//------------------------------// // Chapter 1: A World of Grey // Story: All Paths Lead Home // by Mystic //------------------------------// All Paths Lead Home by Mystic Chapter 1: A World of Grey You can find the chapter with its original formatting here: Chapter 1 The mare stands, bathed in sunlight, on top of a small green hill. The air is fresh, cool and clean. Smiling, she inhales deeply, filling her lungs until she can hold no more. A soft breeze tickles her mane, blowing it gently around her face. She flicks her tail happily and presses her hooves deeper into the ground, revelling in the soft grass that stretches out as far as she can see. Around her, butterflies dance gently in the air, their chaotic routines exuding a serene beauty and peace. The mare stares out onto the green pastures around her as they rise and fall with the undulating landscape, each hill forming an almost perfect bell-curve. To her left, trees dot the landscape, their branches swaying gently like her mane in the breeze. In the distance, great mountains sulk on the horizon, their figures gloomy and vague, partly covered in great, dark clouds. It is utterly silent except for the wind. The mare begins to trot down the hill on which she stands, feeling her muscles move in cohesion with each other, each one working independently yet also simultaneously to create movement. Upon reaching the bottom of the hill, the mare finds a small stream, its bubbling finally adding another sound to the comfortable silence. The mare dips her head down and tastes the water. It’s sweet, pure and unsullied. She lifts her head and stares into the sky, watching as the small, light clouds move rapidly across the sky, their bodies becoming elongated by the wind. Careful as to not step in the water, the mare crosses the stream and makes her way up the other side of the hill. On this hill there are small wildflowers, their petals open, gladly receiving the sun’s warm embrace. The mare stops and sniffs one slowly. The scent is soft, but pleasant and stirs something deep inside the pony. She continues up the hill, her pace increasing as she finally crests the summit. The mare halts with a sense of unnameable unease. Below her, the grass has suddenly stopped. She looks around and sees that the pastures are still behind her. She puts a hoof gently onto the dirt in front of her. It puffs up in small clouds when she touches it, a substance of very little matter. Hesitantly, the mare reaches down to inspect the dirt closer. She nudges it carefully with her nose, and the dust causes her to sneeze. Ash. She looks up; the gigantic ash fields stretch out in front of her like a horrific nightmare. Where is the grass? Where is the- A low boom reverberates around the earth, shaking the mare where she stands. It is followed by another and another, each one shuddering the very foundations of the world. The mountains are now covered in a terrible red glow, illuminating the rock-faces with a light the colour of blood, the shadows of smoke dancing feverishly, visible even from this distance. The mare stares with widened eyes as a great cloud rises up from the mountains and begins to race toward her. The cloud is immense in size, its black, billowing body highlighted by the terrifying red glow emanating from within. The sound of thunder, as loud as cannons, begins to reach the mare even as she sees the first flashes of lightning light up the ash fields. With a great rush of darkness, the cloud passes over the mare, plunging the land into shadow. Looking up, she can see the source of the red glow. Fire. She gasps in fear as the sky itself begins to burn, the body of the cloud feeding the flames. With a horrendous roar, the whole of the storm becomes engulfed in fire, the excess falling to the ground, igniting everything it touches. The mare turns and runs down the hill back towards the stream as the sky continues to rain fire. She watches as the grass begins to burn, as do the trees, their branches silhouetted against the flames. The stream has become choked with ash, the water a diseased grey colour. She crosses the stream and makes her way back up the first hill. The mare looks behind her and feels the ground fall away from beneath her hooves. In the distance a huge wall of fire and ash is streaking across the earth, swallowing up the hills whole. The mare desperately picks up the pace, trying in vain to outrun the fire. Tears stream down her face as she chokes against the smoke filling her lungs. Her muscles grow tired and uncooperative. As her vision starts to blur, she falls to the ground, retching as her lungs fill with poison. She pays little attention to the burns from the grass. Weakly, she lifts her head, looking toward the grass in the distance not yet touched by the fire. “Home…” she whispers before letting her head hit her hooves, defeated. With a blinding flash and searing heat, the wall of fire rushes over the land leaving nothing but ash and destruction in its wake. Above, the sky continues to burn, raining death upon the world. With a start, the mare woke violently, her breath coming in shuddering gasps. She fumbled around desperately, searching in the shadow, unable to see a thing. The darkness was impenetrable, all-consuming and ever present. It bore down on the mare with a physical weight. The pony was unable to concentrate; the dream still lingered within her mind, its presence taunting her. Forcing herself to breathe normally, the mare laid back down, listening intently. Beside her she could hear the soft inhaling and exhaling of a small figure, each precious breath sustaining life in more ways than one. She allowed the sound to fill her consciousness as her heart rate slowly returned to normal. Now feeling considerably better, the mare drew her ragged and filthy blankets around her tightly. It was cold outside, and she was sure if she could see, there would be small puffs of fog coming from her breath. Her stomach rumbled as she continued to lie still. It had been almost two days since she had last eaten. The majority of their meagre food supplies always went to the precious pony beside her. On the horizon, the mare could swear she saw a weak glow. Dawn was coming. In the all-consuming darkness that was the night, the mare was thankful for the frail light of dawn. It made the world feel less claustrophobic. She just hoped that Princess Luna wouldn’t be mad at her for having those thoughts. It had been so long since she had even seen the moon or the stars. The mare stayed utterly silent as the light on the horizon slowly became stronger. Before long, she could just begin to