12:30 PM Fairbrittle, North Griffonia, 1003 y.a.b., 44th day of Fall

Cassandra sat alone on the ground, drumming her fingers against her spear. The air smelled of the salt of the sea rather than the smell of battle. She looked on to the battlefield. Square in the center were the cracked and broken remains of the dead. Sisters of the Order Pyres moved across the field of battle, giving the last rights to the deceased. Her stomach grumbled, but she refused its demands. Not until the rest of her comrades had returned.

A Wallace planted himself besides her, “...Hello Cassandra.”

“Sup,” Cassandra said in return, “Feel the honor flowing through your veins?”

“...Is it supposed to be?” Wallace asked, “Is it for you?”

Cassandra just shrugged.

“Hi.” Jaine dropped her arquebus to the ground and set herself down so Cassandra was between herself and Wallace.

“Good evening comrades,” Lancet said cheerfully. She pulled off her helmet as she sat down, “Hey, Wallace, do you mind doingme a favor?”

Wallace eyes flashed with surprise, “Okay… what is it?”

Lancet held out her halberd, “Do you mind carving a few notches into my spear?”

Wallace took the spear into his claw, seeing five old cuts in the otherwise fine wood.

“I just want to keep a tally of all the enemies I slay,” Lancet explained, “I wish I could do it myself, but I can’t hold a knife steady enough in my mouth or hooves.”

Wallace’s stomach churned in an uncomfortable way, but he ignored it for the sake of what he thought might actually be a friend. Reaching into his pouch he pulled out a knife. It wasn’t meant for combat, it was one of his shop knives for carving in fine bow details, but it was good enough for war.

Wallace carefully cut into the edge of wood next to one of the already existing marks, so the tip only barely broke through. Drawing down, the line created was exactly the same length as the other ones. The knife was pulled out, repositioned to cut another line, but Wallace paused.

“Hey, how many did you… ” Wallace tried to ask.

“How many Equestrians did you kill?” Cassandra asked for him.

“Thirteen,” Lancet said with a smile.

Cassandra and Wallace turned to Lancet agasp.

Lancet put her hoof to her chin, “I am quite honestly shocked as well. I wasn’t prepared for Equestria’s forces to be so ill trained and pose such a pitiful resistance, I was expecting something resembling a challenge. How many did you two acquire?”

Cassandra shrugged, “None, I was never allowed to even get into pistol range, and the brass let the Wonderbolts fly into cannon fire. Chased after some stragglers but I never caught up.”

Wallace carved more lines into the wood, “I was firing in massive volleys, not sure how many of my arrows hit anything. There was this one unicorn on the ground I hit but… I didn’t see if he… well… died from it or not.”

Jaine sulked, “Couldn’t see what I hit through all that smoke.”

Lancet mouth morphed into a half frown, “Well, you survived this day, you all shall have other chances to get an honorable battle tally.”

Jaine placed a claw on her stomach, “So… when do we eat?”

Cassandra glared at Jaine, “When Shear and my brother are here. Isn’t doing everything together the fucking point of comradeship?”

Jaine shifted awkwardly, “Well… of course… Cassandra… it is… they are taking… we…”

“I think I will have to advise against waiting on this night,” said Lancet, “I doubt we'll be seeing Shear for the rest of the evening.”

Cassandra immediately turned to Lancet, genuine worry covering her face.

“Oh, don’t be alarmed,” Lancet held out her hooves, “I saw Shear Terrace after the battle, she is in good health. However, she was in rude mood, and quite insistent she needed to talk to one of the sisters of the faith. From what I gathered, Shear won’t be joining us for awhile.”

Cassandra clicked her beak in thought.

Wallace finished his thirteenth and final cut into Lancet’s halberd. As he looked up to hand it back he saw three figures moving over to their dining mat, Darius flanked by two ganissaries. His eyes were trying and failing to hold back regret.

“Oh hey Darius.” Cassandra turned to her brother.

“Hi Cassandra,” Darius stated without his normal energy.

