My Father's Shadow

Chapters

Prologue
I - Apotheosis
II - Praecantatio
III - Inpostura

Prologue

Bells rang as the wind changed. The grass leaned back, and the clouds in the sky seemed to stir by some unseen hand. Star Swirl the Bearded took note of the change for only a moment, pulling on the brim of his ringing hat to keep it from being blown away, before his attention returned to the battle at hand. Blasts of pure magical force danced across the distant landscape, where the divine sisters, Celestia and Luna, waged war against the centaur. Though they were holding their own against the magic-thief for the moment, Star Swirl could see their growing fatigue. Luna’s wings sagged, and Celestia’s shield of golden magic cracked under the force of the blasts from between Tirek’s horns. Fortunately, they wouldn’t need to hold out much longer.

“Are you nearly ready, Scorpan?” the archmage asked. “We won’t have much of a window for this.”

Tirek’s brother, standing a mere dozen feet away atop the same grassy hill, nodded. “This still feels wrong to me. We should have been able to convince him. Somehow…”

Star Swirl smiled back, glad that his beard and hat would help to hide the pain in his eyes. “Ponies… people don’t really change, Scorpan. I’m afraid I’ve learned that the hard way.”

“I changed, Star Swirl.” The creature, whatever Scorpan truly was, stared down at the black, crystalline shackles between his clawed fingers. “We don’t have time for regrets now, do we? Is your spell ready?”

Without looking, Scorpan heard the bells of the unicorn’s hat ring in time with his nod. Only a moment later, the hat fell to the ground, revealing a horn alight with green magic. Scorpan spread his batlike wings, offered a nod of his own, and leapt into the air. Star Swirl’s magic caught the brave creature, and with a single mighty thrust that churned Scorpan’s stomach, launched him toward his brother.

The changing winds tore through Scorpan’s mane as he flew faster than he had ever flown before. The chain of the crystal shackles rattled, and his knuckles burned from the sheer power involved in holding them tight. They ate his magic, and burned his palms, but he held steady as he approached.

A column of Tirek’s fiery magic tore through Celestia’s shield. The alicorn princess shuddered and began to sprial slowly downwards, her wing singed and twisted by the sheer force. For his part, Tirek simply laughed. “It seems I’ve finally beaten you. Ponies have grown so much weaker since we last did battle.” Between his towering horns, another ball of magic began to gather, ready for the finishing blow.

Luna landed, wings flared, and braced a shield of her own against Tirek’s attack. “You mistake peace for weakness, Tirek!” When the fire came, she staggered backward, but the shield held.

Tirek laughed yet again. “Peace is weakness. If you don’t use your power, you have no power.” His magic grew more forceful, and again Luna stumbled back. “You two could have been rulers. You could have brought an army against me and at least put up a fight. But instead, you’re going to die here. Alone.”

“They’re not alone, brother!” The click of the manacles locking around Tirek’s horns was nearly inaudible, but absent the noise of the centaur’s magic, it rang clear in every ear.

“Aagh! What?” Tirek’s protest broke down into a wordless roar of fury as his massive claws ripped at the black crystals locking away his magic. “Scorpan! You’ll pay for this!”

Star Swirl appeared beside Scorpan in a flash of golden light. The unicorn wizard’s horn parried the brute force of Tirek’s slash. “Celestia! Luna! Now!”

In the air behind Tirek, a box of purple magic and shadows swam into being. The wind changed again, gushing into the misty void that was Tartarus. The same magic picked up Tirek, sucking him into the darkness. As his shoulders passed through the portal, his clawed hands latched onto the frame. As the shadows of Tartarus swept up around him, and even stretched out toward the sisters, he smiled. “You’ve lost. You’ll freeze with me. My spirits—” Before the centaur could unleash another word, the portal consumed him, and he winked out of being.

What followed was only the pure wind, and the ringing of Star Swirl’s bells. Four friends sat on the grass, staring at patches of charred undergrowth and huge troughs where trees and bushes had been torn from the ground. For those few moments, no one dared speak. The quiet was too comfortable, too welcome, too peaceful to break.

Luna moved first, helping her battered sister to her hooves. “We did it… We’re alive. Are you alright, Celestia?”

“I’ll survive,” the elder sister replied. “We both suffered worse fighting Discord. Are you two alright?” Celestia’s question turned sour at the sight of Scorpan huddled on the ground into a ball. Star Swirl sat beside him in silence. The sisters approached with caution, and it was Luna who moved first, placing a wing across Scorpan’s back. “I’m sorry.”

Scorpan’s first reply was a shudder. It took him three gales of the meadow breeze to find his words. “We didn’t really have a choice, did we?”

“Scorpan…” Celestia whispered.

“Don’t cry. It’s over now.” He looked up at the empty sky where the portal had been. “My brother is gone. I wish we could have done something else for him… but we saved lives, didn’t we? It… it was the right choice.”

Again, they joined in silence, watching as the grass rose and fell with the breathing of the breeze. Fatigue settled onto them. Shoulders slumped, and wings rested against the ground. Luna allowed herself to lay down on her side, staring up as the clouds moved overhead.

None of them were sure how long they rested together, but it was Star Swirl who finally broke the silence. “What now? Will you come back to River Rock with me?”

Celestia and Luna shared a slow glance, and then the elder replied with a shake of her head. “We aren’t ready to go back, Star Swirl. Even you called us goddesses…”

Luna picked up where Celestia’s words failed her. “Though it may well be our right, we long ago elected that ponykind was better if we allowed them to rule themselves. We will stay here, and guard against whatever other evils come against you.”

“If that is your wish,” Star Swirl replied, with a nod. “Though perhaps we will not need guardians, now that the pegasi have rejoined us.”

Celestia and Luna both turned toward the old wizard with widened eyes. “Pegasi?” they asked, nearly in unison.

Star Swirl smiled, and nodded. “I thought you would have known; it’s been nearly three years, now. They flew here to us after escaping some awful war with the ‘griffons’, and built up a city in the clouds. Nopony is quite sure what to do now; our system was working for the earth ponies and the unicorns, but we’re not sure what to do with a third race in the mix. At first it was easy, but they eat quite a lot of food, and some ponies are starting to complain.”

At Celestia and Luna’s expressions of worry, he smiled disarmingly. “Of course, I’m sure we’ll have that figured out when King Lapis meets with their Emperor Hurricane in two days.” The old unicorn released a tired sigh, and turned his head east. “A meeting I will be expected at. It’s a two-day walk back to River Rock for these old legs, my friends. But before I go, what about you, Scorpan? The ponies in Northwind Basin seemed to like you well enough.”

Scorpan held up a clawed hand to wave away Star Swirl’s offer. “I don’t think I could live amongst your kind. Not now, Star Swirl. I’m sorry. You have been an excellent friend to me, and I would welcome you if you ever sought my company. But I must find my own place in this world.”

Star Swirl nodded, and donned his hat. “Until we meet again, my friends.”

The three remaining friends watched as the old wizard wandered off, until the jangling of his robe’s bells faded behind the wind.

I - Apotheosis

My Father’s Shadow
A Price of Loyalty story

by Loyal Liar
edited by Dusk Watch, Ruirik, The 24th Pegasus, and SolidFire

Apotheosis

Cyclone stared at the shadows on the wall. They were all the young colt could see through the slightly cracked door as he sat on a narrow bench outside the main chambers of the Senate. Shadows of ponies waved their forelegs, and voices cried out with controlled force that only passed through the walls as incomplete murmuring. Every few moments, he would hear an interesting word slip through, but without the context, there was nothing he could understand. Just ‘barbarians’ or ‘diamond’ or ‘emperor’.

Bored of trying to understand the words, he had given into watching the shadows and letting his imagination make up its own story for the events unfolding behind them. They weren’t just talking; there was a battle. A grand battle, like Nimbus or Feathertop Mountain or Stratopolis. The other foals would call it the Battle of Cloudsdale, and they’d come to him begging to hear the story. How he saved his father—no, the whole Senate—from the evil griffons.

On the wall, gesturing forelegs became razor-sharp swords: gently curved Cirran gladii, and brutal, wide-bladed griffon broadswords. The flicker of torchlight turned the slow motions of the debating adults into a cautious dance of slight, swift dodges and sudden ripostes. Wings raised high from the backs of the pegasi led with the jagged, flexible scales of wingblades. It took only a bit of his imagination to add the yelling, and the stomping, and the roar of trumpets and the thumping of drums.

The center of the sliver of wall held one shadow far bigger than the others; one shadow that stood tall, with stiff, proud wings, and the finest sword in all of Cloudsdale. There was only one pony it could be. Cyclone’s father fought off the griffons, just the way he had at Hengstead, swinging his blade wide and ending three or four or even five foes all in the same stroke. A little hint of a grin pulled at the corners of Cyclone’s lips as he remembered the stories his mother had told him.

Another of the shadows approached his father from behind. It was a griffon, or so Cyclone’s mind insisted. A big one, with a gray feathered head and a jagged sword clutched in its talons. It approached slowly, despite its size. Quietly, like a cat hunting prey. Cyclone knew he didn’t have much time. Standing up from the bench, he spread his wings as wide as they would go, and took a deep breath.

“Hey! He got here first!” At the sound of the sudden shouting, the griffons and swords on the wall once more returned to boring senators and broad-voiced speeches. Cyclone spun in his seat, turning to face the source of the voice. A faded blue filly about his age charged down the hall, wings flapping alongside the beating of her hooves for speed. When she approached Cyclone, she dropped her hooves onto the marbled cloudstone floor. They grated as she slid, until finally the friction brought her to a stop mere inches from the tip of Cyclone’s muzzle. “Are you listening to the Senate too? Were they talking about anything fun?”

Cyclone blinked, and pulled back from the boisterous filly. “Um...”

Behind her, another filly approached with a tired expression written across her gentle pink coat, and her ears pinned back against her purple mane. “Slow down, Feather; you’re gonna ruin the game if you’re that loud.”

“Nu uh, Blaze!” Feather twisted her head back over her own shoulder. “I wanna hear the—” Her words died away with the heavy thud of cloud on cloud as the door to the Senate chamber set firmly against its frame. “Awww!”

“I told you so,” Blaze grumbled as her hooves finally stopped a few strides away from Cyclone’s bench. “You always ruin everything.” The filly, probably two or three years older than either Cyclone or her blue friend, planted her tail down on the stone. “Sorry she’s such a klutz, colt. What’s your name?”

“Cyclone,” he answered. A few seconds later, remembering his mom’s advice on meeting new ponies, he forced a smile onto his face. “Are your parents in the Senate too?”

“We just wanted to hear about—Ow!” Feather’s words died as she clutched her head.

Blaze casually lowered her hoof, offering the younger filly an irritated glare. “It’s not like he cares. Don’t waste his time.” She shook her head as if that would somehow clear her thoughts of Feather’s actions, and set her eyes on Cyclone. “You wanna come play with us, Cyclone? Doesn’t look like there’s a lot better to do.”

The colt hesitated, turning his head to the solid door beside his bench. “Dad said to wait until he was done or I'd be in trouble.”

Feather pouted, letting her ears, wings, and scruffy blonde tail sag. “Aww... Come on, Cyclone. You have to play. Blaze is always mean when we play alone.”

“It’s not my fault you’re a klutz. Stop being so… so frowny, or he’ll think we’re boring.” With a rather pleasant smile, Blaze again turned to Cyclone. “We won’t go far. Just outside to the courtyard. Your dad will be able to find you just fine. Trust me.”

Cyclone hesitated, turning his head between the Senate door and the two new fillies. It took three glances back before he made up his mind. “What are we playing?” He slid his forehooves off the bench and took a single step forward. One of his wings, still relaxed and dangling at his side, managed to find its way under his hind right hoof. With a yelp of pain, he tumbled forward onto his face, limbs flailing as the world shifted.

The motion ended in only a moment, and the poor colt found himself staring up at two chuckling fillies. He was glad for the blood red color of his coat; it would hide the heat in his cheeks and his ears. With just a little bit of work, he managed to untangle his legs and wings, and roll himself back over onto his hooves. “Ow.”

Feather shook with her laughter, holding her wings against her sides as she tried and failed to control herself. “That was really funny. Did you step on your wing?”

He nodded. “It happens a lot. Mom says I have big hooves, and my wings are big too.” For emphasis, Cyclone spread his wings to their full width. “Dad says I’ll grow into them. I hope it happens soon. They always get in the way.” The colt realized Blaze was staring at him, her eyes slightly widened, and he folded up his wings against his sides. “What?”

“Um…” the elder filly stammered. “I was just surprised. You weren’t kidding; you’ve got huge wings.”

Cyclone had no idea what to say in response, so he held his silence. After barely more than a moment of quiet, the three young ponies started to make their way out of the Senate building, toward the courtyard. The path was fairly straight, and the cloudstone walls and pillars quickly got boring. Cyclone’s imagination returned as they walked, replacing the plain walls with the fancy decor and pictures of Stratopolis that Dad had told him stories about. Soon, the walls were brimming with pictures of Cirran heroes. On one wall, Roamulus stood tall over the pegasus tribes, his hoof wrapped around the first banner of the new Cirran Empire. On another, Emperor Haysar built a great palace of cloudstone high in the skies over Stratopolis.

