A Song of Storms: Of Skies Long Forgotten

by The 24th Pegasus

Chapter 14: Twister

If you could only save one, who would you choose? If the final say in your nation’s affairs falls into your hooves, and you have the choice of protecting a few loved ones or thousands, what would you do? And when it’s all said and done, how can you be sure you made the right choice?

---Excerpt from Commander Hurricane’s journal
28th Long Night, 401 After Empire

Chapter 14: Twister

Massive stone arches sprouted from columns scattered throughout the room, straining to keep aloft the ceiling held a hundred feet above the floor. Enormous barred windows provided dim illumination for the solid oak table in the center of the room. The doors were locked tight, their thick mass deadening any sound that might try to escape. The imperial war room was, for all intents and purposes, a bunker.

The spacious table itself weighed close to five hundred pounds, and across its worn surface were spread innumerable maps, rosters, and reports from all branches of the Cirran Legion. Surrounding the table were a dozen of the most brilliant military minds in the entirety of the pegasus race, trying to establish some order to the information before them. Hurricane stood at the head of the table, flanked on either side by Silver Sword and Swift Spear.

“Cumula reports a force of forty-thousand griffons organizing outside of their walls. They only have ten-thousand legionaries to defend them.” A golden hoof tapped lightly at the northernmost coast on a map of Cirra. “The city’s proconsul has sent half of the defenders back to Stratopolis to escort as many refugees as possible, realizing that theirs is a lost cause.”

The Emperor tapped his hooves together in meditation and exhaled. Pulling the map closer to him, he compared it with the dwindling list of combat-ready units available to the Legion. “Can we spare units from the Third Legion to assist them?”

Commander Gold Moon shook his head. “Negative, sir. The proconsul requested that no additional lives be wasted in delaying the inevitable. He and the volunteers who stayed intend to fight to the end and buy time for the rest of Cirra to build its defenses.” The weary commander absentmindedly flexed his crooked wing as he laid the letter on the table. “The report was written four days ago. In that time, Cumula has likely been crushed.”

“I see.” Hurricane nodded towards Gold Moon. “Organize the survivors into a legion and station them along Windcrest River. The griffons will have to cross it to get to their next targets. Are you fit to oversee this operation?”

The golden Praetorian had only recently returned to active duty after recovering from the wounds he had sustained in Waldren. The winds produced by the volcanic eruption had badly wrenched one of his wings and nearly tore it loose before he was able to land somewhere safe from the ash. The appendage had healed awkwardly, causing it to misalign with his body when folded, but the stallion hadn’t complained once about it. True to form, he alleviated Hurricane’s concern with a curt nod of his head.

He was loathe to hear more bad news, but that was all the table contained. There were carefully drawn maps detailed in blue and red that his eyes passed over, and everywhere the red was inevitably pushing westward. The few advances by Cirran counterattacks were quickly quashed and did little against the red mass except delay its progress. The noose was rapidly tightening around the Empire, and half of its lands already lay in Gryphon talons.

“What’s the situation in the south? Last I heard the Thirteenth Legion was making some progress.” The Emperor’s eyes searched the faces of his subordinates excitedly, looking for some glimmer of hope in Cirra’s future.

Blank stares returned his agitation. One commander, a green and yellow pegasus named Hammer Down, began to speak softly. “The Thirteenth’s legate surrendered to griffon forces yesterday at noon. Magnus and his elite guards had begun to attack Procella with the rest of the hordes in the south. Rather than fight to the end, the twelve thousand remaining soldiers have been taken to Gryphon prisoner of war camps, leaving the city to burn in their wake.”

"There are no such things as Gryphon prisoner of war camps," Hurricane muttered. "Another twelve thousand lost." Slamming his hoof on the table in frustration, he released a string of curses aimed at the legion’s cowardly legate. When he sat back in his chair, he almost collapsed entirely in exhaustion. “How many do we have left?”

The question had been a frequent one in the past month and a half, and Silver Sword read the week’s updated military reports. “Cirran First Legion operating at full strength in Stratopolis. Cirran Third Legion reports seventy-five percent combat readiness across the central front. Cirran Twelfth Legion reports thirty-two percent combat readiness across the northern front. Cirran Thirteenth Legion… lost in totality.” The scroll was set down, and the Imperator’s tone accordingly darkened. “Roughly forty thousand legionaries remain on all fronts. We're all but pulling foals from their cribs to try and replace our losses.”

Forty thousand. The number was received by the assembled officers akin to a death sentence. Hurricane couldn’t tell how many griffons that Magnus had under his control, but he could infer a rather accurate number from the information available to him. Gryphus was a smaller nation than Cirra and had half as many citizens, so they were in all likelihood straining to put an end on the war as well. The reports indicated that Magnus was known to have almost a hundred thousand griffons in his armies, and Hurricane doubted that he was holding anything back. Still, that figure outnumbered Cirra’s strength by a five to two margin. If only they hadn’t lost so many at Waldren…

“Orders, sir?” Hurricane snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of Swift’s voice. The rest of the officers were hanging onto the edges of their seats, ready to execute the Emperor’s every word. They had to wait, however, as Hurricane fought with himself over courses of action.

