Chapter 1 - From Embers to Fire (Mason)

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Over the moonlit night, the vast and dense forest lays in fire. Dark thick clouds carry embers high and rains ash down to the uncanny forest of Everfree. The embers that aren’t carried up are picked through the wind, landing them on the dry and ample ground, sweltering to become another spark in the wildfire. Such destruction seems unfathomable, an impossibility. Yet, the flames grow ever stronger. The animals that were lucky ran, some were caught in the blast. The bones twisted outside the dead. The fur blackened. The flesh crisped.

Through the fire and smoke, past the twisted bark and corpses, was a large crater. In the center bared a hollow translucent shell of red as still as stone. Ash and embers rained down onto the surface of the shell before bursting into a violent flame that dissolved it, leaving nothing but the haze of smoke.

Ice coated all inner surfaces of the shell with a mist that froze the land itself. Nothing was safe from it, not even flesh. Mason rested in the shell with skin as pale as a ghost. The only thing protecting him from the cold were ragged clothes with a thick cotton coat draped over his figure. No thoughts were in his head as he laid motionless. One would think he was dead if it wasn’t for his breathing lifting his chest ever so slightly.

As the ice cooled inside, the heat roared outside, baring its fangs to the world itself as it spread from tree to tree with a speed unmatched. The haze of smoke and flame rolling thick through the forest. Some burned from the inside out, weeping smoke from the cracks before collapsing. The shell bared the heat for as long as it could, its color darkening as the flames grew closer to the edge of the crater.

With a thick layer of ash forming on the dirt of the crater, the shell began to crack. A spiderweb of fractures spreading across the body of the sphere spewing steam across the crater, launching the layer of ash away from it. Throughout the forest, the shattering of glass could be heard as the shell fell. Shards of blood red taken adrift in the wind, being carried off as the heat consume Mason’s body. The ice that froze the land erupted into steam as the harsh flames hissed in venomous fury.

The heat chewed at Mason’s body, the cotton coat baking him under it. The once dead man now clenched his eyes shut in discomfort. Rolling to his side didn’t help as the ash landed on his exposed skin, singeing it. Mason shook in his rest, a dream flooding into his brain like a parasite. It seeped into him, forcing him to remember.

Mason dreamed of that day. The one his mind tried to forget. The sun shined brightly through a large window into the plain white lunchroom as midday approached. Mason knew of this as he leaned back in his chair. His brown eyes wandered to the clock that rested silently on the wall, only making a tick to interrupt the void of silence. It was currently lunch break. Mason had eaten before he left for work, so all he was doing was blowing away the time so he could go back and continue his work. This job is just a paycheck for him. It’s not his real passion, his real passion is construction. Yet here he is, working at a factory with more buildings than he could count. Mason ran his fingers through his short-spruced hair, the texture feeling like a fine soft cloth; he did what he could to not yawn from boredom.

As if a higher being heard his prayer, Joseph walked into the room, catching Mason’s attention.

Mason smiled and leaned forward. His eyes now heavy from the silence. “Hey man, how are you doing?”

“I’m doing good. Came here to see how you were doing. I just got put on break myself,” Joseph walked up and sat adjacent to Mason.

Mason knew Joseph since he was a child. Their dads knew each other and they used to play as their dads talk and drank. Joseph was gifted in his appearance. A slender face with a narrow chin. His hair and thin goatee being a rich shade of ginger. His body was muscled from the factory and farm work his dad puts him through, making his skin a shade of dark caramel. Joseph had his dad’s eyes, bright green like a field of grass. “Well, at least you have me to talk to. I almost passed out.”

“I can see why,” Joseph said as he motioned around the room. Mason knew they both shared the same boredom with it. The clean white slates with the only clashing color being their dark green jumpsuits irritated both of them. Mason never enjoyed the clean office life that many turned to nowadays. He much preferred to work on a farm scooping shit for the rest of his days than turn into a snob on the computer typing numbers for the rest of his life. The outside life is what he yearned for. Like his dad. They had better lunchrooms to Mason; it carried more personality than this plain one Joseph and him sat in.

Mason’s dad worked in construction, building towers that a lot of his city take for granted. He remembered being inside of that trailer with the fake wood tile wall. There would be the fold out table with the straw bowl bought at a local dollar store. In it would be a multitude of things. Most of the time, it was pretzels, sometimes you would get lucky and get candy. He couldn’t forget the mini-fridge that would hold the beer, soda, and sandwiches. The old fold-out chair with an old man sitting in it. Mason could remember so vividly the smell of dust and smoke. Even though he was only six at the time, it was a defining moment in his childhood, and his life. He wanted to be like his dad. Working hard and building things. Even though he was starting off small right now, he knows very well he can achieve his passion if he tries.

Mason came from a different background compared to his friend, but they find common ground with hard work. They both grew up in that environment their entire life. So, they both know how to help each other with hard work if needed.

“I never knew why my dad drank beer when he worked. Now I see why. You work a job like this and something always chews at you. The rooms you’re in, the people you’re with, or even the things you do,” Joseph told as he looked around the room. Mason agreed with his friend, the point in drinking for his father was to not explode on those around him, the ones that irritated him the most. His boss was one of those men. “I mean if working in ninety-degree temperatures all day doesn’t make you drink or inhale a gallon of water, I don't know what will.”

“No kidding. It’s only until you grow that you realize why they do such a thing. I know I’m going to want to tomorrow,” Mason pondered.

Joseph cocked his head in perplexed curiosity. “Why is that? Did they schedule you to morning again?” He probed. Mason could only nod as he answered his suspicions.

“Damn,” Joseph scratched the back of his head. “When you have a day off I can get you a drink? I don’t make much but a drink with my bud would be good right now.” He offered.

Mason looked at him for a moment before chuckling. “Okay, we can do that.”

“Good,” Joseph said as he stood from his chair. Walking over to the door, Joseph looked at Mason. “I hope you don’t mind, but I need to do a man’s deed and take a piss,” With a nod, Joseph exited the room.

Mason released a heavy sigh as he leaned back in his chair. His eyes drifted across the room, inspecting everything. It almost became a fruitless venture for entertainment before his eyes drifted down below the table.

Beside a black duffel bag was a smooth orb. The pocket-sized sphere glowed a vibrant shade of twilight as its rays sparkled in the air. Mason almost couldn’t believe it existed as he stared at it wave and change shapes ever so slightly. Like an illusion that his brain tried to play on him. He reached out and encased it in his hand. The warm aura heating his palms. The inside of the glass ball was filled with fog that never ended. Bright and vibrant rays pierced the smoke as it spun in the orb. Never pivoting as the ball was moved and shook.

He felt so relaxed with it in his hands that he found himself drifting asleep before Joseph walked in. “Mason, come on. We have to get back to work.” He announced.

“Sorry, sorry.” Mason said quickly hiding the orb in his green jumpsuit. His heart pounded as he smiled at Joseph.

Joseph gave him a curious look, but paid it no mind as he walked off. Mason sighed in relief, wiping the sweat from his forehead. He knows he should put it back, but no one has been in here for the entire day except for him and Joseph. He knows Joseph doesn’t carry a duffel bag, he’s sure that Joseph doesn’t even know what a duffel bag is.

Something about the orb seem to whisper to Mason to take it. Though he tried, he couldn’t resist the urge and stood up, walking out of the room with quick pace to continue the rest of the work day.

Hours have passed, the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in a beautiful array of orange and purple with hues of blue far up beyond the crest as twilight set in. Below the sky was the facility constantly booming with work. Even in the evening it seems to have no rest. The factory being almost endless in its maze-like layout, being built for making almost anything. In front of this factory were the offices, the head quarters where all the workers enter and leave. Walking from this building was Mason and Joseph, just being freshly released from nine hours of intense work that ached their muscles to an extreme.

As Mason walked with Joseph towards his truck, he could still feel the orb in his newly adorned pants, having took off the jumpsuit when he clocked out.

“So, Mason, what are your days off for this week?” Joseph asked as they approached his old and rusty red truck. Mason remembered the thing, Joseph would come to his house to take him places. He always knew when he arrived as his truck boomed with sound, rattling and blasting from the muffler as he pulled up the driveway.

Mason pondered on this week. He had skimmed through his schedule before leaving for work today. From what he saw, he would be free in two days; on the weekend like many of the schedules before. “Two days. If I don’t have anything important to do, we should be able to hang out.”

Joseph hummed to himself as he leaned against his truck. “Well then, what do you have in mind?” Joseph inquired.

“I was thinking about getting a six pack and drinking, maybe playing games while we hang out,” Mason responded with a tired sigh. “I have Bloodborne, so that should be a fun game to play while getting shit-faced.”

“Well shit, count me in!” Joseph smiled and grabbed Mason’s hand, pulling him in a very brief embrace. “I should be going now, before it gets too late. You know how my dad gets if I come home too late,” He chuckled before getting into his truck.

Mason was surprised to see the sun had lowered all the way as the night settled in. “I understand. It can be frustrating living with family,” Mason waved.

Joseph laughed at him. “Yeah, but you know, you got to love them no matter what. Family is family; you can lose all the friends in the world, but in the end, you still have them,” Joseph said as he started his truck. The roaring boom from the muffler echoed throughout the parking lot and buildings in the back.

“You’re right,” Mason chuckled before walking off. “Make sure you fix that thing before cops get called on you for a drive by.”

“Will do!” Joseph yelled over the booming truck while laughing and driving away.

Crossing the parking lot to his car, Mason thought about the orb. Where did it come from? Who owned it? He did attempt to find out by asking workers in the appropriate division, but none claimed to have owned it, half didn’t even know what the thing was. He’ll just try tomorrow then, as he didn’t feel entirely right taking something that could belong to someone else. However, something in his stomach seemed to just react and take it, he’s not sure what made him do it, but something about the orb seem to speak to him. Like a whisper-turned-chant, it caught his attention and never broke it. Showing him bright colors and vibrant visuals that felt unreal, and yet he is carrying this piece of mysterious geometry in his pocket.

As he got into his car, which was in much better condition than his friend’s truck, he started it up and began driving home. Taking the orb out of his pocket, he sat it in the passenger seat. He admired it when he approached red lights and stop signs as it glowed, though much dimmer than before. He inspected how it acted the entire time he drove home, and by the time he pulled in, it’s almost as if the memory of him driving faded.

