A Dream of Pride and Envy

by Tundara

Part Two

A Dream of Pride and Envy
By Tundara

Third among the Great Sins is Anger. For she whom clouds her judgement with wrathful thoughts will be easily lead astray.

Celestia stood on a low hill, barely a hillock, overlooking a wide expanse of yellow, brittle grass. Dew clung to her lower legs and wings in the misty early morning. Within the hour, Sol would crest the low hills and trees to the east, burning away the faint moisture. Celestia savoured these last moments of peace, taking a deep breath of the surprisingly cool breeze before surveying her legions for the hundredth time.

Spread out across that almost barren ground were ten thousand unicorn. A dry streambed cut across the plain, forming a shallow, rocky ditch in front of her army that lead to the base of a second, taller hill. Within the streambed at the base of the hill were a contingent of three hundred dragoons, the honoured knights trained in the ancient arts of slaying dragons, hidden from the enemy beneath nets and illusions. Atop the hill behind the dragoons stood Celestia’s ballistas and a contingent of archers, while to her left, crouched down in the shadows of the forest—an equally dry cluster of thin twigs and parched leaves—were five thousand pegasus warriors.

The unicorn legion was a modern marvel of military tactics and engineering, easily the rival for the pegasi clans or the griffon cataphracts. The pegasi, impressed with the unity and solidarity showed among the unicorn infantry, had even started to refer to themselves as legions, taking such names as the Stormthunder Legion or Bladewind Legion, based on their old clan names.

Though not as well trained as their pegasus cousins in individual combat, or as heavily armoured as the griffons, the unicorns were a perfect blend of discipline and design. Their coats dyed a uniform white—this being the Solar Army—unicorn units moved and fought as a single entity. When one soldier fell, her—or rarely, his—place was immediately filled. More defensive in nature than the griffons, unicorn formations rarely charged, preferring a practice of wearing down their opponents.

At the forefront marched the pikemare cohorts, their hooves thundering in perfect synchronicity, the light of Sol glinting off shields and the heads of long hafted pikes. Across their backs and flanks they wore armour of brine-hardened cotton dyed a vibrant amber. The material was tough, lighter and more flexible than steel, and cheaper to produce than chainmail. It wasn’t perfect, unable to maintain enchantments like a metal cuirass, or the ease of repair chainmail enjoyed. The second units were comprised of bowmares, their recurve bows whittling down the enemy and keeping the griffons from diving down into the pikemares’ ranks.

Unlike the precise formations of the unicorns, the pegasi were in loose clumps and huddles, crouched down in the forest as they sharpened their ancestral weapons and meditated, gathering their magic. They glanced out from their hiding places towards the banners flying proudly on Celestia’s hill, or to the approaching griffon army.

The joint unicorn-pegasus army was the first of its kind, combining the martial might of the Pegasus Empire with the magical prowess of Unicornia. It was truly a force to be reckoned with, grinding the shocked griffon watch-posts beneath a relentless march and, for the first time in recorded history, defeating the griffons in open battle, reclaiming land thought lost.

Enraged at their losses, stinging from the raids to their supplies, and with the threat of being cut off from their empire looming, the griffons rallied, pulling together a vast force that dwarfed the Solar Legion.

In tangled, uneven lines and masses, the griffon infantry advanced, lacking any sense of cohesion or direction. Comprised mostly of zebras with minotaur and griffon commanders, the bulk of the griffons’ army was only griffon in name. Twenty thousand zebra mercenaries, their striped coats hidden beneath clay red lamellar armour, emitted war-whoops and a chorus of ringing yells, taunting the ponies. Spears strapped to their right sides, while they wore bladed greaves and tusked helmets. Towering above the zebras, each stride equally twenty of the equines, several shackled giants lumbered. Cyclops, the giants held trees as crude clubs, their bulbous, hairless hides covered by an assortment of barbed chains and heavy iron plates.

Behind the zebras, flying in tight, precise formations, were the griffons themselves, resplendent in their shining chainmail and plate cuirasses, long spears at the ready, and swords tucked beneath wings, ready to be pulled free. Trained since birth for warfare, the cataphracts were the elite among the griffons. They had managed to slip away the previous summer, sacrificing their lesser brethren rather than stand their ground and be encircled. Their favoured tactic against ponies was to fly high then dive down into the middle of the ponies ranks where they would disrupt and savage anything they encountered.

Celestia had no intention of allowing the griffon cataphracts to dive on her little ponies. The griffons had become acutely aware that such a tactic was now flawed, as the ponies had shown them the previous year on these very same fields. Archers and wizards kept one eye skyward, waiting for any griffon foolish enough to draw near, while the balistea had been fitted with what their crews referred to as ‘bird shot’, with predictable grim smiles. The skies above her army would be a decidedly deadly place for any griffon—or pony—to find themselves.

“They are advancing, just as you said they would, Commander,” Celestia commented to the pegasus at her side.

Commander Hurricane, considered by many to be the most brilliant tactician in generations, was a small, frail creature. Her stubby wings, often buzzing like those of a bee when she was directing a battle, hugged her embossed armour, a few jitters revealing Hurricane’s mounting excitement. She was also surprisingly young, not yet even reaching the age of majority within her clan. It was a testament to her ruthless intellect and drive that at fifteen Hurricane held the rank of Commander, and was already being considered as a potential High Commander.

Flicking back her cobalt and ruby mane, Hurricane glanced up at Celestia and nodded, her oversized helmet rolling on her head.

“They will attempt to use the giants to break our lines, naturally.” Hurricane gave a series of foalish giggles. “We must bring them down before they can succeed.”

“Of course,” Celestia gave the little pony a warm smile, before turning to the pony on her other side. “Your thoughts, Sombra?”

“I agree with the Commander, of course,” the slate-grey General-Prince intoned in his low, gruff voice, his hungry, red eyes sweeping over the assembled armies. “I expected them to bring more of the brutes, though. Our spies indicated they had a dozen in the aerie. For what purpose would they bring only half?”

