A week ago, if someone had told K’Umetk that he would be invited to the capital of the most powerful nation in the world to have a personal sit down with Equestrian royalty, he would have claimed them to be unhinged. As he sat in the oversized plush waiting chair outside the personal quarters of Equestria’s own Princess Celestia, he could only marvel at how unhinged his reality truly was. To be clear, K’Umetk held no love for Ponies – he found them to be arrogant and decadent; the less he had to deal with them, the better off he felt for his lot in life.

So it was only natural that he held the surprising invitation with a great deal of suspicion. Out of recent habit, the old sailor glanced towards his mangled left hand. He was certain that he could still feel the fingers that were clearly not there anymore – it unnerved him greatly. The doctors who had tended to him after having been rescued claimed that it was a natural phenomenon – phantom limb syndrome, they had called it. Looking back up, he could scarcely help but observe his silent companion in the next chair over.

Ghur’Tcha sat in much the same manner as he had for the past week – eyes closed, brow lowered, and his countenance set in a deep and meditative manner. The boy had changed. Ever since being rescued by the natives of that small island so many weeks ago, K’Umetk could see the differences. He could remember a young yeoman who felt nothing but optimism for the world, and who saw to the future with hope. This Ghur’Tcha was so very different from the other.

The captain could scarcely remember what had been said amidst those island elders; what he could recall seemed so distant. Undoubtedly, the boy had spoken with them whilst he himself was unconscious. What they talked of he could never hope to guess, but whatever it had been about had done much to affect his shipmate, for upon awaking he was struck by the boy’s change in mannerism.

No longer was he a wellspring of hope and good cheer. Ghur’Tcha had become withdrawn and standoffish – seldom speaking out unless spoken to; he no longer smiled either. In fact, the most he had ever talked since their rescue had been his uncharacteristic message to the people of their island, and the desperate plea to that pony news crew. It went without saying that K’Umetk had been surprised by the action. When the boy had spoken out to the crowd, he had been unsure of what to expect.

The mixed and sundry reactions had been expected. What had not been so were those who outright called him a liar – that had forced the old man’s hand. He had instantly come to Ghur’Tcha’s defense, explaining in no simple terms the unequivocal truth of what had transpired in the southern seas. His standing among the people of his home town may not have been much, but they knew his character; when he had said as much as his friend, they had believed him… to an extent.

But just as he came down from his diatribe, what should he see but Ghur’Tcha desperately clinging to a camera, screaming at the top of his lungs as he was forcibly dragged away – telling the world what had happened. When they had finally calmed him down, he immediately switched back to his introverted state, not even looking his fiancé in the eye when she tried to console him.

When they had been interred within the hospital, K’Umetk had confronted his friend on the matter. In response, Ghur’Tcha simply stated that he had a mission to uphold – to warn the world of the coming storm and to help find a way to stay its wrath. Those had been the last words spoken by the young man since. Now, if it were under any other circumstance, the good captain would have chalked it up to a self-righteous martyr complex and leave it at that – if the condescending little twerp wanted to make a spectacle out of his ordeal then let him do so.

But this was Ghur’Tcha, a boy he had seen grow up for well on two decades and more. He knew Ghur’Tcha’s parents – his grandparents; they were genuinely good people who had helped him in many a dire situation. He had taken the boy onto his crew because he saw an image of his younger self in the child’s care-free attitude. But none of that could compare to the sight that was becoming more and more commonplace the longer time went on: in the dead of night, when all should have been sleeping, K’Umetk would often awake from nightmares to find the young man missing.

That first time, the very night that had finally returned home, it had terrified him. The one person who had made it through hell with him was gone and he had known not where. Then, in the pale moonlight that splashed down through the window, he heard the sonorous cries of complete desolation – he heard the wailing of a broken man and when he got up to see who would make such tragic noises, he found it to be none other than Ghur’Tcha.

