The Fall of Nocturnia

by HypernovaBolts11

Rating: teen
Tags: Drama, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Alternate Universe, Sad, Romance, Princess Luna, Original Character, Tragedy, Queen Chrysalis, Sex
Length: 9557

The first in a long series of stories, following one particular family, through history and beyond. We begin with a handsome stallion donning his tunic in the capital of the world: Nocturnia.

Arcus Octavius Nocturnus has a pretty good life. He's been elected consul of the most technologically advanced empire in the world. Things are calm. No wars are in sight.
The Crystal Empire to the north has been more than cooperative. Everyone's on good terms with Yak-Yakistan. The Changeling Empire to the south has been keeping to itself. The Griffon Kingdom across the sea has become their largest trading partner.
And, on top of it all, his loving wife has some good news for him. But not all is as good as it seems.

Rated teen for seduction by a changeling masquerading as its target's spouse —so... adultery?
Sorry for the terrible cover art. I am still looking for an artist if anyone wants to help me make it better.

Published 2016-06-03 22:50:01 UTC
Last updated 2016-09-07 18:06:27 UTC

5.0 Years Before

Long before all of your heroes came to be, there was a great city, placed atop a mountain for all to see, where each and every day was spent in complete silence, and every night was spent hard at work. The grandeur of polished marble walls, doors, and floors, all trimmed expertly with fine, shimmering gold, was a beacon of quiet permanence that shown glory and wealth across the land.

The cathedral, proud and boisterous of its own greatness, stood in the middle of the city, acting as its beating heart. Each week, the citizens flocked to the grand building, where they would talk, argue, joke, and laugh. The next night, they hurried to the hippodrome, where they would watch games, extraordinary and proud in all the land, cheering for their teams.

Everypony attended, be they rich or poor, mare and stallion alike. They would watch the blues and the greens, racing, jousting, calling proudly to one another, "Vinco!" They laughed and smiled and waved to their friends. The games were their pride and joy in all the world. Nothing could ever be more glorious to the city than a great game.

The rest of the week was spent in bustling business, as the rich ponies donned their togas, lavishly purple, displaying wealth and power to all who saw them, then went about their daily business.

One such pony, who was neither great nor perfect, smiled to himself as he adjusted his flowing purple cloth. He shook his head a bit, then whipped his white mane back. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, and smiled at his sleek black coat. Last night, he had been another senator. Tonight, this night, he was consul.

He turned around, and smiled to himself as he left his bedroom. He stepped into the hallway, decked with marble columns and shimmering in the torchlight. He paused when he spotted his wife bounding down the hallway, a great smile on her face. He closed his bedroom door, and smiled warmly as she stopped in front of him.

Her coat was a dark blue, like the ocean on a calm night. Her mane was a flowing cloud of blue smoke, dotted with the finest stars in the night sky. Her long horn was well kept, as she filed it nightly. Her green eyes were radiating a newfound joy, one her only seen upon her once, on their wedding night.

She was wearing a crown, simple and elegant in its design, carved from the blackness of the darkest part of the sky. Her chest was guarded by a black brace, which had a white crescent moon on it. She wore no shoes, nor did she require anything more than her own self to be the most beautiful thing in the world.

Her name was Selena, and she was smiling wider than she had in a great length of time. She placed a kiss on her husband's lips, and said, "We have news, Nocturnus, such great news for thee!" She bounced up and down excitedly, her eyes filled with joy unlike any in the world.

He nodded to her, and opened his mouth. He coughed, a mechanical whir accompanying the sound. He cleared his throat, and twitched his ears a few times, directing the computer he'd made for this task to speak. A mechanical voice said, "Do tell, Selena. Do tell."

Selena stood still for a moment, her eyes locked onto his. "Thou speaks!" she exclaimed. She bounded in circles around him, her ears pinned back in perfect glee. She took a deep breath when she came to face him again, and said, "Pardon us, we cannot believe that thou hath a voice!" She embraced him, and wrapped her wings around his neck, placing a gentle kiss on his lips. "Do go on."

He twitched his ears again, his eyes narrowed in concentration. The computer whirred again, and the mechanical voice said, "I wanted to surprise you. It seems as though I didn't have to, as you have surpassed yourself." He immediately shook his head, and corrected himself with another series of ear movements, "Surprised yourself."

Selena nodded, biting her lip. "We... We have spoken with the doctor," she said. She grew antsy, shuffling her hooves in unabashed excitement. She smiled wider than ever and said, "We have a child on the way."

Nocturnus froze, shocked. He moved his ears frantically, trying to form the millions of different emotions running through him into proper words. "We... Love you... How?" the computer spoke. He eventually gave up, and wrapped his leathery wings around her, holding her in a warm hug. "Thank you," he managed. A tear formed behind his eye, and he wiped it away with a hoof.

Selena said, "'Tis a colt."

He stood there, unable to even think, much less speak. He couldn't tell what to feel, but his mind was in an even worse state. Panic, fear, glee, pride, and a million others ran rampant within him, and he couldn't sort them out. He didn't even try after a while, and simply nuzzled her. He added, "Goddess, thank you."

She said, in a warning tone, "Be careful when thou speaketh of our mother." She nuzzled him and smiled. "Thou wilt become a father."

"You're going to be a mother," he answered in his mechanical voice. He tightened his grip on her, and began to cry against her neck. "We're going to be parents." He sniffled a bit, and imagined the public reactions they'd get. A fair portion of the city's population didn't even believe that she had a physical form, but this would prove them wrong.