“Perhaps they underestimate us?” Celestia shrugged her wings. “I wish Star Swirl and Clover were here. He might be able to deduce the griffons’ motives, or have learned something in Marelencia.” Nodding to a nearby banner-mare, she added, “Signal the ridge. They may proceed.”

Horns blared in the late-morning air, rolling across the fields as banners were raised.

Down in the cohorts, the pilus prior gave the orders to set pikes. In a single, resounding clash that reached Celestia’s ears a half-mile away, the pikes were set and lowered, shields raised, while on the second hill the first twang of a ballistea being released was heard. Within moments a hundred bolts, each weighing fifty kilograms, were sailing through the air towards the griffons’ ranks.

Upon reaching the apex of their flight, the enchantments placed upon the bolts activated, turning each into a lance of ruby-orange fire. Each sizzled and crackled as it fell towards the griffon ranks, only to abruptly vanish as they struck magical shields created by the griffon’s warlocks. A few, finding gaps, fell among the infantry where they detonated in plums of searing fire, burning everything with several lengths. But not nearly as many as Celestia had hoped. Not that her plan required any land a fatal blow.

Purposefully sloppy in their aim and slow to re-arm their weapons, it took what felt an eternity before the second volley was launched.

The griffons and their allies continued to advance, as predicted. Celestia grimaced as the archers began to work, storms of black feathered arrows loosed as quick as bows could be drawn and notched. Scores fell on either side in the first few minutes alone, the wizards and warlocks not able to expend precious mana in the futile effort of stemming the tide. Shields of wood and metal took the place of spells, and armour proved its worth: saving many.

A triple blast of horns from the griffons’ ranks signaled their charge, the ground trembling under thousands of hooves, a great plume of dust kicked into the crystal blue sky. On and on they charged, racing across the dry fields as arrows rained from above. Many of those that fell were trampled by their fellows, the tight press of bodies staying any attempts to maneuver.

Celestia wore a grim smile as the zebra and griffon front lines fell. She didn’t concern herself much with the common infantry, instead focusing on the giants, the lumbering brutes slow to reach the ponies despite their size.

From within the 4th cohort the first of many war-spells were cast, a pure rune five pony-lengths wide conjured within the cohort’s centre. While one solar cabalist maintained the rune, two others channelled aether into the slowly spinning golden circle. Brighter and brighter it grew until few could look upon it without being blinded. With a deafening ‘whoomph’ the rune attained its fill, a tremendous bolt of fire in imitation of Sol’s roiling surface issued from its core towards the nearest giant.

The poor beast hardly had time to realise it was in danger. Celestia closed her eyes, unable to watch the spell perform its grim task, knowing the giant, even with its natural resistance to magic, would not survive such an attack.

Each group of wizards, one per cohort, laid a giant low in the first volley. There was no time to attempt a second, the remaining giants thundering into the ponies’ lines. Not that Celestia’s plans, approved by Hurricane and Sombra, called for the wizards to cast another round of such spells. In addition to being too heavy a toll on their reserves of mana, it was unnecessary.

From the grass, the back-ranks of the cohorts hefted pikes attached to thick chains. These unicorns, each selected for the strength of the telekinesis, hurled the weapons. Barbed heads cut through exposed flesh and bone, or pierced the giant’s shoddy armour. The brutes howls of rage and pain rose above those of the ponies, griffons, and zebras locked into mortal battle around them..

“It is done,” Hurricane confirmed as the final giant was dragged to the ground where ponies drove their pikes into the brutes necks, eyes, and bellies.

“We may begin Phase Two then,” Celestia said in a mixture of relief and anticipation. “Have…”

Celestia’s voice trailed off as she noticed him, a vile blackness transversing through the griffon ranks, the equines scattering out of his path until he stood at the army’s head. The land sickened and died around him, grass withering, flowers wilting, and a low hiss of death suffocating the air.

“Amon…” Celestia hissed the demon’s name, taking a half-step forward, only to be stopped by the touch of a hoof to her withers.

“Your Grace, no,” Sombra said, giving his head a shake, fear clear in his eyes.

“I will not allow my ponies to face that… beast without me,” Celestia growled, drawing Dawn, her blade singing with the thrill of the battle to come.

“The Solar Cabal is here, we will deal with the demon,” Sombra removed his hoof, nodding to his fellow war wizards.

“I…” Celestia glanced back at the faces of the Solar Cabal, all friends and confidants. She’d known them all since they were apprentices, often helping their masters teach them, and then helping them teach their own successors. The idea of letting any one of them face a demon lord filled her with a terrible dread, her jaw tensing and wings extending.

Each looked at her with stern and grim determination. They knew what they’d face down below, and, though each was afraid, every wizard present would mirror their leader’s sentiments if asked.

“Go,” Celestia said, a terrible weight pressing down on her heart.

She knew that she would not see most of them again.

The relief in most of the wizards’ eyes did little to assuage the guilt.

Turning to the rest of the cabal, Sombra said, “Come my sisters and brothers. Glory awaits us, for today a Lord of Tartarus will be struck down by mortal hooves.”

He thrust his twin sabre’s high, rising onto his back hooves and kicking the air before charging forward. The wizards gave a singular whoop and then followed Sombra down the hill. Hurricane glanced over from where she stood, but said nothing.

Celestia began to pace, her eyes frequently darting between the wizards charging through her army’s ranks towards the demon. She stopped to give orders, her attention called away, needed to direct the right flank of her forces in the planned slow-retreat, their hooves drumming across the parched earth. Pikes clashed as they were lowered and set. The twang of four thousand bows reaching Celestia’s ears the same moment a great flash and bang reverberated from the central battle.

Dark, vile magic stung Celestia’s senses, making her draw back a step.

A hole had been blasted into the 3rd cohort of her central legion, two hundred ponies slain or maimed for life in an instant. Into the void, the zebras charged, surging around Amon as the demon cackled.

Their advance was halted almost at once, the 2nd and 4th cohorts rallying to the beleaguered 3rd’s aid. Her entire force began to swing in like the pincers of a giant crab.

