Only Embers Remain

by Gapeagle

Chapter 1: Awakening

"Yes, indeed. This be the land of Equestria..."

A hoof stretched out of a sandy grave. It was a half-rotten hoof that was covered in rusted steel plates and broken chain mail. The hoof clutched the side of the grave's edge, letting all the dirt and sand slide off it like a waterfall. It was weak and skinny, full of signs that it had not seen the sky in decades. With the feeble strength, it pushed upward, displacing more and more sand.

"Once a proud nation, ruled by the Alicorn Princesses of old..."

Another hoof burst from the sand with twice the effort as the first. This one was missing some of the armored plates, but it acted the same way. It took hold of the other side of the grave and with sheer determination, pushed the rest of the pony upward.

"It was an Age of Prosperity, an Age of Hope, an Age of Harmony. That was until the Fires started to fade..."

The tip of a knight's helmet emerged from the sandy grave. The visor and breathing holes allowed the loose sand to pour out from within the helmet. Two bony ears protruded from the back of the helmet. The steel of the helm was filthy and not a gleam shined from it. The original shine was lost and all that remained were the scratches and dents of battles past.

"With the Fires fading, Hope was lost and the Undead began to rise..."

A startled breath came from within the helmet. It was more of a frightened gasp than anything else. The high-pitched wail disturbed nothing as there was nothing in sight. The eyes of this rising warrior looked upon the sand that was everywhere. It was not sand, but ash. A gray and loose ash that had no end in sight.

"Not even the six Bearers of Harmony, who were the heroes of the land, could stop the Fires from growing dark..."

After the helmet came two shoulders, both with short pauldrons that were loosely strapped on the pony. A wingless torso followed, being dressed in a golden garb that rested over the steel plates that almost completed the armor. Like everything else, it showed the signs of tear and neglect as it had sat under the ash for years untold.

"The Younger Sister, who did not believe in the Fires, deserted her companions to seek a new Hope. A Hope that will survive without Light..."

The warrior let out a deranged groan and pulled itself out of the ashen grave completely. Upon standing up, its back legs in identical armor as its fronts, fell to the sand, unable to keep balance. A tail of faded bluish color followed the weak moving corpse. The warrior kept a shallow breathing, making the ash in front of it's muzzle wisp into the air that only blocked its vision.

"The Dragons of the Southern Badlands left Equestria to its doom, but soon realized the Undead Curse did not spare any species..."

The warrior placed all its hooves firmly in the ash and stood up with arduous effort. It looked upon the land that it has just awoken to. Ash, nothing but ash and the ancient signs of conflict. Swords and forgotten corpses of griffons and ponies dotted the ashen landscape. Mountains lined the horizons in every direction, but any actual distance could not be determined by the solid gray color of the world.

"With no other options, the Princess of the Sun, who would do anything for her home, sacrificed herself to the Fires to keep the flames of Hope alive..."

One hoofstep after the other, the warrior trudged along the wasteland. Not a thought was spent trying to remember why the world was so ruined. The warrior knew nothing but the faintest of memories in a life long gone. The undead pony reached a sword, pulled it out of the ash, and strapped it on the back with thin leather straps that were also on the swords. Something told it that this particular sword belong to it, but that was nothing but a peculiar feeling.

"Her sacrifice extended the Age of Hope and the Age of Harmony, but not even she could stop the Fires from fading once more..."

The walking was exhausting to the warrior. It slid the helmet's visor upward, revealing the face of a young mare, old beyond number. Her eyes were gray and unclear, her lips dried and some of it missing, and her fur was caked with ash and dirt. She tried to say something, but only a guttural sound came from within her parched throat.

"Then came an Age of Conflict when all the species tried to save themselves, only to fall faster into Oblivion..."

The warrior sat down on her haunches, making a rattling noise that died down in the ceaseless wind. With one hoof, she shook the ash off the other to see that her fur color was an off-white. She could not tell if this was her actual color, or simply the signs of being under ash for an innumerable amount of years.

"The Fires faded, yes indeed, and all Hope was lost. Equestria succumbed to the Undead Curse, not even the Alicorn Princesses escaped it..."

