The wastelands of Equestria stood lonely and barren as their name implied, no movement except that of dusty winds, stirring dirt colored by rust. The forceful gales pulled at the wooden walls of the Equestrian Dam, whose use had long been discarded. There was no longer any water to block from pouring into the peaceful villages. Not that there were any more villages to speak of. With no water, the population of Equestrians decreased greatly. Famine and disease plagued the remaining settlements; cave-dwelling warriors that were Equestria’s last defense. And from who, one might ask.
The changeling army attacked first, spies infiltrating the Equestrian government while soldiers plundered our villages, and destroyed the Equestrian army’s barracks. Our first response was to double the guard on every borderline, collect more lumber and stone for the production of weapons and shelters whose use we may never had needed. The results were endless lines of factories, pollution buildup, loss of jobs. The quarries were empty, and forests scarce. So one can imagine that we were completely unprepared, after a long war, when the manufacturers of the largest line of factories claimed rights to the remaining resources as reward for their service.
Taxes increased tenfold, and so did the number of homeless ponies moving into shelters. When King Sombra returned, ponies lived in the bomb shelters the princesses had so graciously created. Tragic accidents occurred consecutively within the headlines of the Equestrian Times. If one shelter collapsed in an air raid, two more were sure to follow within the next week. Princess Cadence was overthrown and held hostage, her husband killed, and the crystal ponies enslaved once more. King Sombra used their fear to control them. Of course, he had spies within Equestria as well.
The manufacturers who had helped us with the changeling war used our remaining resources against us, to create the most dangerous weapon in Equestrian history: firebombs. Empires fell under Sombra’s rule, until we had only two remaining allies. Saddle Arabia and the zebras of the Badlands gave food and weapons to our cause, their armies protecting our borders and villages. The zebra alchemists used their technology to build wings of a lightweight metal for our wingless allies. Air raids could be predicted and stopped by the soaring warriors of Equestria, Saddle Arabia, and the Badlands put together.
However, the zebras’ technology reached Sombra’s laboratories, and soon, he had armies to match ours. This war went back and forth til both empires were at their last stands. With unexplained strength, Equestrian forces defeated Sombra and his armies, but the elements of harmony and all of the princesses were lost in the midst of the final battle. With no rulers or saviors to speak of, Equestria fell.
And that is where we come in. Equestria may have fallen, but no empire or kingdom took up the responsibility to rule it. There was nothing left. Even so, the last of our forces banded together to protect the borders. We called ourselves the Merlen army, and were proud of it.
I am a citizen within a branch of one of the many Merlen tribes, the Maer. I’m a small cream mare with woolly hooves and red eyes. My name is Dancer, and I’m a unicorn. I earned my mark fighting off a stray changeling patrol with the aerial moves I was trained to entertain with. Despite my sudden role change, I still do it. Dance, I mean. My mother said it was what I was born to do, but if that’s true, why didn’t I earn my mark doing it? I’m talented, it’s true, but even with all my years of training, I never got my mark. And so, my sister took my place as an entertainer, and I was moved to the position of defense.
I‘m particularly tired this morning, and stumble into the shower with difficulty. My white mane soaks easily in its warrior’s bun, and as I pull out the hairpin with a burst of red magic, it falls down to my shoulders. Red dust stains fade from my tangled locks as I shampoo them with the last of my lily bulb soap. I sigh with relief as the tangles slip out of their knots with ease, but remind myself to get more at the ration handout next week. The soap has lasted me a long time, almost six months, and I’ve been saving up marks for more food for the school. Each tribe has one school, and one academy. The schools are for educating fillies and colts, and the academy for training soldiers. I turn the tarnished brass knob and the water ceases to fall.
Steam rises from my flanks as I heave myself from the collected pool of water on the stone floor. I thought that a shower would wash away my drowsiness, but it only seems to have added to it. I shake my mane out and magic a brush to smooth it out. When I finish, the familiar band and pin find their way into my hair to style it into my usual bun. The same goes for my tail, which has hung loose since last night, a sign of relaxation. Soldiers wear that style when off duty. Unfortunately, I’m not off duty today.
I reach the barracks thirty minutes before patrol send-off, and begin my stretches. I reach out with a foreleg and curl my hoof up in an arc. Meanwhile, my back leg kicks out in an arabesque and I step onto the tip of my hoof and spin, a slow, graceful circle. I continue the motion, speeding up, then slowing, and raising onto my hind legs to do a backflip. “That was beautiful.” I jump, startled, and grip my twin daggers with my magic. But it’s only Aero, and I should know better.
Aero is my little sister. She attends the educational school with the other fillies and colts, and got her mark in singing. She’s small, too, with a lavender coat and a pure white mane with pink streaks. She’ll have no trouble courting when she’s of age. She’s looking at me with her red eyes full of admiration, and I sigh. I know how she feels about my talents, I know how she wishes she had them, too. I should thank her.
“What are you doing up this early?” I ask her instead. The sun hasn’t even risen yet, and her school starts at noon. “Watching.” She replies, simply, staring at the dark blue of the early morning sky. I see a creeping motion on the horizon and check the world annual clock. 4:03. It’s not time for the sun to rise yet. “Dancer, what’s that?” Aero points to the horizon line and I draw in a sharp breath. Airships, dozens of them.
“Aero, get back inside.” I leap onto the staircase leading to the alarm tower, and take the stairs two by two. “Aero, now!” I snap, yanking on the chord with a current of magic. I knew there was something off about the breeze. My little sister scurries into the cave as the alarm goes off, shrieking its warning tone. I don’t stop to think about where the guards are, and rush inside, waking the children first. It is my duty to protect the Maer tribe’s future.
One by one, the foals are led into the underground shelter, and I gallop to the chief’s office to set up the barrier. Cyber is already there, inputting the needed codes and messages into the mainframe computer. The squall of panic outside the office grows louder, and I peer out of the disguised glass window. My eyes stretch wide with horror. Four dozen changeling airships are nearing the barrier towers. “Cyber,” I hiss. “Hurry!”
“I’m trying!” His hooves scramble across the keyboard one last time and he hits the ‘send’ button hurriedly. We hear a cheer rise, as the green barrier of magic flickers, and stands strong, and let out sighs of relief. I clap him over the back with a woolly hoof and grin at him. He grins back, but his smile falters and he seems to focus on the barrier. “D-Dancer…” I turn around slowly, and watch, mouth agape as the airships pass through the barrier. “There has to be an explanation…” I stutter, as the first line of ships lands on the red dirt, sending up clouds of dust.
The artillery towers activate as the other cyberteams get to work. If these were normal changelings, the barrier would stop them. “Don’t fire!” I scream as I get a closer look at the airships. “Stop! Don’t fire!!!” The teams stop and stare at me as I climb the watchtower to look through the telescope. Zebras, all of them, airships loaded with food and weapons. Another cheer goes up as citizens run to greet our allies. I run with them, but stop when I see the first gun pulled out and aimed. “No.”
Chaos. Pure chaos. The sounds of bullet fire rip throughout the wasteland as my people are slaughtered. A bullet tears through my right hoof and I stumble, gasp in pain. Red clouds my vision and wets my hoof as I fall to the dusty ground. Aero...Is my last thought. Aero...