He knew that, as consul, he'd be commanding an army for most of the coming year, but he wouldn't part from his child. He asked, "How long will it take?" He wondered what his old friend would have said, had she been there. He knew that she'd have been proud of him, of his life, his grand campaign that would come of his new position.

Selena said, "We and the doctors have estimate a five year gestation period. Thou shall be back in the senate by then, and we may have many more followers." She leaned back, and wiped her husband's tears away. "Our son shall be the talk of the world for decades to come."

"I care not for his popularity, Selena. He's going to be the happiest little thing on the planet. He'll have the second best mother who ever was. Your mother being the best, of course, as she brought you into being, and you're all I need," he said. He placed a hoof on her brace, and smiled. "Selena... We'll be parents..."

"We know, Nocturnus. We know," she said. She smiled and leaned against him, gently nuzzling his neck.

4.5 Years Before

Selena sat still as the two bishops went about presenting their cases. She didn't really understand how or why this debate had become so pressing as to demand her attention as head of the church. She was always glad to be a part of her subjects' daily life, but didn't really think this debate was something worth caring about.

It wasn't like those who didn't necessarily follow the church's exact preachings were sentenced to eternal damnation, or those who did were sent exclusively to the afterlife. Everyone who was good, whether they followed the church or not, was going to heaven. Heroes spent their time in Elysium, sure, but unless someone was a really bad person, they weren't going to Tartarus.

She let a heavy sigh of relief as the second bishop finished stating her position on the matter. Such lessons of how death worked seemed so lost on these ponies.

She supposed that her job wasn't too bad. She got to dress as though the world had just been created, and she was in attendance to her very first birthday party. She was dressed in pitch black robes, with white stars all along them. Her hat was tall, curved, and pointed at the top, with a white crescent moon on the front of it.

Selena cleared her throat, lifting herself from her throne, and said, "Let it be known to thee that we are of one unified nature, divine and pony." And with that, the bishops began arguing amongst themselves, each side of the room launching produce at one another, mostly oranges, as bat ponies tended to like apples more than enough to not dare waste them in front of the Matriarch.

She slapped her forehead with a hoof, and said to herself, "We would not have a child on the way if we were not of pony nature." She then went silent, and realized her mistake. It would have become apparent sooner or later. Whether or not she would be the one to disclose such information was entirely up to her.

She spread her wings, and motioned for the rest of the attendees to calm down, shouting, "Calm thyself! We remain faithful to our husband, and it is his son."

Everyone went silent. They all knew that Nocturnus was away commanding his army, leaving the Matriarch with little to do, aside from church matters, which took a lot of time. She would never betray her husband, and everypony knew that, but she was the Goddess's daughter, and the very notion that she could have children was often joked about at the workplace.

Whispers of her announcement took less than a day to meet the farthermost reaches of the city, and, within a week, the whole republic was abuzz with the news. The Matriarch was going to be a mother. The Goddess was going to be a grandmother. There could be half gods.

But word of this news sat very poorly with another ruler, that of the Changeling Empire.

Queen Chrysalis hissed as she watched her guards take the messenger away. She growled as she considered this. The world thought that a motherly demigod was exciting news. They thought this, this, halfbreed, was special, while hundreds of her children were brought into being every day.

The messenger protested by adding more news to its previously spoken word. The queen heard this, and hissed, "Wait."

The guards turned around, holding the messenger drone to face the queen. It shook with fear as it looked up at her.

Chrysalis smiled as she contemplated this new information, and a plan began to materialize within her, a deeply disturbing plot, the machinations of a madmare.

If this child would be so special because it was half mortal, then if she had one, perhaps she would escape her sisters' shadows.

"Release it," she told the guards, who then dropped the trembling changeling.

Nocturnus sighed heavily as he shook his head, looking over the ultimatum that had been presented to him. This new king of the Crystal Empire had gone one step too far. The demands were ludicrous, impossible, and almost humorous.

He didn't want any war. The world had just settled into peace, but if he signed this, where would the new king stop? He would make ever increasingly radical demands, and he would be forced to comply if he didn't allow for war.

He would not sign it, and he decided to make sure that the new king understood exactly why.

The entrance to his tent moved, and he looked up from his desk.

Selena smiled at him, and rapidly closed the distance between them, placing her lips to his.

He found this all a challenge to understand. She should have been in Nocturnia, nowhere near his armies. But here she was, kissing him.

He smiled as she pushed him onto his bed, where he flicked his ears at her, signaling in a language they'd used to communicate since they'd known one another, "What are you doing here?"

She released him, and pressed a hoof down on his chest. "We wished to see our beloved husband. Why else would we be here?" she asked him.

He couldn't really argue with that, and, very quickly he found, he didn't want to.

The consul smiled in his sleep, snuggling up against his wife, who panted heavily as she regained her strength. She remained still for a long while, watching the sunlight grow stronger against the tent's wall, then stood up, donned her robes, and slipped out of the camp. As she walked, she burst into a ball of bright green fire, and grinned as she returned to her natural form, dressed in her customary armor of bronze and silver.

Author's Note

These chapters are gonna stay this short as far as I can see. It's really only about setting up for the other stories in this series.

3.5 Years Before

Chrysalis smiled at the younger queen, as the jubilant filly pounced upon one of the guards' tails, then gripped it in her jaws, and began to march towards her mother's throne, though she only got half a meter before the tail in her mouth was pulled taught. She still tried to transport her prize though, and only released the tail when her mother beckoned her over.

