//------------------------------// // Chapter One: The book // Story: Ruina Imperii: The Wings of Freedom // by DeLoreanTM //------------------------------// Chapter One: The Notebook Baltimare forward Infirmary, Equestrian mainland I woke uneasily that day. Even as the first trickle of the morning began to seep through the stained windows I could not see a single speck of light from my eyes. I saw only the darkness; the images of the night still clung to my brain like a parasite till I writhed in agony and begged forgiveness. The visions, they came and went like the tide at sea, each painful recollection searing my wounds like salt water. “Don’t worry, I promise I’ll keep you safe…“ I clenched my talon around the blanket, it didn’t feel any different. For a moment I imagined all those who would die just to feel this sensation just one more time. Perhaps they would return home to feel it, yet would never be satisfied as I did now. It was a curse, that I found only my peace of mind when I slept alongside the rubble and cinders, not because I enjoyed it but because… I knew I had deserved it. “For your traitorous action, you shall pay with your life…” I saw that figure once more; one who I felt was important to me but could not explain why. I heard screaming, an echo of fear I had heard all too many times before. It was terrible but there was also something sad and melancholy in that long cry. You could hear the sadness of a soul parting with everything it had loved, to lift their heads and hear for the last time the voice of a father, a husband, son, a brother or even the cry of someone you held dear. “Florizel, don't let them take me!" I struggled under the covers, gasping for air as it clenched around my neck. Feathers flew everywhere as the blankets hit the floor. Opening my eyes I viewed a world alien to me; no screaming and pleading for the mercy of god to save them, no trail of crimson blood sprayed among shattered walls and no piercing shrills of falling shells, there was nothing. Clutching my chest, I began to breathe frantically trying to force the images away. As seconds passed, a rhythmic percussion from a clock began to reverberate in my head, seconds that formed minutes went on until I was in a timeless vacuum staring into the blankness of this desolate place. I had no idea of where I was; a wide room with grey walls and beds that were lined up against them with the occasional turquoise curtains covering a few. I blinked; even in the light of day that shone through the murky windows it was dim. The weakened light seemed to pirouette all over the place until it led my wavering gaze upon on shiny glass needles and an assortment of bottles that were adorned with a singular red cross and the scent of artificial perfumes hung on the air like something foul. There was no dead here, I knew not of the blessing I had been given to deserve such paradise. But why couldn't I see a difference? The echoing haunting voice, I heard them in the silence: the crying and wheezing of the dying. I closed my eyes and clutched the sides of my head, shaking frantically in complete denial of these things. I wasn't part of that, I tried to help those I could but they didn't let go. Wherever I was, would their voices still haunt me? Didn't my plea for forgiveness ring through their lifeless corpses as I held onto them in tears? “Good to see that you are doing well Lieutenant,” I spluttered immediately as my throat dried up, it was his voice. At once the images came back to me like a flood, but this time it brought not fear; but anger. It was that voice that sounded the crack of each rifle as they fired from one side to the other and the chaotic shrill of the shells as they delivered death to the soldiers. No matter how terrible the images were or how much bloodshed they brought back, I couldn’t forget it was that voice which condemned us all to death. “Why don’t you go burn in hell you bastard! Each and every one of you cowardly scum that call themselves officers!” I hissed. There was a wanton fury rising within me like magma that demanded to be quelled with blood, and I would make sure that the blood would be his. The figure stepped out of the fading darkness, revealing a menacing presence that fit perfectly in the griffon doctrine of strength and power. There was nothing perfect about him, each feature he possessed seem to have been battle-worn in some way or another. He had black feathers that covered his chest and face and eyes with fearsome golden irises that had witnessed the deaths of thousands. His beak and talon as chipped and worn they were, still conveyed the terror of his seemingly mutilating nature. Accompanying him was the silver armour that was strapped to his body and wrapped around the base of wings; faded purple that streaked through it designated his rank of a distinguished officer well beyond his years. His beak twisted into a cruel smile, “I flew in all the way from Clawdor, interrupted meetings to come see you in this desolate piss-hole.” He drew closer, revealing a scar that ran down across his eye. “I expected a much more convivial welcome for my trouble.” I growled as I tried to step out of my hospital confinement, only to be met with an agonizing pain which surged through my left wing like wildfire. Turning my head I silently cursed, the entire wing was imprisoned by bandages and now that I had realized, it felt cooped and the burning desire to stretch began to seethe through my mind. “I would be careful with that wing, you injured it quite badly. You’re