She pulled the visor back over her face and marched onward to a location she knew nothing about. The hoof prints left behind her disappeared in the violent breeze that carried the ash and sand about. Her wandering took her passed the skeletons of the griffons and the corpses of the ponies, even passed the massive skull of a dragon.

"There is spoken, however, of a prophecy. A prophecy where one Undead will rise and rekindle the fading flames in the attempt to restore the Age of Hope. A prophecy of an awakening that will shake the world and start another age to be remembered."

The warrior found a torn thin cloak that was caught on a spear. She raised her visor, took the cloak in her mouth, and fashioned a shawl to block the flying ash. With squinting eyes, she pressed on against the wind, going somewhere she thought would be best. She could barely see the outline of a sign of civilization; or, perhaps, the remains of one.

She found more strength as she walked onward. The armor that was wrapped around her slender body rattled and the metal plates clicked when they touched each other. Some of her wanted to remain in the ash hills, but her body had a yearning for the structure in the distance. It attracted her with the power of a magnet.

The corpses grew fewer in number as she walked down this gradual mountain of ash and dirt. The winds also died down slowly with her descent. As she marched on, the ash was thinning, allowing what appeared to be green spikes pop out of the now browning earth. Her hoof met a stone, and the sudden sturdiness made her pause. It was firm, it was something she never remembered feeling before. All of the world was a vague familiarity that made no sense. She could think coherently, but she did not know what to think. She tried once again to speak, but her mouth seemed unable to make a syllable beyond the sounds of regretful moaning.

Odd shapes grew out of the ground and rose high above her. Their bases were of textured columns and their tops were as green as the spikes that sprouted from the dirt. She knew what they were called. They were trees. Upon touching the bark, she knew that she understood why these shapes existed.

Her eyes wandered to the far distance. There, above all other mountains, was a massive pile of rock and stone that soared above any lesser mountain. On the side, there appeared to be minarets to an ancient city. It was so far away, she did not take interest in it, but instead continued to her first destination.

"Souls..." she finally whispered beneath her helmet. "Souls..."

It was all becoming clear. That was her mission. That was her purpose. She was not thirsty for a clear liquid that she barely remembered, but the power that was in every living being: souls. Her undead flesh craved it, her lips quivered upon thinking of them, her eyes twitched upon uttering the meaningful word. Souls, that was her. She was souls.

"Speak now," she told herself. "Learn, relearn. I may not know where I am, but I am here."

The structure turned out to be only one side of a building that used to be exotic and massive. Stone and debris lay about, mostly sunken in the ground and covered in moss. The standing part was a tall archway, not much more to it. Whatever it was, it was much taller than it was wide. In the middle, under where each archway would meet, was a sword in the ground, glowing slightly with heat. At the base of the upside down sword was a pile of ash and bones with a small, flickering flame rising from it. It was a pitiful flame, not even a candle would boast of it. However, its little dancing drew the warrior close.

"Fire..." she muttered.

She leaned down to see it closely. With a hoof, she lifted the visor and her eyes stared at the little flame like it was the most important object in the world. She reached out to touch it. As her hoof drew closer, the flame danced about wilder and shot up. The fire grew three times its size, making the warrior jump back in fright. She could now feel a distant hotness coming from the revitalized flames. The warmth soothed her and she sat down just to continue gazing into its wavy movement.

For the first time, she felt like looking upwards. The sky was lined with gray, but there, right above her, was the sun. Next to it was the moon, both equally dividing the heavens. Neither moving, neither going into the area of light or the area of darkness. It was a perpetual twilight that was by far the most colorful sight she could see.

As she sat there, she gained more energy. She used this energy to take all of her armor out and clean it of ash and dirt. It was more for comfort's sake than cleanliness. Upon removing all the armor, she inspected herself with her eyes and inspected her face through the dirtied reflection in her old helmet.

"I hope I've looked better than this..."

Just like her hooves, she had the overall appearance of one who had been decaying. Flaps of skin and loose fur hung from her limbs, Her rib cage was exposed and every single bone could be distinctly seen. Her waist was so thin that she doubted her organs were inside. Her teeth had mostly fallen out, leaving only a couple black ones, her muzzle was shifted and uneven. To put it plainly, she looked as grotesque as the bodies she left behind in the ash on the hills. She was undead, a warrior long deceased recalled to life for seemingly a purpose greater than herself.