Though he would scarcely talk to anyone, he still held such pain, and his crying convinced K’Umetk that whatever change had come about his friend, it was genuine and with the intentions of a man who felt he needed to fix something. From that night, he had vowed to stand by his friend through anything that may come their way. A week later and here they were… He would not take any of it back, despite his discomfort.

Still, that didn’t mean that he would not voice his misgivings to the lad, as he muttered, “This is all so very much a load of nonsense, Ghur’Tcha – we need not be here; these ponies care nothing for our kind.” Strangely enough, Ghur’Tcha opened his eyes and looked to his friend, asking, “Then why are we here?” K’Umetk would not say it aloud, but he had been asking himself that very question time and time again when they had arrived to this great and splendid castle. They had been treated well enough by those who had escorted them here, though many a time he go the distinct impression that they would have rather been elsewhere.

So instead of giving a reply, he conceded, saying, “Let us hope that we might find out why when we have this meeting… if we have this meeting.” Irony was in full force that day, it seemed, because just as he had uttered those words, a rather imposing equine wearing gilded armor and brandishing a rather sharp looking spear appeared from a portico and announced, “Her majesty will see you now.” Grumbling to himself in irate displeasure, the old Chameleon fumbled around for his walking cane before creakily rising from the too-soft chair.

Ghur’Tcha had lowered his head once more and took to following K’Umetk in a somber sort of procession – no doubt he had many things on his mind; perhaps he would now share them in this meeting. The great iron wrought doors that met them at the end of the hall were nothing if not awe-inspiring (no doubt that was their purpose), with inlaid lattice of teakwood and all manner of semi-precious stones giving focus to the resplendent gold-leafed intaglio at its center, displaying, of all things, a pastoral rococo scene that seemed ill placed in such splendor.

With an ominous creak the doors swung wide, seemingly of their own accord, as the two reptiles walked their way into a room that, for being the personal chambers of a monarch, seemed rather Spartan in contrast to the magnificence of the surrounding castle. And there, sitting at a desk made of marble, with a diplomatic smile in place sat Princess Celestia herself. Her radiant mane and pristine white coat gave emphasis to her massive wings and the prominent horn upon her head.

To the two of them, she came off as rather ugly, and in their own tongue K’Umetk gave comment as such. With a genuine look of embarrassed horror, Ghur’Tcha exclaimed (again in their native language), “Captain, please – show respect; she has invited us here – don’t insult her looks.” To both of their surprise, the Princess spoke in almost perfect Chameleonic, saying “It is quite alright – I understand that to your species hair and feathers aren’t exactly the most appealing traits to possess.”

This garnered a chuckle from the old captain, who felt that he should have realized that she would be able to speak their language, as he remarked, “It would seem that we will not be able to keep a secret form you, your majesty – please forgive my words.” With a casual nod, the solar sovereign of the Equestrian people came right down to business, saying “I understand that you both have survived a rather strenuous ordeal at sea, have you not?” With an impassive look of stony indifference, K’Umetk replied, “Aye.” The subtle twitch of her eyebrow was all of any indication that Celestia found his remark less than forthcoming.

Changing tactics, she asked, “The tragedy that had befallen the Chameleonic Islands is of great interest to me and my following – we were hoping to try and find a way of aiding your people during their time of need.” The grunt of ‘Hm’ that the old sailor remarked with gave just as much indication of what he thought about that. Finally, she cut to the chase – seeing as how her guests (or at least the older one) seemed content to sit and stonewall her every attempt at discourse.

“I actually called you both in here to discuss the… interesting message you relayed on television a week ago.” At this she had turned to Ghur’Tcha, who had strangely enough been silent the entire time; not at all like he had been when speaking to the camera days prior. “More specifically, I would like you to assist me in corroborating a point of information that I have only recently come into possessing.” When the younger of the two finally looked her in the eye, she finished by saying, “I have a feeling that the two of you may be the only ones who could help me.”