make out objects in the perpetual gloom. The smell of decay lingered in the air. On their left, trees rose up, their skeletal branches sticking out into the sky, empty and naked. On their right, the ground jutted up sharply into a jagged rock-face, forming the side of the gully in which they were currently sleeping. It was a feeble shelter, but it was out of sight of the road and probably safe. Finally, with a sense of incompleteness, dawn arrived in full. The mare watched the faint glow breaking through the clouds. The light illuminated the edges of the suspended vapour, a faint gold furnishing the grey and ash. She watched the morning sadly. “Where are You?” she whispered to the sky. “Are You hiding away from us behind those clouds, hiding away from the world? Is this Your judgement? Do You hear us at all?” The mare was met with nothing but the gentle rustling of ash as it stirred over the land and in the sky. “Are You dead? Are You lost? Or have You been judged yourselves? Judged by the fire like everything else in this world?” Overhead the cloud shifted, rolling over itself to censor the light. Lowering her head, unable to continue, the mare got up. She could only assume that it was the sun in the sky. She just whispered to Celestia every day and every day dawn came. A faint cough caused her to look down at the small form lying on the ground next to her. “Mama?” asked the small, weak voice. “I’m right here, little one.” “Good,” was all she said in reply, lowering her head back down onto the rough pillow of rags. The mare watched her daughter tenderly, her bony frame rising and falling with each breath. She was so thin - too thin, almost as if the slightest gust of wind would shatter her fragile body. Not that the mare herself was any better. The older pony lowered the hood she wore while sleeping, letting her tangled mane free. She was clothed in an assortment of rags that would have once been described as clothing, all wrapped together to provide as much cover and warmth as possible. The mare poked her head into one of their old, worn saddle bags and returned with a small metal canteen of water. It was almost empty. She unscrewed it with her mouth and took a small mouthful, trying not to think of the taste. She offered the filly some. “Come on, you have to drink.” “I’m not thirsty,” the small pony replied. “Yes you are. Your lips are cracked.” Cracked was generous. Her lips almost appeared twisted, dead skin peeling off of their dehydrated owner. “But then there won’t be any for you.” The mare smiled softly at her foal. “I’ve already had some. Now it’s your turn.” Slowly, and with hesitation, the filly got up and walked over to her mother. She was dressed almost identically to the mare: an assortment of rags and pieces of clothing stitched and wrapped together to form an almost uniform piece, covering the wearer from head to hoof. She too, had her hood down now. When the filly reached the mare, she offered the canteen to the young one who took it and indulged herself in the smallest of sips. “Do you want any more?” The filly shook her head. The mare turned and placed the water bottle back inside the pack, nestling it in amongst the lantern and the small cooking stove powered by whatever gasoline they could find. Gas had been a new substance in Equestria before the end and hard to find even then. As such, every drop was precious. There wasn’t much else in that bag. The other pack held the candles for the lantern, a single story book for the filly, a small, ragged plush pony, stained with ash, a needle and thread, some matches, two pairs of old goggles, some glow sticks she had found years ago yet never used, and finally, a small knife was strapped to the outside of the pack, in easy reach when they were being worn. And that was all she owned in the world. The mare hated the knife. Its pitted edge whispered about acts of horrendous cruelty. The kind of behaviour the pony would not have thought possible before the end. She had never used it, but carried it out of necessity. The mare could never imagine actually cutting another pony. The thought made her sick, for it was an act she had seen too much over the years. She was not like them. She couldn’t be like them, especially with her daughter. “Come on, we should leave,” the mare said to the small pony beside her. The filly merely nodded and stuffed the rough patchwork of rags that was her pillow into one of the packs. The mare followed suit with the blanket, its thick, tough and waterproof exterior making it hard to fold. With everything back inside the saddlebags, the mare slipped them over her head, using her mouth to tighten them. Over the years she had watched the groove marks of where the buckles rested becoming higher and higher. She did not want to think what it would mean should they continue to do so. Together, the mare and the small filly walked out of the gully through the skeletal trees, leaving their campsite behind them. Upon cresting the hill, the mare stared out over the land. Before them lay an empty plain, its surface broken only by the softest of hills. There wasn’t any grass here. There was only grey and ash. The mare let her gaze rise up the plain. The monotony of the fields of grey was finally broken by the looming shapes of mountains in the distance, their forms bruised and purple in the weak light. In front of them lay a road, stretching out toward the mountains through the grey. A gentle wind threw the ash into soft swirls that breezed across the ground, disappearing behind rises only to reappear in the distance. Despite the visibility promised by the day, the temperature had barely increased. The mare could definitely see the fog expelled by her breathing now, each puff a reminder that there was, despite everything, warmth inside her body. It was a small comfort. The mare drew her hood over her head with a hoof, poking her ears through the holes in the top as she did. Closing her eyes for a brief moment, the two ponies started to walk north along the road and toward the mountains. “Where are we going, Mama?” came a small voice later that day. They had been walking for several hours now and despite this, the mountains refused to draw any closer, remaining nothing but cold bruises on the horizon. “We’re going south,” the mare replied after a moment, her hooves hitting the road beneath them heavily. “Why are we going south?” “Because winter is coming and it will be too cold here in the north.” “Oh,” the filly said softly. “Is that all?” The mare’s brow furrowed. No, that was not all. “We… we are going home.” “Home?” She sounded confused, the word all together unfamiliar. “Yes, home. We are going home.” The mare dipped her head slightly. “But where is home, Mama?” the filly asked, oblivious to her mother’s sadness. “It’s a long way south. It’s in a big city that’s built into the side of a mountain.” “But I thought you said cities were dangerous?” The mare paused. “It might be dangerous,” she admitted reluctantly. “Then why are we going?” The filly sounded scared now. The mare knew that their experiences in the south were just as fresh in her mind as they were for herself. “Because… because there’s something I have to see.” “What’s that, Mama?” the filly queried, tilting her head to the side as she did. The mare did not reply, choosing to walk on in silence. Knowing better than to press further, the filly fell silent again, falling quietly in to step beside her.  