Dark clouds billow over the Ancient Kingdom of the Deerfolk.

In late 1006, King Aldar II had a secured succession in line for his daughter, Princess Velvet.

The young Doe was sent out on a diplomatic mission to Equestria to improve relations.

By all accounts, everything was going smoothly for the Royal Family.

But for the spare son—Johan “The Devil” Djavulen—he had other plans.

Under unknown and suspicious circumstances, King Aldar II had passed away after Velvet left.

She was in Canterlot when she heard the news of his death, and mourned for her father.

Simultaneously—Johan argues that with his sister’s absence in Canterlot for the whole week,

That only he was fit to take on the role of the king and will steer the nation into order.

The crown now rests uneasily on his head.

With loyal support from stock owners, religious fanatics, and persuaded nobles,

He secured a steady grip on the throne despite his illegitimacy. And the nation is in shock.

Using his power for corruption, general debauchery, carnalism, and financial pursuits,

The crown rests in a hopelessly unobtainable position from the inside.

So velvet seeks help from the outside.

Velvet negotiates with Equestria to the south; yet further east, the Changelings are mobilizing.

Queen Chrysalis sets her eyes on the weak and spoiled nation of the Deerfolk with anticipation.

Securing Olenian industries and natural resources was paramount for the Queen’s ambitions.

Battle plans were drawn up, political maneuverings were engaged, Infiltrators were sent.

The stage was set.

Not oblivious to the situation, Johan spends his days hidden away in his isolated keep;

Growing old of being repressed by their king’s lack of leadership, the Deerfolk grow anxious;

Ravenous for resources and power, Chrysalis prepares herself for the inevitable invasion;

Desperate for positive change, Velvet grows restless in the face of inevitability;

Fate will not be kind to Olenia.

—

March 1st—1008—14:29

Keep calm. Inhale, count to four, exhale.

Velvet trotted in tandem with a quaternion of Royal Guards escorting her. In front of her were a pair of gargantuan and over-encumbering doors, the throne room laying beyond. She had lost count of how many times she went through this same song and dance—meeting with the royalty of Equestria. But it was something that must be done, for the good of her people’s kingdom.

To have her people spend another year under Johan’s reign would be cruel in every sense of the word. It must be done. And it had to be her.

Another pair of guards standing a few meters apart, guarding both sides of the throne room’s entrance. They gave a solemn nod to Princess Velvet directly, before illuminating their horns to open the doors inward.

Although Velvet had seen this very same hallway time and time again in the countless times she presented herself as an audience to Celestia, she still couldn’t help but become lost in its illustrious beauty. Finely carved marble pillars with golden tinted metal bolted around the base in an ornate fashion. The stained glass windows reveal a picturesque but brief history of the land of Equestria, and its rulers. From the formation of the three tribes and the banishing of the Windigoes to the Coronation of Twilight Sparkle—the fourth Alicorn Princess.

Sitting at the far end of this grand hallway lay the golden and midnight blue thrones of the Equestrian Royalty; only Celestia sat in her throne ostentatiously, waiting for Velvet. Although she could give an educated guess as to why Velvet decided to meet with them once again, (how many times she has met with Velvet is lost to her at this point) she patiently allowed for her esteemed guest to approach at her own pace.

Velvet wasn’t necessarily dragging her hooves on the floor, but she wasn’t speed trotting either.

Celestia greeted Velvet with a warm smile, the kind that would melt your worries and fears of violating social prejudice. If it weren’t for the fact that she had seen that same smile for who knows how many times they’ve met, Velvet would’ve felt at ease there and then.

“Princess Celestia; I present to you Princess Velvet from the Kingdom of Olenia.” One of the Royal Guards bellowed, bowing in the presence of their supposed Alicorn Deities.

“Thank you. You may be excused.” Celestia replied. A curt nod and a salute of a wing later, and the four guards left Velvet’s presence. All that remained were the Solar Guards, standing vigilantly around the pair of thrones.

It was only then, when Velvet was left alone, did she finally bow to the Alicorn Princess.

“Celestia,” Velvet simply acknowledged.

“Velvet,” Celestia replied. Her voice was like thick honey sliding down a canvas. “It is wonderful to make your acquaintance once again.”

“As to you, Princess.” The doe raised her head, making eye contact with her alicorn counterpart. “I… I am sure you are aware of the nature of my visit?”

Celestia’s smile dissipated, but not exclusively at velvet. A subtle residue of a warm smirk still remained. Not quite condescending, but… something. Velvet couldn’t quite figure out what.

“I had… a sneaking premonition of your visit, yes.” She paused between words as if biding her time to pick them. “Would you like to discuss this matter in private?”

Velvet sighed as she rubbed her eyes with a free hoof, head sagging. “Forgive me Celestia, but I am quite drained from my journey to Canterlot. I didn't sleep well last night.” She took a minute to compose herself. “I would rather discuss it here and now, if you do not mind.”

“Hmm.” Celestia hummed. “Very well. What did you wish to discuss?”

Velvet simply gazed at Celestia. She didn’t immediately make an effort to state her intentions. She was momentarily content with just staring at Celestia.

‘What do you wish to discuss?’ Is that supposed to be a joke?

It took whatever Iota of self-restraint not to lash back with some sneering quip at the apparent naivety of Celestia. She maintained an even stare at the Alicorn.

“I would like to think you’re already aware of the nature of my visit.” Velvet subtly sneered.

“Well considering you haven’t asked me for any Chamomile Tea, I assume your visit is strictly a matter of business.”

“Not Business; Diplomacy.”

Celestia swayed her head slightly to her left, Scanning velvet up and down.

“You are referring to Olenia,” Celestia slowly spoke, her words more a statement rather than a question.

“What else could I possibly be here for.” It wasn’t a question.

If there ever existed a chance of saving her kingdom, it falls on catering to Celestia Vehemently. whether she liked it or not. That being said, she was not willing to throw her people’s hopes, liberties, and way of life to the fire just to suckle on an Alicorns’ teats… So to speak.

When Celestia did not interject to Velvet’s inquiry, she relented further.

“You know Johan is an illegitimate ruler; you know he has ascended to power through means that are morally unsound, or just downright cruel; you know that I do not find the passing of my father to be just a coincidence when it comes to great benefit of only Johan and his lackeys!”

Velvet caught herself raising her voice and promptly ceased before it got out of control. She had a hard time containing her temper as of late with how deadlocked negotiations had been so far. She was hoping a little assertiveness would get the message across, but what good would it be if Celestia turned her away for simply raising her voice? She was still grossly unfamiliar with Equestrian Feudal Traditions, so ceasing the verbal assault was no doubt wise on her part.

