//------------------------------//
// Prologue 
// Story: Shattered 
// by sunstar93 
//------------------------------//

The earliest- and only- memory I have of my mother is looking up into her brilliant sparkling eyes and feeling the tickle of her soft mane against my neck as she bent to kiss my forehead. This is my one happy memory, and it helps to break the encroaching darkness that surrounds me. That surrounds us.


*		*	*


A mare, wrapped in a black cloak, approached the farmhouse. The dilapidated “Sweet Apple Acres” sign was all but torn down, the paint faded and wooden letters missing. The orchards, once bursting with ripe red apples, were withered and rotted, a graveyard of past dreams and priorities. Now, it was everypony for themselves. That was the reason for the mare’s visit.

The mare was not alone: shielded beneath her cloak was a scrawny leggy colt, no more than a couple years old. He was shivering, soaked to the bone, leaning against his mother for protection as the rain began to pick up again. Thunder shook the ground and a bolt of lightning lit up the sky, streaking across the heavy black clouds, white fingers stretching in all directions.

“Mama…” the colt cried, though his plea was carried away by the fierce wind. He struggled to keep up, trotting two strides for every one of the mare’s, until they reached the safety of the farmhouse’s porch. The mare banged on the door with her hoof, afraid the thunder would drown her out.

The door creaked and flew open from the force of the wind, and the mare ushered her foal inside ahead of her.

“What are you doin’ here?” Applejack demanded, leaning close to the mare’s face.

“Where is he?” the mare answered, ignoring Applejack’s answer.

“Ah’m right here,” Big Macintosh grunted as he entered the room.  He looked immediately at the colt, curled up on the floor and shuddering violently. Mac called for Granny Smith, who appeared with a thick quilt she’d ripped off her bed.  With the young horse swathed in the folds of the blanket and beginning to warm up, Mac spun around and addressed the mare. “What were you thinkin’, bringin’ him here in this weather?” he growled, jaw clenched, neck muscles taught with anger.

“I can no longer care for him. Now that war has been officially declared, I think it would be safer for him to be with you,” the mare said coolly. “And I must go my own way.”

“You rotten excuse for pony flesh! Abandon your own child? When he needs ya the most?” Applejack interjected, her voice dripping with rage.

The mare simply ignored her, even though the truth of Applejack’s words burned through her. But it was for the best. She had to believe it. “It’s hard to leave your only child, throwing him into the care of a family he barely knows. But when the war escalates- and it will- I know he will be cared for. He will be given a chance at survival. With me…” she trailed off, shaking her head. She didn’t want to imagine any other future for her son.

“And where are you goin’ that you think he wouldn’t be safe with you?” Mac challenged. He turned to look back at the colt, relieved to see he had finally stopped shaking. “Ya know what? Never mind. I don’t care where you’re goin’. I never wanna see you again. Get the hell outta mah house.” With that, Mac turned his back to the mare, focusing on unwrapping the colt and nudging him up the stairs. A hot bath would drive away any remaining chills.

Applejack glared at the mare, snorting with impatience as she hesitated to watch her son ascend the stairs. Her heart ripped with each wobbly step he took, and she felt tears welling behind her eyes. Her throat burned with anger and grief: furious that she would never see her son again, that she would never see Mac again, that she had not wanted Mac to be a part of her life. She swallowed and retreated out the door. Applejack kicked it shut behind her and the mare was left, alone, in the rain. Another white vein of lightning, followed by a belting roll of thunder. The mare felt the tears streak down her face, blurring her vision as she galloped down the path and past the sign. And disappeared.

Inside, Mac settled down beside the colt, bathed and warm again. The foal tucked his lanky legs beneath him, pressing against Mac’s side. Mac watched the colt yawn, his emerald green eyes closing, his breathing becoming steady as he slipped into sleep. Mac nuzzled him, the soft fuzzy baby fur as black as the storm clouds outside, sharply contrasting the stark white mane striped with crimson.

My son, Mac thought. He listened to the colt’s breathing for a few more minutes, the steady rhythm sometimes interrupted by a grunt or half-hearted squeal as he dreamed. Mac smiled to himself, the fury having subsided and replaced with the elation of being reunited with his son. Two long years and finally, here he was. Mac only wished he and the mare had parted on better circumstances, but that didn’t matter now. Mac rested his head on the rug and closed his eyes, thinking of a name for the colt before drifting to sleep.

Storm Surge.


*		*	*


I was but two years old when the war began. I don’t remember much from that time, only that I was scared and wanted my mother. As I grew older, I realized and accepted that my mother would never come back for me, that she had not wanted me. And I was angry.

My aunt Applejack founded the House Earthborn, the most expansive of the four houses, occupying five major cities. My father created the Equestrian Juggernauts, a team of stallions whose only purpose was to rush headfirst into the battlefield and steamroll over anything that stood in their way. When I turned fifteen, I was officially accepted into the Juggernaut ranks. And ready to win control of Equestria.