May 20, 8057 AD

Tashla Estate, City Nosh -- capital of Triss'uaana

Quiet chirps fill the air as Terran birds flutter around the courtyard. A beautiful ebony robin soars down from the branches of a polar titanic and perches on my shoulder, eyeing the tablet in my hands suspiciously.

"Step off, Ebna'rausch," I tell her, giving her a gentle poke. She glares at me and deposits semi-solid, snow-white waste on the bench before continuing on her merry way.

The blue-grey stargrass that grows in patches around the polar titanic produces soft chiming sounds in the warm twilight breeze. The sun is setting over a partially terraformed atmosphere, throwing blues and purples discordantly into the dusty Martian sky. If I squint, I can just barely see the shimmering force shield over City Nosh.

I'm working outside tonight; it's quite peaceful in the courtyard, in direct contrast to everywhere else in Tashla Estate. Today and the next four days mark San-muen-ya, one of the largest holidays of the Trissite working year.

It might be wartime, but it's been wartime for nearly as long as most of us can remember, so we've adjusted to celebrate our longest holidays with the same incredible gusto we always have. Just thinking about how loud it is in there could give me a headache if I'm not careful.

A car engine rumbles over the distant ruckus. I look up to see a white limousine flying into Tashla Estate's massive hangar. My head servant has returned from holiday shopping.

The hangar doors close behind the car as I set down my tablet. As always, the servant will come out to meet me.

Sure enough, in a few minutes she appears at the extravagant doorstep. The hulking blue-caped maid seems to float down the stairs, the movement of her legs completely concealed by her large yellow skirts.

I glance at Ebna'rausch, who has returned to her favourite perch on the polar titanic, and then back to the maid, who is already close to the gazebo I'm in. I swear, she almost seems to teleport.

"Good evening, HIikana," I say with a smile, rising from my seat and shaking her hand with two fingers, as is the custom between a mistress and her servant. "How did the shopping go?"

"Very well, my lady. I was able to acquire everything except the farthis berries; the cashier suggested glazed almonds as a substitute. Your cousin's maggots are very healthy, and the oldest will soon be metamorphosing."

"Good. See to it that cakes are sent to them. Could you pass the tip for the almonds to the cooks, please?"

I look up at the grease chimneys, which are currently spilling copious amounts of blue smoke. "Also, please remind them not to put chiimas in the grease boiler," I add. "We don't want a repeat of the Incident of '49."

Don't ask about that. If you do, all you're likely to get is sidelong glances, suspicious looks, and maybe a few stifled giggles. We don't talk about it around here.

"Yes, mistress," Hiikana says with a bow. "I will do what is asked of me."

"Thanks, darling."

"Also -- forgive me, my lady, but you need your rest. You should cut back a bit. It's the holidays."

She floats off in her eerie way. I sigh and look back at my work. Several hundred pending requests, proposed restrictions, petitions, hate mail, death threats, fan mail, and love letters -- the latter pairs often go hand in hand -- and the disappearance of the High Ghartah looming on everyone's minds.

My servants are already swamped with similar paperwork, and I can't let myself just sit back and wait for them to handle it. I can't 'cut back'. I have far too much responsibility for that.

I'm Faeliar, the third-order ghartah for Triss'uaana's legislation branch. In the Trissite government, there are three branches -- command, legislation, and judicial -- each run mainly by a Council and headed by three ghartahe. Going from highest ranking to lowest, there is the third-order ghartah, the second-order, and the first-order. All three branches are ultimately led by the High Ghartah, the supreme political and military leader of the country, at present Korchikah. The honorific title of 'Finsha' was awarded to him after the start of the war and his base-breaking election as a ghartah.

In another week, we'll probably be appointing a new High Ghartah from the third-orders. The mere thought troubles me. No High Ghartah has been as effective as the Finsha since Korchuu'tash, who resigned in the twenty-second century.