“You are correct,” Celestia began, her tone neutral and even. “Johan is indeed a corrupt leader. And Johan is a cause for concern for the people of Olenia. And yes; Johan has indeed risen to power through unjust methods.” She then sighed. “Velvet, please tell me this isn't about—”

“Of course it is!” Velvet practically yelled. “You said so yourself that this isn’t right! How could you just stand idly by and watch my country be picked apart from the inside like that? When I have a chance to stop it?!”

Every guard in the throne room tensed up at velvet’s outburst. Only Celestia maintained her steel-trap resolve.

“There are many reasons velvet—reasons that as a fellow ruler yourself I am sure you would understand—to better comprehend our hesitation.”

“Such as?” Velvet stepped forward. The Solar Guards closed the gap between each other, just by a little.

“My ponies have lived for more than a thousand years of peace and Harmony, Velvet. While we are not… unfamiliar with combat, we have always strived for avoiding violent altercations altogether—Whether by means of Diplomacy, or...”

Celestia paused for a moment, her gaze fixed upon the Lunar Monarch’s empty throne. Bad memories began to surface.

“... or by magic. Either way, we do not strive for violence; all it achieves is begetting more violence.”

“I am not asking you to directly intervene, Your Majesty,” Velvet replied tersely. “I am not asking you to throw pony lives away. You know that I value peace just as much as any good Equus loving soul here should. But what about my people?” She heavily emphasized each word with a hoof to her chest.

“My people are suffering under Johan’s lack of leadership; having the first-class ruling and taking over everything from the good, hard-working deerfolk who, surely, do not deserve such a punishment. They are living in a stratified economy, Celestia; People go to work hungry, only to find their jobs to be barely sufficient to pay for rent, and nothing more. They are given strict rations all throughout the year, with people dying from Malnourishment and Dysentery. They are forced to watch as the well-off and the downright wealthy live in Glut Excess! They are suffering, Celestia!”

Velvet’s voice began to quiver under the weight of her words. A lump formed in her throat, and she did her best to swallow it and bury such negative thoughts. Celestia, however, remained adamantly silent.

Velvet paused. Inhale, count to four, exhale.

“... I am not asking for Pony lives, Celestia. I am asking for material support, something to help us fight this oppression on our own terms; something to aid us in the upcoming storm for my people; something—anything—to stop this… this Madness!”

The throne room’s walls rang in the silence. In the next blink, Velvet composed herself with a sharp inhale through her nostrils and a quick exhale through the lips. She sat hard on her haunches, head sagging and ears drooping.

“I haven’t even glossed over the Changeling threat yet. I’m just…”

Slowly, gears began to turn in Velvet’s brain. For the first time since she first started to make the trips into Canterlot, Velvet felt hopeless.

This had to be about the ninth consecutive week that she met with Celestia to talk about the Kingdom of Olenia’s line of succession.

She had doubts that it would immediately resolve the issue at hoof, but she still had hope. A small glimmer of it maybe and perhaps fleeting, but it was still there. As days turned into weeks, however—and weeks turned into months—she began to lose patience.

She hardly slept in her accommodated suites in Luna Nova and often thought of home. How miserable it often was for her to think of her people’s longevity, only to repeatedly charge into a mental brick wall.

Velvet was frowning now as if the floor she was gawking at had somehow deeply offended her. For what felt like years, she contemplated in silence.

“You never asked why,” Celestia broke the stillness, adjusting her posture on her throne.

Velvet looked up. “... Huh?”

“Out of all the times I had declined—” She paused to find the right words. “... Your requests, I assumed you would ask me why. Yet you never did. You always left graciously and returned for the next week.

“Every time, your request was a little bit different. ‘Send a large shipment of weapons.’ ‘Have an audience with Johan himself.’ ‘Evacuate refugees.’ I never wished to deny you any of those requests, Velvet.

“But did you ever stop to wonder why I did?”

“Is the sky blue? Is grass green? Is water wet? Of Course I have wondered!” Velvet barked, only for her to tense up in reflex at her outburst. “I just... never prodded.”

Celestia gave a forced exhale through her nostrils. “Did you hear of what happened in Manehattan last year?”

Velvet pondered. She was obviously referring to an event related to Equestria at that time. Bear in mind, that her knowledge of Equestrian holidays and current events was always limited even with her good relations with Celestia. The last year or so had seen her busier than ever before in her life.

She tried to remember. Something about Nightmare Night, and…

“The… Manehattan explosion, you mean?”

“Precisely.” The Solar Monarch spoke with a quick shift of tone. Her voice was now frosty; cold and calculating.

“My sister…” Celestia glanced away to wrangle her emotions, eyes on her sister’s throne. “... For the better part of the last year, Princess Luna had conducted a series of political campaigns across the Eastern Seaboard. For five months, she worked tirelessly to give many speeches and rallies to all the ponies in Equestria. But those speeches were directed towards Thestral Populace specifically. She promised equity and fair reforms, no more abuse from other tribes, and to be formally recognized as the fourth tribe.

“Many of my ponies were… cautious, at best. They were reluctant throughout the campaign to welcome the Thestrals openly. And as time went on and more promises were made, both Ponies and Thestrals alike were growing more and more inauspicious towards one another.”

Velvet felt queasy for a moment. She didn’t like where this story was going. Celestia looked… sad? No not quite, but some form of amalgamation of guilt and regret.

“My sister did the best she could… She tried everything in her power to keep everything civil. From what I heard, she had help from Rarity, one of the Element Bearers. I’m sure you know her.”

“I’m familiar with her.” Velvet answered.

“She assisted Luna throughout the entire campaign from beginning to end. Made proper arrangements with nobles and aristocrats alike to keep things in order.”

Celestia intentionally paused. She stared at the empty throne beside her for the longest time. Velvet was caught gazing at her quizzically when Celestia turned back, and rightfully so. Velvet had no knowledge of Luna being—

“I want to make something clear, Velvet.” Celestia interrupted her thoughts blatantly, her voice level. “I have no regrets for what Luna’s intentions were prior to that event. She was acting with extreme prejudice on behalf of a forgotten people, trying so desperately to win their approval and the three tribes’ approval as well. Perhaps if I had intervened beforehoof Luna would not have had to tackle this problem head on.”