She quickly ran to the center of the throne room, and bowed before the elder queen, as she had often seen other changelings do. She glanced up from the floor, and flapped her plated wings, though she didn't take off. She still ran to her queen's lap, and gently nuzzled into her mother's hoof.

She was growing so fast. Chrysalis was delighted with every new action the princess performed, with every step she took, with every little thing she did like her, and some things she did unlike anything else. Her wings, for example, were marvelous in their design, but the princess had been taking especially good care of them.

Though the filly's almost constant habit of cleaning her teeth was a bit foreign to her, she found it cute, how she would turn around to speak with one of her agents, and when she looked again, the princess would be picking at some plaque on her small fangs with a hoof.

Unconventional, and not very much like a leader to do that in front of her court, but she was still young, and none of the guards would be around to remember that when she was ready to become co-queen, much less question their leader.

She would be ready for her first suitor soon, and the empire would see a higher increase in population growth than it had ever known. Perhaps the elder queen could even take a break once in a while, and arrange for the princess's hapless father to receive another "visit" from his wife.

Chrysalis scowled at herself, then smiled mischievously, licking her lips.

She looked up as a drone raced into the throne room, falling to her knees before the queen. The drone remained still for a moment, and awaited permission to rise.

The queen asked, "What is so urgent?"

The messenger stood up immediately, and dug through the bag slung over her shoulder with a hoof. She produced a scroll for the queen, and set it down on the floor. She bowed again, and slowly backed away, head still lowered to the floor.

The queen's curved horn glowed a sickly shade of green, and she motioned a hoof to beckon the drone closer. She glanced at Chrysanthemum, who was busying herself by playing with a hatchling, who had likely escaped from the nursery. The two younglings were sitting facing each other, and tapping their hooves together in the space between them, as though attempting to claw at one another.

Chrysalis looked back at the messenger, who had stopped just short of the elevated platform upon which the throne rested, and encouraged the drone to come closer. As the timid changeling crawled towards the throne, Chrysalis opened the scroll she had brought to her.

As her eyes scanned over the letter, she became less and less pleased, then more and more aggravated. She reached a hoof to gently rest on the forehead of the trembling messenger, and hissed as she read the signature. She growled, and the scroll erupted into a moment of green fire, then scattered throughout the throne room as black ashes.

The drone yelped as the queen's magic grasped her. She tried to back away, but found herself held in the air by a firm, magical grip. She closed her bright blue eyes as the queen's muzzle approached her eyes, a wild look of rage on her lips.

That was when the drone should have died.

Chrysalis blinked at the hoof that had pushed against her chest, and looked down at the bright red eyes that defied her. She snarled at her daughter, daring to question her.

The princess drew in a heavy breath, and puffed out her chest, before looking directly into the queen's eyes. Though her mother's eyes burned with ire, and her snarl dripped with rage, Chrysanthemum held her gaze, and only looked away when her more sensitive ears heard the messenger scramble out of the throne room.

That was when the cracks began to form.

Nocturnus drew a deep breath as he looked out upon the plane, and lifted his left hoof to his chest.

To the north, the short grass that wavered in the gentle breeze stilled as the world began to relax. Beyond the grasslands upon which he stood, to the farthest reaches of the republic he so dearly loved, lay The Crystal Empire, and the great mountains beyond.

To the east, even the great falls crashed in near silence, and the shimmering light of the moon cast a beautiful glow across the land. The outline of Cloudsdale drifted further south across the sky, and the tip of the floating city blocked out the lowest edge of the moon for a brief moment.

To the west, a cliff face rested, and the line of trees that stayed as they always had, calm. The forest past that stilled as all creatures fell into sleep, and the audible crashing of waves on came to a halt as the sea came to rest, agreeing to a truce with the land it had assaulted for all of the day.

To the south, the rolling hills seemed to calm as a wave of peace washed over it. The farmland beyond and the orchards and fields that filled with grain and ripe apples went silent as the songs of the night that still echoed lulled them to sleep. And the very heart of the republic, where the hippodrome sang with cheers of "VINCO" while the fans jeered at one another, ushering their demes forward, could be seen with fine eyes.

In such a moment of peace, even he could feel the great lullaby of the land coursing through his being, and the call of blissful sleep met his ears. Even he, so detached from the nature of things, so separate from the other creatures, so a strange from the rhythm of the world, could feel the cloud of sleep beckoning him.

Oh, how the world sang.

He could almost hear the familiar cry of victory from his beloved Selena, from her box in the hippodrome, as the thundering of hooves on earth came to a halt. The cheering of the fans grew more intense as flowers were thrown upon the victor. He could even hear the familiar voice of his love announcing the victory over the intercom.

He sighed, and wished good fortune to the blues.

Time lost meaning, and the cheering of the crowd grew silent again as they returned to the streets, and filtered into their homes and bars to drink cider and revel in victory, and even loss. Everyone was happy, no matter which deme had won.

And then, as he opened his eyes, the ground began to shake.

A messenger hurried to his side, and panted as he lifted a hoof to silence him.

Nocturnus lifted his helmet over his head, and the LEDs on the pointed tips of his ears emitted a cool blue light, so the computer he carried could track them more easily. He turned around to face the line of soldiers before him, and flicked his ears to signal the computer to sing.

He marched up and down the line, stomping his hooves in time with the rhythm of his words, and turning around to face the enemy's hordes. "The enemy draws near. Scratch that. They're here. Load your weapons. Ready your spears. Raise your shields. Prepare for war. Don't forget what you're fighting for," he sang.

