[Poetry] In a land with no heroes, two goddesses seek to defeat the tyrant known as Tirek who has been stealing the magic of ponykind. Only there is no glory as their broken sorority hangs in the balance of a war-ravaged land.
In a land with no heroes, two goddesses seek to defeat the tyrant known as Tirek who has been stealing the magic of ponykind.
Only there is no glory as their broken sorority hangs in the balance of a war-ravaged land where hope has been snuffed out and history is hardly ever the truth.
Through a veil of snow, there is a land that has become its own demise— Past the teeth of mountains is a valley barren and cold— Where all knowledge and truth has been lost to corrupted hearts and ignorant minds.
Three races divided by lines of blood know nothing of what has, is, or ever will be. The false glitter of gold and the products of all their lies — which are colder than the bite of a fatal wind — make up all the squaller that they see.
In their dying small ditch of a world feud after feud — all so needlessly petty — is the shovel which they use to dig their own graves. For in this fleeting meaninglessness, when your neighbor is your enemy, and you are unknowingly your own, and all is just another gaunt and pestilence-eaten face, what could there be to save?
Vile tongues that have never spoken anything but the filthiest gossip and lies. There is no Honesty The slightest compassion, a concept known to none, where the cruelty of such a land could freeze the sun. There is no Kindness Where only greed seduces simple minds, charity will never ring out with any clarity in a land where no mortals can help themselves. There is no Generosity. Only the howls of the wind can be heard where any semblance of happiness is lacking, for it is but another thing to be sold through dishonest bargain. There is no Laughter. Where it isn't a choice to blindly obey and conformity is held as the only way, the lines that mark each fragile paper individual are worn to an indistinguishable whole. All obligation is forced, all bonds are false. There is no Loyalty. All are pulled with invisible strings that guide each equine puppet to its crown so they might betray each other more efficiently, wrong one another more patriotically, and nod on cue with yet another blind bow from identical figures. They clutter a world marked with only rags and riches. How would these beings — the true living dead — ever know Harmony? This is where each leaf is a waste as the ink dribbles on to chronicle each glorified misdeed. No knowledge can be taught in such an artless and false world, a mere dot of spilled blood on every undrawn map of a greater, unknown whole. Thus there is no Magic.
Harmony and Love are but myths in a godless waste. All is equal suffering and order reigns three times over in a play where no masks are needed. Few have any face to show.
The sisters seraphim gods of forgotten birthrights from the broken paradise of the Old World
Two little fillies that stumbled into the cruel maw of a society that wanted only to tear them apart
The vicious villain of a world a twisted perversion of all that should be ensnared the one as soon as she was marked with the regal sun and crippled the other so she could not stray and would behold machinations she could do nothing to change in the tragic duality she found they had entered where there was no home, no kin, no answers, and only a halted quest in a land where these long-lost mortals not as precious as the elder wished moved the sun and moon until they perished, drained on the ground less than dirt called to this duty by numbers and chance so their everyday deaths might be a raffle to keep a world they had fought against and never seen in the imperfect and crippled balance they could barely maintain
Untrained and feral gods or goddesses, if you must that were in some ways so painfully naive despite their two millennia spent, together to all that they saw and those who wanted to rule a world that was but a valley with nothing but a mass grave
Ponies, lost and misguided, claimed the elder while the younger stared warily, suspecting something in every glance said ponies marveled at such powerful creatures that were not as they were, how utterly different and to them this was a crime
They were lost gods Now they were found monsters
The eldest was beautiful She was the one who shone like fire, burning brightly and talking and laughing with her courtly mask Praise fluttered about her like the bright dresses she wore She was the wizard's prize her and her shadow She made him famous more than the beard ever could She garnered fame of her own as well the noble monster but soon even monster was dropped when describing the young mare who did everything they did and spoke as they did and donned their chains of normalcy with the brightest of smiles
She wanted to be just like the court noble and beautiful and loved admired worshiped
She spoke nothing outrageous and sometimes nothing true They loved her for both and nothing
She loved their attention like a drunk loved ale and so she gave them her time as if there was anything left for them to take
Celestia loved fame too much to realize that she the Unicorn Court's beloved outcast and monster turned civilized gentlemare whose eyes were always resting upon the crown was drowning.