Celestia took a deep breath. “It does not entirely matter anymore what could have been done. Luna has not spoken a word to me on what exactly happened to her and rarity on the night of the explosion. And I trust her judgement on the matter that it is resolved. But the point at hoof is that the bombing of Manehattan could have been prevented had I acted on Equestria’s best interests as a true Diarchy in all but name—rather than our own interests.”

Velvet felt the pieces in her head clicking together. In her previous meetings, she always met during Day Court discussing the future for Olenia. A couple of times Luna was present alongside Celestia discussing the matter with her, and she was just as adamant (if not capricious) as her sister was. In all those times Luna was alongside Equestria, she remained stubbornly cautious. Never wanting to say anything she never dared intend to say; tactful and prudent.

Yet even with her savviness, she showed overcautiousness to Velvet’s precarious situation with Olenia. Luna had admitted before that it was indeed Velvet’s place to take the throne after her father, and that Johan’s reign was, De Jure, unruly and illegitimate. Something Velvet was told countless times before by Celestia, so the words held no leverage.

Both individually conferred the same argument though, saying that it was not in Equestria’s best interests to intervene with Olenia. And when Luna was given her final opinion on it weeks ago, she adamantly refused. And it left Velvet with only Celestia to cater to all this time, even though it felt like it was going nowhere.

Though Velvet had thought Celestia held more gravitas and political power; hearing the words come from Celestia’s mouth—why they both had seemingly chosen to sit back and watch the kingdom wallow in their own misery without compromise.

It finally dawned on her. Her meetings with Celestia were just an exercise in futility.

“After the explosion, everypony in Equestria was frightened. Although Luna did not get seriously hurt afterward, several other ponies did. Some had even perished. How much different do you think it would have been if Luna had not intervened after the explosion?”

“How does that excuse you to just stand by and do nothing?!”

Velvet could not abide any longer. A solemn and gratuitous guest of the Diarchy so many times; unrelenting patience, persistence, and grit had gotten her this far and she kept going despite the time limit.

And after so many steps forward, it felt like she had been kicked from the very Precipice she toiled to climb.

“Celestia, my people are being subjugated by insidious threats. Some of those threats come from outside my borders, the rest from within. Your country has the power to stop whatever is coming. You mean to tell me you are just going to stand by and watch as my country is being torn apart?!”

The guards surrounding the throne tensed up slightly at Velvet’s outburst, stiff as marble. Only Celestia seemed unfazed by this outburst.

Celestia—leaning forward, her acrid frowny piercing through Velvet’s resolve—spoke with a venomous tone that was most unwonted for Velvet’s ears.

“I want you to imagine a scenario, if you will. Do you know what would’ve happened had the thestrals never backed down after the explosion? It would be Catastrophe. The thestrals would have assumed their princess was assassinated—their best hope for an amicable reformation dying alongside their beloved leader.

“All of their promises shattered, their supposed friends turning their backs on them. Civil strife would no doubt follow. Violent protests. Armed insurrections. Civil order would be unable to contain the outrage that would no doubt engulf the country into the flames of rebellion, much like how Manehattan was nearly engulfed that fateful night.

“It would turn into yet another December Revolution. If it would not devolve into an open conflict, then partisans would most definitely combat us for years to come. But if it isthe former, then it would be a war unlike any we had seen in millenia.”

Celestia was dithered on further explaining the analogy for Velvet, but her slack jawed gawk gave her all the confirmation she needed.

“Ponies are reluctant now. They are scared. The incident is still fresh on their minds, and yet by some miracle some good came out of it. If we were to push forward on ending your brother’s illegitimate reign, there is no telling how ponies will react.

“Johan’s illegitimate reign is indeed a problem, Velvet; if it were entirely up to us we would have intervened already, but it isn’t. It is instead up to the tens of millionsof ponies that decide whether or not they are willing to support such an effort.”

—

April 21st—1008—18:23

Luxurious. Sumptuous. Opulent. Marvelous.

Whatever words a foreigner could conjure, who had never seen the design of the Royal Palace in Hjortland, would be finding themselves amiss in the grand architecture and lavish decor the palace boasted—both exterior and interior.

Corinthian Columns stood tall to the ceiling; ornate molding of Deer Heads with Antlers, The Entablature, the Capital, the Base, and the Pillar itself was all carved with such precision that only a perfectionist would possess.

Painted Glass windows of ancient deities from their pantheon were glinting in the evening sunlight on the western side of the hall. Ukko, Pellevero, Vellamo, Touni, and Loviatar were displayed in their righteous glory.

And secluded in dimness on the east side displayed more painted windows, these ones showing off Great Rulers—those who had proven themselves worthy of being immortalized in the grand halls of the palace they’ve sworn to protect and guide throughout the generations. From the first king Harald Fairantlers—to the most recently deceased King Aldar II.

The West Side had less deities than kings compared to the East side, but it made up for it by hosting a picturesque tale of the Olenian Kingdom. From its unification, the raiding against Equestria early on—to the very first piece treaties with the ponies; the industrial revolution.

All of these murals were exceptionally crafted, and well preserved. Any foreigner that would step hoof inside the palace for the very first time would be lost in its grandeur, almost immediately guaranteed.

But to the Royal Chancellor, this was just another monday morning.

He trotted with as much grace as he could muster without hinting any emotion that something was horribly wrong. Approaching the large centerpiece staircase leading up to the King’s throne, he expected to see Johan sitting in his seat looking bored. Idly eating or reading a novella, perhaps. Yet the Chancellor found nothing but an empty seat.

The seat itself was not as extravagant as the rest of this hall was. The ancient olenian throne was as old as the kingdom itself was. Finely carved out Rosewood, with an ultra-soft velvet cushion for the seat itself. The armrests hosted deer heads hosting antlers, standing tall and resolute as they stare emptily ahead of the throne. The legs of the throne were carved out hooves, their soles flattened out perfectly to support the chair without any hint of leaning to either side.

The headboard displayed something like a half-mandala—its inner webs weaving between what seem like strings, until they harden and thicken into antlers in the center. 5 heads were staring to the right, each of them with their eyes closed. The web strings morph into antlers for these deer heads.

The Chancellor couldn’t recognize these deer, yet they each had a distinction to them. The middle head was particularly shorter than the rest. He tried, but the Chancellor could—not for the life of him—interpret who they were. Predecessors to the throne, perhaps?

His thoughts were interrupted by a howling of laughter, echoing across the gargantuan halls. Behind the King’s throne lay an Ogee Arch, a small cylindrical roof vault leading to the king’s dining room. Among the guffaws and wheezes that could be heard amidst the cacophony of laughter, the Chancellor could hear Johan alongside them.