Something deep in his stomach seem to turn at that moment. A sense of unsettling motion sat. Mason pocketed the orb and rushed into his house, locking the door behind him. He knew that he had driven all the way here, but now his memory is blank. It was a void of blackness containing nothing he just did. This feeling sinked inside his stomach as a grim reality tried to settle in. Could the orb be taking his memories? It can’t be, Mason couldn’t accept that. He didn’t know what to do with it. Walking into his bedroom, he placed it on his desk as he began pacing around the room trying to piece together the day. Attempting to rebuild the memory that has new gaps forming at every second. His struggles appeared to be in vain, his memories becoming foggier with an almost drunk haze.

The sound of shattering glass on the hard wood floor tore Mason from his maze of thoughts. “What the hell!” He shouted in shock, turning quickly towards where the orb just was to see nothing but glass shards resting on the hardwood floor.

Before he could move, a sudden jolt of pain electrified throughout his body. Mason grasped his head and tried to scream, but nothing came out. Like his lungs had been squished from the inside. He collapsed to the floor, withering in intense pain as he attempted to crawl towards the kitchen, where his phone had been charging the entire day.

When he managed to get into the kitchen to the table where his phone was, he stood, about to grab it until a sudden rush of lightheaded haze hit his brain as it burst with more pain, making him flinch and recoil, smashing against the floor.

“What… What the…!” He tried to push out, but seemed to forget his words. His train of thought derailed and skidded across the runway, his mind melting in on itself. “Come on… come on…!”

Mason tried thinking of anything, anything that could make him focus, but nothing surfaced. He couldn’t even remember his name. He curled into the fetal position, hoping the pain would stop. Tears leaking from his eyes as he struggled, babbling and whining to himself like a baby. He didn’t know what to do, how to speak or move, how to react to the pain, even how to breathe. All he did was focus on the doorway and try to remember. He needed to at least know who he was, for even that slipped his cavity. To assure himself that this is just some skewed dream, that maybe he crashed in the car on the way home. His incessant weeping made it hard for him to focus.

Mason’s eyes widen as he spasmed to move. From the doorway came a blood red fog, its vaporous tendrils leaking into the foundation of his house, inching closer and closer to him. He tried to move, to crawl away from the fog that came closer, but his muscles locked and stuck in position, tense and solid. All he could do was watch. He focused as much as he could on trying to remember as he witnessed the living nightmare heading towards him.

His throat swelled as he struggled speaking. “My name is… my… my name…” Mason’s ragged voice quivered as he saw it come closer. He tried to repeat before the fog engulfed his finger. A cold sensation washed over it before feeling subsided entirely, even the pain burning throughout his body vanished. He shivered as the fog climb higher up his body. Mason could do nothing at what was happening. All he could think was that he was going to die, that he will not live for the next day.

A tear streamed down his cheek as he closed his eyes, weeping. “My name… my name is… I am… Mason,” He managed to wheeze out through his tears before the red abyss engulfed him.

It was brief. All he could remember was the cold. His tears froze on his face. The eyelashes froze solid against his skin, forcing his eyes shut. The long dark abyss dragged him deeper. Into the endless void where it wanted him.

Mason’s eyes sprang open and he bolted upwards onto his feet. He thought he had surely met his demise, but instead he awoke in an entirely new hell. The crest of his lips cracked opened in awe as he saw the dark clouds rising in the night sky, covering the moon. Ash poured down and singed Mason’s skin. His eyes reflected the light from the large amounts of embers drifting in the wind, over him. Standing inside of a cavernous crater of unreal magnitude, Mason saw the beautiful chaos around him. It felt all too strange and unreal.

Mason slid his sight down to where he laid to see a thick gray cotton coat with a brown high collar to cover the neck in the cold winds. He couldn’t say it was appropriate to wear right now. The air itself seemed to swelter Mason, making his throat dry as the dunes of the desert itself. Grabbing the coat, he slid into it quickly and looked up towards the edge of the crater.

He couldn’t stay in this hole, he had to get out of the heat and find some water. His main concern was surviving before he’d worry on where he was. He scampered his way up towards the edge, not wanting to stay in this hole any longer. The dirt felt soft on his bare feet, he wondered where his shoes went from yesterday. His mind was still hazy from it all. He could only think of his name, never letting go of that thought. Wherever he was, he had to work with himself to confirm his own survival, to trust his instincts.

Grabbing the edge of the crater, he hoisted himself up to the land above. “Holy shit…” Was all he could muster. In front of him where construed and contorted trees of charcoal black. Animals were caught in the uncontrollable colossal flames that blazed brightly throughout the forest. The flames rising high in the sky, covering every inch of it in an ominous gray. The grim smell of smoldering flesh clung to him as he watched the flames bake the earths surface.

Mason quickly ran forward through the flames while shielding his eyes from the embers. He needed to distance himself from this as fast as possible and he needed to move fast. There is no telling how large the wildfire could be.

The woods he ran through were like a maze of twisting paths that turned every step. Large trees were packed close together, making it difficult to keep straight. The roots of these trees wrapped through the earth and jutted out of the ground, making him jump over them, barely preventing himself from tripping. The vines that grew on them were so long that they hung to the ground making his sight short and blind. Every turn he made quickened his heart as it seemed every turn made the path tighter for him to squeeze through.

This place was inhospitable for any life, making him worry on where he was. The most he could do was run and hope he can find something that he can consider safe for him to sleep in. Even if he had to lay against a rock.

Through his quickened paced he was relieved to see something different as he stumbled across a meadow with a large unnatural tree in the center. Part of it was lifted, revealing under its trunk. Its large and thick roots grew around it and formed a natural hiding spot just large enough to fit a person. He decided this would be a good time to breathe and regather his shaken body and mind.

Off in the distance, he could still see the smoke rise high above. He knew that he had to of came here from something unnatural, the dream rang into his head firstly. It felt all too real to him. He just knew that it had to at least be partly real. He couldn’t make sense of it.

As his body began to relax more, his adrenaline had time to wear off. The effects on his body was more severe than he originally noticed. Scratches covered his exposed skin as his muscles ached with a growing passion. His main priority is finding food. A delectable meal such as venison or beef would be high in necessary protein that his body needed, but finding berries or other fruits would help plenty as well. However, water is gloriously more important to his body. Without both, he’ll soon parish to the harsh environment he currently resides in.

Taking a deep breath, Mason closed his eyes and focused on sound. He tried to see if he could hear any water running down a stream, or an animal being particularly loud.

His attempt was fruitless as a loud crack from bark broke his concentration. Looking off in the distance towards the inferno once more, he could hear a loud bend and snap before something fell to the ground. Smoke filled the air in a large gust from above the tree-line.

The forest around him was collapsing at an extraordinary rate. He was not safe where he was, the fire would just spread here too. Jogging passed the unusual tree, he began his search for a stream of water.

As he jogged through the forest, his mind drifted into his thoughts of the dream and his circumstances waking up. He questioned on how he awoke in a crater, or how his dream almost felt connected to it. His stomach felt uneasy to the feeling, one he hadn’t felt in years. He’d only hope it wasn’t true. That it is simply a dream and it would stay that. Though, a new feeling formed in his gut that made him worry. His anxiousness grew thick as his breathing became dry. Something primal formed in him, felt only when he was a child. It seeped to the surface as he wondered if he would find any help. If civilization was where he was. It had to be, Mason thought, how else would he have got here? His concern rested on what made the wildfire and the crater. It was a thick cloud of unanswered questions that felt impossible to answer. All he could do for now is suppress it, he would find people, he needed to reassure himself of that.

For a brief moment, a sound hit Mason’s fragile ears before silencing again. He halted in his steps as he listened. It was faint, so faint that his breathing was louder. The sound of running water entered his ears clear and sharp. He twisted his head quickly to the source before breaking in an all out gallop towards it. His instincts took over as he threw himself forward as quick as he could.

He approached a large and vast river that ran through the dense land. Water as clear as glass passed through, rushing downward for as far as Mason’s eyes could see. He walked to the bank of the river falling on his knees, immediately dipping his cupped palms in the river, taking exorbitant gulps of water. His buds tasted light vanilla and herbs from the water. He didn’t know whether it was good or bad, but he was too desperate to care. He drank over six hand-fulls of water in less than a minute. With a sigh, he leaned back and sat on the dirt.

His world stabled for a moment, allowing for him to think more calmly. The taste of the water clung to his mouth. He wondered what gave the water that taste. It could be a farmer, or someone making spices.

Standing up, Mason considered the prospect of going downstream to see if he could find plants growing on the bank. However, he opted for going upstream in hopes that someone is there. It’s a lead, so to him, it was worth it.

He glanced at the water. His reflection looked back at him as he inspected himself. It had been a fortnight since the last time he had seen his face. It almost seemed alien. He wasn’t as gifted as Joseph in looks, but he tried. His face blocky like a cut statue with his chin flat. His nose was straight and sharp with thin nostrils. The black spruced hair he was so used to was now dry and curled, dipping below his shoulders, and his beard grew thicker than before, covering his face with a coat of hair.

He sighed as he walked upstream. Looking around the forest, taking in the views that covered the landscape, the forest had a claustrophobic and eerie touch that didn’t shake from him, as if at any moment something could attack. The snap of a twig in the distance made him jump and bolt forward for a moment before he forced himself to slow down. He couldn’t help but scratch his arms as sweat laced his forehead in the warm air. Looking up, he saw the moon hang above, the large smoke clouds covering a portion of it. However, what he could see was magnificent. It shined brightly down onto the land, reflecting across the river and kindling the abnormally dark forest.

Mason begin to notice a warm light shining onto the river water. Through his cautious breath, he jogged up before stopping behind an old withered tree. He crouched down low. The light flickered in the night, casting shadows from sticks and plants that painted the ground to the river. Hesitant movements locked Masons legs as he eyes the light. He closed his eyes and sighed, his breath shaky. He hoped that whatever lived here was friendly, the thoughts of hostile tribal men making him reluctant to move.

He lifted his feather legs and moved up passed the trees. A large tree omitting a light from within sat in a small open land. He stood cautiously before walking farther upwards, inspecting the large oak. Thick vines entangling themselves around the large and twisting branches of the tree. Bottles hung from many of the branches by rope. His nose smelling strong herbs as he walked around it. Two large holes revealed the tree to be hollow, inside were a variety of masks and vases. In between both the holes were a wooden door with a mask above, spirit catcher resting on it. Mason walked closer, but the smell of spices became much stronger to an intoxicating level making him back from the tree with a cough.