Finally, the black stallion’s shoulders collapsed as he made up his mind. Reaching for a scroll of parchment, Hurricane scratched his orders onto its grainy surface with a tremendous amount of effort. Signing his name to the document, he furled it and placed the emperor’s seal in the center. He gave the document to a messenger and summoned the strength to address the committee.

“Pull everything back. Defend the major cities only; Stratopolis, Pileus, and Nyx. Everything else can be abandoned. Empty whatever reserves we have left so we can delay until we hear a response.” Hurricane saw his words register a few points on the commanders’ faces, but there weren’t any hints of surprise. He was aware they knew that it was the only thing the Empire could do. But something else struck them as well. Gold Moon was the first to speak up, raising his aged voice into barely more than a whisper.

“Response for what, sir?” It was the inquiry Hurricane had been dreading to answer, but there was nothing he could do. He flushed the air from his lungs as his shoulders collapsed in defeat.

“Negotiations to end this war. Cirra will surrender on the condition that our remaining sovereignty is unharmed. It is the only way.” The Emperor’s weary magenta irises fell to the table, avoiding the shocked looks he was receiving. Soon enough those died away as well, replaced by a grim acquiescence to Hurricane’s final statement. It was the only way Cirra could survive.

The session soon moved to break, and the commanders split off to address their dwindling responsibilities. Hurricane, Silver Sword, and Swift Spear trotted along the path between the palace and the senate chambers. The snow was already several inches deep, but they didn’t feel the need to elevate themselves above its lustrous surface.

Hurricane put his hoof on the chamber doors but delayed in opening them. Motioning for his friends to sit, Hurricane allowed himself to collapse against the marble walls.

“So… we’re actually going to surrender?” Silver Sword tried to soften the impact of his words against such a sensitive subject, but there was little he could do. Hurricane took one shuddering breath and hung his head in submission.

“We have no choice. Cirra is on its last legs. We’re already running out of food and it’s barely halfway through winter. We’re also running out of soldiers, and I’ll be damned if I have to send any more young ponies to their deaths. Our generation has already lost so much.” Hurricane’s hoof traced lazy patterns in the snow, the disheveled black hair contrasting sharply with the white drifts. His time as emperor had already taken a massive toll on the stallion, and the light in his study was rarely extinguished in the long hours of the night.

Swift Spear laid her head on Hurricane’s shoulder and rubbed his chest, trying to soothe the distraught pegasus. “Hurricane, you’ve done more than any Cirran could ever have asked of you. Most ponies would break under this kind of pressure, but I’m glad to see that you haven’t.”

“I just wish I could produce something for it. I haven’t been able to do anything against the griffon advance.” The Emperor took the golden wreath of feathers off his head and examined the metallic quills. “And I may not be broken yet, but I’m stretched and bent well beyond the breaking point. It’s only a matter of time.”

A snowball shattered against one of the senate’s marble pillars. Silver Sword began balling another together, adding a bit of ice for good measure. “I can’t say I envy you, Hurricane, but if you can’t do it, nopony can. If I were running the Empire, it would have fallen in a week. You, you know how to keep it running. I just have to do the dirty work.”

“Just be glad that the dirty work’s all you have to do,” Hurricane countered. “It’s a lot simpler, and you don’t have the fate of millions of Cirrans hanging over your head.”

Silver Sword raised a hoof in assent. “True, but I have to get my hooves bloody quite often – and not in the metaphorical sense, either.” Flinging the snowball hard against the pillar, the Imperator let loose a disappointed sigh. “And speaking of which, I have prisoners I’m supposed to interrogate. They’re from Magnus’ southern army group, taken in our last counterattack.”

Rising to her hooves, Swift Spear arched her back and stretched her sore wings. “And I have a meeting with the rest of the Praetorian to attend. We’ll be discussing the distribution of our remaining rations for the next three months. Fun stuff,” she added with a sarcastic breath.

There was a groaning of a massive weight on old hinges, and the chamber doors swung open. A senator clad in golden bands around his neck and forelegs stuck his head out of the door and looked at Hurricane expectantly. With a sigh, the Emperor lifted himself off the snowy ground and shook the white flakes out of his coat.

“Duty calls,” Hurricane remarked, the cynicism unmistakable in his voice. Waving a wing to his dispersing companions, he began to trot into the doorway. “I’ll catch up with you guys at lunch then.”

His friends both nodded in agreement as they vacated the area. The doors then swung shut behind them, abandoning the outside to the howl of the wintery winds and their icy ferocity.

-----

“I’m not going to ask you again. What is Magnus’ next objective in the south?” Silver Sword looked over the bored hoof he was resting against his chin at the miserable creature before him. Beaten and bloody, a brown griffon sat hunched over and gasping for breath in the chair it was bound to. Blood poured from numerous cuts along its face, dripping past a swollen eye and a fractured beak to where it pooled below him.