quite lucky that you still have it,” He chuckled, dismissing my anger as if it was paper. He slowly moved towards a hospital seat and slumped down on it, taking out a cigarette and promptly lighting it. “What do you want from me, General?” I hissed. I stared into his golden eyes, searching for an answer in the murky depths of his mind. For a moment he seemed hesitant as the pillars of wispy smoke puffed from his beak and stared elsewhere, closing his eyes with what seemed like an expression of deep thought or remorse. Then taking his blunted cigarette he thrust it downward onto the ashtray on the bedside table, smudging the embers into cold white ash. He reached for his satchel and pulled out a peculiar item which made my eyes grow wide, for in his claws was a notebook. It looked ancient to say the least. Much of the hardback cover was worn from use, sporting an array of damages and charred areas as small pieces of paper spilled from the corners. It was hardly worth mentioning, but what made it so petrifying was the letters etched onto its worn surface: Florizel Goldenclaw. “Do you recognize this book?” he asked, passing it onto me. I stayed silent. With one claw I moved my finger down the cover of the old notebook, circling it around my name as if I was trying to prove to myself it was real thing. I didn't smile nor was I relieved to see it once more; it was just as it was since the day it slipped from my grasp. The notebook that was left behind in the ruins of the Junction the thing that I wished I lost forever as if the memories inside would disappear along with it. “What you wrote here, all these pages, contains enough offences to get a soldier executed many times over. For that, I will make sure that you pay the reparations, one way or another.” He said sternly, barking out regulations like the obedient dog he was. I expected that to be the end of it, for the quill that wrote the words of my story to reach its end and for my blood to stain that last page. No final words, no last request not even a last letter to my mother. I thought back on the last moment of happiness we shared together, the tears I saw in her eyes as we parted, I felt pained knowing that she would never see me again and that my last words to her would be a letter that imprinted the same lie to the close relatives of the fallen. 'He died in battle as a hero to this nation'. I whispered under my breath a silent apology and wished on whatever spirit that guided the winds to carry my message and tell her that I loved her dearly. I closed my eyes for death, instead the General spoke once more. “What I want to know before that happens is the truth, and I want to hear it from the pony’s mouth.” My eyes shot open. I shot him a cold look. “You want to know the truth? You, the right arm of the war machine want to hear the truth?” with one sweep, I threw the medical equipment and a flower vase on the bedside table in blind rage, followed by an orchestra of smashed glass. “You're a psychopath, a murderer for allowing them to die in vain." I waited for swift chastisement to follow, the same fate given to others who had dared to question his God-given right to judge. The old gryphon instead frowned; a flash of tiredness creeping across his scar ridden face. “Never was it in my intention to cleanse my claws from the blood,” he replied. “I’ve heard it all before and this time it doesn’t make any difference. All I wish to know is why.” The images, they flashed back once more. An endless flood of blood-stained rain fell upon a shattered landscape devoid of colour, an echo of voices; pleas of mercy and capitulation falling on deaf ears as the bullets sealed their fate. The reek of the dead as corpses fell onto each other one by one. I witnessed it all, each plunderer and murderer holding onto their young ones as they left this world, promising them they would see each other again. If I wasn’t so used to the feeling of having my innards turned inside out from the experience I would’ve thrown up. He reached down and produced a shrivelled rose from the vase which had been shattered by my fit. “When we first met, I saw you as a young bud with so much potential and eagerness to fulfil his duty to our nation as a soldier and citizen. Never have I witnessed such devotion, it was almost fanatical.” “But it was foolish of me to believe that it would last,” he continued, crushing the aged flower in his claws, “as every blossom that comes forth will meet its end someday, and you are no exception.” His sharp eyes turned to me once more, a petrifying gaze that pierced the thin veil of my self-confidence. “I will reiterate my question, when did you begin to lose faith in the cause?” I clenched my claws, “save your breath, I won't talk.” I challenged. His hidden capacity for anger began to unshackle itself from his earlier calm demeanour as he flared his wings and bellowed, “You think I've no idea? I've heard rumours about your debacle with the Equestrians and your associations with them.” He spoke rather slowly until his last few words were dripped with malevolence. “The traitor, Florizel Goldenclaw” My pulse accelerated and I could feel nothing but the sweat sticking my feathers together, fighting desperately against the urge to satiate my dry throat. How could he have known? I kept my beak shut, but the statement pressed hard on my mind until it made me almost sick. Could he have known about her? “I’m not a traitor” The eyes of the General narrowed; with that kind of tone in my voice I might as well have been trying