She and the filly had been wandering for too long now, always heading toward rumours and lies. The mare returned her gaze toward the horizon. She knew that the road isn’t the safest place to travel, especially with the influx of ponies that would be fleeing back south, but the road was the fastest and most direct route. In precaution, she kept on constant alert, her ears pricked and waiting for the slightest sound beyond their own hoof-steps. It led to a nerve-racking day. Her stomach rumbled again, this time more quietly, almost as if it was losing the strength to make a convincing argument that it required food. The mare was craving cow’s milk. The thick, creamy liquid had disappeared from the world a long time ago, and so now, despite all of the cravings in the world, they would never be satisfied. All that was left was the mere memory of the drink, for whatever that was worth.   The memory is fading around the edges now, a fact that the mare attributes to its age. She is young, only a small filly herself. She stands in her old bedroom, the various paintings and pictures on the walls acting as reminders to a creative streak long since abandoned. Moonlight shines through an open window, the stars twinkling like jewels around it. On the floor in her room there are toys of all shapes and sizes. The mare’s personal favourites is the large stuffed toy bear and pony plush-doll. Up against the wall in the middle of the room sits the filly’s bed, the covers pulled back slightly, inviting the tired pony into its embrace. Behind the filly is her mother, a purple earth pony with a kind face and tightly curled dark-green mane. The mare is not particularly thrilled with her presence, however. “Time for bed, little one,” her mother coos affectionately. “I don’t wanna sleep, Mom!” she replies, her voice equal parts pleading and complaining. “I’m still wide awake!” Her mother sees straight through the lie. “But if you don’t sleep, then how will you be able to play with your friends tomorrow?” She pauses, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth as she thinks of a response. Her efforts are ruined when she emits a loud yawn, her eyes blinking in an attempt to stay open. “See?” her mother presses. “You are exhausted. Now, go on and get into bed. There is a big, bright day waiting for you tomorrow.” “And I will get to play with all of my friends?” the mare replies, defeated, as she walks slowly over to her bed. “Of course you will. I am sure they are waiting to play with you as well,” her mother says as she moves over to the window and closes it. “I sure hope so,” the mare says tiredly, as she gets into her bed, rolling over onto her side. “Would you like some milk, darling?” her mother asks. The mare nods her head sleepily in affirmation. The older pony leaves, her hoof-steps echoing down the hall. The tired little filly yawns again, fighting against her eyelids to stay awake. Her mother returns shortly, a glass of milk sitting on a tray she is carrying in her mouth. She sets it down on the small bedside table, careful not to move the lamp. The mare reaches over and grabs the glass between her two front hooves. She lifts it and takes several big long draughts. It’s as warm, thick and creamy as she was hoping, the liquid warming her insides and relaxing her muscles. When she finishes the glass, she places it back on the tray before allowing her head to hit the pillow again, a small smile on her face. “There, was that nice?” her mother asks her kindly with a tender smile. She reaches down and strokes her daughter’s mane. “Uh-huh,” the mare replies sleepily. Her mother kisses her lightly on the forehead before moving to the door. “I love you, Mom,” the mare whispers softly, finally losing the battle to keep her eyes open. “I love you too,” her mother replies. “Now sleep well and dream happy dreams, little one.” She switches off the light and closes the door softly, leaving her daughter to the gentle embrace of sleep. They had been walking south for several days before this. They had been part of one the last great mass-movements of peaceful ponies wanting nothing more than a life that somewhat resembled the peace of their old world. Together, driven by whispers of hope and peace and harmony, the mare and her daughter had headed north outside Equestria’s borders with the simple message of friendship. What they had found, however, was blood, and fire, and death. Many ponies had tried to escape. Most did not succeed. It made the mare feel sick. What had happened to Equestria, a land which was once the home of harmony and of friendship? The ash swirling around her feet proved to be answer enough. It had all burned away, burnt until there was nothing but evil and hatred left in the world. Before the mare and the filly, the road continued to stretch on into the distance. Now the mare could swear she could see a splattering of shadows that grew thicker and more condensed as it approached the foothills of the mountains. They were the remains of the forests whose leaves used to be the most brilliant sage colour. The mare could still remember the birdsong. She hoped to reach the trees before dark; it was too dangerous out here on the plains. In the early days of the end, ponies had clogged roads like these as refugees, the unlucky survivors of horrors all had thought impossible. The mare had been one of them. They had been starved, beaten and bruised, dressed in rags to keep away to extreme temperatures and goggles and masks to keep the toxic air out of their faces. The survivors had wandered the roads in groups, smiling and helping each other when they encountered fellow travellers. At first they believed that harmony would prevail, that with friendship the earth would recover. But that was before the descent. Now the very notion of