Receiving no response, Silver flicked his tail and turned away. There was a cry of pain as a Praetorian delivered a solid blow to the griffon’s chest. As Silver let his soldiers soften the target for his interrogation, he scratched at a piece of the dungeon wall. Half an inch of thick brown and black grime coated the cloudstone walls, falling away in a filthy mess where Silver’s hoof passed. That there were no white walls in a dungeon made entirely of cloudstone was an impressive testimony to everything that it had witnessed.

A strangled laugh brought Silver Sword’s focus back to the task at hand. The griffon’s shoulders were heaving in its twisted pleasure, and the two Praetorians stepped back to allow Silver to advance. The griffon spat out a dagger of a tooth and locked its enemy in its gaze.

“Then stop asking, pony. If I have not answered you by now, what makes you think that I ever will? You just give me something to focus on in between periods of boredom. Now, can we move on with it, or shall we continue beating around the bush?” A crooked smile filled the griffon’s face, and it spat a glob of blood onto Silver’s coat.

Inhaling slowly, Silver wiped the blood off of his shoulder and made as if to walk away. The prisoner began to laugh again, but couldn’t enjoy its pleasure for long. There was a sharp crack, and the steel pegasus smashed both of his rear hooves into the griffon’s beak. Splinters of bone and keratin flung themselves about the room, and the griffon howled in agony through the remains of its bill.

“Bring in the next one.” One of the Praetorian nodded and left the room. The prisoner’s screams had lessened, but its bloody tongue still felt around the sharp stubs of its mandibles. The Praetorian returned with another struggling griffon in tow and bound it to the seat across from the first battered prisoner.

“Gunther? Was haben sie getan, um Ihren Schnabel?” Unable to get a response from his agonized friend, the second griffon turned its wild eyes to the three pegasi in the room.

Silver placed a hoof on the griffon’s shoulder and spoke softly. “Sprechen Sie Cirran?” The griffon scowled at the pegasus, but his eyes fell towards his friend again. There was a flash of anxiety in his eyes, and he gulped nervously. Silver saw it, and nodded his head towards the griffon known as Gunther. The message was clear.

“Ja, wenig. I-Ich weiss genug, um durchzukommen.” Silver raised an eyebrow, and the griffon took a breath as it tried to piece its words together in the Cirran tongue. “I know… little. Enough to… get by?” This time Silver Sword nodded and released his grip on the griffon’s shoulder without doing any harm. The prisoner released a breath of relief.

“Good. That will do. Now, first things first. You were part of Magnus’ Army Group South, or am I mistaken?” Silver paced around the prisoner as he waited for an answer. It came as barely a whisper.

“Ja.”

“Speak up. You have nothing to hide from us…?”

The griffon bit its tongue before deciding that the inquiry was harmless. “Jens. Ich heisse Jens.”

Silver nodded and bent down to Jens’ level. “Jens. Nice name, rolls off of the tongue smoothly. Now, Jens, you were part of the southern army group, operating in the Procella-Nyx region, am I correct?”

“Ja. We were Third Army, Eight Division. Nineteenth regiment, seventh—” Jens’ response was cut off by Silver waving a hoof in front of his face.

“We have the information from when you were first tallied. But, since you are from the Third Army, perhaps you can answer my other questions?” Silver raised the pitch of his voice into what he hoped was an agreeable tone to griffon ears.

Gunther began shaking his head, but a punch from a Praetorian silenced his actions. Jens glanced nervously from pegasus to pegasus, then nodded.

A slight smile appeared on Silver’s lips. “Good. Your cooperation will be noted in your file. First, let’s start with something objective. How many soldiers make up Army Group South?”

Jens averted his eyes, instead choosing to focus on the floor and mumble a string of gibberish. Silver Sword slammed a hoof against the gritty cloudstone floor as a warning. This elicited a more concrete reply from the griffon. “Methinks thirty thousand. I had no access to roster in army.” There was a scribbling of a quill against parchment from somewhere behind Jens, but the griffon was unable to turn his head and locate the source.

“Good. And your army, it was fully rationed and well-equipped?”

Gunther was glaring at Jens, but the skittish griffon answered anyway. “Ja.”

“Describe the resistance you encountered by Cirran forces in your advance.”

“Fierce at first. Cost us many griffons to advance. Crossing over plains was worst. Fifteen thousand dead that day. Many more wounded. After that, not so fierce. Cirrans retreat within hour of engagement. Five thousand lost next three hundred miles. Procella surrender without fight.” His response was met with more scratching of pen against paper.

Silver wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or angry with the news he was hearing. Jens had revealed that the griffon horde in the south was smaller than previously thought, but he also revealed that the Cirran officers in the south were giving up too easily. No wonder the griffon advance had been so swift; the Cirran legions weren’t fighting.

There was still the pressing question to attend to. Silver Sword squatted down and removed his helmet in the hopes of disarming his appearance. The good cop routine was working so far with Jens, and there wasn’t yet a need to change to bad cop. “What was your army’s next target?”