He steeled himself with a deep breath before trotting through the doorway, head held high. He could see candlelight flickering gently from many different wicks across the other side, a long and narrow table hosting various nobles and business deer alike. He stopped just underneath the other side of the hall beyond the second Arch.

The table was perpendicular to the Chancellor, with the king sitting in his designated seat. Many other deer were sitting down alongside him sharing a meal together. Some of them the Chancellor could recognize—the local lords of Cervus, Sakara, and Vaverfront were present, sitting as close as they could to johan. Others with over-tacky suits covering their torsos were also present, business deer that the chancellor could not recognize.

Indistinct chuckling and jovial chatter overpowered each other. The conversations continued like nothing was wrong. As if everything was perfectly fine and that no problems exist to ruin this particular moment.

If only the world of politics were that simple, the Chancellor thought to himself.

Johan sitting in the middle finally took heed of his advisor’s presence, standing alone at the dining room entrance. He stood and extended a hoof in hospitality.

“Welcome, Fallion. Sit down, we’re enjoying some foie gras.”

“I’ll stand, your grace.” Fallion answered immediately, wishing that everyone else in this room was gone already.

Johan took his Chancellor’s Abstemious attitude with mirth rather than concern. “You look tense. Did some peasant try to throw dung at you or something?”

Fallion did not interpret the attempt of the joke with optimism. “I fear we have more pressing matters to attend to other than worrying about peasants throwing dung at one another, your grace.”

“Why so serious? I was only joking.”

Fallion did not reply. He instead gave the king that look.

Now, Johan was familiar with that look. He had seen it from his father many times when he would look at Johan moments before scolding him in his characteristic rants. And sometimes he would get that look from his sister as well, usually in the same context as his father.

Nowadays—with both Velvet and Aldar II being permanently absent—Johan had received that look a lot less often except from only one other Deer in existence; Fallion. And more often than not, the look would summarize what sort of social situation that both parties were in when Fallion would glare at Johan.

It usually involved things that were less than arbitrary in nature. When a real problem would surface and it demanded immediate attention—with Johan either turning a blind eye or just not caring at all—it fell onto Fallion’s look to set the king straight.

And that look Johan was seeing on Fallion’s eyes told him that now was not the time to joke and idle around. Something was seriously wrong.

“Hm.” Johan hummed to himself, his guests blissfully unaware of the staring contest the king and his advisor were sharing.

“Ten Minutes. I’ll be in the council chamber. Meet me there.” Fallion finally responded with a graceful bow, before turning to leave. And Johan was left alone with his thoughts, churning and boiling.

—

Sitting alone in a stiff and uncomfortable seat, Fallion anxiously waited for his liege to arrive. To pass the time, he reread the scroll he was tasked to give to johan for his eyes only. Although it wasn’t technically for him, it was his duty to be the first to check before deciding if it was worth the king’s time—as part of Johan’s new state policy with his inner council.

There was zero doubt in his mind that this was well worth Johan’s time to peer. But what scared him more than the contents of the letter was just how Johan would react to the circumstances. Fallion was all too familiar with the King’s emotional outbursts, and this would no doubt fuel his mood from ire to white hot rage.

Fallion had to find a way to mitigate the damage. Peering into the letter over and over, he tried to find a loophole to exploit—some sort of loose end that can be taken advantage of from Olenia, if there was any. But the Queen, or whoever wrote this letter, was very selective with their choice of words.

Deft hoofsteps interrupted Fallion’s train of thought as Johan trotted inside the sapphire painted room lit by torchlight. The king with his royal attire and crown entered the council chamber alone.

“What is this about, Fallion? Here I was feasting friends from all the major cities when I assumed that my advisors were absolutely certain that there were no more royal duties to attend to. You told me Courting hours were over, so why bother me with something like this now?”

The king spared no effort to vent his annoyance, yet Fallion remained stoic and unfazed.

“Forgive my intrusion, your grace. This letter is of grave importance to you.” he spoke short and sweet, neatly rolling the very scroll he was just reading.

“Is this about my sister again?” Fallion asked with distaste in his tone.

“No: Worse.”

Johan tightened his jaw upon hearing his tone. It sounded almost… terrified.

“... What is it?” Johan asked cautiously.

“A communique from Queen Chrysalis.”

Johan felt his heart skip a beat.

“Read it and see for yourself, your grace.” Fallion coaxed, gesturing to the rolled-up scroll. Taking a quick breath, Johan unrolled it. His eyes darted furiously across the paper.

Johan felt his heart sink to his stomach.

“... By the will of our nation’s sovereignty as respectable rulers of our territories,” the king recited aloud. “the Kingdom of Olenia is still recognized to have been ruled by a long standing dynasty worthy of respect and admiration. Due to the unfortunately untimely demise of King Aldar II, your nation’s sovereignty hangs on a knife’s edge King Johan.

“Your Predecessor King Aldar II has amicably recognized that your Kingdom’s succession is at risk, and the populace undermine your authority and zeal. We hereby grant you the opportune choice to help right a wrong created by your father’s passing.

“Therefore, we request revocation of direct ownership of the following states in your kingdom, in exchange for recognizing the Homeland of the Deer as an independent sovereignty De Jure:
Bortbyting Hoglands; Feer Dalar.”

There was more to read, but Johan felt nauseous enough to cease.

“Has she…” Johan’s voice croaked, barely above a whisper. “Has she lost her mind?!”

“Your grace, you must make your choice carefully. Queen Chrysalis will no doubt act aggressively if you were to turn down her request-”

“Request?” Johan practically spat the word. “Explain to me how is this a polite request? This is a show of force!”

Johan then flapped his cape violently, striking a pose with his hind legs.

“Oh look at me, I am queen of the bugs, I hereby request that you give me your land while dealing with economical and political strife, it’s not like the Deerfolk will think you’ve, oh I don’t know, betrayed their trust by giving away territory without a fight!”

Fallion wanted to protest, but Johan was right. The citizens of Olenia would never take the loss of their states sitting down, they would most definitely buck back. But isn’t such a reflexive defense mechanism what the Kingdom really needs right now? To fight back without even thinking ahead of the consequences?

No, it was too much. And yet, what could Johan do? Even If Johan accepted the deal and kept his independence, what would that mean afterward? Would Chrysalis just stop? Would she be satisfied with her territories and resources that she would have to gain, amicably or otherwise?

