The Tempest's Maw

The Tempest’s Maw

By Daniel “Hekutaa” Saavedra

To Ethan, Leif, and Ryan.

Prologue: “Ribbon”

Soarin' awoke to another gentile morning. Light entered through a small window near his bed, illuminating the small room. Birds chirped jubilantly outside the house, serenading the waking townsfolk with a fortissimo of whistles. He slid out of bed and stretched, fluttering his wings twice.

It was another typical, peaceful day; a day devoted for basking in blissful tranquility.

Soarin' trotted out of the room and down a flight of stairs. He entered his kitchen, spying a steaming cup of tea atop a table near an empty chair. Nopony was near the cup. Instinctively, Soarin' called out the name of his maremate aloud, but heard nothing in reply. It concerned him for a brief moment, but he brushed off his doubts, thinking that she left for some errands; he always woke up rather late for her tastes. As he approached the table, he noticed an opened envelope, its contents spread on the table. The envelope was covered in several stamps and had a plump appearance, as if somepony crammed a ream of paper into the small envelope. The return address bore the name of a city from the neighboring country of Gryphus, but how the letter addressed him concerned him more.

"To Flight Lieutenant Soarin'." It read.

Soarin's heart churned at the recollection. Fifteen years passed since he last heard that title. Fifteen years passed since he heralded and despised that title. The all too familiar smells of burning gunpowder and the stench of rotting flesh and spilt blood suddenly filled his nostrils. The sounds of fillies and yearlings crying echoed in his head. His mind compelled him to not read the letter, but something enticed him to at least glance at the letter's contents.

He took a deep breath and sat in the chair in resignation, taking a sip of the peppermint tea his maremate left him. The minty aftertaste did little to ease Soarin's mind. He took the yellowed pages of the letter, straightened them, and reluctantly read the letter.

“Flight lieutenant Soarin',

“You may not know me, but my town and my people regard you as a national hero. A fantastic legacy remains in all of our hearts, about how the hero of lore defeated the demons that plagued the peaceful town of Außenstadt . However, my people swiftly purge the memories of the war from their minds, often to the point that your existence, the mythical paragon that ousted the fiends from our town, becomes nothing more than words befitting an old mare's tale. The wounds of the war are healing all too quickly, but there still exists one wound that cannot heal.

“ I write to you with the hope that you can remedy this malady. I have no other pony to turn to besides you; your former comrades have all told me to write to you, their flight lead.

“I write to you with questions regarding the two leaders of the 27th Winterhof Skyfighter Command Squadron, Hilde "Engel" Rosenkranz and Fritz "Himmel" Granz.

“You may not want to relive the role that you played in the War of Wings, but hear me out, Flight Lieutenant Soarin': Engel and Himmel were not your enemies. History, and even my own people, tarnish their reputation, labeling them as brigands and lowlifes .

“But I know the truth. I know only the beginning and the middle of this odyssey, but it is the truth.