Alpha & Omega

Chapters

PROLOGUE: ELECTRIC SHEEP
CHAPTER 1: DARK DAYS AHEAD
##NULL##
CHAPTER 3: RAGE & DECEIT
CHAPTER 4: THE REBELLION

PROLOGUE: ELECTRIC SHEEP

PROLOGUE: ELECTRIC SHEEP

Darkness.

All around, total black. A low, mechanical hum was the only evidence to whoever was within the pod that they were still alive. The beast that resided within lay perfectly still, not a single part of it's body moving. It was not breathing, perhaps this one was not alive?

A red light speared into the darkness, flashing every second exactly with a dull beep accompanying it. But the beast could not see this, for it's eyes were frozen shut within the cryo pod. For another five seconds the light beeped, before it and the humming was drowned out by a piercing hiss of steam filling the chamber. Almost immediately the ice began to melt, the liquid it left behind being vented away through tubes in the bottom of the pod.

The sound of metal-on-metal screeched as mechanical arms raised the pod and it's ninety-nine other brothers into the air, giving their residents a view of the immaculate xenocronium floors below. The glass cover of the pods flickered with a red light before immediately disappearing, a few stray, grain-sized hexagons staying behind for a fraction of a nanosecond.

Water dripped from the bodies of the creatures within each of the pods. If one were to gaze upon them, they would barely be able to see what was inside, with an occasional flashing red light every few yards acting as the only illumination.

Inside the pod, a beast snarled as two thin yellow eyes opened. Almost instantly, the tubes and wires attached to various metal sockets across it's torso, limbs, spine and even down it's throat all began to detach, a clear liquid blasting out of each of them as they whipped around like enraged serpents, as if trying to fight against the force that was dragging them back inside of the pod.

The beast fell from the pod like a puppet that had it's strings cut, which would not be a totally incorrect description. The pod continued to drip liquid down onto it's body, still somewhat holding the crucifix-pose that he was dangling in, until another long whir signified that the pod that been placed into it's previous position. The beast suddenly realized he could hear, and not only did he hear the whir, he noticed that there were soft alarms that accompanied the flashing red lights across the hall.

He would have stood, but his muscles felt far too weak. So instead he laid, his eyes adjusting to the dark and allowing him to see another beast identical to him laying on the ground in a similar position. Much to his annoyance, however, the chamber then filled with a warm white light, almost blinding him as he squinted his eyes.

The metallic floor below him disappeared, but he was immediately caught by a dozen mechanical arms which lifted him up, keeping him in a T-like position. A somewhat feminine voice spoke to him, but his mind had not yet remembered what language was. So he simply let the machines do their work.

Directly in front of him, a hatch opened and another arm came out, this one holding another long, black tube. It inserted the tube into the matching socket in the center of his abdomen, which he remembered was left untouched by the pod. A hissing noise sounded all around the hall as a black ooze began to crawl from the socket across his entire body.

Then the ooze began to seep from the other sockets, seeping into every muscle, crevice and scar across his leathery, dark-grey skin, stopping just dead short of his neck, hands, and feet. Every millimeter of his body was covered, except for his left arm, which was cybernetic. It's general shape was identical to his other arm, but it was made of a chrome-like metal. Thin indented lines ran all over it's silvery surface, allowing it the same frame of movement as a regular arm, if not more.

The ooze tightened with a rubbery sound before hardening, going from totally void-black to a shiny dark-grey with trillions of tiny hexagons all across the surface. Then, with a low growl similar to an animal snarling, a red glow engulfed the suit before dulling down to a barely noticeable maroon tinge across the edges of the suit.

When the arm in front of him disappeared, a dozen more appeared all around him holding jet-black plates of matte armor. As they got nearer tiny arcs of electricity coming from the suit begged for the robots to release the plates. As they did, the armor plates snapped instantly onto the beast's suit, causing him to recoil slightly.

He noticed how reflective the ceiling was, and stared back at his reflection as the machines did their work.

The first thing he noticed were his thin yellow eyes, a barely visible iris in the center of a slightly darker yellow. They gave off a very slight glare from their bioluminescence. Below them he had two tiny holes pointing inward towards his mouth which he picked up scents from. Speaking of which, his lipless mouth was in a permanent sneer, the long, needle-thin teeth that lined his top and bottom jaws were the exact same color as his skin.

A long, purple tongue snaked out from between his jaws and slathered them in saliva, it's hardened-leather texture undamaged despite the sharpness of the teeth. Underneath his shoulder pads and the skin-tight suit beneath them were boney stubs where horns would have been, if his masters weren't so keen on keeping them as short as possible.

Long, stitched scars went from the top of his forehead to the base of his spine. Either those were what would have been ridges of bone peeking from his head which were sawn off to make his helmet fit, or where they put in implants. He couldn't remember.

Speaking of helmets, a metallic finger nudged him in the back of his head and he lowered his head so he was looking forward. A hatch right where he was looking previously had opened and an arm holding a helmet that matched the color of his armor whirred as it slowly lowered the helm onto his head, the arm holding onto it a bit longer as the symbiote crept up his throat and sealed him in completely.

As soon as they appeared, the arms retracted, leaving him standing in a line of one hundred soldiers exactly identical to him in every single way. Such is the nature of those bred from tubes.

As if it were a recurring theme, or possibly a favorite shape of the scientist who designed the helmet, a hundred translucent red hexagons formed his heads-up-display and allowed him to see out of his helmet. The flat, reflective surface of the wall in front of him was similar to that of the ceiling. The two-inch thick armor he wore only served to make him look even more muscular than before, although it was broken apart by gaps in the plating betwixt which lay his joints.

Above the tan tactical harness he wore around his torso was a dull-iron skull right where his collarbones met in the center of his chest. He looked at the detail of his helmet as he awaited orders; a solid piece of T-shaped armor was raised about an inch above the rest of the helmet, this armor a light grey instead of the near-black the rest of him wore. A long, thin visor, the bottom line of which got gradually thinner as it met in the center of his face.

A long, black vent ran up the area encompassing his mouth and nose ran up until it met the center of the visor in a tip as thin as before. Two long plates made of the same material as the lighter gray armor ran across his jawbones, stopping about an inch short of the mouthpiece and leaving an inch of black between them. The plates ended in thin vents indented half an inch into the plate. Above his right ear cap was a thick, rectangular antenna pointing above and behind him.

A thick yellow stripe running down the top of his helmet signified his position as a Centurion Lord.

He stopped daydreaming as glyphs danced and flashed across his view, before he heard a male's voice within his ears.

"Look to your left."

He instantly complied, his head snapping in the ordered direction and he saw 49 other clones doing the same.

"Right."

He did so, the 50 on his right complying as well.

"Up."

Up.

"Down."

Down.

A green diamond flashed in the top left corner of his view, as lines of red text appeared in front of him, moving too fast for him to read. The same voice as before spoke to him.

"Centurion Lord #0303775 of the 117th Siege Regiment 'The Wild Hunt.' Number of sorties: two hundred and sixty. Estimated enemy casualties inflicted: eight thousand five hundred and twelve. Biological age... five standard years?!"

The voice sounded surprised. This caused #0303775 to jump -- he did not realize the voice was an actual person.

A chuckling came from a much, much deeper and heavily accented voice, "You have not heard of the accelerated aging that comes standard with vat-born? You surprise me, human." He seemed to have difficulty pronouncing the last word, drawing out both syllables and causing it to sound odd.

"Hey, I might be an engineer but I didn't design these things. You xeklivians know more about this than I do, you've practically replaced regular breeding with it."

Xeklivian? ...Yes, now he remembered. A warrior race of reptiles bred from none other than the mighty dragons. They were not a natural species, said to have been created from the magical splicing of elf and dragon DNA over 200,000 years ago.

0303775 and his brothers were clones of a Xeklivian, one named Vergerar to be exact. Xeklivians bred from mating were born with a natural affinity for pyromancy, but artificial ones such as himself had none of these traits.

The wall in front of him suddenly flickered, transforming into a window and allowing him to see the pair he was listening to.

On the right was a human male. He wore a standard drab jumpsuit, two cloth-covered tubes leading from pouches on his hips to his abdomen, as well as various straps and belts on areas such as his legs and chest. He wore a modified plate-carrier used as a utility vest. He was helmetless, raising a gloved hand to scratch his dark-brown crew cut as he read the dataslate in his other hand. There was a slight hint of stubble on his cheeks and around his lips.

The man's blue eyes widened. He moved his hand from his head to his face to scratch his short beard -- #0303775 did not know how humans could stand having that itchy hair all over them.

On the left was a male xeklivian. His skin was far, far darker than #0303775's, a coffee-like brown compared to his dark grey. He still had his horns across his body, outcrops of razor-like bone ridged either side of his head, and from his jaw were two tusks which ended in dangerous points. His eyes were a greenish color, complimenting his brown, wrinkled skin. His hands were tied behind his back.

He wore a long robe which ended at his feet, most of it being an off-white except for the thick red stripe down the center of the robe, as well as stripes of the same color trimming the edges of his robe. Within the main red stripe was a pattern of golden fabric arranged in runes which shined gloriously in the artificial light.

He was much shorter than #0303775, however. While a normal Xeklivian is almost seven standard feet, centurions were almost nine feet tall. He was also much thinner than the centurions, who were the definition of a beefcake.

"But that isn't what surprises me," said the human, "Look at his wounds! T3-T9 thoracic vertebrae shattered from a Terran Immortal, left arm amputated after close combat with Elven Inquisitor, and fifty seven separate bullet wounds! Three cardiac arrests and automated restarts, and it doesn't stop there! Good God, what does it take to kill one of these things?!"

The xeklivian chuckled at the human's surprise, "He is truly deserving of his position as Centurion Lord, is he not?"