With the armor cleaner than it was before, she put it back on without the slightest thought. She adjusted the almost worthless leather straps and adjusted the armor so that it would be somewhat comfortable. After that, she sat down once again in front of the small fire, watching it idly. She could not stay here forever, she knew that. She wanted to stay, she desperately wanted to stay, but her body twitched with a hunger that was not felt in her stomach, if she even had a stomach. Her skin on her torso was so tight around her bones she wondered if there were anything underneath at all.

"Souls..." she whispered again.

Her eyes wandered around, trying to see anything that could be of use. Since she was more or less on the side of a large hill, she could see over some of the treetops. The land before her was vast and vaguely familiar. To her, it could not always have been so feral. Something used to be around here, maybe a village, maybe a town, but the years of plant growth engulfed it and made it one with the seemingly endless forest. This made her look back at the hill of ash behind her, leaving her only confused with the drastic change.

"Must get moving, nothing's here for me," she said.

With effort, she pushed herself up with the aid of her sword. The small flame called her to return to it, but she refused and took her first steps away from the sword in the ground. There was a thin trail that led into the thicker parts of the woods. It was not the only path, but she convinced herself it was the best choice. Her hooves dragged across the ground and she left the small flame.

The woods were dark. With the sun only lighting half of the sky, it was hard to see the trail. The little flame still told her to come back, but she fought it and kept going forward. What was ahead? She had no idea. She tried humming a tune to break the silence, but she remembered no tune and thus only made a constant sound from her dead throat.

As she went deeper, the trees became thicker and the brush became higher. Some pony skeletons were hanging from the larger trees, as if they were nailed onto their old trunks. By their skull shapes, she could tell that they were different. Some had horns, some had hollowed bones, and some had nothing. What gave them their brutal ends? There seemed to be no reason for this horrifying scene.

"I'll try not to end up like them," she whispered.

She went farther until she saw the first moving object. It was a hunched over pony sitting on the side of the trail. The pony had very little fur and no clothes. The large eyes were rotten and the jaw was hanging open with no teeth inside. However, it was breathing and the dry breathing could be heard. The warrior approached the pony cautiously.

She was within leg-length of the undead pony, but it never even took notice of her. It just stared at the ground, moving its tongue back and forth. She cocked her head at it.

"Hello?" she asked.

It said nothing.

She reached her leg and poked it in the shoulder, making it sway as if it was nothing more than a plant in the wind. When she touched it, a small sensation ran up her leg. It was a warmness like the flame, only much weaker. This pony had a soul, or, at least, part of a soul. This pony was something that could be consumed and could nourish the warrior.

"Souls..." she whispered again.

With a twitch of her eye, she pulled out her sword. The pony did nothing still and only stared at the ground. Its mind was gone, it was a hopeless hunk of rotting flesh that contained some fading soul. The warrior did not think once of what she was doing, she was hungry, she needed to feed. With the handle in her teeth, she swung at the pony, striking it squarely and sending to the ground with a weak grunt. With the pony dead on the ground, a small white wisp floated from its chest and went straight into the warrior's. That small soul made the warrior feel relieved for a split moment, but it was barely worth it. The ash may have fed her better than that pony.

"At least it was something," she sighed as she sheathed the sword.

She did not linger on the dead pony, but moved on with caution. The darkness of the woods shrouded her, but she cared not. With some founded determination fueled with hunger for souls, she moved ceaselessly down the trail. The only sounds she heard were the raspy breaths from her rotten throat.

The dullness of the quiet woods was lessened by the tall hill she climbed. The dry dirt under her hooves sent dust around her legs that then settled on her bracers. It was an arduous climb as the hill became steeper as it went upward. Her hoofsteps disturbed rocks that had settled in the ground, making them roll loudly down the hill.

With effort she pulled herself over a small ledge and into an opening. She had reached the top of this hill where the trees were fewer and shorter. With the sunlight and the moonlight both staring down at her equally, she squinted her eyes to see the land before her. Ash was off to one side, never having a real end, woods were on the other side, and in the distance, were towers, buildings, and huts from an era long past. These buildings called to her. Souls were present within those ruins, she thought. She did not know what they stood for or how they got there, but she felt determined to reach them.

"That's my destination. The distant ruins..." she said through her parched throat.