The God of Death

Prologue.

***

Old Draconis. The Far Northern Wastes.

Nothing lived in the far North.

Something had lived there once, out in the dead lands, beyond the realms of Changelings and past which even the mightiest of civilisations dared not reach. It was a forgotten realm. In that forgotten realm, it was only said, ‘here there were dragons’, and that much was true. Even now, albeit only occasionally, one could find a tower that had once been theirs.

Something else lived out here now, though.

In these vast wastes, one did not normally see two bipedal figures jogging. These figures were tall, lithe, strong, with lean musculature that held a predatory gait. They were clad in identical black cloaks over dark grey surcoats, beneath which they were furred - one white, one grey. Both had swords girt at their sides, and one had a bow.

They jogged across dark lands, moving as fast as they dared… for something hunted them in these lands.

One disadvantage for both hunter and hunted in these wastes was that the land was flat. It was entirely unlike further south, where these two beings originated, a land that many would have called ‘the North’. There, snow covered hills, forests of pines and firs, and a host of other natural landmarks dotted the land. There, one could truly hunt and not be seen… and in turn, one could avoid detection.

As it was, only a scant handful of rocky outcroppings and ancient ruins survived to take shelter in. One such ruin - the remains of an ancient fortress - was where the two creatures found themselves hiding after another burst of speed.

The elder - grey fur bristling - pulled his hood down, revealing a long snout, sharp teeth, yellow eyes and a permanent scowl. He stood in the ruined doorway of the old fort, sniffing the air.

“Well?” his compatriot asked.

“They still follow,” the elder said grimly. “I can smell them. We only have a short while.”

“Dammit!” the younger said, pulling her hood down in turn, revealing slightly softer features and white fur. “I thought we had escaped these things!”

“Alvilda,” the elder admonished, turning to her, his scowl becoming a softer frown. “Focus. These things are unnatural, and it is only right that they should be hard to escape - if ill-fortunes for us.”

Alvilda snorted. “‘Ill-fortuned’. We are going to die out here, Dag.”

The elder gave a grim smile. “That may be - but not before we’ve given these things the hunt of their lives.”

Alvilda frowned and moved to stand next to him at the doorway.

“What are they?” she asked softly. “I have never heard of such creatures before. They have a scent, but they move like shadows.”

“They are old tales,” Dag replied quietly. “Even I have never heard of these things being real. I always assumed them to be old wives’ tales.”

“Well, these ‘old wives’ tales’ are going to kill us,” Alvilda said grimly.

“Only if we let them,” Dag replied. He tensed. “Seek the rear entrance. If it is clear, howl and I will follow.”

“Yes, Dag,” Alvilda acknowledged, inclining her head slightly before moving to the rear of the little fort.

Sure enough, there was a doorway, and it seemed clear - the enemy’s scent was coming from the other direction. She howled softly, but heard no response.

She turned - to see Dag slumped by the doorway, a hole in his chest, one of the things that had been chasing them slowly rearing up above her. Alvilda felt a momentary surge of panic, but then controlled it.

“I am Fenra Alvilda, scout of the Fenri,” she said slowly, her hand going to her sword. “If you think I will give you the pleasure of running me down like a prey-kin, you know nothing, beast. Come forward and die on my blade!”

It seemed to hesitate for a moment, and Alvilda drew her sword, bringing it up into a guard stance -

There was a noise, a noise not unlike a wheezing trumpet with dust clogging up its airways. Alvilda paused, wondering what new devilry this was, and then, suddenly, there was a different room entirely surrounding Alvilda.

She was stood in a room with green, almost coral-esque walls. Round lights covered these walls, and pillars not unlike coral growths had burst through the floor, connecting up to the ceiling. At the centre of the room was a large, six-sided console, at which was stood a pony. An Earth Pony stallion, to be precise. He wore a necktie and collar, and had a brown mane swept back. His blue eyes were looking searchingly at Alvilda.

“Hello,” he said softly. “I’m the Doctor. Mind if I ask what was chasing you?”

***

Ponyville. February 4th, Year 4 of the New Diarchy Calendar.

Are they ready?

Guilt and shame were not emotions he was happy feeling. And yet here he was.

When he had sensed the test - and he had sensed it coming, oh yes, a sick smell on the air, a nauseating feeling in his stomach - he had wondered whether he should tell somepony. He couldn't, of course. He was forbidden.

Well? Are they?

He had been here for a very long time. Longer, in fact, than most of these creatures, these ponies and their hanger-ons, knew. He had watched a civilisation build itself from a small conglomerate into the unified realm of all ponies, had watched it turn aside threats - both with predictable, mortal violence, but also with diplomacy. He had watched two mares grow, in every sense - grow in power, in stature, in wisdom, in weariness, in spite and in forgiveness. He had come here to watch them. That was the sole purpose for his presence here - the sole purpose for all the things he had done.

What have they done that makes them worthy?

He could smell the test. Like all the best tests, it did not come from outside but from that which had already existed, something he himself had never quite been adept at. It was a test that, frankly, terrified him. Not for his own sake - though he knew dark powers were involved, he could guarantee at least his own survival. No, he was terrified for those he had come to know.

His friends.

A strange word. He had never believed that he had any - or at least, he had never believed that he had any who returned his friendship. Now, of course, he did.

And by inaction and silence he was going to kill her.

Inaction and silence were not his favourite things. He did not like lying. He did not like hiding. He did not like standing by and watching when there was doing to do.

So he did something, something small - to say that he had, to say that he hadn't just stood by and watched the world that had become his responsibility burn.

He wrote a letter.

My Dear Fluttershy,

I write this and you will never read it, but if I don't let it out somehow I might accidentally end up talking to Picard again, and none of us want that. Especially not Picard himself.

I keep a lot of secrets from you. I know secrets can sometimes be damaging, but they're also necessary sometimes. Sometimes we need them in order to feel safe.

One day I will tell you everything.

I’ll stand up before all of you - all your little friends and all their little jokes and remarks, all their stupidities, all the sniggering behind my back, and I will tell you everything. I will tell you why I came here, what I came here to do. On that day, try to forgive me. I know I won't be able to.

I always get so involved with my work, don't I? It might be my biggest failure. I don't admit to my failures often - in fact, I’m not altogether fond of admitting that they exist - but I'll admit, I have always, always been guilty of caring too much. Maybe that's why they picked me - to take advantage of my proverbial bleeding heart.

Or to cure it.

I’m sorry, all this is terribly pretentious, even if you never read it. Still, I’m sure when I auto-translate to ancient Debrune you'll find it difficult to read. I just wanted you to know I'm sorry.

Discord.

A hopelessly inadequate action, but an action nonetheless. He prayed to whatever power there was - himself, or the things above himself if they ever dared to listen - that he would be permitted to do more.

And then he was gone.

***

They are young still. They have handled mortal perils. But we have not seen them handle anything that makes them worthy. We have not seen them face off against things that would swallow their sun, burn their skies and boil their seas to nothing. They have been gods among insects.

Now they grow. Now, others are ascended. The time to watch their growth in silence is over.

Now is the time for their next test.