After a long pause, the human spoke again, staring right into #0303775's eyes through his visor, "What kind of dreams does a monster like you have?"

That was the last #0303775 saw of the pair before they walked further down the hall and out of sight. Legionaries and crewmembers sprinted through the hallway as an alarm on the ceiling blared. The wall in front of him flickered again, before becoming solid.

The floor below him cut out, and he was lowered into a cramped chamber similar to the one he awakened in. A final, mechanical voice echoed in his mind as a compartment in the pod opened to reveal his assault rifle.

"Boarding pods launching is thirty seconds."

CHAPTER 1: DARK DAYS AHEAD

CHAPTER 1: DARK TIMES AHEAD

Gryphus Palace, Mount Talos, 11 years after the second coming of Nightmare Moon

The atmosphere of the palace was warm and homely, braziers in front of the wooden pillars that held up the upturned longship that served as a throne room crackled and snapped loudly, a handful of griffons and the occasional pony scattered near them, holding their claws and hooves up to them to keep warm.

Gilda sat on a stool next to the vacant throne of the griffon king, who was saying goodbyes to the citizens and nobles that had attended this evening's court. She stretched her shoulders and ruffled her feathers. The lamellar armor she wore was heavy as could be, and she wanted nothing more than to be out of it. She wore a pair of heavily baggy earth-green pants, which tightened as they got nearer to the fur leggings she wore, and on her hip was a flintlock with reddish wood in it's similarly colored leather holster.

Shifting in her seat, Gilda crossed one leg over the other, tapping her claws on the steel, veiled helmet that rested on her hip. To her side was a runed scabbard custom made for her ulfberht, a straight longsword made from the finest steel in the north.

She sighed, eyes lazily looking around the throne room.

There was a massive green rug that stretched from the throne to the massive wooden doors, trimmed in golden griffonic knots that twinkled in the light of the braziers. The rug split when it got to the long stone firepit that took up most of the center floor, before reforming on the other side and continuing to the doors. It actually went all the way down the steps that led to the throne room, but during blizzards such as the one outside you couldn't see it.

Similar knots were engraved into the surfaces of the massive pillars, some of them depicting images of dragons. On the faces of the square pillars and lined across the walls of the ship were large board shields, painted with custom imagery and patterns that was completely individual to each shield. On top of each of them was the helmet, acting as a memorial to the brave warriors who bore them.

In between the pillars and the walls of the longship were long dining tables surrounded by dozens of chairs, set with the finest platinum candlesticks, platters, cups, and whatever else people put on dining tables. Gilda never understood why someone would pay a thousand gold for a fork, or even waste precious metals on something you'll just stain with food. Then again, her family was never the rich type.

This room was absolutely massive, as large as a small airship hangar, and that was only about a third of the longship. How her ancestors put this thing on top of a mountain, she had no idea.

Around the room were hundreds of different trinkets, religious or otherwise. Some were placed on shelves, others on tables, some larger ones just sitting on the floor in a corner, out of the way. All of them were clashing designs from hundreds of different cultures, no doubt from the pony, zebra, cervidas, and whatever other immigrants that came here during Griffonia's history.

It disgusted Gilda to no end.

A giggle broke her out of her frustrated stupor, her eyes watching as the king's chick Alex was being chased after his sister, Aria. They had wooden swords in their claws, and when Aria finally caught up to her brother they duked it out in a surprising display of combat skill -- for seven year olds, that is. Gilda noticed they were covered in snow.

A small red reptile as tall as the chicks and wearing a black robe scurried out to meet them, and give them a stern talking to about not playing in the throne room while daddy is having a court. The disappointed looks on their little faces made Gilda's heart sink, but a tiny sneeze from Aria caused her to stifle a giggle.

"Come, let us get you near a fire, and put some warm soup in your bellies. You must have a cold from being in the snow all day!" That would be Klaus, the king's personal kobold servant. Placing his scaly little hands on their backs he led them back into the halls of the longship, the sound of a door closing signifying they were gone.

Two guards wearing identical armor to Gilda, albeit wearing their helmets so that their faces were concealed, walked over to the large doors across the room and pushed them open. A torrent of snow flurried in as the room began to empty, the citizens putting on their cloaks and scarves and such and heading out, waving goodbye to the king. He was a people person indeed, no wonder the ponies loved him so much.

"And therein lies the problem," muttered Gilda under her breath, resting her beak on her gloved claw and snorting in frustration.

"Gilda, please," came a voice from her right. She almost jumped out of her feathers when she saw King Rhosus II standing next to her in front of his throne. He moves fast for an old hawk. "Show some respect to the Henosians. They are our allies, after all."

Gilda sighed in faux content and forced a smile, "Of course, your majesty," she lied, cheeks red in embarrassment of the king hearing what she said. He gave her a weak smile, looking at her with his weary eyes. The feathers on his head were a dark brown, elongated feathers on his chin gave him the appearance of having a goatee. The feathers around his eyes were a slightly lighter shade of brown, almost a dark tan.

A blood-red cape trimmed with the fur of a snow leopard was draped over the chainmail tunic he wore, a modest golden crown atop his head. A long pair of scars traced a wicked-looking line across his left eye and yellow beak, causing his eye to become milky white in contrast to the bright yellow of his other eye. The king turned back to watching the citizens leave, as did Gilda. She paid more attention to the ponies in the group, however.

These ponies were different than the ones you might find in Equestria, which was far, far away from Griffonia. Henosis, on the other hand, was a vassal of Celestia, and it's population was comprised of Snow Ponies. Like all the pony sub-races, they were basically the same except with a few defining traits. In this instance, snow-ponies mostly had light-colored coats, white being a very common one. Their unicorns also had a natural affinity for frost magic, and some rumors say that the pegasi could summon torrents of snow from their wings -- what garbage.

Some of them come to Griffonia for their pilgrimage, some sort of cultural thing the Henosians have that designates them becoming an adult, similar to an Equestrian gaining her cutie mark. They're supposed to prove that they have earned their cutie mark by heading out into the world and making something of their lives, which is why there are white-coated ponies on basically every continent on Mundus, and is the reason the main population of Henosis is so low.

As the guards closed the massive doors once more, King Rhosus stretched his back and yawned, "I suppose it would be time to 'hit the hay', as it were," he said, chuckling at the saying he picked up from the snow-ponies.

Gilda forced another smile, standing up from her stool and stretching her body with a series of satisfying pops. She grabbed her helmet and placed it on top of her head -- not that it was really needed, she just thought it looked awesome, despite how warm it made her -- and fastened her scabbard around her waist.

She walked over to a door flanking the throne, but Rhosus beat her to if before she could open it, already stepping through and waiting for her. Old man never believed in having other people do simple things like opening doors and bathing him. Gilda was thankful she never had to do the latter.

"My lord, you really should allow me to take the lead," said Gilda, walking with Rhosus down the halls of the palace as she spoke, "What if an assassin was behind the door?"

Rhosus chuckled at this, "Please, Gilda. Who would want to assassinate me? Not only are we in a time of peace..."

"...But the people love you," finished Gilda, a genuine smile hidden beneath the chainmail veil of her helmet. Rhosus nodded, before turning back to look ahead of him. The walls of this area were actually made of stone brick, built inside of the longship only a century ago. For those who hadn't lived here a third of their lives like Gilda, they would have been shocked by the sudden change in architecture.

Multicolored banners and shields lined the walls. Similar to the ones in the throne room, they all had custom pattern individual to each. These had no helmets on top of them, however.

Gilda heard a giggle down the hall, the orange firelight which shone through a crack in the door flickered in and out of existence, likely the shadow of someone walking in front of the door. Rhosus rushed over to the door, at least as fast as an 80 year old bird could 'rush', cracking it open and peeking inside.

"Daddy!" came a tiny voice from the room, followed by elated squeals and giggles. No matter how bad Gilda was feeling, the sound of the little chicks giggling and squealing brought a smile to her beak every time. She stepped over to the door and peeked inside, seeing Rhosus knelt down in front of his two chicks who embraced him in a hug. Klaus was in the corner, who took a quick glance at Gilda and smiled at her.

Turning away from the door and allowing Rhosus to be with his chicks, she almost squawked when she saw the cold yellow eyes of Cassandra staring into her own. She jumped back, a few feathers flying away.

"By Pride, Cassie, you scared the life out of me!" said Gilda between short pants, holding onto her chest with a gloved claw.

The white griffon smirked, her claws crossed in front of her, "Good, maybe now you'll learn to be more alert. I coulda been an assassin, you know."

Gilda gave her a flat look beneath her veil, bending over to pick up one of her feathers before Cassie placed an armored black claw on her chest, "He's never going to listen to you, you know."

Gilda sighed, "Is this about Henosis again? I told you, I've gotten over that," holding two feathers in her claws which she pointed at Cassie in an accusing manner.

Cassie laughed, "You're a disgrace of a liar, you know that, Gilda?" Gilda sighed once more, turning away from Cassie who placed her claw on the retainer's chest once more, making her look back at Cassie, who had her other claw lazily resting on top of the axe fastened to her hip, "I hate the snow-ponies being here as much as you do. They're loud, they use up our resources, and they see our culture as nothing more than tourist spots. But my father, he's deathly afraid of the Princesses. They'd see his attempts at making Griffonia a land of griffons as an act of aggression, and invade."

Gilda scoffed, "Please. Their idea of conflict is throwing pies at each other. They couldn't even defend their land from a stampede of rabbits! They're all pacifists."

"Similar to how we are. Or at least, what the princesses have turned us into. Maybe not you or I, but certainly the people. This land is in dire need of change, and we're the ones who can bring it."

