//------------------------------// // Chapter 15: The Eye // Story: A Song of Storms: Of Skies Long Forgotten // by The 24th Pegasus //------------------------------// The emperor’s life is a sad life, consumed only with loss and toil and regret. Power is not a blessing, but a curse; everything that goes wrong is our fault. Only death releases us. ---Parchment found amongst Hurricane’s belongings. Dated 10th Shivering Rains, 401 After Empire. Chapter 15: The Eye The coldest day in recorded history. That was what the so-called experts were claiming. The storm system that had dominated the past month had finally reached a pause, and instead of rain it imparted thin flakes of snow in the late winter. The mercury had dipped to the single digits and was even threatening the negatives. A lone figure sat on the balcony high above his city. The frost clung to his black feathers, and a beard of frozen moisture surrounded his snout. The pegasus’ body did not move, and the dim morning sun glinted off of the wreath of gold feathers around his head. The only sign that the stallion was alive were the regular bursts of vapor his nostrils produced. The cold did not penetrate Hurricane’s coat, no matter how much he wished it did. The struggles of being the emperor of a dying nation were eating away at his soul. His wings hadn’t been preened in days, and the short hair of his black coat was matted and in desperate need of a good grooming. His bloodshot eyes watched the east, willing the sun to return to its nest. It had been just over a month since Zephyrus was razed, but Hurricane knew the images would never leave his mind. Since then, Cirra had all but collapsed. There was no money and no food left to keep the nation running. Desertion was frighteningly high among the Cirran First Legion, the most disciplined of all of Cirra’s armies and the last standing legion. Cumula had been sacked and razed by the griffon hordes, and Nyx had succumbed to a violent riot that left the city burning long before the griffons showed up to finish the job. There was nothing left of Cirra except Stratopolis and whatever small towns separated it from the coast. And there was nothing Hurricane could do about it. That was what bit him the most; that whatever he did, none of it seemed to matter. He had pulled troops back to save them for later battles; he had sent them back to the front in a desperate counterattack against the Gryphon armies to delay their advance; he had even signed bills allowing the Legion to draft anypony and everypony into its dwindling ranks to stop the advance of the hordes. With a lack of steel to make swords and armor from, however, even that measure was restricted in usefulness. Therefore Hurricane started watching the sunrise every morning in the frigid atmosphere. It was the one thing in his life he could always count on, and one of his few remaining anchors to the mortal world. The star’s determination to rise each morning regardless of what had happened the previous night gave Hurricane the strength to do the same. Without it, there wasn’t anything else that could have the same effect. He heard the door to his balcony open and close gently. The scent was very familiar to him, and a brief smile touched his lips. Maybe there were a few other things that could give him the strength to carry on. And two had just stepped onto the balcony to join him. “Good morning, Hurricane.” Swift Spear brushed away some of the snow with her tail and sat down next to him. She planted her head on his shoulder, and he returned the connection by wrapping a wing around her back. He allowed her warmth to defrost his coat and feathers. “Hmm. Yes.” While the morning wasn’t exactly good in Hurricane’s opinion, there was no sense in starting the day off on the wrong hoof. He leaned over and kissed her forehead, taking the time to admire the barely noticeable bump below her stomach. Swift was already over two months into her pregnancy, though they had only found out a week ago. The mare noticed where Hurricane was looking, and she too smiled. If it wasn’t for Hurricane’s friends and surviving family, he would have taken his own life after Zephyrus was destroyed. They gave his life purpose, and that was all he had to cling onto as the world fell around him. He would not die until Twister and Swift Spear and his unborn foal were safe, and he would not leave Silver Sword until the end, whenever it came. His dreams were still haunted with the faces of his parents. He had stopped blaming himself, but he wished he had spent more time with them. Ever since he left Zephyrus to go to Fort Updraft and begin his legionary training, he had only seen them for what amounted to little more than two days. They didn’t know they would have a grandchild, and Hurricane would never see the pure joy on his mother’s face when he told her, or the silent pride his father would carry with him as he stood off to the side and watched them. Those moments would have to wither away in the realm of what could have been. There was so much that could have been. Hurricane and Swift Spear could have lived a peaceful and quiet life in Zephyrus, away from the problems of the larger cities or the border. His parents could have seen their first grandchild. Twister could have married and had children