Korchikah might not be the nicest or most levelheaded person you'll meet in day-to-day life, and his appointment was a wildly controversial one because of that, but when he gets serious, he knows how to do what he knows he needs to do.

I complete a law for dairy regulation by placing my signature at the bottom with those of the other two legislation ghartahe and veto a potentially privacy-invading bill that only a couple of people in the Council of Law wanted.

After a few hours my head starts to hurt, even in the quiet dusk of City Nosh. Maybe I should get some rest. I should listen to Hiikana more often; she's a sweet girl.

I open a new program after setting my work aside. The tablet shows the logo for Alpha Centauri Nightly, named in honour of the star system the Shoro destroyed to mark the start of the war. It's a news outlet well-known for its distinct lack of bias, and it's used by nearly all the major leaders of the Galactic Federation, which of course includes me and the other ghartahe.

After twenty minutes of talk about potential Shoro battle formations -- they even brought on a retired Venusian admiral to talk about war tactics -- their most popular reporter, Linra, appears, wearing his trademark eye camera and microphone.

"We're on the third deck of the Koh za right now, and the Finsha is still missing. The ship has been towed to the Ganymede Complex for retrofitting. We can't review the footage on the security cameras that were active in the battle; some of them are melted completely, but we've found a few that seem to be intact. It'll be about two weeks before they're repaired, though, so hang tight.

"Searches for bodily remains are ongoing, but nobody's expecting much by now. We can't check the tenth deck yet, since it's flooded with alpha radiation, so we're still holding out hope that he might have survived in a saferoom somewhere.

"We've got a big group going through the maintenance ducts right now -- it's a bunch of weapon developers called Polaris Interpretations. They were hired by Cosmus Arts and Sciences. They're studying --"

I close the stream. Nothing new. Korchikah hasn't been found. We really, really need to find some trace of him, or confirm his disintegration or even unlikely survival. If not for anything else, then at least for closure; to declare someone dead without the most concrete evidence possible is one of the greatest dishonours in Trissite culture.

The reconstructed security cameras will tell us everything we need to know, I'm sure. Until then I have to hope that he is somehow, somewhere alive.

I yawn and stretch my five-foot arms. The thought of a warm chair in a soundproof room is incredibly tempting at the moment.

I gaze across the horizon for a few minutes more, admiring the sparkling City Nosh. A small smile adorns my face as I think of what Korchikah has achieved here.

I'm confident that if he's dead, we'll choose the best person to carry on his legacy.

But if there's any chance, any at all, that he's still alive, I won't rest until I find him.

I would rip the universe apart if it meant saving my little brother.

May 20, 8057 AD

Small village in Equestria

My head aches like all hell. I'm staggering through a medieval town at midnight, as fast as my broken leg will allow. I managed to rip a plank off the side of a hospital, so I have a new cane. That, at least, is good.

Not so good is the group of small winged horses chasing me. I duck under one and beat him out of the air with my plank, trading it for his spear. I don't need it as a weapon, but it's good for the intimidation factor.

The small crowds remaining at this time of night part before me, and I leave panicked screams in my wake. The soldiers pay no heed, hunting me ruthlessly.

I decide to test their efficiency in a distracting crisis.

I punch out a support beam on one of the more haphazard-looking buildings. An old lady at the window screams bloody murder before crying for help.

A couple of the soldiers peel off from the main group to evacuate the building, leaving about half a dozen chasing me.

Okay, so they acknowledge the size of their group. You'd be amazed how many people don't do that. Now, can they fight?

I limp to a halt and turn around. They scowl at me, looking like sitting ducks before me. A large bat-winged pone stamps forward, snorting air from his nose and whinnying before speaking.

"We are the Equestrian Lunar Guard! Stand down in the name of the law, drop your weapon, and come with us peacefully!"

I raise a brow. "I am Korchikah Finsha, the Devil of Mars and the Master of Cunda'marriss. Stand down, drop your weapons, and let me leave in peace."

