In the Dark of the Night

Life.

Amid the cold and the black, he could feel life returning. It was gradual at first, leaking the hazy sense of awareness, of being something besides the icy dark. Then sounds echoed through the silence, whispers in the beginning but swiftly reaching a crescendo, and, the more he heard, the more his awareness expanded. He could hear the dripping of water against stone, the hollow howl of a ferocious wind muffled by earth and rock, even the skittering of insects and other tiny creatures who made their homes in the darkness. Smells returned next: the scent of wet soil, the reek of dank places far from the light of day, of tepid pools and the rotting remains of unlucky creatures. They were all so heady he could practically taste both the foul and the pleasant—ah, taste! He had forgotten what it was to taste, but how he relished it now!

And then he opened his eyes. The world was all in shadow for a few moments, but his vision soon adjusted. The wall of black grew detailed, outlining the silhouettes of stones, of stalactites and stalagmites—from which dripped the water he had heard—and of a great emptiness in space. He was in a chamber of rock and earth, molded over time by the currents of underground rivers. A cave, he realized. He was in a cavern, alone in the dark.

Alive.

Slowly, memories seeped back into his mind. He remembered pain, excruciating, tearing him apart from the inside out every single year. He remembered the dear unicorn who had saved him, so compassionate, so pure. He remembered losing her, but instead discovering himself—an umbrum to stand above all others, to lead his army of shadows and teach those who had feared him what true fear was. He remembered a slender unicorn, tall and fair, trying to persuade him to be other than he was. He remembered a glorious empire of crystal. He remembered two royal alicorns rising against him, making of him nothing but shadow. He remembered freedom from the ice, laying siege to the empire unveiled by his dissipating curse. And he remembered another alicorn, a descendant of Amore herself, shattering him.

Sombra. That was his name, a name of shadow and fear—a name of power. Yes, he had once held so much power, but he could no longer feel that surge. Flickers of his dark magic remained, but the phenomenal forces he had once controlled were not there now. However, if he was alive again, he knew his magic would eventually follow. It always had before.

What was more, this time he had returned with a body. An umbrum he may have been born, but he had grown within such a shell as this, and Sombra preferred to feel the ground under his hooves. Carefully, he pushed himself up, straightening cramped legs and stretching disused muscles. He was alive, but he was weak. Sombra paused, steadying himself and his pounding heart. It had taken far too much effort to simply stand. He would need to pace himself until his old strength returned.

With even more difficulty, Sombra willed his magic to life, illuminating the gloom. Crimson light glared off rough stone and the sharp facets of ice. In one frigid mirror, he could see his reflection for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Even without his royal regalia, he was an intimidating figure, and Sombra smiled in light of that.

But he needed to know more. How long had he slumbered between death and spirit? What had become of his precious kingdom after that Amore descendant stole it from him? He needed answers, and so Sombra began to walk. He had little sense of direction in the darkness, but the rising incline of the ground under his hooves was direction enough for now. He had to pause to catch his breath a few times, but eventually a silvery light appeared ahead.

As Sombra at last breached the surface, he found himself in the throes of a wild blizzard. After the chill of near-death, the icy gales and frigid snow and sleet were of little consequence. Besides, there were more important things deserving of his concern. The cold was a mere irritation, easily ignored. Through the swirling curtain of snow, Sombra could just make out the glow of a great city in the distance—the Crystal Empire.

Sombra’s eyes narrowed, and a scowl furrowed his brow. His empire had survived after all, but he was not its lord and liege. The King of All Monsters was but another shadow in the Frozen North. Perhaps the world had forgotten him in his absence.

Well, he would remind them. He would remind them all why he was their king, why they feared him above all others. He would regain his power and raise his umbrum army, and he would have his revenge on the immortals who had meddled in his affairs and destroyed his reign. They would learn the error of their ways. They would see.

Sombra chuckled, an old strain he had once heard his slaves chant creeping through his mind.

The moon and sun together will die,

And love in a storm of fire will fall.

The spark will dim as the dark draws in

To welcome the King into his hall.

* * *

The Frozen North was a lonely, desolate place. Fields of ice and frosted mountains were resolute and constant, no matter how far or for how long one traveled. The mountains were always in the distance, and the glaciers and snow were always underhoof. At least the blizzard had lessened, however slight the change. It was easier to see now, and Sombra no longer panted with the exertion of trudging through gales and sheeting ice.

But a storm raged on inside him. He wanted so much to return to the Crystal Empire, to retake what was rightfully his, but he was too weak yet. Sombra had no choice except to be patient, and so, until his power was restored, he needed to wait. Patience was one of his highest cards, however, and he knew how to play it well. He may chafe at the prospect, but he knew the prize would be worth it. And this time, there would be no mistakes.