Luna was her shadow, small and silent Or maybe she was like the snow to fall from the sky, only to merge with ash in its fall small and free lost in the storm delicate and pure, as the lost voice of a sister might add fragile, she would have explained for Celestia had certainly thought so Luna had been her world before she had been abandoned for another one with no wonder no dreams no knowledge and absolutely nothing to hope for
Luna, the outcast whose intelligence and honesty marked her as an outsider Luna, the pariah who spoke her mind when she bothered to speak at all Luna, the suddenly forsaken, dared to tell her sister there was nothing to save here Luna, the monster, who was called out for her small rebellions
Luna who saw no hope but so much of what could have been who could only add up wish after wish and fight for herself now that her sister was gone and there was No future
These are the sisters as blinding as the sun and as lingering and waning as the moon that each of them bears
Divided by all that is between them The elder rots in limelight (the glare hides her crumbling) the youngest is saved by isolation (for she can see through the shadows, with her eyes flashing) that she chooses so willingly eyes wide to watch the ruins of everything around her whether it be ponykind, which she would gladly abandon or the broken sisterhood that shattered when she blinked
While corruption festers all around them and more is forgotten by these mere mortal ponies every day as the rift only grows A single sound rings out the dreadful peals of sophisticated laughter from the silk-clad sun goddess when the loudest cry is from the one who never speaks
An unassuming jar in the shadow of a jeweled vase as empty as those magenta eyes have become Yet there's only hope inside and to set it free is to let it go
Sister and sister only grow apart, but brother and brother are as close as can be Neither ponies, Alicorns, or gods; they owed allegiance to no tribe or faction, and hailed from no land near or far across the sea
They came from the dead worlds — Paradise and Tartarus — and were born to the forgotten gods that resided within These brothers were Reapers, immortal beings who could shift their form from a pony's, to a god's, and their own monstrous skins
They had been journeying across the farthest north of the Arctic plain. The eldest used his own powers — his Reaper's birthright — to open an otherworldly gate. Their bulky forms were strangers to both this world and the gray-white blur of the horizon. The sky that battered them with snow in an attempt to bleach the already bleak landscape of mountains, piling upon the faults that they walked over. Mixed in with the snow was ash from the great fiery-mouthed volcanoes towards the land nearer to the Pole and its star.
The brothers continue their self-imposed exile from all they've ever known. It is all so Tirek might use his power to rip the magic from pony's souls. Scorpan, the younger of the two, took the lead, as if trying to part the snow they were trying to walk through. His form was sheltered by only the leathery shield made by his stilled wings. He used his talon to point out their surroundings, calling his older brother's attention to the most trivial of things in this land, which was so unlike the diverse Tartarian hellscape they grew up in.
He chattered on and on about the fame that they would bring themselves, now they would finally prove their parents — who had acted as their teachers — wrong. Soon, the ponies that had somehow survived the mysterious fall of the Old World, would bow before them as their new kings. These autocrats would be the only ones worthy of wielding any power on this miserable, freezing continent with no one to question or challenge them. They may not be Alicorns, like their sire or dam, but these two immortals wanted to gain the power that came with godhood in one way or another.
Scorpan fingers the medallion with his free claw, the gold unable to glitter in such conditions. It was the only token he had to remind him of the mother, father, and the little sister he had left behind. He had abandoned all in order to ally with Tirek in his quest for power. He hated the necklace and all it stood for. A moment of silence as Scorpan walks on, and then he suddenly pauses and rips the piece over his head with a brusque, careless movement and turns around to face Tirek, clasping it in his hand-like paw.
Tirek Who is built not with the structure of the tallest tower, a brief, thin shape to pierce the sun's light but with the brutish concentrated might of every palace wall whose harsh features bear a snarling grin when given any power, his teeth flashing brighter than his polished horns His mouth only ever scowled with brooding irritation hidden to none At the sound of his name The tyrannical harshness that is his natural state twists slightly As if bearing the semblance of whatever brotherly sneer he could muster cruel despite its bizarre earnestness and all Scorpan had ever known
"Here," Scorpan offered, extending an arm and holding the medallion, letting it swing feebly to catch whatever sunlight it could.
Tirek pauses, waiting for this to be explained to him, as his mind was already that of a king.
"To celebrate," Scorpan calls loudly, above the snow, "what we are about to do?"
Tirek scowled deeper, muttering a few garbled words to himself about chatterboxes despite his brother's sudden brevity.
"Just take it, Tirek."
"What would I need your necklace for? It is the key through which you channel your magic. You will not be as sharp in power without it."
