreleg before finishing the last of her meal in one large bite and cantering back outside. Hurricane rubbed his foreleg with a smirk as she stormed out of the door. He very much enjoyed the company of his little sister. He was also very protective of her, a fact that Twister was embarrassed by, though there was little she could do about it. Hurricane had once knocked another colt’s lights out when he wouldn’t leave Twister alone at a party, and she had stormed off more embarrassed than angry that her brother had to come in and intervene for her. The dark stallion finished off his food and returned his plate to the sink, where Raincloud washed it off. He was about to head back outside when he heard a quiet cough behind him, followed by the weak clop of a hoof against the wooden floor. Hurricane quickly turned around to see an old black stallion emerging from the hallway. The pegasus’ head was stooped and the feathers along his wings were grayed almost the whole way back to the arm. His once black mane was now entirely silver from age. He had a long white scar down the entire length of his left side that ended just before his cutie mark, which was a pair of gray thunderclouds that arced a lightning bolt between them. Hurricane quickly bowed his head in respect. The older stallion simply advanced and slowly spoke through wheezing breaths, “Up, boy. I don’t want your respect. You owe me nothing.” Hurricane rose back up to his normal height. “Father, it’s good to see you out of bed!” He walked over to the old pegasus and rested his head across his shoulder. “How are you feeling?” The old stallion warmly returned the embrace and stepped back. “Better, for today at least. I think I might go for a fly.” Hurricane’s father weakly flapped his wings and chuckled at their uselessness. It had been many seasons since he last left the ground. Hurricane laughed as well. “I’d be careful if I were you. If the Legion heard you were flying again they’d want you back for sure.” “Well they’d have to fight to get me to leave my family now. How are you, Son? Still plowing the fields?” “Already done, sir. Twister’s out there finishing the planting.” The old stallion shook his head. “If only your sister were as productive as you. Spends too much time with her head in the clouds, that one.” Raincloud leaned her head around the corner that separated the kitchen from the hallway. “Thunder Gale! You’re just in time. Your lunch is about ready. Maybe I won’t have to clean bread crumbs out of the sheets tonight, since you’re up and about.” Thunder Gale laughed, a rough and wheezing sound as his damaged lungs panted their air out. “I was getting sick of the ceiling anyways. Figured a change of scenery would do me some good.” Hurricane helped lead his father over to the table, supporting his weight as the old stallion leaned against him. When his father sat down, he gestured for Hurricane to sit, to which he complied. Raincloud brought over the old pony’s food, and they kissed briefly before she went to go take care of the laundry. Hurricane watched as his father slowly munched on his meal. The look of sickness still hadn’t left his body, but his eyes shone with an energy he hadn’t had at all in the past month. After taking a long drink of water, Thunder Gale looked out the window to where Twister was finishing up planting the seeds in the ground. “How is she doing?” Thunder Gale’s eyes were thoughtful as he looked at his daughter. Twister didn’t come and talk to him as much as Hurricane did, so he often relied on Hurricane for news on events in the outside world. “Twist? She’s doing fine. She still chases every colt in town, but she at least gets her work done.” Thunder Gale slowly nodded. Then he turned to Hurricane and said, “How about Silver Sword? I thought I heard his voice just a little while ago.” “Silver Sword’s doing well. He was worried about you, though.” Thunder Gale dismissed it with a wave of his hoof. “Bah, I’m fine. He should be more concerned about finding a mare, and working on his technique. He still practices, I hope?” “Every day. When the recruiters come into town next month, he hopes to show them his stuff.” “Ah, I forgot that the two of you were twenty. That’s good to hear. The Legion would do well to pick him up.” Thunder Gale’s mood suddenly turned pensive. “But there was something else he wanted to talk to you about, wasn’t there?” Hurricane moved his hooves as if he were actually trying to brush away the topic. “It was nothing important. He just talked about his plans over the next few days.” Thunder Gale looked out the eastern window, where a patchwork of fluffy white cumulus clouds were congregating on the horizon. “Day of Empire. It is the four hundredth year of the Empire tomorrow, if I am not mistaken.” He cast his