of her own. But war had dashed all those hopes and dreams. He kissed Swift’s forehead again as she happily closed her eyes. They had never gotten married in an official ceremony, and it was likely that they never would. Hurricane was too busy trying to hold onto whatever pieces of his dying nation he could, and Swift was busy executing plans with the Praetorian. There were no resources left to hold a wedding ceremony or the lavish feast that came with it. A simple exchange of vows with Silver Sword as witness had had to suffice for the young couple. Swift gently fluttered her wings against the cold, and Hurricane was given a glimpse of the golden band around the base of her left wing. He could feel his own band around his left wing as well, snug but not too tight against the arm. It was with great difficulty that Hurricane had been able to procure wedding rings for Swift Spear and himself, but at length he had succeeded. There was a gentle rapping on the window panes behind them, and a sigh escaped in the form of a steamy exhalation from Hurricane’s lungs. How he wished he could return to the days when his responsibilities were limited to his family and his chores. But as pointless a struggle as his was to try and lead a broken Cirra, he had no choice. The continuation of the emperor and the Senate was the only thing that the surviving Cirrans had left. If that were broken, they were already defeated. With a gentle push, Hurricane helped Swift Spear to her hooves. They both had busy days ahead of them, although those days were limited. They might as well give them their best and hope that something of their legacy will be left for the future generations. If there would be any future generations to come. ----- “…and the north is cut off as well.” Silver Sword knocked over a blue flag twenty miles to the north of Stratopolis and replaced it with a red block. Hurricane spread his hooves across the edge of the table and released a pensive breath. That breath quickly transformed into a frustrated hiss of air between teeth as he placed a hoof on the map. Three blue flags and one large blue block were clustered on the western edge of the map amidst an ocean of red. There were five red blocks surrounding Stratopolis itself, and a forest of white flags dominated the middle of the map before transitioning to red. The sight made Hurricane sick to his stomach. “Magnus is obviously going to encircle and crush Stratopolis. That push to the north is just the start of it. I’d expect a prong from the south before nightfall.” Hurricane placed his hoof over the blue block, but there was little he could do with it. In the end, he simply left the First Legion garrisoned in Stratopolis like it had been since the start of the war. “I need numbers.” Silver Sword nodded and pulled a scroll out of a pile. He unfurled it and traced a hoof to a heavily annotated and studied section. “The Legate doesn’t have a firm grasp on the numbers, but he suspects twenty-five percent of his soldiers have deserted. Morale is abysmal, and fights are becoming more common. A quarter of Updraft was burned down just last night, and the culprits are suspected to be among the deserters.” Silver placed the scroll to the side and took off his helmet to study his haggard reflection. “The Legion has all but given up. I really wish we could just surrender at this stage, but…” The Imperator’s words trailed off as he recalled the griffons’ response to Hurricane’s offer. “And I doubt they’ll be as generous with us as they were with him.” Hurricane was just glad that Twister wasn’t there when the pegasus messenger returned – or, rather, was discovered. His wings and legs had been removed from his body with brute force, and the tattered white truce flag he had carried with him was stood erect amongst a pile of ravaged organs in his hollowed-out chest. Magnus’ personal seal adorned what was left of the Hurricane’s offer. The pegasus had not been able to eat for two days after seeing such an example of griffon brutality. Silver Sword’s coat adopted a slight shade of green as he dwelt on the topic. “Yeah. Hmmph,” Silver Sword set his helmet on the ground and walked over to the window. “If you look through the clouds you can see the griffon camps. They’re that close already.” The news was another weight for Hurricane to carry on his already encumbered shoulders. He shifted a few blocks around on the map before sitting back wearily. “Tomorrow at dawn.” The steel pegasus turned and raised an eyebrow. Hurricane gripped a quill in his mouth and scratched out a few orders on a scroll. “Magnus isn’t one to wait. He’s quick to act, and borderline impulsive. His generals help temper that impulsiveness, but that isn’t going to matter now. His prize is in sight, and the only reason he’s not attacking now is because he has to wait for his armies to get in position. By nightfall they’ll be ready.” Hurricane rolled up the scroll and stamped it before extending it to Silver Sword. “Tomorrow at dawn.” The Imperator grabbed the scroll and read the summons order before sticking it into his saddlebag. “I see. I’ll assemble the soldiers.” Saluting, Silver Sword gathered his belongings and left the room. It was another five minutes before Hurricane moved from his seat. There was one scroll in particular he had received earlier in the day but had been hesitant to open. It was stamped with the seal of the Cirran First Legion, Third Cohort, 30th Century. The very same century that he had sent on a reconnaissance mission to the west three months prior. Balancing the scroll between his hooves, Hurricane took a slow breath. The information in this scroll would likely determine Cirra’s future. The hammer was already swinging at the final stronghold of the Empire, and there was no way to avert it. Hurricane hoped that the report would contain a way out. There was a light snap as the wax seal was broken. Hurricane steeled himself as he began to read the first of the scribbled lines: A report on the expedition to the western lands. 