hope was nothing but a memory, lingering around the edges of ponies like the mare’s mind, always just out of reach. At around midday, or as close as the mare could tell, the filly spoke up again, “Mama, if we’re going home… we’re going to your home, aren’t we?” Her voice was tentative, the obvious product of a long, internal discussion. The mare looked at her quizzically. “Yes, we are going to my home. Why?” “Well,” the filly began, “that means that if it’s your home and I’ve never been there before, then it’s not my home. And… and that means I don’t have a home.” Her mother broke stride for a second before replying rapidly, “It can be your home, too.” “But it isn’t,” the filly pressed sadly. “I’ve never been there. I’ve never been home. I’ve never had a home at all.” “Your home is with me,” the mare said, trying to cheer her up. “Wherever we are together, it’s your home.” “It’s not the same…” the filly murmured slightly. “Why not?” “Because you said that home was somewhere you lived, and we don’t live anywhere.” “Maybe we will find you a home then.” The filly paused. She had clearly not considered this option. “Really, Mama?” she said eventually. “Do you really think we can find me a home?” “Of course we can,” the mare replied. “I… I’d like that,” the filly admitted, smiling happily to herself as they walked along the ashen path. “Good,” she said, smiling too. There was another reason the mare was going south. Winter was coming and it was coming quickly. Already the sky looked ready to snow, the clouds dark and angry, filled to the brim. Also, the nights grew colder and colder as the days trudged by. The mare knew that this was only the beginning. Winters, especially towards the north, were unforgiving apocalypses with temperatures that would freeze the blood of a pony as they walked. The very earth itself cracked under the icy winds that blasted across the barren Equestrian landscape, while the ground became buried by glaciers and ice sheets. Nopony could hope to survive in such conditions and the mare knew not to test their luck. She'd heard the tale from a refugee like themselves a few years or so ago. His ears had been stubs, lost to frostbite, and he, himself, had escaped the worst of it. His family had not. As the day dragged on, the forest became closer and closer, a few dead trees now dotting the landscape around them. The ground became more and more undulating, the hills rising and falling gently, their surfaces covered in ash. The filly would stare at the trees, not saying a word. To the mare they were sentinels of the dead, watching over the land with cold eyes, cursing the living. The mare didn’t like to watch the trees. It came as a surprise when the mare spotted the roof of a building slightly off the road. She wasn’t aware anypony had ever lived out here. It was clearly built to be hidden from the path and, were the trees alive, would have been completely covered by foliage. Gesturing to filly, the mare made her way towards it. “No, Mama,” the filly said hurriedly after she had noticed their change in direction. “It mightn’t be safe.” “We have to try,” the mare replied, almost desperately. “We have to find food.” The small pony didn’t reply and instead walked closer to her mother, making sure to stay just behind her. They were both starving. There was no denying that. The mare knew that it would be a long shot to find food in a single, lone house in the middle of nowhere without any major settlements nearby, but she had to try, irrespective of the dangers. They climbed the hill and began to descend into the small gully in which the house was situated. It was a medium, two storey affair built out of large wooden planks. The shingled roof was angled steeply to prevent snow build-up. Part of the wall facing north and some of the roof had collapsed. The rest of the building appeared scorched, but relatively intact, even if the building’s original colour was no longer discernable. All of the windows, however, had been shattered, their frames empty and dark. Approaching carefully, the mare slowly pushed open the wooden door that sat only on one of its hinges. It creaked as it swung open, revealing a dark interior beyond. They entered cautiously, the filly sticking close to the mare. The inside was small, with the remnants of wooden panelling on the walls. Most of the furniture was either gone or broken. Probably used for firewood or scavenged for crude construction at some point – the clean timber was much more valuable than the burnt trees outside. The mare walked carefully through the room - the cracks in the ceiling reason enough to give pause. There was a definite smell of rot in the air, and dark stains ran up the walls from patches near the windows. The mare made her way into the kitchen, picking a path around the upturned table and three broken chairs lying in the middle of the room. The inside of the kitchen was in a very similar condition to the first room, only most of the appliances were still in here. The oven was cracked and shattered, somepony obviously trying to scavenge parts. The mare opened the pantry with a small, half-hearted sense of hope, and was not at all surprised to find it empty, filled only with dust. The filly looked at her mother with interest as she sighed and turned away from the cupboard, now absentmindedly opening a few of the other shelves and cupboards to check for anything worth collecting. “What do we do now, Mama? There’s no food there.” The mare didn’t reply and instead started to knock around the walls, listening. The filly looked confused as the mare continued to tap the wooden panels. “What are you doing, Mama?” “You’ll see,” the older pony replied softly. The filly watched for what seemed like forever before, finally, the mare appeared to find what she was looking for when her knocking suddenly returned with a considerably lighter sound. The small pony tilted her head gently to one side as her mother withdrew the knife from the saddlebags and started to work at the offending panel, easing the blade into the grooves. Eventually, her efforts were rewarded as the wooden panel popped out, revealing a small storage space beneath. “Oh thank the Princesses,” the mare breathed, her eyes wide. Inside the cavity in the wall, the filly could see six whole cans of food, some cookies in a jar and a small packet of something she wasn’t quite familiar with. To her it was better than treasure as her small eyes widened, a smile creeping across her face. “Mama! Food!” “Yes, little one,” her mother said, laughing. “It’s food.” “You’re so clever! How’d you know it was there?” “Years of practice.” It