"Know that the enemy is large, and be prepared to..." he added, pausing.

The cloud of dust kicked up by the armies of King Sombra thundered out of the woods to the west, leaping off the great cliff and rolling as they landed expertly, never losing speed. They never faltered as they raced forward, green eyes glowing as they approached the waiting army.

The soldiers of the night all stomped their front hooves in unison, causing the ground to tremble, shaking the grasslands and mountains and hills. The clicking of their guns priming filled the night, and the sound of their tanks rolling forward drowned out that of the crystal cavalry.

"CHARGE!" he declared.

3.0 Years Before

Chrysalis snarled at the younger queen, who answered by snapping her jaws.

That was it. This was the last straw.

Chrysanthemum stood perpendicularly to her mother, defensively obstructing the queen's view of the stallion behind her. She hissed, and reared up on her hind legs, before stomping her front hooves against the ground for emphasis.

This thing was unmanageable.

Chrysalis closed her eyes, and took a deep breath, shaking her head.

She would not tolerate this any longer.

Her horn took on a green glow, and the eyes of the stallion behind Chrysanthemum rolled closed, then snapped open. She opened her own eyes, and pointed a hoof at the rebellious princess, to which the stallion responded by snapping his jaws at Chrysanthemum.

The younger queen yelped as the hypnotized male pushed her to the ground, and her eyes widened when she found herself staring into a pair of eyes that did not belong to him. She hesitantly lifted a hoof to his cheek, but he growled, and she drew it back, her ears pinned against the sides of her head.

Chrysalis hissed at the stallion, and slammed her hoof against the arm of her throne.

Chrysanthemum whimpered as her lover's large fangs closed around her scarlet mane, by which he dragged her out of the throne room. Through halls and tunnels numbering in the tens of thousands, he dragged her, and she could only stare into his glowing green eyes, wishing that he would snap out of the spell cast upon him.

She found herself being hauled onto his back, and wrapped her forelegs around his neck, whimpering.

The mouth of a long and confused tunnel spat her out as the brainwashed changeling bucked her off his back, and onto the cracked and chipped red soil of the desert she fell, landing with a resounding thud.

She gasped for air as the deceleration knocked the wind out of her, and she looked up at the ledge from which she'd been dropped, where the fiery eyes of green stared back down at her. She hauled herself into a sitting position, and, though her sides burned from exertion, dragged herself to the side of the cliff.

She only got two of her hooves off the ground before the body fell past her, landing headfirst on a rock.

She flapped her wings to slow her descent, but she still stumbled when she landed, and looked the body over.

Its eyes stayed open long enough for the green glow of the queen's spell to fade, leaving behind the gentle, sympathetic warmth with which he had always served his princess. He made eye contact for a brief moment, calm as ever, and lifted Chrysanthemum's hoof in his own, long enough for her to clasp it between her hooves.

She felt water gathering on her eyes, and wiped them away with the stalk of her right wing, whimpering as her hopes lifted, the prospect that the queen had let him live bringing her glee.

Then his leg went limp.

She sniffled, and shook her head. "N-no," she choked, unable to even know what language she was speaking in. She didn't really care, because the queen couldn't stop her. "W-wake up. Get up."

Water ran down the sides of her face, in a pair of streams that converged below her chin, and dropped a single tear onto the desert soil.

"M-Meghmut'yun?" she stammered, and sniffled, her red eyes wide open, her ears pinned back. "Please," she pleaded, and lifted his hoof to cup her cheek with, running her hoof over the unique pattern of holes and tunnels in his leg.

All of the nights she had done this, that she had spent memorizing the texture of his footprint, the little nuances that existed in the way his shell's imperfections had arranged themselves, the kindness and mercy for which she had named him.

She could never have that again. She would never feel him again. She would never know him again. She would never hear him speak her name, or feel his soft lips on her own.

She could never get him back.

She threw herself onto him, and wrapped her forelegs around his back, sobbing into his shoulder, while the burning disk of fire that he had always told her stories about fell behind the mountains in the distance.

She would never hear another word of his adventures as a soldier, nor would she ever get her chance to thank the ponies who had saved his life again and again on the field of battle.

"I..." she choked, and tightened her grip on his limp form. "Meghmut'yun," she cried.

The shadows of the mountains crept towards her as the dying light of the sun left her chitin to the mercy of the night.

She dragged him unceremoniously to a small cave, where she lit a fire with what magic he had taught her, and the kindling from brambles and shrubs gathered from the surrounding area.

She lay down next to him, and wrapped his forelegs around her chest, though his warmth was fading. It hurt to think about him, but she did, and remembered something he had told her, that he would like her to tell him a story, like he had so many times done for her.

She opened her mouth to speak, and, while her voice quavered, said, "O-once... Once upon a time..." He had always started the stories like that. "there... there was a great changeling, who meant so much to me... and he died to serve the interests of his queen, like he had always dreamed of, and... a-and he had lots of children..."

She fell asleep like that, with the warmth of the fire dancing across her face, and in the embrace of her lover.

When the day came, she gathered more fuel, and put it in a pile outside the cave. She found a large rock, and carried it with her magic back to him. She closed her jaws over his curved horn, and carefully broke it off, as many of the ponies he'd fought alongside of would have done if he had fallen in battle.

She built a small structure around him out of the sticks she had found, and spent a week chipping away at the stone with a smaller rock she had found, flattening it out, before setting the body on fire.