Celestia stared in disbelief. “No, it’s too early!”

Her plan centered on having the entire griffon army engaged before slowly drawing them towards the hills on which she and her artillery sat. Once they’d reached the proper point, the dragoons and pegasi would charge forward and envelop the griffons, pressing on either flank. The griffons would not be in position yet, and without assistance the entire Solar Army was in threat of being ground beneath the numerically superior griffon army.

“Signal the Dragoons to strike and then withdraw, and have the 8th take the 3rds place,” Celestia ordered Hurricane. “We must lessen the griffons advance now and give time for the 3rd to recover, if it can.”

Commander Hurricane didn’t protest, relaying Celestia’s orders to the signal ponies.

At the heart of the hard-pressed 3rd cohort, the Solar Cabal had reached Amon.

He towered above the ponies, an imposing figure of evil and dire portents. His owlish head slowly traversed across the battlefield, ignoring everything, even the wizards, fixating on Celestia’s position. The muscles along the back of his lupine body tensed, and with a flick of his long serpentine tail he sent a dozen soldiers hurtling away. Angular teeth glinted in his beak when he smiled, a predatory grin filled with the deepest of loathing.

Magic flashed and sizzled, lightning, fire, and beams of pure frost launched from the wizards towards Amon. With a wave of his claws he halted the onslaught and countered. Angry green fire, black tendrils of foul, hissing aether crackling the edges, struck down one then two wizards.

“Celestia!” He bellowed across the field of trampled bodies and blood. “Face me yourself, foal! Or is the alicorn brat so afraid to face an equal that she sends mortals to fall in her stead?”

Her jaw tightened, Celestia was unable to watch idly any longer. Tightening the straps on her armour, she gathered her magic.

“Commander, I leave this to you,” she said as she launched herself skyward in a burning tempest of golden flames.

Arching back to the disc, Celestia conjured a series of solar orbs, shards of Sol’s might and flame.

Copies of Sol in miniature, Celestia clutched the orbs beneath her wings. A warcry ripped from her throat as she hurled the shards ahead of her. Celestia’s aim proved true, the solar orbs striking the ground between her friends and the demon. Each blossomed into a crimson wave of scorching embers and choking ash, flooding over Amon and the griffon army. Celestia winced as the spell cleared. Amon stood unfazed within a protective shield, while behind him hundreds of zebras and griffons lay dead, their bodies charred and blackened.

Celestia landed a moment later only a few strides from Amon.

No taunts were issued as alicorn and demon crashed into each other with a shattering report. Celestia’s blade slashed towards Amon’s exposed back, only to be slapped aside by the demon’s tail. At once, Celestia was set onto the back of her hooves, forced to give ground before Amon’s smashing tail, slashing claws and snapping beak. Seeing an opening, she ducked low and then shot forward, horn leading the way like a lance. Around herself she summoned a righteous inferno, gold-ruby fire spreading from the edges of her wings and bursting along hoof and horn.

A pleased grin died half-made on her lips, her strike inches from landing when Amon became nothing but smoke and the tangy taste of sulfur. Up he flew, rolling over Celestia to land at her back, spitting a gout of pestilent green aether before he’d fully reformed. A dome of spinning coronal energy rose around Celestia, roaring as it accepted and split Amon’s magic, forcing twin tongues into the griffons’ ranks.

“Where is Faust?” Amon screeched, his tail slamming into Celestia’s shield and shattering the dome. With a flap of her wings, Celestia put some distance between herself and the demon. “Where is your mother that I may tear her filthy, treacherous tongue from her mouth? Or does she sacrifice a daughter to spare her own hide?”

The demon lord didn’t wait for a response, kicking up great clods as he began to charge across the field, crushing any being that stood in his path. Griffon, zebra, and pony alike were hurled aside, a shrill screeching tearing the summer air. He crossed the hundred yards separating them in a final bound, leaping high as sickly magic coated his paws.

Bracing herself, Celestia brought her sword up in a precise guard. The steel blade hummed as it accepted Amon’s blow, holding for a precarious moment before pushing the demonic lord back.

Each of Celestia’s steps sent small tremors through the ground as she drew on Sol’s might to augment her own strength. Dawn sang with magic pouring into the eldritch metal through Celestia’s grip, her hooves and determination set.

Neither army comprehended the danger nestled in their midst, too intent on the other. They continued their pointless maneuvers and fighting, only to be struck dumb as a great and terrible surge of magic swept across the lands, sensed as far away as the coast and the distant mountain fortresses.

Again and again Celestia and Amon clashed, unleashing all their magic and spells, burning the land and scalding the sky. Those that stumbled too close fell instantly, slain by the wild bands of spent aether.

It was Celestia who took the fight into the sky, unable to watch as fragments of her magic struck ponies down. Amon followed, swimming through the air like a serpent through water. No more than a pair of dark specs they were so high, alicorn and demon rejoined their battle, while below the armies continued theirs.

The warhorns of the commanders and centurions became useless, unheard over the din of clashing steel, the screams of the dying, and the tremendous booming thunder overhead. Slowly, the ponies rallied even as they gave ground, falling back to their planned positions.

At Hurricane’s order, the archers hidden atop the hills began to fire, their arrows joining those of those fired from the cohorts on the field, while the ballistae crews began to fire at a feverish pace themselves. From the forest, the pegasi emerged like a giant, living spear, slamming into the griffon’s exposed flank.

Too late, the griffon general realised his predicament, his army encircled by the ponies. The field turned into a grinding mess, confusion sweeping through the griffons and zebras as the dragoons, having retreated after their earlier strike, returned to complete the trap. Like the drawing of a noose, the ponies tightened, squeezing their enemy, grinding them into the muddy earth.

Then the sky was sundered.

And Celestia fell.

Fourth among the Great Sins is Avarice. For true wealth is not found in gold or silver, but in the herd.

“The second battle of Airagos!” Daring’s voice cut through the half-filled classroom like an arrow, only to end in a gasping cough. In a calmer, less forceful voice, she started again. “The second battle of Airagos… Can anypony tell me its significance.”