Ghur’Tcha finally spoke, his voice small and atrophied as he said, “This is why I have come – to help.” Taking that at face value, the Alicorn stood from her desk and beckoned them to follow her, saying “That is very much appreciated – now if you would, please come with me, we’ll be heading to the royal archives for the rest of our meeting.” An uneasy look was passed between the two as her back was turned, but they followed nonetheless.

As they traversed the winding halls and spiraling stairwells that filled the royal residency, the two islanders could scarcely do more than marvel at such incredible architecture, admiring the many tapestries and paintings that lined the walls, and often gawking at the scale of it all. All the while, the princess had been idly chatting to them as they went along – unaware that they were ignoring her in favor of gazing upon one spectacle after another.

Their reverie was ended as she turned around and announced, “Here we are,” before stepping through an open doorway and into a room that towered about them all. Rows upon rows of various odds and ends (primarily books but there were a good number of reliquaries and artifacts to be seen) filled shelf upon shelf, reaching up to the very ceiling dozens of meters above them. While they nearly fell backwards in wonder, their host casually trotted to the far end of the room, where a group of ponies were awaiting them.

The solid mahogany table at which they were seated was a work of art in and of itself, with all manner of intricate carvings and designs. Positioned upon said table were an assortment of papers, manila folders and a mechanical contraption the likes of which neither Chameleon had ever seen before in their lives. As they took their proffered seats, they were met with an assortment of stares and inquisitive looks – none of which gave them any comfort.

“I suppose that introductions are to be had,” Celestia announced as she reverted to her own tongue, “These ponies represent my cabinet and confidants.” Quickly pointing towards each pony at the table, she rattled off their various names and functions. Neither Chameleon gave much consideration to the names, but when it came to the final member at the table, they had no such problems, as the Princess declared, “And of course you may well regard my co-regent and sister, Luna.” At mention of her name, the dark haired princess of the night gave a cordial nod of recognition towards the two outsiders.

With introductions now out of the way, the meeting began in earnest. Quickly taking a seat at the head of the table, the diurnal-dictator began with a disclosure of sorts. “What we speak of now does not leave this table, do I make myself clear?” A wave of nods and agreements came in response as she continued, “I have called this meeting into order to discuss a potential crisis in the making – as you may have undoubtedly heard, the prominent city of Promised Point was all but destroyed some three months prior.”

After his rescue, K’Umetk had indeed heard of the surprising destruction of the thriving metropolis of Ko’tosh – it had been a very important fixture to the peoples of the Chameleonic confederacy, often used to mediate disputes and facilitate broader venues of trade and commerce. He had only ever been there but a few times in his life, but he could still remember how impressive the city had been. While he cared little for the fact, he understood that without the city of Promised Point (and the ponies who had inhabited it), there would be rough times ahead for his race; many of the islands had become heavily reliant upon its surplus and commodities.

To be diplomatic, the old reptile played the advocate by saying, “Yes, I heard of this thing happening so – wiped away by a great storm; such that I have heard it said, yes?” While his grasp of the pony language was limited at best, he had apparently done well enough for those present. However, he would have had to be blind to have missed the surreptitious looks of discomfort that were exchanged by many of those at the table. Promptly appending his statement, he asked, “But I am feeling that this is not to be what happened in truth, no?”

With a heavy sigh, Celestia’s minister of state (an old grey Unicorn by the name of Prudent Measure) demurely responded, “While the official story is that a storm of biblical proportions destroyed the city, you would not be wrong in surmising that this was not the whole story.” With a fluid motion, the old stallion slid a spiral bound docket of papers towards the two foreigners who gave it a curious look, as he explained, “This is the full extent of what we know through empirical observation – if you would turn to page seventeen, I would like you to observe the… is something wrong?” He had taken notice of the expressions of confused bemusement on their faces as he had been running them through the synopsis.