5th of Shivering Rains, Year Four Hundred and One After Empire. On the 10th of Bare Trees, my platoon was assigned the task of locating and exploring lands across the ocean to the west of Cirra. Stocking up on food and supplies, my platoon embarked on this journey on the 13th of Bare Trees, Year Four Hundred After Empire. At the time, we had no idea how far we would have to travel to find these distant shores, if they even existed. There was much debate amongst the soldiers as to when we would have to draw the line to turn back. For the first week of the journey, there was nothing but calm seas and a steady tailwind to hasten our progress. Clouds were plentiful over the ocean, and the platoon was able to rest comfortably at night upon their surfaces. Our biggest concern, however, was rationing the limited food and water we had brought with us, as there was little we could do to acquire sustenance in our trek. By the tenth day, the soldiers were losing heart in the crossing and began to insist that we turn back. Despite their complaints, I continued to drive my century onwards, and my stubbornness paid off in the end; on the 25th of Bare Trees, legionary Hazel Hoof sighted land on the western horizon. With several additional hours of flight, we were able to plant our hooves on solid ground for the first time in twelve days. While the century was busy gathering food and materials to construct a camp, I was able to explore and make some observations about the land which we found ourselves in. First and foremost, the climate was relatively similar to ours at the time; the weather was cold, being in the winter months, but habitable. The abundance of trees and plants of every kind leads me to believe that the soil is fertile in the spring and summer months. There was little to recommend in animal life for consumption. On the eve of the New Year, one of our scouts discovered traces of civilization in the form of an abandoned campsite. Investigating, I concluded that the site was not more than two days old, and that a good number of equines had rested there, judging by the hoofprints in the thin snow. Spreading my soldiers out, we searched every corner of the sky for these mysterious natives. My eyes were so focused on the sky that I did not search the ground at that time. After several hours of searching, our century found no trace of the mysterious campers, despite covering close to a hundred square miles of sky. The foliage of the trees was so thick that we knew Pegasi wouldn’t bother attempting to fly through it. That was why we did not find anything that day, or in repeated searches since. Our orders were to find land, determine its survivability, and return to Cirra immediately, but I could not let something like this remain unanswered. Perhaps ten days after the first evidence of civilization, my intuition led me and a small group of my most trusted legionaries to the south-southwest. Luck would be with us that day, for we discovered a settlement at the edge of the forest. My soldiers were eager to descend and investigate, but my caution led us to stay in the skies and watch. We pushed several cumulus clouds together to form an observatory, and there we waited. The cloud mass was large and immobile, enough so that any pegasus would have noticed its unnatural lack of movement and investigate of their own accord. That was why I was surprised when after an hour, no interest in our presence had been noted. I could see colorful figures, most assuredly equine in nature, trotting through the streets of their town and the fields that they worked, but never once did I see one take off, or take the time to observe the sky for that matter. Deciding for a more direct approach, I descended my century towards the center of town. Our appearance caused quite a stir among the townsfolk. After initially recoiling in fear from our sudden descent and our armed countenance, they began to draw closer in interest after realizing we displayed no hostility. It was then that I noticed that none of these ponies had wings. Shortly thereafter I also noticed that their tongue was very close to New Cirran, as if they were two dialects of the same language. Needless to say, this made communication much easier between our two parties. It so happened that the leader of the ‘Earth Ponies’, as they referred to themselves, was about to meet with an important leader of a neighboring pony tribe known as the ‘Unicorns’. I had the opportunity to talk with the earth pony leader, Chancellor Muffintop (an odd name in my opinion, but many