And then, on the right, one that Cyclone only half imagined. He didn’t know the whole story; Dad didn’t like to talk about it. But he knew enough to see his father fighting off the griffon emperor, some place called Nimbus that Cyclone had only seen on a map. Dad always said the story wasn’t for foals, so Cyclone knew something interesting must have happened, but he also knew that it made his father sad to remember whatever had happened. That left Cyclone with a sinking feeling in his stomach, like when he’d almost fallen while Mom was teaching him how to fly. So when he stared at the wall, the figures were blurry, and no matter how much he focused, his imagination wouldn’t clear them.

“Staring at a wall?” Blaze’s words shattered Cyclone’s vision, and returned the stone to a smooth marbled surface. “I hope you’re not as bad as Feather Fall is.”

“Hey! I don’t stare at walls,” the younger filly protested, a few strides ahead. “You two should hurry up, slowpokes. I wanna do something!”

In the courtyard, huge pillars wrapped in ivy supported a shiny red tiled roof. His mom said the pegasi liked colors, and that’s why they didn’t just use clouds, but Cyclone didn’t understand why anypony would bother taking the time to smash the clouds enough that they’d hold up dirt and plants and bricks and stuff, when they could just take some color from a rainbow and dye the clouds like the walls at home.

The thought didn’t last long, in the face of a group of foals who were standing around in the center of the courtyard. They were playing around a bubbling fountain topped with a statue of Lūn, the goddess of the night, secrets, the ocean, and water in general. Unlike the gracefully posed statue, the colts and fillies moved violently, circling each other and pouncing forward and back, swinging with the sticks and wooden swords they held between their teeth. A fifth colt, older than the other four, balanced with one hoof on Lūn’s smooth forehead, and another on her left shoulder. The wooden sword slung with a leather cord over his shoulder was surprisingly well made, with a smoothly polished ‘blade’ in place of the rough carved planks that served as the other colts’ weapons.

“Victory, your head’s too low!” the colt cried from atop the goddess. “If you don’t keep your sword up, you’re gonna get hit. Pomp, did your little sister teach you to fight like that? We’re never going to join the Praetorian if we keep fighting like this.” His squeaky voice was painful enough that Cyclone found himself flattening his ears and tensing his wings. The colt was probably eight or nine; by far the eldest of his peers, but still just barely old enough to have earned his cutie mark: a single white fang that seemed to belong to a wolf or a bear.

As Cyclone, Feather, and Blaze walked forward into the courtyard, the lead colt turned toward them. “Get lost. We’re training.”

“We’re not gonna get in your way,” Feather called up. “We just wanted somewhere to play.”

“Well, find somewhere else.” The colt rapped his hoof twice on Lūn’s brow, bringing a slow stop to the crack of wood as the other colts stopped their battle. “We don’t have time to get distracted by two fillies and their little coltfriend playing dress up.”

Another of the armed colts, heavyset and short, laughed around the handle of the ‘sword’ clenched between his teeth. His amusement earned an angry glare from the leader, and the laughter ended quickly. Taking a moment to sheathe his weapon, the heftier of the would-be legionaries bowed his head. “Sorry, Fang.”

“That’s not fair!” Feather cried, stepping up toward Fang. “There’s lots of room out here. You have to share!”

The leader of the colts rolled his eyes, and then jumped down. His hooves kicked up a splash of water from the fountain, flattening Feather’s mane, at which point Blaze took a rather threatening step forward. With a gentle hoof, she pulled Feather’s shoulder to hold the younger filly back. “Why do you think we want to play dress up?”

Fang shrugged. “That’s all fillies your age ever want. Looking pretty, and talking about colts, and—”

His words were cut off abruptly by Blaze’s hoof, with an uppercut that left the bigger, older colt staggering backward and groaning with his high-pitched voice. The pink filly smiled at him. “Not all fillies are like that, idiot. Ever heard of Legate Rain, or Commander Spear?”

Cyclone watched as Fang stumbled back to his hooves with the help of the fat colt, who was batted aside a moment later. “Do we have to teach you a lesson, filly? Are you looking for a fight?”

“We already told you we just wanted to play,” Blaze told him. Then she took a step forward. “How about a game of ‘Cirrans and Griffons?’”

Cyclone leaned nervously over to his new friend. “My dad says we’re not supposed to play that.”

“Looks like your coltfriend is chicken,” Fang teased.

Feather shoved a forehoof into Cyclone’s side. “Come on, Cyclone.”

He withered as all the eyes in the courtyard seemed to turn on him. “I’m not good at fighting. Dad won’t teach me, and—”

“I hope you learn quick then,” Blaze interrupted. “I can probably only fight three of these colts.”

One of the colts whistled. “Ooh, the filly thinks she’s tough. I’m gonna fight her.”

Fang held up a wing. “They don’t even have swords. How are we supposed to play if they don’t have swords? There wouldn’t be any point to playing, and we’d have to go right back to training.”

“We’ve got all those spares, Fang,” the fat colt observed. Not more than a moment later, the eyes of all his friends were glaring his way.

“Fine, Club. Get the swords. We’ll entertain them. But all of you, consider this a training exercise. We have some griffons to kill.”

“Why do we have to be griffons?” Feather protested. “You’re bigger than us! You be the griffons!”

Fang shrugged. “You’re the invaders. Besides, your coltfriend is pretty big. At least, he’s got huge hooves.”

Cyclone’s head dipped to the ground, self-consciously. He stared at the smooth keratin at the ends of his legs as Blaze and Feather argued with Fang and his lackeys. Were his hooves really that big? Sure, he tripped on them sometimes, but it wasn’t like they were strange, right? But then why had Fang noticed at all?

A wooden sword tapped against Cyclone’s forelegs, distracting him from his deep thought. It was a short, fat stub of a weapon that looked more like a glorified dinner knife than the elegant curved blade of a legionary’s gladius, but it would have to do. Tentatively, he picked it up between his teeth, and found it pleasantly light. The handle slid into the gap behind his rear teeth, and he locked his jaw down. The would-be weapon was ready for battle.

“You get tagged anywhere on your body, you’re out,” Fang announced. “Keep your wings at your side, or it’s your fault if they get hurt. Once you go out, say ‘out’ and get out of the way, or you’re gonna keep getting hit. Got it?”

Feather gave a firm nod, and Blaze echoed the motion, albeit more lazily. They both turned toward Cyclone, who trembled just a bit with the wooden sword in his mouth, before he too dipped his head.

There wasn’t any warning after that. No shout of ‘go’, no countdown, and no mercy. Cyclone barely had time to get his little wooden weapon up before Club was upon him, swinging and pushing with his considerable weight. Splinters from the rough wood shot up at Cyclone’s eyes, forcing them shut. Unable to see, he swung his head back and forth wildly, hoping to somehow catch the next attack from the older colt’s longer sword. He felt a rush of wind over his short, fuzzy mane, and then to his surprise, his sword came into contact with something solid.

“Uh...” Club mumbled. “Out?”

Cyclone opened his eyes, and found himself staring at Club’s chest from a mere inch away. The wood of his sword had stopped against the other colt’s chocolate brown coat.

“Idiot!” Fang somehow managed to shout around his sword. “We’re Cirrans! We can’t lose to these dimwit half-breeds.”

Cyclone turned to see the leader of the other colts matched off with Blaze. Somehow, the filly was managing to hold back not only Fang, but also two of his friends. Her sword moved faster than Cyclone thought it had any right to, clacking off of wooden blade after wooden blade. Before his eyes, she deflected Fang’s attack, took a smooth step back, swept a leg under another of the colts, and then jabbed the shoddy wooden sword in her mouth against the neck of the third.

“Out,” he grumbled.

Cyclone might have stood there, simply watching as Blaze held off the other two colts, had Feather not called out. “Out! Ouch! Out! I said I’m out!” The blue filly hid behind her loose golden mane with a pained expression on her face. “Blaze, behind you!”

Rather than worry, the filly cracked a smile around the handle of her sword. Throwing herself down so that her chin rested between her hooves, she bucked out with her hind legs. The colt sneaking up behind her caught the blow in his chest, and flipped backwards. With the force she got from the strike, Blaze cartwheeled forward underneath a wide horizontal swing from Fang. She rose up at the hooves of the third colt, tapping him on the jaw with her sword as she stood. Before he even had the chance to announce his status, Blaze was moving again. Rather desperately, she reached back over her own shoulder, parrying another of Fang’s swings. Rather than confront him, she tossed her forehooves onto his back, and jumped like she was playing leapfrog. The colt she had originally bucked in the chest had only just managed to find his hooves when her sword tagged the crown of his head.

“Out!”

“Agh! Out!”

Blaze didn’t get long to enjoy her victory. She turned back into a third attack from Fang, and their swords met with a surprisingly vicious force. Against the polished, smoothed wood of Fang’s ideal replica, the glorified stick in the filly’s mouth didn’t stand a chance. It shattered completely, and finely crafted wood met with a pink coat.

“Got you, griffon scum!” Fang cried with a bloodthirsty grin. Then, eyes narrowed, he turned on Cyclone. “Just one of you left now. One more, and then Cirra is safe, and the Red Cloud War is over.”

For her part, Blaze seemed rather pleased with the work she’d done. “I told you I’d get three, Cyclone. Last one’s up to you.” Her voice made the act sound like the easiest thing in the world, but staring up at Fang cast the task as impossible. The colt was probably twice Cyclone’s age, if not more. Comparing his sword to Cyclone’s was holding a cumulonimbus thunderhead against the fog that came from a breath in the harsh midwinter air.

“Anything to say before I end this, hybrid?”

Hesitating, Cyclone took a step back in time with Fang’s approach. The older colt’s longer legs meant that he was still closing, but the motion brought the hesitant colt a bit of time. “Yeah...” What would Dad say? “Yeah, um... I’m gonna win. Because.” Cyclone ducked back as Fang idly tossed his sword into the air and caught it deftly between his teeth facing out the left side of his mouth. “Because the griffons won at Stratopolis. And... and if I’m the last griffon, then I’m Emperor Magnus.”

“Idiot.” Fang derisively shook his head, laughing with every bounce of his roughly trimmed mane. He loomed forward, finally coming into proper reach of the younger colt. “If the griffons had won, there wouldn’t be a Cloudsdale. And if you’re Emperor Magnus, then I’m Emperor Hurricane. Now, die, griffon!”

Fang’s heavy wooden sword swung for the side of Cyclone’s neck. The younger colt braced himself for the pain that was to come. Instead, he felt only a gust of wind, and his ears rung with a crisp metallic ring, and then a forceful thud. Wasting no time, the curious colt turned toward his rescuer.

The stallion was altogether familiar, with a dark blue coat that bordered on black, concealing lean but brutal muscles. Plates of gleaming steel armor covered his chest, his flanks, his forelegs, and his shoulders, save where they were hidden by the scarlet cape that hung from his left shoulder. Between his teeth, he grasped a blade of glimmering steel, as well maintained as the grooming of his immaculate wings. The flat of that blade had stopped Fang’s sword, a good half-foot away from Cyclone, though it wasn’t long before the colt dropped the weapon in an unmistakable mixture of terror and awe.

“E-emperor Hurricane?”

Hurricane winced, though he said nothing at first, instead turning to his side and sheathing his deadly blade. Only once that slow process had been finished did he return his attention to the colts and fillies who had moments before been playing. “Commander Hurricane,” he corrected harshly as his cruel magenta eyes swept the group. It wasn’t long before they settled firmly on Cyclone with a touch of concern. “I told you to wait on the bench.”

Cyclone wilted. “I was. I promise,” he protested. “But then I met, um, Blaze and Feather.” His wing gestured to the two fillies. “And they wanted to play, so we came out here to play Griffons and Cirrans...”

The grown stallion’s brow creased and his tail flicked once, not unlike a whip. The reaction was enough to silence Cyclone, thought it took a few more seconds for Hurricane to find words. “Do you think the Red Cloud War was a game?” he asked, his voice quiet and low. When no answer was offered, the stallion lifted his head to the rest of the group. “Do you understand what happened? What the griffons did to us? Its only been four years...” The furious stallion stopped, and the silent mass of foals watched as his nostrils flared and shrank with short, focused breaths that seemed to make no noise at all. “The griffons took family from all of you. I know they did.” His gaze fell back on Cyclone. “They killed your grandparents, Cyclone. Do you understand what that means?”

“Yes, Dad.”

Fang winced at the word, but if the Cirran Emperor had noticed, he seemed not to care. The creases on his brow lightened, though only slightly. “We need to get going. Your mother needs us.” Cyclone spread his wings, only to feel a gigantic hoof on his shoulder. “Not today, Cyclone.”

