Dawnbreaker

“Beginnings”

The sky was on fire. The hellish valley filled with shouts, the clashing of steel against steel, and blood as the invaders stormed the keep of Hoofshire. Along the outskirts of the mortar-shelled walls stood the prince Zarril, shouting to his guards and shaking his hoof around, ordering them to the battlements. Uproarious and ear-splitting battle cries echoed all throughout. The prince found himself at a loss; the enemies were getting closer. This was not as he had planned, for his guard had far outnumbered his opponent. Not only that, but they were better equipped. How could this be happening...? he thought to himself as he stepped back, turning his head as he galloped across the parapet, ducking between swords and fire, the warring armies testing each others' mettle.

“Retreat! Retreat! Get the hell back to the castle towers, now!!” There was nothing else he could do without risking even more brave stallions for his kingdom. Zarril ducked inside the small doorway leading up to his chambers, shutting and barring it behind him to be sure he wasn't followed. Even with the door shut, the blood-thirsty cries of war and the metal-on-metal clanking noises could not be blocked out of the prince's mind as he began his ascent on the carpeted stone staircase.

The only sounds accompanying him on his way up were the idle jangling of his ornate plated armor, his heavy breathing, and the clatter of a wicked-looking red blade on his back. As he reached his room, he found the door knocked down, splintered and cracked. Dust from it was still kicked up in the air. Cautiously trotting in, he silently drew the blade of legend from his back, holding it in his teeth as he held the edge of the blade inches above the ground, ready to turn and strike at any moment. He eyed a moving shadow, dashing out from behind an opulent curtain. It had been rustled, leaving it waving in the stale and dirt-filled air that was once the prince's well-decorated bedroom. He turned swiftly to face it.

“Alright... Come on out...” Zarril crooned, keeping his composure in the dim light and thick tension of the room. He slowly turned in a circle, searching high and low with his brown, battle-hardened eyes, his grey coat appearing black in the orange-bathed lighting. The prince kept up his defensive stance, waiting for another sign that the intruder was still there. He turned for a moment to the window, hearing his guards rush past, the tinkering of their sundered armor accentuating their presence as they were chased by their shrouded foe.

This small opening of the prince's defenses gave the unknown intruder a window of opportunity in which to strike. He took it gladly and greedily, leaping out from the darkness silently. Turning his head back at the last second, the prince was barely caught off-guard before jumping to the side, barely dodging the unicorn's blue-sheathed levitating blade. The two were now within full view of each other, and the tension only grew in the otherwise silent room.

They lunged at one another, both blades connecting with their promised targets.

~~******~~

Six Months Earlier

Seventeenth of Soulfire, 2583 BC (Before Celestia)

The prince was enjoying a hot cup of tea, looking out from the parapet of the castle down into the lush, green valley of Terra. It was a beautiful sight, waterfalls cascading down the rocks into glistening crystal-clear pools of water for drinking, the forestry providing abundant fruit for the ponies of Hoofshire Keep and the city surrounding it. Taking another sip of tea, Zarril's father Rendara came up to him.

Rendara was not the kind of stallion that blended in easily; nor did he want to. He always showed everypony around him that they were in his presence, even before he'd established Hoofshire Keep. Nopony could tell whether it was just him being arrogant or insecure, but it had the effect of keeping even his colt in the dark on the matter. That was the problem with Rendara; he tended to keep secrets too close to his vest, as the saying goes, and it usually ended up with him getting into trouble. But now, with his young prince Zarril, he has gotten himself out of that habit. Somewhat, at least. There were always secrets he'd be unwilling to tell until his dying days, even to Zarril. His wife, Grandiosa, was a posh mare who, despite her snootiness, was quite soft-spoken compared to her husband. She attended parties, but never trailed off too far to speak to the other guests. Keeping to herself has, consequently, kept her out of trouble, unlike Rendara.

“Hello, my colt. How are things around the keep? Good, I assume?”

“Yes, father... Things are going well. Production has increased two-fold, and the ponies couldn't be more happy for it.”

The two shared a look down at Tera Valley once more, taking in its lush greenery from the breathtaking view on the high parapet walls. Nodding with approval, his father continued on in his overly-posh accent, “Mmmhm... I see you've been taking my advice, then, and paying the labor ponies more.”

“I have, yes, but that isn't really solving anything for our money problem. Haven't we been a bit on the low side on bits lately?”

Unlike both of his parents, Zarril didn't really care for the posh and snooty lifestyle of Hoofshire Keep. He'd much rather be out adventuring in the wilds of Terra Valley, slaying the monsters hiding deep within its darkest reaches. Bringing home something to hang over the mantle and contemplate whilst sipping some freshly-brewed hot cider with some good friends. Of course, his father didn't want this for him. Rendara would much rather have Zarril follow in his footsteps to become a wealthy, monocle-wearing piece of royalty worth being put into history books for his philanthropy.

“Oh, come now, Zarril, you know money is never a problem for us! Why, the last time we'd ever had to save money”-- He says this with a bit of a disgusted drawl-- “was before I built this fine keep!”

“Whatever you say, father... I'm just feeling anxious lately.”

“Really, my colt? What's on your mind?”

“Well, you see, I'd like to go to the armory, maybe get a sword, and go down into Terra Val-”

“Absolutely not”, Rendara states with an overly-harsh, matter-of-fact tone. He even stomps his hoof down for more effect, as if it were required.

Zarril simply sighs, trotting away towards his personal chamber entrance; the small door he'd used since he was a young foal to quickly gain access to his quarters without attracting attention in the castle. After ascending the long spiral staircase, Zarril threw off his royal blue cloak with gold trim. As it landed draped over the well-upholstered sofa nearby, he was already halfway to his private restroom to take a long shower. He entered the stall, butting the door shut with his forehead and using his hooves to turn on the water. Instantly, warm water cascaded down onto his coat, making him begin to feel better already. Later he'd have a serious talk with his father, perhaps persuade him to let him get a sword and go down into the ever-mysterious Terra Valley.