As the ashes of her love drifted into the night sky, and she traced the shape of his name, as he had shown her when she had given it to him, on the rock, the pale light of the moon was her only friend. She cried as she waved goodbye to the gravestone that read, "Meghmut'yun, my kindness. I love you."

And with that, she bounded into the air, pumping her wings as fast as she could, not entirely sure of her destination, other than the notion that any place was better than this.

Nocturnus waved a hoof at the crowd, smiling widely as his troops marched through the streets of the most recently liberated town. Where Sombra's forces had enslaved his own people, Nocturnus had made his intentions clear. He was on the people's side, and considered the previous battle as a service to his allies rather than a conquest.

He would not try to claim these cities for his own empire, nor would he assert the rule of the Matriarch over the citizens. This city belonged to The Crystal Empire, and they were still his allies. The fact that they were ruled by a tyrant didn't change that.

The crystal ponies rushed from their homes and the crystal mines to which they had been confined, lined the streets to greet his forces, and readily sold his army food and water, along with presenting any hypnotized soldiers to his physicians, who would then go about the meticulous process of removing the cursed helmets from their heads.

He would see to it that Sombra paid for the crimes he'd committed, the lives he'd ruined, and the rights he'd abused, and then he would return the city to its proper ruler.

He had considered running for reelection, just go get a few more victories added to his family name, but longed for the comforts of home, and would prepare an address to the people of Nocturnia explaining his decision later that day.

But, for now, he was still consul, and would be for a few more weeks, while the newly elected consuls got their affairs in order.

So, for now at least, he would smile and wave.

Author's Note

So, I cried while I was writing this. That might just be me, but y'know, I'm invested in this story.
Meghmut'yun is the Changeling word for clemency, gentleness, and leniency. He was not Chrysalis's first choice of a suitor for Chrysanthemum, due in no small part to his experience and friendliness with ponies. Along with that, he tried to teach Chrysanthemum to speak Equish —which is the language every other region uses for international affairs.
Maybe I'll cover his story in more depth, but it's gonna be a while, because I have so much on my plate already.

2.5 Years Before

Selena lay awake in bed, though the sun shone outside and the curtains were drawn, for all was not yet right.

But what was wrong?

What could possibly be wrong?

She smiled faintly as the sleeping form of her husband shifted closer to her, and placed a delicate kiss on the tip of his nose.

She was reunited with the love of her life, carrying his son, and unable to find justification for her lack of comfort.

She rolled onto her side, so her back was turned towards Nocturnus's slow moving chest, and snuggled against his charcoal coat as she corrected the blankets to compensate for the noticeable bulge in her stomach.

Perhaps she was still irked by Chrysalis's actions towards Nocturnus, baffled by her decision to rape him.

She had raped him.

It still didn't sit well with her.

Chrysalis had hundreds of potential suitors where she was. Why go through so much trouble for one day of passion?

Had she let it slip that he was a ravenous lover, and Chrysalis had taken it upon herself to verify those claims?

Well, he wasn't particularly skilled, but he knew her, as he always had.

She closed her eyes, and sighed as she was drawn back into memory.

Selena had summoned one of her potential jesters after an especially draining night, a colt unknown to the city of Nocturnia, and one of the poorest citizens to ever apply for an imperial job. He was thin, sickly in appearance, with a jet black coat. His eyes were a sort of hazy brown, with four pointed stars for pupils, and his voice had never found him. He was a mute, an orphan, and a child.

He was ragged, with a shaggy mane of silver shade, ears much larger than the average pony, and leathery wings, which he clutched to his sides, bearing scars and gashes too many to count. His eyes held pleas that he not be thrown back to the streets, where his peers would find him, only to inflict more wounds, not for any reason other than his lack of ability to retaliate, due to his lack of speech. He was impoverished, scarred, and alone.

He stood there, his fiddle held to his heaving chest, through which she was able to count his ribs, and its bow resting alongside it. The instrument was perhaps better presented than him, made of a magical wood, a dark spell having been placed upon the tree from which he had carved it his own. He'd spent his short life crafting, learning, maintaining, and playing the one possession he had.

He bowed his head low, having just played for the Matriarch, and waited. He awaited her dismissal, her disdain at his appearance, her dislike of his music, or something worse. He lifted his head when he heard hooves clapping frantically, and found the Matriarch applauding him.

She had clapped for a while, then spoke, her voice brimming with delight, and her eyes filling with joy, "'Twas fantastic!" She had cleared her throat, then collected herself, sitting up straight.

The colt had stayed still, unable to believe his ears, and nodded. He had swallowed hard, and awaited orders, which she had quickly provided, "Play again, if thou so desires."

How little she had known that day. How little he had known.

The sickly colt had grown into one of the greatest diplomatic minds in the world, and now, as puffs of his breath tickled the fur in her ear, he was barely the same pony as that impoverished musician.

He had gone on to save lives, marry the very pony who had called for his audition, and sire her son.

How the world had changed. How the world did change. How the world was changing.

How the world still changed.

She had, in light of his reelection, found herself considering the possibility that Nocturnus might not live to see their son grow up. It pained her to think about it, but still she forced herself to confront it. Perhaps Nocturnus could have fallen in battle. He hadn't, thank Goddess, but she still found herself staring the idea in the face.

The child would be the first of its kind, a mix between a common pony and one of the three demigods. Perhaps it would outlive its father. And even if the child didn't have an extended lifespan, it would likely be by her side when its father passed on. Nonetheless, Nocturnus would, eventually, die, and she would be left a widow, and a single mother.

Her eyes snapped open as her distended stomach moved, and she found herself smiling.