Jens hesitated but opened his mouth to speak. He was interrupted by a frantic shrieking from Gunther, who was spitting his words out through his broken beak. “Sagen Sie ihnen nicht, sagen Sie nicht ein Wort! Sie wissen, was Magnus zu Verrätern macht!” Silver snapped his head up angrily and swished his tail to the side. One of the Praetorians removed Gunther from his seat and dragged him out of the door. The griffon continued to struggle and scream after he was removed from the room, and then the noise stopped. The Praetorian returned, a new shade of crimson added to his coat and armor.

That color was all Jens could focus on. His heart rate was climbing and his breathing was quickening. The sweat was pouring through the feathers along his head and neck, even in the frigid dungeon. Silver began to pace before him, his friendly demeanor gone.

“Now that we are rid of distractions, I will ask you again. Where was your army heading to? Think carefully before you respond.” A flick of Silver’s wing loosened the strap on his blade, an action that did not escape Jens’ attention. The pegasus writing down the information behind him was almost caught unprepared for the flood of information coming his way.

“We press west, strike at small towns! Captain said we need destroy Cirran food supply, bring defenders to knees! Spread remaining defenders thin, wear them down for later assault! We—!”

Silver Sword placed a hoof on Jens’ shoulder and stopped him. “Towns. I need the names and when you were going to strike.”

“The attacks began today at sunrise. I d-don’t know all the names, but my regiment attack town named Zephyrus!” His interrogator stood up abruptly, and he began to panic that he had said something wrong.

Instead, Silver walked a few steps away from his prisoner and towards the pony taking notes. “Did you get all that?” There was an affirmative grunt, and Silver looked back over his shoulder to the trembling griffon. His words were low and carefully measured, if a bit distracted. “Take him back to his cell. There are matters I must attend to. Hurricane needs to know…”

Without warning, Silver galloped through the halls and out of the dungeon, soft flutters of his wings accompanying the clopping of his hooves against the cloudstone as he struggled to put on additional speed. There was no time to lose. Every second he wasted here was another that Zephyrus was in danger.

He just hoped he wasn’t too late.

-----

The fact that Cirra was barely functioning was hammered into the minds of every pegasus in the senate, time after time in statement after statement. The Empire’s coffers had been emptied, food shortages were crippling every remaining part of the nation, and the draft had to be expanded again. The Legion was having severe difficulty in acquiring armor and weapons for its new recruits, iron shipments had slowed to a trickle, and critical economic sectors were beginning to shut down. There had even been a series of violent riots in Nyx that nearly brought the city to its knees with the griffons on its doorstep. If the griffons didn’t take down the Empire, the reports gave the once proud nation only three months before it completely descended into anarchy.

The Senate was afraid, and even with the fear-induced passing of legislation to try and avert the looming crisis the nation was only accelerating towards its collapse. Rumors about griffon treatment of political prisoners circulated widely, and an increasing number of senators were absent from all but the most essential meetings. Many had begun carrying a short blade around their necks, not for defense, but as the means for a final defiance.

Hurricane had hoped that by taking deliberate stands on issues he would be able to rally the jittery politicians around him, but even that plan was falling apart. The Emperor commonly found himself on one side of issues opposing a small knot of the eldest senators, while the remaining body of lawmakers passed between them like a flock of sheep with two shepherds. Unless Hurricane agreed with the policies of the senior group, it was impossible to get anything done.

One bad event followed another. While Hurricane and the leading senators were discussing the intricacies of accelerated training for draftees, the meeting was interrupted by a winded pegasus smashing through the chamber doors. The senators rose in alarm, and Hurricane sprinted to see what the problem was.

He was surprised to find Silver Sword stumbling off of the snow drifts and struggling to put his bloody armor back on. At first thinking that his friend had been attacked, Hurricane pulled Silver to his hooves and supported him.

“Silver?! What happened out there? Are you hurt?”

Silver flipped his helmet back onto his head and shook it. He brushed off a few bloody griffon feathers to remind Hurricane where he had been as he recollected his breath. Deciding that he could wait no longer, the Imperator gripped his friend’s shoulders in worry.

“Griffons… Zephyrus… we have to…”

Hurricane didn’t wait to hear anymore. He nodded to Silver and escorted him out the door, pausing only long enough to make sure that he got into the air. Flaring his massive, black wings, Hurricane allowed the wintery gusts to accelerate him into the sky and begin the trek to the south. Carrying only his ceremonial armor and a short sword, he briefly considered stopping to properly arm himself but decided against it. Time was of the absolute essence.

The ever present contingent of guards managed to catch up to Hurricane to argue otherwise. “Sir, shouldn’t you wear your armor? There could still be griffons about!”

Hurricane merely accelerated in response. “No time! My family is there, I need to save them!” As more guards took off after the Emperor, Hurricane focused all his energy into speed and efficiency. “Keep up if you can, but I’m not turning back!”