to hide the ocean behind my back. At once he signalled with his left claw towards that grey stone slab of a door. The door threw itself open and I turned my attention to within it, an empty darkness. I waited with a fearful anxiousness, hoping that it wasn’t. I continued to look in shock as a figure was thrown into the dim light with a shriek, a figure I had seen so many times before in gross proportions in the propaganda posters. A pony, a mare to be exact with a white coat streaked with faded crimson patches of blood and a ruffled mane. My Equestrian knowledge was hardly something I wanted to remember in times like these but I knew enough to know she was that they called an Earth pony, now wings like the Aerial guard nor the horn of the Arcane battalions. She was shivering, collapsed on the floor muttering something like a prayer with her head facing the floor. I had all the intention in the world to do nothing, but I had a terrible feeling where this would end up. “If there is an ounce of truth in your words Florizel, then you will do exactly as I tell you,” he said. He reached for the revolver that was fastened to his side and skilfully knocked the chamber to one side, revealing empty holes. He then placed a single bullet within the chamber, pushed it back and spun it in a matter of seconds. He then looked at me, still wearing that same piercing expression and spoke softly. “Shoot her.” The words struck me like a brick and I just stared at him dumbfounded. The pony raised her head with the most fearful look I had ever seen and began to sob soundlessly. “She has nothing to do with this, let her go.” I demanded, trying to hold back a begging tone. He ignored me and began to rotate the chamber, again I saw that he was in deep thought, just what those thoughts contained were a mystery but of course, it didn't deter him. “Shoot her and convince me that you are not a traitor,” He explained calmly. I gawked at him wide-eyed, this was insane. "Where in the name of Tartarus did you come up with this 'interrogation', up your arse? Maybe all this has gotten in your head but even you should know that shooting her won't prove anything." “I beg to differ,” he interrupted. “Just imagine, if you were to pull that trigger and all of your problems were to disappear. Everything, from the rumours and the bad memories can go away if you desire it. You would be free to leave this place and never return, to act like everything here never happened to return to your mother happily ever after.” Click “Refuse to kill her however and you will confirm my suspicion. You can kiss goodbye to everything you love back home, and I will make sure your sentence will be worse than life imprisonment. More specifically, you will be adding to your little list of trauma on the front lines, permanently until the war ends. Refuse to pull that trigger, and everything you know is to be revealed, or else the pony will die from my own claw.” Click The sound became deafening, I couldn’t think straight. He had me at a corner like a caged animal with no escape. I felt so alone, more alone than I’ve ever felt and in my own brooding darkness anger churned, an anger that questioned why I was so willing to comfort others and leave my own soul exposed. For a moment, I cared not for their circumstances, why weren’t those friends here? To protect me, save me… I thought back to her words and smile, had I been used? “What will it be Florizel?” Presenting the revolver by the grip, his words became distorted and cavernous until I heard something mortal, but death itself. I stared at that pistol; wanting the easy way out. No matter how many connections I had or what actions I took; never in one blinking second did I enjoy what I did. War imprisoned me in every worst-case scenario I imagined in the peacetimes. I slept when the winter winds numbed me till the point where I could feel nothing. Every day, just an existential crisis. I would give anything to go home, and now I held that key in my hand. I hesitantly took the firearm, feeling the ivory covering pierce the scaly skin of my claws like a row of knives. The reasonable side of me once again kicked in as I aimed the revolver at her head, resting a talon on the surface of that trigger. It should’ve taken just an instant to fix all the trouble in my life, a force small enough to move a speck of dust, but the more that revolver jittered in my trembling hand, the more that trigger felt like a mountain I could not move. I looked away, rationality screamed at me to commit the act. I would be free, away from this world forever and reunited with mother, to see her happy face once more. Isn’t this what I desired? I needed to do this, every day I was taught to hate these creatures and loathe them with all the passion the heart could muster. On top of everything else to be labelled as a traitor, it charred whatever pride I still had left in this cold empty shell of mine and my purpose just as extinguished. You’ve never accepted that soldier who puts orders above everything else, why should you do so now? There it goes again, that annoying little voice that got me stuck in this whole mess. It could’ve been some sort of deity or my own conscience but that mattered little, I wanted it to stop. You have shown to know the value of life and wield the insurmountable courage that it takes to spare a life Spare me the theatrics you little demon inside my head. Nothing I did was courageous; I was driven by cowardly instinct. Then do the cowardly thing and shoot her outright to save