“First a ball falls out of the sky, then a mysterious man is in front of my eyes,” A woman speaking in rhyme inquired behind Mason. He spun around with wild eyes. He jumped back when he didn’t see another person but a zebra that came to his chest in height. Her appearance was peculiar. Adorning a set of golden ornaments around her ears, neck, and left foreleg. Mohawk of black and white on her head. She looked at him curiously with her deep ocean eyes.

Mason didn’t know how to respond. A talking animal sounded like a fantasy or witchcraft. Yet here one stood, right in front of him. Taking another step back, he thought on whether or not to run.

“Do not fear my presence peculiar one, if it’s danger you feel, there is none,” She mused with a small smile.

Her tongue confused Mason. He was hesitant to do anything. Facing a talking zebra was very unexpected for him, a rhyming one no less. He couldn’t help but stand on edge, like needles piercing his skin.

“What… what do you mean?” Mason questioned through his shaking voice.

She seemed to notice his attitude as she frowned. “The danger that was here fled, for the fire has done nothing but spread,” The zebra walked passed Mason inside of the tree-hut looking over at him to follow.

Wearyingly, Mason followed inside. He could smell the full force of the spices as he visibly recoiled. “The smells to you may be robust, but for me they smell of light blue-leaf dust,” She said. He recovered slightly while looking around the hut. Masks hanging from all angles with various bottles and vases sitting atop shelves. As she walked in the center of the room towards a large iron cauldron filled with thick green bubbling liquid, he could only think how bad this plant must have smelt before being turned to dust.

“Who are you?”

She smiled. “My name is Zecora, but no more questions as you are here to fight the flaming aura,” She said, her expression turning stern towards the end with a sharp seriousness.

“What do you mean?”

“You are not the one who fell from the sky? I know when I can see a lie.” Her blunt voice stung Mason as he mused with a neutral expression.

“Is… is that what happened to me?” He asked himself more than her. He knew that he had arrived somehow. But he couldn’t believe it was something like what she said.

“It appears so, if that’s the case, then saving the forest you must go,” She said. Turning to the shelves of bottles, she took a purple one with her mouth and set it inside of a nearby empty box. “Since I told you my name, I think it’s best you do the same,” She quipped as she grabbed spices from another shelve, dropping them in the large cauldron and stirring it with an abnormally large wooden spoon that sat beside the large pot.

“My name…. My name is Mason,” He said slowly. The smells the pot gave off were becoming intoxicating, something about it was off. However, the more she added to it, the finer it became, until the smell seemingly vanished. “What are you doing?”

“The potion that is in that box is the perfect detox. No matter the strength of the fire, it will extinguish its desire.”

Mason looked at her. “What’s its desire?” He asked.

“To spread.” Zecora clarified. She begun adding a rainbow of different plants that changed the liquid into a dark purple color.

“What the hell did I just get myself into…” Mason muttered under his breath, low enough where she couldn’t hear.

Zecora brought the wooden spoon up to her nose and sniffed. After a moment, she smiled and brought several bottles over to the pot, filling each until the box was filled before bringing it to Mason. “Mason, take these potions and use them to quench the flame’s want for destruction.”

Mason looked at Zecora with a questionable expression. “Wait, what are you going to do? You don’t honestly expect me to get rid of a fire that’s consuming a large forest?”

“No, no. You are meant to hold the fire until you are helped in ridding it of its desire.”

“And how do we do that?” He asked.

Zecora looked at him with a smile. “The help of Ponyville, they have always had the will.”

Mason was about to say something else before Zecora interjected. “Mason, go! Go! We can’t talk longer, for the fire only grows stronger!” She opened the hut’s door and ran out. Grabbing the box and stepping outside, he felt a slight change in heat, it warmed his skin more than before. He hoped the flamed hadn’t spread farther.

Zecora quickly made her way down the small dirt trail leading from her house deeper in the woods. Mason hefted himself down the trail, feeling the wind on his skin. The heat almost sung to it. Whispering the flames direction as the winds blew. The farther he went, the hotter it became until he approached a section of the path with the edge ablaze. The flames roaring with intense vanquish as it scorched the nearby trees, consuming them easily. Mason stood in shock at how violent this flame was, never had he seen anything like this. Even in controlled fires. In the distance, he saw the silhouette of Zecora vanish. Even though this clearly wasn’t his world, he felt a urge to help, he had to. He knew that the community who lives here could be the only ones to help him get back home, though he felt a twinge in his mind, for it looked as if modern technology doesn’t exist here.

Mason flinched when fresh ashes touch his skin. As he saw it, his eyes widened. The embers on the ground picked up, gliding in the air and lighting ablaze the other side of the trail. How a windy night can change the danger of a fire, he thought. Setting down the box of filled bottles, Mason took off his coat, wrapping it around his waist before taking off his gray shirt and wrapping it around his head. He knew he was about to jump in the pit with this path. Picking up a bottle, he popped the cork off and could smell the strange aroma. Like that of pine-needles and manure, the smell made him retract his head and spit on the heated ground. His tongue coated in the smell, all he could taste was the foul stench.

Running up to the flame, he hoped it was as potent as its smell as he tossed it. Hearing a smash of broken glass, to his surprise, the flames retracted immediately. The smell vanishing as the flames died down. He had only nine bottles of the stuff, but if he planted them right, he could hold the fire off long enough for help to arrive.

Picking up the box, he ran inside of the flame. The sprawling heat impacting him immediately, but he didn’t care. Traversing the burning chaos of the flame, he knew he had to hit what was the worst. He looked through the peaks of destruction and raining ash, trying to see through the inferno that rained through the forest.

Looking in the sky, passed the fiery haze of the forest, he focused his eyes on the sky for smoke rise. It didn’t take long until he saw a very dark smoke stream rise, darker than any he’d ever seen go up in the sky. Even from where he stood, he could see the ash cascade down to the ground below, like a wall of mottled gray. All that ash came from the smoke stream. He rushed forward, not thinking. As he burst through the heavy flames, he approached the remnants of a tree. It towered over him, casting its large shadow passed him. The smell of burning coal hung thick in the air, he knew this wasn’t an ordinary tree.

Walking closer with the box in hand, he saw a large crack in the oak. Peeking inside, he confirmed his suspicions. Mason could see inside the tree was tons of coal blazing in the natural encasement. He knew this flame could burn for many fortnights if he doesn’t attempt to put out the inner blaze. The crack was no larger than the width of his arm. He had to think of another way to get the bottled extinguisher in there.

Mason jogged around it and looked for any way to get inside, but no luck came. He shook as he rushed around the tree, contemplating on what to do. The deepening ash rising higher every second only added to his worry. A quick thought flew passed his mind. Grabbing a nearby charred branch, he ran it into the crack, splintering the wood and breaking it open. The flames bellowed with a sound that shook Mason. It was a sound of anger, like a disturbed individual pushed by an unknowing man. He barely dodged the smoldering coal and wood chunks that poured from the center of the tree. This was his moment.

Mason ran to the box and quickly grabbed two bottles of the toxic liquid. He held his breath as he opened both and looked to the flame. The ominous crackling gave way to a snap as the large oak began collapsing. Not wanting to waste more time, Mason threw both bottles into it. The sound of smashing glass could be heard in his ears along with a loud roar in anguish as the sizzling liquid put out the coal in an instant.

He stepped back, looking to the sky for confirmation. The dark clouds began changing to a clear and pristine smoke of a putout campfire. For a short moment, he could breathe. In the intense heat, he felt cold and relieved. It was peculiar, but welcoming. The worst fire he saw was gone. Now he needed to ward off a repeat. He grabbed the box and made his way deeper in the forest. Not stopping for any of the other fires.

Mason looked in the sky, a wall of embers rose so high that the moon was hidden. The heart of the fire rested there. He felt the heat intensify as his skin turned red. Oxygen barely pushed through enough for him to take a breath. The smoke became denser to something he had never seen like this before. He questioned what flame this was. One that could burn stronger in the heart.

As Mason approached the spot, his eyes widened, it was the spot he awoke in. The flames rode the violent wind. They twisted and contorted, growing and shrinking. He didn’t know what was happening, when he awoke here, he hadn’t seen anything like this. Now, it is an unimaginable nightmare.

A light glistened brightly in the crater Mason once slept in. He swallowed his saliva, coating his dry throat. Approaching the crater, he looked in. He didn’t expect a fire of such intensity to rest inside. He had awoken in that crater, climbed out and escaped the once early flame. The crater was empty. Yet now he stands on the edge, seeing it filled with wood and ash. His eyes darkened as he saw something in the flame. He fidgeted where he stood as he saw it. Something was here, he thought, something had to have done it.

The flames lit his darkened face. The ones that burned behind him were meaningless distractions. He knew something had to have done this as a message, a signal of sorts. But what could have done something this grand? He questioned.

In the pit, encrusted in the blazing ash was his name. As clear as the date of his birth as it spanned across the entire crater. Whatever left this knew he would come here. He felt like he was being watched, but he didn’t know what was.

Mason knew he needed to set the flames out and hide this discovery from whomever Zecora brings to help with the fire. Setting the box down, he picked up two bottles.

He closed his eyes, muttering a prayer to himself, before popping the corks of the bottles.

Mason threw the first bottle in the center and the second off to the side. As the flames died down, he continued his assault, throwing more and more bottles until he ran out. The inferno that once stood tall and fierce was gone, leaving only the muddy ash in its wake.

He slid down the crater and walked over to where his name was written, he stood over it as the smoke died. He didn’t know what was here with him, but he knew that it had power. He kicked the ash, spreading it across the writing, ridding his name from it entirely.

He took a deep sigh before he climbed out of the crater. His mind was laced with stress and fear over what has happened so quickly. He can only think on what will. The fire around him still spread, consuming the rest of the forest that he couldn’t protect.

He laughed to himself. “I guess it’s up to Zecora now.” Mason sat on the dirt.

As the flames burnt, Mason closed his eyes and felt the heat. He relaxed his muscles. His body tired and worn from the traveling and constant use, his mind ached from all that has happened. He could only wonder what was in store for him. Zecora was an interesting thing. Talking zebra that spoke in rhyme, what else could be here?

“Over here, the smoke is the thickest!” Someone shouted in the distance. Mason opened his heavy eyes and looked off in the direction of the voice.

“I guess Zecora arrived.” He muttered to himself as he stood at full height. From the sky, a four-legged silhouette flew over his location. Mason only stared in shock at what it could be. As it grew closer to the ground, he saw it. A pony with wings that flew over the crater surveying the surroundings. When it spotted Mason, it recoiled.