“But, Dad...”

Hurricane shook his head firmly. “This is important, Cyclone. Get on my back.”

One of the colts in the group of would-be legionaries had the lack of common sense to snigger, and nudged Club in the ribs with a hoof. “He still has to have his dad fly—”

A glare from the undisputed ruler of the pegasi silenced the foal instantly.

Grumbling quietly to himself, Cyclone grabbed onto the ridges of Hurricane’s armor, and flapped his wings for a bit of extra force in pulling himself up. Once atop his father’s back, he scooted forward to align his belly with the saddle of the armor, and put his forelegs around Hurricane’s neck. Turning to his new friends, he tried to put on a smile. “Um, b—” The rest of his farewell was lost in the wind when a single pump of dark blue feathers carried father and son out of the Senate

The young colt always loved being up in the sky over the city. He liked watching all of the off-duty legionaries working together to construct new neighborhoods and buildings for all the pegasi to use and live in. When he was flying on his own, he’d veer this way and that, taking in the sights and trying to find out what neat new places were being built next. Part of him wished he grew as fast as the city; he and Cloudsdale had the same birthday after all. It was only three years old, too. But nopony ever teased Cloudsdale about it.

Hurricane’s wingbeats left little time for ponywatching, and he flew straight as an arrow for his destination. In fact, the stallion was so utterly focused that he didn’t so much as turn around until Cyclone leaned up onto his neck and spoke up over the wind.

“Can I fly on my own, Dad? For just a little bit?”

Hurricane’s ears flattened, even more than they naturally did from the wind. “Not today, Cyclone. We’re in a hurry.”

“You’re always in a hurry!” Cyclone moaned. “And Mom hasn’t been up for flying with me since summer.”

Hurricane sighed, though his son only noticed by the way his shoulders rose and fell. “Someday I’ll find some time to take you out, Cyclone. But things are busy; between the Senate and meeting with the earth ponies and the unicorns…”

“So you’re never gonna help me fly on my own?” Cyclone pulled his head down and buried it in his father’s mane.

“Cyclone...” The leader of the pegasi sucked in another chilled breath. “Your mother and I need you to be strong. This isn’t easy for any of us, but Cirra needs me, and that doesn’t leave a lot of time for flying lessons. I’m sorry about that. And I promise, some day, I’ll teach you. It just can’t be right now.”

“But I want to fly good now. Then I can join the Legion, right?” Cyclone nuzzled his father’s neck.

A sigh escaped Hurricane’s nostrils. “I don’t think you understand what the Legion means, Cyclone. War isn’t a game. We’re soldiers. We…” The stallion paused, unsure of exactly how to explain things in a way his son would understand. After a moment’s consideration, he realized there wasn’t a way to be polite about it, so he settled on the harsh reality. “We kill other ponies. Last week, I was fighting Crystal Barbarians with the unicorns. I killed three ponies.”

“You could take me with you,” Cyclone protested. “I could stay back and just watch—”

“No.”

“But I—”

“Your mother would kill me if I let you anywhere near a battle.”

“No she wouldn’t. Mom wouldn’t hurt you.” Cyclone squinted against the frozen wind. Ahead, the foal could see the outline of their house: a rather elaborate villa on a cloud floating a fair way above the rest of the city. Huge pillars held up a roof that leaned forward over a railed balcony decorated with flowers and a single fountain of liquid rainbow.

“It’s a figure of speech, Cyclone. What I mean is she would be very angry at me for putting you in danger.”

“But I’d be safe! I’d be out of the way, I promise. You’re the best at fighting, so you can keep me safe from anypony. And besides, you can do anything you want. You’re the Emperor.”

“I’m not the emperor, Cyclone. You need an empire to be an emperor. All we have is one city.” Hurricane’s wings flared, slowing his descent onto the balcony.

“But that’s what everypony calls you,” Cyclone protested as Hurricane’s hooves hit the dense cloudstone. Wasting no time, he hopped off of his father’s back and ran up to the heavy white doors. “Come on, Dad, hurry up. I wanna see Mom!”

“Calm down, Cyclone,” Hurricane ordered, wrapping a wing around the door handle and yanking it open with a single tug. “Your mother is going to be tired today, and—”

Cyclone barely heard the words. The colt set off with his wings spread, charging through the foyer and hallway, past his dad’s office and up the stairs. Ahead, he saw a set of slender brown legs only moments before he bowled into them headfirst.

“Oh!” The mare’s voice was a pleasant sound, despite the mild shock to the young colt. “Why, if it isn’t our little legionary. Your dad must be here too, right Cyclone?”

The colt opened his mouth to answer, but the worried tones of his father’s voice carried from down the hall behind him. “I’m here, Twister. Are we late?”

The young mare frowned, though most of the expression was hidden by her black mane hanging down across her face. “Well, I mean, I guess? Nopony is blaming you, ‘Cane. I sent that scout as soon as Swift said she was coming, but it is kind of a long flight to the Curia.” Twister’s wide, toothy grin lost some of its sparkle as Hurricane hung his head. “Um, anyway, Swift’s in there feeding right now.” With a wing, she gestured to the double doors that lead into Hurricane’s bedroom. “She said she wanted a minute to just rest, but I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.”

“What do you mean ‘feeding’, Aunt Twister?” Cyclone cocked his head, and somehow the motion restored most of Twister’s smile. “You mean she’s having dinner without us?”

“No, Cyclone. I’m sure your mom will be having dinner with you soon. But first, there’s somepony you should meet.” Twister bent down, scooping up her nephew with a wing and rolling him onto her back so that both his forelegs were hanging over one shoulder, and his hind legs over the other. “Now that I’ve got my favorite scarf, let’s go in.”

“Hey! I’m not a scarf!” Cyclone squirmed, only to find his legs pinned by his aunt’s wings. “Lemme go! Dad, help!”

Hurricane cast a brief glance toward his son, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward in the slightest hint of a grin. “How are you going to be a legionary if you’re being used as a scarf, Cyclone? Go for the throat.” Before the colt could answer, Hurricane’s eyes turned toward the doors to the bedroom. With a single shove, they opened.

A joyous whisper carried across the room. “Hurricane! Cyclone!” Though she sounded excited to Cyclone’s ears, his mother was clearly tired. She lay back in her bed against a pile of pillows, wrapped up in blankets and holding what looked like a tight bundle of blankets against her belly. “Try and keep quiet; she’s sleeping.”

Armor creaked gently as Hurricane approached his wife. “I’m so sorry, Swift. I flew as fast as I could, but—”

Swift Spear chuckled at her husband’s apology. “Don’t worry about it, Hurricane. She was much easier than he was.” Briefly, her head tilted in Cyclone’s direction. Then she ducked down and nuzzled the little bundle in her forelegs. “Fillies are easier than colts, aren’t they? Yes they are, my little sweetheart. You can’t see it now with her asleep, dear, but she has your eyes.”

As Twister carried Cyclone over to his mother’s side, Hurricane shrugged. “She looks like you, Swift. She’s got that tan coat of yours, and at least some of her mane looks like you.”

“It reminds me of autumn,” Swift whispered. Then, with a gentle motion, she turned the little bundle toward her son. “Look, Cyclone. It’s your little sister. Her name is Typhoon.”

The newborn filly shifted gently as she breathed, wrapped in swaddling cloth. She had a golden tan coat that seemed just a bit more colorful than her mother’s gentle cream. Above the little bump of her muzzle, her mane peeked out from beneath her blanket, visible with a stripe of red, a stripe of gold, and a stripe of brown.

Cyclone reached out a hoof toward the little filly, hesitantly. Swift nodded to offer the colt a hint of encouragement. “Gentle,” she whispered. Leaning off of Twister’s neck, his hoof touched his sister. She made a little cooing noise, and shifted briefly in her mother’s arms. Her brother smiled.

Then he lost his balance, and fell off of his aunt’s shoulders. The fall onto soft cloud hardly bothered Cyclone, but his gasp of surprise ended the perfect quiet. Typhoon’s magenta eyes shot open, and without a moment of delay, she started crying. Swift pulled her newborn daughter close to her chest and rocked her.

Meanwhile, Hurricane reached down to his only son with a dark wing, and shepherded him away from his sister.

II - Praecantatio

Praecantatio

Cyclone poked at his breakfast with a hoof. “Dad, this is... um...”

“What’s wrong, Cyclone?” Hurricane asked from the far side of the dining table, glancing up from his own plate. “You love cod.”

The colt frowned. “It’s black. And...” He made a face like he’d just swallowed a rat. “...crunchy.”.”

Hurricane’s ears slid backward ever so slightly atop his brow, a sure sign of unspoken displeasure. “It’s fine, Cyclone. Just eat.”

Cyclone only glared at his plate.

“I especially don’t want to hear you complaining once your mother wakes up,” his father continued. “It’s her favorite, and she’s probably hungry after taking care of your sister all night.”

Gently, Cyclone slid some of the charred fish onto a piece of bread, alongside a few grapes and some hay. His desperate hope was that the sweetness of the fruit would drown out the burnt taste. His teeth ripped into the unsightly combination, and he realized he was wrong. Without even thinking, his muzzle scrunched up.

Hurricane’s ears fell further, though he forced a little bit of cheer into his voice. “Let me tell you a little story, Cyclone. When I was a colt, we rarely had fish. There was a little stream nearby where we could get trout, but that meant Aunt Twister had to be up early with her net.”

“Is Aunt Twister good at fishing?”

Hurricane shrugged. “She was never very good at waking up, so we never got to find out. For our family, it was bread and greens, every day. Most days, I was the one out in the field picking those greens, and the wheat to make the bread.”

“Why?” Cyclone asked. “Mom said fish is what makes us be strong soldiers. You ate a lot of fish, right?”

The irritation on the grown stallion’s face faded slightly, and his ears slid back to their usual, attentive positions. “No, Cyclone. Unlike your mother, I didn’t grow up in a rich family. I was never expected to be a soldier. Aunt Twister and I lived on a farm, and I was going to be a farmer.”

“Like earth ponies?” Cyclone cocked his head. “Why?”

“Back in Dioda, there weren’t any earth ponies.” Hurricane chuckled. “I’d never heard of an earth pony or a unicorn. Neither had anypony else. We divided ourselves up by our cities instead. Your mother was from the capital, Stratopolis. Your aunt and I were from a little town called Zephyrus. If we wanted wheat, or oats, or carrots or whatever, we had to grow it ourselves.”

Cyclone washed down another bite of the disgusting meat with a splash of wine that was really mostly water. “But the earth ponies live close to Cloudsdale.”

Hurricane nodded. “The Low Valleys start about an hour’s flight south of here. Amber Field is three or four, depending on how fast you fly. But that’s how far they are from Cloudsdale, and the city is only about as old as you are. You have to remember, Dioda is fifteen, maybe twenty days flight to the east.”

Cyclone’s eyes widened. “You flew that far?”

“We didn’t have a choice, Cyclone. We lost Stratopolis. The griffons won.” Hurricane’s eyes drifted slowly away from his son, staring out the open balcony and off into the clear blue sky. “Magnus won...”

“Don’t tell him that, ‘Cane.” The sudden words shocked Hurricane out of his stupor, and pulled Cyclone’s attention away from a third torturous bite of his burnt fish. “Magnus didn’t win, because Cirra is still here.” Swift Spear smiled at her husband, and tipped her neck to toss her loose brown mane away from her eyes, almost flirtatiously. On her back, cradled between the mare’s wings, Typhoon cooed at the slight motion. “We’re still here.”

“How is she?” Hurricane asked, gesturing to his daughter and unsubtly changing the subject.

Swift pulled the filly from her back, cradling her in the crook of a foreleg. “Now that she’s not so hungry, she’s fine. Isn’t that right, Ty?” The last words were accompanied by a craned neck and a nuzzle between the muzzles of mother and foal. “I’m glad she’s not quite the fighter you were, Cyclone.”

“What’s that mean?” the colt asked.

Swift smiled gently at her son. “You were always too busy to hold still, Cy. Every time I tried to carry you you’d just squirm away looking for trouble.” She reached out with a hoof to gently tousle her son’s mane. “You only wanted your dad to carry you around. Now, what’s there for me to eat?”

Hurricane gestured with a wingtip toward the small platter he’d set in the center of the table. Swift leaned forward, scooping up a few pieces of bread and some vegetables, before turning toward the cod. “Hurricane, dear, what’s this?”

“What do you mean?” the stallion asked.

Swift gestured to the few remaining pieces of fish. “You burnt the fish, dear.”

“It’s a bit darker than you make it, sure.” Hurricane took another bite of his own meal. “I wanted to make sure it was cooked all the way through.”

Swift sighed. “You incinerated it.” As if to demonstrated, she reached out a hoof and poked one of the pieces of fish, which quickly crumbled into blackened flakes and ash.

Hurricane’s ears snapped back against his head, and his voice dropped into a growl. “Then take the other half of the fish and cook it yourself! I tried my best, but I don’t have a damn clue how to use that firepot thing.” At the winces of his wife and his son, the stallion’s wings drooped. “I’m sorry.”