glinting steel eyes at Hurricane. “He wanted you to go, didn’t he?” Hurricane brushed a hoof behind his mane uncomfortably. “Yes, but I told him I couldn’t go. There’s enough work on the farm as it is.” Thunder Gale shook his head. “That is disappointing. You should go. Such festivities are not to be missed when they are so rare.” “I couldn’t, I don’t want to have to leave you guys with my chores to perform in addition to what else needs to be done. Especially with your condition—” Thunder Gale cut him off before he could continue. “Do not worry about me, lad, and do not worry about the farm. There is nothing that waiting a few days will hurt. Besides, you have never gone before, no?” Hurricane shook his head. “No, Father, but I—" “Then there is no reason for you not to go. Come.” Thunder Gale stood up from the table and slowly limped into his bedroom, Hurricane not far behind. While the elder pegasus looked through the contents of some of his shelves, Hurricane allowed his eyes to wander the room. Old war memorabilia served as the few decorations in the small space. Over the bed hung a dusty sword with a large notch taken out of the center – if Hurricane remembered correctly, the notch came from the spiked helm of a griffon. In the far corner of the room stood a set of black armor edged in gold trim. The left side of the armor was split open from shoulder to flank. Hurricane whistled to himself as he wondered how big the griffon was who cut through that. Against the near wall was a charcoal portrait of Thunder Gale in his younger days. He stood slightly angled towards the artist, one hoof atop his helmet, which was positioned on the ground. A set of three stars were arranged in a triangle between two open pegasus wings on the shoulder piece of the armor. Gale was a Praetorian commander in the High Noon War twenty-five years ago, and until he was wounded the Emperor of the time, Julius Haysar, was considering appointing him as a personal bodyguard and trusted advisor. But instead of joining the highest-ranked military officials of the Cirran Empire at the Emperor's side, Thunder Gale’s service was cut short at the battle of Nimbus when he tangled with the griffon responsible for the damaged armor in the corner of the room. Hurricane turned around just as Thunder pulled an old wooden box out of one of the chests in the room. He opened the box and flipped through the contents, looking for something specific. The box rattled as the numerous medals Thunder Gale had collected from his time in the Legion shook in his grasp, until finally he pulled out an old iron medallion and passed it to Hurricane. Engraved on its surface was Thunder Gale’s name, rank, and regiment, hard to see under the oxidized metal but present nonetheless. Hurricane directed a confused gaze towards his father. “What’s this for?” He lifted the iron token and felt its weight. “My service tag,” answered Thunder Gale. “I have no use for it anymore, so I’m giving it to you. Take it to Stratopolis. If my name is still as respected there as it was when I retired, then it should get you through the crowd easier.” Hurricane set the tag down. “Father, I couldn’t just leave you here.” Thunder flicked his tail. “Of course you could. I have your mother and your sister for company, and,” he stretched his left wing and rubbed at the scar along the arm, “it’s not like I’m going anywhere.” Hurricane tried to push the medal back to Thunder Gale, but he wouldn’t take it. “But Father—” “I never went to any of the celebrations myself when I was your age, Hurricane, and I’ve regretted it all my life.” He held out the medallion again before his son. “I used to be like you: so focused upon duty that I never truly lived until my life was nearly taken from me. I ask you to not make the same mistake I did.” Hurricane was silent for a moment, then sighed and took the medal around his neck. “If you insist. You’re absolutely sure you’ll be fine?” Thunder snorted. “Bah, you sound like your mother. The last thing I need is two of her keeping after me every day.” He coughed again, but waved Hurricane off when he tried to support him. “Go, son. For me.” Hurricane hugged his father one last time and helped him settle down in the bed before closing the door and walking out of the house. Twister was already sound asleep under the tree, her wings twitching softly in her dreams. His mother was out putting the laundry on the line alongside the house. Hurricane trotted over to her and said his goodbyes, then flew towards the north to find Silver Sword. Despite all his reservations about the trip, he couldn’t deny that he was excited to go. Especially since it was a centennial year, it was bound to be one of the biggest events in Cirran history. He just couldn’t have foreseen how much so.