There were a few confused murmurs, some of the students looking to their classmates. One brave soul lifted her hoof. “Professor, weren’t we studying the…”

The student’s voice drifted off as she wilted, lowering her head until her eyes barely peaked over her desk, pressed down by the baleful glare leveled on her by Daring.

“That was the battle that ended griffon dominion over the western old queendoms in what’s now Espanya, Professor.”

“Correct!” Daring gave the student—Lyre Heartstrong, if Daring remembered correctly—a wide smile. Leaning forward, her smile turning almost predatory, she followed up with, “And who were the generals involved?”

“Commander Hurricane and… I’m not sure who the griffon general was… I’m sorry professor.” The minty coloured unicorn frowned, her ears falling a little.

“Nevermind, Lyre,” Daring said as she nodded to Plumb Bob, her assistant lowering a map showing the middle regions of Espanya as it looked fifteen centuries previous.

Unheard by Daring, the unicorn said, “My name’s Lyra…”

“You’re only partially correct. While our texts do say this was one of Hurricane’s earliest battles, she was only fifteen at the time, they also say this battle was the site of her only defeat, losing six thousand ponies of the Solar Legions in the space of a day. Isn’t that odd?”

Daring had her pupils’ attention fully, the eager young ponies leaning forward, fully expecting their teacher to enter into one of her typical tangents and stories.

“What do you mean, professor?” The earlier student, a sky-blue coated unicorn, tilted her head curiously.

“Only that Hurricane, as a pegasus, wouldn’t have been able to command the Solar Legions, as they were a unicorn army dedicated solely to Celestia, and answering only to her.” With what was supposed to be a triumphant flourish, Daring snatched up her chalk-stick, and wrote in bold letters, ‘History is a tailored lie’, underlining the words for emphasis.

“Are you saying the Celestia was at the battle, professor?”

“Yes, she would have had to have been,” Daring nodded her head.

“Then, why isn’t it in the books?” A beige toned earth pony with scrolls for a cutie mark asked. Daring wasn’t surprised to see an open textbook on the pony’s desk. “It says here—”

“History, students, isn’t about what has been, but about what we need to know.” Daring began to slowly pace, her pronounced limp making her frame wobble and roll with each step. “Would it amaze you to learn that Celestia had a sister and a cousin?” A low murmur rippled through the class. “Or that she almost died at the second battle of Airagos?” There were a few mutinous snorts. “What about if—”

The door to Daring’s classroom opened, and there in the crooked wooden frame appeared the face of Dean Periwinkle, his round face a bright red beneath his slate coat. An elder unicorn, Periwinkle was Daring’s oldest friend. He’d been the one to introduce Daring and Yearling, and had even joined her on a few of her earlier adventures.

“Daring, a word, if you please,” Dean Periwinkle said, indicating with a twist of his head that she should follow him into the corridor.

Suppressing a groan, only barely, Daring followed the dean.

“What in Celestia’s mane is wrong with you, Daring?” Dean Periwinkle rounded on Daring the moment the door closed.

“Excuse me?” Daring narrowed her eyes into a glare that she usually reserved for ponies (or griffons) she was getting ready to kick.

“I’ve been getting complaints, Daring. Letters from students saying your teaching… blasphemous things. Celestia almost dying? And this nonsense that unicorns used to be able to dream more than once a year.”

“I have proof, Peri, if—”

“I don’t want to hear it, Daring,” Periwinkle sighed, rubbing the side of his head. “You’re a good friend, Daring, and you’ve done Tartarus knows how much for not only this school, but for Equestria. Tartarus, you saved my life twice… no, three times. I keep forgetting about Stalliongrad. But that doesn’t give you carte blanche rights to just tell your classes anything.”

“Aren’t we supposed to teach our students the truth, Peri?”

Periwinkle seemed to shrink, the bluster fading from his face. He grew very old within a few moments. Old, and tired. Wandering over to a window placed in the door to Daring’s classroom, Periwinkle stared at the students as they milled around and waited for their professor to return.

“I’m not sure, to be honest, my friend.”

Stepping up to her old friend, Daring laid a wing on Periwinkle’s wither. “Come to my office. I have something to show you.” Popping her head into the room, Daring dismissed the class.

She then lead Periwinkle to her office, closing and locking the door behind her as they entered.

“Oh, Celestia, I know that look.” Periwinkle frowned as Daring made her way to her desk and pulled the journal out of the drawer. “That look means nothing but trouble.”

Ignoring the comment, Daring placed the journal on a silk cloth. Beside it she laid down the pinion and the large roll of golden packing cloth. She then retrieved a second journal, the one containing the translation.

“These came for me a couple weeks ago.” Daring explained the packages arrival, and the initial discoveries and revelations within the journal.

Putting on his glasses, Periwinkle read first the letter that accompanied the package, and then the translated journal. His brow knitted further and further as he delved deeper into its pages, until his eyes were just skimming the words, mouth pinched into a hard line. The only sounds in the office were Daring’s troubled breaths, the rustle of a page being turned, and the ticking of a clock.

“This can’t be accurate!” He eventually exclaimed, slamming the journal shut. “If half, no, a tenth, of what this thing holds is true…” Periwinkle gave the journal a look of extreme distaste, standing sharply. “All this about Iridia being the Springbringer… The Springbringer abandoned ponykind to sleep at the worlds edge, not… not try to exterminate us! And I can’t say I blame her either! And Namyra for that matter! There were more alicorns than just… This is… This is dangerous, Daring. Very dangerous.”

“Dangerous? I thought I was supposed to be the paranoid one out of us, Peri.”

Periwinkle rounded on Daring, his expression one of mixed terror and anger.

Snarling, he said, “This is no time to be glib, Daring!” Hoof thrust at the journal, he added, “Don’t you realise what that could do? It undermines everything the sisterhood has preached for a thousand years!”

“No need for hyperbole, Peri.” Daring rolled her eyes, carefully putting the journal away, but leaving out the pinion and cloth.