Fallion knew it was too unlikely. He had no profile on Chrysalis (but then again, nobody outside of their lands would) and whatever he could piece together from her was not a good sign. She was aggressive—if maybe recklessly so—but she learns from her mistakes.

Being King Aldar II’s long trusted advisor before his passing, Fallion knew that the previous treaty between the two nations was fundamentally flawed in almost every way, accentuated by the unfairness of losing those very states originally belonging to the Changelings in exchange for “Recognized Sovereignty”

Now she was back with a vengeance. And she wanted those states back, by force or otherwise.

“Fucking hell…” Johan muttered to himself, pacing back and forth frivolously as Fallion was contemplating. “You did read all of it, right? Didn’t you find any kind of loophole we could exploit? Maybe some other state that she hasn’t recognized we could exchange in return, or something like that?”

Fallion shook his head. “That is impossible. Whoever wrote this letter, they knew what they were doing. Every loose end was taken into account. The way I see it, you have only two choices: surrender or fight.”

“Then we fight. I will not be intimidated and coerced by someone of the likes of her.” He finished with a snarl. Johan felt a fire in his core, ready to explode in white hot rage.

Fallion, however, was far more even tempered. “You cannot possibly expect us to go to war against them, do you?”

“Why not? Is our military not ready?” Johan asked with genuine curiosity.

“Far from it.” Fallion grimly answered. “I only know bits and pieces based on daily logistic reports. Weapon shortages, fuel shortages, vehicle shortages; we seem to have a deficit in all things related to the military.”

Johan didn’t reply. He simply froze in place, shaking in his appendages but otherwise robust in his posture.

“Do we not have any experts to handle the situation?”

“Um…” Fallion hummed, shifting through a small mess of papers scattered on one end of the council table. “We… uh, there is one Deer who can help you with covering the costs better than I can. You signed him into your cabinet in February, remember?”

“Uh…” Johan pondered for a moment. “You mean Markus Aurinkhoof?”

“Yes, that's him. He can help you cover the costs of whatever is dragging behind our defense budget, and to help get the ball rolling.”

“Contact him, I want him here in my palace today to discuss plans-”

“Johan, I—” Fallion froze. Clearing his throat loudly, he slowed his thoughts before he was ahead of himself. “... Your Grace, I would strongly advise you to really think about this. You are about to steer our country into war, do you realize just how much of herculean effort this will be?”

“Which is why I am moving forward while I am ahead, so that I may—”

“Your Grace,” Fallion interrupted, his voice low and gravelly like sandpaper. “You. Are going. To war.”

Johan couldn't help but stare. In all the time he knew Fallion, he was never like… this. Amd johan could tell, with his pinprick irises, that Fallion was at his wits end.

“I strongly advise that…” he paused, finding the right words. “If you wish to go to war, you must do this carefully and methodically. Do not just throw our troops into the fray. We need a plan of action if we are to survive as a nation.”

“They are Bugs.” Johan spoke the word with vicious contempt, a deep-rooted resentment. “And like the bugs they are, we will squash them. Our defenses will hold one way or another, I am sure of it.”

Fallion looked down ever so slightly. His eyes wandered on the table scattered with documents and reports, most notably the communique from Chrysalis. He felt his soul wilt and quiver for a moment as he finally realized that his king was not to be backed down.

“Listen,” Johan ordered softly, trotting towards Fallion with to plant a hoof on his whither reassuredly. “I will not approach this head on blindly. I will make proper arrangements, and we will see to it that we will stand against the Changeling threat. But right now, I need you to focus on writing a response for Chrysalis’s insane demands, and to tell her that we will refuse such outrageous claims.”

The final nail in the coffin. There was nothing Fallion could do now but watch and obey.

“As you say, your grace.” he finally answered.

“Assemble my cabinet in here tomorrow and we will see if we can come up with a plan of action, then we will write that response. Sound acceptable?”

Fallion pondered, but it was a null thought. “Of course, your grace.”

“Good, see to it then. Is there anything else than that demands my immediate attention?”

“Um…” Fallion hummed in thought. “Well… I had received word that Equestri is adamantly neutral in Olenian affairs, so we can safely assume that we will not deal with both Velvet and Chrysalis at the same time. Only the latter in the near future.”

“Finally, some decent news.” Johan mused to himself.

But to fallion, his worst nightmare came true.

—

June 15th—1008—06:57

Sitting alone in an idle machine gun nest lies a single Olenian Border Guard, idly tapping on his gun with amusement and boredom. The dawn of morning was finally starting to crack on the horizon, revealing a burnt sienna sky gently rising in the morning, but not quite rising above the horizon yet. The morning dew sticks to the blades of grass like adhesive. The air felt perfectly cool, still not heating up as the day hadn’t yet begun.

Yet despite the pretty scenery around this open field he was tasked to watch hidden behind a small patch of forest, the Olenian soldier could not find himself feeling at peace. An uneasy series of troop movements along the eastrn border had been all that High Command was talking about lately.

Practically all of the Olenian military was stationed there, waiting for something to happen.

Everyone can guess as to why they were there. Rumors circulated that an invasion was arriving soon, ready to finally finish them off. Other outrageous claims suggest that peasants were about to take up arms in the cities behind the borders due to the lack of military presence in the area. But these claims were false, as was quickly suggested by various reports.

But if there was an invasion coming to Olenia, it never arrived yet. In fact, the Changelings had practically been invisible to the Olenians. Not a single border crossing sighting was reported, no shots exchanged at all. The only notable event that happened within the last month was a friendly fire incident during drills.

But all was quiet for the whole border. And even with this quietness, it was a tenuous peace at best. And at worst, it was nerve wracking. Many Olenians were on edge as to what exactly was happening. And it certainly didn;t help that the only way to relay messages was to have runners transport letters from HQ to the frontlines. Outdated methods with outdated technology; it gave an inauspicious impression.

But today was just like every other day: Quiet. And it never boded well with anyone.

Snap!

The deer’s ear snapped at attention. A noise behind. He quickly turned his head but kept his rifle slung off to the side. Rearing around and releasing the MG, he saw another Olenian soldier begrudgedly trot into the wooden makeshift bunker.

“Shift over. Switch.” he simply muttered, not bothering with details.

“Sure.” the previous guard replied, as he quickly made his way outside.

“Hey,” the replacement suddenly quipped, a little more alert this time. “Do… do I know you?”

The guard’s heart skipped a beat.

“I’m a replacement.” he answered quickly, turning around. “If you’re wondering where my predecessor was, he was given a new assignment.”