“I found him! Get Zecora!” The pony shouted. His voice was deep and stern with the smoothness of whiskey. Mason cocked his head at the pony.

“You heard the man, move it!” Another pony farther off in the distance shouted. Her voice was grainy and young, but deep enough to tell it was an adult.

“You stay there and wait for Zecora to arrive, she’ll know what to do with you.” The pony ordered. Flying down, he landed on the heated ground and eyed Mason while he did so.

The fire around them lit his face. He was a faded purple pony with dark blue hair. His muscled body showed he did his work.

Mason sat stern and didn’t move like the peculiar pony said. He admittedly found it humorous that a pony was commanding him to stay, but he followed with his command. The forest still burns, so his worries rested about that, not the pony.

“You can talk, can’t you?” The pony asked.

“Yes, I can. Why do you ask?” Mason replied, tearing his eyes from the flames.

“What started these flames?” The pony ignored his question and continued.

Mason shrugged from tired confusion. “I have no idea, but I know it wasn’t me.”

“How am I to believe that from a creature I haven’t seen before?”

Mason grew a tad annoyed at the interrogating pony. He understood the reasoning, but he wasn’t the one or else he wouldn’t have given Zecora the time of day about it and just ran before she could give chase. “I don’t know what caused the fire. I woke up to the blaze, that’s all I know.” Mason insisted through his agitated tiredness.

Through a short pause, “Fine,” was his answer.

As they waited for Zecora, Mason watched as ponies fell in, pouring water on the scorching flames. Smoke in the back began to stop as air become suddenly humid from the steam. Calmness washed over him for knowing that the forest was now safe from a once sure destruction.

“So, tell me, what’s your name?” Mason asked the stationary pony.

“Why should I tell you?” He looked at Mason with an unsure expression.

“Simple conversation. Better than sitting here bored to tears waiting for someone.” Mason quipped with a shrug.

He thought on it for a moment before sighing with disinterest. “My name is Windhelm, Garnet Windhelm.”

“My name is Mason, Mason Fritz.” He introduced with a light bow.

“Weird name.” Wilhelm remarked.

“Same to you.” Mason retorted with a smirk. They both remained silent for a while as the flames began to die down drastically. The party of flying ponies putting out much of the fire with clouds.

“Wait, you guys can fly and control clouds?” Mason stared off in astonishment.

Windhelm looked at him with a baffling expression. “Yeah, this is basic stuff. Are you a foreigner?”

Mason thought on it for a moment and decided it would be easier to explain it that way. “Yeah, I’m new around here.” Windhelm gave him a look that quickly told Mason he didn’t believe him, but he didn’t say anything about it.

“There she is!” Windhelm said with a smile. Zecora ran from the charred woods towards Mason. Her expression being that of happiness.

“I’m glad you’re alright, I thought I would have lost you on this night.” She said to him with a bright smile.

Mason smirk at her worry. “I’m still alive and breathing. No need to worry about me.”

She frowned at his response, a tinge in her mouth seem to sting as she let it settle. “Running into the fire and embracing its desire. Through the flames and destruction, you found pieces that lead to its retribution. Mason, I must worry, for it was quite a journey. The danger you faced, you could have met your fate.”

A cold shiver ran down his spine to her words like nails digging into his back. The name that rested in the flame told Mason something, that he was being followed. Something was following him and it is leaving a path of destruction in its wake. Whether it be to signal him, or a more ominous message. He knew now that he was facing a danger. Though he was surrounded by a new partner and an ally, he still felt the danger dig into his back. The least he could do was smile at her worry, at least this event was over. “Thank you.”

Zecora smiled at Mason, “Don’t thank me, for it wasn’t me who saved Everfree.”

Mason knew the name of this forest. Its dangerous atmosphere and claustrophobic feel seemed to eerily fit with its name.

“Now that we know you are doing fine and well, let’s head back to the wonderful village of Ponyville.” Zecora began walking towards the road leading out of Everfree. Windhelm followed her and looked over to Mason, who began walking with him after putting his shirt and coat back on. He was finally getting out of this forest, he could finally breathe a new air, something that he couldn’t breathe since he awoke here.

Chapter 2 - Shadows of Griffonstone (Graphyte)

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The sun beamed high today with heat sweltering stronger than usual. It feels as if it is getting hotter each passing day in the barren wasteland of the east. For many, it was normal; for others, an unsettling reminder of where they are. A land where no other lives except the griffons and dragons. The land of sand, sand that strangles the lungs with a dry spell, and with wilderness so dense the muggy air would dehydrate anyone long before they made it out. This wasn’t the normal lands others speak of. Here, many will fall in an attempt to survive, but for the griffons, it’s their home, the only place they could ever call home. In these vast lands of sandbanks and thick forests that scape the plane before them, rested the civilization of The Griffon Empire.

This nation is that of sovereignty, ruled in the family line of many generations old and wise. The monarchs ruled their land with authority unlike any other nation on this planet have seen. Though, the new monarch that governs this great empire is shifting the way of life as we know it. Murmurs break through the crowds of griffons daily about this new ruler, Emperor Ox. So, he was the man to govern the realm.

For Graphyte, he met this man every day, how could he not? He was an unassuming and courteous servant of the emperor, at least on the surface. He hid a mask under his demeaner, all for his safety. When the king ordered for something to be done, he did it without question. He had to, because he learned early on what happens to those who disobey or question the king.

In the castle of Griffonstone, the capital of The Griffon Empire, Graphyte walked down the murky and crude halls of the cellar with a lantern in his grasp. His feathers had a light coat of moisture in the thick dampness and dust that hung in the air, even with the red silk cloak he adorned. In front of him was a brooding figure that stood tall, the one he followed like a duckling.

Emperor Ox was an admittedly frightening man to him. His large stature along with his reputation was one that could shake anyone’s frame. He recalled when Ox entered into the realm of power. The first day he detained all of the Knights Helm and publicly executed them for betrayal of the royal court. From that day, he saw something was different about this emperor. The others never favored violence; they rained more into the diplomatic relations of other countries, helping the nation the best they could, even if it stabbed them in the back later. Ox was poles apart, from the moment he stepped into power.

The emperor led him deeper through the old hallways that rested beneath the castle, the reflection of his amber crown illuminated the nearby walls. Even from this distance, he could see the thick wool robe adorned on him. Multiple pelts of fur resting around the neckline. Even in the hot arid land, a coldness stuck to the air. He shivered to the light waft that blew through the halls. “Where are we going, my grace?” Graphyte asked the straight-faced figure.

Ox’s eyes remained fixated ahead as he heard him. “Stick by me Graphyte, keep straight and dare not stray far,” Ox warned, ignoring Graphyte. His voice was deep, almost expecting respect in its tone. Graphyte felt a twinge in his feathers at the emperor’s words. He’d been through these halls for years now, he had not once heard Ox warn him about navigating through them.

“Where are we going, my grace?” He repeated another time. Ox turned around, letting the lantern’s light shine upon him. He wasn’t the prettiest man Graphyte saw. His beak was scratched and cracked. White and brown feathers that matted his body and lined his wings were coarse and scruffy. Graphyte backed away as he looked into his rough eyes that gleamed snow white, showing utter seriousness to his words.

“We are heading to the inner sanctum, Graphyte, now pay attention. Do not stray from me. Be sure to follow my every move and continue straight at all times. Do not break for any sound that may echo in these halls,” Ox’s voice was hushed.

Graphyte gave the emperor an expression of distrust at his words. He knew of the passageways that were here before he became a servant. The cellar once was used as cells for prisoners, but when Ox entered ruling, it was blocked off. He wondered what the emperor was hiding. Ox’s zealous grin only made him take another step back before he swiftly turned and continued his walk down the tunnels.

He followed him hesitantly. The dust seemed to only become thicker as he coughed lightly to the metallic odors. “Why mustn’t we stray?”

“It’s best if we don’t stray off the beaten path Graphyte. We don’t know what lurks in the shadow. It may be dangerous,” His words spoken sharp and clear to Graphyte's ears as they walked passed the old and blocked off path leading to the cells. He now understood what Ox was hinting at, obviously hiding something in these tunnels they walked through.

Before long, they approached a wooden door at the end of their walk. Iron support reflected as they pulled the handle and ambled in. Ox wasted no time as he walked straight to the table that sat in the center of the room, which had an assortment of nails, hammers, screws, and scrolls. “Grab what you must if you see anything of importance. We must continue,” He said as he snatched a tightly rolled scroll with a red wax sigil.

Graphyte did a quick bow and nod before he walked over to one of the shelfs on the wall. He saw a variety of useful trinkets for the walk, but he made it brief by grabbing a small vile of oil and refueling his lantern.

When he returned to Ox, he watched as the emperor fiddled with a ring of metal keys, picking one in particular while mumbling something incoherent.

Ox stuck the key in and with a twist, a loud click rung inside the room. From the distance, Graphyte heard something else, a high-pitched groan. His head seemed to lock in place at the sound. He didn’t have an inkling on what it was. Ox appeared to take notice in his behavior.

“Did you hear that, my grace?” Graphyte uttered, unsure of himself.

Ox gazed at the door they came from for a long moment, as if waiting for something to pull the latch, yet nothing came. “Let’s go, we mustn’t wait long in these chambers,” He said as he paced through the door, seriousness lining his features.

Graphyte followed closely behind him. He could see the walls were more dilapidated than before with only wooden beams holding it all together, but even it looked like it was the edge of ruin. “Are you sure this is safe?” He worried, not knowing the structural integrity of this place made it feel like it could crush them at the slightest wrong breath.

“Do not worry Graphyte, these tunnels and everything in it is being repaired. Soon it will look nothing like what it is now,” Ox stated without turning to him. It didn’t help him much, but he was curious at the repairs, wondering what he could be planning.

He was led into a large antechamber by Ox. He stared in wonder at the sight. A large piston rested in the center with a leather pump connected to the top. Through the large amounts of metal, he could see a rotatory bolted to the pump next to a large rusted box with two pipes running through it. Piping ran throughout the entire room, corroded and cracked. “What is this place?”

Ox stared at the old pieces of copper and brass machinery. “This is the machine room, an old room of botched tools the previous kings pushed so hard to make. It was all a waste in the end,” He explained.

“And what was it meant to do?”