Casting an apologetic (if somewhat amused) gaze towards the minister, K’Umetk spoke up, saying – “Please, forgive us – I am being what you call ‘illiterate’, and Ghur’Tcha is only knowing of the script of our people, yes – we cannot be reading these things that you show us, yes?” With an aghast look of horror at his own blunder, Prudent Measure exclaimed, “Oh, I’m terribly sorry – I had not even stopped to consider that when I had this report made; by all means, let me summarize the report!”

Pointing out the various places in the report as he went along, the minister of state explained in short order the various discrepancies and anomalies that had been uncovered during the investigation. He showed how, instead of showing signs of being overwhelmed in a great deluge, the city had in fact burned down. He also explained the compartmentalized nature of the destruction, and the unnatural manner in which some of the more prominent structures in the city had been toppled. The final piece in the exposition was the odd manner in which the city’s power station had been dismantled and depleted of all magic.

When it had all been said and done, K’Umetk could not hold back the uneasiness he felt towards the whole situation – already, he was beginning to believe that he already knew the truth of Promised Point. Why else would these ponies need them? Looking towards Ghur’Tcha from the corner of his eye, he could see that the boy had not yet come to the same conclusion. Whether this was a subconscious refusal to acknowledge it, or because he genuinely could not comprehend the scope of the information, he knew not.

His thoughts were interrupted by another cabinet member (this one an earth pony of beige hair and ocher-red mane who, if he remembered correctly, went by the name of ‘Sable Sabers’) spoke up. “When initially alerted to it, we had at first assumed it to have been committed by an agent provocateur – more than likely a member of the ‘Brotherhood of the Shining Eye’.” K’Umetk nodded his head in understanding; the Brotherhood was well-known for their acts of sabotage and terrorism. They were also well known for their hatred of the Equestrian Empire and her allies. It was a logical assumption.

The old stallion gave a slight cough before continuing, “However, as more and more information became available, we quickly realized that this was not the case.” As he spoke, a diminutive unicorn wearing horn-rimmed glasses began setting up the strange mechanism at the center of the table. His machinations were an enigma to the reptiles, who watched in fascination as he magically connected various dowers, wheels, knobs and sprockets to the superstructure. Within seconds, a fully functional magic film projector stood before them.

Gracefully approaching the projector whilst levitating a circular reel of film, Celestia announced, “This film was discovered with the body of one of our news corps cameramen who had been present to cover a function being held at the island’s Observatorium – most of it is damaged, but what was salvageable has given us a major breakthrough in the investigation… we only need you to watch – please understand.” As the Alicorn deftly set the reel into the projector’s feed, the lights were dimmed and the curtains lowered – the only source of light being the white-washed plaster wall opposite the table as the projector cast a luminous aura upon its surface.

As the film-caster came to life with a cacophony of clicks and whirs, the wall was consumed by blackness as a chain of numbers began counting down from five to one. As one, the group watched the grainy celluloid images that splashed forth onto the screen; the only sound to meet them was the throbbing hum of gears turning and magic churning. Ghur’Tcha watched as the scene began with a panoramic shot of the city from a nearby hill, pristine clouds framing a clear blue sky as the sun shone down upon the picturesque city so full of life.

The scene quickly changed, depicting the exterior of a grandiose building – the Observatorium; its resplendent exterior covered in all manner of precious and semi-precious stones, the magnificent copper dome of the structure shone green like an emerald, contrasting starkly with the white-marble fluted columns that held it aloft. At its entrance stood a great iron door – its surface, carved in intaglio, depicted scenes of the islands founding - ten meters tall and covered with every sort of precious metal imaginable; it shimmered and sparkled in the noonday sun.

Above this glorious door was a beautiful archivolt of purest pink granite, and at its center laid a tympanum of sparkling white ivory which depicted a well-defined and classically proportioned earth pony holding the world atop its massive shoulders. Such was the unimaginable beauty of the building that Ghur’Tcha nearly wept knowing that it had been destroyed. Again, the picture transitioned to a new scene. This time showing a line of various dignitaries from all over the world, exchanging pleasantries and shaking hands – all seemed to be in high spirits as they walked through the massive corbeled entry-hall.