was something she had done herself a long time ago, before the filly was old enough to remember. “I’ve never seen you do that before,” the filly said, confused. “You must not have been looking hard enough then,” the mare replied teasingly, stowing the tins of food into her saddlebags. “That’s not true!” the filly cried out indignantly as her mother opened the jar of cookies. The mare laughed good-naturedly. It felt good to laugh. “Would you like a cookie?” she asked. “Yes, thank you,” the filly replied, gratefully taking one of the stale, hard sweets. They sat there for a time in the abandoned kitchen, chewing on their tough prizes. It tasted terrible, but it would keep them alive. “Thank you, Mama,” the filly said again when she had finished. “You’re welcome,” the mare replied, getting up as she did. “Where are we going now?” the filly asked. “To see what’s upstairs.” “Is it safe?” “I don’t know,” the mare replied truthfully. “It was safe down here, so probably.” The filly appeared unconvinced, but followed her mother anyway as they left the kitchen and approached the stairs. The staircase was dark and damp, probably the result of the top floors being exposed to the elements from the partly collapsed roof. Thankfully, all of the steps held as the pair ascended them slowly, listening out to anything out of the ordinary. At the top they were met by a small hallway with four rooms branching off, two on each side. The first room on the right was inaccessible due to the cave in. The next two rooms proved to hold nothing of interest, just bedrooms with an identical layout. There was a small bed, stripped of a mattress, a cupboard and some bare shelving, showing nothing of their previous inhabitant’s lives. Even the books on the bookshelves had been taken. With one room left, the mare approached it carefully, a the barest hint of a foul smell reaching her nostrils. Cautiously, she reached out with a hoof, her heart sinking at the realisation of what was probably in the room. Her eyes lowered in sadness as she warily opened the door. It was another bedroom, only this time three bodies were stretched out on the bed, clearly in one another’s embrace. One of the mostly decomposed bodies was a lot smaller, probably just a small foal. “Celestia and Luna have mercy,” the mare whispered as she blocked the doorway, preventing the filly from seeing the dead. “What is it, Mama?” the filly asked, trying to peek around her mother. “Nothing… it’s… nothing,” the mare replied, closing the door behind them. “There wasn’t anything useful in there?” she asked innocently, her eyes wide and hopeful. “No,” the mare said sadly, “there wasn’t.” “That’s too bad,” the filly said dejectedly. “Yes. It is.” The mare led the filly downstairs, trying very hard to not think of the dead in the bedroom, locked forever in a families’ embrace, sleeping peacefully away from the cares of the world. And in that, the mare was envious. This is a well worn memory. In happier times she had re-visited it regularly, seeking comfort in a moment of simplicity and good fortune. The mare is standing in amongst a sea of ponies, all them dressed up for the occasion. They are chatting amicably, smiling, eating and drinking. It is the spring ball, an open event to ponies from all over Canterlot. Over the last few years the upper-class had directed their attention upon this particular event, and the results had seen the ball become stale and burdensome. The mare sighs as the ponies around her chat about fashion and art, all having obviously absolutely no clue about what they are talking about. She leans down to deftly snap one of the hors d’oeuvres resting upon her silver plate. The tasteless piece of art melts in her mouth, instantly forgotten about. “I’m so bored…” the mare whispers unhappily, her brow creasing in frustration. “I get what you mean,” comes the whispered reply from her left. The mare spins. She is shocked that anypony had heard what she said. The pony is met with the smiling face of a stallion, his light-blue coat matching nicely with his jacket. “I didn’t mean to interrupt or anything,” he adds as the mare stares at him accusingly. “I just had to say that yeah, I’m bored as well.” “You’re not one of them?” the mare replies, gesturing to the cluster of ponies surrounding them on all sides. “No. I’m a fire fighter by trade. It’s hard work but it’s an honest living,” the stallion says proudly. “A fire fighter? That’s dangerous, isn’t it?” “Not really. You just have to be careful. We just try to make sure nopony gets hurt.” The mare nods her head. “I like that. It’s nice to know somepony still believes in hard work around this city.” A dark look crosses over the stallion’s face. “You’re not wrong there.” They fall into a silence then, both not sure what to say next. The stallion finally breaks it first, suddenly nervous. “So… I’m not sure if you would be interested, but would you be interested in taking a walk with me in the gardens? I hear it’s real nice out there this time of year and well… neither of us really want to be here.” The mare thinks over his request, looking over the pony. His face is open, his eyes honest, hopeful. The mare likes that. There is something about him that just makes her feel… safe. “I would love to,” she replies, smiling up at him warmly. “That’s wonderful!” he replies enthusiastically, his face lighting up into a huge smile. The mare giggles. “Oh, um… I mean… that’s great,” he adds, blushing as he does so. “Come on then,” the mare says, walking over to the exit, looking back over her shoulder at the flustered pony. “Yes… of course.” He coughs. “Say,” he calls out to her as they push their way through the throngs of upper-class ponies. “I never asked you your name, I’m sorry about that.” “No, I don’t suppose you did,” the mare replies, smiling as she did. “I don’t suppose you did…” Years later, looking back, the mare could see with frightening clarity where everything had begun to go wrong. But right there, in that moment, she had been oblivious as everypony else. She had been excited, for that light-blue stallion, little did she know at the time, would become her husband and the father of her daughter. But now… it was just that: a memory, a relic of an age past. She knew full well that one day it would flicker out of existence forever, never to be remembered again. The mare and the filly left the lonely house hidden in the gully and returned to their trek along the road. They watched as the shadows began to lengthen, signalling the beginning of the afternoon. Around them, the trees began to grow closer together, their blackened and blasted