Settling into Daring’s chair, Periwinkle was silent for several minutes, his gaze fixed on something beyond the horizon. Occasionally his ear would tick or twist, but otherwise there was no movement. Daring leaned against a wall, waiting for Periwinkle to process what he’d learned.

“Does Yearling know?” He eventually asked, lifting his head slowly.

“We sent her a telegram… But had to be careful what was in it.”

“Quite right, quite right.” Periwinkle stood abruptly, his movements jerky and uncertain as he hurried to the door. “I… I need time to think, old friend. Just, for the love of Celestia, stop teaching this… this… blasphemy to the students.”

Daring didn’t say anything as the door snapped shut at Periwinkle’s hooves. She just took a deep breath, went to her desk, and brushed a wing against the golden cloth. Warmth and life radiated from the cotton strands, tingling along sore muscle and sinew, and allowing Daring to stretch her wing just a little more, her breaths coming a little easier.

Fifth among the Great Sins is Gluttony. For she who consumes without regard for the morrow leaves nothing for her foals.

Namyra poked her head into the kitchen, her ears pressed flat to her head, and body low so that her belly fur tickled across the red tiles. Seeing Sister Hawthorn busy with the evening stew—carrots, potatoes, and leeks—Namyra scooted through the door. While the smell coming from the large, black cauldron was enticing with its rare delicacies not found anywhere else in Unicornia, or any other land inhabited by ponies for that matter, it was not her goal. Zipping under the table, Namyra inched her way towards the fat pottery jar that sat on the shelf next to the jar of hard licorice and baskets of bread.

Nose sticking out between a pair of low stools, Namyra checked the cook’s position; unmoved from the bubbling stew, her antlers dancing with magic as she added spices and herbs.

Safety assured, Namyra—carefully—ignited her own magic and—very gently—lifted one of the stools and—slowly—moved it next to the shelves. Biting her tongue in concentration, she set the stool down. Namyra winced as it clattered. Sister Hawthorn raised her head from the stew, ears pricking towards the noise. Glancing over her withers to the rest of the kitchen, the cook gave a small shrug, and muttered, “Must have been the rats again.”

Breathing a relieved sigh, Namyra tip-hoofed out from her hiding spot.

She’d just mounted the stool when Sister Hawthorn added, “Yes, particularly that great, big, winged rat. Always trying to nip into the biscuits when her mother is away. A real troublemaker, that one is.”

“Am not,” Namyra countered, well away that the game had been lost, and with it the sweet prize. Returning the stool to it’s proper place, she asked, “What gave me away? It was the noise of the stool, wasn’t it.”

“No, Your Grace, it was your perfume, actually.” Sister Hawthorn replied, leaving the stew to join Namyra at the table. “The one Luna gave you for your birthday. I think it’s gone a bit… off.”

“‘Off’?” Namyra replied, turning her head to sniff at her wings. She pulled her head back at once, the sharp, pungent aroma assaulting her tender nose. “But, it’s not that old…”

Sister Hawthorn laughed as she retrieved the cookie jar and removed from it a pair of ginger snaps. “Your Grace, she gave that to you for your first centennial…”

“Oh,” Namyra’s cheeks coloured as she realised what the sister meant. “Was it that long ago?”

“Will be a hundred in a few months, if I’m not mistaken.” Sister Hawthorn tapped a cookie to her chin while she passed the other to Namyra. “Hard to imagine a little scamp like you being five times my age.”

“Perks of being a goddess,” Namyra replied, as she’d done with all the previous sisters that had lived and died in the manor. She bit into the ginger snap, savouring its sharp, spicy flavour.

She was about to bite into it again when a familiar presence struck her senses, filling the back of her mind with a turbulent glow.

“Celestia’s back!” Namyra sang, jumping from her stool. She stopped halfway to the door as Sister Merryhawk’s shrill scream rattled the manor.

Hooves stampeded above Namyra’s head, the dulled voices of the other sisters echoing throughout the building. Namyra scooted back a few paces from the door that lead up to the main floor, glancing back at Sister Hawthorn. The middle-aged cook had a look of bewildered worry on her long face, her mouth pinched into a dangerous line.

“Behind me, Your Grace, something is a-hoof,” Hawthorn commanded, her soft demeanor vanishing. From their place above the mantle, she took a short bladed sword and shield, taking a stance between the filly and the door.

Hooves thundered down the stairs leading from the main floor to the sister’s quarters and kitchens, the door bursting open a moment later to reveal an ashen faced Sister Brightwick.

“Hot water and clean towels. All of them.” Sister Brightwick’s blue eyes were wide and wild with terror, her breaths short. Namyra scooted back from the normally docile sister, her own eyes fixating on the golden stains across the front of Sister Brightwick’s robes. Stains that extended down the sister’s legs and dripped from her hooves.

Namyra trembled as Celestia’s aether flowed from the golden marks, twisting across the tiles and creeping along Sister Brightwich’s robes.

“What has happened?” Hawthorn demanded even as she set blade and shield aside to fetch the towels and water.

“It’s too… I can’t…” Brightwick leaned against the frame of the door, her entire body shaking, eyes pinched shut.

Namyra took a timid step towards the sister. She’d known Brightwick since she’d been a foal having just gained her mark. Over the years, thirty or forty by now, Namyra had never seen her be anything but reserved smiles.

Another scream, this one of pain and not fear, filled the manor. Namyra knew the voice all too well, her ears pressing flat as she whispered, “Celestia?”

She repeated the name, taking off for the stairs in a terrified dash.

“Your Grace, wait!” Hawthorn shouted after Namyra, reaching for the filly. Her attempt too slow, weighed down as it was with the towels and water pots.

Namyra took the stairs two at a time, bursting onto the main floor and making for the wide stairs that lead to the bedchambers. Along the way she encountered the other sisters, all with expressions of dread or anger on their faces, and a splattered golden trail. Following the droplets, Namyra found herself led to the closest of the guest chambers. Inside Tempered stood with Star Swirl, Clover, and Sister Tigertail. The four were in the midst of a linked spell, their magics intertwining as they formed a dozen chaotic runes together into a healing weave.

