Many ages ago, there was a great war. It was fought not between great armies, but between two sisters. One, the eldest, was bright gaudy and glutinous. The other, dark mysterious and beautiful, but oh so lonely. Their powers were grand, the forces they controlled beyond imagination.
It was inevitable that they would clash. The very earth and heaven shook and tore as they battled. The younger sister, overcome by pain, cried out as her sister struck her down using they very power they had gathered to save the world.
As the wicked older sister launched the final blow, a strange and bloodied stallion appeared before the lonely princess. He fell instantly in love with her and they kissed. Their love sent them to a world of their very own where they had tons of cute little babies.
Or so your big Sis told you. She always thought of you as a little filly even though you were only a few minutes younger! You are Phoebos, youngest of The Clan, first of your name. Phoebee to your friends.
The time has finally come for your first hunt. You must take down one of the many dangerous beasts that inhabit the local biome to prove yourself as a true mare, an alpha predator, and successor to your great All Father.
There are no rules. No limits. You could take down one of the small, helpless sheep that aimlessly flit about the lunar landscape. Your mouth waters as you imagine your canines clamping against its throat, blood filling your mouth as its breathing slowly stops. No one would say a word. But that would not do for one such as yourself.
Far larger and deadlier prey awaited you. A certain species of Ursine, a creature of darkness that would send the feckless terran ponies from the feeble world of Eques scurrying in blind terror.
But your kind were of much hardier stock. While the terrans danced in their transient sunlight and feared the shadows dancing at the edge of it’s reach, your race thrived in the everlasting twilight. Your sleek black fur, aetherial purple mane, and teal blue eyes were perfect for this world. You were no silly pony. You were a pure bred predator, lean smart and agile.
You spot it. The Ursa Lunar is over 40 feet tall, it’s skin shimmering translucent blue gossamer constellations. They are solitary, only congregating for their mass rutting season when Equus and Luna are in perigee. You look up into the sky and smile, a sharp canine glinting in the reflected light as you recalled it was nearly full Equus, when the sun waned and the moon grew in power. Ursas were not the only species whose libido was affected by it’s motions. This would definitely be a memorable Lunar Secession Celebration for you...
As your prey approaches the edge of the flocks pasture, you gave voice to the words of power etched above the mantle of every nursery in Cradle.
“I AMTHE NIGHT!”
The Ursa looks up in surprise as you charge down the slope. Your vorpal blades lash out as you mumble in old Enochian. You nimbly dodge it’s swipes, it’s fur ripped open as it comes into contact with the tears in space. A lesser being would have imploded, but the Ursas seem to share some aspects your kinds eldritch heritage.
Tentacles lash out from the space in front of you finish the couplet, entangling your foe. You cockily move in for the kill, only to be struck from the side.
Stupid Phoebee! You smash against a stone fence, breath driven from your lungs. The Ursa rips the remaining tentacles like tissue paper, sending them retreating back to their dungeon dimension. You cough and weeze as you try to ready a spell but to no avail. You can’t chant, your magic feels muffled, like when you snuck beyond the edge of the biome field into hard vacuum. It tickled.
You reach for your saddlebag, gripping your most prized possession in your teeth. It’s a blade. A small dagger carved from a strange material, but covered in familiar runes. It was given to you by the All Father himself before you departed on your hunt. It was said the dagger was what sent him to Equestria in the first place, whatever that means. How could a dagger send you anywhere? It feels comforting as you grip it, like it knows where it truly belongs. You bare your fangs and growl. The Ursa bears down on you.
You rend and tear. Bite and rip. The blood splatters against your muzzle. There are no sounds, only the dance. Your pulse rushes in your ears, keeping the beat to a sonata only the two of you can hear. Everything is electric, your senses heightened, your pupils reduced to slits from the high. You can feel the fabric of reality itself thumping in time. But all too soon, the dance ends.
Be Deimos. Demi to your friends. Older sister to little Phoebee. You are sitting on the edge of town, waiting for your sis to return. You feel a presence beside you. A warm hand caresses your mane. He speaks in a deep, calming voice.
”Hello there, my little one.”
You look up at the towering stallion.
“Will she be okay?”
”That’s tough to say. You know how my little Bee is. She feels she has something to prove. It’s tough being the youngest Princess.”
Your father continues to caress your head as your state into the wilderness.
”All of you are our children and we love you so much, but I know there is more pressure on you foals not seperated from us by the generations.”
A shadow crosses his eyes as he recalls all the hardships encountered while he and Selene tamed the wild moon. Through sheer magical force turned a dead rock into a home. Controlled it’s very orbit to regulate the climate in defiance of Celestia's will.
A shadow looms over the horizon. You welcome it, for you are the night. All Father lifts his head, marvelling at it’s size. He smiles as he spots the tiny form dragging it with her teeth.
”But you know little one, sometimes that feeling of pressure is what allows us to do impossible things.”
You join your father in welcoming your younger sister home.
Author's Note
Short story exploring the culture of the banished predator pony descendants of Nightmare Moon and Anon.
