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In the Age of Ancients the world was unformed, shrouded by fog. A land of gray crags, Archtrees and Everlasting Dragons. But then… there was Fire. And with fire came disparity. Heat and cold, life and death, and of course, light and dark. Then from the dark, THEY came, and found the Souls of Lords within the flame. Sombra, the First of the Dead, The Draconequus of Izalith and his Children of Chaos, Celestia, the Goddess of Sunlight, and her faithful knights. And the Furtive Pygmy, so easily forgotten.

With the strength of Lords, they challenged the Dragons. Celestia’s mighty bolts peeled apart their stone scales. The Children weaved great firestorms. Sombra unleashed a miasma of death and disease. And Spike the Scaleless betrayed his own… and the Dragons were no more.

Thus began the Age of Fire. But soon the flames will fade and only Dark will remain. Even now there are only embers, and the equine see not light, but only endless nights. And amongst the living are seen carriers of the accursed Darksign.

Yes, indeed. The Darksign brands the Undead. And in this land, the Undead are corralled and led to the north, where they are locked away, to await the end of the world... This is your fate.

Only in the ancient legends it is stated, that one day an undead shall be chosen to leave the undead asylum, in pilgrimage, to the land of ancient lords...

Equestria.

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Lost.

Lost in the darkness.

All in all, Derpy could definitely settle on at least one thing; she was absolutely miserable.

The grey pegasus huddled bitterly against the cold stone corner, keeping her wings closed in tightly at her sides to help keep in heat. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t normal; why was it so unbearably cold?

The air inside the stuffy cell seemed warm enough – almost uncomfortably so, to the point where breathing was a little hard. Derpy could barely even make out the twisted emblem that had burned itself onto her flank in place of her Cutie Mark in the dingy light, cast from the miniscule window in the ceiling above. The rusty metal bars of the door seemed to shine ruddily in what little light she had, like they were mocking her.

Just a simple, small little circle. Right there on her side.

Darksign.

It was difficult to remember exactly how it got there in the first place, and the more she thought about it, the more her head hurt. Derpy slowly rocked back and forth, clutching unhappily at her own hooves to stave off the shivering. Partially to stave off the growing sense of… something else. Of shadows, of whispers behind her ears…

It was so difficult to… remember.

Derpy shook her head, clearing her eyes of her blonde bangs. Unfortunately, it did not clear her head as well. Every time she began to lose herself in thought, every time she tried to delve into her memory… it hurt a little, in such a strange way. She almost felt as if she were losing bits and pieces, but had become too inattentive to notice when-

WHAM!

Derpy let out a gasp of surprise as she tried to leap backwards into the corner even further, but her retreat was blocked by frigid stone. The disheveled body of the unknown stallion that had been unceremoniously dumped from the tiny window above lay still on the filthy floor before her.

Glancing upward in confusion, the pegasus managed to catch a short glimpse of a peculiar pony, masked by an iron muzzleguard. The glint caught in the dim sunlight above, and their eyes met momentarily.

Before Derpy could respond, the pony vanished.

Staring up granted no sight of the pony again, and she prodded the unfortunate stallion in dirty rags on the floor in front of her.

He didn’t move.

Or breathe.

Upon closer inspection, he’d been dead for quite a while.

In slight revulsion, Derpy resumed what she’d been doing for who knows how long; pacing back and forth, slowly shuffling her hooves.

This was an interesting development.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried flying up to the window. But even if the cell hadn’t been so cramped, the strange quality of the air must have caused it to become heavier. At least, that was Derpy’s theory. Either way, she couldn’t fly.

Maybe if she used the corpse as a makeshift ladder…?

Shuddering slightly in disgust at the thought, Derpy sighed and reclaimed her spot in the corner. Maybe if she stayed here long enough, the armored pony would come back. Or maybe she’d eventually have enough bodies to just stack atop each other and climb to the top.

Derpy was certain whether she shuddered from the revulsion again, or whether or not it was getting colder.

Back to pacing, and it felt like it had been such a short amount of time; but she had to do something.

She nosed back over at the dead stallion, cringing when she rolled him over. Perhaps he had something on his body that could help…?

And, sure enough, tucked neatly into the stallion’s hoof was a small and rusted key.

Derpy grinned, snagging the key from his hoof with a small nod to him, even though he would never respond.

A bit nonsensical, perhaps. But some measure of respect to the dead should be presented.

She almost completely missed the shattered blade caught beneath the plain tan stallion. Picking up the thing in her other hoof revealed that it was little more than just a hilt; however, it was just sharp enough to be useful. Derpy slipped the hilt into a small strap on her side…

Just in time to stare at in in confusion, wondering where she got it. A couple of memories passed quietly by, and the sword sheathe at her side looked familiar.

But where did she get it?

And, more importantly, when?

With a heavy shrug, Derpy took a deep breath and shook herself from her reverie.

And so, with a hint of determination sparking in her golden eyes, Derpy carefully unlocked the door to her cell and began the longest, most arduous, scariest, darkest, most painful and downright brutal journey of her life.

The pilgrimage of the undead.

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Author's Note

The journey begins.