“Pexus, use Pexus!” Clover shouted above the humming bands of aether. “If we’re going to save her wing, we must use Pexus. Not Remus. This isn’t some flesh wound.”

“Of course, of course,” Star Swirl cried, eyes pressed so tight tears ran down the length of his muzzle. “Clever, Clover, very clever.”

“We don’t have time for the wing. Her life is—”

“Just do it!” Clover shrieked, sparks flying from the tip of her horn.

The motes of aether struck the bed, and the pony laying upon it. From the size and energy radiating across the room Namyra knew it was Celestia, but the figure looked nothing like her cousin. Her coat was caked in a dull, ruddy-brown mud, and her mane hung in tangled pinks locks, filled with twigs and other things Namyra couldn’t identify. Celestia’s left shoulder was a mess of torn flesh and bone, her wing pressed against the ghastly wound.

For a few moments Namyra was confused as magic coiled around the base of the wing, pink and indigo aether forming muscle and sinew-like bindings. Slowly, she realised the spell was having to regrow the tissue, that Celestia’s wing had been severed through means Namyra couldn’t guess.

Namyra trembled, falling back to hide beneath a table as Celestia renewed her screaming and thrashed upon the bed.

“Hold her down!” Tempered bellowed, a trio of sisters appearing to follow the command.

For what seemed like hours, but was perhaps just a few minutes, sisters darted in and out of the room, taking turns holding Celestia down while the healing spell was channelled. Namyra pressed her face into the floor, hooves over her ears whenever Celestia made a noise. She only lifted her head when she felt the return of her mother.

Iridia thundered into the room, her expression darkening as she took in the sight before her.

“Tigertail, I will take your place,” Iridia commanded, calling on her magic and relieving the exhausted sister.

Sister Tigertail didn’t protest. She just stumbled out of the casting circle, collapsing next to Namyra and instantly falling into a deep sleep.

Namyra jumped as a hoof touched her withers, just between the wings. Looking up she saw a sooty face framed in a black beard and tangled mane.

“Come, little one, this is no place for a filly,” Sombra said, lifting Namyra up and placing her upon his back, wrapping the edges of his scarlet cloak around her like a blanket.

She didn’t protest as he carried her out into the hallway and to the evening salon. Along the way, the sisters they passed shot him warning looks, but did not stop or even speak to either of them. When he reached the salon, Sombra set Namyra down on the navy blue cushion that matched her coat.

“Who are you?” Namyra clutched her favourite cushion, her voice shaking and wings jittering.

Sombra wore a look of cold fury, his upper lip pulled back to reveal draconian fangs. A red eye flickered to Namyra, making her shy away from the stranger, before returning to the walls dividing the salon from the bedchambers.

“Sombra, of the Royal House,” he said, his voice dull and flat, devoid of emotion.

“What… what happened? Who did that to my cousin?” Namyra demanded, watching the doorway with puffy eyes.

Before Sombra could reply, the door was pushed open, Star Swirl and Clover staggering into the room. The old wizard collapsed onto a bench, his face drawn and pale beneath his coat, while Clover made her way to a window.

“How’s…?” Namyra clamped her mouth shut, unable to fully form her question.

Starting at Namyra’s voice, Star Swirl glanced over to the filly. “We do not know, child. The Springbringer is with her still. I do not know where she finds the reserves to continue casting. I have not seen the like before.”

“Mother will heal Celestia.” Namyra swallowed a painful lump in her throat. “She has to…”

“I do not know if even her power will be enough, child.” Star Swirl stretched a little, his old bones popping and creaking. “We will know by the morrow.”

The group fell into a sullen silence. Waves of magic washed over Namyra from Celestia’s room for what seemed like an eternity, while Sol hovered low on the horizon, the sky a terrible, dull orange.

The stars woke.

Selene rose.

A clock struck midnight, and then one, and still Sol refused to set.

Somepony brought tea and sandwiches around three in the morning.

No pony touched them.

Luna arrived just before four.

Much like Celestia, Luna wore a suit of full-plate, dents and tears criss-crossing its surface. Her usually flowing mane was matted down the left side of her face, clinging to the side of her muzzle and partially hiding a shallow cut. Dried red mud flaked off her greaves and hooves whenever she moved. She walked with a slight limp, favouring her left side, and doing her best to show more irritation than pain.

With her she carried a grisly trophy; a leg dripping a black, ichorous fluid. It twitched and the talons flexed as if it were trying to crawl out of Luna’s grasp.

She marched into the room, took one look out the window, and snorted.

“Stubborn old mule,” was all she said before turning to leave.

As she did, Luna hesitated, her gaze lingering on Sombra for a few moments, a deep loathing twisting her countenance, before moving on.

“Your Grace,” Star Swirl called after Luna. “What in all that is holy, is that?”

Luna paused, looking over her withers at the group.

“Amon tried to take my sister’s wing. I took his leg.”

Then she was gone, heading towards Celestia’s room.

Star Swirl just shook his head, while Clover said, “If only we’d been faster, Master.”

“Hush, child. There is nothing more we could have done.”

His words had the effect of making Clover snap her head away from the window. “If we hadn’t dawdled so long in Marelencia. If we’d warned Celestia that it was Amon she’d be facing, and not some common soldier of Tartarus.”

“And what would that have accomplished?” Sombra snorted, stamping a hoof before marching towards the filly. She pressed her ears back and took a few steps away from Sombra. “A wave of his talons and Amon slew hundreds! The entire Solar Cabal stood before him, and he laughed as he turned aside our spells. You think the three of us amount to anything against such power?”

“Hush, Sombra—”

“We are nothing to them. Ants to be crushed beneath their hooves at a whim. They hold so much power. The ability to reshape the disc to their will. And what do they use it for? Bickering like common foals. One of them is a foal! They squander their might… It isn’t right, Star Swirl.” Sombra began to pace as he spoke, shooting dark, envious looks towards Namyra whenever he passed her cushion.

At five Iridia appeared, her eyes downcast and haunted. With her was Tempered, the priestess hiding her worries well.