trunks thickening. The ground was now much more broken, rising and falling at closer and steeper intervals. To compensate, the path was starting to snake now, no longer a dead straight line. The filly was back to being in a good mood, revitalised by finding the food. She would run up ahead a few feet before running back, a smile on her face. The mare watched her carefully; she didn’t want her too far away from her at anytime. “We got really lucky with that food, didn’t we, Mama?” the filly asked. “Yes, we did,” the mare replied, smiling as she did. “That means we won’t be hungry for a while.” “A long time if we use it sparingly.” The filly suddenly stopped bouncing around, her expression concerned. She approached her mother carefully, who didn’t break stride. “What did you see, Mama? What did you see in the room?” “Nothing. The room was empty.” Her words sounded fake, even to herself. The filly didn’t look convinced. “No it wasn’t,” she said sadly. “You saw something bad in there, didn’t you?” The mare didn’t reply, walking on in silence. This time, however, the filly chose to press on. “I hope you’re ok, Mama. I would be scared too.” The mare looked at her daughter kindly; she tried so hard to protect her innocence. It was a jewel of hope that flickered against the backdrop of death that always coloured the land with its grey shadow. “I am fine,” she replied softly. “But thank you for asking.” The filly nodded her head. She seemed satisfied she had done the right thing. The pair fell into another silence, one that was not destined to live long. “Mama?” the filly asked after a while. “Yes?” “We’re good ponies, aren’t we?” “Of course we are. Don’t you remember? We are like the mares of harmony.” The filly nodded her small head, thinking over her mother’s response. “The ponies of friendship,” she said quietly. Their story was the only book the mare still carried around for the filly. “Exactly. Just think, they freed the Princess and saved Equestria several times. And most importantly, they did it together. So as long as we stay together, we will always be like them.” “I like that story book,” the filly said after a while. “It’s not just a story book,” the mare replied. “It’s a real story of what those ponies did over a hundred years ago.” “That’s a long time,” said the filly, her eyes wide. She had heard all of this before, but never seemed to get tired of it. The idea of time was still something that left the small filly in awe. “Yes it is,” the mare admitted. “Do you think that there are ponies like them still alive, Mama? That maybe they could make everything right again, back like when you were a filly?” The mare thought long and hard before responding, “I don’t know. Maybe. But probably not.” “Oh.” The filly hung her head. “But maybe, out there somewhere, you’re right,” the mare added, making the small pony smile again. “But until then, always remember, we are harmony.” “We are harmony,” the filly whispered. Her eyes appeared distant, staring into a world that only those who create them can see. Satisfied, the mare allowed the conversation to once again lapse into silence. The filly had forgotten about the room upstairs and now had something hopeful to latch onto, a light amongst the ever-present grey that ate away at a pony’s soul. She is young again, back inside her bedroom. The mare yawns tiredly. It is early morning and despite the excitement of what’s awaiting her in a few hours, the young hour was playing havoc on her young body. “Come on, sleepy,” her mother presses gently. “You’re going to miss the Summer Sun Celebration!” “No I’m not…” the mare defends herself halfheartedly. “I’m awake.” “It’s time to watch our wonderful sun rise above the horizon as we welcome in the day.” “Is Dad even awake yet?” “Yes, he is. He’s packing us some food right now in the kitchen. That way, after the celebration, we can have a picnic.” The mare’s ears prick up at that. “Really? Can we have it in the park?” “Of course we can. That sounds really nice.” The mare pauses for a second, her mind bubbling with the possibilities that the day seemed to now hold. “Will Princess Celestia and Luna really be there, Mom?” the mare asks with a growing sense of excitement. “Yes, they definitely will be. After all, the sun and the moon are theirs to control, we are very lucky that they watch over us to give us the night and day.” “That’s really nice of them,” the mare replies. “It wouldn’t be any fun without night or day. I mean, what would we have then?” “Exactly,” her mother says. “We should always be thankful to the Princesses for the gift of night and day, the sun and the moon.” Her mother smiles down at her. “Now come on, otherwise we’re going to be late.” Now definitely wide awake, the mare bursts out of bed and runs down the hall. She couldn’t wait to see the Princesses. She also couldn’t wait for the picnic in the park afterwards, but more importantly, she couldn’t wait to see the sun. They were gone now. They were gone and nopony knew where or why. It was a truth as cold as the earth itself and one that the mare knew all too well. The afternoon wore on as the mare and her daughter made their way deeper into the forest. It was unnerving to see so many trees without a single leaf, their trunks blasted and burnt, but the mare had grown used to these sights. It was the same for the filly, the small pony knowing nothing but the ashen wastes. “Mama, what did the trees look like before the end?” the small pony asked that afternoon. The notion of green foliage existing was nothing but a fantasy told to her in story books. “I’ve already told you many times before.” “I know... but I’d like to hear it again.” The mare watched her carefully, but soon relented. “They were tall and brown, and they had lots of leaves on their branches. In the spring and summer the leaves would be brilliant shades of green, but in the autumn they would turn gold and orange and red.” “Why?” “Because the leaves would fall off before the winter, and then new ones would grow again in the spring,” the mare said almost wistfully. “What did the leaves look like?” the small pony asked. “You have seen them in the picture books,” the mare replied. “Like, by themselves. In the books there are always lots.” “Well... they looked a little like feathers, only they normally weren’t as soft.” “A feather? Like on what the birds and pegasi had?” “Yes... just like what they used to have,” the mare said slowly. The filly nodded her head. “Oh. I bet they were pretty.” “They were,” the mare replied. “They were.” And with that, the conversation lapsed into nothing. The two ponies focused on the ashen