Swift Spear and Silver both managed to pull alongside Hurricane before the edge of the city limits, and together the three flew towards Zephyrus. How reliable the prisoner was who gave Silver Sword the information was inconsequential to Hurricane. He needed to see, he needed to know, and there wasn’t any time to think about the possibilities.

The distant southern horizon was darker than usual, and carried with it a tinge of red against the gray, winter noon.

-----

When his family had left Stratopolis over a month ago, it was only after Hurricane spent the better part of an hour trying to convince them to stay. They would be safer in the palace with him, and he couldn’t bear the thought of being separated again. But there were duties and obligations even his own family had to fulfill, and Thunder still didn't feel comfortable in Stratopolis around the ponies who had cast him out as a fool so many years ago.

Zephyrus’ mayor had resigned to join the fight a week before Thunder Gale and his family visited Stratopolis, and the town council had unanimously elected the old stallion to take up the mantle. The former commander was responsible for organizing what little means of defense Zephyrus had, which he admitted to Hurricane amounted to little more than an early warning system. Coupled with the fact that his flight was limited, making life in an airborne city either dangerous or secluded, and there was little that Thunder Gale could have done to stay in Stratopolis, even if he had wanted to.

Naturally, Raincloud and Twister had escorted their father home, and it was with a heavy heart that Hurricane had watched his family leave. They exchanged daily correspondence, but that was nothing compared to being in each others’ presence. Hurricane had promised to visit Zephyrus as much as he could, but the daily duties of an emperor left little time for such a journey. Now he finally had his chance, but under much darker circumstances.

Hurricane could smell Zephyrus long before he saw it. Even through the frozen clouds that bit at his ears and nose, the stench of burning wood and wheat was profound. Visibility was abysmal in the gray afternoon, but the sudden appearance of a warm updraft told Hurricane he was above the town. Folding his wings, he descended in a steep nosedive through the cloud layer.

When Hurricane punched through the smoke above the town, he was barely fifty feet over the ground. Striking his wings out sharply to the sides, he managed to marginally soften his impact on the snowy streets before sliding into the side of a building. He immediately recoiled from the burning surface, collapsing onto a snow drift as the rest of his contingent landed around him.

“Zephyrus…” Silver Sword whispered above the crackling of flames. “No, oh Gods no.”

They had descended in the middle of town square, essentially falling through the center of a ring of fire. Every building lining the square was engulfed in flames, coughing smoke through warped and shattered windows. Balconies on the larger houses began to collapse as the fire ate away at their supports, and even the Cirran flag in the middle of the square was ablaze in a brilliant orange light.

Hurricane scrambled onto his hooves and began running through the burning streets towards the distant hills where his house was situated. Ponies were screaming in terror as they galloped past him, too panicked to take to the air. There were bloody and burnt equine bodies lying against buildings or in the middle of the street. They were all pegasi that Hurricane recognized, faces that he had seen his entire life, but he could not stop to help them.

Breaking past the edge of town, Hurricane and Silver Sword slid to a stop. Their jaws hung open and wings flared to their sides, stunned. In their minds they hadn’t expected anything different, but their hearts had yet to accept what they knew was coming. Now they had no choice but to look in disbelieving awe at what lay before them.

Everything was burning. The fields Hurricane had plowed for years stood like a scalding blister on the surface of the earth. The tree he had often napped under had been turned into an unholy torch. Even the barn vomited flames through unnatural holes in its roofing, and as the pair of Zephryans watched, its walls began to collapse in upon themselves. Silver Sword then turned his attention to a neighboring farmhouse caught in a similar state of destruction.

They were speechless. Both their homes were destroyed and burning. Placing a hoof on Silver’s shoulder, Hurricane pointed to the steel stallion’s home. “Go.” Silver Sword nodded and immediately took flight, disappearing into the haze in the air. Hurricane then turned to address his guards.

“Sweep the area for any more griffons, then help out whoever you can.” He gulped nervously and began to spread his wings. “I need to see… I need to know…”

The Praetorians nodded and separated out of a combination of obedience and respect for their emperor. Only Swift Spear was left with Hurricane as they flew towards his homestead. Every agonizing wing stroke put him closer and closer to the only home he had known, miraculously untouched by the fire. That didn’t mean it was free from harm however, as Hurricane saw the front door bashed in and shattered into a dozen fragments.

“Dad! Mom! Twister!?” The stallion couldn’t bring himself to step through the doorframe, instead hoping that his family members would come out to greet him, completely free of harm. Such delusions were short lived, and Hurricane took unsteady steps into his home for the first time in nine months.

The interior was in shambles. The dining table had been flipped and split, and shattered planks from the chairs were strewn about the kitchen. The cabinets had been ripped apart and the cupboard was a mangled skeleton of its former self. Utensils and knives – some bloody – made the floor hazardous to walk upon.

The living room was no better. All the windows had been kicked out and the picture frames would serve better as kindling than holding portraits. What little furniture there was had been disemboweled and hacked apart. Blood and feathers defiled the carpet.

Hurricane couldn’t find the energy to speak. He fell to his knees in the doorway, despair written across his face. It was all he could do to not bawl like a foal there and then.