In the unexplored reaches of the arctic, Sombra knew he would be safe. As long as he kept to himself somewhere amid the icy mountains, those meddlesome Equestrian princesses would be none the wiser until it was too late. There were caves in the mountains, secure and uninhabited—even if they were inhabited, though, Sombra was confident he could rectify the matter. He was weak; he was not helpless.

Despite the Frozen North’s optical illusions, he eventually arrived at the snowcapped summits. The ascent was treacherous, with what semblances of paths iced over and the ever-present threat of an avalanche. The last thing Sombra needed was to meet his end buried beneath mounds of snow. No, if he was to die—however unacceptable such an outcome may be—he would die facing those who had shamed and dethroned him, and he would drag them into the clutches of death alongside him.

A phantom shriek echoed among the peaks. Sombra warily searched the winter night, but saw only snow and rock. Then a second cry ghosted upon the wind, shrill and alien. The hairs on the back of Sombra’s neck stood on end. The wind suddenly whipped into a frenzy, bearing upon its renewed gales a cold to rival that of death. Sombra’s lips curled from his fangs in a sneer as he fought off the biting chill freezing the very marrow of his bones. Dark magic oozed from his horn, and he swept his gaze across the surroundings once more.

Then he spotted them, translucent and swift as the racing wind itself. Smoky phantoms galloped all around him, with hooves and eyes of ice and bodies and manes of whirling snow. They had an almost ethereal beauty, an unearthly grace. Their very presence was terrifying, though Sombra refused to let a fearful twinge best him. He knew these creatures well. Windigos had often shadowed him, all throughout his life, but especially after he first crowned himself King of the Crystal Empire. After all, windigos thrived on hate, and Sombra certainly bore hatred in his blackened heart—hatred for Amore, for her descendant, for the Equestrian princesses, for the impudent little unicorn and dragon who had trifled in his affairs and recovered the Crystal Heart. Indeed, Sombra hated more deeply and more purely than any creature.

Ice began to claw up his legs. The windigos’ whinnies heightened to piercing screams of excitement and dark delight. Black fire burst from Sombra’s horn, melting the ice and making the windigos shrink back with startled cries. However, he did not disperse them, as he had many times before. These wintry spirits could be of great use to him, if only they could be persuaded.

“Long have you haunted my steps,” he said, locking eyes with each windigo as it swept past, “but there is more hatred in this world than you know, hatred that could be sweeter by far.”

The windigos hissed in denial, their gazes gleaming whiter than the snow they commanded as they circled Sombra, feeding on his hate.

“In the old days, there was hate aplenty,” Sombra continued. “The pony races were once rife with loathing and distrust—they are still. Their hatred lies buried in their hearts, forgotten, but I can teach them again how to hate one another.”

A rally of whinnies and howls punctuated Sombra’s words, almost as if the windigos were arguing among themselves.

“You could feast again, shrouding all the world in eternal winter. But you are weak.” Indignant screams assaulted Sombra from every side at that, but he did not give them a chance to retaliate, raising his voice to a booming shout that carried above the windigos’ clamor. “Those pathetic ponies have bested you with their love and their friendships—you are but another legend mares tell to misbehaving foals. You are nothing alone. I, however, know their fears, their weaknesses. I can and will raise an army of shadows to plague their dreams and every waking hour. I will end these days of harmony and bring about an era of everlasting darkness and terror. But you, hiding in these mountains like cowards, have not even the courage to face those who cast you out!”

Shrieking, the windigos sped faster and faster all around Sombra, until they were a solid, spinning wall of winter magic. Several bared their teeth at him, scowling and screaming. A few, however, watched him quietly, almost speculatively.

Sombra smiled. “Follow me, and I will ensure you have all the hatred you could ever desire. I will curse the ponies’ greatest champions and most beloved idols, and you will be free to cover Equestria in an age of ice. Hail me as your king, and the windigos will arise more powerful than ever before! In the dark of the night, we will shatter the Equestrians and all the rest of the world, and all will know once more what it is to feel hate burning in their hearts and to quake in fear of their winter lords!”

For a while, only silence answered him. Sombra began to wonder whether the stupid creatures would defy him and simply scatter. Then one windigo broke from the circling storm, larger and more imposing than most. Its eyes smoldered with a frigid fire, fierce and unwavering. When it at last spoke, its voice was the whisper of an icy death, hollow and ancient, but no less strong.

“Long live the King…”