yourself. I looked at the mare again and this time she stared at me with the same look of desperation and then at the notebook that was still resting on my knees. She was scared, and the more I stared at her the more I saw myself: alone, a victim. My arm slumped like a dead weight as the revolver slipped from my grasp. I watched helplessly as the bullet slid across the concrete floor: perhaps my only chance to see mother again fell beyond my view and under into the murky depths of bed next to me. The mare sniffed and looked at me as though she had been hit by lightning. “You win,” I acknowledged, “Just let her go.” The General nodded and signalled again to the door. This time two younger griffons with that same gritty uniform I used to wear marched in, giving the mandatory salute to their superior. The taller one on the left barked with the monotonous-pitched voice that all Griffon soldiers were required to speak by. “Orders sir?” He pointed at the mare with a sharp talon, who was still looking at me like she’d been hit by thunder. “Take this one away into imprisonment until I give the order to release her to the Equestrians.” He turned to face that murky window; a whiff of smoke caught my senses as another cigarette burned in his beak. "Tell our friends that this one is from Florizel." He and his companion exchanged confused glances yet the taller one, in reaction to my name, scorned at me. “General, she has been found guilty of assisting the rebels via smuggling munitions and arms to the rebels within Manehatten. Order 227 from the supreme command has issue all those caught in the act must be punished justly-" The General raised his claw and he fell silent, “would you mind picking that up for me, my spine is getting old.” He indicated for the shorter one at the pistol, which he did faster than I’d ever thought possible. “Thank you,” he took the revolver and loaded it once more with that same blinding promptness. “I have an order for you,” the scrooge whispered to the soldier, jabbing the gun so hard on his rib until I could almost read the pain on his face. “How about you carry out my orders without question or else I will be guilty of murdering you.” “Y-yes sir!” The two pale-faced militias didn’t need any more words of encouragement. As soon as the General released his victim the two were gone, along with that pony whose expression still burned in my memory as she left into the darkness, an expression of gratification I had seen before. We were left alone again, here in this dark cold room with only the wafting smell of cigarette smoke. I sat complacently on my hospital bed staring into deep space at the grey wall on the opposite end of the room. The General was the first to break the silence. “So you have chosen death to save the life of the Equestrian?” I disliked the word ‘chosen’, for what I had been through it felt as though something else entirely made that decision for me but I nodded at his question. “Then tell me the answer that I have come searching for, and by Leon’s name spare me any acts of defiance that will keep a deterrent up.” I didn’t reply at first because I no longer had the spirit, instead I opened the notebook to the very first page. The first thing that caught my eye was the grey picture of a smiling griffon who I could hardly recognize as myself; enthusiastic and full of life with a happy mother at my side who smiled with the same kind of cheerfulness that the both of us shared with ignorant bliss. The rest of the singular page were filled to the brim with scribbled notes, ones that I had written all those years ago and still kept with a guilt that I had not written more. They were earlier attempts of writing which exemplified a true quality of frankness which slowly ebbed from my later prose which was deemed - even from my peers – “ornamental” at times. “I never came here with the intention of murder, I once believed in an empire who could boast of heroic tales that I would have the honour to report. I came here as a journalist General.” I caught a raised eyebrow from him yet said nothing as I continued. I lost my faith as a journalist when I saw nothing but a truth covered in lies.” I replied adamantly. “These pages, only they show the truth. I couldn’t sleep at night or write letters home knowing that what I wrote to the people was nothing but… rose coloured glass of a massacre. The guilt came and I was held at Tartarus’s edge to hold back tears that welled up in my eyes. “I witnessed comrades who cursed the war with their first and last breath and sacrificed everything to save what they held dearer than the great leader or the “fatherland”. I witnessed friends who fought for each other because of our bond, not for the reason you hammered into us.” “In the end how was I meant to repay this kindness? By lying to those at home that they had died for a cause they never believed in.” The look on the veteran’s face remained unchanged, but the flame within him had died down. “I’ve always wanted to be a famous writer General. But when I was young all I ever wanted was to rebuild our home as it was like so many others, not to die in vain for some campaign of conquest. I still remember the old streets of our home, my mother and all the others, left behind because the fatherland called us to do his dirty work.” Though it was only half of my reason, it was still true. “If you want to know when, know this: I had my doubts even before all of this. I can remember it all, back at the train where I'd met those two and my life would never be the same."