Swift paused to let Hurricane have his space, then began a more productive search of the house. Entering the living room, she flipped over one of the gutted couches. Her brow rose noticeably in surprise, and she motioned for Hurricane to come over. Reluctantly, the black pegasus approached her.

“Griffon. Very professional kill, if somewhat crude.” She pointed towards the fork lodged perfectly in the center of the griffon soldier’s throat. The dead warrior’s face still bore an expression of shock, as if he hadn’t been expecting his killer to dispatch him so suddenly and so violently. There was even a piece of lettuce still clinging to the prongs of the utensil.

The sight instilled a new resolve in Hurricane. If his family had fought back, there was a chance they could still be alive somewhere. There were only a few more rooms in the house to check anyways.

“Mom! Dad! Twister!” Hurricane shouted again as he stuck his head in different rooms. A shriek of pain from down the hall perked Hurricane’s ears. Turning about, he slid into the hallway and sprinted towards his parents’ room. He nearly tripped on another griffon body before he smashed the door open.

The lack of carnage in the other two rooms was doubly repaid for here. Portraits were smashed, bookshelves were flipped over, and the windows were broken out. The bed had been torn apart, the feathers from the pillows scattered across the room. Even Thunder Gale’s armor lay in pieces away from its stand. The notched sword Thunder kept above his bed was impaled in the wall, the hilt dripping blood. Griffon bodies dotted the room.

This mattered little to Hurricane. His attention was drawn to the three figures in the room he recognized. Two of them were slouched against the wall, while the other still stood. A rather large griffon corpse separated them.

“Twister!!” Hurricane nearly tackled his sister as he rushed to embrace her. The beginnings of tears were starting to fall down his face as he wrapped his neck over her shoulder. She was shaking violently, and her beautiful golden eyes were red and swollen from her own sobs.

“H-Hurricane… you came…” A bloody knife clattered to the ground as she spoke. Her brown coat was matted with blood and sticky feathers, none which was her own. “Mom… D-dad…” She descended into another wave of weeping before she could continue.

Hurricane had been so elated to see his sister alive that he had overlooked his parents. Raincloud’s gray head lay across Thunder Gale’s chest, a trickle of blood leaving the corner of her mouth. Deep gashes from claw and beak wounds decorated her chest and neck, each dripping a profuse amount of blood. Her chest and eyelids were still.

Thunder Gale was decidedly worse off. He still had enough energy left in his body to gently stroke his wife’s mane, but it was rapidly leaving his body. More wounds covered his entire coat, and the scar along his left side had been ripped open again. Not one or two, but four daggers were stuck in his chest, the hilts covered in glistening blood. For the first time, Hurricane noticed a pair of graying wings laying against the far wall.

“No…” Gently releasing his grasp on Twister, Hurricane knelt down beside his father. He reached out a hoof to touch Raincloud’s head, to feel the face that had kissed him goodnight through his entire colthood. It was already hauntingly cold. Thunder Gale’s glassy eyes slid to hold Hurricane in their focus.

“I’m… so sorry…” Thunder grunted as he released his raspy breaths. The blood around the daggers was bubbling with the air that escaped his lungs. The old stallion hacked once or twice, scattering large drops of blood and saliva across the floor. It was only with great difficulty that he could even keep his body in an upright position.

“Dad, I’m sorry, I should have been here, I should have done something! How could I not see this coming?!” The thought of pressing a dagger to his own neck crossed Hurricane’s mind in his frenzy, but the thought was quickly shunted away.

“Hurricane… son… don’t blame yourself. There was nothing… gah!… you could have done.” The stubs where Thunder’s wings used to be twitched in agony as another haggard cough wracked his body. Hurricane heard shuddering breaths from behind him, and wrapped a foreleg around Twister’s neck. The poor filly was locking up in shock, and the simple action was all Hurricane could do to try and help her.

“How many?” Hurricane was desperate for information to haunt his mind in his sleep. He shouldn’t have let this happen; he shouldn’t have left them to die.

“Five. A sergeant and his squad. I knew they were coming… I got one with my fork as soon as they entered the house. The surprise was barely enough time for Raincloud and Twist to get to my room… I tried to hold them off as long as I could, but they drove me back… Killed all but the sergeant with my sword before he de-winged me. Had fun stabbing me to death, but when your mother tried to stop him…” Thunder’s eyes squeezed shut and his jaw locked in pain. “He killed her. It was… quick. Painless. She died instantly.”

The wounds around Raincloud’s neck and shoulders suggested otherwise, but there was no reason in arguing about it.

Thunder Gale’s shaky hoof had come to a rest on the gray mare’s neck as he lost the energy to move it. The paralysis of death was creeping over his body; it would soon reach his lungs and the wounds that lacerated them. There was precious little time left for Hurricane and his father.