of the earth ponies I conversed with possessed names based off of food items) and his son, a colt named Baron Puddinghead. I learned that the earth ponies produced food for themselves and the unicorns, and were in fact so adept at it that they could grow small amounts of food even in the dead of winter, when our farms would be shut down. While the earth ponies were a relatively silly and harmless group of equines, the unicorns commanded a fair deal of my respect. Their monarch, King Lapis, was a mighty, blue-coated creature with a long horn protruding from his forehead. He was accompanied by a contingent of unicorn Honor Guards, not unlike the Praetorian Guard in manner. His young daughter Platinum stayed glued to his side with a childish air of superiority instilled from years of catering and spoiling from her many servants and nannies. What was interesting to note is that the Unicorns are capable of manipulating objects through magic focused through their horns. King Lapis was happy to demonstrate this ability to me and my century, although I sense his enthusiasm was more political in motive. I gathered from the meeting that both the unicorns and the earth ponies detested each other and were both fascinated in the regimental appearance of the first pegasi they had ever seen. I may have dropped a few hints pertaining to the existence of a mighty pegasus empire far to the east that they had never heard about during the meeting. We lingered for an additional month afterwards, strengthening Cirra’s position in future negotiations with the tribes and getting to know the land better before returning home. A document describing these further activities will be included with the main report for the sake of brevity. However, I would fully recommend these western lands as suitable for Cirran colonization at a future time. Lightning Blitz Centurion First Class Hurricane reread the scroll before gently rolling it and setting it on the table. A small chuckle escaped through parted lips. There was hope after all. Grabbing a fresh piece of parchment, Hurricane began to write down an order. When he was finished, the paper contained a century designation, a pair of coordinates, and a time. He stamped it twice with the Emperor’s seal for urgency, and rushed it out of the room to where a secretary was waiting. “I want copies delivered to the throne room in half an hour. This is important.” Hurricane didn’t wait to see if the secretary had acknowledged his command or not. He quickly spun about in the air and rushed back into the war room to gather the report and the other critical information he would need for the briefing. Pausing to look out of the window, Hurricane could see row after row of dark tents standing on the very edge of the eastern horizon. The sight drew a quick scoff from the emperor. “You may have come this far, Magnus, but you’ll be too late. As long as one of us lives, Cirra can never truly be destroyed. I know this, and you know it too. But you forgot one thing.” Hurricane began to walk away from the window, his hooves echoing loudly on the marble floors. He gave one last jeer over his shoulder before leaving the room and closing the doors. “The pegasi have always been faster.” ----- The Plaza of the Emperor buzzed with worry. Every remaining soldier in the Legion had been summoned to this one spot, leaving the perimeter undefended. Thousands of civilians drew into the space reserved for them before the statue of Roamulus. It was no overstatement to say that the entire population of Stratopolis was clustered in the plaza. The Cirrans had been waiting for half an hour for something to happen, and the crowd was quickly growing restless. Rumors had been circulating earlier in the day about the proximity of Gryphon forces to the capital, and the dispersion and mutation of those rumors only increased with density. By the time Hurricane and the Praetorian emerged from the palace, the Legion was having problems suppressing the fear and agitation from the crowd. “Silence!” The Emperor’s voice rang out across the crowds clearer and louder than any crash of thunder. The chilly winds only helped to propel Hurricane’s command to all present until the square was deathly quiet. Hurricane waited for the right timing, and then began to speak. “I have heard the rumors spreading through the city. You fear that the griffons are on our doorstep. You fear that death is upon you, do you not?” There was a low murmuring of consensus, which Hurricane stopped with a hoof. The next few lines had to be handled properly to prevent panic. “I will not lie to you. The griffons are at our doorstep, and they are coming. Stratopolis will fall, and there is nothing we can do to prevent it.” The Cirrans assembled before Hurricane began shuffling their hooves nervously. Acting on some primal instinct, several foals in the crowd began crying. Shouts of alarm and fear rang out from the edges of the square. “Cirrans!” The city grew silent again. “Are you so quick to believe that the fall of our capital means the destruction of our Empire?! Let me tell you something: there is more to Cirra than just our land, our wealth, our skies! Cirra is not merely a physical entity defined on a map! It is the spirit of the pegasus race that defines our empire! And if