Something eclipsed the right side of her vision.

Nocturnus's soft lips kissed her cheek for a moment, and his soothing brown eyes focused on her green ones.

She turned her head to deepen the kiss, and rolled over.

They remained still for a few moments, simply gazing into each other's eyes, until another sudden movement caused Nocturnus's eyes to shoot towards the space between them.

She smiled at him, and softly said, "Kicking already." She took his hoof in hers, and guided it to the soft fur on her underbelly. "'Tis quite energetic, similarly to its father."

He smiled warmly at her, and gently brushed his muzzle against her neck, draping his right wing over her left shoulder, adding more insulation to the heavy blankets that he'd insisted she use.

She would have told him to stop pampering her, but the cooling sensation of his ectothermic wings convinced her not to. After all, there were worse ways he could have reacted to the symptoms of her pregnancy, and less fortunate mares who dealt with it.

She had the resources with which to manage her symptoms, from extra food to incredible doctors. She had a supportive and understanding community of followers who were willing to forgive a bit of distraction on her part, as many of them had children of their own. She had the most caring and compassionate husband, who would entertain her when she needed it, and drop whatever he was doing at the tap of a hoof.

Others were not so lucky.

As she contemplated this, her eyelids grew heavy, and she sank into sleep.

A lone changeling limped its way through the streets, passed by the rich and powerful on their carriages, and avoided by the homeless and hungry. Its eyes never opened, and the pointed ears that resembled those of the local populace in shape and size were constantly pinned against the sides of its head.

Somewhere in the world, she knew, she had a father.

She had to find him.

Whether or not he would care for her was a different matter for a different time, but she had to at least meet him. He was the only connection she had outside of the hive that despised her, and he was the pony most likely to take pity on her.

She staggered under the weight of history, but she didn't know that.

History had its eyes on her, in that moment, when her legs gave out, for if she had collapsed a moment or two later or sooner, or had flown in a different direction, or been blown off course by a single gust of wind early enough in her journey, history would have told a very different story.

But she didn't know that. She only knew that there was pain, and that she hated it.

The carriage that had been mere moments away from running her over, from altering history entirely, from changing the fate of the very city in which it had always been parked, screeched to a halt just in time.

It had stopped because one of the passengers had been digging through his bag, leaving his spouse free of conversation, and she had turned to look at the road just in time to stop the distracted driver.

The driver had been distracted by a shooting star, which had only been visible because of how carefully and precisely a few pieces of ice and dust in space had collided in a very specific way, so that it had careened toward the planet at just the right angle, and glanced off the atmosphere at just the right time.

And if anything had been different, in the way that dust had moved, in the direction the driver had looked, in the force of the wind that had brought the changeling, in the passenger's habit of arranging the contents of his bag in such a specific way, none of the rest of history would have been the same.

But it all came to a head around a passerby, who rushed out into the street to pull the fallen changeling out of the road, who could have simply kept walking, who could have avoided sleeping in, and passed this location before any of this had happened, who could have done anything differently.

And so the spotlight of history focused around him, and he lifted the unconscious changeling onto his back.

And the changeling would find comfort in a hospital bed in the palace, where the most important pony in the whole city would walk past her on the way to a scheduled appointment, that could have happened at any other time.

And she knew more about this changeling than even the changeling did.

And so, the gaze of history shifted again.

Selena stood at the foot of the white bed for a moment, blinking in disbelief as she tried to understand the whole thing.

Chrysanthemum remained sitting on the bed, eyes focused on a white plastic cup that contained more water than she had drank in the previous week, attempting to simply down the fluid without her fangs getting in the way.

The pair of them met in a myriad of coincidences.

The changeling bit down on the edge of the cup, tipping her head back, spilling water onto the clean white bedsheets and her own neck, messily gulping down the most essential liquid to all life, and pulled the cup away from her fangs, which had pierced the thin plastic. She looked up, and scarlet eyes met green.

How improbable to us this must now seem.

2.0 Years Before

Chrysalis sighed as her eyes focused on the source of the dim green light. She turned around to hiss at one of the nurses, and thrust her hoof against the thin, gelatinous cap that separated the developing egg from the outside world. She whipped her head around to growl at another nurse, a stallion, who lowered his head in submission as his gossamer wings carried him towards the ground, away from the queen.

His eyes still focused on the queen cell, which Chrysalis's hoof had punctured, freeing green slime to pour out of the vertical tube that contained the egg. He couldn't do anything more than look away, and whimpered as the queen hissed at him again.

He flitted his wings harder, and lifted himself closer to the queen, who pulled her hoof free of the cell. He glanced nervously between the queen and the egg inside the cell, which was rapidly falling as the fluid in which it was suspended drained out. He gulped, and nodded in response to the queen's next hiss.

He winced, and lifted a hoof to cover the hole, blocking the fluid from escaping, though he didn't understand his own motives. He couldn't simply let the egg die, not like this. He clamped his eyes shut, and growled through grit teeth when the queen snapped at him.

He, in an effort to persevere the egg, flew a few inches away from the punctured cap of the cell, and threw himself forward, slipping through the hole. He traced the edges of the leak with the tip of his horn, sealing it closed, and pushed his head above the fluid inside so he could hiss defiantly at the queen, who simply hovered where she was in shock.

Chrysalis regained her composure, and turned to face the three other nurses who had objected to her presence in the nursery. She hissed at them, causing them to hang their heads in shame, and flew up until her back almost touched the openings of the hexagonal cells above her. She braced her front hooves against the base of the larger queen cell, and flew forward with all her might.