They sat in total silence for more than a while, with Hurricane moping over his food as Cyclone and Swift watched. Finally, the latter decided she’d had enough. “It’s fine, Hurricane.” The young mother smiled, pushing aside the fish and grabbing herself an extra helping of grapes and bread. “I can’t blame you. After all, why would a mighty Emperor of Cirra ever need to cook for himself?”

The shame on the dark stallion’s expression disappeared, replaced by a tired frown. “Don’t call me that. There is no ‘empire’ anymore. I’m not a politician.”

Swift’s amusement wilted on her face, and with a tired resignation, she replied “Only if you agree not to bring up the Red Cloud War at the table.”

Cyclone pouted at his mother. “Aww, but I wanna know more! Did Dad really win a whole battle with a hundred griffons just by himself? And what was it like when Feathertop erupted? And—”

“Cyclone! Control yourself!” The force in Hurricane’s order severed all further questions. He paused for a minute before continuing. “When you’re old enough to appreciate the truth, I’ll sit down with you and tell you what happened. But talking about it like it was some foal’s story is unacceptable. Every single pony you know lost somepony close to them. We all lost our homes. And those of us who survived… We saw things that would give you nightmares.” He briefly spared a glance to his wife, who hugged her daughter a bit tighter. “You will not make a story of it. And you will absolutely not make it a game. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Good.” Apparently satisfied, Hurricane took another bite of his own breakfast before being reminded once more that he had ruined his fish. Grimacing, he wiped the rest of the ruined meal onto his cloudstone plate and began to chew on his plain bread. “Do you need me to get you anything while I’m out today, Swift?”

The mare shook her head. “If we need anything, we can stop in the forum on the way back from our debriefing with the Praetorian and the Third Legion.” Smirking, she added, “But I’m feeling just fine today, since that’s what you were actually asking.”

Rather than react to her added comment, Hurricane cocked his head. “The Praetorian is back already? I thought the Crystal Barbarians would hold that damn fort longer than three days.”

Swift shrugged. “You sent Thunder Hawk and Iron Rain on the same mission, dear. What were you expecting?”

A feather scratched against Hurricane’s temple. “The name is familiar... who’s Iron Rain?”

Hoof met face with a resounding echo. Thinking her mother was playing some sort of game, Typhoon cooed again, and reached out her stubby little legs in an attempt to replicate the motion. “I swear by Mobius, Hurricane, some days you’re impossible.”

Cyclone turned toward Swift. “Mom, Blaze said that name yesterday. Who’s Iron Rain?”

“Another hero, like your dad,” Swift explained with a teasing glance in Hurricane’s direction. “Maybe you can meet her today when you come with us to the debriefing.”

Cyclone’s eyes widened with excitement, and he turned his head toward his father. One of Hurricane’s eyebrows had climbed a fair way up his forehead, but the other remained low. “I’m not going to the debriefing.”

Swift turned to her husband with surprised, widened eyes. “Where could you possibly be going that’s more important?”

“River Rock,” Hurricane answered flatly, before taking another bite of his bread. “To meet with Lapis and Muffintop.”

“Who?” Cyclone asked.

“King Lapis is the ruler of the unicorns, and Chancellor Muffintop is the leader of the earth ponies. They’re like your dad, but for the other two tribes.” That brief explanation then let Swift turn back to her husband. “That meeting is today?”

With a nod, Hurricane stood up from his seat. “We’re finalizing the accords now. I’ll be able to get us much more reliable supplies from the unicorns, and hopefully some land from the earth ponies so Cloudsdale can stop feeling so crowded. Are you sure you’re up to the meeting, and keeping an eye on Cyclone and Typhoon?”

Swift shook her head. “Sorry, Cane, but I think I’ll have to pass on this one. I’ll be fine with Typhoon, but can you take Cyclone, please?”

Hurricane frowned. “I can’t just take him to River Rock, Swift. I don’t have time to watch him.”

“Well, you’re welcome to take Typhoon instead, if you can figure out some way to feed her.” Swift smiled in a way that sent Hurricane’s tail whipping back and forth. “It’ll be good for Cyclone to meet some unicorns and some earth ponies. Plus, doesn’t King Lapis have a daughter? Maybe she and Cyclone will be friends.”

“I don’t have the time to foalsit him, Swift. Cirra still needs my full attention—”

“Don’t your foals, Hurricane?” the mare interrupted. “Doesn’t your family deserve some of your precious time?”

Hurricane opened his mouth to object, but couldn’t find the words. Instead, he ground a hoof into his brow. “Fine,” he grumbled, before turning to face his son. “But you need to promise me that you will be on your absolute best behavior, Cyclone. You have to stay with me at all times. Is that clear?”

Barely able to contain his excitement, Cyclone answered quickly. “Yes, Dad!”

Hurricane nodded. “And I’m flying.”

Cyclone didn’t care. To his young mind, the thought of seeing the unicorn capital was more than enough joy to push aside the disappointment of not getting to practice his flying with his dad. He’d been on the ground once or twice before, beneath Cloudsdale, and all there was to be seen were foothills and a few small farms. In contrast, River Rock promised homes of wood and stone, giant walls, and, if the stories were to be believed, statues of gold and windows made entirely of gemstones. Plus, he’d get to spend the whole day with his dad!

Eagerly, the colt scampered over to his father, and with a mighty running leap and a pump of his feathers, landed squarely between the grown stallion’s wings. Hurricane grunted from the sudden weight, but then retrieved his helmet from its place on the table as though nothing had gone wrong. He nodded once to his wife, smiled briefly, and walked calmly to the balcony. There, he spread strong wings, flapped once, and launched into the sky.

As Cloudsdale disappeared behind them, father and son both remained quiet. As was his usual practice, Hurricane seemed to maintain total focus on his flight. Cyclone leaned his head forward over his father’s armored shoulders, watching as the clouds below gave way to wide open air, river valleys, and immense fields; most lay fallow in the winter, but a few showed sprouts of potatoes or carrots or other hardy crops that would serve as staples in the lean months of winter.

Their silence persisted until Cyclone got his first glimpse of something breaking up the flat fields and little stone cottages of the earth pony farmers below. Around the corner of a sloped cliff in the distance, the foal caught a glimpse of a huge stone wall topped with wooden slats. As his father pushed forward further, even more of the structure came into view: not only the enormity of the thirty-foot tall wall, but the wood and stone buildings it surrounded.

“Dad, what’s that?”

Hurricane tilted his head slightly. “That’s Amber Field, Cyclone. It’s the earth pony capital.”

“What’s a capital?”

“When a race has a whole bunch of cities, one of those cities is chosen to be the capital. It’s where the ruler lives, and where important decisions are supposed to be made. The city we’re headed to, River Rock, is the unicorn capital. Back on Dioda, Stratopolis was our capital.”

“Did the griffons have a capital?” Cyclone asked.

Hurricane sighed, loudly enough that his son could hear even over the wind. “Yes, Cyclone. It was a city called Angenholt.”

“What was it like?”

A shrug unsettled Cyclone’s chin. “I’ve never seen it. I doubt anypony alive has. And that’s enough talk about griffons.”

The colt pouted, but his lips parted enough to grumble “alright.” Then his focus turned back to Amber Field and its wall. “Why do they have a big wall like that? We could just fly over it.”

“We’re at peace with the earth ponies, Cyclone. They know we don’t want to hurt them.”

“But still, why?”

“The earth ponies don’t have any enemies that can fly, Cyclone. They’re worried about things on the ground, like the crystal pony barbarians and those wolf-monsters I keep hearing about.”

Persistent, Cyclone’s hoof tapped on the base of Hurricane’s helmet. “But what if something did? What if the griffons attacked them? Or a dragon?”

“I thought I told you not to talk about griffons.” Hurricane gave his son a quick glance of only mild disapproval before he continued. “And dragons don’t attack ponies. But if some sort of flying monster did attack them, they would need our help.”

“You’d go fight the monster for them?” The excitement in the colt’s voice was obvious.

“Or some other legionaries,” Hurricane replied. “There are lots of skilled soldiers in the Legion.”

“Yeah, but you’re the best, Dad.”

Hurricane chuckled as he shook his head. “No I’m not, Cyclone.”

“But that’s what everypony says!” The protests saw Hurricane fold his ears back against his head. Ignorant of his father’s agitation, Cyclone continued to shout directly at them. “They say—”

“That will be enough, Cyclone.” Hurricane waited for total silence from his son before relaxing his tensed shoulders with a deep breath. “Look, Cyclone, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted. But today is going to be a very stressful day for me. I’m signing an agreement with Chancellor Muffintop and King Lapis that does what you asked about. We’re far better soldiers than either the unicorns or the earth ponies, so we’ll be supplementing their defenses to protect against the barbarians, and whatever other threats attack them. In exchange, we’ll get food from the earth ponies, and land for our own to start building up some forts and new cities.”

Cyclone cocked his head like a confused dog. “Suh...sup...suplimenning? Barbarians?”

His father grinned at his son’s more pleasant show of curiosity. “Supplementing means ‘adding to’. We’ll be helping the earth ponies and the unicorns protect themselves, but we won’t be doing all of the fighting alone. And barbarians are ponies who don’t come from a country or a system like we have. Instead, they try and fight their way in, and steal what they need. Usually, when we say barbarians, we mean the crystal ponies.”

“The ones made out of rocks?”

Hurricane smiled. “I know I told you that earlier, but it turns out they aren’t actually made of rocks. They just look that way.”

“Okay.” Cyclone’s eyes scanned the land below again. “What about the unicorns?”

“They’ll be providing us the steel, stone, and raw materials we need for our equipment. The treaty also says something about raising and lowering the sun, though I doubt Celeste needs any help.”

More flapping and more silence followed Hurricane’s brief explanation. Amber Field disappeared beneath their hooves, and still Hurricane flew on. Before long, the flat farmlands gave way to a wide river valley, flanked on both sides by cliffs and mountains. Hurricane ducked low toward the water, letting Cyclone dip a wingtip into the beautiful smooth surface, though they never stopped in their flight. On the shore, earth ponies and unicorns alike looked up from the roads, pulling carts or simply traveling, to the rare sight of a lone pegasus so far from both Cloudsdale and an active battlefield.

Cyclone had never seen the canyons or the mountains before. The sheer variety of colors dazzled his young eyes, and the crisp air and clear water tickled his fancy, but the ponies on the shore were the real interest. He’d never spoken to a unicorn or an earth pony before, nor had he seen the former’s magic. And as the wingless ponies continued on their way, he simply watched. At times, a pony would wave in his direction, and he’d shoot a flap of a wing back.

"Dad?"

“Hm?”

“Can we come down here more often?” Cyclone settled back against Hurricane’s neck. “I like seeing all the ponies.”

Hurricane hesitated to answer. Then, to Cyclone’s surprise, his father actually tilted his head, glancing back to look his son in the eye. “When you’re old enough to be expected to serve in the Legion, Cyclone, you’ll be spending plenty of time down here.”

“But when do I get to join the Legion?”

“When you’re older, Cyclone. We’ve gone over this before.”

“But all the other colts already started practicing!” the colt whined. “You won’t let me have a wood sword! What if I don’t practice? I’m never going to be as good as you! I’m never going to be any good!”

The grown stallion’s eyes clenched, and his ears fell flat, trying desperately to shut out the whining. “Fine, Cyclone. Look, I’ll take some time tomorrow and teach you something. Just… can we fly quietly?”

“Really? You promise?”

“Yes,” Hurricane hissed through gritted teeth. “Now stop bouncing; it’s making it very hard to fly straight.”

Cyclone froze, realizing that he had somehow found his way to standing upright with his hooves between his father’s shoulders. “Sorry, Dad.” Gently, he lowered himself down, wrapping his forelegs around his father’s neck, and nuzzling into his back.

Hurricane was grateful for the respite, however short-lived it proved. The river curved ahead, and from behind a particularly dense evergreen forest on the mountain slopes, father and son got their first good glimpse of their destination: a towering spire of gray stone, capped with a crenelated parapet. Below it, an enormous castle was carved into the side of a cliff, overlooking the river valley with countless balconies and massive windows too high to be viewed as weaknesses for any land-bound assailant. On both shores of the mighty river, buildings of stone and wood and brick fought for Cyclone’s attention, wreathed within an unbroken border of thick stone walls. In the water, boats slid under the tall stone bridges decorated in ivy and moss. The air smelled like bread and fire and a thousand unfamiliar scents.

Soon, black wings flew over the city, and a few ponies looked up at the black stallion in black armor. Cyclone waved at them, though the ant-sized ponies below didn’t seem to notice.

And then, all at once, they had landed. The view of the city was blocked by tall walls of rectangular gray stone, connecting round towers, an enormous gatehouse, and a castle that put every building in Cloudsdale to shame. Confined within those walls was a courtyard of fountains, marble statues, and carefully trimmed plants that provided plenty of interesting sights for a curious young mind.