Cassandra reverted from her relaxed position and tensed up, “Darius, what the fuck is wrong?”

“It’s Rhosus… please I need you to come with me,”

Cassandra nodded and spread her wings, flying into the air with Darius, the rest of the comradeship were left wondering what happened to their King.

Cassandra followed her brother through the air. She caught a glimpse of the royal airship while she was flying, reduced to a wreck, burnt and broken, slowly being brought to the ground by dozens of engineers. They landed outside of the King’s Yurt.

The Yurt was surrounded by Ganissaries, with medics entering and exiting in a rush. Yet, all parted so the heir apparent and the second in line to the throne could enter.

When the tent’s flap was opened, a stench of burnt feathers wormed it’s way into her nose. In the center of the table were multiple surgeons, sisters of the faith, and wizards, working tirelessly. The Wizard Hywel was floating above it all, eyes closed and holding out his glowing staff towards King Rhosus’ head.

Cassandra could not fully make out her adoptive father, but what she could see of Rhosus was stomach wrenching. Part of his armor had been melted and twisted straight into Rhosus’ right hind leg, the wound surrounded by bandages as no one wanted to pull out the metal at this time, lest they risk him bleeding out. His arm was bent at an unnatural angle, with one of his talons burned clean off. A pair of medics gripped the arm, breathed in, and with a cringe inducing crack set the bones into the proper position before they started to set the arm into a cast.

At that point, Cassandra was no longer looking at the arm, but at Rhosus’ face. All of his feathers were gone. His right eye was open but unreactive to all the movement around it, for what once was sharp yellow globe with had been reduced to a grey sphere.

Cassandra’s eyes look up to Hywel, thinking in despair, “Please… tell me… please don’t say anything. If he fucking left us now… I can’t… oh Holy Sky, I know you don’t hear from me, but I will find out a way to turn things to shit everything for you. I don’t know how, but...”

Hywel’s expression started to shift. The edges of his beak twitched up and down, before finally morphing into the most unexpected of expressions, a smile. He opened his eyes.

“Mind intact!” Hywel said with what for a court wizard was uncontrolled glee, “Condition stabilized! Rhosus saved!”

The sense of panic and dread in the room flowed away to be replaced by immense relief. The various healers continued their work, but far more relaxed than before.

Hywel set down from his hover before Cassandra and Darius. As soon as he had nodded his head to acknowledge them, Cassandra threw herself at Hywel, wrapping her arms around the wizard. He returned the unexpected gesture.

“Thank you… oh you magnificent fuck, thank you,” Cassandra whispered into Hywel’s chest.

Hywel patted Cassandra’s back, “Father saved… however without complete recovery. Right eye forever blind, right leg forever limp. Burnt talon requires amputation, prevent future infection.”

“That’s… I can accept that,” Cassandra looked up, “Just… promise me that you weren’t bullshitting us by saying his mind was intact. It is still Rhosus in there, right?”

Her eyes with met the piercing pupils of Hywel’s, eyes that could cut into any soul. Yet, she had learned how to read his eyes, and saw no deception when he nodded, “Promise.”

A mile from the King’s Yurt, up at the foot of the great mountains just north of Fairbrittle, chaplain Sisters of the Faith were given guidance, companionship, and comfort to many of the soldiers who had come from the battle. Among the dozens of griffons seeking individual spiritual advice was a single pony, Shear Terrace.

Shear Terrace sat in a silent prayer with a sister. The sister finished her silent thoughts to the Sky. It took Shear Terrace a moment to notice the sister’s actions, and quickly folded in her wings as well.

“Daughter of the Arcane, what are your troubles?” Sister Hellvetic asked.

Shear’s hooves tensed up.

Sister Hellvetic frowned, “I wish to calm your soul, but if you refuse to let me ride your wind by holding silence…”

“I don’t want to be a Daughter of the Arcane, I do not want to be a pony,” Shear spat out, “I… I want to be with the Sky… I want to receive the Sky’s gift… I always wanted that.”