“Huh.” the other deer muttered, stifling a yawn. “Yeah… thought you looked new. Eh whatever, it’s not like it matters to-”

The replacement suddenly stopped talking, his face frowning. Then he scrunched his nose, giving a forceful sniff. Followed by a recoil.

“Ugh, do you smell that?”

“Smell what?” the guard inquired.

“Come on, you really don’t smell that? Smells like copper and… and rat shit.”

The guard’s stomach churned violently, but not at the smell. The revelation was sending a different panic through him.

“I don’t… smell anything.” he lied.

“Smells like it's coming from…” he trailed off, sniffing into the direction of the open field beyond the bunker. His back was turned away from the guard.

That’s when the replacement guard looked down, at the sound of flies buzzing.

A decaying corpse of an Olenian with his throat slit was lying in the ground lifeless, his cold dead eyes staring back at the live deer.

“What—”

The deer had no chance to get the words out of his mouth. A burst of magic hear from behind, followed by a charcoal insectoid hoof smothering him from behind. A stab in the jugular later, and the Deer was dead. The Changeling gave a frustrated sigh.

“Scheiße...”

Dragging the corpse carefully outside the bunker, the infiltrator was careful to not leave behind any damning evidence in plain sight. But it wouldn’t take long before someone realizes that this bunker is empty. He had to move now.

After piling his second kill in the same spot, the changeling unbottled a canteen of liquid love, to rejuvenate his shapeshifting magic. A fews seconds of forceful chugging, and the changeling felt loose and invigorated.

Shifting back to his olenian disguise, he trotted out through the entrance of the bunker and made his way behind the trench system. Hoping he wouldn’t run into anymore astute Olenians, he had to complete his mission now before the hour struck 8.

Amongst a den of sleeping sheep, the wolf steadies himself for the feast that is to come for him and his brothers.

—

One Hour Later...

“So I got a question for you: Why are we even here?”

Two Olenian soldiers sit idly in the dugout section of the trenchline, sharing cigarettes with one another to help pass the time.

“What do you mean by that?” the second deer asked.

“I mean, why are we still waiting around in this trench system for something to happen when we could just take the fight to them? I mean, it seems like all we are doing is just sitting around doing nothing! And all I hear is just rumors like this; rumors like that. Rumors rumor rumors!”

The second deer didn’t answer right away, but huffed a frustrated sigh.

“I hear ya, I see what you mean. I just… I don’t know just as much as you don’t know.”

“That’s my point! Nobody does! All of high command is playing us like a fiddle right now, and here we are just sitting here doing nothing while we are waiting for what seems like certain conflict.”

“Do… do you want to go after the enemy, is that what you are saying?”

“No no no no, I’m saying we shouldn’t be twiddling our hooves idly while the top brass are just lying to us. I feel like they are just sending us out here as a punishment of some kind, but… punishment for what? What did we do to deserve… this?”

He flayed his hooves at the scenery around him, causing his peer to look around. The wooden duckboards made to walk along were now smothered with dirt, gravel, and mud. Soldiers looked bored and anxious, desperately trying to keep their minds occupied. In some sections of the trench line, bits and pieces of it were incomplete: holes in the revetment, missing sandbags, muddy walkways.

“Yeah… I can see your point.”

The other deer only sighed bitterly. No sense in further complaining about a situation that will not change. He took a long hit followed by another puff of smoke.

“I need to piss something fierce.” one of the soldiers mutters, before getting up and trotting out of the dugout. As he made his way down the south side, other olenian soldiers were shuffling about into various positions and barking orders.

The soldier took a turn down the communication trench leading further behind the line, bumping into more soldiers along the way. Making his way to the support trench, it sat underneath a light canopy of trees. Going over the top, the deer hurriedly paced away from the trench system.

“Oi, where are you going?” a gruff deer officer called from behind, forcing the soldier to turn around.

“Need to empty the bladder, sir. Is that so bad?” he quipped in response, causing the officer to roll his eyes in disgust.

Now after finally having some alone and finally far enough away to have some privacy, the Olenian found a nice secluded tree and… handled his business.

A minute later and he was trotting back to the trench system—albeit somewhat dreadfully.

He trotted out of the small forest, finding himself standing above the reserve trench and taking in the scenery. Soldiers mill about, interacting with each other as the day begins and the sun rises over the trees. The morning dew still stubbornly cling to blades of grass, each step wet to the touch.

The soldier couldn’t help but look up at the sky. It was indeed a pretty day. Cirrus and Cumulus clouds paint the blue sky. The air felt still and warm, not too hot yet. A large flock of birds in the distance flew towards the trench high up in the air, it’s engines roaring in—

Wait… since when did birds look so big?

The deer looked up intensely, squinting his eyes. The inverted V formation glided across the sky with expert precision, never once breaking formation. It flew at least 1000 meters above ground, just barely below the cloud cover. But the wings seemed… crooked? It had a bent shape to them.

A gut wrenching premonition suddenly took hold of him. Now that he really thought about it, those birds were flying awfully fast…

And then they dove down. And that’s when he heard the sirens of the dive bombers.

He couldn’t move. He found himself paralyzed entirely, mesmerized by the sight. The sirens blared louder and louder, and yet he remained still. His eyes were shrunk in the irises; his breathing gridlocked; his joints locked in place, as if they were rooted to the ground.

He was in shock paralysis. He couldn’t react.

But someone else did, with a piercing scream. “AIR STRIKE!”

Everyone simultaneously looked up. Then the bombs fall.

Instantaneously, panic swept the trench system. Olenians ran in circles for their lives to find cover. When the bombs finally impacted, many of them were exactly on target; landing inside trench lines, eviscerating any foundations of the structures, and any infantry that were still standing there. Some of them landed in the forest, spraying jagged shards of wooden splinters that penetrated like shrapnel.

A cacophony of screams and explosions. Many of the Olenians died in the teens, if not hundreds. An inferno caught alight in one of the nearby trees, the trunk engulfed in flames. It would soon spread throughout the forest.

The low flying Stukas passed by overhead, their terrifying sirens blaring in full volume as the Olenians tried to gather their bearings.

“What… what happened?!” one of the olenians screamed.

Bratatatatatatatatat!—BOOM!

Automatic gunfire and explosions suddenly roared from within the trenches, followed by more agonizing screams. At that moment, changeling infiltrators were now opening fire within the ranks, killing any form of command structure they could find. Officers, lieutenants, majors; any high ranking official that was present was to be terminated before they reorganized.

Grenades were thrown, gunfire was exchanged, orders were barked.

The invasion of olenia had begun.