“Whoa…” Cyclone scampered down Hurricane’s wing, letting his hooves clop against the heavy, firm stone of the ground. “What’s this place, Dad?”

“Castle Burning Hearth.” Hurricane chuckled to himself. “I always thought it should be called ‘Burning Hearth Castle’, but I guess the unicorns don’t like saying things in the right order.”

A third voice cut in from across the courtyard, approaching calmly. “Have you considered that, since we built the castle, our order is probably right?” Cyclone jerked toward the sound, and saw an icy blue unicorn approaching with a smile on his face. He was tall, like Hurricane, though he lacked the pegasus’ imposing musculature. If anything, the unicorn reminded Cyclone of his aunt. Like Twister, he seemed to have groomed himself to look fancy and impressive, and his gem-studded steel armor matched the part perfectly. The colt’s parents called it ‘political’.

“It’s been a long time, Commander.” The unicorn extended a foreleg, which Hurricane matched with one of his own. The clap of a steel shoe with an unshod hoof made Cyclone wince, and he ducked against Hurricane’s side, pulling down his father’s wings as a makeshift blanket for good measure.

“Three months since East Garden,” Hurricane replied. “I’m glad to see you’re well, Captain.”

“Who’s the little one?” The unicorn bent down, letting his eye glance through the little opening between Hurricane’s wing and his armor. “Is this your son?”

“His name is Cyclone.” The comfort of feathers retreated around the colt. “Cyclone, this is Captain Chiseled Gem, of the Diamond Guard.”

Cyclone struggled to hide behind his father’s foreleg, but quickly found himself bluntly forced out into the open for his effort. The unicorn looming overhead got down onto his knees and smiled, and suddenly he didn’t seem quite so frightening. “That’s a good name, Cyclone. I have a little foal of my own about your age, actually. Maybe someday you two can meet.”

“Is King Lapis waiting for me?” Hurricane asked.

The cutesy tone fell away from Captain Gem’s voice. “You’re a bit early, Commander. We’re still waiting on the rest of the gathering to show up.”

“Chancellor Muffintop?”

Gem shook his head briefly, and then with a groan, got back onto his hooves. “He’s been here for two days. We’re waiting on Star Swirl. The old geezer decided he had to go deal with some ‘magical phenomenon’ two months ago, and nopony’s seen a hair of him since.” The unicorn rolled his eyes quite visibly. “There’s no sense standing out here in the middle of winter. Even if we can’t formally start, you might as well sit down with the King and the Chancellor.”

Hurricane shrugged. “Whatever you prefer, though it really isn’t that cold.”

The comment earned a wide-eyed stare from Gem. “It’s freezing, Commander. Literally.” To emphasize the point, he exhaled slowly, creating a cloud of steam. “So, is Cyclone your only foal?”

The Cirran commander smiled honestly. “No. He’s my eldest, though. We’ve got another filly.”

“How old is she?”

Hurricane made a show of glancing up at the sun overhead. “Not quite a day yet.”

“Well congratulations!” Gem moved to clap a hoof on Hurricane’s shoulders, though he stopped when he observed the bladed scales on the crests of the pegasus’ wings. “Is she healthy? And your wife?”

“Both fine,” Hurricane replied. “Typhoon looks just like her mother, and Swift’s already got enough to keep her busy. That’s why I have Cyclone with me today.”

“Lucky colt,” said Star Swirl. “Is this his first time down to River Rock?”

Cyclone almost jumped, and his head snapped in the direction of the speaker at a speed that would put most whips to shame. Standing nearby, a blurry stallion in what looked like a blurry purple robe had appeared; there was no other word for it. Nopony had heard him, and nopony had seen his approach. Cyclone was sure he hadn’t heard the old unicorn with the huge beard approach either, yet there he was, standing on the other side of Hurricane with a sly smile slipping out from the middle of the silver hair on his face, and a wide brimmed hat covered in bells that jangled as his head dipped. Gently, the elder pony placed a hoof to his lips, hoping to calm the colt.

“Dad! Dad, who’s that?” Cyclone ducked behind Hurricane’s forelegs, clinging tight to the closest one as he dared to peek out only a single eye at the mysterious unicorn that had appeared out of thin air.

As if pulled from a stupor, Hurricane and Chiseled Gem both turned toward the wizard. Star Swirl smiled at them, offering each pony a ringing nod. “Forgive me, my friends. Just an old stallion’s idea of a practical joke. A little magic trick, nothing more. And... Cyclone, was it? I’m sorry for scaring you most of all. My name is Star Swirl. Some ponies like to put a long list of titles after it, but you don’t need to worry about those.”

“How long have you been standing there?” Chiseled Gem asked, still breathing a bit heavily.

A sly sideways glance escaped the wrinkled brow of the old stallion. “Long enough to resent being called a ‘geezer’, Captain Gem. And since it’s clear that everypony is waiting on me, I might as well accompany Commander Hurricane into the meeting. Could you go find Clover and tell her to set up the study, Captain? She’ll know what I mean.”

Frowning slightly, the unicorn soldier nodded once, turned stiffly, and began to walk away. After only three strides, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder. “We should meet away from the battlefield more often, Hurricane. And it was good to meet you too, Cyclone.”

Silence reigned for a sparse few seconds, before Hurricane’s wing nudged the colt on the shoulder. “Bye, Captain Chiseled Gem.” Then, turning back to the funny-looking stallion with all the bells, Cyclone voiced his curiosity. “How come you were all blurry, mister Star Swirl?”

“Just a little magic trick.” Cyclone’s eyes grew wide, and Star Swirl smiled again. “Would you like to see another, Cyclone?”

“I’ve never seen any magic.”

A deep laugh escaped from behind a beard. “Oh, now, that’s something we’ll have to remedy. Tell me, Cyclone, do you know why your father is here today?”

Cyclone nodded. “He’s meeting with King Lapis and Chan-celery Muffintop.”

“Chancellor,” Hurricane corrected.

“Still, very good,” Star Swirl added. “Are you ready, Commander Hurricane?”

Hurricane nodded. “I am, but what does this—” Even as Hurricane began his question, Star Swirl’s hat levitated from his head, revealing a thinning gray mane and a wide, tightly-coiled horn glowing with what could only be magic. Both pegasi heard the sound of a snap, like the cracking of thin ice on a lake, and then suddenly found themselves no longer in the courtyard. All sight was a blur of colors on a gray stone background. The most notable feature, beyond the strange surge of nauseating vertigo unfamiliar to the pegasi, was the thick warmth of a room lit by a fireplace.

“Greetings, everypony,” Star Swirl called out, as his guests shuddered from dizziness, trying to find their hooves. “Apologies for my delayed arrival, but it appears I’ve gotten here at exactly the same time as our Cirran guests, so I suppose I am on time.”

The room swam into focus for Cyclone: an enormous chamber divided in two by a stripe of violet velvet carpet running from a pair of titanic doors of solid steel to an oversized throne, presently vacant. Before the throne lay an impractically sized table of strangely red wood, polished to a beautiful sheen, and surrounded by four cushions. Two were occupied.

The cushion nearest the throne held a gently aging unicorn stallion wearing a sapphiric coat beneath a deep blue mane. Both were beginning to gray, though neither had fallen to a solid bank of silver. Atop his head, a crown of of silver or platinum or perhaps white gold was perched, studded with countless diamonds.

An ivory unicorn filly with a swirled purple mane, probably ten or eleven by Cyclone’s guess, rested at his side. She had no cushion on which to rest, and instead used the older unicorn’s side for a cushion. At the sudden arrival of the two pegasi and Star Swirl, she looked over with an expression of pure boredom.

On the opposite side of the table, a brown earth pony stallion reclined before a plate of sweet breads and what looked at first glance to be steaming hot beer. His coat was dotted with black spots, and his naturally dark gray mane had been groomed back from his eyes. Though most of his body was thin, he seemed to have put on weight in the belly that bunched up near his flanks, creating a sort-of crease where a dress saddle might have otherwise sat. He looked, at Cyclone’s guess, to be a similar age to the colt’s own father.

“Star Swirl!” the earth pony rumbled, lurching upright on surprisingly slender limbs. “How good of you to join us. And I’m glad to see you in good health again, Emperor Hurricane. It’s been some time. I see you’ve brought a representative to help you through the political game.”

A number of laughs broke out around the room, and Cyclone was suddenly aware that the ponies sitting at the table in front of him were not the only ones in the room. In fact, as he spun in place, he counted ten, then twenty, and then his mind simply gave up on numbers and he darted underneath his father. The motion only earned more laughs, and Cyclone folded his ears back and closed his eyes in the hope that would somehow make the other ponies go away.

Hurricane coughed into his hoof. “It’s Commander Hurricane, please. That title is going to drive me mad.” With a casual step, he removed the comfort of his presence from his son. “This is Cyclone, my eldest. Cyclone, this is Chancellor Muffintop, the ruler of the Earth Ponies.”

“It’s just ‘Muffin’ between friends. Come, take a seat.” Muffintop’s grin seemed far too wide to Cyclone. It looked like the earth pony was going to bite somepony. “I understand you’ve already met Lapis, Hurricane. Thank you again, by the way, for hosting us.”

King Lapis shrugged. “I have the luxury of not leaving my home, Chancellor, as I would prefer not to leave River Rock in Platinum’s hooves just yet.” The stallion gestured briefly to the bored filly at his side. “Oh, apologies, Emperor Hurricane—”

“Commander,” the stallion growled.

“—this is my daughter, Platinum. Platinum, this is Emperor Hurricane of Cirra, and his son—”

Platinum made a show of rolling her eyes. “I heard you when Muffintop introduced them, father. Do I look like some sort of field-working peasant who needs everything repeated for her?”

Lapis winced. “Ahem. Chancellor, you would not by any chance have elected to bring Puddinghead, would you have?”

The earth pony snorted around his beer. “My son? Oh, you must be joking. He’s much too young to be dealing with politics.”

Hurricane cocked his head. “How old is your son, Chancellor?”

“Fifteen.” And then, with a wry smile, he added, “If I may, how old are you, Hurricane?”

Hurricane’s eye developed a sudden twitch. “I’m twenty-three, Chancellor. But I was drafted into the Legion when I turned twenty.”

Sensing the hidden edge in Hurricane’s words, Star Swirl placed a wiry-veined hoof onto the tabletop. “Stallions, while I hate to be the bearer of bad news, the better part of River Rock’s nobility didn’t come here for the intrigue of hearing about your families and your life stories. There is a great deal to get done today, for all of us. So, to begin…” Star Swirl’s hat flipped from his head, levitated in an aura of gold. From within its brim, a rather thick tightly bound scroll appeared. “…I have here the most recent draft of the proposed accords and treaties, which each of you had the opportunity to peruse with your courts, senates, and committees as necessary…”

Cyclone was barely listening. His focus was on the golden magic billowing from Star Swirl’s horn, and around his hat. It was incredible, and the colt had to know more, somehow. He knew not to interrupt grown-ups, so he waited as Star Swirl kept talking and talking. All the while, he glanced nervously past his father at the huge crowd, who seemed fascinated by all the boring words getting thrown around.

Finally, Star Swirl stopped talking, and the unicorn king picked up. Sensing his opportunity, Cyclone slipped past his father and tugged on the wizard’s night-sky motif robe. “Um, Mister Star Swirl?” He got no reaction, save the jingling of a few bells. “Mister Star Swirl?” With each repetition of the name, the bells on the wizard’s robe rang out.

“Cyclone.” The colt froze at the sound of his father’s voice, sharp and piercing, though not terribly loud. “You promised not to interrupt us.”

“But I wasn’t interrupting—”

“That will be enough, Cyclone.” Hurricane’s right wing spread out, as if to send the colt away, and then he looked up at where he was pointing, and the crowd of utter strangers that filled the room. “Star Swirl, is there somewhere private Cyclone can wait while we’re working?” The irritation in Hurricane’s voice could not have been more obvious to his son, and Cyclone tried to bury his face in the velvet carpet with the quiet hope that it might somehow make his mistake go away if he disappeared.

“Platinum,” began King Lapis. “Why don’t you take Cyclone and go find Clover? I’m sure the three of you could find something constructive to do.”

“Like what?” Platinum somehow managed to both groan and whine. “He’s, like, one. And I don’t have anything in common with a hoofmaiden who just happens to be good enough at magic to be worth Star Swirl’s attention.”

In front of the eyes of his entire kingdom, Lapis brought a hoof to his brow, and then dragged it slowly all the way down to his chin. “I’m hoping that the three of you can become friends, Platinum. Because someday, Cyclone will be the Emperor of the Pegasi, and Clover will be the Archmage of River Rock, and it would be very, very good for you to have a good rapport with both of them.”

Scowling, Platinum rose to her hooves and stomped around the table toward Cyclone. The colt cowered at the older filly’s approach.

“Look at this, Father. He’s afraid of me.”