The minutes stretched on as those assembled watched such scenes as people dancing, silent speeches being made, facilities being showcased, and on one occasion what looked like a serious dispute between two of the Unicorns who staffed the facility. Princess Celestia noted in passing how one of them had been the curator of the facility, while the other she was unsure of, but that the blue stripe of his lab coat meant that he worked in weather research. As the two scientists hurriedly disappeared down a hallway marked ‘staff only’, whoever had been filming had opted to ignore them in favor of swinging the camera towards a group of individuals who stood by a window. Two of them were familiar enough to those ponies present at the table.

From there, the scene switched again, this time depicting the city during the evening, when the magically fueled street lights began to shine – the setting sun casting a pink hue across the western skies. From there the film went momentarily black, only to flare once more to life. What met the viewers was nothing if not foreboding. The film depicted a sky of roiling black clouds, the swaying trees and flying detritus that filled the air gave testament to the ravenous winds that assaulted the city. With a blinding white flash of lighting, the skies at once erupted into a downpour that shocked even the two Chameleons, who were no strangers to such great storms.

Apparently, whoever had been rolling the film had been just as shocked, nearly dropping the camera before running to take shelter inside. However, just as they had reached the doorway, they had stopped. K’Umetk and Ghur’Tcha watched in fascination as the camera slowly turned around once more, fixing its sight to the east of the city. For a few minutes the camera recorded nothing but the torrent sheets of heavy rain and the often occasional flash of lightning that pierced the sky.

Perhaps it was the lack of definitive action, or the continual motion of the downpour that had lulled most of them into a sense of calm. Whatever it was, it was completely shattered by the sudden and explosive inferno of fire and smoke that sprang up in the distance, followed shortly by another, then another! Within seconds the entire horizon was set alight - the ruddy glow of the growing conflagration set in stark contrast to the roiling blackness of the all-encompassing storm. The feed became increasingly shaky as the camera’s operator panned back and forth erratically – desperately searching for anything that could explain what was going on.

A flash of lightning in the distance lit the entire island for a single moment, and in that moment Ghur’Tcha’s breath left him. There, amidst the flames stood a pitch black form – a form that scratched at the back of him mind, even as he tried to deny it. It was less than a fraction of a second before the blinding flash receded as quickly as it arose, but he was certain he had seen it. In his mind, he rigorously denied such thoughts – it had only been a trick of the eyes, brought on by the lighting as it danced amidst the sea of flames. Still he could not shake the growing terror in his heart.

The nameless pony who had stood there filming the unfolding disaster had doubtlessly seen nothing, for the camera remained focused on the firestorm that seemingly leapt across the land in its approach towards the city. Already, the flames had grown to such great heights, its destructive hand stretching forth, encompassing more and more in its embrace. With a distant sort of fascination, they watched as a winding serpent of negative energies wound its way around a nearby apartment block, its brick hewn edifice reflecting a hellish glow that set the nighttime air alight with an orange haze.

Through it all, it was K’Umetk who noticed the subtle change in the character of the film. He had noticed it from the start, but only when it became too apparent to ignore did he whispered as much – “It is shaking.” Ghur’Tcha finally took notice of it as well – the pronounced tremor of the film as it shook, its edges blurred as the peripheries became distorted. It would seem that camera’s operator finally noticed the phenomena as well; the film began to once more swing wildly about, looking for anything to latch onto.

It found its mark in the surprising spectacle of a nearby office building (fifty stories in height if not taller) as it came crashing down – its concrete form collapsing in upon itself as a bilious pall of cindered ash and choking dust flew skyward, carried up by the draft of scalding hot air. The upheaval of the collapse was so great as to knock the cameraman of his feet, such was its proximity. Even as the picture shifted with the fall, it continued to record the calamity. What followed would be nothing short of apocalyptic in both scope and revelation.