“I have received word from my sister, my little dream,” Iridia said to Namyra, ignoring the other ponies as if they were no more than paintings on the wall.

“Celestia… Is she…?”

“She will recover, in time.” Iridia turned to Clover, bowing her head slightly. “Thanks to you, Clover the Clever. Your actions made all the difference this eve.”

The filly sat, stunned, her eyes huge and mouth hanging open.

“The Clever?” she repeated the words with infinite caution, as if saying them could cause them to shatter.

“I think it is a most fitting title, and one earned well.”

“Hear, hear!” Star Swirl thumped a hoof, or tried to in his weary state.

Slowly, a wide grin grew on Clover’s face, tears of joy glimmering in her eyes.

“Now, until Amon is found and sent back to Tartarus, you are to have a guardian at all times.” This was said to Namyra. “Luna is with Celestia now, and Tempered will remain by your side. You are to listen to her, Namyra. Am I understood?”

“Yes, mother.” Namyra gave a sullen grumble, ears pressed flat and not looking at Iridia.

“Good, now give your mother a kiss before I leave.”

Namyra did as told, jumping up to wrap her hooves around Iridia’s neck and hold her close for a full minute. Her heart hammered in her chest, her coat prickling where it touched her mother. Wrapping a wing around her daughter, Iridia placed three kisses on Namyra’s brow.

“I don’t want you to leave.”

“I have to go, little dream.” Iridia gave a tender squeez, and then forced Namyra back so they could look into each others eyes. “Amon must be made to pay, and Faust knows where he has hidden to tend his own wounds.”

Namyra was silent for a few moments as she examined her turbulent heart. Her face twitched a few times, her little wings extended, and then she said, “Make him suffer, mother.”

Iridia gave a wide smile, booped Namyra on the nose, and spoke in a playful voice that belied the gravity of the conversation. “It will be a long and painful passing, he will experience, have no doubt.”

“Your Divine Majesty,” Star Swirl took a few steps towards Iridia as she gave Namyra a last hug. “Why didn’t your sister warn us sooner? She sees the Weave of Fate… Surely…”

“I do not know, old one. In all honesty, I do not know. She wasn’t always so distant and ‘mysterious’,” Iridia used her wings to make quotation marks even as she sneered the word. “I fear she’s fallen prey to her age and needs to sleep again. I believe I may need to as well, soon. Rest for a few hundred years or more, and awaken new and refreshed in spirit, if not in form.” Iridia gave her head a shake, took a deep breath, and then marched for the door. “But this day, I have a Marquis of the Blighted Host to hunt.”

Namyra tried to maintain a stoic demeanor until she detected the pop of magic as Iridia teleported to lands unknown. She even thought she did a good job, in spite of the wobbling of her lower lip, the drooping of her wings, and the way her tail swished and flicked in time to the ticking of the clock as if jumping at the noise.

She jumped again when Tempered spoke.

“Come, little one.” Tempered waved her head towards the door. “Let’s get you to bed. Fillies need their rest.”

Namyra gave a mute nod, her wings drooping further, and followed Tempered into the hall. Instead of turning to the left and her rooms, Namyra went right, her hooves carrying her of their own accord towards Celestia’s room.

She found several of the sisters in the process of cleaning the room, buckets filled with warm soapy water, and brushes furiously scrubbing at golden stains that covered the walls and floor. The bed’s sheets had been removed, to where Namyra didn’t know, and the mattress had been leaned up next to the doorframe.

Behind her, Namyra heard Tempered calling for her to stop, but she ignored the High Priestess.

Namyra had to be certain Celestia would be alright.

She continued on to the next room, Luna’s room, and in it she found her cousins.

Bandages, spots of gold already speckling their surface, covered Celestia neck, peaking out from beneath the thick wool comforters that had been pulled up to her chin. Soft pink locks of mane had been brushed away from Celestia’s face, the strands limp and lifeless compared to the dancing aurora they were supposed to show. Her breaths were slow and shallow, hardly noticeable in the dull glow from Sol that slipped in through the open window. But more than just the appearance, it was the subtle flow of energy that usually emanated from Namyra’s family that made her hesitate. Celestia’s aura was almost indiscernible next to that given by Luna.

Luna sat at her sister’s side on a low bench, head resting on the bed next to Celestia’s hoof. She’d washed the blood from herself at some point and removed her armour. A thin smile graced Luna’s lips as she noticed Namyra standing in the doorway.

Waving a hoof for her to enter, Luna said, “Come in, there is no need to skulk about.”

“Celestia looks… like she’s dead,” Namyra whimpered as she hopped up onto the bench next to Luna. “I can’t feel her like I do you.”

“She’s just removed herself so she wont feel the pain as much.”

Namyra blinked and twisted her head to the side.

“You mean like when she helps Sol go to sleep or raise?”

“Yes, exactly so.”

“Oh.” Namyra retreated into her thoughts for a few moments, before asking, “Then why hasn’t Sol set? She’s been up all night.”

“Because Sol is a dense old mule at times,” Luna grumbled half to herself. An idea seemed to come over Luna, her eyes sparkling as she lifted her head to give Namyra a mischievous look. “Would you like to see them?”

Namyra pinched her brow together, not understanding the question. “I can see Sol right now.” She pointed through the window to the orange-yellow ball hanging just above the rim of the surrounding mountains.

“Here, lay down next to Celestia,” Luna commanded, helping her cousin onto the bed. “Now, close your eyes and steady your breath.”

Doing as she was told, Namyra waited a few moments for, presumably, something to happen. When nothing did, she began to open her mouth to ask Luna what was going on, only to be stopped as a delicate tug at the back her her head. Namyra’s eyes went wide and then fluttered shut as she began to lift out of herself, pulled aloft by a sparkling silvery cloud.

The last thing she was aware of before drifting out of the room was Luna saying, “Don’t worry Tempered, I will be with her the whole time.”

Namyra yelped as she floated through the roof and into the sky. She tried to scramble back down to her body, an electric surge flickering through her. There was no racing pulse in her ears nor sharp breaths. Indeed, it was impossible, lacking a heart or lungs.