The door squeaked open, and out walked King Rhosus, slowly closing the door behind him. Gilda looked at him then back to Cassandra, "I'm just the King's retainer, Cassie. I wouldn't know anything about that."

Cassie gave Gilda a grim look, before turning to Rhosus, "Did you tuck the chicks in, father?"

Rhosus smiled at the sight of his daughter, "Yes. Klaus is reading them a bedtime story."

Gilda let out an overly-dramatic gasp, a smile on her beak invisible beneath the chainmail, "I thought it was my turn to read to them!"

"No, you read to them last night," said Rhosus, chucking, "Tonight is Klaus, then Cassandra, and after that is you." Rhosus turned to Cassandra, "You best get to sleep, my child. All of you have an extremely important day in the morning."

Cassandra smiled, "Father, please, I'm not a chick anymore." Rhosus' smile faded at her words as he sighed.

"I know, my dear. It seems this old hawk just has a hard time seeing his chicks growing up so fast," a smile grew back onto his face, "I'm proud of you, Cassandra." Rhosus seemed to jump, as if forgetting something, "And you too, dear Gilda."

"Thank you, your majesty," said Gilda, bowing her head in respect.

Rhosus watched Cassandra walk down the hall to her bedroom. When she turned the corner, Rhosus looked back to Gilda, "I best get to bed -- wouldn't want to miss Alex's first day in combat school, would I?"

"I shall lead you to your chambers--"

"No need, Gilda. You've had a long day, and I am thankful for you sticking with me no matter how boring it may have been. You deserve some rest."

Gilda blushed beneath her helm, "Just part of the job, your majesty."

They shared a final bow, before Rhosus walked down the hall in the same direction Cassie took, but heading down the left hall instead. Gilda walked over to a table on the side of the hallway, examining the plates and candles atop it. But what she was really there for was the round shield placed above it. On top of the simple black and white quadrant pattern was a vicious looking eagle made of black and red griffonic knots. It's wings curved with the round shape of the shield, half it's face shown with it's blood red eye staring right at Gilda.

Wrapped around the edges were a series of runes -- Gilda couldn't understand what they said, however. Crossed behind it were two large battleaxes, the steel heads of which had a similar pattern of griffonic knots. This was the only shield in the hall that had a helmet on top of it, this one almost identical to Gilda's.

As she futilely attempted to decipher the runes, a loud crashing nearly made her heart leap from her chest. Claws wrapped tightly on the hilt of her sword, she flew around the corner and swung open the door to King Rhosus' bedroom.

"No..."

There, on the ground, lay King Rhosus II, wheezing heavily and grasping at his chest. Gilda practically threw her sword to the ground, ripping off her helmet as she knelt down and tried to help Rhosus up.

"No..." she whimpered, tears forming in her eyes as Rhosus began to cough. With all of her strength she lifted him onto the bed and placed the covers over him. He stared at her with his weary yellow eyes.

"It seems my time has come," said Rhosus.

"No... no, you can't! I-I can get an apothecary, they'll help you!" croaked Gilda between sobs, her voice broken as tears fell onto the bed.

"No need, my dear," said Rhosus in a calm voice, placing a claw on top of Gilda's, turning away from her to look at the ceiling, "If Pride wishes my audience, who am I to deny him?"

Rhosus coughed once more, weakly raising a claw to point at a chest-of-drawers across the room, "If it isn't too much to ask, could you grab my beads?"

Without a word, Gilda left his side and walked over to the chest, grabbing a necklace of multicolored beads which lay in a small pile on top of it with both of her claws and bringing it to the king. He took it in his claw and held it to his chest, his breathing becoming somewhat labored as he looked directly into Gilda's eyes.

"Gilda... my friend. I cannot thank you enough for all you have done for me..."

"...I-I was just doing my duty--"

"No, do not give me that. You may think you were just doing what you were ordered, but you and I both know that Gilda Blacktalon is more than just the King's retainer. She is my friend."

Gilda smiled, tears still falling as Rhosus continued.

"Even at my worst you have been at my side when my children were more interested in politics, despite our disagreements you still supported me the whole way through. And that alone is the greatest kindness you could have bestowed upon me. And I cannot thank you enough for it, Gilda."

Rhosus grabbed Gilda's claw and held it tightly, wrapping the beads around both of their claws, "May Pride guide you on your journies, Gilda Blacktalon I."

Gilda sniffed, her eyes reddish from the tears, but she still gave a weak smile, "...And may Pride guide you on your journey, Rhosus Ironclaw II."

Laying back down, Rhosus let in a deep breath through his nostrils and closed his eyes, "So this is what it's like," he said to no one, "Curious, they always said there would be a light..."

With one final breath, the Griffon King passed.

"No... no..." Gilda squeaked, letting go of her composure completely as she began to sob.

A tiny voice behind her was the scariest thing she had ever experienced in her life.

"Daddy?"

"...Oh, God no."

##NULL##

CHAPTER 2: VALHÖLL & THE SCHEMING OF GODS

CHAPTER 2: VALHÖLL & THE SCHEMING OF GODS

The entire city of Talos Bao'Dur stood along the coastline as thunder rumbled across the valley. Pyres atop lighthouses around the city walls were ablaze, spires of black smoke curving into the clouds. Not only were there griffons, but there were ponies and a surprising amount of minotaurs within the massive crowd.

Far out into the bay was a lone longship.

Gilda stood alongside the other kingsguard at the edge of the water, the bottoms of their cloaks damp from the tide. They had their hoods up over their helmets to shield them from the rain. Most other citizens were dressed the same, most of them also wearing masks of various designs and types to conceal their faces.

Except for those damned ponies.

Gilda's eyes widened slightly at the stray thought that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, clenching her eyes shut to dispel it. This was not their fault, Gilda. Let your rivalries go, at least for the time being.

She looked to the small chick standing next to her. Alex grasped a bow in his tiny claws, his father's to be exact, his face flushed and eyes puffy, stuck in a thousand-yard stare toward the longship. One of the kingsguard was knelt down behind him, one claw stroking the child's arm to comfort him, the other gripped tightly on his krókspjót, albeit located much lower on the spear's shaft due to him kneeling down. Gilda glanced at him, and the kingsguard gave her a grim look behind his helmet.

A piercing whistle sounded through the air. Gilda and a thousand others looked up, and saw a single flaming arrow arcing through the cloudy skies. It began to descend on the longship, Gilda's breath catching as the flame seemed to die out as it got closer to the ship. Suddenly, a small flame lit on the edge of the sail, which quickly grew into a large fire that spread to the deck of the ship. Gilda silently exhaled in relief. A misfire would have ruined the entire moment.

This was all her fault. What?! No it wasn't! They'll think I murdered him, they'll find some way to blame me for this and I'll be executed. Why would they do that? Think about it, his most trusted servant, the enemy would expect them to expect she was innocent. What enemy?! Stop. Stop thinking about this, Gilda. He died because of her and now his chicks were orphans no get a hold of yourself Gilda stop thinking about it Gilda are you alright.

She jumped -- that last part wasn't her.

Turning to the voice, she was met with the chest of a minotaur. Looking up, she gasped when she saw the pectoral muscles belonged to none other than

"Iron Will? What are you doing here?" Gilda asked breathlessly, keeping her voice as quiet as possible in respect. Although the fact she was talking in general made that last part inferior.

"I have come to mourn the loss of my king, Gilda. As have you; as have all of us."

"Right... stupid question," she said, blushing beneath her helm.

"There is no such thing," added Iron Will quickly, staring out at the longship. Only the flaming dragons head on the bow of the ship was visible, the rest sank into the icy waters of Brunhildar Bay. Shortly afterwards the entirety of the ship was gone, King Rhosus II buried beneath the waters of his home.

The sight of the burial suddenly gave Gilda a massive wave of courage, "Cattle die, kinsmen die; the self must also die!" she yelled, feeling a hundred eyes on the back of her skull, including Iron Will's who gave her a confused look, "I know one thing which never dies: the reputation of each dead griff! Those were the wise words of Pride, the Allfather," A few voices around her barked and howled in cheer.

"King Rhosus Ironclaw II was one of my dearest friends, as he was to all of us!" Gilda turned around to face the entire city behind her, taking a few steps back as she spoke until she was knee-deep in icy seawater, "Let us remember this day not as a time of darkness, but in glorious memory of a great warrior beginning his journey to Valhöll!" This received a much more uproarious reaction from the crowd, hundreds of griffons and minotaurs began to cheer.

"Pride himself quakes in fear at each step our king is taking as I speak to you! I have lived half my life alongside the King, and I can tell you for a fact that the Æsir do not know who is coming for them! I say we do the same as our king! I say we march to the nearest bar, and get absolutely hammered in memorial of our fallen king, who would have wanted us to do just that! For the King!"

Unsurprisingly, this gained an uproarious reaction from the crowd, all of them chanting For the King! Gilda knew the citizens in the back had no idea why they were cheering, but knowing the griffons who lived in the capital, they'd tell them something along the lines of 'free booze!' and they wouldn't care how good her speech was. Maybe she should have mentioned they had to pay. Also, the chicks couldn't come, but everyone probably already knew that.

A few minutes had passed and the crowd began to disperse, flooding through gates around the city walls that lined the coast, until only a large handful of citizens remained, Iron Will and the kingsguard were still there, however. Gilda shivered slightly as she quickly jogged out of the water, now realizing she couldn't feel her legs. Iron Will untied his cloak and draped it over her.

She looked at him for a few moments, the coastal winds making his mane whip around, before charging forward and giving him a hug, "Where have you been, big dude?! I missed you!"

Iron Will was surprised by her sudden show of affection, but gladly returned the hug, "'Big Dude?'" he asked incredulously.

Gilda's eyes widened and she blushed, breaking apart the hug, "Eheh... sorry. Old habits die hard."