—

June 21st—1008—14:24

“Full speed Larx, shift into 4th Gear.”

The heavy steel chassis of Panzer IIs were rolling through a large and open pasture. Hardly any buildings or traces of life were to be seen, besides the ominous rolling dust clouds emanated by the panzer Battalion. About 50 of them in total, separated with at least 5 meters of space between each of them.

While peacefully empty, the pastures were not lacking landmarks and terrestrial features. The terrain itself was rugged, rolling up and down with tame inclines to traverse. Far off to the horizon, patches of forests could be seen standing tall. Lonely farmhouses long since abandoned stubbornly stand in the way of the panzers as they continue along the roads with ease.

In the rear of this large mechanical formation, a green eyed Trimmel is trading glances with the formation and the land around him. Although the tank formation was a fearsome sight, Trimmel was not overzealously confident as the rest of his peers had been. Olenia was bending under the will of the Changeling military, yes, but they are not yet broken. They still fight on with dogged resistance.

But he hoped to change that. Their next target—should they capture it by the deadline—would prove to the Olenians that their war was already lost, and that they were battling against inevitability.

Although, the overcast nimbostratus weather isn’t improving his optimism. He desperately hoped it wouldn’t rain anytime soon.

A tired sigh escapes Trimmel’s lips. His mind wanders given the lack of immediate information that was needing digesting. All he could see were puffs of dust and dirt from the treads of his tanks, trampling through the earth with no friction aside from the ground itself.

“Everything alright, sir?” a youthful voice asks from below Trimmel’s commander hatch. Peeking his head inside, he found his gunner Styx looking up at him with concerned teal eyes. “You look like you are about to give the formation a good scolding.”

Trimmel actually chuckled at the remark, allowing himself to relax. “No, I’m just thinking. Lots of things that have to happen on time, and it mostly falls onto me to keep track of the Panzers.”

Styx nodded solemnly, turning his attention back to the Autocannon inside of the turret chassis. “Haven’t got a chance to fire this baby for a while now. I’m starting to get worried the war might be over already. Then I’ll never get a chance to fire this thing again!”

A chortle escaped below the autocannon’s receiver. The driver sat in the forward left hull with the gearbox on the right. “Don’t feel too bad Styx, if it were up to Trimmel you would have never shot that thing at all if he could help it.”

Trimmel slowly panned his head to Larx, his driver, at the remark he had just made.

“If what were up to me, exactly?” Trimmel asked with a low voice, almost like he was threatening him.

“Not to undermine you or anything, sir.” Larx replied quickly. “But you are… restrained. Cautious. Not that its a bad thing, just that it's slow going with you.”

“Are you blind, Larx?” Trimmel asked quickly, no hint of quarrel in his voice.

“Uh… no sir, otherwise I wouldn’t be driving a 9 tonne piece of military hardware right now.” Larx answered with mirth.

“Look ahead of you. Do you see us going slow to you?”

Larx did just that, seeing more plumes of smoke and panzers. The terrain itself remained relatively unchanged, with more rolling empty plaines leading to small forests homesteads. The panzers were moving as fast as they could physically go, which was about 25 miles per hour.

“I see us rolling through empty fields, sir. And we are in fourth gear along with everyone else, so… I would say no.” Larx answered honestly.

“And do you see anyone shooting at us at this current moment?”

“No sir.”

“Do you hear officers barking orders at you to go faster? To stop slacking and maintain focus? To stay on course and keep moving to Vaverfront without taking breaks? Are you currently marching on hoof right now?

“No sir.”

“Then consider yourself lucky. There are plenty of fates worse than being bored. And I don’t need my subordinates telling me what I should and shouldn’t do because they feel like it. Understand?”

“Yes sir.” the driver and gunner answered simultaneously.

Another weary sigh fled Trimmel’s lips as he forced himself to up through the hatch again. Twisting several knobs on the control head of his radio, the mic levitated up to his face. With a quick breath in and out, he pressed the receiver button on his mic.

“E Battalion, maintain your course bearing 205. Vaverfront is only 20 miles away.”

—

June 23rd—1008—19:39

Bratatatatatatatatat!

Automatic gunfire was exchanged from behind windows and piles of brick. A ruined Coffee Cafe somewhere in Vaverfront was under intense fire from Changeling Jäger infantry. The building had valiantly stood against onslaught after onslaught for hours now—under oppressive artillery barrages, panzer IIs, grenades, and oppressive rain.

The building is hardly recognizable for what it originally was. The wooden lounge tables were stacked against what used to be the front doorway to the building before it had long been blown off. Panzer IIs made quick work of the exterior before they were easily taken out by Anti-Tank Rifles. The crews usually do not survive.

After about 3 Panzers were lost, they resorted to infantry combat. Trouble was that the rain soon turned into a storm, and visibility was near none. Soldiers couldn’t see beyond 10 meters, and could only see muzzle flashes in the darkness and downpour. The building was annoyingly persistent to the Changelings, as it was holding a particularly busy intersection at this course into the battle.

Changeling officers were getting annoyed at this development. They needed to keep moving west, and this particular building had stalled them for three hours. To say it was slowing them down was a massive understatement.

Shivering and huddling behind overturned cars were several Jäger infantry, clutching onto their bayoneted rifles. Every time they were to push forward, machine-gun fire would deter them before they would even get close. They even had some shooters high up in the windows, so flying over to ambush them was not feasible. After losing about 5 Jägers to them already, they had to be smart.

The gunfire had ceased for the time being, but only because nobody could see anybody.

“Godverdämmnt! How is it that one fucking nest could be so fucking annoying!” one Changeling curses out loud. Another chuckles grimly.

“The irony of what you said… it’s rich.”

“Fuck off! They’ve killed more of us than we killed them.”

Hoofsteps approached from behind the car. The changelings angst up simultaneously. Until they saw that it was their officer sprinting back from their skirmish.

“Fucking hell, he’s got good aim.”

“You saw what they were working with?”

“It isn’t promising for them. Their cover is deteriorating, and the front door is literally gone. A well thrown grenade or three could easily kill them, but their aim is something I’ve never seen before.”

Silence. The changelings gave one another a tentative glance.

“Who’s got grenades left?”

They’ve tallied up 3 frags, and 2 smokes from all 6 of the changelings huddled behind the car.

“Smoke grenades in the rain won’t work so well, though. We need something else for cover.” the officer muttered to himself.

“Smokes don’t work in rain, you say?” a jäger piped up, hooking everyling’s attention. “I’ve got an idea on where it will work...”