Sister Hellvetic smiled, “So you heard Mother Maria’s revelation, fighting in our of need to become a Griffon.”

“No… I mean, I was present when she said it,” Shear tried to clarify, “I was already in line, I was already going to fight. My parents got a draft for one of the house. My mother’s eyes and ears are failing her, and my father’s wings are not as strong as they used to be.”

Sister Hellvetic raised the brim of her eye, “Why did your parents get a notice? Ponies are not obligated for our realm-”

“No,” Shear shook her head, “Not the ones who birthed me, my actual parents. My parents are the griffons who had almost nothing but still took me in, the only people have shown me kindness, not the ponies who just…. threw me away…”

Shear began to smile, “When Mother Maria told revealed that fighting in this war would free us from the chains of the Arcane, that I would finally be free to pursue my own destiny, that I would become a griffon, that was the happiest moment of my life. I would finally really be the daughter to my real parents.”

The Sister shifted her position, and looked at the tightly worn padding, covering Shear’s cutie mark, “I see… you have rejected the destiny the Arcane has set for you, and are seeking a path to the Sky.”

Shear nodded, “It… is is so hard. I thought fighting would make it easier. But Sister...” Shear lowered her head, “Why do I feel so guilty?” Shear pointed her hoof at the remains of the battlefield in the distance, “Those damn ponies have done so much against our kingdom, they are blindly let themselves be slaves to what they been labelled to do in their lives… Why do I feel so much shame for what I did? I only managed to kill one of them… so why do I feel this pain?”Sister Hellvetic put her claw on Shear’s shoulder, “You are travelling down a path away from your natural essence on path to the Sky. Breaking the chains of destiny will be difficult, it is expected it will be one filled with pain, as it should be. The Sky’s grace is not given, but earned.”

1:40 PM North of Manehatten, Equestria, 1003 y.a.b., 44th day of Fall

The retreating train containing Equestria’s finest guards continued its thundering race away from Fairbrittle. The only sounds along the entire line was the groans of wounded, the pounding of hooves against the ground, and wheels riding against the track. A pair of pegasi engineers spread their wings and flew ahead of the train to check on a junction point. It was a simple fork in the tracks. One side turned straight South, towards Manehatten and the other coastal cities, the other led to Canterlot and Equestria center.

One of them checked the tracks, making sure the tracks were properly aligned, the other checked the junction’s lever.

“Well… everything here looks fine,” the first pegasus stated in a defeated voice.

“Same,” the second replied. They returned to an awkward silence as the train came closer and closer to the junction.

“So… which way are we sending this train again?” the first asked to break the silence.

“Excuse me?” The second asked.

“Are we headed to Manehatten or Canterlot?” The first clarified.

The second thought on it for a moment, “...Canterlot, it has to be Canterlot. That is where the entire guard was ordered to gather in… If Canterlot was left defenseless…”

The first remembered being pounced on by a changeling, being forcibly held still as those creatures encased her in green slimey podd, watching as the grandest city in Equestria was so easily taken by such vermin...

The second pegasus pulled lever on the junction line, setting course for the train straight for Canterlot.

2:38 PM Fairbrittle, Equestria, 1003 y.a.b., 44th day of Fall

Two pains blared through his body. One a constant stab in his leg, the other a duller pain of an alcoholic's thirst. However, beyond the pain there was two unfamiliar sensations. The first was the feeling of his calf being strained by bandages. The second was the immaterial touch of foreign magic near his leg’s arrow wound.

Grand Prix remembered what had happened, remembered he was now in enemy claws. He kept his eyes shut and his body still. Grand Prix’s ears picked noises. Much of it was various grunts of pain, shuffling of bodies, and dozens of hushed voices. Two voices, however, were far closer than the rest.

“Wounded horn, non-threatening injury, will heal with time. Arrow puncture, three fourths of an inch deep. Is not inside bone. Popliteal artery narrowly avoided, moderate bleeding. Life still salvageable, will require minimal medical attention.”