Iron Will waved his hand, "Think nothing of it. I am glad to see you as well, Gilda; although I wish we had met under better circumstances," he said, taking a small glance at the bay.

The group stood in silence.

Iron Will cleared his throat, "So, are we going to stand here and freeze or are we going to, as you so eloquently put it, 'get hammered?'"

Gilda blushed again, but she still let out a laugh, "Absolutely."

"To the King!"

"To my father!"

The group cheered as they clinked their tankards together, before rearing their heads back and drinking deep of the sweet nectar. Despite the freezing weather, the ale kept their bellies warm as the cloaks kept their bodies warm.

Gilda, Cassandra, Iron Will and a few kingsguard stood not in a bar, but in the tent-city that was the market district of Talos Bao'Dur. Dozens of groups all drank and sang and celebrated. If they weren't celebrating the memory of the fallen king, they were thinking of things to celebrate so they could keep drinking. This winter wasn't as bad as the others. At least he died peacefully in his sleep. Things like that.

Gilda exhaled sharply as she removed the mug from her face, wiping ale from her beak. The clattering of armor drew her attention to a kingsguard walking behind her. She waved him over, "Soldier!"

The guard stopped, resting his spear on his cheek before walking over to her. Gilda noticed this was the same kingsguard that was comforting Alex on the beach. He looked... different.

"What's your name, soldier?"

"Ragnar, m'lady."

"I don't remember you wearing green when we were on the beach," said Gilda, looking at him from behind his mask. She now realized that the grim look he gave her wasn't a one-time thing, that was just how he looked.

"Did a bit of shopping," said the guard, slowly blinking as he spoke. From his eyes one would be easily forgiven for thinking he had gone a thousand years without a nap -- the poor griffon looked like a zombie.

"You look like a frog," said Cassandra, peeking around Gilda to look at the kingsguard.

"Better than an eggplant," he responded in surprisingly cheery voice, despite a large frown on his beak being visible beneath the chainmail of his helmet. He stared blankly in the general direction of Cassie before turning and walking away, holding his spear close to his face.

"Care to join us for a few rounds?" asked Iron Will, holding his mug up to his head.

Ragnar stopped, glancing behind him until his eyes were locked with Iron's, "No." He turned to walk away, but stopped himself and looked back at Iron Will, "But thank you for the offer, m'lord." And with that, he left.

After a short pause, one of the kingsguard spoke up, "A strange bird, that one."

Gilda looked at him, before watching Ragnar as he turned the corner, "A wise griff's heart is seldom cheerful. I suspect we will be seeing more of him in time."

There was silence.

"To Ragnar!" yelled one of the kingsguard, raising his mug and shattering the silence, much to the group's relief. They joined in the toast, happy to have found a reason to continue wasting themselves.

Four hours later

Gilda, thankfully, was only slightly buzzed. She had made sure that the drink she ordered in the marketplace lasted as long as it could. She couldn't say the same for some of the soldiers under her command, however.

"Another!" squawked a kingsguard sitting at a counter, his face beet-red from all the ale he was drowning himself in. At this rate he'd end up dying of alchohol poisoning -- Gilda bet Rhosus would get a kick out of that when he saw the kingsguard in Valhöll.

The Rosy Apple was the largest tavern in Talos, and that also made it the most popular one, especially at a time like this. One could easily tell just how much griffons loved their ale, as this 'tavern' was three stories tall. Plenty of drunken citizens have fallen from the balconies that wrapped around the open space leading to a skylight, which was tilted at an angle, letting the cold air in but stopping the snow from piling up and shattering the window. Besides, they always had the firepits and their ale to keep them warm.

The ponies called it 'The Worst Wonder of The World.' The griffons called it home.

To Gilda's relief, Cassandra, Iron Will and most of the kingsguard in her group went light on the drinks, too. Ragnar was there, but he wasn't drinking. He still had his helmet on and his spear close to his body, but his relaxed stance showed he wasn't going to use it unless he had to.

Let's hope he doesn't have to.

Gilda took a deep breath, and then leapt on top of an empty table directly beneath the skylight. "Everyone, listen to my words!" she shouted at the top of her lungs. The citizens who recognized her from the beach immediately dropped their drinks and turned to her, eager for her to speak. Iron Will and the others were stood in a dark corner, watching Gilda as she gave her speech.

"It is a sad time, but we have made the most of it! Despite such a massive loss, we are staying strong. We are not mourning, but we are celebrating Rhosus' memory! But we have all had our drinks, some of us a few more than we should have..." That elected a few laughs from the crowd, Gilda taking a glance at the kingsguard from a few minutes ago passed out on the floor. "...But now we must look at ourselves. There is certainly something wrong here."

The citizens shared confused looks with one another, especially the ponies, "No more do we have the glorious, dragon-headed longships our ancestors raided the coastlines with. The only ships entering our waters are Equestrian galleons. Some of them bring goods, but have any of you noticed the ones that don't? The ones that sit at the throat of Brunhildar Bay and wait? Have you noticed the dark figures on the corners of streets and hidden in alleyways, watching us and judging us? Have you noticed how many citizens have been going missing ever since the princesses put their so-called 'Peacekeepers' in our cities?"

"That's horseapples!" shouted a snow-pony in the audience, before being shouted down by -- surprisingly -- Ragnar. A few ponies and griffons got up to leave.

Despite this, Gilda continued her surprisingly controversial speech, "Our citizens no longer say 'going to sleep,' rather they use the equine term 'hitting the hay.' We've gotten rid of the term 'swearing like a griffon,' now when someone annoys us, we don't give a flying feather! Do you see a pattern yet?"

A few griffons shouted in agreement, others nodding at each other and turning back to Gilda. More ponies got up and left.

"This isn't Griffonia anymore, oh no; Griffonia died long ago when our ancestors signed the Equestrian's peace treaty. Our once proud race has been reduced to pacifists just like the ponies!"

This got the ponies riled up, they shot up out of their chairs, shouting obscenities at Gilda, some griffons even joining them. But the patrons who were with Gilda outnumbered them greatly, and with their combined shouts for the ponies to shut up, the mead hall got quiet again. Especially when they too got up to leave. It had no affect on the amount of patrons, however, as it was still packed even with the ponies' absence.

"Think about it, we once had the most superior militaristic force on Mundus! The very earth quaked in fear at us! But now? The only thing close enough to an army is the kingsguard! 'You don't need one!' cry the Henosians, 'we will protect you like the allies we are!' Bollocks. Absolute bollocks." Gilda didn't even realize how angry she was getting, her speeches truly did rise emotions in everyone, herself included.

"I say, no more! I say it is time that we reclaim our birthright as warriors! I say we unite, as one, against the common enemy!" Gilda roared, unsheathing her sword and pointing it into the air, "I say we cut ourselves free of our strings the equestrians dangle us by! We are not their slaves, we are griffons! And by Pride, it's time we start acting like griffons! For the King!" With that, the mead hall erupted in cheering and applause.

The perfect time for a lone pony in a dark grey robe to slip out into the streets.

Somewhere else...

Ethereal whispers filled the misty, blue-black chamber as a lone, white alicorn gracefully walked through the void. She stopped suddenly and sat on her haunches, looking around as shadows began to appear. On top of her head was a large golden tiara with an amethyst in the center. Around her neck was a thick necklace, and regal slippers around her hooves which were of the same color. Emblazened on her flank was an image of the sun.

Next to her walked up two other alicorns, the left one dark blue and shorter than she was. Her mane and tail were made of stars, blending into the atmosphere of the chamber. She wore similar attire to her sister, albeit a very dark purple that complimented her already dark colors. On her flank was a crescent moon in the center of pitch-black splotches.

The one on the right of her was even shorter, as tall as a regular mare. Her coat was a lavender color, and her straight mane and tail were made up of stripes of various shades of purple, with a line of a strikingly bright purple through both. Her jewelry was the same in general style of the sun-alicorn's, but on top of her tiara was a pink six-pointed star, identical to the one on her flank.

"It has been one week," said the white alicorn, her voice regal and calm, almost motherly, "One week since the death of King Rhosus II of the Griffon Kingdom."

Another white alicorn walked into sight, her mane and tail curly blonde instead of the rainbow of pastels belonging to the sun-alicorn. A green cloak trimmed with cream-colored fur was draped over her back, a wreathed crown on her head and a rainbow on her flank. Her icy blue eyes seemed to glow in the darkness, and a long teal gorget armored the length of her neck.

Next up was a mare only slightly taller than the lavender alicorn with a pink coat and a tiara-less mane of dark blue, both it and her tail cut to an almost tomboyish shortness. At first glance it appeared she only had wings as apposed to the others who had both wings and a horn, but a quick flip of her hair revealed the pink stump of a horn. No doubt it was lost in a battle, because she was the most heavily armored of the alicorns.

Jagged iron made up the armor along most of her back and flank, accented by a bronze gorget that fully enclosed her neck. On her hooves were dark-iron slippers similar to the ones the others had, but the ones in the front had two sharp blades which swiveled down to be used as claws. Fleurs-de-lis were emblazoned on parts of her armor, and lightning bolts that matched the color of her mane could barely be seen beneath her flank armor.

She was accompanied by a mare as tall as the sun-alicorn, her coat the same exact color, as was the jewelry she wore, albeit with silver fluers-de-lis emblazoned front and center on each, and instead of an amethyst her crown had a clear, blue, teardrop shaped gem that was made to look like part of the fluer-de-lis. Her straight, sparkling scarlet mane covered half her face, leaving only one teal eye visible. On her flank was an inkwell full of a dark-red liquid.