I have to hand them this: they don't look remotely scared. I move forward slightly, taking a stance that emphasises my muscular limbs and the scarred glare on my face. One of them in the back looks a little put off, but none of them do what I ask.

"That wasn't a request," I growl quietly. "For your own sakes, obey me."

I deftly spin the spear in my hands and slam it into the ground to punctuate my threat. A few guards shift uneasily and tighten their grips on their weapons.

No biggie. I could take on these sons of bitches with a hand behind my beck. Check that -- give them some heavy-duty Thofar suits and I could still kill them with ease.

"This is your final warning," Batwing says. "You have several charges against you of physical assault, resistance of arrest, wanton destruction of private property, attempted assassination of Equestrian royalty, and disturbance of the peace."

Eh, could be worse.

"What's my sentence?" I ask, feigning interest. "Should I hire a lawyer?"

"The conditions of your sentence are to be determined at the Moonlight Court before Princess Luna Starsong of the Equestrian state. A lawyer will be provided."

Aha! Now I know the name of another one of their rulers. I can't stop myself from asking my next question.

"I keep hearing about princesses. Princess this, princess that. Who's the queen?"

Batwing stares blankly for a moment.

"Forget it," I say. I shouldn't be messing with them. I have a Shoro to catch.

I turn my back for a moment, and everyone rushes me at once.

I leap with my right leg, causing a couple to charge straight past me. My spear crashes down on a guard's helmet and he falls, clutching his head. Three of them throw themselves at me, battering me with their hooves. They, too, are soon concussed.

Three left -- no, five now. The others have returned. I can hear a house crashing down in the distance.

I let my self-control down. This fight has to end pronto.

Three are felled in one hit. They're all good fighters, mind you; they simply can't withstand my vastly superior strength and reflexes. My species was originally bred as a warrior race. We know all about fighting.

Batwing's two remaining buddies are easy prey to broken jaws. Only he is left conscious. His spear is held in front of him, and his face is defiant. We both know I'm going to destroy him.

So be it.

"Last chance," I tell him. "Step aside."

He waves his spear a bit and gives two stamps with a rear hoof. Odd, but I think nothing of it.

He paws the ground as if to make his final charge, and I brace myself for impact.

A dozen hooves crash into my back at Batwing's stamping signal. Another surprise attack. These guys aren't very creative, but they're certainly effective.

I don't make a sound as I'm thrown down and cuffed. The metal of the cuffs feels weird -- it's like a constant stream of static electricity. They're also too strong to be steel, considering that they work on me. There's no point in putting up a fight now that they've captured me.

I'm a roller coaster, aren't I? I don't care. Logic has now taken hold.

The guards drag me with considerable difficulty to a metal cage built into a carriage. More people have poured out of their homes, and I hear terrified speech around me as the crowd's staring follows us.

A stallion gets a bit too close for comfort and I whip my head round to him, roaring in his face like a rapid tiger. A large group scampers away instantly and the shaft of a spear hits me lightly in the head.

Two of the bat-winged pegasi -- for the sake of storytelling, I'll call them thestrals -- stick me unceremoniously into the cage and harness themselves to the carriage. The door is slammed shut and they take to the skies, miniature prison in tow.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck! Not flying, please, no flying! FUCK!

The cage rocks around a bit as if it's about to fall. The soldiers can't hear me yelling over the wind; if they can, they ignore me.

Okay, I might be a bit of a hypocrite. Broken bones everywhere? No problem! Highly dangerous Shoro servant warriors? Big fat hairy deal.

Extreme heights? FUCK! Irrational phobias can be incredibly strong, okay?

I calm myself down and take several breathing exercises. It's okay. The cage must be extremely well-secured, considering that I'm not plummeting to my death right now.

The guards weren't too kind to my leg. How inconsiderate of them. All I was doing was concussing them.

I take this moment to look through the bars over the strange world I've appeared in. We seem to be flying away from the village and -- damn it all -- the forest the Shoro flew over. We're going in almost the opposite direction.