"My magic will work very well despite lacking a proper key to open many realm-doors with, and I am always able to forge my own. They may be sloppy, but they work, my brother. Call it a token of our brotherhood. We shall be kings, after all, and of all!" Scorpan cheered, "Our strength will be proven, and no longer shall we have such empty titles such as Lord Scorpan and Lord Tirek. No longer will the spirits of the damned whisper our names with the hollow fear that Tartarus instills in every mortal soul, but with the fear any good kings deserve. We shall be subjects of the same dread they show to father! Oh, this is going to be thrilling and—"
A simple swipe of Tirek's great hand snatches the necklace snagged in Scorpan's claw. He roughly slips it over his head and horns, past his long white mane, which had become overgrown during travel. It was tied back with a simple jeweled piece that marks him as having been a prince in all but name.
This simple gesture silences his eager sibling, although the quick glance from the elder's darker eyes doubt his most loyal follower. It was the same, sneaky doubt Tirek had regarded their parents and younger sister with.
"Ponies are but husks of magic, Scorpan. No glory will come from taking their land; it is the weak hearts of ponies themselves that we must conquer!"
Scorpan nodded solemnly and battered back the storm with a few waves of his arm before resuming his trek, all as his own steps in the snow are overtaken by Tirek's.
Tirek is but another spelling for 'tyrant' He who seeks only only to triumph by building a throne upon others that he has felled in the worst possible ways where each red cape is colored with a sheen of innocents' blood and the purple trimmings of royalty are but the bruises of those harmed to obtain the power that he seeks to wrench from hooves as cold as snow and so frozen they can barely hold onto anything and are marked with their own blood as he, the lone tower soars above their cries
In a land with no knowledge no truth no individuals and no justice Each word has lost all meaning each difference and subtly worn to another indistinct brick in the pile of what was once an art and a long-lost reminder of times long-forgotten when the dust of ignorance corrupted no syllable and only the foolish were truly silent even in their own minds
Hero is but a name as devoid of everything as everything else to utter to anypony who met every standard and was but a sum of their flimsy ideals and only a dash more assertion to go with their polished exterior (to reflect each lie so it was something greater, so they might feel untouchable) and unneeded worship and make up for twice the hollowness
In a time with neither light or dark all heroes are just repeats and tired examples of inadequacy (that few will admit) trimmed with faint glorifications for no reason at all they are that twisted word it is their name as each dull echo blends into the last a truly featureless face that disappears in a blink (as if there were identity to begin with) which comes from time spent looking at all this for so long, a world that lacks what it was (almost-nearly-everything) and has no knowledge or will to swim when it can so willingly sink
The greatest of all the tattered society's holes in a dull and muted fabric, frayed to the point of fading despite the scarring effect of the existence it leads This is the tear with the richest blue cape many would have seen dotted with stars that bear no liking to the lights that shine through the everyday oblivion A belled hat hides his eyes and announces his presence before his annoyed shouts slur-laden and impatient have caught up with the ring He always had so much of nothing with meaning with insight with tact to say to anypony at all Wizard only because he knew something beyond court meetings and castes however trivial and false it might be Scholar only because he bothered to own a book (and use it) instead of the customary spear and his line was too noble to degrade Strange because he lived away from civilization in a valley all his own where he kept two caged birds
He never fought any battle except with the things he yelled and the hooves he pointed to everypony else he had no friends no youth he would ever speak of only unreasonable outbursts to every little thing Starswirl the obnoxious noble (named for his beard in later years) never smiled once never thanked anypony for anything, no matter how crooked the favor He only got what he wanted by force and had no time for anypony — even himself — at all dismissing any and every wonder dream and love as less than nothing
Often by his side ordered about on a whim to run there fetch that travel here and quiet down when she would barely even speak except in the half-remembered parables of a foalhood she never had were clear in a mind that barely knew any magic except for how to take a burlap sack or two any dusty, cast aside rags sew them together to shelter a pink coat and the brightest green mane so she might be looked over despite her normalcy and know only how to disappear
Tyrant and tyrant have reached a part of their journey's end and have arrived at the mountains that mark the border of land not even Harmony can mend
Each steep and jagged peak forms a wall that few will pass, if any at all The stone divider is held by the ponies within to be as impassable as it is tall
Days, weeks, and even months could be spent trying to make the climb But Scorpan has an idea that could save the brothers' time
With a wave of his paw and a few invisible strings of magic pulled a door — like a mirror reflecting another place — appeared out of thin air Through it, they can see a method of travel more efficient than most paths that might leave these two travelers much worse for wear
In the surface of elsewhere a squat and foreboding, utterly dismal stone castle can be seen and crowded around it, through rain and snow, rank buildings with filthy thatched roofs make up manors and shops inhabited by unicorns who are far from clean
Both routes could lead to the same destination: path one through Scorpan's gate, or the second rife with danger, in this tomb of snow it would not be unusual to find a frozen hunks of pony-flesh and bone leftover from some desperate mortal soul who died with thick white sheets pulled across the starving, ignorant husks of their frost-bitten forms — utterly alone