The last alicorn approached by herself and filled an empty gap between the others. She was as tall as the moon-alicorn, but her coat was the same white as most of the others. Her hair, similar to the moon and sun alicorns, waved gently in a nonexistent air, and having the appearance of a cold blue nebula. Her eyes looked crystalline, their purple irises somehow shaped like hexagons -- even the light that reflected off of them were shaped like hexagons as well. The mark on her flank was a simple cluster of blue stars. She was easily one of the more modest alicorns, her jewelry made of simple gold in a generic shape, with the tiniest tiara of the other alicorns rested atop her horn.

"Princess Iridia," stated the moon-alicorn, her voice deep and nigh-monotonous, demanding authority, "How are the griffons taking this loss?"

The blonde alicorn looked at her, "They are taking it surpisingly well, Princess Luna. Rather than hide in their homes and mourn, they are out in the streets of their capital celebrating and drinking."

"Must not've been very popular," interruped the pink alicorn, a slight Manehattan twang in her voice.

"Quite the opposite, in fact," stated Iridia, a smile visible on her face, "They drink and sing in memorial of their fallen king, celebrating his journey to Valhöll, their idea of the afterlife."

"They say one can only go there if they were a great warrior. If they killed enough ponies in their lifetime," said the nebula-maned alicorn. Her condescending voice was flanged with a whispering echo that stalked every word she uttered, "Barbarians, all of them."

"Enough, Galaxia," snapped the sun-alicorn, causing Galaxia to look away with anger scrunched on her face. She turned back to Iridia, "Do they suspect anything about his death?"

Iridia sighed, her eyes darting in front of her as if she was digesting the words in her head, "No, they still believe he died peacefully in his bed. And thankfully, they burned the body before they could see his wounds."

The lavender alicorn looked shocked, turning to the sun princess, "Princess Celestia... you didn't have the griffon king assassinated, did you?"

Celestia lowered her head and closed her eyes, "Unfortunately, Twilight, I did." Before Twilight could retort, she continued, "But I did it for the good of Equestria, and all of Mundus. The king was planning to exile Iridia's snow-ponies and turn Griffonia into a purely-griffon nation."

"We were afraid of them building up an army to attack Iridia and her kingdom in Henosia," said the red-maned alicorn Princess Rosetta, "The griffons have always despised our magic and the way we, as they put it, 'raped nature.' If they went back to their warlike ways, their military strength could allow them to conquer not only the Ponylands, but the entire globe."

Iridia interrupted, "You didn't let me finish. His children have begun to rally the citizens, saying they deserve to reclaim their birthright as warriors. It seems he passed down his ignorance and hatred to his heirs."

"Then we'll just send more assassins," said Princess Stella, the hornless princess.

"If we do that," said Luna, "then we would simply be sending my thestrals to their deaths. His children are not like their elderly father -- they are young and still have warriors blood in their veins. And on top of this, it would be far too difficult to coax them into an area way from prying eyes with the celebrations and chaos going on."

Princess Galaxia spoke, "Why not use the chaos to their advantage? They'll sleep like rocks with all the drinking they've been doing, we can just slit their throats while they sleep." Twilight couldn't believe what she was hearing, but she listened nonetheless.

"No, it would be far too convenient for the king's perfectly healthy children to all die a week after their father's death," said Rosetta, "And even then, their deaths would just rally the citizens and war would be inevitable."

There was a long, long silence.

Suddenly, Twilight Sparkle gasped loudly, drawing the attention of the other princesses as she stepped forward.

"I have an idea!"

CHAPTER 3: RAGE & DECEIT

CHAPTER 3: RAGE & DECEIT

Southmarch, Kingdom of Griffonia, 11 A.N.M.

"I am glad you came to me about this matter, Princess Twilight. I assure you I would not allow anything to happen to our alliance with the ponies," said Jarl Fierdsveinn Lionsblood, walking down the dusty halls of Hadrborg Keep with the magical apparition of Princess Twilight Sparkle. Most of her regal attire was gone, except for the crown on top of her head.

"You are welcome, Jarl Fierdsveinn. And please, call me Twilight," said Twilight, her translucent purple form flickering slightly as she spoke. She was always amazed by griffonian architecture -- this hallway alone was so big it could hold a dragon. Massively vertical windows allowed a perfect view of the city as well as the breathtakingly gorgeous, green tundra of Southmarch, and the pine-trees of the Haafíngar Forest beyond that.

Out in the distance, through the mist of the frosty morning, was a mountain with an entire half of it missing, one side perfectly flat like somepony -- or rather someone -- had sliced it with a saw. And carved into the flat side in griffonic knots was the scene of a griffon húskarl decapitating a dragon. A bit brutal for her tastes, but the very notion that such a landmark existed sent shivers down her spine. Fierdsveinn said that mountain was called Naðrfall.

She wished she could stay here and just learn about griffonian culture and history. Their religion, their customs, their leaders; despite how violent they were -- and she didn't try and pretend they were in the wrong for that, unlike Princess Galaxia. It wasn't their fault they lived in such a harsh place -- she wanted to know everything. But she had her duties as a princess to attend to back home in Equestria, and there was absolutely no way she was going to squander them... as much as it pained her sometimes to carry them out. Especially now, where she was flat out lying to one of the most influential griffons in the world.

"Although I wish we could have met in person," said Twilight, the two of them stopping and turning to one another. The long red rug looked like it was made out of silk, if only she could feel it under her hooves.

"Think nothing of it, Pri-- er, Twilight. I understand that, as royalty, you are surely pressed for time. This was by far the most simple way of communicating with me. If only us griffons had the magical prowess of ponies, especially that of a magister as impressive as you."

Twilight bowed her head in respect, "Thank you, Jarl."

Fierdsveinn turned away and sighed, his black claws crossed at the base of his padded-leather tunic, "Our two houses have been bitter rivals since the very beginning. We had completely different ideals. While House Lionsblood wanted peace and unity above all else, our northern brothers in House Ironclaw thought the griffons to be superior, and they would use whatever force necessary to make sure the rest of Mundus knew it."

Fierdsveinn walked over to one of the windows, watching a flock of white birds fly past, "But of course the only member of Ironclaw who actually considered peace had to die."

Twilight walked up to him, a confused look on her face, But... if he wanted peace... then why did Celestia have him killed? she thought.

The Jarl continued, "At least his death was peaceful..." he sighed again, "I suppose there is no reason to dwell on it any longer."

He turned to Twilight's apparition, who was watching the landscape with a grim look on her face. She turned to Fierdsveinn, "So, it seems we have a deal?"

Jarl Fierdsveinn smiled, "On behalf of House Lionsblood and all of Southmarch, we have a deal, Princess Twilight Sparkle."

Twilight smiled, bowing her head, "I am glad to hear it, Jarl. I would shake your hand, but it wouldn't be possible in my incorporeal form."

Fierdsveinn chuckled, "Then I will simply give you a respectful bow," he said, doing just so, as did Twilight. They gave each other another, smaller bow before Twilight disappeared.

Jarl Fierdsveinn turned back to the window, looking out at Naðrfall. He sighed, "Time to set things right. Once and for all."

Gryphus Palace, Talos Bao'Dur, 11 A.N.M.

Gilda walked through the vacant halls of the palace. She was out of her lamellar armor, a tan-green colored tunic covering her brown fur. It was a single size too large for her, making it look baggy around her arms. Her scabbard was tied lazily at her side, the belts of the harness clinking slightly against each other as well as the handle of her ulfberht with each step. Her eyes stated blankly out in front of her, deep black bags clearly visible underneath them. Deep within her skull was the worst hangover she had ever had.

By the gods, I only had one mug. Well, one and a half. Two-- no, three, tops.

Banners as tall as the ceilings lined the walls. They were of varying colors, each representing the Griffonian noble houses. House Ironclaw, a long green banner with a silver, veiled spectacle helmet, with two hafted axes of the same color crossed behind it. House Al-Væpni, an ocean-blue banner with a black anvil wrapped in griffonic knots, House Lionsblood, a blood-red banner with the golden image of a griffon warrior beheading a dragon. Almost every noble house was shown in this hall.

Almost.

A loud grunt caused Gilda to stop. She turned to the source of the noise -- a large, wooden door which was cracked open. This one in particular led to the training room. She let her claws, which were formally crossed behind her back, fall limp at her sides. She walked toward the door, the sound of grunting and the clashing of steel getting louder as she neared it, leaning into the door and creaking it open.

The room was totally vacant, except for a griffon and a minotaur who were sparring with weapons wrapped in cloth. Gilda recognized one of them.

With a feral howl, the griffon lunged at the minotaur, who was kneeling on the ground and using his halberd to keep him steady. He raised his board shield, but the griffon merely shattered it under the weight of his axe. He swooped the axe around, sweeping it underneath him and slamming it into the minotaur's jaw causing him to fall onto his back.

The griffon leapt on top of the minotaur with the help of his wings, and placed the cushioned axe blade against the minotaur's chainmail covered throat. Some of the links were red from his broken teeth.

A single laugh drew the attention of both of them, and they snapped their heads toward Gilda, who was leaning against a wall with her arms crossed, "Getting out some frustration, Darius?"

The griffon looked back at the minotaur. With a snarl, he tossed his axe to the ground and stepped down from the minotaur's chest, stomping over to the door. Gilda placed a hand out to stop him, but she was met with him roaring at her like a lion beneath his helmet before kicking the door open and storming out.

Gilda looked at the door, then back to the minotaur who was trying to get up. "Like a wild animal, that one," he said, carefully taking off his helmet which had holes in it for his horns. He spat out a hunk of blood and teeth on the floor, wiping his mouth off with his fur bracer before he was on his feet.