“No need to be afraid,” came Luna’s voice from the silver cloud at her side.

Refusing to answer in case it pushed her away from Luna, Namyra simply clung to her cousin. Or tried to, rather. Her ‘hooves’ slipped through Luna’s ethereal form, eliciting a series a giggles.

Halting their ascent, Luna swung around to face Namyra.

“Now, a few quick rules, okay?” Luna didn’t wait for Namyra to respond before saying, “Rule number one; Don’t try to touch anything. Especially Sol. Second rule; Don’t attempt to wander off and explore. And lastly; Don’t panic. Understand?”

Namyra gave a nod, but only seemed to wobble and jitter, the motion making her yelp and attempt to clutch Luna again.

“Good,” Luna said around a slight laugh as she resumed carrying Namyra up into the heavens.

Gradually the sky turned from a blazing orange to a sharp yellow striped with peach tones, and then faded to an empty black. Namyra glanced left and right as little points of sparkling light appeared, each the size of a large apple. From them came voices laughing and concerned, a few wobbling side-to-side as Luna and Namyra passed, others calling out greetings. It took her a few minutes to realise that the lights were the stars.

Several rocketed past the pair, racing each other across what should have been the lingering hour before dawn, sparks of white and ruby magic trailing in their wake as they taunted and shouted at each other. Following the stars as they headed away, Namyra became aware of the disc. The entire world was spread out below her like a living map. She could see almost everything, from the mysterious western continent, to the unexplored lands in the south-eastern oceans. The rivers shimmered as they wandered through forests and fields towards the rolling oceans, fed by calm lakes or a seemingly endless number of tiny streams.

A tentative laugh broke from Namyra as she began to spin around, trying to see everything at once. She stopped as something far off in the distance, hovering above the disc’s rim, caught her eye. It was too far away to see properly, but it seemed to be a circle or ring that shifted and crackled. Through it flowed a flock of what seemed to be white gossamer birds, but Namyra wasn’t certain if it were a trick of the light and distance.

Before she could ask Luna about the ring, a deep, booming voice rumbled across the heavens.

I should have done something! Not hung impotently up here like a useless ball!

Namyra glanced around for the source of the voice, the ring forgotten, her gaze settling on Sol, the sun only a short distance away.

Far, far larger than the stars, Sol radiated heat and anger in waves that washed over the pair of ascending alicorns. If the stars were the size of apples, than Sol was a mountain. A terrible mountain of crackling fire.

Next to Sol, Selene, the moon, was more akin to a large hill in winter, a shining sphere of silver-white light that chilled rather than burned. She was humming a lullaby, attempting to calm her sister with little success. While Sol snapped and sizzled, flares popping regularly from her sides, Selene held a slow, soothing motion as she spun, a slightly darker patch rotating into view.

Celestia hovered between the heavenly giants, a tiny cloud of aetherial dust only vaguely resembling a pony. Namyra recalled Celestia once describing herself as taking the shape of a dancing aurora, like her entire body took on the same properties as her mane, when interacting with Sol. With the injuries inflicted by Amon, her essence shifted and crackled, red-orange gashes of energy echoing across her ethereal form.

I’m sorry, love, consoled Sol, the sun hovering a little closer to Celestia. I should have done something… Crushed that beast, and all those with him. Burnt them to ash and dust and… and…

Sol grew a dark, lurid colour as her own anger and frustration mounted.

“It is alright, I understand, love,” Celestia replied, her voice strained and weak. “That would have been far, far worse. Remember Tenochdeerlan, love. We—”

I did that, not you. Sol gave a sheepish huff. Besides… they were at least as brutal as the griffons, if not more so. Why they thought I wanted living sacrifices…

“They didn’t know better.” Celestia glanced towards the black scar that marked the spot where Sol had, two hundred years prior, landed on the disc, crushing a city and all its inhabitants before rolling into the far western ocean. “They believed that unless they appeased you, you’d be their doom.”

I hate that they were right, Sol grumbled. And yet so wrong.

“Sort of how it is wrong that the sun is still in the sky?” Luna called up to the sun. “Go to sleep, you can barely keep your light flowing. The entire disc is in a panic, and Ioka herself is starting to wake from her slumber.”

Let them panic, and let her wake! My love is wounded, and I wont leave her. Sol grew from the dull, burnished orange back into her blazing form for a few moment, only to wilt and release a great yawn and burst of fire.

Celestia, please, make her see reason. This came from Selene, the moon’s voice soft and musical, like it were formed from the cords of a harp.

“Our sisters are right, Love,” Celestia placed a tender hoof on Sol, wincing as her injuries flared again. “I will be fine, in time. We need to return order to the sky.”

I… But… Sol gave a deep sigh, then seemed to perk up. But, we have a guest! I can’t set now.

Celestia slowly turned, and only then noticed Namyra floating beside Luna.

“Luna! What are you doing?” Celestia started towards her sister, only to stop and hiss as a pulse of unsightly green flitted across her surface. “You shouldn’t have brought her here. This is very dangerous.”

Luna just laughed, waving a leg—or perhaps wing—dismissively.

“Do not fear. I have her. She was worried for you.”

Aww, isn’t that precious, Selene cooed, drifting away from Sol and towards Namyra.

Indeed! Sol tried to puff herself up, but the action only served to bring out another great yawn of flame.

Namyra stayed in the heavens for several hours, listening to her cousins and their charges laugh and joke. Occasionally one of the stars would flit up to the group, but they never stayed long, always returning to their normal home in the sky. Sol, Namyra quickly discovered, was quick to laugh, faster to snarl, and had a great, big, if simple, heart. Several times she tried to ‘hug’ Namyra, each time a sharp warning from Celestia and Luna halting the sun’s advance. Selene, though she laughed no less than her sister, was far calmer and more sedate.

None of them noticed Ioka crack open a mammoth eye and smile up at them before smacking her beak a couple times, stretch her colossal flippers, and then fall back asleep, content that all would be right on her disc.