As if there was any choice at all Tirek points to the northern mirage gate his fiendish hand to decide ponykind's fate a fantastical door, a simple choice in a country that knows no destination the single finger points to the roof of a unicorn hall
A decision is made, a path is set all in the name of Tirek's bet everything is framed in a gate of shimmering color, which like a heart does pulse and in it is the capital of a lying land where every known truth is false
This gate — almost peaceful — is unadorned and unknowingly deceptive as any lie Yet, here is your fitting inscription: ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE Ponies, you have been warned now comes the tyrant who wishes to reap your souls and magic so you might die
small and fragile are the ponies burdened by so much silk and jewels with hearts like they very gemstones that they wear
in the castle the door is barred, wood held shut with all the might and aura that thirty unicorn soldiers can muster which is barely a film of light to coat the wood
their numbed, dead hearts beat in unison cryingwantingbegging not to be caught but there are the thunderous hoofsteps of Tirek with the peasant's sparks barely withholding him turned to true fire
in the stone hall now dark of candles the nobles scream and wail more than infant Platinum in her nurse's hooves King Tantalum upon the throne, he is the legacy of Titanium who is said to have fought the savage monster-sisters when they first arrived in this desolate land King Tantalum, the bravest of all unicorns frets and cowers under the crown eyes darting for a way to weasel himself out his arranged bride, the consort Queen Vitalis huddles nearby, mind consumed by fear as she ignores Platinum's shrieks which are drowned to all but her parents who pretend not to hear as the door is ripped as if it was less than paper
there stands — in full view the barrel of Tirek, full of magic his hands like two halves of a cage and his fingers thicker than any bar rip away the roof and the door's frame so his face might sneer upon his prey and Scorpan might fly through using his magic to levitate the nobles faint and limp with terror to Tirek where his maw drains their feeble energy and tosses the dolls to the side in the direction of the soldiers who are unfit to protect even themselves and the next to suffer Tirek's wrath thrown to the floor and like the nobles broken beside them bowing for they have exchanged one tyrant for another
none stand between usurper and the crown-rest that is Tantalum's fear-eaten skull only one sound escapes his lips as he turns to the nearest mare his glassy eyes not seeing Platinum held in another's hooves (as she has always been) for what could be his last sight of her through his sputtering squeak the nursemare hears the cry of 'run' and does so with the heir to all unicorns within the faintest wisp of magic
the queen's scream rips through the hall as she watches the mare with the filly she had never thought of as a mere princess until then running at the monster to reach the doors he tore and dashing out before she could be seen
only
only...
Tirek heard the queen's scream and saw her dash and try to follow but he sees not where she is going or what the dress-laden mare is seeing just where she is so he raises his giant hoof while Scorpan hassles the already beaten ponies and Tirek waits for the right moment to bring it down and watch the king scream too
The unicorns hold nothing without their magic they still raised the sun and moon at the cost of thousands of lives when gods who could do so easily were not far away
but they were now when the proud pony race had its hooves in the mud like the very neighbors that they so casually cheated for food that could not survive in the mountain and neither would they
soon the sun and moon would fall if no attempt to save this wasteland was made as they sat in the dirt cold chilling them and robbing of them of breath
soon the kingdom of the unicorns would just be a tomb for Platinum to inherit a mass grave of the bitterest cold if no moves were made to rescue the figureheads they worshiped and the gilded fools that shepherded them
so a messenger from this northern mountain to seek out the only unicorn left with their magic intact the heroes of the unicorns
while to the southeast earth ponies cower at the magic of the sirens three and ready a messenger of their own with pleas for help and money to do the talking for the heroes of ponykind
both travel different lands with tales of terror and one destination, shared like the misery that binds them all
Where three Sirens work their magic Enchanting earth ponies across the countryside for power Starswirl will soon hear of this The last resort of the race he holds so low, despite the prejudice that haunts them all
Although his services — if he agrees at all — will come at a heavy price that few could truly pay Nothing can be done with their minds under the spell of the trio of enchantresses Dying crops dot the southwestern fields, all as the food supply of all three Tribes rots beneath earth pony hooves
Escaping the castle ruins is young Platinum's nurse And in her desperation she finds a unicorn who can deliver the news of the castle's fall Still, there is no rest for her as Platinum — in the tradition of her kin — cries not for family, but for material lost The second messenger departs, on a parallel journey with the first, putting the ruined northeast behind him
stir not, for pegasi walk the sky and the only sight that brings those winged brutes pleasure is to watch members of the fairest tribe writhe in agony 'fore they fall over and die
see not, a single shape, up there in the daily storm that even they can barely master if you hear the clink of metal and feathers rustle, run faster
linger not, for magic-drained legs can barely move and to warn of their planned invasion you must run far only then do you realize there is no shelter that can keep you safe in the game of many tyrants, even innocent souls find themselves bathed in feathers in tar
fear not, as the brigade comes flying, the movements of the armor-clad pegasi are far from tame somewhere in time — future or past, this poem knows not — ponies are told to love both their enemy and neighbor, not knowing they are the same
...