Brushing himself off, he continued, "I suppose if I lived as long as an ox fart I might be desperate to make something of myself too." He turned to Gilda, scratching his dark grey mutton chops which contrasted his bronze-colored fur, "But where are my manners. My name is Fulvus Cauda, or Bronze Tail in your tongue. I am bodyguard of the minotaur who led the mercenary band that came here the day prior to the funeral. A pleasure to make your acquaintance," he bowed his head in respect as he finished his sentence.

"Gilda Blacktalon, former retainer to the king," said Gilda, bowing her head as he did.

"You know my brother, Ferrus Voluntas. Iron Will, as he prefers to be called. He always spoke highly of you. Haven't seen him since back when we still lived in the capital."

Gilda perked up at this, "Iron Will was here yesterday. He joined me and the other kingsguard at Rhosus' funeral, as well as during the memorial celebrations, but this morning he was nowhere to be found."

Fulvus chuckled, "That sounds like my brother. Always moving place to place, never keeping acquainted. Should be expected of one who couldn't keep a brother, either. I hear he used to be a self-help instructor in Equestria a decade ago."

Gilda smiled, "He prefers not to talk about it," she paused a moment, "What were you two fighting about, anyway? I didn't see Darius at the celebrations, not even at the funeral."

"Busy finding a way to blame the ponies for his father's death, no doubt. Although he must have been having trouble coming up with an excuse, because his rage was at a record high," he said, rubbing his jaw and flinching slightly at the pain, "Demanded we spar. Never seen someone fight so hard in a training battle."

"Anything that doesn't go Darius' way just makes him angrier. He's got more lion in him than any griff I've met. I should go speak to him..."

Fulvus huffed, "Well, I should bid you good luck in that endeavor. He's got the kind of rage that could only end with someone's death. It was a pleasure meeting you, retainer."

Gilda stopped herself in the doorway, turning a bit to face Fulvus, "As with you, Fulvus Cauda." The two shared a bow, before they left the room. Gilda exiting into the hallway, and Fulvus walking through a door that would lead to the apothecary.

Taking a left as she exited the training room, she walked down to an open door near the end of the hall and stepped through. This lead to the bedrooms of the royal family, and from the sounds Darius was making he was no doubt wreaking havoc in his room. Turning the corner, the noises got louder as she neared the half-open door at the end of the hall.

Opening it further, she ducked underneath a vase thrown in her general direction. The room was a nightmare. Dressers overturned with their drawers scattered across the floor, a broken mirror with pieces of glass surrounding it, a brazier collapsed on the carpet -- thankfully only a few dim sparks within it, not enough to start a fire.

Leaning over the railing of the balcony, the doors to which were busted off their hinges, Darius panted heavily, his spectacle helm on the stone floor next to him.

"Darius?" Gilda asked softly, leaning against the doorway to the balcony. Darius glanced over his shoulder, looking at Gilda with a single yellow eye.

"Go away."

Gilda walked over to him and looked out at the frozen mountains of The North. She glanced at Darius and placed a claw on his shoulder, causing him to tense up, his right arm twitching slightly, but he quickly relaxed and let out a deep exhale.

"There is no way he died of sickness -- he was as healthy of a griff there was. He was far too young to die of old age, most griffs live to 120 before they pass." Darius turned to Gilda, leaning back against the railing, icy air chilling his spine, "You no longer hide your hatred of them, Gilda. But I refuse to believe that after your speech you still think the ponies had nothing to do with his death."

"Good, because I don't," said Gilda matter-of-factly.

The light-brown griffon laughed, "You came here to further speak of the matter that enraged me so? Had I known you were this brave I wouldn't have assumed so quickly that you would mourn and wallow in shame like the ponies want us to."

"I heard a peacekeeper was beaten to death by a group of griffons this morning," said Gilda, leaning against the railing next to Darius. The balcony gave them an incredible view of the city below.

"No doubt your work, I presume?" said Darius, having trouble keeping a smile from creeping onto his beak.

"Perhaps not directly," Gilda said in a sing-song voice, "But I think I might've had something to do with it."

Darius chuckled, pointing a claw out in the distance, "Did you have something to do with this?"

A mob of griffons all shouted and cursed at a shield-wall of heavily-armored ponies in golden armor. The griffons threw bottles, rocks, anything they could get their hands on in an attempt to break their line. A more creative griffon held a bottle with a burning piece of cloth inside of it, which they threw at the line. When it shattered, it erupted in an inferno, causing the guards to step back. The mob, seeing them stunned, charged forward and smashed against their line, a few ponies in the back routing instantly.

"If not for these damned ponies and their new laws, I'd have been king by now, and we'd already be marching on Henosia."

Their attention was drawn to the door to Darius' room, which Gilda had closed, being swung open. A brown pony in regal attire stormed in, sweat pouring down his face. He was accompanied by two guards in solid gold armor.

"Prince Darius! The citizens are rebelling! You must--" his eyes instantly snapped to Gilda, and he stepped back, "What is she doing here?!"

Gilda laughed, "Darius, you simple minded fool. We have ways of getting that to happen."

There was a deafening crack and the pony collapsed like a rock, a small pool of blood surrounding him. Gilda lowered her smoking flintlock and unsheathed her sword. Darius pulled out a dagger from his belt. Gilda spoke three words that made the pony guards ready their spears.

"For the king."

Golden Oaks Library, Ponyville, 11 A.N.M.

Twilight Sparkle shot up with a jolt, panting and sweating heavily. Silken purple sheets draped over her immediately told her she was no longer in her study.

"She's awake!" came a young male voice, that was very familiar to Twilight. There was a clattering sound of a dozen hooves downstairs as a tall, purple dragon entered the bedroom.

"Spike! What happe-- argh!" Twilight yelped as pain arced through her skull. She grasped her head with a hoof, rubbing her temple with one eye closed shut. The dragon stopped, reaching toward a dresser and grabbing a bag of ice from the top of it. He rushed over to Twilight, helping her lay down as he placed the bag on her forehead above her horn. "Thanks, Spike," she said, placing a hoof on the bag.

"No problem," Spike said with a smile, before turning and walking into the bathroom. There was a small click as the light turned on, and shortly afterwards Twilight could hear the sound of running water.

Spike is Twilight's personal assistant, a baby dragon that Twilight hatched during her entrance exam for Celestia's School For Gifted Unicorns. She was only ten when she hatched him, and Twilight raised him herself since that day. She absolutely hates calling him a 'baby', because he's 24 in pony years and is as tall as she is. However, for a dragon -- who tend to live thousands upon thousands of years -- he's practically still a hatchling.

Suddenly, two familiar mares rushed into her room, followed by other ponies clad in black armor.

"Twilight! Are you okay?!" exclaimed the sky-blue female pegasus in a cracked voice. She zipped over to Twilight's side. Behind her, an orange earth-pony rushed up, a brown stetson on top of her blonde hear, which was tied in a lazy ponytail.

"Rainbow Dash? Applejack? What are you two doing here?" asked Twilight incredulously, sitting up with the ice bag on her head, "And what are the soldiers here for?"

"You've been out cold for the past two days," said Applejack, an obvious southern accent in her deep, yet still feminine voice, "Spike sent Fluttershy and Rarity to get some headache medicine half an hour ago -- for when you wake up -- and Pinkie's... somewhere. Making you a 'get-well-soon' card I reckon."

"The soldiers wanted to see you. They said they were gonna take you to Canterlot or whatever," said Rainbow Dash. If somepony laid eyes on her they could easily see where she got her name; her messy mane and tail were striped with every single color of the rainbow. Nopony ever believes her when she tells them it wasn't dyed, but she absolutely insists it's natural.

"I ain't never seen any armor like that before, though," added Applejack. Spike walked over and handed Twilight a glass of water, who wrapped it in a purple aura of magic and floated it over to her lips as she took a long sip.

"Escorts to Canterlot? What for?" asked Twilight, watching the soldiers as they weaved between the two mares. They had striking yellow capes draped over their ornate black armor, signifying their membership within the Goldencloaks, the magical branch of the Equestrian Royal Guard.

"Jarl Fierdsveinn has personally requested your assistance in this matter. We will escort you to Canterlot, where you will meet up with the rest of the guards, and then you will take a carriage to Henosis where you will meet with him to carry out the coup," said the mare on the left. Her coat was a pale sky blue, and her eyes were a glowing, icy teal. Twilight noticed tufts of fur on the tips of her ears, and bat-like wings at her sides. She was a thestral, more commonly known as a batpony for obvious reasons.

"Wait... but I just got done talking to him. How could news have spread that quickly?"

"Like your friend said, you were out cold a couple of days. You had transported your very soul from your body to the other side of the planet. That spell takes a lot out of a pony, even an alicorn. Even Celestia needed to rest after casting something of that magnitude, but considering how long you were channeling it, yours was the worst."

"Wait, so Celestia can move the sun but placing a ghost of herself somewhere is too much?" asked Rainbow Dash with suspicion in her voice.

"On top of the fact that she's the princess of the sun, she has been moving the sun all her life," answered the thestral, "When she cast the spell it was new and foreign. If she cast it more and more, she would get better at doing it and the fatigue would lessen. Think of it like exercising, but for the mind instead of the body. For an alicorn, it would be much faster to train a spell."

"Unfortunately, we will not be able to bring your friends," added the dark-grey stallion, continuing what the pair was trying to say. His helmet was off, making his short white and sky-blue mane visible.

"WHAT!?" screamed Rainbow Dash in rage, her voice cracking loudly as she flew over to the stallion, "Look here, buster, we're Twilight's best friends, and where she goes, we go!"

"We ain't gonna let her be by her lonesome on this one," said Applejack, trotting over to the Goldencloaks.

The stallion shoved Rainbow out of his face with a hoof, "We are sorry, but we cannot put the Elements of Harmony at risk. Even though the artifacts themselves are gone, you and your friends still possess their power. If the griffons have a chance to kill you, they'll take it."