There was a cracking sound, a grunt from the queen, and a sound not unlike the one produced by a sapling being bent until it breaks.

The queen flew a few inches back, and then turned around, while flipping upside down. She braced her hooves against the cells above her, and kicked her hind legs against the queen cell, finally snapping it off of the ceiling.

It fell, down, down, down, eventually far enough that it was invisible against the dim green light that every cell in the nursery wall gave off, and past several groups of other drones, who simply flew out of its way, until the sound of it landing against the stone that supposedly made up the floor returned to the queen's ears.

The three nurses all hovered where they were, before zipping in a different directions when the chorus of chirping and buzzing sounds started up again, produced by the infantile drones that filled other cells.

The queen hissed as a soft buzzing sound passed her left ear, and turned to face a smaller changeling, whose wings were a blur of blue chitin, and watched as the child flew back up, easily crawling backwards into its cell.

No more queens would ever hatch, and she would make sure of that. Just because magic grew and changed did not mean she was any less the queen. Perhaps her ability to control her subjects would be diminished as the world developed, but, if there were no other queens, who else could control them?

The hippodrome was filled with more people, for a contingent of the Griffon King's armies had been sent to aid in the attack on King Sombra's regime. Noise of background chatter and booming cheers filled the great stadium as the greens raced across the finish line, but the blues' chariot not far behind.

In the nobles' elevated box from which the Matriarch and her rapidly growing family could watch the games and announce upcoming events, Nocturnus rose as the guards led into the box a griffon of whom he had heard a great deal.

Nocturnus smiled proudly at the griffon ambassador, and extended his hoof in greeting, which the griffon shook firmly in his talons. He flicked his ears back and forth a few times, and the computer held in his bag said, "Welco... t... turn..." He paused, and frowned at the bag slung over his shoulder, giving it a firm punch with his hoof. Finally, the machine conceded to speak, "Welcome to Nocturnia, sir."

The griffon smiled in amusement, earning a blush from the retired consul, and asked, "Do you recognize me?" His voice was thick, deep, and conveyed a lot more confidence than necessary to rally an army behind.

The flustered bat pony nodded, and flicked his ears again. "I know that you are a well respected commander, a few years older than me, an-" the computer said.

The griffon cut him off, dropping his smooth tone of voice, replacing it with a heavy accent, which was rustic, abrasive, but charming nonetheless, and a little familiar to the bat pony. "'Ere, is 'at better, lad?" the ambassador asked, and smiled as he read over the bat pony's expression.

Nocturnus raised an eyebrow, before leaning forward a bit, and narrowed his eyes at the griffon. He drew back a few centimeters, eyes wide, and asked, "Chalcedon?"

"The one and only," the griffon said, a friendly grin forming on his beak. "Been a long time, ain't it, batty boy?"

Nocturnus's ears jumped back and forth frantically, then rotated to point backward, deleting what he'd already typed. He started all over again, trying to think of the correct thing to say. He did this for a few long, awkward seconds, before simply taking a deep breath, and nodded.

"It's good to see 'at ya found yer place. But I gotta ask, why is it ya become so talkative?" the griffon asked him.

Nocturnus smiled, and instructed the computer to say, "Well, I was a consul, and a senator now, so talking is fairly necessary."

It was then that a scroll materialized from a puff of red and black smoke, and fell onto the ground between the two officials.

Chalcedon just stared at it, occasionally looking up at the bat pony, who he assumed had an explanation as to how smoke could make scrolls.

Chrysanthemum's eyes narrowed at the space beyond the hole in her leg she'd been staring through for who knows how long. Every so often, she'd spotted flowing fog billowing from the walls of the tunnel. She would look directly at them, but by then, they'd either dissapated or she'd broken the illusion.

Selena walked past the entranced changeling, dressed in her more casual attire; a white toga with a single purple band running down the middle, and golden borders running parallel along the edges of the cloth. She wore no fancy hat, and she didn't

Chrysanthemum, on the other hoof, was wearing a traditional toga for the high class. A purple band ran down the center of the toga, and when she raised a hoof above her shoulder, the cloth would slide down her leg. She didn't really care about what colors she wore, thought it unimportant, annoying that others thought so much of how she presented herself. It wasn't like she went outside very often.

Selena was muttering to herself in the fluid language of her subjects. Chrysanthemum was still learning it, but she could make sense of a few select words, "Sister... visit... escort..."

Chrysanthemum looked up at her adoptive mother, who was also her aunt, and stumbled over what of the Bat language she knew, "M-my queen?"

Instantly, Selena's head whipped around to cast a sympathetic look upon the younger creature. She shook her head slowly, and answered in Equish, "No. That mare is less of a sister to us than thou art our daughter. Celestia, the eldest of us, has been driven from her home. She sought refuge with us."

Chrysanthemum looked on blankly, and thought aloud, "Then I am your daughter." Whether it was an observation or a question, neither of them really knew. It was a statement of fact, but, on some level, a promise.

Author's Note

I don't know why I gave Chalcedon a Scottish accent. I really don't. Please don't take offense. I just imagine him with such an accent because my brain is so awash in complexity that some things that pop from it seem arbitrary and random.

4.0 Years Before

Queen Chrysalis smiled at her daughter, her first heir. She would never take the child seriously, but she still felt like this one was special. This one, against her thousands of children, was somehow special.