There was the quick swish of a quill, and then the rustle of paper as it was tied to his leg.

The second voice spoke in turn, “Understood wizard. Take this one off to surgery.”

The pressure of magic left Grand. It was quickly replaced with the feeling of being hefted up onto a stretcher and carried away.

Grand risked opening an eye.

All around him were the bodies of wounded soldiers, griffons, ponies, and even a handful of hippogriffs. While Grand hadn’t bothered to learn much about Griffonian society, he did recognize the sisters of the faith working in tandem with hippogriff wizards and griffon medics to sort through the twisted piles of the dying to find out who needed medical attention first, who could heal on their own, and who was too far gone for any medicine or magic to save.

Grand was taken into a newly constructed tent and dumped onto a surgery table. He hand to bite his lip not to curse against his mistreatment.

A new pair of gloved claws unwrapped Grand’s diagnosis.

“You should praise your Sun Shepard, sir… Twink Auro,” A female voice chimed from behind him, “If the arrow had gone in even slightly to the left, you would’ve bled out by now.”

Grand remained still, closing his eyes. A claw lightly tapped his back.

“I know you are awake,” The voice stated, “If you do not give me permission to remove the arrow now, your calf will get infected and I will have to amputate.”

“Yes!” Grand spouted out, turning his head to face the speaker. He met the eyes of a female griffon in a medical mask that had a red pair of wings printed upon it, “Please!”

“Alright,” The medic started to unwrap the bandages around the arrow, “This will require that you remain absolutely still. You can bite on this.”

“You’re… you’re not putting me to sleep?” Grand sputtered, “I refuse to be awake for this procedure! I can’t handle that kind of pain! I demand to be put to sleep”

“The handful of wizards we have capable of maintaining slumber through surgery are all busy either in triage or dealing with far more serious injuries. Pulling this out will hurt, but not enough to kill you.” The griffon pulled off the last of the blood stained bandages had been pulled off.

“Wait, please!” Grand begged, “I can pay… my family…I have the right to proper medicaAAAAAAAAHHHH!”

The griffon held the wound closed as she stitched it shut, “Was that so bad?”

Grand whimpered in pain.

“...How in all of the Sky’s will did you ever get into the army?”

3:14 PM Manehatten, Equestria, 1003 y.a.b., 44th day of Fall

The half broken dreams and incomprehensible noises came to an end. The world was nothing but darkness, a dull pain, a heavy thirst, and the feeling of being wrapped by a blanket.

Fleur Dis Lee opened her left eye.

Something was holding her right eye closed, but she didn’t find that very important right now. The most important thing in the world to her was just the need was water, and as luck would have it, she found herself staring directly at a filled glass. She reached out to it with her magic.

The glass didn’t budge.

Once again Fleur reached out with her magic.

Her magical aura didn’t even appear around the glass. Fleur looked up at her horn, and saw a black inhibitor ring, preventing her from using spells.

Her last memory, the explosion, jolted back into her mind.

Fleur, fearing she had been captured and taken away, she tried to get the ring off. Her right foreleg was being restrained with something, but her left one was free. Fleur felt renewed pain in her leg, but she didn’t care. She needed to get away, she needed to find Fancy Pants…

Somepony jumped on top of her, trying to restrain her arm away from her horn.

“Laisse moi partir!” Fleur screamed at the top of her lungs.

“Fleur, you are at a hospital!” the pony screamed back, “Please calm down!”

Fleur stopped struggling and took inventory of her surrounding. The white walls, curtains, and various pieces of medical equipment covering the walls confirmed the pony’s statement. She finally met eyes with the doctor who was restraining her arm.

“Je m'excuse… ahem, I am sorry,” Fleur said, lowering her hoof, “Why is that ring upon my horn?”

“Your horn took extensive damage.” The doctor magically held up a mirror. Fleur finally saw all the scratches, cuts, and burn spots covering her horn. The majority of the right side of her face was encased in bandages while the left only had a few cuts and patches of burnt fur, “It is far to dangerous for you to use any form of magic in your state. Fleur, do you remember what happened?”