Rainbow Dash practically fell from the air, her face pale as bone, "Wh... kill us? How bad is it over there?!"

Twilight Sparkle swept the covers off of her with a hoof, and stepped down off her bed, allowing the bag of ice to fall onto the wooden floor. She grunted as a small spark of light appeared at the tip of her horn, before turning into a massive electric storm that surged through her body. She yelped and fell to the ground, and the two Goldencloaks, as well as Rainbow, Applejack, and Spike who had came from downstairs, rushed over to her. The Goldencloaks placed their hooves between them and the others as they tended to the princess.

The thestral looked at her companion, who nodded and lit his horn. Placing the tip of it on Twilight's head, she felt an icy calm flow through her head, and suddenly the ache was gone.

"Pain masking spell," said Twilight, "The headache is still there, I just can't feel it... and I won't be able to cast spells."

"So just teleporting you guys to Henosia won't work?" asked Rainbow.

"No," said the two Goldencloaks in unison.

"Girls, don't worry about me. The goldencloaks are right, this is too dangerous for civilians."

"You will not be entirely alone, your majesty," began the thestral, "A few citizens of Ponyville have volunteered to be your personal guards."

"Why they don't just send some professionally trained soldiers to guard her I'll never know," muttered the stallion under his breath.

"Aster," said the thestral sternly, staring right at the stallion.

"Fluttershy, Rarity and Pinkie Pie are still out. I should go and say goodbye to them before we leave," said Twilight with a concerned look on her face.

"When you are ready, your majesty, we will depart with you and your dragon assistant," said the thestral.

Spike's eyes widened, his irises turning to pinpricks, "Wait, what?! Didn't you say it was going to be extremely dangerous?"

"Indeed," said Twilight, a mischievous grin on her muzzle, "But I'm sure you'll be able to handle yourself; isn't that right, Captain Spike?

Spike's look of horror changed to a smug smile, "...Captain, huh?"

Battle of Kharnak Prime, 3089 A.D.

A cacophony of boarding pods rained from the hulls of the imperial battlecruisers like the fire-iron tears of weeping metal gods. The ISS Bellum Millennium and the ISS Jaegarmeister committed to assault in the same moment, in the same location.

I remember -- with a clarity no hangover can ever steal -- the way my pod weaved through the vacuum of space, narrowly dodging the white-hot lances of the elf cruiser's lasercannons, the sickening crunch of metal-on-metal as my pod pierced through the golden adamantium hull alongside my legion of brothers eternal.

I could smell their scum, even before my pod drilled it's way into their ship. The ZY-44 'Gorgon' dark-energy assault rifle in my hands snarled and roared with bloodlust almost equal to my own.

With a wailing shriek of metal-on-metal my pod pried itself open, the grip I held on my rifle was strong enough to shatter lesser alloys. Sweat poured down my face beneath my helmet as the purple light of elven terminals nearly blinded me. The earsplitting howl of a feral, gorehungry dragon escaped my throat as I leapt from the pod, making it my gods-given goal to rip and tear anything that stood in my way.

Erz ozh aglar sof'izh bak aglar ahwald

We are His eyes and His fists

Such is the motto of the Centurions.

The mightiest warriors in the Empire. The true sons of Xektus,

The Allfather.

CHAPTER 4: THE REBELLION

CHAPTER 4: THE REBELLION

Dawn Castle, Henosia, 11 A.N.M.

Far to the east of Talos Bao'Dur, Dawn Castle, the capital of Henosia, stood silent between vast swathes of conifers. Dirt and pale grass peeked through melting taiga snow, blue jays and mockingbirds picking up worms and bits of straw for their nests as a lone deer grazed what small patches of grass there were.

Early springtime in the boreal forests of Henosia was always a beautiful sight to behold. Especially without the magic of Equestrians to pacify it, as much as Princess Iridia hated to admit. There was something about the natural beauty of nature. The ponies in Equestria, far to the west on the continent of Equus, were afraid of such things, even going so far as to call such places free of magical influence dangerous and nightmarish. A small part of her sympathized with the griffons and their distrust of magic for this reason, especially with how Celestia has been spreading her influence across the world as of late.

Iridia sat next to a tall conifer tree, a green blanket covering the dirt beneath her. She raised a cup of tea to her muzzle and took a sip. From where she sat she could see a tall, misty mountain far in the distance through the trees. Forests crawled up the base of it like moss, stopping just short of snow-covered rock. A jagged stream cut through part of it, which, out of sight, branched off of a long river that was the source of Dawn Castle's fish.

Times like these in between training rituals for her snow ponies were when she could best appreciate silence. No gunfire popping, no blacksmiths hammering, no practice swords clashing. Just the birds and the wind.

"My lady," came a stern voice from behind her, shattering the silence. But it did not anger her, she simply took another sip of her tea while idly watching the trees sway in the frigid wind, "Princess Sparkle's carriage is nearing Dawn Castle. Estimated time of arrival is one hour and thirty minutes. Do you wish to greet her when she lands?"

"There is plenty of time before then, Diamond Dozen. I would appreciate it if you joined me, it's a beautiful day," said Princess Iridia, still watching the skies as she spoke.

One couldn't see Diamond Dozen's expression through his closed armet, but from the confused sound he made he seemed surprised at her request. He stammered slightly before he finally remembered what words were, his voice flanged slightly through the reverb of his helmet, "I-It would be an honor, my lady."

He stepped onto the blanket and curled up next to Iridia. There were two free cups. Reaching down, he picked it up by the large handle, big enough for an earth pony or pegasus to place their hoof inside, and raised it to his face. Iridia floated over the pot and poured the piping hot liquid into the cup.

"So, tell me about yourself, Diamond."

"Nothing you don't already know, your majesty," he said, feeling much more brave in speaking to the princess, "I was born in Concordia, where my father worked as an alchemist. My father was a sphinxpony, whereas my mother was a simple earth pony like me. She passed away when I was young -- she was sick with some unknown illness. My father worked day and night to find a cure for her ailment, but he was so frustrated he destroyed his work in his rage. He never forgave himself for letting her die.

"After her death, we couldn't bear to stay in one place. We traveled from city to city, hoping to find a new life. I spent most of my childhood with my father and his assistant, Sirus. We moved too often for me to keep friends, so I was a loner for the most part. Sirus acted as my teacher, most everything I know I learned from him."

Diamond Dozen went to take a sip of his tea, but he had forgotten he still had his helmet on. Placing the cup down on the saucer, his chainmail coat rattled as he reached up and slowly raised the green adamantium armet from his head. The armet lost it's plume when he took it off, the long slot for his purple, mohawk-styled mane empty. He took a sip of the tea, wiping a small droplet off his lip with a cream colored hoof. Iridia was watching him intently.

"Eventually, when I became of age, I left my father and headed north to Henosia, where I took up a job as an apothecary, tending to the sick and selling potions. My father always steered clear of the colder regions of the continent, probably to be expected of a sphinxpony. To be honest, I much prefer the weather here to the sandstorms and blasting heat of Concordia.

"When the changelings invaded less than a decade ago I decided to serve my new home and I joined the Henosian Knights. My skills in alchemy, thanks to Sirus' teachings, made me an excellent field medic. I even brewed some custom gunpowder for the grenadiers on occasion. I don't mean to boast, but I was told that without me, they wouldn't have enough explosives to blast open the changeling hive's heart."

"Ah, yes, I remember," said Iridia. Her cup of tea was sat on top of it's saucer on the blanket, only a few drops left inside, "I oversaw the siege on King Cocoon's hive. I was originally going to send a request for more explosives, which would have taken days to arrive, and by then we'd have been overrun. Imagine my surprise when they said a soldier had made an even more potent type of explosive powder that punched a hole right into the King's chambers. I believe the soldiers called it 'Diamond Dust' in your honor."

Diamond Dozen blushed slightly, swirling around the tea in his hooves before taking another sip. Pausing slightly, he continued, "After the war, I got a letter informing me of the death of my father and Sirus. It came out of nowhere -- my father wasn't even that old, Sirus even younger than him. It said my father had drunk himself to death. Immediately, I knew something was up. He never drank, not even when he was at his worst. A bit more surprising was that it said he was living in Trottingham, all the way in Equus to the west.

"First thing the next morning I boarded an airship heading to Canterlot, and took a train south to Pisa, a hamlet slightly north of Trottingham. When I arrived at Trottingham, there was nothing left but smoldering ruins. An entire town destroyed this deep into Equestrian borders. The workers there gave me mixed stories, some of them saying it was bandits, others a forest fire. The only thing I found in the rubble was my father's amulet," finished Diamond Dozen, reaching beneath his breastplate and pulling out a pendant. It was an iron fluer-de-lis, the symbol of Concordia, "After that, I returned to Henosia and worked my way up to a Captain within the knights. I guess the rest is history."

There was a long, frigid silence, only broken by the occassional woodpecker or bluejay.

"You're the only pony I've ever told that story to, you know," said Diamond, idly watching the trees and birds.

"I am honored, then," said Iridia, smiling warmly at Diamond, "It seems you have lived quite a stressful life, Diamond. I, too, know what it is like to lose loved ones, especially a parent."

"Wait, really?" asked Diamond, turning to Iridia, "I mean to disrespect, of course, my lady."

"Think nothing of it," waved Iridia, "And yes, my mother to be exact. Many of my sisters, as well..."

She was going to continue, but a whooshing of air drew her attention. The two looked up to see a gold and lavender carriage sweeping around the castle.

"Princess Twilight is early," said Diamond Dozen, finishing his tea and placing his armet back on his head.