For it was there, in a span of mere moments, that the great nightmare was made visible to all once more. There, amidst the brimming smoke and fire, cast upon by the light and shadows that flitted transiently across the night, loomed the form of a saurian titan as vast as it was unimaginable. Its enormous head, so covered in wicked scars and calloused plates of scale and bone, gouged forth from the empyrean shroud of smoke and darkness. Its mountainous torso, rippling with great slates of ratcheted muscle and sinew, likewise materialized from nothingness. A bright blue spear of lightning tearing down from the clouds above gave contrast to the hulking monstrosity – its towering spines of twisted ethereal bone manifested visibly against the luminous backdrop.

Ghur’Tcha’s skin turned stark white in fear, his eyes widening even as his pupils contracted. His hands clenched round the armrests of his chair – a death grip of such magnitude that the oaken implements gave way to its force, the audible crunch they made as his terror stricken claws left their indention was enough to draw the calculating eyes of the dread sovereign of the night. She watched his face as a grimace of myriad emotion played out there upon.

K’Umetk, who had been sitting throughout the showing, swiftly rose to his feet, his cane all but buckling under his own grip. A look of utter disgust and hatred had contorted his otherwise amiable complexion to a mask of unremitting fury. Yet even with such a brave face, his skin (much like Ghur’Tcha’s) had similarly turned to the likeness of snow - aged flecks of grey and black amidst the white gave the impression of a winter storm as his fear and loathing intermingled in perfect harmony.

Both of them watched in suppressed horror as the monster responsible for so much of their grief took a few more thunderous steps forward before halting its advanced. With a calm and calculating manner, the abomination looked across the city as the fires preceding it swept through the streets, bringing more and more into their fold. What struck Celestia most (even after seeing it a dozen times before) were the burning flames of an all-encompassing rage barely constrained within the confines of the beast’s glowing crimson eyes.

Every time she looked into those eyes she could scarcely contain the shudder of dread that ran down her spine, for she could physically feel the crushing weight of hatred so deep in magnitude, so vast in scope, that she often found herself struggling to breathe under its oppressive wake. As always, she stood in incredulous astonishment at the existence of such a vicious odium – whatever else could be said of this creature, nothing could possibly compare to its fury.

All watched on in varying degrees of abject fear and disgust as the abomination opened its vast and terrible maw. While the film was utterly silent, both K’Umetk and Ghur’Tcha could clearly hear the beast’s deafening, otherworldly roar; an unnatural sound akin to the ear-splitting tear of metal and the booming rumble of thunder – its phantom permanently ingrained into their minds. To those who had never heard the sound, there was only a silent image of a creature opening its mouth to let loose a visible wave of concussed air as it passed through dust and smoke.

Again the cameraman was knocked over, and this time he could not hold fast to his tool, as it careened over the side of the building and landed face up in a pile of rubble, its screen cracked and covered in dirt. The last thing it caught was a massive serpent of flesh and spines as it swept through the building and buried everything in darkness. With a reeling series of clicks and whirs, the projector stopped as the film ran its final course. The room remained quiet as the lights came back and the curtains were drawn open once more.

While the room may have been lightened, the mood had only darkened further. Ghur’Tcha had not moved from his rigid posture; his breathing had become shallow and erratic and his skin had become even paler. The arms of his chair were ruined beyond hope of repair – deep gashes ran along its length, accenting the spider web of hairline cracks that riddled their surface. His distant stare had not yet left the now empty wall. K’Umetk, on the other hand, looked exhausted – having collapsed back into his chair in a sagging manner. His hands shook with great ferocity as he desperately gripped his cane. While his color had taken on a green complexion once more, he looked nothing if not older than he had minutes before.