that spirit cannot be crushed, then Cirra shall never be destroyed!” A sense of order had been instilled into the crowd through Hurricane’s voice. The pegasi of Cirra were desperate for an anchor, and they found it in their emperor. In that moment, Hurricane had become something more important than even the Gods themselves; he was loyalty, he was power, he was hope. The legend of Hurricane was born on that day, in the death throes of a once mighty empire. It was the start of a legend that would never be forgotten by the pegasus race. Spreading a salty and tattered map before him, a map that had seen lands that few pegasi had ever witnessed, Hurricane came to the climax of his address. “We are no longer safe in these lands; the Gryphon emperor will hunt our kind to the ends of Dioda to ensure our eradication, but no further. There are lands across the western ocean that we may settle on; lands where the root of Empire will take hold again, where Cirra shall rise from the ashes and start anew. Magnus and the griffons will never find us there.” His head dropped and so did his voice. “Perhaps we may find peace.” Correcting his stance with a nervous flutter of his wings, Hurricane spoke loudly again. “Tomorrow at noon the griffon hordes will be upon us. Any pegasus who remains within the city walls will be slain by the hybrids. If you wish to escape with your life, you must fly to the coastal town of Altus, to the west of here. From there you will make the crossing tomorrow at sundown to your new home. Gather food and water for the journey and whatever you wish to carry on your back. The carts cannot hold your personal belongings, as they will be tasked with holding additional supplies for the crossing. Today will be your only chance, while we wait in the eye of the storm.” The crowd had begun to disperse, but Silver Sword stopped them with a shrill whistle. Hurricane nodded his thanks, and stepped a pace closer to the edge of the platform he had been speaking from. “But there are still duties that we must uphold. If we do not delay the griffons tomorrow, they will be upon our embarkation at Altus before we can take wing. Legionaries, I understand your desire to go with your families, to live to see another day. If you choose to abandon your posts and follow them, then go with my blessing. But I ask you, I beg you, to remember your oath. Remember who you are fighting for, and what you are fighting against. My place is here in Stratopolis at the end of a bloody era, but I ask of you: who will stand with me?” The Legion had stood separate from the civilians, and Hurricane could see the dilemma on the soldiers’ faces. He already had the three hundred of the Praetorian Guard behind him, but as skilled as they were, they would still be wiped aside within minutes. Hurricane needed five or ten thousand to stand with him tomorrow. A disconcerting amount of time passed where no soldiers stepped forward. Hurricane was about to hang his head in defeat when a young legionary separated himself from his regiment. “I’ll fight for you, sir. May we find peace in being the last pegasi to die in our homeland. I can think of no greater honor than to be the last soldier to spill his blood in Dioda so that Cirra may live.” There were incredulous whispers from the crowd behind the soldier, but the legionary held his head high, his gaze unflinching as it met Hurricane’s. The black stallion nodded gratefully, and turned his head as more soldiers began to emerge. “Me too, sir.” “And me.” “You have my sword.” “And my bow.” “And my axe!” Hurricane raised an eyebrow upon hearing that last remark. Axes weren’t common weaponry in the Legion. But when he realized where it came from, it began to make sense. Not only were hundreds of legionaries stepping forward to give their lives for Stratopolis, stallions and mares alike were leaving the crowd of civilians to pledge their support to Cirra in its darkest hour. The young Emperor’s eyes began to tear as nearly fifteen thousand Pegasi, soldiers and civilians alike, neatly arranged themselves into regiments. There was cheering from the crowds as they honored those who would give their lives for them. Hurricane struggled to swallow his emotions, lowering his head several times to wipe away the tears. “T-Thank you. Thank you, my fellow Cirrans, for standing by me in our time of need. May the Gods welcome us all to the heavens with open arms.” There were still roughly five thousand soldiers who had refused to join Hurricane, and he turned his attention to them next. “Soldiers… though it pains me to see that you have not joined us, I respect your decision. My final order is that you escort the civilians to Altus, and spread across the countryside to gather those from the small towns who do not know the danger they are in. Protect them at all costs, for they are the future of Cirra.” The few officers who had not stepped forward nodded their heads and saluted to Hurricane. Then, one by one, they split off with their centuries, dispersing throughout the remainder of Cirra’s lands. A large portion would remain in the city until nightfall, when they would begin escorting civilians towards Altus. Hurricane uttered another round of thanks to the volunteers, and began to fly back to the palace to make final preparations. He