Iridia's face sank slightly, "Ah well. I enjoyed this moment while it lasted," she said as she rolled up the blanket using her magic, basket and all, before poofing it out of existence.

"As did I, princess," Diamond said as he picked up his spear and held it in his hoof, "Shall I escort you to the keep?"

Iridia smiled warmly, "I would be honored, Diamond Dozen."

And with that, they began to walk.

Talos Bao'Dur, Kingdom of Griffonia, 11 A.N.M.

The last pegasus guard made... some sort of noise. It sounded like a mix between yelping and retching, followed by a low gurgling. Quite fitting, since Ragnar had impaled the guard's throat with his spear. Ragnar placed his rear paw on the pony's underbelly, giving it a characteristically lazy yet exceptionally strong kick and retracting the spear from it's fleshy prison.

With the pony's line shattered, the mob could easily make it through the gates that blocked off the steps leading to Gryphus Palace. Even as civilians, they could put up a fight. They maintained none of the brutal elegance of the kingsguard, but they made excellent brawlers and berserkers, especially with the hangovers and their natural hatred of ponies keeping them full of rage. They swept past him on either side, like a rapid parting against a rock -- an accurate description.

Thankfully, the mob was avoiding killing civilian ponies.

"All this from one speech. Maybe I underestimate my kind's brutality," said Ragnar, watching as the citizens trampled over the bloody corpses of the pony guards. "Or maybe the ponies really were tyrants," he finished under his breath with slight amusement as he began to jog up the stairs with the rest of them. He didn't know the average life of a citizen here -- living amongst nobility as a kingsguard didn't help in getting a feel for the life of a peasant, that's for certain. His lack of a social life wasn't a plus either, his family were exiles who lived in a cottage in the frozen north. The only friends he had were the white she-bears he hunted, ate and wore.

More pegasi guards swooped down in an attempt to form another line at the top of the stairs, but in a hail of broken bottles and makeshift weaponry they were already run down before they even landed. The gods were probably laughing at them for wearing armor made of solid gold.

Corpses of ponies and griffons alike dotted the massive stone steps, their blood leaving red streaks in the melting snow. The mob was large enough to fill up most of the steps, but spacious enough to allow Ragnar to casually walk up to the palace while the others sprinted past him in drunken rage, a large amount of griffons also flying overhead. Ragnar always preferred to face his foe head on, with both his paws on the ground. That, combined with the cowardice he saw within ranged combat and firearms, was the reason Ragnar absolutely despised pegasus skirmishers.

Speaking of which, he noticed a lot of the corpses had arrows sticking out of them.

Ragnar looked at the corpses around him, before stepping over to a dead pony guard, narrowly dodging a griffon who sprinted past. Leaning down, he picked up the large tower shield and slammed it on the stone steps, gaining the attention of those around him, "Grab their shields! There are skirmishers about!" Almost immediately they complied, some of them dropping their second weapon to use the shield, most of them switching out their broken bottles and pitchforks for swords and spears. They ain't using them anymore.

"Form a line!" barked Ragnar, crouching down with the shield covering his body and his spear around the side. To his surprise, they did as he instructed. The line was sloppy, especially with the shields of varying sizes and shapes, but he didn't expect much military prowess from peasants.

Before the treaty signed by King Gryphus III, it was commonplace for griffon, even a mere citizen, to carry a weapon or two wherever they went. But now, they had to make due with what they had, and what was scattered on the floor. The formation began to march up the stairs, a handful more griffons charging up the stairs behind them and taking cover behind the wall.

Surely enough, when they reached the top they were met with a wave of crossbow bolts. Most of them merely bounced off, a few barely embedding themselves in the metal surface. Then, the griffons heard their favorite word.

"CHARGE!"

In unison the griffons threw down their shields, hopping over a mound of wounded griffons as they sprinted in a bloodlust at the stunned ponies in brown bodysuits, who were halfway through reloading their crossbows. As soon as they were loaded, they pointed them at the group and loosed them.

The bolts hit mere air. The griffons had taken flight with their wings, Ragnar letting out a bloodcurdling shriek of avian fury as he used his spear to break his fall on a pegasus' body. The others who had their axes and swords raised above their heads came down on the rest, embedding steel into their thick skulls and splattering red blood across the massive wooden doors of the palace.

There were a lot less griffons than previously when they landed, however. Looking up, Ragnar saw that a few of them were brawling with pegasi in mid air. Grasping the very base of his spear, Ragnar pushed as far as he could and scraped the back hoof of a skirmisher, causing her to yelp and recoil away. A perfect opening for the griffon to finish the job.

The sound of hooves clopping drew the attention of Ragnar and a few other griffons. The thestral commanding the crossbows was running like the coward pony she was.

Some of the rebels prepared to take flight, but were ordered down by Ragnar, who pointed a talon at them, "Get those doors open. There are guards inside who will give you new orders. You two, with me. This thestral is ours."

To Ragnar's displeasure they did not salute, but they still followed his orders.

As Ragnar took flight, the second griffon he ordered to follow him leaned down and picked up a crossbow, loading a bolt into it as he flew after Ragnar, who was already on the tail of the thestral.

Dawn Castle, Henosia, 11 A.N.M.

Wind swept through the manes of the ponies and the spikes of the dragon within Princess Twilight Sparkle's pegasus-drawn carriage. In contrast to the mountainous, grassy tundras of southern Griffonia, Henosia was covered in hilly forests. If Twilight didn't know any better, she'd say the goldencloaks were lying when they said this was the capital. It looked more like a large fortress, massive stone walls surrounding the perimeter, with green-armored sentries patrolling the turrets. Ballistas were placed on top of round towers, braziers next to each that allowed the engineers to light the spears they used as bolts.

It looked incredibly out of place; a pony-made hill inside of a pony-made clearing smack dab in a conifer forest with a castle the size of a village placed on top. Perhaps the walls were originally made to protect from the forest, Twilight never understood why Iridia let nature run amok within her realm.

Pops of gunfire and the clanking of a blacksmith's hammer could be heard from around the keep. The pegasi flying the carriage banked right around a watch tower, before locating the landing spot. A long clearing of cobblestone that extended slightly over the hillside.

"Not as cold as yesterday," idly stated the thestral, who had mentioned her name was Moon Moon. Twilight glanced at her for a moment, before looking back at Spike who was leaning against the side of the carriage, snoring loudly.

Soon, the carriage touched down at the landing, and the passengers, including Spike who was groggy from Twilight waking him up, leapt out. Looking around, Twilight spotted Princess Iridia and a knight-retainer walking up a staircase leading to the landing. As well as the last pony Twilight wanted to see.

The unicorn's astonishing white coat and masterfully-combed mane of golden locks contrasted drastically to his face which told the story of a boy that grew up pulling the legs from spiders. Surprisingly, he had a large, full beard the same color as his mane -- the last time Twilight saw him his face was totally clean. Almost makes him likeable, Twilight thought. Her guards joined her as she went to meet the trio.

The stallion and Iridia gave a slight bow, "Princess Twilight Sparkle, a pleasure meeting you properly."

"As with you, Princess Iridia," Twilight returned the bow. To Iridia, at least. "And you too, Prince Blueblood." She said the last word with a slightly venomous tone, as if his very name was sour to the tongue. Blueblood gave a much more intense bow beneath the shade of the keep, one that would normally be given to rulers such as Twilight.

"Princess Twilight Sparkle, Jarl Fierdsveinn is waiting for you within the keep," said Blueblood, ignoring the Princess' tone.

"Actually, I think I might want to meet my retinue first... the Goldencloaks mentioned volunteers from Ponyville?"

This time it was the guard who spoke up, "Right this way, your majesty."

The staircase the trio took to get to the landing immediately lead to the training area as they got to the bottom. Ponies crawled prone beneath barbed wire while being shot at, climbing over and rappelling down wooden walls, while pegasi flew through hoops dotted around the castle. At another area of the keep, ponies fired at targets with live ammunition.

The guard lead them to the barbed wire. Shooter troopers stood on one side of the ditch, which was dug right into the cobblestone and filled with mud, firing over the heads of the ponies with their repeaters.

"We have an archaeologist from Fillydelphia," began the guard, "She said her name was--"

"Hey, Twilight!"

"Lyra?!"

Surely enough, a familiar seafoam-colored unicorn stood up from her prone position between lines of barbed wire. The troopers had suddenly stopped firing as she stood. Stepping over the other prone ponies, she took one final leap and landed right in front of Twilight.

"What are you doing here?" asked Twilight, her jaw threatening to detach from her skull.

"I volunteered to be one of your guards!" said Lyra, rushing over and embracing Twilight in a massive hug, her kettle helmet clattering slightly, "I haven't seen you in years! You haven't aged a day!"

"Yeah, that uh... you know, being an alicorn and..." Twilight stuttered, before finding a sentence that sounded good in her head, "...So, uh, how are they treating you? With the training, and all?"

"They're taking it pretty easy on us," she said, panting slightly as she removed the helmet and allowed her mane, striped with cyan and white, to cool off in the frigid air. Her mane was damp and messy from the training, a thin stand falling in front of her bright yellow eyes, "I think they feel sorry for us civvies."

"I don't much fancy an obstacle course."

"It's not so bad," said Lyra, following the group as the guard lead them to the next training area, "By the end you're just crawling around on your belly while teenagers shoot blanks over your head."

"Well, yes and no," said the guard, cutting into their conversation.

"How's that?" asked Lyra.

"Yes, they are teenagers."

"And no?"

"...They're not blanks," he finished, getting a chuckle from the rest of the group. Except Lyra, whose smile quickly faded as what the guard said finally sank in. She had stopped walking, the rest of the group getting ahead of her as she stared out blankly into space. Finally, she regained her senses and jogged back after them, "Wait, what?!"