“It was supposed to transport steam into the lower level of the castle, feeding into an engine that would make electrical energy,” Graphyte saw a fire in his eyes as something appeared to have ticked him. “The past kings tried so hard to become like the ponies, every time it failed, and every time a new one approached and tried again. This is a record of our history, why we fail to regain the footing of this nation. We are playing catchup with a super power. Enough with these petty thoughts of alliance. If we truly could be an ally, they would have helped us,” He sneered as he spat on the floor in front of the machine before walking down another hallway.

Graphyte felt a sorrow for the machine. The empire tried to achieve greatness that could put them back on the map, like before the millennium war. But they failed. It was sad to him, he knew the past kings did nothing but try and reclaim the step and become like the nation they were before. Times have change, the wind blows into another direction, and now they have to rebuild the empire on new stone. He couldn’t help his uneasy feeling of distrust, because deep down, he feels this current king will not reach that goal. Ox will only fortify the pony’s hatred for them.

He ran and caught up with Ox once more. His face was blank like before, no anger showing. It put off Graphyte at how fast the man changed his moods. He could only stare at Ox as he squinted through the darkness. “My grace, why are we coming down here to an abandoned section of the castle? What could a place like this hold of importance?”

“You ask too many questions Graphyte,” Ox snapped at him, making him recoil at the sudden action with wide eyes. He knew not to press the man any farther, the first time making that mistake still fresh in his mind.

They entered a large secondary antechamber with a single door and the end of it. Ox smirked to himself as he trod to the door and opened it. Graphyte almost couldn’t believe the interior in front of them.

From the longstanding and cracked dust-covered stone outside, he was stunned to not see that, but a clear wooden chestnut surface spanning across the room. Its varnish seeming brand new as it glowed lustrously to his lantern. A large oval table made out of white wood sat in the center with many chairs resting against it. Its tabletop holding wine glasses for every chair along with parchment paper, ink, and quill.

The walls held old portraits of griffon history, the battles fought for the empire, the evolution of Griffonstone after King Grover discovered the Idol of Boreas, and the landscape that once belong to the griffons, which are now called the Dragons Lair.

Chandeliers of pure glass hung from the marble ceiling with elegant chains of gold. He felt a strong sensation that this room is hidden here for a reason.

Ox walked over to the chandeliers, standing on his hindlegs to light the candles parched onto it while Graphyte put out the lantern. As each light grew bright and alive, the room glowed with courteous prosperity. Even the most noble in the country could never vision of having a single room with luxury like this, and now he stands in the center of it. A creation presumably forged by the king himself, but what for? That he had to know.

With the room illuminated, Ox crossed it and grabbed a bottle of wine that rested on an iron cart in the corner, hidden in the darkness where the light didn’t reach. Grabbing an empty wine glass, he generously filled it and took a sip. A smile crept his beak as he savored the taste of the wine, relishing in it with closed eyes.

As Ox continued to sip his wine, Graphyte stood silently in the corner, still cautious after what happened in the halls. The last thing he wanted was to step out of bounds with the king. He was just a servant to him, nothing more. Obedience was key for his role. If he showed any hint of disobedience, he would be discarded like the others.

Ox stared at him with a smile. “Tell me, Graphyte, have you ever had wine before?”

He squirmed in his stance at the king’s question. He had drunk many times, but he had never told anyone, working hard to build a specific identity for the king. If he displayed no depravity, how could the king assume he was bad? “No, my grace. I was too poor to have wine in my youth,” He lied.

The emperor wheezed a chortle as he stared at Graphyte. “Come then, have some,” He waved over at the servant. Graphyte was hesitant on moving towards the emperor. “Come on.”

He took a breath for a moment before he walked to the table and took a seat beside the king. Ox grabbed the glass in front of Graphyte and filled it with wine. The red liquid swished around in the glass as he slid it in front of the griffon.

Picking up the glass, he took a careful whiff. The smell was much more potent than the wine he had drunk before, having the scent of rubbing alcohol and white grapes. He tipped the glass, letting the beverage spill in his mouth. The taste was much like what he thought, the bitter smooth taste cascading his buds with an overdose of raw alcohol.

As Graphyte coughed at the drink, Ox laughed in entertainment. “Keep drinking until the glass is empty, you’ll get used to it the more you drink.”

Graphyte looked at the emperor with shocked amusement. He had never seen the man drink in his life. “Do you do this often?”

“Every day,” Ox answered with an amused smirk at the man.

“How?”

“Sometimes I have it in the halls, before I enter the council room, in the courtyard. It’s always hidden in my robes, no one knows. Except you now,” He mused.

Graphyte simply shook his head as he finished the strong wine. The aftertaste promptly laying down a potent veil of bitterness over his tongue. His face showed nothing but disgust at it. The sweet wine of black grapes had a much more preferable taste than this. It also left him without the foul aroma that sits in his maw. “To the gods this is strong,” He muttered while he held another cough.

Ox quietly finished his with a straight unflinching face and set the glass down. “It is meant to be Graphyte, this isn’t a drink to taste, it is a drink to celebrate; or forget.”

“I’d rather face the sirens calls over this, at least then I would forget quickly,” Graphyte grimaced.

Ox leaned onto the table. “I have thought that myself, but it would be too costly. The wine is meant to forget without death, servant. It is best to know the difference for when you see and experience things you wish to never see again. Like a nightmare that haunts you for your whole life,” He stared into Graphyte, into the man’s soul. Graphyte could relate, he knew what the emperor meant. His eyes looked away from the emperor with his face grim. “So, you have seen it?” Ox pondered. “What was it? The records of the millennium war? The northern savages of the mountain? The thieves that roamed the villages?”

Graphyte seldom thought on his childhood, the memories vague and loose. He never wanted to remember, his only memory was the worst in his cranium. For many fortnights he wished to forget, but it never did, only trickling to the surface on occasions before his mind could cut the cord on it.

He looked at Ox, his eyes filled with a lingering sadness. He held his tongue, for fear that he’d find out his façade was fake, but he knew Ox would have demanded it if he didn’t say. “One day, when I was but a child, my mother and I were searching for food down the shore of Portmayer. We were picking herbs and mushrooms for a rabbit stew that my father had hunted a day earlier. I remember what happened next went by so fast, a shrieked from the woods and then a hiss from an arrow, barely passing my skull. My mother was less fortunate as I turned and saw her figure on the ground. I couldn’t even scream out before my father rushed and took hold of me, telling me to hide from the men. Shouting at me to go. So, I did. I rushed into the town and hid under a carriage that held pelts. I could hear the flesh get cut, the screams in the distance, the shouting of men and clashing of metal. It felt like hours before it all went silent, and when I crept out, I saw the bodies of everyone I knew. I stumbled through the village, passed the coppice onto the coast and cradled my mother’s body. I heard a month later that they never found the children, god only knows what happened--” Graphyte was cut off from a laugh that echoed throughout the chamber. Ox with a smile on his face as he laughed at him. Like it was a joke.

“You tell nice stories Graphyte, you really do. I should have put you as my jester,” He chuckled with a mused smile as he filled a new glass. Graphyte hid the fury the grew in him with a thin veil as he twitched, wanting to clutch that wine bottle at that very moment. Before he could do anything, someone walked in.

He turned towards the guest, knowing immediately the man who stood, despite the tan cloth that wrapped tightly around his head. His steel armor with golden intricate figures drawn across the chest plate gave him away. Prince Galleon, son of Emperor Ox. He even had the same eyes that glowed with ice in its veins.

“Hello father, you needed me?” Galleon approached the seated emperor while unwrapping the cloth.

Ox looked at the boy who was no older than twenty. “Yes, you and I are hosting a meeting, alone,” He stated, looking directly at Graphyte. “You may leave, you can do as you please until I return.”

Graphyte stood from his chair and shakenly bowed to him. “Yes, my grace,” He said before walking out of the room, leaving the father and son to their meeting.

He walked carefully on his way out of the tunnels, making sure not to stray off and possibly become lost, but in his mind, it was the least of his worries. His blood still boiled from Ox’s reaction mere moments ago. He wanted to scream and punch something, but he held himself reluctantly, deciding to focus on the chambers he passed through to calm down.

The chambers and rooms he entered and left were a reminder of what the empire once was and what it is now. The efforts of the old kings to become like the ponies of the west failed, and it appears that they suffered the most because of it. But it didn’t upset him, he knew they came so far, if they pushed only a little more, he knew that they would have achieved their goal. The line had led too far and thin, however, as when Ox stepped in, everything ended jarringly. He made sure nothing could ever be brought back. He refused the ponies attempt at friendship after years of the empire trying to achieve it, and now he is leading the nation into a much different path. It almost felt as if the nation was going backwards for Graphyte. He could only hope that this wouldn’t lead into another war.

The inventions that were created were so close to a complete success. He researched through the capital’s library for hours, reading through the scriptures, finding the hidden compartment that the maestro uses to hide the old dialect of history almost forgotten due to Ox. Electricity was only one out of many attempts to advance the civilization to a new frontier; a clone of the steam engine the ponies used without magic; toilets to allow for griffons to do their business and flush it away; the idea of a complex system of tunnels to navigate waste away from the city easily called The Sewers. They all had such promising sign of an increase in the wellbeing of griffons.

Ox ignored it, ending it all in one fell swoop that day he claimed the throne. It’s not hard to find the man’s hatred towards his father as he held nothing for the man, Emperor Phoenix, a much more well-suited emperor. It’s a curiosity on why Ox loathed him so dearly, but Graphyte didn’t truly care to find out. It was only something more that added to the fire for him.

The citizens didn’t see this. That Ox is just an angry old bastard with a psychotic thirst for hurting others. No, all he heard is how much everyone adores him, “Oh, he reminds me of the olden Emperor Sharp Claw!” They said. They didn’t know a thing on what that man can do. He still has the scar on his hindleg, deep enough to fit the digit of a claw in, the citizens don’t hear that though, they only hear good. If he spoke out, they wouldn’t believe him, word would spread and soon he would be dead somewhere under the king’s orders.

Graphyte passed the final set of doors out of the cellar and walked up the stairs to the throne room. He had been here many times before, the bright white stone walls stood high. Pillars that stood taller than any building in the entire kingdom lined the path to the throne of velvet and gold. A red carpet complementing the walk there with intricate golden designs of griffons battling lions and manticores. It was a beautiful place, truly meant for a ruler. Though, he wasn’t here to observe the architecture, that was the job of the constructers.