road in front of them, watching as it disappeared below their hooves. “Mama, what’s that?” The filly’s voice cut through the silence. The mare looked at her daughter; she was looking up toward the horizon, her eyes wide and fearful. Following her gaze, she looked up to the mountains in front of them, still probably a day or so away. The ridge was engulfed in a sickly red glow, highlighting the clouds with a smouldering, rusty light. Smoke billowed off the cliffs, being blown southward by the cold winds coming from the north. The jagged, pointed peaks were lit up amongst the flames, the forests along the mountains burning in an unstoppable inferno. Even dead trees can still burn. The mare shuddered when she remembered her dream. The height of the fire almost did make it seem like the sky was burning. “It’s a forest fire,” the mare finally replied. “The trees are burning.” “Why are they burning?” She sounded scared. “Probably a lightning strike,” said the mare. “I haven’t seen any lightning,” the filly replied, obviously confused. “The weather is different up in the mountains,” the older pony explained. “Everything is much wilder there.” The filly didn’t respond, instead looking fearfully up at the malicious light dancing and flickering along the horizon. “At least the ash is falling on the other side,” the mare said after awhile. Again, the filly didn’t respond, choosing to continue to walk along the ashen road in front of them in silence. The mare knew that daylight would be rapidly slipping away from them. As a result, the pony picked up the pace. She wasn’t sure why, but she wanted to make as much progress as she could. As they walked, the mare spotted several places that would make good shelters; it was a habit that she naturally fell into whenever evening drew near. Along the side of the road, the ash had gathered in thick drifts forming a ripple pattern, driven that way by the wind. The mare could also make out a small gully about sixty feet from the road on their left. They would probably camp down there tonight, using the ash as cover and camouflage. A sudden noise caused the mare to jump to attention. She motioned for the filly to stop, and she immediately fell silent. The mare lowered her hood, pricking her ears up, listening intently for… something. It was the slow creak that stood out to her first. It was the tortured scream of a wooden-metal hybrid used for much longer than its life should have permitted. The heavy sound of hoofsteps was what she heard next, each one causing a faint metallic clink - every sound heralding the approach of some unknown enemy. “Run!” she hissed to the filly, pushing her towards the gully off the side of the road. The filly, needing no more encouragement, ran as fast as her small legs would carry her, keeping her weight low to the ground to minimise the sound her hoof-falls made – just like her mother had taught her. The mare noticed the small puff of ash every step sent into the air and sent a silent prayer up to the Princesses that none of the ponies coming were any good at tracking. Her heart pounded ferociously as she dived below the small rise that formed the gully, pushing the filly down with her. A small cloud of ash floated around them, taking an agonizingly long time to settle. The two ponies waited with baited breath, the filly shaking with terror in the dirt. Slowly, cautiously, the mare stuck her head above the small ridge as she pulled up her hood. Using the ash as natural camouflage, she rested her head on the soot to blend into her surroundings. In this position, she waited, her heart pounding so loud that it would take a miracle for anypony not to hear it from the road. It took an excruciating amount of time before, finally, blurred shapes made themselves visible through the trees. The mare could make out a small procession, an old-style wooden carriage forming the centrepiece of this macabre parade. In front of the carriage and flanking it were about ten ponies, all dressed in strips of hardened fabric that was clearly meant to act as barding. Each pony was armed, an assortment of re-purposed farm tools or other crude items now far outside their intended purposes. The mare could make out six earth ponies and four unicorns. As always, there was not a single pegasus. The carriage itself was in sore need of repair, its wooden frame cracked and breaking, held together with thin sheets of rusty metal nailed crudely into the side. The wheels were buckled and bent, each revolution sending a high-pitch whine into the twilight. Behind the carriage lay the true horror of the procession. It sent a sickly chill down the mare’s spine. Being literally dragged behind were six ponies, all spectre-thin, bruised, and beaten. Underneath the loose rags that hung uselessly from their bodies, the mare could see every bone of their ribcages. The outside flesh clung pathetically to their battered frames. As the mare watched, one of the ponies collapsed, unable to move any further. Nopony around her seemed to care, and so her body now dragged by the neck from the rusty chains they all wore. The mare felt a surge of anger at the sight of these ponies, tortured and abused, without any food or protection. She wanted to scream in frustration. This was not how ponies were meant to be! Slowly, the procession moved past them, also heading towards the mountains. The mare began to breathe a sigh of relief. They were moving away. They hadn’t been noticed. They ha- The filly coughed. It was small, petite little sound. Perhaps some ash had gotten into her lungs. As quiet as it was, it almost echoed into the evening, timed perfectly right between one of the carriage’s squeals. The mare froze, horrified, as one of the armed ponies, a unicorn, snapped his head in their direction, listening intently. “Did ya hear that?” he said gruffly to one of his companions, his voice floating its way over to the mare. “Hear what?” the other pony said, stopping in his tracks, causing the whole procession to freeze. “I coulda swore I heard something over there,” the unicorn said defensively, motioning over to the gully. “Almost like a cough or a sneeze.” “Probably just a branch fallin’ or somethin’,” a third pony said, clearly frustrated. The second pony, who was probably in charge, merely nodded his head at the unicorn and started to walk towards the gully in which the mare and the filly were hiding, pulling out a dark butcher’s knife as he did. The unicorn quickly followed, levitating a wood-axe, looking cruel within a poison-green glow. The mare began to panic. If they were found, they would die. She contemplated running, but