The young hatchling coughed, and blinked at her mother. Her blood red armor shone in the pale light of the moon. Her brilliant white fangs had a pearly sheen to them, and her crimson eyes glowed faintly. Her wings were like those of a bat, with triangular plates of white chitin separated by long claws.

She was a queen, the first one not of divine nature, and one of which her mother could be proud.

And she was. Queen Chrysalis felt happy, to have a child who wouldn't grow up faster than a mayfly, one who could speak to her about her frustrations, one who would be her own person, and free of the hive mind.

"Chrysanthemum shall be your name," the great queen told her.

The little changeling looked up at her mother, her big eyes filled with wonder, and pointed a hoof at her mother's nose. "Mama," she said, a smile on her lips.

Chrysalis hugged the young princess close to her chest, and said, "Yes, I am your mother." She placed a kiss on the princess's forehead, and smiled warmly.

Nocturnus shook his head as he read over the letter, his eyes filled with disbelief.

None of this made sense.

Nothing made sense.

Selena claimed to have never visited him, and yet, he remembered falling asleep next to her. She was still in Nocturnia, and there was no record of her ever leaving. None of his soldiers remembered seeing her enter the camp, but he had touched her, he had kissed her, and they had shared a day of passion.

His mind shifted to other matters, ones that made this inconsistency seem of little consequence to what the councils had decided upon.

King Sombra's armies had begun to march towards the heart of the republic, towards the capital of the world, towards Nocturnia. After exchanging many letters with the clearly deranged king, Nocturnus had decided that enough was enough.

And the councils had agreed with him.

They were at war.

And, on top of that, he had been reelected. He was still in control of his army, whereas the other consul had fallen from favor.

He was going to war.

He stood from his desk, slinging a bag over his neck, one that contained a much smaller version of his translation device. He made his way to his armor stand, where his family's suit rested. He had hoped time and time again, that he would never remove it from this spot, that it would be returned to his home once he was done with his term.

But now the day had come, when he was to lead his armies against those of this arrogant king, and show him who ruled this world.

A voice shook him from his stupor, and he turned to face the messenger. He took the letter from him, and unrolled it on his desk.

"Dearest brother in law," the letter began, not with a formal address, and not with any delay. It got straight to the point, which became more and more clear as he read it. "My king is not well. He is losing his mind. None of my followers nor I support what he is doing, and he plans to annex Nocturnia. His armies are under his total control, of a magical nature. Please, liberate us from his rule, and we will be forever in your debt. Sincerely, Matriarch Celestia."

His jaw hung open. Selena had never introduced him to her sisters, as she found it unnecessary and unhelpful, as both of them were off in their own kingdoms dealing with their own subjects. He understood this, and how couldn't he, what with being elected for a second term and all?

From what he understood, when the Goddess had created the world with her almighty thoughts and everlasting songs, she had brought into existence first her three daughters, and then the entire first generation of every single species of sentient creature on the planet —or planets, if there was other life out there.

Chrysalis, Selena, and Celestia were those three daughters, and had all separated after assisting their mother with singing all of the universe into existence. Chrysalis had made all the asteroids and comets, Celestia had made the sun and planets, and Selena, his beautiful Selena, had created the moon for all to love, as well as every star in the sky.

But then Chrysalis had wanted her own songs in creation, and broke the harmony with her sisters, bringing plagues and evil into the world. The four divine creatures had later reconciled, and finished their songs, but damage had been done.

The Goddess had told her daughters to go and make their own creations, and they had. Celestia had made the plants, Chrysalis had made the fungi, and Selena had made the animals. The Goddess had finished with the creation of ponies, which she had hoped would keep her daughters company.

And they had. Since time immemorial, each of the sisters' followers had changed. Chrysalis's people had become the changelings. Selena's subjects had become the bat ponies. Celestia's followers had become the crystal ponies.

Nocturnus shook his head as he considered the letter, trying to rationalize what was happening. If he met Sombra's armies, the king might only warp more of Celestia's followers into his slaves. If he left Nocturnia to fend for itself, it would become an indiscriminate slaughter, for the invading force had no sympathy, no conscience, no mercy.

He grabbed a blank sheet of paper and a quill, and began writing furiously.

Selena gaped at the letter from her husband, and immediately knew what had happened. She could feel a great rage, a fire within her chest, one she knew well, that she had known since the beginning of time. This, she knew, was Chrysalis's doing, and it burned like the fires of the early planet, of the first few moments, of the first second, of the first minute, of the first hour, of the first day.

No, her chest burned like the fires from which her eldest sister had been created, with that first note of their mother's songs, with the first stroke of her pen, with the first spark of brilliance from which she had crafted the entire universe.

She could feel it, the fire, spreading throughout her chest, blasting her heart into her throat, and further still it crept. It consumed her mind, bit by bit chipping away at her imagination of her sister, of the voice that had caused every suffering of her people, of her followers, of her kin.

As time dragged on, in those few moments, as the letter glided down to the ground, ponies outside began to shout, looking up at the moon.

The once pearly white of her first creation, her legacy, began to turn, first as red light fell over it, then as its surface ignited. The room around her burned as her rage grew, and her chest heaved with loathing for her medial sister. Her eyes filled with rage, rage, rage, and the flames were stoked by her anger, her hatred of that, that...

She took a deep breath, and the fires died down, the moon began to cool again, and as she continued to reason her way back to a sensible state of mind, her eyes opened. She could feel the change, something terrible inside of her, and, for a moment, the mirror before her made her jump.

Those eyes were not hers. That face was not hers.

She blinked, and it was gone, as was the fire.