stir not, for in the sky-dwelling tribe's charity as they storm through unicorn-laden streets drained of magic and filled with strife their wing-blades prove to be quick and brutal as they are so generous in their quest for wealth to relieve you of your life
wait not, for thunder always comes before the lightning and in the ruined streets stands a creature tall, red and black that even your winged slayer finds to be frightening
hear not, for you have perished and no wings have ever adorned your back yet you cannot even see the sweet vengeance of your flight-leeched foe's form go slack
count not, for even though you are not among the ranks it takes little time to see that each pegasus stallion, mare, and foal is here to plunder, their expressions twisted in hollow copies of barbaric glee
empathize not, for the sole reason of they were not like you in life, nor will they be in death as Tirek stands unbroken above each and every limp form younger brother Scorpan follows close behind, his face his expressionless as he surveys the scene, although his face betrays something of love
love not, for you are a pony, dead or alive you were but another meant to obey every word spoken by whoever was groomed to be the crown's oh-so willing victim you are starved, unremarkable, everyday, ignorant, un-dreaming, perfectly prejudiced, and without even batting an eye— easily declared as replaceable now that you lie cold and — as expected — forgotten Tirek is filled with even more power and a deepened tyrannical drive
care not, for you have never dreamed, questioned, or made yourself you in the life you never lived your role was non-existent and might as well already be filled so we move on from meaningless you to troubled Scorpan who stares at those who have been killed
doubt not, is what ponies would say, least of all your tribe no matter the pony's race they repeat the same thing as one mind put into different skin when out of all around him the only one Scorpan should question is his very own kin
Guile alone will not save young Scorpan Under the falling midnight snow, he sits Inside him, silence and more eating at his mind Like a lullaby of war with only one refrain: This is all your fault, Your deeds mark each equine form, freezing in the night
And so with all the stealth he can muster Scorpan sneaks away, hiding among the stilled bodies of two conquered tribes
Snow offering him a single mercy Inching flakes of ice to hide his tracks Now he heads south, hope never crossing his mind
The heroes of ponykind— one bigoted and one meek find an inn and stay the night along the southern border and among ale-slurred words the innkeeper — a sickly mare of the earth — accepts the wizard's parasitic will: for their stay, she earns no coin her response is a single nod— barely noticed and weak
Brought along to carry any bags are two who despite their youth have ages that outnumber any hag's there, a mare vain and fair quietly sips her piss-poor drink her regal manners almost unseen Next to her at the corner is the filly — though her dress and manner suggest otherwise — with an honest stare her sword of mortal craft, called Quicksilver, is at her side and her soft mane of sky's blue is brushed and clean
Her sister sits behind her, overshadowing her with two verses garbed in lace and silk with a circlet at her head and next to her was the harsh metal sunbeam of gold against the shabby counter it leaned, bold, gleaming, and burning in the dim light to some, it was the Dawn's Star, a bright fire that must have taken even the finest unicorn smith his life to sculpt so that his forge became his pyre To the groomed mare who wielded it if it had a name at all it was called with a simple one, uttered by this mare so cultured and cool as she - without a warrior's seriousness in this deed — dubbed the sun-bright metal Ignis Sol
Outside snow falls thick but cannot mask the howl of a stranger's woe-filled shouts as he bangs upon the weak door our hero, the esteemed Starswirl walks toward the rattling and the sisters appear battle-ready When it is flung open, Scorpan, cold and weary stares into Starswirl's scowl
The wizard raises a sword of plain steel above the stranger's head its name nonexistent, or at the very least forgotten as the metal tool fell the eyes of young Scorpan met the impassive look of the fairer sister sparking a sort of pity as brief as the golden flash that left her in Scorpan's stead
Screams, and shouts fill the air as the wizard Starswirl curses the charge, the court-appointed daughter he nearly cleaved in two calling her useless, at best and at worst things that caused even the still-young Luna to move her hooves to her ears while stunned tavern-goers and Scorpan look on with a collective appalled stare
While Sister Dark's mind retreated into itself as she bore witness to her sister's almost-unheard of defiance Sister Light falls to her knees small tears ripped in her skirt of bright color and lace and begs for Scorpan to be able to tell his story after the steel hilt meets her head she sways, dizzy but it is just once, to the surprise of all who had heard tales of Starswirl's anger yet the most surprising thing is Starswirl's compliance
...