left the Praetorian Guard to assist the legionaries in organizing the volunteers into suitable units for the coming griffon offensive, trusting their intuition and experience over his own. Upon entering the grand foyer of the palace, Hurricane turned to Silver Sword and Swift Spear, who had accompanied him this far. He was momentarily at a loss of words to phrase his wishes, and so they stood in a comfortable silence together. Finally, Hurricane summoned the resolve to speak. “You know you don’t have to do this, guys. You can go to Altus with the rest of them, and I won’t think anything less of you for it.” His black hoof pawed the ground nervously as he awaited their response. Silver Sword stepped closer to Hurricane and placed a hoof on his shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere, Hurricane. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t stand by you now?” Hurricane looked into Silver’s eyes, blinking once or twice in incredulity. “Silver, I—” “Don’t worry about it Hurricane. We’re in this together. From the beginning to the end, Hurricane and Silver Sword. Friends, comrades,” Silver leaned closer to Hurricane, nodding to him as he spoke. “Brothers.” Realizing he would not be deterred, Hurricane lowered his head and gave his friend a hard smile. “Heh. Silver, you bastard, always trying to get yourself killed, eh?” When Silver smiled back at him, Hurricane’s gaze softened. “I couldn’t have asked for a better friend.” He turned his eyes to Swift, his beloved, the light of his life, and opened his mouth to speak. Swift placed a hoof over it before he could utter a syllable. The corners of her eyes were glistening, despite her best efforts to suppress the tears. “Hurricane, please, don’t. I want to fight, I want to stand by you…” Her throat shook as a choking sob fought its way out of her lungs. Leaning forward, she collapsed around Hurricane’s neck. “I don’t want to be alone…” Hurricane lowered his head around her shoulder and rubbed her wings with his hoof. “Swift, please. I don’t want to see you hurt. You need to go. If one of us is to live, it needs to be you.” The distraught mare shook her head as the tears fell from her cheeks to Hurricane’s back. “No, Hurricane, it should be you! You’re the only leader these pegasi have left! They’ll need your guidance if they’re going to survive in this new land you’re sending them too!” Leaning his head back so he could look in Swift’s eyes, Hurricane imparted a sad smile. “No, Swift. My place is with the Empire. What kind of leader would I be anyways if I ran away from this? No.” He placed a kiss on Swift’s forehead. “If you won’t do it for me, do it for the foal. Let it have a future for both of us, and you’ll never be alone.” Swift looked at the slight bulge in her abdomen with a mixture of love and sadness. Finally, sniffling and wiping the tears from her eyes, she managed to produce shakily: “O-Okay, Hurricane. For the f-foal.” “Thank you, Swift. I’m sure it’ll grow up to be a mighty leader one day.” He hugged his wife, then looked over his shoulder to a distant corridor. A dim light glowed through the cracked door, and the gentle sound of tapping hooves could be heard from within. Gently releasing his grip on Swift, he gave her another kiss. “There’s one more pony I have to talk to.” Silver Sword and Swift nodded their heads and followed Hurricane at a distance as he approached the door. He knocked twice before pushing it open, taking a step into the library. A light-brown coat and golden irises greeted him as he entered. “Hurricane! I was busy looking up some history on the Golden Dawn war in one-eighty-seven, the one that got Cirra the northern territories. One of the commanders was able to hold off a force nearly thrice his size with some clever tactics. I was trying to find out how, so maybe we could do something similar in the coming weeks.” She turned her excited smile to Hurricane, who returned its shadow. The filly’s ears drooped as she sensed the melancholy emanating from the three Pegasi. Setting down her books, she walked closer to her older brother. “Hurricane… what is it?” The black stallion placed a hoof over his sister’s shoulder. “Twister… the griffons are coming. They’ll be here tomorrow, and Stratopolis will fall. I need you…” he gulped and braced himself for the doe-eyes his sister was giving him, “I need you to go. Go to Altus, and the Legion will take you somewhere safe.” Twister’s large eyes blinked once as the words began to settle into her mind. Her ears were completely lowered, and her mouth articulated silent words as she slowly realized what Hurricane was telling her to do. But instead of responding with wails and horror as Hurricane expected, her lips tightened up into a level of understanding and acceptance far beyond her years. “Hurricane… I’m sorry.” She placed herself into Hurricane’s forelegs and hugged him, solidly. “I can’t imagine what it must feel like… to have everypony’s well-being placed on your shoulders, and to be expected to die for them. I wish I could help, but…” She sniffled for the first time, and squeezed her brother’s neck tighter. “I’m just a filly. But I know how much you love me, and how distracting it would be to you to worry about my safety. And I know how much I love you, because I’m willing