Coughing painfully, Thunder Gale began to speak again. “Twister finished him off though… grabbed a Gryphon dagger lying on the floor… I’ve never been more proud of her resolve than today, regardless of what she thinks of herself. I’m proud, proud of both my children.” He laughed nostalgically, despite wincing in pain again. “I remember when you two were just foals… sure you got in fights and all, but deep down, you loved each other. You did everything together, no matter how much at times you pretended to hate one another. I’m glad to have watched that kindred spirit blossom in the waning years of my life. Hurricane,” the young stallion’s ears perked up at the sound of his name, “she probably won’t tell you this, but every day while you were gone, Twist would sit at the eastern window and wait. She didn’t speak, she didn’t move, she just waited. She was waiting for you to come home, waiting to see her big brother again.”

Hurricane felt the tears coming, and with a few sniffles managed to suppress them for the time being. Twister was still lost in thought, having retreated deep within herself. Hurricane hugged her closer, hoping that his warmth would be able to penetrate her shell.

A weak smile formed at Thunder Gale’s lips. “And then you became emperor. She was so excited, she couldn’t wait to fly up and see you. Her enthusiasm alone pulled the cart for the better half of the journey.” The smile quickly faded from the old stallion’s face, and the light in his eyes began to dim. “You’re a fine stallion, my boy. No matter what happens, Cirra will be better with you at the helm.” Thunder unceremoniously grunted as his body began to lean to the side, and Hurricane rushed forward to steady him.

“Dad, please, don’t go! Don’t leave me!” Hurricane was sobbing now, the tears openly streaming down his face.

A final twinkle manifested in Thunder Gale’s dying eyes. With a final, drawn-out breath, he spoke his final words: “You did good, son. I’m proud of you. Know that you’ll never be alone. The two brightest stars at night burn for you and you alone. May you look to them in times of trouble… and know that we are there…”

Hurricane’s black hooves blurred in his teary vision. Thunder Gale’s eyes fluttered shut, and his breaths had slowed to almost nothing. “No, you don’t have to go! You don’t…”

“Goodbye… my son.”

The old stallion’s head supported its own weight for a second longer, but no more. With a final bob of fate, Thunder Gale’s soul was allowed to escape from its ruined body and join the Great Skies above.

“Goodbye… father…”

There was no strength left in Hurricane’s limbs. His knees gave out beneath him, and he collapsed onto the bloody bodies of his parents. There he lay, his heart in pieces and his mind in agony, whimpering quietly.

A gentle hoof tapped him on the shoulder. Reluctantly, he took it and allowed himself to be hauled off the ground. Swift Spear looked into Hurricane’s eyes, searching for the essence of the resilience that was such an integral part of the stallion she loved. Hurricane sought for it as well, and collecting his breath, he nodded slowly to the mare.

Bending down, Hurricane lifted Twister’s head and wiped a tear from her eye. She managed to focus on Hurricane and throw herself into his outstretched forelegs. She cried over his shoulder, finally finding the strength to formulate words.

“Why? Why, Cane, why?” Her golden irises sought for the answer in his magenta eyes, unable to stem the flow of tears.

Hurricane thought back to the words a dying stallion had once used to console a friend as he lay in a pool of his own blood deep underground. “Because he did it for us. Because he loved us. He would rather die as he did than see us hurt in any way. And I would too, for you.”

Twister nodded, hearing the truth in his words. “What happened to us, Hurricane? What happened to the two happy pegasi whose biggest worry was whether or not we’d get our work done in time to head to town together?”

He had no answer.

The filly acknowledged Hurricane’s silence with a short exhalation. Releasing herself from Hurricane’s grasp, she bent over and began to hoist her mother’s body onto her back. Swift Spear offered to help, but Twister silently rejected it. She had to do this alone.

Hurricane followed his sister’s example and picked up Thunder Gale’s body. Together, the two of them left the house – the house they had lived in for their entire lives – for the last time.

They found a stretch of clear land on a hill overlooking the village. The flames had been extinguished with assistance from the Praetorians, but the smoke still polluted the skies. Hurricane remembered just how cold it was outside as he gently set his father’s body down on the dry grasses. Swift Spear deposited Thunder Gale’s wings by his sides, and Hurricane nodded to her gratefully.

There was a single shovel that escaped the destruction of the homestead, and Hurricane gripped the rusty handle in his mouth. The shovel scraped aside the dirt with ease – their farmland had always been one of the most fertile in the Empire – and soon Hurricane had dug a wide grave. Twister gave her parents one last hug, and Hurricane kissed his mother’s forehead before lowering her into the grave alongside Thunder Gale. Together, he and Twister pushed the dirt back into the grave.

A suitable headstone was found, and Hurricane drove it into the dirt at the head of the grave. He didn’t have a chisel, so he delicately carved out an epitaph with the tip of his sword. When he was finished, he stood back and wrapped Twister under his wing as she began to sniffle again.

The sun made a brief and fiery appearance in the western horizon behind them. One by one, the Praetorian returned and formed up around their Emperor. Silver Sword returned shortly afterwards, his own hooves stained with dust and earth. Nothing needed to be said between the two stallions.