Scorpan too, falls before the weak wizard and tells of his brother who lurks within the blizzard
To these ponies, he comes near and at his words, their eyes shine with fear
From his place upon the floor in front of the unworthy one Scorpan begs forgiveness for what he has done
He believes these unenlightened brutes who know not even who they are are their lost ancestors, ruled by some gods who ruled lands more prosperous by far
Putting their bigotry aside for just a short bit of time the inn-goers — sisters excepted — agree to 'forgive' Scorpan of his crime
In bursts, a messenger hailing from the west The earth pony having traveled long without food or rest
He warns of three sorceresses and their enchanting wiles This messenger begs for help, offering a vast reward of riches in piles
At the prospect of a promised price Starswirl shows yet another vice
Knowing Scorpan's weakness lies in his humility Starswirl lies to the best of his ability
He calls the creature he cares nothing for to travel with him and the meek mare with a mane of green To save the lives of ponies and make Scorpan's record appear clean
Refusing to hear any protest from either divine mare Starswirl, Clover, and Scorpan leave without receiving a single glare
In reality, Starswirl's kindness was but another easy lie So he could desert those at the tavern and leave them doomed to die
Echoing in the distance as the wizard and his cheerless party leave is a single sound: Tirek's mighty hooves upon the ground
The ground that freezes more with each generation trembles His steps are nearer with each movement and his shadow washes over the inn and looms The building that does little to hold the cold at bay quavers like a leaf in bitter autumn gusts Ponies who stand no chance pour from the ramshackle entrance, already screaming as they scatter to nowhere at all with the hope of escape Their strength is wrenched from them as he makes his appearance known and scowls His jaw clicks shut as he grows once more, above those who couldn't dream or defy much of anything at all With the taste of all the pony magic of the races in sight and two races utterly defeated and decaying he could now stand to take something that matters so much more, the power of so many would be able to hold the might of gods within the boiling forces inside him, and though he has seen no Alicorns bright beacons of everything meant to be in a world that appears dead He towers above limp earth pony forms, glazed-eyed and shivering on the ground as their life drains away, corrected as there below him stand two goddesses with their wings flared like sails in such a dismal sea and still, he thinks that surely this cannot be except a bolt of something bright from a sky that bears no storm burns his arm as it sails past, a streak of lightning sailing by and proves him to be wrong the blue-coated filly who challenges him gulps visibly and presents a sword in retaliation she gulps again but does not falter beside her small, thin form, her companion and elder stares at the merciless monster of a tyrant before her with eyes wide and fearful To her, the thought of ponies nearby in thatched homes that burned as easily as they do hurt Her legs trembling, her dress muddy and her magical grip on her weapon slipping She draws one last ragged breath drops her gaze and flees
A beam of magic scorches the ground pouring forth from Tirek's horns and burning away the snow and all below it
Lightning curls from the horn of the small goddess cloaking her in an awesome and terrifying symbol of a birthright almost forgotten that she still has yet to master
And discarded on the ground lies Quicksilver, blade bearing chips from where it struck the tyrant-monster's hide only to draw no blood from the magic-supported skin, forgotten as soon as this battle was silently declared to be magic versus magic and immortal against immortal in a world that denied all
Shining in the metal surface were gleams of blue aura slicing a gray sky where only snow had fallen for moons and brighter lights showed too
The lightning of the young goddess rang throughout the barren place needing no thunder to shake the world to its core
The show of light and might dragged on as fire rained on the world below from a sky that barely held anything other than snow and in the sky the goddess flew dodging to the best of her ability recalling instinct and her own careful training, presided over by none other than her, in the heat of the moment
Streaks of light dance behind her and sparks are sown on a land that would never thaw until it shone bright for all to see under a layer of snow and ash and all was blurred by wisps of smoke that manage to drift upward beyond the tyrants, mortal or not and beyond the struggling goddess who now fights alone
every time She screams for them to run the ponies of the earth only run from Her
the snow-pure mare with a mane and dress of color in a world dulled with muted grays and browns
Her heart sings desperately to help these ponies who only lock themselves up in constructions too flimsy to stand against anything more than a storm
She cries out again with a pleading voice not suited to being in the cold dry biting freeze that forever haunts this land