to go because you care for me and only want the best for me. And no matter how much it hurts us both to part this way,” she leaned back, wiping a trickling tear from Hurricane’s face, “I know it’s better than dying because I wanted to die with you. It would be a dishonor, a disgrace to all those who have died, to mom and dad, to you, to throw my life away. There’s so much more for me to do with my years, so much more waiting for me out there, and it’s because of ponies like you, Hurricane.” The power of Twister’s words had broken through the meager shell Hurricane had put up around his heart, and he began to cry. The filly hugged the stallion, whispering soothing assurances of her gratitude and love for him into his ears. They remained like that for a long while, with Silver Sword and Swift Spear watching from a distance. When Hurricane recovered the strength to speak, he gently separated himself from Twister’s embrace. “Look after Swift Spear and the foal for me. It’ll be your niece or nephew anyway, aunt Twist.” Smiling weakly, Hurricane tousled the filly’s long, black mane. Twister took it and smiled too, before giving Hurricane one last embrace. “I will, brother. I promise.” She looked up at the black stallion’s face, looked at the scars and the wrinkles of premature age brought on by nine months of unimaginable hardship. Hardship he had taken so that she would never have to. “Remember when you left Zephyrus for the first time, when I told you to kill some griffons for me?” Hurricane nodded slowly, his breath tickling Twister’s face. “I remember.” Giving a faux laugh, Twister leaned her head against his chest. “Give ‘em hell, Hurricane.” “I will.” They held the position for a second and an eternity in the same instant. It would never be long enough for the two siblings, but they still attempted to memorize each other’s scars and contours, the invisible patterns of fur of their coats, the smells of each other’s breath. But it would never be enough. There was a whistle from outside, and Silver Sword nodded his head in response. Turning to Hurricane, he barely raised his voice loud enough for the stallion to hear. “The Legion is ready to begin evacuations, Hurricane.” Hurricane and Twister separated, giving each other short nods. It was time to go. Together, the pegasi left the library to go to the Plaza of the Emperor. There were already flights queuing for takeoff, and Hurricane guided his loved ones to the next group. “Please, stay with the soldiers. Don’t come looking for me… You know I won’t be coming.” Twister and Swift Spear nodded, and Hurricane leaned over to kiss Swift for one last time. “I love you, Swift.” “I love you too, Hurricane.” There was a barking order from one of the Praetorians, and the group Swift and Twister were in began to move to take off. Hurricane walked with them, wishing to stay with them as much as he could before they left. As the Cirrans began to fly away, Twister and Swift Spear both turned to face him. “Give them a good fight, Hurricane,” said Swift. “Make them pay for what they did to us,” said Twister. Hurricane nodded and saluted them as they took off. He withheld the tears while they spiraled higher and higher before finally disappearing into the clouds, leaving Stratopolis and Hurricane behind forever. Then the tears came, and it was all Hurricane and Silver Sword could do to remain strong for the remaining populace of Cirra. ----- Hurricane couldn’t tell where he was. Tall, bare trees, whose branches were coated in gloomy white snow, stretched up around him for as far as he could see. A dim gray light fell through the skeletal canopy from an unseen source high above. A thin trail cut into the earth from years of walking stretched out from under him and into the distant mist, twisting around trees and stumps. Hurricane tried to fly upwards, but the trees climbed towards the sky infinitely, and when he looked down, the path was never more than twenty feet below him. If he tried to walk to the sides and through the trees flanking the path, he’d soon stumble across the trail again. His subconscious offered him nowhere to go except forward. As Hurricane walked, whispers began to reach his ears through the trees. At first they were too low for him to hear, but as he pushed forward, they steadily grew in volume. He could make out distorted voices talking to each other, mentioning something that was always just out of earshot. Several times he caught mention of his name, and sometimes it was paired with ‘emperor’ or ‘commander’. Once, he heard a word that gave him chills: legend. Black shadows manifested out of the mist, taking on forms pony or griffon in equal measure. They grew in depth as he approached, but would burst into wispy trails whenever he came within a few feet. The further along the trail he progressed, the closer the shadows came to taking on recognizable appearances, but as with the whispers, he could never come close enough to determine their faces clearly. Suddenly the path came to a stop, and the whispers and shadows disappeared. Instead, two stallions approached him from the front. One of the stallions, a fiery red pegasus with equally fiery eyes, had a deep slash along his throat. The other stallion, a gray soldier with only one wing and one eye, stood next to