He strode passed the throne through a door behind it. A short walk down a hall led him to his room, a simple chamber with a single bed, nightstand, book of the empire’s history, and barred window that showed the city. If the ruler didn’t rest in it, then it isn’t meant to be made for a ruler. He lingered for a moment before he stepped over to the nightstand. Opening the small drawer, he took a scroll that laid inside a slipped it in an inner pocket of the cloak. He knew that it was important he had this for when he went out, and arguing to get it from the maestro only emphasized it.

As he turned to walk out, he looked out of the barred window, focusing on the town below. The once wonderful land was now crawled with griffons that held bowls and begged for coin. Since the millennium war happened along with the embarrassment of the Arimaspi event shortly after, Griffonstone went downhill from there, never recovering from it. People struggled as they walked down the paths and stumbled onto the sandy streets below them. He could see those on the edge of life that barely gripped their begging bowl. He saw a man who walked by one of the dying men, snatching the money in it with stride, laughing as he went.

Griffonstone was never a welcoming city, always brutish in nature. He hated seeing people suffer below, but he couldn’t do anything about it, as it wasn’t in his power to do so. He was but a servant for the emperor, nothing more. Even though he loathed it, he chose to stay in this city. He was just another chain that linked with the many who lived here.

With a sigh that exited his mouth, he turned and exited his room. He walked back to the throne room and crossed to the large doors that exited to the city. A bulky guard stood in the center, his body like a block of stone as it casted a shadow over him. “Ser Gard, I wish to go out for a walk,” Graphyte requested to the gold-plated knight.

Gard gave him a smug look. He always hated this one. “What would I do if the king came back with no servant to do his bidding?”

His emotion remained calm towards the man, but his annoyance was growing within. The feathers on his body rustled to his emotion. “If I’m missing from my position when the king is back, you may search for me on the streets.”

“You know the king wouldn’t enjoy waiting, now would he?” Gard smirked at Graphyte with a raised brow.

“If you wish, I may go to the king himself and tell him how his top knight wouldn’t allow his servant through even though he gave him free time. You know the king doesn’t like wasting his time on petty matters. You let me through, I’ll take the consequences if I’m late, like I always have,” Graphyte retorted with a sharp stare at the man.

Gard glared at him as he clearly bit his tongue on what he wanted to say. “Alright sir, but I’m not responsible for what happens to you.”

Graphyte gave a simple nod with a smirk on his face. “Good, so open the gates and I’ll be back in roughly an hour unless the king is finished early with his matters,” Gard only nodded as he turned and opened the large throne room doors.

He walked out of the castle onto the streets. He used to hear how the king called the griffons’ commoners. He was one himself at one point, but he worked hard to earn his current position. While low still, it’s a position he made himself. Without the family name that Ox carries along with his heir Galleon, they both would be nothing but a simple and basic commoner as well. Such a useless name.

Ox’s father, Phoenix, had more respect for the people. Never using names for them, instead choosing to learn how they were on a personal level. It helped him greatly in gaining respect. This appeared to have fallen on deaf ears as of late.

He held a lot of admiration for the old kings. In his childhood, after the Portmayer massacre, Phoenix built a large wall along the border of the north, blocking the savages from our land. He could still remember standing at the wall, an orphan of ten, watching the king give his speech for that day.

“The Portmayer massacre was a horrible thing to have happened in recent memory. It shouldn’t go unpunished, it shouldn’t be forgotten. For what the savages of the north did was unforgivable. I, Emperor Phoenix, hereby put up this wall as a symbol of protection for the empire once and for all. This wall shall protect those whom sleep near it, for those whom rest in their homes on this fortnight, this wall will protect them from the savages. May its shadow cast its defense on everyone from this day forth.”

Graphyte could never forget that day. The speech still vivid in his memory. It was many he held in respect for the empire. Even though the glory had faded long before he was born, to know that the kings cared for their people made him feel the magnificence of the nation seep through the cracks, casting its light onto those below. It made him secure unlike the days he faced now; full of uncertainty.

He made his way on the outskirts of the city, being sure to slip through the alleys often so no one could track him. It was the last thing he wanted. Before long, he approached a tavern with a blank sign. It was one of many businesses in the city, but he chose this one for convenience. With a smile, he stepped inside and strolled to an empty table.

Griffons stared at him like a piece of meat in a lion’s den. He didn’t fear them, he knew they wouldn’t do a thing. The ones here are the few that know about the things Ox does, so they know what happens if he is hurt. He admitted to himself that Ox, being the man he is, gave him a strong suit of protection from everything. It was quite a useful perk in situations like these.

The smell of honey ham and weeping ale scented his nose with the acidic sweetness. It was tantalizing to chow down on food right then, but he needed to restrain himself for right now. The sound of music flared throughout the tavern with crude iron chandeliers shining light on the few that danced and laughed.

As he watched, a woman approached his table, clearly a server as she wore a tight gown of tan and white. He knew this woman, he had seen her many times before. For her, he was a routine visitor every week, maybe a little more than that in some cases.

“Sir Graphyte, what may you want today?” She cooed. Her claws lightly gracing the table and lining his side.

She was a hunter for him. “I’m afraid I shall not have that today ma’am,” He stated with a light blush. He was never good with provocative women.

She pouted at him with a small smirk on her beak. “Well, if you ever decide to stop being closed off, come to me,” She almost whispered before leaning back in a normal stance.

He let a relieved huff escape him with a nervous chuckle. “I shall.”

“So, what will you have to drink today?”

“A pint of the weaker stuff today, I had my feel a little early this morning,” He said with a chuckle.

“Weeping ale it is then,” She said with a bright smile and walked off with a subtle wave in her hips. That woman will be the death of me… He thought to himself.

He leaned back and took in the environment around him. Specifically, eying the three griffons staring him down from the other side of the bar. He knew all of them. One was a thin bony man, Arial; second was a plump man, obviously having his feel of the ham in the kitchen, Golding; The last was a hooded man, Red.

Red was hooded for a reason. He met Red once, a foul scar ran across his face. Combine the look with his piercing red eyes, it made many afraid of him. He wears the hood to hide it, though now it makes him more threatening.

He focused on the men, seeing them exchange words amongst one another. Having a listen wouldn’t hurt him any, it would at least give him an idea on what they were discussing. Closing his eyes, he focused on his ears, listening to the sound of music and discourse. He pushed passed all of the sounds, working closer to the three men’s voices. Before long, he could pick out their tones and waves.

He heard the server walked to his desk and place the drink down before strolling to another customer. It was perfect for him, made him less noticeable in terms of what he was doing. Leaning in, he took a sip of his ale. The liquid was much sweeter and more acidic compared to the smooth and strong wine he had earlier. He started hearing the men talk as he drank.

“That’s the servant of the king?” He heard Arial say. The voice stood fuzzy for a moment, but in seconds cleared to a crystal distinction as his ears turned and twitched to the subtle focus.

“Aye, that’s the man, he comes here every week and drinks with that pony,” The bubbled voice of Golding spout before he gulped down his ale. They were very observant to know his reason for being here.

“What is the king’s ass kisser doing around a pony?” Arial questioned Golding in a hushed gossip tone, failing to prevent Graphyte’s ears from picking up his words. Arial stared at him as he sipped his ale.

“I don’t know. Maybe we should welcome him and ask about it?” Golding suggested his hidden threat. Graphyte couldn’t help but smirk at the man’s threat, knowing all too well what would happen if they did such a thing.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” A gruff voice cut in abruptly. He could tell this was Red as he opened his eyes for a brief moment and caught the man’s crimson eyes glancing at him from under the hood.

Golding scoffed at the man. “Oh, and why’s that?”

Red remained motionless as he watched Graphyte. “There are many tales of what happens to those who harm the regal workers of the king.”

Golding hooted at Red and patted him on the back. “Enlighten me on the so-called dangers of it. What am I going to get? A fine? A pat on the hand? The dungeon? Wait, wait, beheading?” He amused the ideas like they were jokes, but Red didn’t even so much as huff to the proposals.

He leaned onto the table, staring into Golding’s eyes. “There was once a girl named Rika, a beautiful lady in the south of the empire. Her magenta tipped feathers flocked men and women for a taste of her beauty, but every time she declined the offers. Her heart was set on another man. Ser Lion Claw, intimidating large piece of meat who could smash your skull in with a single claw. She would go to him every day to talk to the knight, hoping that her love for him would be noticed. Yet, the knight never did, and one night, she came to the man under the moonlit sky, ready to proclaim her love to him, only to find him with another woman. Her yearning love was betrayed, hurt and saddened at the knight, she struck him with a claw, cutting deeply into him as she ran from him. He looked for her for weeks, trying to rebuild the damage relationship. It all ended when Ox told him that she was punished for attacking a royal knight. The knight, hardened and strong, wept for the first time in his life, knowing too well on what happened to the lady. Some say in his privacy with his lover, he weeps for Rika still, feeling a deep guilt for her,” Red told the story, they both heard on in solemn as he leaned back, trembling with his voice cracking towards the end.

Golding was the first to speak after Red ended his story. “When did this happen?”

Red took a deep breath. “Ten years ago, a week after Ox became emperor,” Red looked into Golding’s eyes, he could see the sorrow in the man. They were friends for years, so his words spoke a hard truth to them.

“Why should I believe a story that could be fake?” Golden said, trying to hide the uneasy feeling in his gut.

“It isn’t fake boy, Rika was my daughter,” Red grimaced, gazing into Golding. Even though he was hidden under the hood, Golding could see the glint of tears on Red’s cheek. “I know what happened to her, Lion Claw does too. She was killed like the countless others that come in contact with Ox. That man is the plague, you may not face it now, but soon the tides will turn, and you along with everyone else will be swallowed whole,” Silence washed over the men as they drank their beverages. Arial and Golding now looked away from Graphyte and stared into their own mugs. “I don’t mean to spoil the mood. I’m just warning you. You touch that boy, both of you won’t see next year.”

Graphyte tuned them out after that. It was sadly not too uncommon to hear about stories along those lines. He didn’t know Lion Claw had suffered the wrath of Ox. A feeling a sorrow washed over him for a moment as he thought on it. Even the guards are becoming victims to the king’s cruelty. Yet with it becoming known of the king’s actions, it is still the minority, too many fearing what would happen if it got traced back to them. So not many learn about it.