“He’s just shy, Platinum.”

Hurricane shook his head. “He’ll get over it. Cyclone, please go with Princess Platinum.” His father’s tone made it clear that the words were not a request, and Cyclone obeyed. Though he stood, his eyes stayed locked on the silver-shod hooves of the unicorn heiress. “I’ll find you once we’re done here. Don’t wander off this time.”

Cyclone lowered his head as Platinum approached. At another nudge from his father, he took a step forward, and then another, and soon he was following the older filly away from the table and the comfort of his father’s side.

Behind him, the creaking voice of Star Swirl spoke up. “His question wasn’t bothering me, Hurricane.”

“It was a distraction,” Hurricane countered. “I agreed to bring him along on the promise that he wouldn’t get in the way of our talks. Cirra can’t afford to wait; we need this food and these supplies.”

Muffintop smiled. “Just an item of advice, Commander, from an older and more experienced statesman. It pays not to show your hoof so early in negotiations. It won’t do your position any good to look desperate when the bartering starts.”

“A soldier is always desperate,” Hurricane countered. “These papers are just as important to Cirra as any battle I’ve ever been a part of. They represent Cirran lives, and our futures.” The pegasus cast a fleeting glance in the direction his son had disappeared. “They’ll decide my son’s future.”

“What is he, three years old?” Muffintop asked. “Isn’t it a bit early to be preparing him for a soldier’s life?”

Hurricane scowled. “He wants it for himself, though what he wants hardly matters. Look at the accords we’re about to sign, and tell me what other future he has. Tell me what other future my nation has.”

Silence ruled in the throne room of Burning Hearth.

“Clover? Clover, what are you doing wasting my time? Get out here and take this foal off my hooves! I have better things to do!”

Cyclone had wilted; his head hung heavy and his eyes stayed locked on the stone floors of the castle so that the most he could see of his guide were her well-trimmed white fetlocks, ending abruptly where her hooves met gilded shoes.

“Clover!” Platinum shouted again. “I know you’re up here!”

“Just a moment, Princess,” a quieter, shakier voice called back from somewhere down the stone halls. Cyclone immediately decided he liked it better than Platinum’s harsh, demanding tone. “I’m in the middle of—”

Platinum’s hooves stopped abruptly at a t-shaped fork in the hallway of heavy stones, and she turned right, toward the source of the voice. A blue light flashed briefly, leaving Cyclone blinking as the sound of heavy metal hinges ground into the air.

There was a gasp and a crash, and a then a gentle ringing, like the tapping of glass. Some sort of liquid sizzled and popped.

“—an experiment,” the gentle voice finished. “And now it’s ruined…”

“Well, it can’t have been that important, or somepony else would have been here to see it.” Platinum stepped forward, out of Cyclone’s line of sight. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to follow the Princess into the room. “I have tea with Lady Dazzle in two hours, and I need to look proper. I cannot be burdened with some barbarian colt. You’ll need to look after him.”

A tingling magic pinched the fur on Cyclone’s neck, and before he realized what was happening, he was suddenly in the air, feeling like he was being choked. When he tried to bring his hooves against the strange force and free himself, however, there was nothing to find; he felt his own neck. With an abrupt lurch, he was dragged around the corner and plopped—rather painfully—at the hooves of an olive unicorn filly dressed in a rather bulky sort of dress.

“You can’t just hurl him around like he’s your cat, or—” the olive mare stopped, looking down at Cyclone, and her eyes widened until the colt was sure they would pop out of her skull. “You’re a pegasus.”

Cyclone swallowed once, and nodded slowly.

“A real live pegasus, right here in front of me.”

The pegasus in question edged backward, and sent a nervous glance over his shoulder, but in the few seconds that this ‘Clover’ filly had taken to notice Cyclone, Platinum had already disappeared. He was alone with the strange green unicorn.

“Oh, this is so exciting!” The unicorn leaned down over Cyclone with a huge smile spread across her jaw, baring far too many teeth in his direction as he tried to scamper backward. “I’ve never met a pegasus before! I mean, I’ve seen some. From a distance, of course. I’m not important enough of a mage yet to go with Star Swirl when he meets with Commander Hurricane. But still!” The words came nearly as fast as Cyclone could process them. “This is amazing! I have so many questions. Can you fly? Or are you still too young?” In the moment that the colt hesitated to answer, Clover’s eyes widened. “Do your parents teach you to fly by throwing you off a cliff, like birds?” The thought made Cyclone wince, pulling back further. He got nearly a second’s pause before Clover’s onslaught continued. “I have to imagine you can fly, since your wings are so big in relation to your body size… unless you just grow into them, the same way hooves and ears work. Would wings work that way, or would they be more like horns? Or are they actually big? My sample size isn’t very large; does Commander Hurricane have really small wings for his body? No. I suppose that wouldn’t make sense, at least if my observations are correct. Mathematically he shouldn’t be able to fly at all. Oh! How much do you weigh? And how old are...”

The words trailed off slowly, until finally the unicorn was simply staring at Cyclone. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Did I scare you?”

Cyclone was quiet for a moment, and then forced himself to shake his head from side to side. “Nu uh. Soldiers don’t get scared.” Despite the false sense of bravado, the colt’s legs were trembling.

“Aren’t you a little young to be a soldier?” Clover continued to whisper her questions. “You don’t actually fight, do you?”

Again, Cyclone shook his head. “Dad says I can’t.”

The admission seemed to calm the older filly. “That’s good. I guess I haven’t introduced myself yet. I’m Clover.” She offered a little smile, less intimidating than that which had accompanied her earlier show of obsession.

“I know,” Cyclone told her, avoiding her direct gaze. “Princess… um…”

“Platinum?”

Cyclone nodded. “Platinum kept calling you.”

“Well, I hope she wasn’t too mean to you. She’s always mean to me.” Clover drew in a slow breath, and then released it. “What’s your name?”

“Cyclone,” he told her.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Cyclone. I, um… I hope this doesn’t sound rude, but why did Princess Platinum bring you up here?”

Cyclone was quiet, as a little blur of water gathered beneath his eyes. His little forehead clenched down and his eyes squinted like vices, to keep himself from crying. “I got in trouble with my dad. He told me I had to be quiet while he was talking, and I asked a question.”

A frown wrapped itself over Clover’s features. “That doesn’t sound very fair. What if you had a good question?”

Cyclone shook his head. “I was bad. I didn’t follow my orders.”

“You just said yourself that you aren’t a legionary, Cyclone—”

“But some day, I will be,” he interrupted. “I’m gonna be the best.” And, for the first time in their conversation, a little spark appeared in the colt’s eyes. His gaze rose from Clover’s hooves to actually look the mare in the eye. “I’m gonna be just like Dad.”

“…and that’s why I suspect you Pegasi might have magic of your own. At the very least, Hurricane, I appreciate you humoring me for a few moments with these experiments. I’m certain your time must be very valuable.”

“The Legion will keep running without me, Star Swirl.” After hours of talks, interrupted only for lunch, Hurricane didn’t need to add his desperation for something less stressful to do. Somehow he was sure Star Swirl knew. “Long enough, at least, to see if I can grant our soldiers the strength of magic to add to their blades. Nihil erit post Legionem.”

“I’m sorry, what was that last bit?”

Hurricane had to shake his head to wrap his mind around the strange question. “It’s easy to forget you wouldn’t know that. It’s ancient Cirran.”

Star Swirl raised an immense, bushy brow. “A Cirran language? You arrived on our shores speaking perfect Equiish; I admit I assumed that our populations simply diverged. I find it much harder to believe that we have a convergent language—especially since our populations have never before met, at least in recorded history. I suppose it lends some explanation to why your alphabet and numerals are foreign.”

“We’ve always spoken Equiish,” Hurricane replied. “Ancient Cirran… we call it that, but it was never the primary language of the Empire. Don’t quote me on this, Star Swirl, but I think the Cirran language was invented for the Senate. The myths say Lūn descended from the sky and taught it to Roamulus, so he could keep secrets from his enemies. These days, most Cirrans only know a few words. I’d have a hard time holding a conversation, but I use it to write. The characters are easier than your alphabet. Most Cirrans write anything they think is important or formal in our language. It doesn’t get spoken much, though; we just use it for naming things. Buildings. Weapons. Gentes.”

“What’s a gente?”

“Gens,” Hurricane corrected. “Gentes is plural. It’s a term for a family, if that family is important enough to have a name.”

“So not all Cirrans have a gens?”

Hurricane shook his head. “Especially not after the Red Cloud War. A lot of pegasi don’t have that sort of family left. In the years to come, I’m sure we’ll see a lot of new gentes.”

Star Swirl nodded in comprehension. “So what is yours named? The Cirran word for ‘Hurricane?’”

“Do I come across with that much of an ego?” Hurricane chuckled gently, joining Star Swirl’s deep-throated amusement. “No. My family is Gladioprocelarii—the Storm Blades. Supposedly, we have a warrior’s history back to Roamulus, though my grandfather never had any proof, even back when we still had the farm in Zephyrus. It’s not a very famous name—”

“Really?”

A sigh escaped the pegasus’ lips. “It wasn’t a very famous name. Not like the the Accipitres, or the Celsus, or the Kataigismós from Nimbus, or the Palatinus.”

Star Swirl’s bell-bedecked robe rang as the old stallion came to a halt. “We’ve arrived, Commander.” He didn’t bother to remove his hat, but nevertheless, a golden glow appeared around the handle of one of the identical doors set into the maze of claustrophobic stone hallways that made up the castle. With relatively little groan or creak, the door swung open.

In the center of the revealed chamber, Cyclone’s oversized wings beat the air with far too much effort. As he hovered gracelessly in place, panting from the exertion, a forest green mare levitated a long string alongside his feathers in an aura of purple magic. As the door opened, she abruptly dropped the string. “Star Swirl!”

Hurricane followed the old wizard who had been addressed into the rather spacious study, earning a stunned, stuttering greeting for his efforts. The forest green filly stared up at the black-armored soldier, and her jaw struggled to close enough for her to form anything resembling Equiish speech. Finally, she managed one word, though she repeated it several times. “You’re… you’re…”

“Clover, this is Commander Hurricane of Cirra. Please don’t call him ‘Emperor’; I know that’s what everypony says, but he doesn’t like that title. Hurricane, this is my apprentice, Clover. Forgive her if she asks any prying questions; she’s never met a pegasus before. I hope you’ll both forgive me for rushing introductions.” With those words, delivered entirely in a single breath, Star Swirl stepped into the office and knelt onto his forelegs at Cyclone’s side. “Are you alright, Cyclone?”

Obviously confused a bit by the question, the dark red colt offered a small nod.

“That’s good. I know Platinum can be a bit of a... blunt character, but I also know that deep down, she does mean well. It seems you and Clover have hit it off splendidly, though.”

“Uh huh,” Cyclone answered. “She asks a lot of questions.”

Star Swirl broke into a healthy laugh, heartier than it seemed his old body had any right producing. “Curiosity is good for a growing mind,” the stallion pronounced, once he found his breath. “And for an old mind like mine as well, from time to time. Today, we’re going to try and answer a very interesting question: do pegasi have access to magic?”

Clover’s eyes broke wide. “You think pegasi have arcana? That would be incredible! Flying and magic!”

“I don’t know for sure just yet,” Star Swirl answered. “I know they have mana, and some sort of structure in their bodies to use it. Commander Hurricane was kind enough to humor me with a few small spells at our last meeting that told me as much. Today, we’re going to see what we can do with them. So, Commander, why don’t you step into the middle of the room. And Clover, can you fetch an Apprentice’s Ball?”

The filly nodded, squirming her way past Commander Hurricane’s imposing armored figure and moving toward a wooden armoire near the chamber’s door. Meanwhile, the grown soldier placed himself in the center of the room, facing Star Swirl.

“I’m ready.”

“Good.” Star Swirl grinned. “I’ll walk you through a few basics of magic as we do our tests, so you can understand what we’re doing. Let’s start with what we already know for the sake of the young ones, shall we?”

“You never explained what your spells told you,” Hurricane answered. “I don’t know either.”

“I’m more than twice your age, Commander. I was including you in my earlier statement.” Star Swirl found a bit of humor in the flick of Hurricane’s tail, and the slight drop of his ears. “Most living creatures in the world produce mana, or magical energy. It comes from bone marrow. All bones, not just our horns or your wings or what have you. When I or any other unicorn use magic, we gather that mana into our horn and transform it into arcana, which you might be thinking of as spells or tricks or unicorn magic.” Turning briefly toward Cyclone, the wizard continued his thoughts. “Basically, mana is like dough for making bread. It’s not very useful on its own, and its a little dangerous because it can make you sick. But with my horn, I can cook it into lots of interesting types of bread. And earth ponies know how to cook it into other types.”

“Earth ponies have magic?” Hurricane asked.

