• Published 3rd Jun 2016
  • 506 Views, 2 Comments

The Fall of Nocturnia - HypernovaBolts11



The first in a long series of stories, following one particular family, through history and beyond. We begin with a handsome stallion donning his tunic in the capital of the world: Nocturnia.

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2.0 Years Before

Chrysalis sighed as her eyes focused on the source of the dim green light. She turned around to hiss at one of the nurses, and thrust her hoof against the thin, gelatinous cap that separated the developing egg from the outside world. She whipped her head around to growl at another nurse, a stallion, who lowered his head in submission as his gossamer wings carried him towards the ground, away from the queen.

His eyes still focused on the queen cell, which Chrysalis's hoof had punctured, freeing green slime to pour out of the vertical tube that contained the egg. He couldn't do anything more than look away, and whimpered as the queen hissed at him again.

He flitted his wings harder, and lifted himself closer to the queen, who pulled her hoof free of the cell. He glanced nervously between the queen and the egg inside the cell, which was rapidly falling as the fluid in which it was suspended drained out. He gulped, and nodded in response to the queen's next hiss.

He winced, and lifted a hoof to cover the hole, blocking the fluid from escaping, though he didn't understand his own motives. He couldn't simply let the egg die, not like this. He clamped his eyes shut, and growled through grit teeth when the queen snapped at him.

He, in an effort to persevere the egg, flew a few inches away from the punctured cap of the cell, and threw himself forward, slipping through the hole. He traced the edges of the leak with the tip of his horn, sealing it closed, and pushed his head above the fluid inside so he could hiss defiantly at the queen, who simply hovered where she was in shock.

Chrysalis regained her composure, and turned to face the three other nurses who had objected to her presence in the nursery. She hissed at them, causing them to hang their heads in shame, and flew up until her back almost touched the openings of the hexagonal cells above her. She braced her front hooves against the base of the larger queen cell, and flew forward with all her might.

There was a cracking sound, a grunt from the queen, and a sound not unlike the one produced by a sapling being bent until it breaks.

The queen flew a few inches back, and then turned around, while flipping upside down. She braced her hooves against the cells above her, and kicked her hind legs against the queen cell, finally snapping it off of the ceiling.

It fell, down, down, down, eventually far enough that it was invisible against the dim green light that every cell in the nursery wall gave off, and past several groups of other drones, who simply flew out of its way, until the sound of it landing against the stone that supposedly made up the floor returned to the queen's ears.

The three nurses all hovered where they were, before zipping in a different directions when the chorus of chirping and buzzing sounds started up again, produced by the infantile drones that filled other cells.

The queen hissed as a soft buzzing sound passed her left ear, and turned to face a smaller changeling, whose wings were a blur of blue chitin, and watched as the child flew back up, easily crawling backwards into its cell.

No more queens would ever hatch, and she would make sure of that. Just because magic grew and changed did not mean she was any less the queen. Perhaps her ability to control her subjects would be diminished as the world developed, but, if there were no other queens, who else could control them?


The hippodrome was filled with more people, for a contingent of the Griffon King's armies had been sent to aid in the attack on King Sombra's regime. Noise of background chatter and booming cheers filled the great stadium as the greens raced across the finish line, but the blues' chariot not far behind.

In the nobles' elevated box from which the Matriarch and her rapidly growing family could watch the games and announce upcoming events, Nocturnus rose as the guards led into the box a griffon of whom he had heard a great deal.

Nocturnus smiled proudly at the griffon ambassador, and extended his hoof in greeting, which the griffon shook firmly in his talons. He flicked his ears back and forth a few times, and the computer held in his bag said, "Welco... t... turn..." He paused, and frowned at the bag slung over his shoulder, giving it a firm punch with his hoof. Finally, the machine conceded to speak, "Welcome to Nocturnia, sir."

The griffon smiled in amusement, earning a blush from the retired consul, and asked, "Do you recognize me?" His voice was thick, deep, and conveyed a lot more confidence than necessary to rally an army behind.

The flustered bat pony nodded, and flicked his ears again. "I know that you are a well respected commander, a few years older than me, an-" the computer said.

The griffon cut him off, dropping his smooth tone of voice, replacing it with a heavy accent, which was rustic, abrasive, but charming nonetheless, and a little familiar to the bat pony. "'Ere, is 'at better, lad?" the ambassador asked, and smiled as he read over the bat pony's expression.

Nocturnus raised an eyebrow, before leaning forward a bit, and narrowed his eyes at the griffon. He drew back a few centimeters, eyes wide, and asked, "Chalcedon?"

"The one and only," the griffon said, a friendly grin forming on his beak. "Been a long time, ain't it, batty boy?"

Nocturnus's ears jumped back and forth frantically, then rotated to point backward, deleting what he'd already typed. He started all over again, trying to think of the correct thing to say. He did this for a few long, awkward seconds, before simply taking a deep breath, and nodded.

"It's good to see 'at ya found yer place. But I gotta ask, why is it ya become so talkative?" the griffon asked him.

Nocturnus smiled, and instructed the computer to say, "Well, I was a consul, and a senator now, so talking is fairly necessary."

It was then that a scroll materialized from a puff of red and black smoke, and fell onto the ground between the two officials.

Chalcedon just stared at it, occasionally looking up at the bat pony, who he assumed had an explanation as to how smoke could make scrolls.


Chrysanthemum's eyes narrowed at the space beyond the hole in her leg she'd been staring through for who knows how long. Every so often, she'd spotted flowing fog billowing from the walls of the tunnel. She would look directly at them, but by then, they'd either dissapated or she'd broken the illusion.

Selena walked past the entranced changeling, dressed in her more casual attire; a white toga with a single purple band running down the middle, and golden borders running parallel along the edges of the cloth. She wore no fancy hat, and she didn't

Chrysanthemum, on the other hoof, was wearing a traditional toga for the high class. A purple band ran down the center of the toga, and when she raised a hoof above her shoulder, the cloth would slide down her leg. She didn't really care about what colors she wore, thought it unimportant, annoying that others thought so much of how she presented herself. It wasn't like she went outside very often.

Selena was muttering to herself in the fluid language of her subjects. Chrysanthemum was still learning it, but she could make sense of a few select words, "Sister... visit... escort..."

Chrysanthemum looked up at her adoptive mother, who was also her aunt, and stumbled over what of the Bat language she knew, "M-my queen?"

Instantly, Selena's head whipped around to cast a sympathetic look upon the younger creature. She shook her head slowly, and answered in Equish, "No. That mare is less of a sister to us than thou art our daughter. Celestia, the eldest of us, has been driven from her home. She sought refuge with us."

Chrysanthemum looked on blankly, and thought aloud, "Then I am your daughter." Whether it was an observation or a question, neither of them really knew. It was a statement of fact, but, on some level, a promise.

Author's Note:

I don't know why I gave Chalcedon a Scottish accent. I really don't. Please don't take offense. I just imagine him with such an accent because my brain is so awash in complexity that some things that pop from it seem arbitrary and random.

Comments ( 2 )

Sorry for the terrible cover art. I am still looking for an artist if anyone wants to help me make it better.

https://www.fimfiction.net/group/295/art-for-fanfiction

8192553 Yeah, I'm in that group.

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