When his company was assembled, Hurricane gave his father a crisp salute, his lips trembling as he fought back tears. It was the finest salute he had ever delivered; not even Haysar had received a more disciplined action. It was fitting that it be given to the greatest stallion he had ever known. Thunder Gale’s old sword was then planted into the ground by the tombstone.

There was nothing left for Hurricane and Silver Sword in Zephyrus. They each accrued a small bundle of possessions from their households, and then Hurricane sparked a fire of his own doing. Within seconds his old home was ablaze, and he and Twister watched it burn silently. They would never use it again; it was best to take it down by their own doing in their own memory than let the wrath of time prolong the house and its suffering.

As the sun descended, the pegasi from Stratopolis flew to the north with one additional member. The former town of Zephyrus was left behind them in its misery. All the buildings had been destroyed; it was no longer capable of supporting life.

As the shadows finally overtook the land, the sun struck at one last body of stone, a memorial that would stand as an oracle to all who would come after. The short message was roughly carved onto its face, but carved deep so it would survive the tests of time:

Here lies Thunder Gale and Raincloud
Father and Mother of Twister and of Hurricane, Twenty-fourth Emperor of Cirra.
Look on these lands and know that they died not for them, but for those they loved.
Twenty-Eighth of Long Night, Year Four Hundred After Empire.

Comments

[vespillo-cruentus]

i told myself i wasn't gonna cry. --reads chapter-- WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT.

other than that, very well done. i love this story.

[Bairiko]

But...but Thunder Gale was awesome

[Riku006]

The second I read the journal entry I knew this wasn't going to have a happy ending.
And now Hurricane and Silver have another motivation to win this war; excating justice/revenge.

[Silver Night Strider]

You know I've been reading this story since October 26 and it’s taken me until now to actually get an account so I can finally respond.
I’m glad I can finally comment on this great story, while there may be a few things that could be touched up, I still think it’s heading in a good/ (well written) direction.
The main thing that is bothering me is that in chapter 12: Cyclone, over three hundred thousand ponies died in Waldren and somehow the main ponies live… I know it’s a fictional story but the probability with the numbers, especially since Hurricane and Silver were in the center of the caldera, is just… unrealistic. If the main characters could somehow survive so could others.
One easy solution you can use if you want, but by no means do you have to as its your story; many more pegasi did survive the events at Waldren but with no one there to help them they got captured by the gryphon reinforcements and are now prisoners of war. Assuming of course they didn't just execute all the survivors.
I have some other opinions on some other details but I won’t say them unless you’re fine with it.
Ps. Why does this story have hardly any views and favorites? It’s extremely well written and not only that its one of the few that has a plausible storyline and basis. It’s going good so far; keep it up The 24th Pegasus. I’m also glad you didn't kill off Hurricane’s sister, and please don’t kill off Swift Spear, I like her character.
Sorry for leaving such a long comment, kind of built up after nearly two months of not being able to say anything. I hope to read some more soon.

[The 24th Pegasus]

1812242

Comments and criticism of any kind are always welcome. If you don't have someone to tell you what's wrong with your story, how are you going to improve it?

Besides that, the death toll from Waldren is more of an estimate on the Legion's part. I'm not sure how well I conveyed it in that chapter or in the following ones, but the Pegasi that did survive were very scattered after the blast, and there were also griffons that had survived as well. That would mean that the griffons would indeed capture/kill most of the survivors, but there still were survivors that got back to the Legion safely. However, those numbers were so small that they weren't significant enough to be mentioned in the reports.

I guess it's just a case of neglecting to mention a few details about the whole event. Realistically, it doesn't effect the progression of plot too much, but I can understand how it might possibly stick some people the wrong way.

Thank you for the support and criticism. We're in the home stretch now.

[Teh dr3am3r]

The feels. I can't take them.

[SolidFire]

These excerpts from the journal always bring worry. Aw hell no, now I'm worried. I can feel my heart rate quicken. The griffon they interrogated spoiled the beans, and the chapter title comes into play, just like I was worried it would. My heart is racing now that they made it to their home town. I'm afraid to keep going. Son of a bitch. That's just sad. I cried a bit, I truly did. Glad that old stallion had some fight in him though. It was a grand chapter that brought about emotions that I would have rather not had to deal with. I'm glad that the young one got to survive, even though she's going to be haunted by nightmares of death for a while to come. To the next chapter I go. Ah, and before I forget, that headstone message was very nice.

~SolidFire

[FancyFan]

From the very beginning I could tell this would not be an easy chapter. And then there were feels. So many feels.
Thunder Gale, you were a badass. I mean you killed a soldier with a freaking fork while you were old and sick. And then you killed three more.

[Crochettail]

I was going to comment on every chapter.
But how do you describe the feeling of your heart ripping into a thousand tiny pieces because WAR IS SO STUPID AND SO EVIL AND WHY

[The Pyropath]

How many more must die? The Cirran Empire shall soon fall, but it will not be eclipsed. I shall be reborn; and alongside it, the Pegasi.