Celestia begs in the settlement square Her own heart pounding with fear for these ponies to run (as She had done) and escape the wrath of the tyrant tirek
the white mare with Her gown's hem no longer bright with traces of something other then dull indistinct and other drab hues that suggest only mourning and sorrow falls to Her knees in wet gray slush dirtying Her pristine coat and cries as She watches a bolt of light straying far from where the battle was and belonging to none but Her shadow who stayed
She watches it fall onto the buildings, like chests locked too tight, that house jewels only She can see and around Her the world begins to burn
Where magic fails to protect him, his skin shall be cut by crackling light, flowing behind a feathered blur of blue who keeps her breath steady as she soars quickly, cutting through smoke and snow despite her exhaustion she presses on and slowly carefully manages to keep on going when her wings ache and a few singed feathers fall to the ground
But she sees a spot where she can strike her blue-green eyes looking upon it with desperation and lashing out with a burst of speed to bring her closer faster so she can't waste the small chance that she had discovered
And she soars, darting and flying down to his shoulder with webs of crackling light behind her flowing like a battle standard of magic so glorious it managed to rival the natural force that it mimics
Luna, brave and tired, burns the monster and a wound, deep and burning, is made followed by his enraged bellows as she arcs away slipping out of reach and she watches there
Her eyes are wide as she takes in his roaring and he stares at the burning wound unable to believe that he could be wounded by a mare so young she is not yet grown
From between his fingers, blood seeps his barrier and disbelief doing nothing to hide the crimson drops welling up and falling past the barrier of ragged, burned, and torn flesh and rolling down the smoldered fur of his dark coat and onto the trampled, cinder-smothered ground wet with fresh snow and the monster watches with a hateful glare as they fall there, forming a sickly slurry of blood and slush
Turning to face the goddess Tirek shot the goddess a look of pure malice and his horns crackled with stolen power
Luna stretched her wings, choked back a gulp and fought on
Among ashes, Celestia stumbled Her face an expression of mute horror and as pale as the flame-licked bones that lurked within all this ruin yet her eyes shone like fire in the dark even if they only stared straight ahead bleakly replaying the sight
Of thatched houses and the ponies within sheltering themselves from fire-rain and her standing no more but leaping and soaring into action
Her own horn had shone as bright as flame as she tried, with her goddess-might, to rip down doors and pry open windows tears from sorrow and smoky, cinder-filled air choking her as if to muffle her cries for she only tried to offer them kindness and save them from a fire that raged wantonly
But they, ponies of the mostly-frozen earth would not trust the monster who dove so willingly into flame and terror telling them
GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT
Please...
fearing her as much as any fire perhaps even more
Celestia, begging over and over, tearing at any obstruction that would fall in her path licked by tongues of flame that threatened her desperate cause just as much as the ponies within
And it was all in vain, her own shouts lost in a mad frenzy where the last screams of the dying blended with the roar of the fire her racing heart and the hoarse, heavy coughs that punctured her desperate screams for help from anypony for everypony that she couldn't seem to save no matter how much rubble she tried to pull away and how much of her silly skirt was burned away, catching on collapsed frames, the skeletons of more-than-humble homes, and burning away
But now She stood alone alive Two trails where tears had flowed what could have been hours before tracing twin lines down her cheeks powdered with ash to reveal the white coat beneath rags hang about her frame their bright colors gone their elegance and patterns marred
Her long legs shake but not from the cold
Celestia is tired
Her knees are caked in dried blood that she is relieved to know is hers and hers alone
Again, she finds herself alone and bowing to the crowning flurry— ice and snow reigning over a sky her now-scorched wings cannot hope to reach— as she prostates before the cruel world that she has come to know the only living creature for miles
She pauses to take a breath tasting the black snow and around her the silence echoes
The young goddess, only a few heads taller than the average pony, whether noble or serf pricks her ears forward to catch the sound of somber humming coming from behind her place on the ground
It sounds so near her and were the dirge-like tune not unknown to her she would say, to herself of course as she bows on this lonely plain, that this tragedy might be a dream
Before her, stood proof that she was wrong and Celestia was no longer alone
Silently turning to see the source of such an eerie tune she came face to face with another who would likely be so quick to be called monster were ponies still alive and she sat not in a garden of ash and bone
But...