I try to snap the cuffs again. No beans. Whatever they're made of, they can take four and a half tons of force in opposing directions.

After a few hours, a mountain range appears in my field of vision. Nothing special... until I squint and look closer.

A fucking city is build on a fucking mountainside four fucking miles above the fucking ground. This had better not be where this 'Princess Luna Starsong' lives.

We fly toward the city and gradually descend. Fuck my life, it is where she lives. The thestrals start to move their hooves, ready to start trotting the moment they hit the pavement.

The city is admittedly beautiful. Ivory towers topped with golden spires pop out everywhere around it, and waterfalls and rivers glint across the mountain and flow in canals through the city.

Most of the city proper is surrounded by a similarly-built castle, but there's a large entryway with a well-kept path leading up to it. Several equines are milling about near the gates -- judging by their uptight stances and fancy clothing, I'd wager a guess that they're nobility of some sort.

We go over the drawbridge and pass a few official-looking zeppelins bearing a blue flag that shows two winged unicorns in a circle around a stylised sun and moon.

My face is pressed between the bars as I try to take in every detail I could possible use to my advantage. There's a distinct smell of lilac in the air as we pass a garden fit for royalty.

The carriage suddenly jolts horribly. We've hit the ground, and we're rolling along at a decent pace. The front left wheel of the carriage squeaks every fourth rotation.

I breathe a sigh of relief that we're on something solid and stable.

Except we're on a cr'ihking mountainside.

No longer calm, no longer calm -- settle down, pal. If this city lasted long enough to be completed, it'll last a little bit longer.

Yeah, I guess it probably will.

That's the spirit.

At peace with the voices in my head, I sit back, noting the pain in my leg. My abs start to ache again and I lie back on the uncomfortable floor of the carriage, shifting to minimise negative feedback from my wounds.

The clip-clopping of hooves on stone slows to a halt. I hear garbled Spitspray speech and then the cage door creaks open.

A tall, slender creature looks down at me, slowly and gracefully stepping closer. She's a lot like the other equines I've seen but, as I've said, her body is much taller, and she more closely resembles Terran horses than they do.

Her coat is a beautiful midnight blue, but probably the oddest things about her are her mane and tail. They're huge, transparent, and sparkling, and they seem to wave in a nonexistent breeze. She also has a horn and wings like Princess Sparkle, but hers are a lot larger.

"What is this creature before us?" she breathes, her eyes filled with wonder. "We were told 'twas alien, but we had never expected the likes of this."

Batwing replies. "'Twas incarcerated by my fellow guards, having been discovered assaulting others, my lady."

"Forsooth, it is astounding."

Their speech sounds vaguely Elizabethan, although I'm no expert on Terran history. All I know is that it sounds quite silly.

"Pray tell, what is thy name?" she asks, leaning closer.

I somehow manage to pull myself into a semi-standing position, although I'm a bit uncomfortable about the fact that I have to be on my knees to do it. "Korchikah FInsha," I say. This time I don't bother with titles, aside from that of the Finsha. I don't think this is the type of person who's easily intimidated.

Assuming she's the Princess Luna Starsong I've heard so much about, I explicitly refrain from bowing. "Nice to meet you."

"Unbind his hind legs. We wish to speak with him away from the prying ears of the public."

The thestral guards step forward without question and unlock the cuffs around my ankles.

I feign fear and confusion as I shakily rise to my feet, and then I dramatically fall back down in a bid for sympathy. Luna looks on me with sadness. Ick. Spare me your feelings, horse.

"Please, uun'kal di froZhin neigh-sqre," she says, looking over her shoulder at one of her thestrals.

"Repeat that," I interrupt.

Luna doesn't seem to understand what I said at first. After a few seconds, her face lights up with realisation and her horn glows a bright blue.