From behind, he heard the tavern door open and close with the sound of clomps reverberating throughout the room. “Why, hello, Graphyte! Nice to meet you once more,” The pony’s accent was foreign and thick as his tongue slithered its words like a snake. He wore a cloak that hid his purple eyes and blue coat. As he sat at Graphyte’s table, he could catch a glimpse of his charcoal hair slipping through the deep purple hood.

“Nice to meet you too Night Shade,” Graphyte greeted the pony with a vacant expression. He met the pony the first year he became the servant of Ox. At first, he found the pony peculiar, but after learning of the pony’s nature and intention, he grew to him a little. “How have the princesses been?”

Shade smiled at the griffon. “Oh, the princesses have been doing wonderful. You heard about the baby Prince Shining Armor and Princess Cadence had, didn’t you?”

“Who hasn’t? Everyone in the land has spoken about it at one point or another. I do wish we got the news sooner though,” Graphyte took another sip from his ale.

The server from before approached the table. “Hello, Night Shade, what may I get you?” Her voice welcoming and cheery as she eyed the griffon once more. Graphyte looked away embarrassingly.

“Red wine for me and my friend here,” He said quickly before Graphyte could protest. He knew he would be drunk by the end of this meeting. The server nodded and strolled behind the bar before returning with two glasses of wine. “Okay, let’s go ahead and get this started, shall we?” Graphyte simply nodded in reply. “My birdies have been very active about a lot of things as of late.”

“Aye, there have been quite a bit of brewing happening within these walls,” Graphyte mused.

“Like what?”

“I was led through the cellar of the castle today. I saw a lot of things, but I didn’t expect to see what I did,” Graphyte said as he remembered all the events.

“You don’t have to lead me on, tell me,” Shade pressed the griffon who only simpered in return.

Graphyte leaned in close to Shade. “There is a room, one of glossed oak walls and marble roofing. A large table sat in the center with more than a dozen chairs. It was brand new while the path leading to it was old and rotting,” He could see Shade eyes spark with curiosity.

“What else happened?”

“Shortly after we arrived, Galleon came in. He had been requested to come to the room. I don’t know what reason it was. I have a feeling it wasn’t good,” He leaned back in his seat.

“Interesting…” Shade muttered as his eyes became foggy, clearly in deep thought. Graphyte could see the uneasiness tracing his features as he wondered what it could mean. Blinking a few times, he turned to him once more. “Was there anything else that happened?”

“We did enter a storage room which led deeper into the inner caverns. Ox grabbed a scroll from there and hid it in his coat quickly. I’m not sure what it is, but something tells me it was of particular importance,” Shade stared off as he thought on it more.

“It definitely doesn’t sound good. For months, there was nothing, and now he has a new room built for possible large meetings? It isn’t right at all.”

“He also told me that the entire section of the cellar leading to the room is being repaired to look more modern,” Graphyte added.

Shade only sipped his wine as he digested the information. “Did you bring what I need?” He asked as he switched his focus to something else more calming.

Graphyte perked up. “Yes, I did. I got the latest prints from the maestro, it was tartarus to get that man to do it for me,” He said as he took out the scroll from his cloak, handing it to Shade. He took it and unraveled it, looking at its contents for a brief moment before smiling with contempt.

Wrapping it back up, he pocketed the scroll in his cloak. “That’s really good. This will help greatly for us,” Graphyte hummed in reply, sipping more of his wine as Shade downed his glass. “Well, Graphyte, I must be off. The ship leaves tomorrow and I can’t be late, you know how long the travels get when going to the coast.”

“That I do. Have a safe trip,” Graphyte drank the rest of his wine as the man left, pondering on today. He never expected to be shown a room as he has today. It made him uneasy. What could be happening to require a secondary meeting hall? He wondered.

When he finished his glass, he sat it on the table along with a small pile of bits before he stood. He knew he couldn’t stay longer, and with a sigh, he stepped out and walked towards the castle to continue his duty.

Author's Notes:

Sorry for the very long wait! This took a long time to write as it went through a rewrite. But now it is done, that's what matters. As you can see, it does work through an entire different character's POV. This is important as this is a large world, Mason can't be the only main character to experience that. Each chapter will take focus on a different POV to give you more of the world and it's lore. Like the state of the Griffon Empire, for example. This will also be a big move in terms of change, the empire in the show is depressingly weaker than that of the one in chapter 2. For my story, they had to be stronger. Hopefully, none of you feel any anger towards that change.

Also, I know it's a cliche for the Griffon Empire to be this strong and have a bad king. Don't worry! I'm not trying to do that, I want to make this engaging and give a reason for it. It will make more sense as the story goes on. So there you go! I hope you enjoyed it!

Chapter 3 - The Wandering Traveller (Tan)

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It was daybreak before Tan Write moved, midnight proving too cold to go any farther. His hoofs ached as he ambled down the dirt road. It had been a month of traveling through the land, yet, he never seemed to get used to the aching. Like his body was set ablaze, it coursed his fibers.

Though, he kept himself occupied, trying to ignore the invasive sensation that clouded him. He focused on the land. Beautiful rolling mounds of grass with oak and pine standing tall, creaking as it bent to the light breeze. A thick mist had rolled in from the previous night, the moisture coating the ground he walked. Vapor tried to blind his senses as he looked ahead, but he could still see the direction he was going with a large mountain, piercing the sky above, leading him.

Even though it was still nights away, the mountain stood tall and clear. Thick sheets of snow caked the top of it as the peak hid in the clouds. The mountain was home to Canterlot. He had to squint just to see the outline of the castle, but even from his distance, he could see the towers of purple and gold. That would be his next stop.

For right now, he would simply relax and listen to nature. The silence. It was always a wonderful thing to have. He wasn’t so lucky in the city, where the booming of voices and carriages barreling down the road made up most of the day. It was one of the many reasons he preferred morning. Mornings were the most silent time in the city, where the partygoers would sleep and the early birds would wake. There was one downside to mornings, it was the cold.

Winter had set much sooner over Equestria than expected. First, the trees laid bare; then, the air grew cold, before the snow fell. It happened swift, quick enough to catch many off guard.

Tan was thankful to have his winter coat. The thick layered cloths protected him from the cold that lingered in the air. But it couldn’t protect everything as the frost bit through his exposed legs and face. His tan coat standing on end with his brown hair clumpy from dry sweat. He shivered a little every time a small breeze blew in the wind.

“Sir!” A voice tore through the air. Tan turned to the source behind him, seeing a stallion concealed in a midnight cloak as he galloped towards him.

“Yes?”

“Do you know the direction to Camp Flower Pot? I have lost my map and don’t know where to find it!” The stallion exclaimed.

Tan cocked his head in confusion. He didn’t know of a camp with this name. “Give me a moment to check my map,” He said as he went through his saddle bag. Shuffling through the few materials, he snatched the map that hid neatly inside, rolled tight with a red ribbon bound.

Unraveling the map, he looked through the colored ink markings that carefully formed the world on the page. Names written throughout most of the areas described the important places. Manehattan, Canterlot, Ponyville, Baltimare, all location that rung out. He looked closer at the smaller scriptures. He saw the camps laid out. Camp Harvest, Camp Horseshoe, Camp Windchime, all that had been formed at the time the map was created. Yet, he saw no Camp Flower Pot.

“I don’t see the camp you speak of. Are you sure it’s here?” Tan asked.

“I’m sure! It formed a week ago and I was given the map for it!” He reassured.

Tan scratched his chin with curiosity at the newly formed camp. “I bought this map from a merchant no less than a fortnight ago. If it’s as recent as you say, then I can’t help sadly.”

The stallion looked down in solemn disappointment. “Darn,” He muttered to himself more than Tan. “I guess I’ll have to find it without a map then.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you getting lost stranger. That wouldn’t be right,” Tan said as he stepped forward towards the stallion who now stood strong.

“I’m sure. Don’t worry about me, I’ll find the camp. I have to!” He suddenly ran off down the dirt trail Tan was going. He only stared in confusion as the stallion vanished under the horizon.

“Weird,” He uttered as he resumed walking down the trail.

Two days passed before Tan approached the mountain, now much larger than before. It loomed over him, forcing him to cock his head up sharply to see the full scale. The mountain itself seem more detailed, he could see the smaller pony-made changes that has accumulated over the years. A large tunnel stood, what he guessed to be, more than twenty hoofs tall with a railroad track going within. As he glanced up, he could see railroad tracks lacing throughout the entire mountain, leading up to the capital.

Canterlot was now much more detailed than before, even at the incredible height it stood. He could easily see the towers and stained-glass windows and the balconies that jutted from them. The mist, still present, tried to hide the beauty, but failed as the city shined passed it. This is the capital, he thought, having never seen it before. He stared in awe for a moment, drinking in the sight in front of him, before he reluctantly moved in the tunnel.

The inner walls had a light sheen of moisture that clung to it. Mud caked the ground he walked on, squishing beneath his step with an occasional clang ringing out when he bumped into the railroad track of metal and wood, muttering words incoherent as he continued. It was dark, so dark that he relied on feeling rather than sight. It made him stick to the edge of the tunnel cautiously, pressing his body against it as he went farther through.

He took careful steps for a long time, he didn’t know how long it was as he edged, all he knew was a light was peeking through the tunnel.

When he made it through the other side, he breathed a cautious sigh of relief. Who knew when the train would pass through those tunnels, he was only happy that he was out. He felt the warm heat of the sun greet his happiness. It felt like hours had passed, maybe he was right, the sun hung lower than before, enough to be noticeable. A smile crested his maw, he didn’t care for the time it took to get through it, he was only happy to be out.

Looking up to the mountainside, he wondered how long it would take to scale it. It seemed like a day’s hike, but it could be even longer as he looked at the steep sections.

The sections made him shiver for a moment, they almost sat like a straight wall at how steep they were. Saving him the risky climb, came to be more railroads that passed with small bridges of stone that curved around the mountain’s steep sections, making it much safer to pass without worry of injury. He wondered briefly if he should take a train and play it safe, but he decided he made it this far, a little more wouldn’t hurt him.

“Hello! You made it!” A familiar voice said from behind. He turned to see the same stallion from before with his hood pulled back.

He was a young lad. His hair was as black as the tunnel Tan was in a moment ago with a coat of silver. Tan could see the black inking on his body, around his cheeks and neck, like long cuts across his features. His eyes of the lightest blue took Tan a little, it was rare to see someone with an eye color like this. He was a handsome pony out of the many that Tan interacted with back in the city.