Star Swirl shrugged. “It’s only a theory, since nopony has been able to show any real sign, but I think so. Whatever an earth pony does for magic, it’s subtle. There’s no glowing or tricks. It’s something inside them that makes them bigger and stronger than pegasi or unicorns, and lets them live longer than us too.”

“Earth ponies live a long time?” Cyclone asked.

“Twice as long as unicorns, if they don’t get sick. I’ve heard of earth ponies living to be two-hundred and fifty, though that’s quite rare. They grow up just like we do, but once they hit twenty or so, their aging slows considerably. But all that is beside the point. I noticed that your wings have very similar bone structure to a unicorn’s horn. Lots of points that can interact with the mana in your body. My guess is that you might be able to do magic with your wings.”

Clover removed her head from the armoire, holding what looked like a plain leather ball in her teeth. Rather than using her magic, she carried it over and dropped it in front of her mentor.

“This is so exciting!” she announced as she stepped back.

Star Swirl beamed, and even Hurricane offered a nod. The former of the stallions gestured to the ball. “Clover, go and fetch some tea, would you? You already know how this exercise works, and I doubt the Commander will pick it up faster than you can brew us something to drink. You won’t miss anything.” Clover nodded, and her mentor turned toward Hurricane as she left the room. “This is an Apprentice Ball,” Star Swirl continued. “If you fill it with arcana, it bounces. You’re going to try and make it bounce without touching it.”

Hurricane swallowed once and then nodded. “How do I start?”

“Focus on the ball. Imagine in your mind how it feels, and how much it weighs. Focus on how much energy you’d need to lift if.” Star Swirl let Hurricane focus his mind for a moment. “Describe it aloud, if that helps.”

“It can’t be that heavy,” Hurricane spoke rather calmly, despite the furrowing of his brow in forced focus. “It’s just a leather ball. Even if it were cored with iron, it would be easy to pick up. But it’s probably fairly soft, if it bounces.”

“Good,” the wizard added. “Now, maintain your concentration, but I want you to try and move those thoughts to your wings.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Close your eyes, Commander.” Star Swirl paused briefly, and Hurricane obeyed. “Now touch the very tip of your nose with a wing.” As soon as the dark feathers had moved, Star Swirl continued. “Describe yourself as you stand right now.”

“I’m in the middle of this room. My wing is right in front of me—”

“But isn’t your wing part of you?” Star Swirl asked. “How can it also be in front of you, if it is you?”

Hurricane opened his eyes. “I’ll help you try to find our magic, but I don’t have time for riddles, Star Swirl. What do you actually mean?”

Near one of the walls of the room, Cyclone stepped forward. “Do you mean that his wing is by his head, Mister Star Swirl?”

“Don’t interrupt, Cyclone,” Hurricane snapped, letting his annoyance compound. The colt stepped back from his father, and felt his tail brush against the wall.

Star Swirl sighed. “Your son is right, Hurricane. Think about what he said for a moment, and compare it to what you said. Is your wing in front of your face, or is it in front of you?”

A little growl built in Hurricane’s throat. “This is ridiculous. They both mean the same thing.”

“You’re right,” Star Swirl replied. “But only because of the way you’re currently thinking. Right now, your mind is in your head. You’ve taught yourself to think of ‘you’ as your eyes, and your skull, and your brain. Perhaps your heart, too, if you’re feeling poetic. This may take some getting used to, Commander, but that isn’t the only way to view yourself. Close your eyes, and try to hold what you’re seeing in your mind’s eye. See those feathers in front of your nose.”

The adult pegasus shut his eyes again. “Alright.” He didn’t see his son mirror the gesture. “Now what?”

“Try to visualize what you would be seeing if your eyes were on your shoulder. Think of what your muzzle looks like from the side. It doesn’t have to be exact. But move your eyes onto your shoulder.”

Cyclone watched his father’s brow grow deeper and deeper as the grown stallion struggled to utilize his imagination for such a strange request. “Is it hard, Dad?”

“Quiet,” the stallion answered, a bit harshly. He stood in silence for what seemed like forever to his son, before speaking up again. “Alright. I think I’ve got it.”

“Good,” Star Swirl answered. “Now keep going. Let your mind’s eye move onto your wing.”

“What?”

“Try and get to the point where you’re looking into your own eyes,” the wizard answered. “That’s the first step.”

“If you insist.”

Cyclone had seen his father’s teeth ground together, when a day was particularly stressful. Never had it been so obvious as that day, when the grinding of Hurricane’s focus filled the small room in the castle. Cyclone’s ears flattened, wishing he could shut out the noise. Thankfully it only lasted for a few moments, before heavy breathing replaced the discordant noise.

“I… think I’ve got it.” Hurricane’s chest moved up and down heavily. “I don’t know if it’s right; I don’t look in a mirror much—”

“It’s not about imagining your face perfectly,” Star Swirl cut in. “The point is that you’ve put your mind in your wing. Tell me where your face is now.”

“It’s… in front of me?”

A hearty chuckle escaped the old wizard. “See, you do get it. Took you a bit longer than your son to understand, but I’ve always found younger minds to be more pliable. Now comes the tricky part.”

“That wasn’t the tricky part?”

Ignoring the question, Star Swirl glanced down at the ball. “Without letting your mind move back to your head, go back to those thoughts of the ball lifting up off the ground. From inside your wing, imagine picking up the ball.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Hurricane protested. “This isn’t easy.”

“It’s a new worldview,” Star Swirl countered. “I hardly expect you to pick it up instantly. Even young unicorns who are used to this idea take a little while, and their horns are much closer to their natural state of mind than your wings are.”

“You can do it, Dad,” Cyclone added. The encouragement didn’t seem to help Hurricane. Instead, he flinched.

For a colt expecting a miracle, waiting was a horrible torture. Cyclone’s eyes flitted between his father and the ball, back and forth, back and forth, over and over again. Hurricane would frown, or sigh, or suck in a deep breath from moment to moment, but the ball stayed still. Briefly, Cyclone tried to emulate his father, placing a wingtip on his muzzle and concentrating. The effort didn’t last very long, though. Waiting turned into pacing back and forth, getting a better view of the flicking of his father’s tail and the way his teeth were clearly nibbling on his cheek.

“Can I help?” Cyclone finally asked.

“Quiet, Cyclone,” his father cut in. “I need to concentrate.”

The colt frowned and lowered his head onto his hooves to lay down. Watching the ball was getting boring. Really boring. Star Swirl seemed content enough to watch Hurricane in silence. The colt began to twiddle his hooves against one another, and closed his own eyes and settled back into his imagination.

The room faded away. Cyclone was a grown stallion in his own mind; a soldier, standing next to his father in matching black armor. Steel plated with onyx was the sign of an officer, and a hero of the Legion. That’s who Cyclone was. Just like his father. They nodded briefly to each other, mouths not free to speak for the swords in the way. It didn’t matter. They both knew what they had to do. The griffons were coming. They’d finally caught up, just like everypony was always so afraid of.

But they weren’t going to win. Not this time. They weren’t ready for the best two soldiers in the whole Legion. They weren’t ready for magic—

The door to the room slid open, and Clover walked in as quietly as she could manage with her hooves clicking against stone. She saw Hurricane and whispered not a word. Her purple magic set a tea kettle onto a table behind Star Swirl, and silently she began to prepare four cups of tea. Milk from a small glass bottle and honey from a stone jar made for a beautiful gentle brown that seemed to have exactly the right amount of smoothness.

Cyclone had never tried tea, but it smelled nice. A lot better than Cirran ale or watered down wine, at least. When purple magic levitated a ceramic cup over to him, he reached out his hooves and took it eagerly. The steam that wafted up to his nostrils promised a delicious flavor.

Then he drank it.

“Gah! Ow!” The young pegasus dropped his glass at the bitter taste and the unexpected heat. With a surprisingly loud crack, the porcelain shattered, spilling hot tea onto the flagstones. And in that instant, as the crash rang in his ears, Cyclone was afraid.

Commander Hurricane opened his eyes and turned toward his son, glaring and frowning. “Why is this so hard for you, Cyclone? Just be quiet!” The last word, shouted into the small room, echoed off the bright orange glow of the walls. The rest of the room’s occupants stumbled backward in fear as Cyclone shuddered against the foot of the wall, staring up at his father with abject terror in his eyes.

Almost immediately, the father in Hurricane knew he was wrong to have yelled. The grown stallion sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

His nostrils smelled smoke. Not the steam from the tea, but a true, thick smoke that briefly made Hurricane cough. And as the stallion turned around the room to try and find the source of the unexpected smoke, his eyes fell upon his own wings.

Tongues of orange flame rose from his near-black feathers, though the wings beneath the fire were unharmed.

Hurricane only broke from his slack-jawed awe when Cyclone broke down into tears.

III - Inpostura

Inpostura

The statue shone like polished marble, though Cyclone knew it had to be made of pure cloud. He watched it approach as he sat on the flat space between his father’s wings. It depicted a larger-than-life pegasus stallion, about his dad’s age, smiling off toward the east. Despite his expression, the sculptor had captured a certain weariness in the stallion’s pose, as if the armor on his back and the cape draped over his shoulder were made of gold instead of cloth and steel, or in the statue’s case, cloud.

Cloudsdale had given in to the night. All was quiet, still, and calm. It was long past Cyclone’s bedtime, as he could tell by the weight on his eyelids. Yet despite his fatigue, he couldn’t sleep. His little body shivered, though not from any chill in the winter air.

Hurricane’s hooves met the cloud street hard, scraping up troughs in the city forum as he slid forward to shed his momentum. After a dozen feet of turbulent but silent scraping, both pegasi came to a stop just before the statue.

Father and son sat at the base of the plinth as the stars looked down from overhead, their glimmering lights shining on the polished cloudstone. A gentle breeze blew through the streets of Cloudsdale, but all else was hushed and quiet. It stayed that way for some time, until to Cyclone’s surprise, his father spoke up.

“This is Silver Sword.” They were the first words Hurricane had said to his son since they left River Rock.

Cyclone looked down from the face carved in clouds, and leaned over his father’s shoulder to get a look at the living stallion’s eyes. Hurricane turned slowly toward his son, and continued with a dry, quiet voice. “He was my friend, even when I was your age. His family lived over the hill from our farm.”

When Cyclone squirmed, Hurricane let the cold slide down his shoulder and foreleg, gently setting him down on the cloudy street. Rather than stare at the statue of his friend, the ruler of the pegasi looked his son squarely in the eyes. “My father—your grandfather—was hurt fighting the griffons, before I was even born. He had trouble working our fields with me. When Aunt Twister and I were growing up, Silver’s family would help us. His father pulled our plow when I was too small to do it myself. His mother gave us bread. And Silver was my best friend.”

“Did he fight in the war with you?” Cyclone asked. Somehow, the colt knew it was the wrong question. It was obvious, as soon as his father flinched, and the stallion’s attention drifted back to the statue.

“In another life, he might have been your father. He, your mother, and I… we were so close.”

“Dad?” Cyclone saw a glimmer of starlight at the bottom of his father’s eyes, and stepped forward. His wings weren’t big enough to wrap around his father’s armor, but he knew he could clench tight around his dad’s leg. Hurricane didn’t say anything as the red feathers wrapped around his black armor, so Cyclone tried harder. He pressed his head against his father’s coat, just above the black bracer that protected his lower foreleg, and nuzzled close.

“Cyclone,” Hurricane began. Then the stallion drew in a breath, and exhaled slowly, releasing a cloud of mist into the night air. It faded into the wind, and the wind in turn gave way to silence. Whatever thought the stallion had started hung unfinished. In its place, only the embrace of his son remained.

Dark blue feathers wrapped over Cyclone’s shoulder, and he looked up to see his father returning the gesture. “I’m sorry,” the father whispered.

“For what?” his son asked, nuzzling closer.

Hurricane held his son tighter, but despite the strength, Cyclone could feel his father shaking.

“For what, Dad? What’s wrong?” The colt gripped even tighter to his father.

“If we had known, I could have saved him,” Hurricane whispered. “If we had known…”

“Dad?” Cyclone couldn’t hold his father any tighter. He tried. He squeezed with his young legs and pulled tight with his overgrown wings, but none of it seemed to change his father’s soft but forceful breathing or the shuddering rhythm that marked the way his chest rose and fell.

Hurricane’s grip released, and in place of feathers, he once more met Cyclone’s gaze. “I need to…” The apple of the soldier’s throat rose and fell. “To talk to Silver. Alone. Can you give me…” Another swallow. “Give me a few minutes, Cyclone.”

The colt hesitated to release his father, at least at first. He clung tight to the armor, until Hurricane nudged him on the shoulder, in the faintest sort of a nuzzle. “Just a few minutes, Cyclone.”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise.”

Cyclone let go.

Walking away was hard, but the young colt did it for his father’s sake. Hoof in front of hoof. Wings tight at his sides against the cold. It wasn’t far. Just a big smooth bench, made of the same smooth cloud as everything else. Somewhere to sit up off the street. Hoof in front of hoof. Step, step, step, just like the legionaries marching in the fields under the city. Hoof in front of hoof… and there. He put his forelegs up on the bench, releasing a little clop from the sturdy packed cloudstone, and flapped his wings up to boost a jump.