with the filly, they would not get far, and there was nowhere that they could hide nearby. Fighting was useless, especially with her small weapon against her opponents’. As the two ponies drew closer and closer, their dark gazes scanning the piles of ash, the mare looked down in panic. Her daughter was staring at her with wide eyes, filled with fear. With the filly staring up at her helplessly, the mare poised herself to act. She had to protect her filly, no matter the cost. She took a slow, deep breath, readying her muscles for action. “Well, you see anything?” the leader earth pony said, sticking his knife into the ash to speak. The unicorn took another few steps, now only a few feet from the mare’s hiding spot. He stared straight over the top of them, peering into the gloom of the gully beyond. From as close as they were, the mare could see how his eyes almost appeared sunken, the pupils much smaller than they should have been. They were the eyes of an animal. “Nah… But I swear…” he muttered in reply. “Come on!” the earth pony still back in the procession called out angrily. “It’ll be almost dark soon and we wanna make it to the west road by nightfall so we stay ahead of Butcher.” “He’s got a point,” the leader said. “It’s getting colder by the day and we want to be north of Manehatten in a less than two weeks.” “But…” “It was just a branch,” the earth pony snapped. “Let’s go.” The unicorn grumbled something incoherently before falling into step behind the earth pony, the magic holding his axe casting a sickly green glow onto the trees surrounding them. The mare, however, didn’t allow herself to relax until the procession had finally left their sight, once again becoming shadows lost in the rapidly fading daylight. As soon as she could no longer see them, the mare rolled over, her muscles cramped and aching from staying still for so long. “Thank you…” she whispered weakly to the sky, her legs shaking as the adrenalin started to leave. Next to the mare, her small body quivering, the filly began to cry.  They had camped a little ways back down the road where the gully had formed a small bend, providing excellent cover from the ridge above. The filly had barely said a word. The mare had cooked up a tin of beans over a small wooden fire - saving the gas for their stove - and the filly ate her half with mumbled thanks before falling back into a sullen silence. Out in the darkness the world was rapidly losing all visible structure. The mare made the filly some hot chocolate from the packet of cocoa she found back in the house, but even that failed to draw the small pony from her silent reflection. Up above in the mountains, the ridge continued to emit a faint glow, the fire having moved toward the other side of the jagged peaks. The mare was thankful; its infernal red light would have given the filly night-terrors. A lone candle sat burning inside the lantern the mare owned, its flickering light fighting an epic battle against the ever-encroaching darkness. Even the magnifying effect of the several reflective glass panels placed strategically inside the lantern resulted only in a small bubble of light, alone in the blinding darkness that was the night. She was reluctant to use the lantern, for not only was the light visible in the darkness, but it also wasted valuable candles. Regardless, the mare couldn’t shut the filly off from light, not yet. The mare also sat in silence. The bandits had spoken of taking the west road, the same path she had planned on using. And if what they had spoken about ‘Butcher’ was true, and more were behind them, it wouldn’t be safe. With the potential for so many bandits, they couldn’t use the roads. She knew that they would be coming south too, especially with winter coming, but she hadn’t expected to come so soon... Her stomach turned as she realised what her only other option was. They had to climb the mountains and use the pass on top of the ridge. It would already be snowing up there. It would be frozen and desolate. The mare felt a black spike that was as colourless as the night settle inside of her. She didn’t have a choice. “Mama?” the filly said suddenly, her voice small and unsure. “Yes, little one?” “Are we still going south?” “Yes, we are. We have to get home. And it’s too cold down here.” “But…” the filly began, the candle light only partly illuminating her terrified eyes. “Those… those ponies said they were going south, too.” “I know.” “So why are we going south? It’s dangerous down there. Those ponies could hurt us and if I cough again…” The filly had started to tear up now, her hooves hitting the ashen ground in frustration. “I won’t let anything happen to you. You will be safe,” was all the mare could say in reply. Her promise sounded empty in her own ears, a meaningless verse recited from memory like a school play rather than any real ability to fulfill her pledge. The filly hung her head as a few small tears fell into the ash. She fell silent for a moment, staring at the ground. “Mama?” she finally asked, looking up at her mother pleadingly, tears glistening in her eyes. “Yes?” “Do you love me?” The question took the mare by surprise. She quickly tried to recover. “Yes, of course I do.” “Do you really?” “Yes, more than anything in the world.” She meant it, too. “Do… do you love me more than home, Mama?” the filly asked, her voice pitiful as she pleaded against the darkest fears inside her own head. The mare’s heart broke. “Yes, I do. I love you more than home. I love you more than anything, little one.” The filly burst into tears and threw herself at her mother, wrapping both of her forelegs around her neck. The mare held her close as she let out the stress of the day’s events. “I love you, Mama,” the filly finally whispered into the mare’s shoulder. The mare didn’t reply and instead held her daughter as close as she could. She began to rock back and forward, holding back silent despair as the darkness closed in around them. A/N: Thank you to everyone for reading! I sincerely hoped you enjoyed it. I am very excited for this story, and it is shaping up to be quite epic! I would like to thank Dacaz5 and Paladin3510 for their work on the amazing cover art. Be sure to check out Paladin’s DA page if you like Assassins Creed or any of Brent Week’s work. His drawings are spectacular! http://paladin3510.deviantart.com/ Also, a massive thank you to my editor, Sessalisk, for helping me to such an incredible extent with this story. It means so much! Questions? Comments? I appreciate feedback of any kind, so please let me know how you are finding it! Thank you again to everyone for reading!