“Oh, it’s you,” Tan observed. Behind the stallion was a large camp. How did I not see that? He questioned. It was larger than many camps he came across, with large flags carrying a sigil of a cloak and scythe discouraging him. Smoke of a campfire rose high in the air with a distant chatter of ponies talking. “I see you found your camp?”

The stallion laughed. “That I did. I manage to make it yesterday. I assumed you would have crossed paths with me,” He said.

Tan walked up to him with a distrusting view of the camp. The sigil still clear in his vision. The pony seemed to catch notice of it as he traced Tan’s eyes. “Don’t worry,” He reassured, “the sigil is more threatening than the ponies actually are.”

Tan eyed the stallion carefully, studying his actions as he looked at the camp. Something about him seemed to perk for a moment. “Oh, I should introduce myself!” The stallion said suddenly. “My name is Iron Hoof. Nice to meet you.” Iron held a hoof out towards Tan, who shook it gingerly.

“My name is Tan Write. Nice to meet you too, Iron,” He said, giving a light bow of the head.

“Let me show you around the camp Tan, I think you would like it,” Iron suggested. Tan was apprehensive about following him. He didn’t know how safe it would be walking into a camp full of unknown strangers he had never seen. Camps weren’t known for their friendliness. “Trust me, you’ll be fine. The people here are good-hearted,” He calmed. The tension didn’t fare much for Tan, with a gulp, he nodded to Iron.

Walking passed the flags, Tan noticed how much larger the camp was. Dozens of tents with mares and stallions, fillies and colts, all residing in them. He could easily count more than thirty as they passed the tents to a gathering place.

It was large with an equally sized bonfire lit. The heat wafted towards Tan, greeting his fur with warmth he much needed. His eyes rested on the large head piece in the center of the fire, an iron casted pony with a cloak. On its side rested a scythe with a sharp steel blade. The fire waved Tan’s vision as he stared at the figure with a captivated gaze. “I see you noticed the figure in the flames,” Iron remarked.

He looked at Iron with curiosity. “Yes, what is it?”

“It is told to be the embodied form of the Shadow,” Iron said. “Not much is known on the shadow. A lot of the worshipers were hidden and sparse. But recently, a priest and priestess became public with their belief, and many began following.”

Tan shifted as he stepped closer to the flames. Inspecting the iron figure. Its steel blade sharpened and glowed with a light hue of red. “Is the Shadow a sort of god?” He asked.

“From what is told, yes,” Iron replied as he stepped beside Tan. “I only got myself acquainted yesterday, but I have already learned a lot about the Shadow. It is told that the Shadow was born in the beginning of time. When the world was just a baby growing, it took shape of a black wolf and hunted the sick and weak at night. It didn’t do this as a predator feasting on the weak, but as a sign of mercy. It was saving them from the pain, as when they touched the wolf’s soft coat, they would suddenly pass. Soon, believers of the wolf began following it. They believed it was a god of death, bringing the end to everypony it touched.”

Tan shook to the story, fear lining his features. What did I just step into? He thought. “Why believe in a god that brings death?” He questioned.

“Because it is the one thing that happens in life no matter what. You are born and you die. For many here, they believe in the god of life and death. If one brings us life, then one must take it away,” Iron explained.

Tan didn’t understand. For as long as they could remember, the princesses were the only ones to be alive. Hundreds of years with multiple generations seeing only Celestia and Luna. They were the only ones that Tan saw as remotely god. “I don’t mean to offend, but I have a hard time believing.”

“It’s okay, I was like you once as well, skepticism is natural,” Iron said. “Follow me. I know who can explain it better than I can. Knowing me, I probably jumbled my story.”

Wearingly, Tan followed the silver pony deeper into the camp, passing more tents until he approached a tall and massive one.

Woven into the cloth and silk that held it was an intricate portrait of a black stallion moving along a field of flowers towards a hill were a mare sat. She held a harp in her hoof, seemingly playing its tune as the stallion approached.

Iron stepped inside with Tan following closely. It was mostly empty, containing a few wooden tables, all holding an assortment of bowls filled with various herbs and plants. At the far end of the room was a mare draped in a cloak of white. Her crème coat hidden under it.

“Hello, miss Heart,” Iron said with a bow.

The mare turned and saw Iron and Tan. Her face gleamed a smile faintly across her muzzle. “Why, hello Iron. Who is this?” She asked with her eyes on Tan.

“My name is Tan miss, Tan Write,” Tan said with a bow, mimicking Iron.

“Nice to meet you Tan, what are your reasons for being here?” Her question was soft and direct.

Tan looked at her as she handled plants that were in a wooden bowl, taking the leaves off and discarding the root. “I met Iron Hoof when I was making my way towards Canterlot. He departed quickly, but it seems that we met again.”

“Ah,” She was soft in her voice. “Iron, this is your guest, why don’t you show him around the camp?”

Iron smirked at the mare softly. “I brought him here because he was curious about the god, ma’am.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” Tan replied to her with a gentle smile.

“So, what do you wish to know?”

Tan straightened and thought on his wording. He carefully chose what he wanted to say. “I’m curious on the Shadow and why you follow it,” He said. “So, I feel the need to ask, if you follow the Shadow as your god, then why not follow the princesses? I mean they are a being that has lived for millennia.”

She smiled as she continued going through her plants. “Tell me something Tan, how long have the princesses of Equestria lived?” She asked.

“Well, the earliest records date back to the times of the millennium war, but really, no one knows for sure. All we know is they are older than history shows, much older than a thousand years, considering nightmare moon,” Tan rambled. Iron watched him patiently while Heart continued her work.

“Iron, tell me, how old is the Shadow?”

“The Shadow is shown to be older than time. Appearing when the world itself was being formed,” He stated with a smirk.

Heart nodded before looking at Tan. “Don’t you see Tan? The Shadow existed before the princesses were even beings, before we were even beings,” She explained. “The Shadow was around before life was birthed onto the land. He was partially responsible for making it happen.”

Tan looked at her curiously. “How so?”

She took a breath for a moment and thought. “The Shadow was a being birthed into the world when it was young. This was before the sun and moon had even formed, before life had been given to the rock that we called our home. He was born in a time when the grounds were ash and the world was showered in darkness and fire. In a time where the rivers were made of lava, and the mountains moved across the land from the winds. He hated the world in its state, he wished for something more. And he did just that. With the lava of the river, he forged a mighty scythe of obsidian and extinguished the river of lava into the clearest waters the world has ever seen. He sowed a hood out of the darkness around him, cloaking himself in a permanent shadow. He used the scythe to cut the wind away and fixate the mountains into a single position. With his full power, he drew the world apart, using the once large mass to create the sun and moon. This had sadly killed him…”

“Killed him?”

Heart stopped briefly from what she was doing, appearing in thought for a moment before continuing without word. “Yes, the strength proved too much and he collapsed. In his dying breath, he wept for the world, and his tears created the rain of water that rid the ash. When the sun rose, still carrying enough magic in it to move, its rays of light shined onto his hood of shadow and disintegrated him,” She finished.

“What happened to him then?”

She turned and smiled. “The Shadows bones that disintegrated left an ash that casted into the grain of the world. Through the ash, it created all life. Ponies, griffons, dragons, and all others, they are all a part of the Shadow,” She said. “After that, the Shadow returned to the realm. No one knows how, but he returned as a wolf.”

Tan was perturbed by her explanation. “But, he is a god of death, so why follow a god that brings nothing but death to his children?”

“He accepted that the life he had created couldn’t live forever, so he took it upon himself to bring death to everyone, making sure none grew too old,” She said. He seemed unsure of her story. She seemed to notice his look as she looked into his eyes with a seriousness that made him fidget. “He didn’t like it or enjoy killing his creations.”

Tan looked at her with a bemused expression. “If he accepted the position, then how does he hate it?”

She laughed at him, smooth and joyous. “You should know this yourself. Even if you don’t like your position in life, you still do it. This was the same story for him. He did it to keep a balance in the world. This was his creation. If no one died, think of what would happen. He hated it, but it was needed,” She said.

Tan thought on her words. She wasn’t wrong, as much as he wished to believe. Overpopulation, famine, war of the world itself, he could go on in his thoughts, but he knew that she was right. With a sigh, he nodded. “I understand what you say, miss.”

She simply continued her work with the plants as she listened. “I know it sounds insane from your perspective, but when I grew up, I learned of this so young in my age. I know how old it is and how deep the roots go. I promise, if you stick around, you will see it too,” She said. “But, I know you must be going, I don’t want to keep you tangled up in stories. Go eat and be with the others. My husband, the priest, will come by shortly and he can more thoroughly show you around.” She waved Tan and Iron off.

They both said their goodbyes and bowed before leaving the tent. It was silent as they walked back to the entrance of the camp. Tan simply thought on what he had all heard. Should I take her up on that promise?

When they stopped in front of the flags, he turned and faced Iron.

“Well, I know you only wanted to visit for a moment and leave,” Iron said. Tan nodded absentmindedly, only muttering in reply. “Are you alright friend?”

Tan shook his head and nodded. “Yes, yes… I’m fine. Sorry,” He blurted.

Iron looked at him with a little bit of concern. “Are you sure? You seem a little… tense,” He laid a hood on Tan.

He thought on the priestess words and story. Even if they were fake to him, many still believed in it. It was a curiosity to him. For all his travel, he focused on going to the cities and places he had never been to. He lived his whole life isolated inside of Manehattan, so to see the outside world is wonderous. Though, coming across a peculiar camp like this didn’t seem like something he had anticipated. And he did admit, it was more tantalizing to see what was happening here than what was going on in Canterlot. Camps come and go all the time, a capital stays for good until destroyed.

Canterlot could wait, he could come to it some other time. His interest wants to see what this religious group has to offer.

Iron seemed like a nice pony, a good head on his shoulders, even with his beliefs. So maybe he would enjoy going through this little adventure of his. As long as those in the camp accepted him that is.

He stared at Iron for a moment before sighing. “I… I think I’m going to stay, see if I really do see something more.”

Iron beamed at the stallion’s words. “That’s great!” He said. “I’ll take you and show you around, introduce you to the locals. I promise it will be wonderful.” He pulled Tan by the hoof, who smiled at the young stallion.

“Alright, alright, don’t rip my hoof off.” He remarked as he followed Iron with a light chortle.

World at War

by Writing Reaper

Chapter 1 - From Embers to Fire (Mason)

Chapter 2 - Shadows of Griffonstone (Graphyte)

Chapter 3 - The Wandering Traveller (Tan)