A directed beam of what-the-fuck is emitted from her horn, striking first herself and then attacking my forehead. I can feel a lot of strength behind the beam, but not enough to knock me over or hurt me. Something in my body seems to resist and reject the beam, but it's quickly silenced. I get the same subtly electric feeling the cuffs gave.

"Ahem. We apologise. Princess Twilight's magic must no longer have been effective. She is quite attached to her old ways of unicorn magic, we fear. Her methods lack power."

I give her a weird look. "What do you mean?"

Luna gives me a weird look.

"What do you mean, magic?" I clarify.

"Dost thou lack the knowledge of such a power as fundamental as magic?" she asks, concerned. "How can this be!? The smallest foal of Equestria knoweth the face of magic! A translation spell hath been cast betwixt us, for us to speak through and comprehend the other."

Well them, I must not have been educated very well! Stupid bastard horse and her magic. Please.

"I know what magic is," I state. "There's no such thing."

Luna's right eye twitches slightly and she shakes her head, bemused. "Please, procure for this stallion a long pair of crutches."

'Poor stallion.' Heh. Real cute, Princess. Fuck you.

"Thine orders shall be followed, Mistress," one of the guards says with a bow. He gallops off, leaving the other thestrals in a defensive formation around Luna, all watching me suspiciously.

If they're trained like the ones I fought earlier, they should drop pretty fast. Princess Luna, however, is another story. I don't know anything at all about her capabilities. I decide I shouldn't risk it just yet.

We sit in silence for a few minutes, Luna studying my alien physique. I lock eyes with her at one point as I straighten my torn and dirty bowtie, coated with mud after the great chase. The Shoro ambushed us at a shipwide celebration, so I'm still dressed in my admittedly tacky formal wear.

I look away, scanning the surrounding buildings and alleyways for anything I can use. There's a few gutters here and there that could probably hold my weight, but the thestrals could fly after me quite easily. There don't appear to be any large enough entrances to the sewers. The broom in one alley, with a snapped handle, is immediately ignored.

We appear to be stopped in front of a large palace, which I assume belongs to the Princess.

Several more minutes of awkward quiet. Luna draws breath as if to speak on a few occasions, but she appears to decide against talking until I've got my crutches.

At last, I hear somebody galloping closer.

The guard stops next to Luna and deposits a large pair of humanoid's crutches from his back.

"We thank thee, our faithful bodyguard," she says, giving him a motherly pat on the head. "Thine actions shall be commended."

Luna gives the crutches to me. "These aids were constructed for injured minotaurs," she informs me, "but we have faith that they shall be adequate for thine own body."

Minotaurs? Well, I guess nothing is too far-fetched for such a strange world. 'Magic' is just ridiculous, but the creatures here obviously have telekinesis, possibly along with telepathy or similar abilities, which would explain the 'translation spell'.

Luna gently unlocks my handcuffs. What a lady.

I take the crutches with a brisk nod of gratitude and carefully get up. Luna offers a hoof to help me step out of the cage.

I take a moment to catch my breath and then turn to Luna, a businesslike expression on my face.

"I have criminal charges which you have not yet recognised," I tell her. "Get it over with."

She holds up a hoof. "Hold thy tongue for but a minute. We shall prosecute thee to the fullest extent of the law, and in good time, but we require tellings from both our guards and thee. We do also desire to ask of you many questions. Come with us."

Princess Luna leads me around the palace, taking several turns and detours until we reach a small, quiet courtyard. At least three spears are at my back; nobody's taking any chances. If only my body armour was intact, I'd be able to fight my way out. I'd be well on my way by now.

Ah, well. It's no use crying over spilled milk -- well, spilled milk is an absolute tragedy, so it's no use crying over spilled beer. As it is, all I can do is walk behind Luna, so that's what I'll do.

She stops and, noticing this, I do the same, although much more abruptly. The guards, not expecting my sudden halt, don't stop as quickly, and the points of their spears nearly pierce my father's coat.

If they do anything like that, I'll let the Shoro kill them. That coat is my most treasured possession.