As the ponies who sat around the table took note of their guests’ composure (or lack thereof), a look of grim understanding crossed their faces. This was what they had suspected from the beginning. Taking a tentative step towards the Chameleons, Princess Celestia softly asked, “This is the creature that attacked your boat four months ago, isn’t it?” Locking his haggard gaze upon her eyes, K’Umetk nodded his head as (in his own tongue) he replied in a meek voice, “Yes, that is the creature that destroyed the ‘Happy Dragon No.7’, and it has grown if my eyes see truly – for it was nothing close to half that size when it had beset itself upon us.”

While she did not show it, the notion that this monster could grow so big in so short a time startled her. She would need to take many more things into account than she had at first surmised. Her thoughts were cut short by her sister’s voice, as Luna asked, “When you warned of the beast last week, you spoke the creature’s name – what was it?” Before the old sailor could respond, his young counterpart seemingly snapped from his trance as he turned towards the moonlight monarch and droned, “Gho’Zra… its name… its name is Gho’Zra, and it will wash the lands in a tide of death and blood the likes of which you would never be able to conceive of.”

As if a switch had been triggered, the room became active. The various ministers and functionaries huddled together and began to murmur among themselves. Parchment was unrolled and pens were dipped as the scrabbling of a dozen scribes (who had walked into the room in an unnervingly unified manner the moment they were called upon) filled the air. It was amidst this organized chaos that K’Umetk arose from his chair and began hobbling towards both princesses as they stood off a ways from the others and conversed in silent tones.

Clearing his throat to catch their attention, he tactfully inquired (again in his own language so as to avoid garnering the attention of wandering ears), “Your eminences, I understand that you will be thoroughly busy in these coming times, and far be it from me to impose upon you in these matters of state, but if I might, I would humbly request that the boy and I be allowed to return to our homeland with all haste.” With a slight pause, Celestia began to answer, “Of course, I will arrange for—” She was cut short from a surprising source, as Ghur’Tcha, who had clearly heard his captain’s genuflections, called out “I wish to stay!”

Alarmed at his compatriot’s demand, K’Umetk did a double take as he sputtered, “What – why do you say this, Ghur’Tcha – are you afflicted by a madness?!” Rushing from his chair (nearly stumbling over the corner of a rug in his haste) he literally fell to his knees before the solar sovereign and the moonlight monarch as he beseeched them, “Please, I wish to stay and help in whatever way I may be used; I must attempt to atone for the failings of my people.” With a bemused look of confusion, the two diarchs first looked to one another, and then to the older of the two Chameleons; the question clearly written on their faces.

With a deep and weary sigh, Captain K’Umetk came to a crossroad. While he had known his young companion for many a year, it had been the past four months that he truly came to know Ghur’Tcha as a person. Through the trials of being set adrift, of being rescued by the natives of Ch’kam-turesch, and during those months confined to a small fishing boat as they made for their home, he had come to love the boy. Ghur’Tcha had stayed faithful to their survival throughout it all, and had done so much to convince the captain of hope. Had it not been for his constant encouragements, K’Umetk held no doubt that he would have given up and cast himself into death.

Now it seemed that this young boy – no, this man – had decided to place himself once more upon the path of danger in an attempt to seek some form of closure (whether of spirit or mind, he knew not). Even as he weighed his options, K’Umetk realized he had no other choice; he loved Ghur’Tcha, and he would not abandon his friend now – not after all that they had gone through. So with another weighty sigh, the old Chameleon closed his eyes and said, “If he is to stay, that I will stay likewise – I cannot return home without him.”

The two Alicorns seemed to understand his decision, and with an empathetic voice, Celestia stepped forward and offered, “If you will be staying with us, then it would please both my sister and I that you be allocated only the best of quarters – I will arrange for your stay at once.” As the two reptiles came away from them, talking to one another in hushed voices and with subtle gesticulations, an armored solar guard made his way swiftly into the active room. Presenting himself before his rulers, he retrieved a bounded letter from his saddle pack and bequeathed it to Princess Celestia.