Before Celestia, behind Celestia— she was far too dizzy to care— there was another Alicorn mare with a coat of orchid, which was a reminder of other times when it was her and Luna, alone in a world without snow and lies
Something compelled her to take a single step toward the mare with a mane and tail that flowed like a river of golden light while her own colorful hair shimmered despite its limpness
The mystery Alicorn who with her spotless coat and height that surpassed any pony whirled to face the flame-licked maiden lying in the ashes before her
The orbs of pulsing, multi-colored light shining with memories that weighed the deeds of souls she had come to reap vanish and her blue eyes widen at the sight of a goddess that should not be an immortal that until now has remained unknown and escaped the ruin of another story — an Old World— that even she, this Alicorn maiden, would only recall in fragments
They gaped at one another words coming to neither mare
The Reaping Queen shocked that the ragged and broken sight before her could be real though it could only be true the ghost of a mare the pale young goddess saw through a spell barrier that only blocked mortal eyes
And Celestia, as the mare of ashes sputtered a name known to no god that remained, was no mortal
Elysium of Paradise, a world known only to the dead stared at the half-grown mare on the ground bidding her to rise
Blue eyes meet magenta and the queen asks the little mare before her to fill in the details that have been lost in the chaos of the disaster before them all and if she still wants to save what is left to rise from the ashes once more
As the battle between the littlest goddess and the tyrant rages on
Great effort on Luna's part has managed to draw out the fight And the winning blow is in sight — even if both are above death Though both are weary for the relentless strikes from the other Each will agree: they will not submit, whether they are drained of vigor, resolve remains in both, even if they are bloody and beaten
Over from the west, the fair sister returns, flying through the sky with her horn aglow with new magic Pulling her sister's concentration away from a strike of lightning to the back of the neck that would have ended it all Ensuring that Tirek's hand is able to smack Luna down to the ground where she does not lay unharmed Nevertheless, a new spell is cast as Celestia aims, Splitting and tearing the sky asunder so that Tartarus is in plain view where only snow has been and returns one brother home
In a valley far away from much of everything and near not much of anything only sitting somewhat southward so that some days it rains
And it does today but to the north snow still falls cities are suddenly quiet even if magic has been returned and ripped from the tyrant who harvested it
Snow still falls over the shallow graves of unicorns who were buried where they froze in their mountain hold as cold and gray as everything else blurring and blending into a horizon that cannot be seen
And the fortress-city of ice-laden clouds that forever hangs in the sky according to the soldier-populace that resides within is lacking in the ranks it once had but it sill floats on waiting to strike again
Westward, the ponies of the earth stir like ghosts across the near-barren plains that they have called home and though sirens no longer haunt them and sing their bewitching songs but their treasured food and meager wealth was almost gone and soon their stomachs would be nearly as bare as their land as winter dragged on
Away from the strife but close enough so that it is never forgotten is a valley where two ponies live: heroes of the realm, silent and greedy meek and proud and with them are mares who shall have little recognition beyond whispered rumors
The elder keeps secret her meeting with the Reaper Queen and the spell she had been given to tear a hole past Tartarus's gate and access worlds inhabited only by the dead and some strange gods that desire not to be seen but as each night passes and the moon is yanked into the sky she sees the eyes of ponies and their faces before they burned
Celestia never looked at ashes and dust without knowing ponies could become them
Distance only grew between the two sisters marked with the sun and moon locked in a ward-sealed valley
The elder threw herself in the maw of the Unicorn Court with every chance she had the floors an invisible game board for her to play hero on while wanting a world where no ponies burned
In the window of the emptiest quietest place to be in the looming spire where screams often echoed from stone the sister who spoke next to nothing at all watched the trees below, waves of storm clouds dancing above them like the waves of oceans she never forgot
Luna continued to say more of nothing with each passing day but find meaning in every little silence that came to pass
Carefully, she nudges the window of her cage open with a gentle hoof the sound of rain beating the glass with the sound of a hundred little notes only she likes to listen to to hear the thunder rolling by and nose her head out into the storm where rain drums on her face so she can hear the mountains echo dreaming all the while