“...I remember… an explosion…” Fleur’s pupils shrunk into her skull, “FANCY! Where is my Fancy?”

The doctor stood up and moved to a curtained off bed. The doctor’s medic grip pulled the curtain away, revealing a male unicorn covered in bandages and casts. His horn was broken split in half, and one of his hind legs was mangled into a broken angle. The unbandaged portion of his face was barely recognizable.

“No…” Fleur said in a desperation, “That can’t be him…”

The doctor nodded, “It is Fancy… He is alive but…” The doctor breathed in and pointed to a dark wound on Fancy Pant’s head, “Part of the shrapnel pierced his skull… into his brain. From we can tell, the damage wasn’t as severe as it could’ve been, but we can’t risk probing into his mind with magic with the shrapnel still inside and his horn in such a state. We will only know the full effects if… when he wakes up. Fleur, I know this is hard, but there are some things we need to discuss-”

The doctor looked on as the tears started to flow down Fleur’s face.

“...Later,” The doctor walked to the door, “Please just hold onto your hope. We will do everything we can for him.”

4:23 PM Fairbrittle, Equestria, 1003 y.a.b., 44th day of Fall

Luna laid on a balcony, surrounded by quills and dry ink wells, dark crescents underlined her eyes. The servants had stop coming by after she had literally thrown the last servant out who had tried to tried to get her to eat something.

A stack of messages sat in the corner. Parents asking why their sons in the guard had left Canterlot, nobles demanding answers about what the crown knew about the situation, guards from across Equestria coming to the capital and asking for their next orders.

Most were addressed to Celestia, only a few had the tact to at least address it to Celestia and Luna.

Within Luna’s mind, her frustration fought fatigue, her denial dueled dejection, and her betrayal battled blight. All other feelings were eclipsed by an anger that had kept building throughout the day.

Luna held up one of the dozens of letter she had attempted to pen in her usual classical prose, but her attempts had faltered in her current emotional state. Luna’s horn lit alight with her magic, calling once again upon the ancient magic taught to her by Dragonlord Grammex the Spiked Tongued a millennia ago, engulfing the paper in green flame. The paper was suppose to vanish, appear in but an instance in front of her Celestia muzzle.

However, when the flames evaporated, the paper was still held out in her hooves.

“Tia… are you so unwilling to trust me that you will no longer even accept my letters?” Luna raged in her mind, “Maybe there is wisdom in your deceit, for I will not be able to trust what I will do when I lay my eyes upon you.”

A brief shine caught Luna’s eyes. A white object that shimmered gold, rounded mount Canterlot. As Luna focused in, she realized it was actually multiple objects, multiple ponies, carrying a large and white alicorn.

Luna jumped from the balcony, spreading her wings, and pounded against the air to accelerate as quickly as she could. In seconds, she was upon the exhausted guards carrying the unmoving form of Celestia.

Celestia’s mane wasn’t an ethereal rainbow, but the pink Celestia had a thousand years before as a filly. Her horn was intact, but blackened where the axe had struck and all of Celestia’s magic had violently resonated, melted steel clung to a small cut in the horn.

The only clue that Celestia was alive was her labored breathing and the small rise and fall of her chest.

Luna grabbed her sister and the guards in a blue aura. As quickly as Luna had flew out to meet them, she pulled everypony just as quickly back to the castle, flying through the halls, only to come to a very violent halt in front of the castle’s infirmary.

Luna blasted the doors off their hinges. Before any of the doctors could even comprehend what just happened, Luna placed Celestia in a bed.

Calling upon the Royal Canterlot Voice, Luna shouted, “BRING US EVERY SINGLE HEALER WORTHY OF THEIR CRAFT.”

Luna dark blue aura brightened around Celestia, probing for additional damage and wounds. However, except from some minor cuts and bruises, the only damage Celestia had suffered was to her horn.