—

Clutching the MG tight in his grip, the Olenian soldier’s focus was sharper than any blade the world could forge. His sights darted with expert precision across every discernable chokepoint. Car and building; car and car; the open space after both points to the shop—every space was checked every second.

Nothing moved in the distance. Even through the rain, they were not trying to move and flank. He could guess where they might be, but to do so would be to give up looking on where else they could be and he would never accept that. And thus he kept looking.

Blam! Blam! Blam!

Muzzle flashes erupt from every chokepoint at once, all of them wildly missing him. He reacted calmly, training his gun to the farthest one on the right.

Bratatatatatatatatat!

Gunfire exchanged from both sides. Some Olenians fired pot shots from their rifles behind the gunner, but he was honed in. He never glanced backward once, and only faced forward with his eyes and his gun.

Blam! Blam! Bratatatatatatatatatatatatatat!

The sounds became deafening. And somehow, the changelings were still firing despite the suppressive fire. Yet it was faint and very pathetic. It almost felt diversionary.

An uneasy premonition took hold of the gunner. His eyes darted upward suddenly.

Two white Irises affront of purple eyes stared back at him, two grenades levitating next to him.

Survival instinct took hold of both of them. The grenades were chucked, a pistol was drawn. Shots were fired, maneuvers were made. The pin was pulled, dread encompassed them.

“GRENADE, DOWN!”

An order yelled, bodies ducking to the floor. Several seconds to dive and grab whatever piece of cover you had. Tables, chairs, rubble; anything.

Everyone waited, the gunfire ceased. Yelling was heard outside amidst the downpour, but nobody reacted to it.

Fsssssssssssssss!

No explosion. Only white vapor emanated in the middle of the shop, quickly spreading around.

The gunner didn’t react to it, he dove back onto the spot where he left his gun and—

Where is my gun?

The gunner felt fear kick in. His gun was missing, and he didn’t know how it was gone. He looked forward through the gap and found only dark rain.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Scrambling his hooves across the floor amidst the debris, panic finally took hold of him. An irrational fear that he buried it somewhere consumed him, prompting him to dig across the debris.

Clink-clunk!

The sound of an object being thrown captured his attention, and yet he turned back and found only more smoke.

That is until he looked down. And found more grenades.

And his world erupted into blinding light.

—

KraKOOOO-KOOOOM!

The explosions were powerful enough to send bits of the structure in the upper levels crashing down. Dust billowed out of the building, and hulking debris collapsed onto the already large pile in the front entrance.

Several changelings flew forward at the sight, rifles ready. A few shots were exchanged, but it ended just as quickly as it began. Silence soon took hold afterward.

The Changeling Officer and several other Jägers peeked from behind cover, waiting for anything to happen. Soon afterward, they saw the same changelings that flew forward give a welcoming gesture, inciting the all clear signal.

“Holy shit… that actually worked?” a Jäger muttered to himself.

—

June 29th—1008—13:37

King Johan had spent all day listening to the radio broadcast transmitted from Vaverfront that was supposed to be music. Instead it was propaganda; Propaganda stating that the war was already lost, that the Olenians were fighting against fate itself and that it was an exercise in futility. That their nation was led by a corrupt and scandalous Hedonist who wants nothing more but to live in glut excess.

Johan had none of it, his heart was filled with rage. He anxiously waited for his daily report to come in, which was already incredibly late by now and only fueled his anger.

But a new sound caught his attention, the sound of a doorknob turning. The grandiose doors of the council room soon croaked open thereafter, revealing a very tired Fallion at the entrance clutching a stack of documents and opened envelopes.

“Finally, thank you Fallion!” Johan desperately greeted his trusted advisor. “Let's see what we have here!”

The now exhausted Fallion planted the stack onto the table, before sitting down in a chair to rest his old bones. Johan did not wait for permission or for “but waits,” he was anxious to get answers.

He began sifting through the reports: Deficit in Munitions, Uniforms, Rifles, Grenades, Boots, Trucks, Planes, Helmets, Machine Guns, Anti Tank Rifles; Deerpower was at an all-time low as well. and several divisions are MIA. Vaverfront is guaranteed to be lost, with any divisions over there at inadequate strength.

The Rudolf Line is not going to be completed anywhere on time, and if it somehow did get miraculously constructed on time, it would be too big for the military to use it properly—Owing to the lack of Deerpower problem from earlier. Air superiority is nonexistent to the Olenians, as their planes stood no chance against the modern Changeling Svarm.

And to top it off, Sakara was being invaded from the coastline.

Johan stared in disbelief at his advisor. “Is there any good news in this report? At all?”

Fallion looked at Johan, still panting softly. He didn’t say a word.

He instead gave him that look.

“No, I…” Johan did a double-take at the table and Fallion. “Surely we can do something, right?”

Fallion shook his head. It disturbed Johan greatly: Fallion was never this apprehensive.

“I…” Johan shook his head vigorously.

Then his eyes glued to the radio, still spewing out mutinous propaganda. He grabbed it and chucked it at the wall with all the strength he had with a piercing yell, silencing the transmission forever.

Breathing with intense ire, he still was unsatisfied. So he gave the radio a few more smashes with his hooves.

Punch after punch after punch after punch after punch.

His hooves were bloody at that point, after punching through wire and metal for so long. With his rage subsiding, he turned to Fallion with a crazed look in his eye.

Fallion did not budge. He was as stoic as ever.

Johan felt his resolve whither. “Please Fallion.” Johan said, sitting on his haunches. “You are my most trusted individual. Tell me what I am supposed to do! Please!” Johan’s voice quivered.

Fallion could only watch in pity for his king. And with the sight he was in now, the answer for what had to be done was plain and obvious for all to see.

“Surrender.” he simply stated. “Then her punishment will be merciful, I’m sure.”

Johan stared in disbelief. He felt like he had been bucked in the stomach by an Earth Stallion. He felt his eyes sting a little.

Looking back at the ruined radio, there was nothing left but a dented metal box with a speaker. Then he looked down at the blood: The blood on his hooves for his arrogance, his greed, his pride, and his hedonism.

It would haunt him forever. Tears freely trailed down from his eyes onto his cheeks. He took a shuddering breath.

“Fallion…” Johan ordered, barely above a whisper.

“Yes, your grace?” Fallion answered, hoping his king would do the right thing.

And to his relief, for once in his career… he did.

“Tell the Queen that... the King of Olenia is... willing to negotiate the terms of surrender.”

Author's Note

Happy Early New Year. Now onto Amore!