There was a certain peace in sublimating into the shadows. A release from shape. From boundaries. From herself. No sight. No sound. No physical sensations at all. She’d even let her mind fade, existing as formless and timeless will and pure instinct.

The first time she’d done so all those years ago had left her shaken and scared. But her king had helped her to overcome her fear, and learn that even if she let go, she wouldn’t vanish. She knew that it had terrified her. But now, after centuries had turned to millenia, Radiant Hope could barely remember when she hadn’t felt just at home in the shadow as she did when walking on Nitor’s surface.

Even with her conscious thoughts distant and quiet, she could feel her fellow umbrum, along with her king’s crystals. Touchstones formed from his final gift to his followers before he was defeated by the Tyrant and the Deceiver. And a means to ensure his people could still fulfill their duty to the Empress even in his absence.

But for now, that duty wasn’t a concern. Things were in motion, but she herself didn’t need to be. For now, she simply was. No schemes. No plans. No duty. Only the shadow, and the quiet.

*****

A distant sensation, like a soft tug, pulled her out of her peaceful oblivion. Not unpleasant or painful. Just strong enough to draw her attention. Her consciousness slowly returning, she extended her senses into the weave, seeking out what had roused her. The summons hadn’t come from her brother or her sister. Nor had it come from any of the crystals. No, the call came from further away. Away from Impraecordia.

Yet, it wasn’t just the direction of the call that brought her mind back to full alertness. It was the feeling that came with it. There were no mortal words to describe it, even by allegory. She knew the feeling. And who it had come from.

Her mind now fully roused, she willed herself through the weave.

She flowed northward, covering distances in minutes that would have taken days had she returned to her physical state. She passed from shadow to shadow, using the king’s crystals and the distant beacon of the summons as her guide. Soon, the crystals were left behind and the shadows changed in composition. She knew this meant she’d left the land of Impraecordia and had passed into the northern sea. And still onward she surged, flowing more freely through the water’s shadows at the interface between the light of the surface, and the pitch darkness of the depths.

Soon, massive ice flows began to appear, bringing new textures to the ocean’s shadows. They were sparse at first, but they grew more abundant as she sped onward. Along with the ice came other, new shapes in the shadows. Great, powerful shapes plying the waters. Shapes that she knew were longs, the regal cousins of the linnorms and wyrms of Impreacordia. Unlike those that patrolled the oceans near her home, these dragons were charged by the Tyrant and the Deciever to stand watch over a special prison. The very prison she was now penetrating. Had she aproached in her physical state, the hundreds of dragons would have posed an impossible obstacle to overcome. But for her, these ancient guardians meant nothing. She was beyond their reach.

She left the ocean, and surged onto a new land. One whose very name had been stricken from the world by the Deceiver in the wake of the War of Shadows. Unlike fertile and vibrant Impraecordia, this nameless land was cold and dead, locked in an eternal winter. Amid the outer shores and ice flows, she could sense more longs lounging on the ice in their eternal vigil. She paid them no mind as she sped on.

Onward and onward, deeper and deeper into the frost-choked interior she sped. Coastal flats quickly gave way to hills and dales. And the remnants of the final, great battle fought in the War of Shadows. Craters carved into the land. Shattered barricades of stone and metal. And the corpses of creatures great and small, monstrous and fair, their bodies forever denied their return to the land by their choking tombs of ice.

An eternal monument to the hubris of the Tyrant and Deceiver.

Eventually, the land changed again as she began to climb the slopes of a great caldera, its faces littered with more charnel fields. Cresting the summit, she surged downward into the central crater and the city within. A city built not of brick and mortar, or wood, but crystal. Surging through the faceted buildings, she passed thousands of crystalline statues. Men. Women. Children. All facing the center of the city, their faces contorted as though their last moments were ones of pure, primal terror.

Reaching the center of the city, she approached a great pile of rubble scattered on the ground, one that looked as though a titanic force had crushed some towering edifice from above, leaving the ground fractured like a giant spider’s web. It was into one of these fractures that she flowed, descending deeper and deeper into the ground, until she found herself in a massive chamber.

Emerging from the weave and willing her body to manifest from the living shadow that made up her being, she floated down to the chamber’s floor. And landed before its sole other occupant.

He was colossal in size, his form barely fitting in the cavern. From the waist up, he resembled a muscular terran, his form chiseled and flawless yet not overly bulky, and without any indication of flabbiness or fat. Below the waist his torso connected at the point where the neck of a horse would be. The equine body was just as powerfully muscled as his terran portion, resembling a great courser with a pair of enormous wings attached just behind the equine forelegs. Both his skin, feathers and hair were a gray so dark it was almost black, while the hair of his equine tail was a continually shifting stream of pitch-black shadow.

He wore no clothes, leaving his form fully exposed to any who made it into the chamber. He was, however, not bare, as his body was bound by numerous golden chains and shackles of light. Two such chains bound his arms to the cavern’s ceiling, spread out to either side of his torso. All four of his equine legs were bound in similar shackles and chained to both the ground, and a pair wrapped around his waist and barrel. Both wings were spread wide, the chains binding them to the far walls. And finally a great shackle was also wrapped around his neck, pulling his head down towards the floor even as his arms were forced up. His head itself was shrouded in a cloud of pitch-black darkness so thick even her umbrum vision couldn’t penetrate.