“Ah!” The gasp was by no means loud, but it stopped the blood in Cyclone’s veins all the same. His shoulders clenched up, and he slowly looked around. The only pony in sight was his father, eyes still locked on the statue of his friend.

The colt considered calling to his dad, but he hesitated. He had already been in trouble twice for interrupting his father that day. He had to take care of whatever it was himself. He had to be strong, like a big pony. Like his dad.

Slowly, ever so terribly slowly, the colt’s snout creeped forward from the bench, eyes clenched in hopes of getting a glimpse into the darkness underneath the seat.

Two eyes stared back at him, wide and curious. Sharp, mulberry eyes, focused and attentive in the middle of the night. They blinked, and Cyclone pulled back up onto the seat.

Somepony was down there. A stranger. But who would be under—

“Cyclone?”

He knew the voice. At least, he thought he knew it. It took some thought to remember, but when he did, he found the strength to draw in a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Blaze?”

The pale fuchsia filly crawled out from beneath the bench, where the moonlight revealed more of her than her glittering eyes.

“What are you doing out here—” she cut herself off to release a powerful yawn and a wide-winged stretch “—in the middle of the night?”

“My dad wanted to talk to his friend,” Cyclone answered, gesturing toward the cloudstone figure and the stallion standing so still before it that there might as well have been two statues.

“Your dad—” Blaze had to shake herself. “Emperor Hurricane. Right. You’re Emperor Hurricane’s son.”

“He doesn’t like being called that,” Cyclone muttered. Then, letting his curiosity creep into his voice, he gestured downward with his chin. “Why were you under a bench?”

“Umm…” Blaze bit down her her lip, and her pupils drained slowly to stare at the street.

Cyclone looked around. “Did you run away?”

“No,” Blaze grumbled. The filly glanced between Hurricane and Cyclone before frowning. “Just… drop it. Okay?”

Cyclone pressed, his ears folding backward as if they were mirroring his hesitance. “But… Why?”

“You don’t need to know. It’s none of your business.” Blaze glanced around again, and then sighed. “I’ll just… wait for Emperor Hurricane to be done, and then I’ll get back to sleep.” Her tired observation completed, the filly pulled herself up on the park bench and began to sing softly to herself.

It wasn’t any song Cyclone had ever heard. There were no words. The filly just opened her lips and let the notes fly free.

The air turned cold. It had not been before, Cyclone was sure, but he began to shiver almost in time with the notes. When they rose, he nearly lost the tune for a sudden wind. When they fell, he wrapped his wings tightly around his belly as a makeshift blanket, and clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering.

The song hung in the air until heavy wingbeats swept it away. Four hooves landed almost silently in the nearby cloud. Two wet lines of matted fur traced their way from the corners of his eyes down his muzzle.

“Emperor…” Blaze whispered the slight greeting, and then nodded her head in a bow.

Hurricane cast the briefest of glances toward his son, and then directed his attention toward the young filly. “What’s your name? And what’s a filly your age doing out here in the middle of the night by yourself?”

“Blaze, Emperor.” The filly lifted her head and smiled. “It’s an honor to make your acquaintance.”

Hurricane’s right eyebrow scaled the better part of his forehead. “You speak surprisingly well.” Rather than accept the compliment gracefully, the filly grimaced, and her eyes dropped away, avoiding the grown stallion’s gaze. “How old are you?”

“I’m… um… I don’t really know, Emperor.”

“What?” Cyclone cut in. “How come? Don’t you have a birthday?”

“Cyclone,” Hurricane whispered, “don’t press her.”

“Why?” the colt asked. “Everypony has a birthday.”

Hurricane ignored his son’s question and knelt down before the filly. “I’m not going to ask about your family, Blaze. I think I understand. But I do need to know who you’re staying with. Why are you out here in the middle of the night, instead of in bed? Did you run away?”

Blaze shook her head, though she refused the entire time to look either Cyclone or Hurricane in the eyes. “I… don’t have anywhere to run away from.”

“Yes you do!” Cyclone took a step forward as he announced what his young mind to be truth. “You have to. You have to have a birthday, and a home, and… Why are you crying?”

Hurricane took a slow look around the courtyard, as if afraid of something that Cyclone couldn’t imagine. Then, stiffly, a black feathered wing extended stiffly toward Blaze. Hurricane patted the filly slowly on the back. “There, there. Um…” The grown stallion found pause when the filly lunged forward, wrapping herself around his leg. “Alright. Are you—” The grown stallion took another slow, strained breath, when his own son dove forward into the hug. “Okay. I think that’s…” The hug grew tighter, and with a sigh of resignation, Hurricane wrapped his wings properly around the young foals effectively rooting his left foreleg to the street. “You can stay with us tonight, Blaze. In the morning, I’ll see about finding you somewhere more permanent to live. You shouldn’t be out here on the streets.”

“I… do you really mean it, Emperor?”

Hurricane snorted a cloud of steam into the air. “Only if you stop calling me that. It’s ‘Commander’. Now, can you let go of my leg? It’s past time both of you should be in bed.”

Few things are inevitable in the world, Hurricane reflected, as two voices cried out in perfect unison into the night.

“Awwww!”

The doors to Hurricane’s villa opened without a sound. Inside, their foyer was lit only by a single candle atop a polished maple table, its legs wrapped tightly in cloudstone to keep it from falling through the floor. On a cushion of clouds, in wing’s reach of the candle, Swift Spear reclined, cradling her day-old daughter against her chest under a blanket of feathers.

“Good evening, Hurricane,” Cyclone’s mother greeted, her voice so syrupy and thick that even the young colt could tell something was wrong. Of course, even without hearing it in her voice, he realized instantly something was wrong when his father abruptly froze in place, halfway through the door.

“Oh… hello, Swift. I thought you’d be in bed by now…”

“Did you?” Swift’s voice was quite soft, barely above a whisper. “You thought I’d be able to sleep with my husband and my three-year old son alone on the ground, off in the middle of nopony-knows-where?” She sat up slightly, careful not to let Typhoon shift or wake. “Then you show up in the middle of the night with… Who are you, filly?”

“Blaze, ma’am,” the fuchsia filly replied, stepping slightly closer to Hurricane. “I don’t mean to intrude. If I’m not wanted, I can go back to my bench and—”

“That won’t be necessary,” Hurricane cut in, gently placing a wing on the filly’s back to reassure her. Turning back toward his wife, the dark stallion offered an uneasy nod. “She’s an orphan, Swift. I told her she could spend the night with us instead of on the street. In the morning, I’ll talk to Senator Celsus and see if he knows somepony who might look after her.”

“Alright…” Swift whispered. “That doesn’t explain why you took until the middle of the night to get back. I know you’re not the best diplomat in the world, but it was just signing some papers, right?”

Hurricane sighed. “And reading them. Over and over and over again. But—”

“Dad learned magic!” Cyclone cut in. The sudden announcement drew wide eyes not only from Swift, but also from Blaze. “Show Mom, Dad. Make the fire!”

“Fire?” Swift asked, before remembering the soft weight on her chest. “Not while Typhoon is trying to sleep, dear, but are you serious? You learned to do magic? Like a unicorn?”

A chuckle escaped Hurricane’s lips. “Not exactly like a unicorn, but yes. I’ll show you in the morning; then I’m going to take a couple of the Praetorian with me to see if Star Swirl and I can teach them.”

A sharp tug on his lower foreleg drew Hurricane’s attention. Cyclone stared up at him with tired, worried eyes. “But Dad, you have to teach me to be a leyg… leeg… a soldier tomorrow! You promised!”

Swift Spear took clear notice of her husband’s wince, and though her brow hovered barely above a glare, she spoke with calm focus. “Cyclone, it’s already past your bedtime. Show Blaze to the first guest bedroom, then get to bed yourself. I need to speak to your father.”

Cyclone was honestly tired, so the colt offered no resistance before walking across his family’s lushly furnished living room to the stairs at the far side of the room. Blaze followed in similar quiet, making it surprisingly easy for both young ponies to hear the words only barely whispered by the two grown-ups they left behind.

“Are you insane? You promised to teach him?”

The stallion sighed audibly. “He caught me in a weak moment, Swift.”

Arriving at the top of the stairs, Cyclone stopped. A quick glance to Blaze showed him that she was just as curious as he was about the whispering of the adults downstairs. He took a moment to point with a wing toward the nearest door in the heavily shadowed upper hallway. “That’s your room.” Then, together, the filly and colt lay on their bellies just out of sight at the top of the stairs, their forelegs hanging over the first step.

“A weak moment?” The mare below still refrained from shouting, yet the edge to her words could not have been more sharpened. “You didn’t buy him a candy apple before dinner, Hurricane. You promised to teach our three year old son how to fight.”

“Swift—”

The angry mother left her husband no room to interrupt. “Even setting aside that there’s no way in Hell you’re ever going to find the time to honor that promise, what were you thinking? What are you going to say when he’s six, and asks you for a real sword? Will you give him that?”

“No, I—”

“What happens when he turns ten, and asks to join you on the battlefield?” Swift’s voice had almost become a hiss. “I thought we both agreed that we didn’t want our foals to grow up as soldiers, Hurricane.”

“We do agree,” Hurricane interrupted, more than a bit too loud, in his effort to fit a word in. What followed was a single squeak from the day-old infant in the room. Thankfully, Typhoon made no further noise, and her father picked up much more quietly. “We do agree, Swift. But Cyclone has it in his head that I’m…” Hurricane couldn’t seem to find the words, and so he let his thought trail off into nothingness.

“A hero? The same thing the rest of Cirra thinks? That’s not an excuse to encourage him. We should be doing everything we can to keep him away from the Legion.”

Another heavy sigh echoed from Hurricane’s lips. “I wish I could. But we both know the truth: the Legion is going to be a pressure on him for his entire life, whether we like it or not. What else is he going to do with his life? He’ll never be a senator without serving as a soldier first.”

Both adults were quiet for a what seemed to Cyclone a very long time. In the pause, he turned to Blaze. The fuchsia filly gave him a gentle smile, though she didn’t really seem happy. He wanted to ask her why, but he didn’t dare risk his parents hearing.

Swift Spear finally broke the silence with another heavy whisper. “Can’t we do anything? Apprentice him to a smith or a sculptor? Stick him in a weather auxiliary?”

“He wants to be a soldier.”

“He wants to be you, Hurricane. I can understand why. But I can’t change him, but I think you can.”

Exasperation once more slipped into the stallion’s voice. “So what should I do? Take him off and start carving faces in the clouds? Spend my days pushing thunderheads around with the greenwings? Cirra needs me, Swift.”

“Stop,” Swift interrupted. “Don’t you dare. You are not going to put Cirra ahead of our family, Hurricane. Not again. You made him a promise, and I hate to admit it, but you’re right. He’ll have to fight some day. I just want him to be safe.”

Hurricane sighed. “I’ll take him out at dawn. Find him a wooden sword, teach him how to keep it oiled and how to hold it. Then we’ll find somepony else to mentor him. Make him strong. By the time he’s old enough to fight, gods willing, he’ll be twice the soldier I’ve ever been.” The stallion’s shadow shuddered. “Let him fight a few battles, Swift. Lead a cohort, or maybe some of the Praetorian. Then once he’s got a name for himself, Thunder Hawk can teach him command. He’ll be safe on the back lines.”

“Is that the best we can do for him?”

The stallion’s shadow nodded. “Do you want me to carry Typhoon?”

“No,” Swift answered. “One other thing, Hurricane.”

“Hmm?”

“That filly, Blaze… you don’t think she’s an actual orphan, do you?”

Curiosity was apparent in Hurricane’s voice. “Why else would a filly her age be out on the street by herself in the middle of the night?”

“A six-year old foal? With all the legionaries patrolling Cloudsdale, you think nopony noticed? I think she must be a runaway. She speaks really well. It’s a little unnerving. Did you hear the way she greeted me? She sounds like a grown senator.”

Cyclone cast a brief glance in Blaze’s direction. The filly seemed nervous, judging by the way her ears had folded back slightly and the bases of her wings were pinched upward. Cyclone reached out a wing toward her, patting her on the back the way Aunt Twister sometimes did to his father. To his delight, it seemed to work; the tension in Blaze’s back vanished.

“I don’t see how it matters,” Hurricane answered. “Either way, I’ll take her to Discentus tomorrow when I meet with the Senate. Either he’ll know whose family she belongs to, or he’ll be able to point us to a family who can take care of her.”

"You think somepony might be looking for her?"

"If they are, we'll hear about it. If not, I'm not going to go knocking on doors in the middle of the night. She needs sleep, and so do we."

“Mmmm... fair point,” Swift conceded with a yawn. “I’ll be up soon, Hurricane.”

Cyclone darted for his bed as his father’s shadow moved again.