the first. Together, they blocked Hurricane’s progress. Hurricane inhaled sharply at the sight of the two figures before him. It took his mind a few seconds to recall their names, but he remembered them all the same. They had haunted him so much in the past months. “Fire Star… Red Tail…” Hurricane gulped nervously, instinctively reaching to his side for his sword. He found nothing there. Fire Star took several steps towards Hurricane, leaning his sneering face closer to the frightened emperor. “Hurricane!” Half of the stallion’s breath escaped through the slit in his neck, dripping blood onto the ground. Hurricane saw this, and fell onto his haunches in terror. “Fire Star, please! I didn’t mean to! It was an accident!” The black stallion held up his hooves, shielding his eyes from the horrifying pegasus that threatened him. Fire Star only advanced farther, his words dripping venom – and blood. “You did this to me, Hurricane! You killed me in cold blood! And while you’ve gone on to better things, mighty emperor, I’ve been forgotten! Do you think it’s fair that you prosper from murder? Do you think it’s fair that I die for absolutely nothing, left to rot in some Godsforsaken place between the Great Skies and the Earth? Do you?!” Fire Star pressed his face right up against Hurricane’s, his gaze burning through the black stallion’s irises. There was a crack of fire, and a few sparks freed themselves from Fire Star’s mane. But the red pegasus had pressed his position too far. The terror left Hurricane’s eyes, and he stood up, pushing the stallion away. “No. It’s not fair. I’ve regretted my actions ever since then. I could have ended our disputes without bloodshed, but my rage got the better of me. And you,” he pointed a hoof towards Fire Star, who was beginning to retreat, “you are only here because you haven’t let go.” He stepped forward, placing a hoof on Fire Star’s shoulder. “I am sorry, Fire Star, and I forgive you for your actions.” Fire Star tried to bring a hostile scowl to his face, but it quickly fell away into an expression of release. He hung his head as his form began to disappear, fading away into the mists that surrounded it. “I’m sorry too, Hurricane. I’m sorry for everything…” The red pegasus dissolved, presumably claiming the peace he had earned. Hurricane turned towards Red Tail, who had been quiet the whole time. He expected the legate to have his turn at throwing his anger against Hurricane, but the stallion simply turned around and began to walk further down the path. When Hurricane hesitated to follow, Red Tail beckoned him onwards before advancing again. They walked onwards in silence, Hurricane doing his best to ignore the dripping stump of Red Tail’s wing or the gash through his chest. The path twisted and turned, snaking through trees and mud. They passed a smoking house of Gryphon construction on their left, the remains of the doors hanging onto stressed hinges. They passed several crumbled pillars of cloudstone, the Nimban crest clearly etched onto their surfaces. Suddenly the path turned to ash, and Red Tail stopped. “You know where this brings us, Hurricane.” Red Tail’s single eye surveyed the fine dust that covered the trail, watched the tiny flakes of fire descending from the sky. Hurricane was too nervous to advance or retreat, instead only able to listen to the deceased legate. Red Tail turned to face Hurricane so that he could see the black stallion with his eye. “You know what happened here. An emperor dead, a coup failed, and the beginning of the end. Whether my actions hastened or delayed Cirra’s destruction I know not. But it gave us a new emperor, one who will become legendary.” Seeing the surprise on Hurricane’s face, Red Tail began to walk again. “You were expecting me to attack you like Fire Star? I am far too old and learned for that. I have been watching you from here, Hurricane, and I know that you have done a better job as emperor than many would have ever thought. And I am not so spiteful of my death that I wish to see you destroyed and Cirra wiped out for petty vengeance. No,” he came to a stop again, gesturing for Hurricane to take a look, “I wish only for your success.” Hurricane stepped forward to take a closer look at the object before him. It was a large slab of stone, partially buried into the earth. On its surface, a simple sketch of a three-tone lightning bolt striking through the center of a cyclone was plainly visible. Hurricane blenched at the sight, taking two nervous steps back. The ghostly legate rested a cold hoof across Hurricane’s back. “You think this is your destiny, that the end will come for you tomorrow. You may think it’s your duty to die in the coming fight. Although it is not my place to guide you, I ask that you understand that more paths are open than one would think.” Hurricane felt the presence of Red Tail’s foreleg disappear off of his back, and when he looked to his side, the legate was gone. Instead, the path diverged sharply to his right, bypassing the tombstone completely. Setting his hooves in a line, Hurricane began to walk down one of the paths. He may or may not have agreed with the Legate’s words, but his decision was made. Letting the dice be cast, Hurricane advanced down a path until he disappeared into the nothingness that lay beyond.