Taking the letter up with a flare of magic, she rent the envelope with ease and retrieved the cargo there within. It was not a lengthy letter, but even so, she did not even finish the first line before folding it back up and handing it once more to the courier; a tired look of sadness crossed her face as she asked, “Did they say how?” With a neutral expression more akin to that of a statue, the guard pony responded in a low voice, “General organ failure, your highness; they attribute it to the sickness he was afflicted with.”

With a gloomy face of acceptance, Princess Luna leadenly asked, “In what manner did he pass?” Again, the guard showed no outward signs of emotion as he relayed, “It was whilst he slept – no suffering came upon him, I have been assured as much.” Both sisters lowered their heads in mourning, a veil of silence covering them as they honored the loss of a friend and family member. It was Celestia who broke the silence as she asked the most pertinent question, “Does Twilight know?” At this, the stony façade that the guard possessed was broken as his brow lowered and his eyes finally broke away from their gaze.

“Her highness, Twilight Sparkle, was present in the room at the moment of his passing and soon after disappeared… the detail of her guard has yet to locate her.” A look of subtle unease passed between the two siblings as they realized the implications. With an acknowledgement of thanks, the courier was sent away as Luna turned once again to her sister and whispered, “We worry for her state of mind – she does not handle loss with poise; she will be irrational.” With careful thought, Celestia countered, “While I have no doubt of that, I feel it best to let her be; we must all deal with loss in our own ways, and she is still very young… we must let her work her way through these dark times.”

“In the meantime,” she continued, “we have more pressing matters to attend to.” Trotting once more to the great table, the solar princess pointed to a map depicting the world as it was understood, towards a set of symbols that had been placed where there was naught but ocean. “It has come to our understanding that a string of incidents involving several trading convoys were not perpetrated by pirates as we had initially surmised.” With a grave tone, Luna asked, “You suspect this… ‘Gho'Zra’ is to blame for the disappearances of these ships?”

“While I’d rather wish it otherwise,” replied the prismatic princess, “it would be safer to assume as much – especially considering the latest report, which occurred here.” The dark haired Alicorn’s eyes widened as she beheld where her sister pointed, for it was only a thousand kilometers from the shores of Equestria proper. Even more disturbing was the pattern which formed when one placed a line through the string of wrecks. For if the line continued, it would lead straight for the very heart of the empire – Canterlot! With a voice that held a grim determination, Princess Celestia announced, “As you can very well understand, we have a great deal of preparation to attend to.”

… The seas were oddly calm as the sun set once more and the moon rose to prominence in the heavens. Beneath this glassy surface, however, a powerful storm was brewing. This storm languidly swam through the darkness of the deep, having just sated its hunger on a pod of whales that had been unfortunate enough to wander into its path. Down here in the crushing depths, amidst the freezing cold water, it could find a modicum of peace – the chilling touch of the abyss was a salve to the searing burn of its soul, and the weight that pressed all around it was a rare comfort to its broken form. Here, it could find some semblance of its old life – but no – that life had been destroyed; burnt away in an instant and replaced with this – this maddening existence. The ones who did this would pay, and the coming storm would spare not one soul in reparation for its own suffering. Judgment would come soon…

Author's Note

Well, here it is. I'm not going to lie, I have been rather busy as of late, and I will continue to be busy for some time. If I feel like it, I will continue working on the next chapter on and off in the coming months, but again, don't expect results.
As for the picture, I don't really recall making it, but I have been told by friends that I drew it while heavily intoxicated at the local bar nearly a week ago. I managed to work it into the chapter because I had already envisioned the use of a recovered film as a medium to move the story along quickly - nothing convinces people faster of the unimaginable than film, whether it be real or not.
On a final note - Yes, Shining Armor is dead. No there will not be anymore explanation than this. And yes, Godzilla will be featured prominently in the next chapter, as will some of your 'favorite ponies', as he destroys them in his single minded quest for vengeance.
Until then, Auf Wiedersen.