The scene before filled her with burning rage and crushing despair at the humiliation inflicted on her king. Collecting herself, she let the emotions pass like water through a sieve. He had called her. That was all that mattered.

Approaching the massive form, she reached out and placed her hand, so tiny in comparison, on the wrist of his right foreleg, and willed her voice to reach him.

Sombra, my king, I am here.

Stepping back, she saw the scantest of movement in his body, and the tiniest pulse of his power. There was a shifting in the shadows, and a form rose up and coalesced before her. He was tall. Taller than her by a considerable degree, the top of her head barely reaching his mid-sternum. He was clad in gunmetal gray plate armor, a long, light gray cape with white trim draped over his shoulders that reached to just above the floor.

The only part that was unarmored was his head, giving Hope a clear view of his face. He was impossibly handsome, in a rugged, battle-worn way, his skin and hair matching the grays of the centaur behind him, the latter wavering in the air like it were mist blowing in an unseen wind. His mouth was turned up in a warm smile, giving her a clear view of his sharp, elongated eye-teeth. And his eyes were fierce and hard, yet looked upon her with undeniable affection, the pupils of his dark-gray irises vertical like a cat’s, a stream of shadowy energy emanating from their corners. On his forehead were five soul gems, one large in the center, with four smaller ones forming a cross around the larger. And on his brow was a simple, iron crown with two small sets of points just above the soul gems, and two more pairs of much larger points above his temples.

Like her, he cast no shadows anywhere on his body.

As the armored figure approached, Radiant Hope dropped to a knee and lowered her head, placing her right hand over her left breast, just above where her heart would be. Even as the clack of his armor stopped before her, she remained supplicated before him.

“She who opened my eyes; that which drives back despair; beginning of night and day; shadows grow strong,” the man said in a deep, rich baritone voice. One that bore an impossible amount of authority. She knew he could easily command her obedience from that voice alone, should he desire. Yet, his words were spoken with nothing but love and respect.

Rising to her feet, Radian Hope smiled up at the taller figure before her.

“It brings me joy to see you too, my king,” Radiant Hope said, using her own voice rather than signing. A voice that was soft, melodious and kind. A voice that no one aside from her beloved had heard in millenia. A voice that was his and his alone, just as his voice was hers and hers alone. “What do you need of me?”

A solemn expression worked its way across Sombra’s face.

“Pieces on the board; sun, moon and seasons in motion; seeds new and old in the ground; has Chaos taken root?”

“Yes, my king. I have secured a promise of aid from the Tyrant’s Hand and Voice in exchange for saving the Child of Light from the machinations of Nightcrawler. As for the Child of Darkness, Cadance has placed irresistible bait that she will eventually find.” Pausing, Radiant Hope looked back towards Impraecordia, her expression turning serious. “Even now, Rockhoof works with the dragons to hold back the seeds of Chaos, but they grow more pernicious by the day. Cadence and I will aid them where we can, but it is only a matter of time.”

Crossing his arms over his chest, a look of deep thought worked its way onto King Sombra’s face. “A coin still tumbling; broken wall against blowing sand; has the axe split the shield?”

“I do not know, my king.” Radiant Hope emphasized with a shake of her head. “But, you were right. With the Splintering, the rate has accelerated. If nothing else goes wrong, they will not emerge for at least half a century. But that is at best.”

Nodding, Sombra looked back at himself, and the bindings holding his true body. Wearily, he said, “Burdens great and small; three pillars hold up the temple; unyielding stone now cracked.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, my king. We will endure. For the Empress, forever may she reign. For Nitor. And for you.”

Watching a strange, sad, distant look form on his face, Radiant Hope wished she could offer her king more. As though sensing her distress, he stepped forward, reaching up with his right hand and gently caressing her cheek. At least, he performed the gesture. But she couldn’t feel his touch. It is a bitter reminder that what stood before her was not her king. Only a mirage conjured by what little of his power could manifest through his sisters’ prison. Still, she placed her hand over his, leaning into the gesture.

“A pain borne willingly; shield and sword in accord; she who opened my eyes; the whole more than its parts.” King Sombra says wistfully, the phantom slowly dissipating as it was drawn back into the weave.

For a long moment, Radiant Hope stood there, staring at the spot where the phantom once was, before looking up at the bound centaur towering over her. Seeing him like this hurt so much. Hurt in a way that she could never have known when she was mortal. Before she’d met him. Before she had shown him the world through mortal eyes, and he showed her wonders and secrets beyond her feeble, finite comprehension.

One day, perhaps, he would be free. One day, he would hold her in his arms again, and she hold him in turn.

But, for now, she would abide. She had to. For him. And for the world he was sworn to protect.

“And I you, my king.”

Author's Note

And with that, I mark Phoenix-born Rising as complete.