Yet what a wound that was. The axe blow had not only cut into the complex web of nerves and arcane passages within the horn, but into the very core of the horn itself. Whatever magic Celestia’s body produced was immediately drained away, leaking out of her horn. Celestia wasn’t just no longer able to cast spells, but also unable to gather the magic required for flight or the passive earth magic boosting her strength.

Luna’s scans did however provide some hope. Celestia’s body had already realized the damage, already calling upon natural resources to undo the wound and rebuild what had been lost. Yet, for a cut so deep, Luna was left unsure. She remembered many unicorns, back in the far more turbulent times of a thousand years prior, who suffered similar fates from many battlefields. Some would come to wield their magics just as well as they had before. Others could only cast the poorest of shadows of even the most basic spells. However, even they were better off than those who ability to use any magic never returned at all.

Doctors and nurses flooded in. Lune relieved her magical hold on Celestia, but still stood at her sister’s side, as nopony was brave enough to ask Luna to move. After long minutes of convincing herself that Celestia breathing wouldn’t stop of she moved, Luna trotted over to the guards that had held Celestia aloft for so long.

Most of the guards were either being checked by nurses, who were particularly concerned with the condition of their currently unseeing eyes. Yet, one remained standing, waiting to report to Princess Luna.

Princess Luna stood before the guard, “What happened?”

The guard recounted the battle, Celestia’s dual, and what had happened after she had been struck...

...Princess Celestia’s limp form was plumuniting through the air. Half of us were attempting to blink away blindness as they followed the sound of their fellow guards. The ones lucky enough to have been looking away or managed to cover their eyes before the clash of metal against horn cause such a violent burst of sunlight.

Thankfully, Celestia’s limp form twisted and bent, slowing her descent enough that even her half sightless protectors were able to catch her.

The blinded of us caressed Celestia’s wounded form, while those of us who retained our sight led them by hoof on an ascent up as high as they could fly away from the battlefield. We would all lay down our lives before we let Celestia fall into enemy claws.

Some Griffonian soldiers, members of the swift youth brigade, flew up in pursuit. An immediate plan of action was divised. The blinded carrying Celestia would be led by the one with the clearest sight, the rest of us would turn and hold of the pursuers.

Accepting death as our brothers in arms flew off, I was among the five prepared for the fight of our live, to die in the name of the sun itself.

Yet, our deaths never came. A female griffon dressed in lighter armor with a distinct buckler, possible even one of the Griffonian generals, shouted for the pursuers to stop.

Words unheard by us were exchanged between the pursuers and the female commander, until all the youths flew off to fly after other targets.
Fearing some form of ambush upon Celestia herself, the guards who had expecting to die flew back after Celestia.
The scene of battle passed, and no such ambush came. Eyesight returned for some of the guards, and no such ambush came. Their wings ached from such a long high altitude flight, and no such ambush came. Finally we found ourselves back in Canterlot...

“...Retelling this tale to you, Princess Luna,” the guard finished.

“They nearly killed Celestia, and then just let you all go?” Luna stated in utter disbelief.

The guard nodded.

Luna looked over to Celestia once more.

“Equestria shall forever be in your debt for your service.” Luna bowed her head, “Thank you.”

The guard held his chin up and nodded again.

Luna walked out of the infirmary, mind a race with question after question. She looked out a window, up at the sun.

A sun that was on a descent for the horizon.

A sun Celestia wasn’t there to set.

A sun that, for the first time in forever, would have to be moved by Luna.

All the frustration, annoyance, and anger crushing in Luna’s soul was replaced by a slowly dawning feeling of dread.

Author's Note

Historical Notes:

Yurts are round tent structures that have been used by the people of the Asian steppes for thousands of years. From the Scythians who looted Greece to the Mongol hordes who conquered the world, they all used some variation on this easy to set up, easy to transport mobile home.

Army Chaplains, priests officially or unofficially tied to an army unit, have been a vital part of many world armies. Even without providing logistical support or holding arms, chaplains the world over have provided and continue to provide spiritual support and moral for soldiers.