Luna turns and sits down, motioning for me to do the same. I cast my eyes around for something that would accommodate my leg.

The Princess's horn flashes and a comfy-looking red armchair randomly appears in front of me, with a raised stool for my leg.

WHERE THE FUCK DID THAT COME FROM!?

Startled, I reel backward before tripping over with a shout of surprise when one of the guards isn't fast enough. I land on him, breaking both my fall and his helmet. After a few seconds of incoherent swearing on both our parts, Luna untangles us and levitates the guard gently away from me.

She tries to help me up as well, but it feels like a live wire when the aura goes around me, and the light from her horn flickers.

"No, don't do that!" I say quickly. She nods and lets go, dropping me softly back down. With a bit of planning and movement, along with grudging assistance from a thestral, I get to the chair and plop myself into it.

So she can assemble matter into specific objects. I've never heard of telekinesis on such a fine level, but I guess it isn't entirely out of the question. Also, she can't influence me as well as she can other things. Very interesting.

"As for our first --"

"How the fuck did you --"

We stop awkwardly for a second.

"Our sincerest apologies. Ask thy question."

"How the fuck did you make that chair appear!?"

"Magic."

"Fuck you."

A guard slaps me upside the head.

Luna takes a breath. "As for our own question, whence did thou appear?"

I sulk for a bit before answering. "The Milky Way galaxy," I say angrily. "Alternatively known as the Home Circle or Mutter's Spiral. I hail from a planet known as Sol III, Mars, or Cunda'marriss. Where am I?"

"Thou art in the gleaming city of Canterlot, which stands in the centre of Equestria. Dost thou imply that thou art from a different world altogether? And how --"

"One question at a time. Yes, I believe so. Who's your queen?"

"No longer do we have a queen. Our sister relinquished the title on the summer solstice four years ago to become our equal. In what fashion and by what events did your arrival come to be?"

I open my mouth, and then close it. How did I get here?

I'm not sure how I want to play this. Either way, she's going to need a lot of context, so it'll be a long story.

I tell her my tale, beginning with the basic background of the galaxy, what major governing structures exist and so on, and then I move to the start of the Seventh Galactic Massacre.

I soon reach my father's grisly execution.

Do you really want to tell her this?

No, I really don't. The memory is as raw and fresh in my mind as it was three thousand years ago.

Can't you skip it? Do you really have to tell it?

I... yes. I have to tell it. It's been too long.

My second mind says no more.

Luna notices the falter in my monotone, and then my little hiccough as I try to bring myself to say out loud what I've never said before. It's always been common knowledge that my father was Shorkah, I'm Shorkah's son, Shorkah was executed, and I don't like to talk about it. I've never had to explain this; that's usually a history teacher's job.

It feels so strange to talk about his execution with my own words and mouth. It hurts so much.

A tear drops off my face, and I cough loudly in the middle of a sentence to cover up a sob.

The midnight princess steps daintily forward, waving away the guards, and puts her left wing around my shoulders.

I no longer care what anyone thinks of me. I don't care about the hardened exterior I've built up over the years. I don't care that there's a good half dozen thestrals watching, or that I'm hugging the ruler of a nation like a child hugging his mother.

Her comforting feathers tickle my face and I almost break down in tears.

I've always vented what grief I had through raging against the Shoro. I've never let myself cry about it. This... this is different. After all this time... it feels good to cry.

My body is racked with silent sobs and I lean into her wing, grateful for the chance to hide my tears. The Princess moves a little bit closer so I can return her hug. Her fur is incredibly soft and pleasantly cold.

I rise from the chair, throw my arms around her, and cry my heart out.

In my moments of weakness I've always been alone. Companionship now is new and wonderful.

This will be a hard story to tell.

I want you back, Papa. I miss you.

Author's Note

Don't you worry; Korchikah will get justice very soon! I just thought I'd humanize (Martianize...? 🤔) him a bit before I got into the real action.

Toodles!