The Phoenix and the Dark Prince

Blóðþrá's rage quickly disappeared, and she turned to look at Skipting.

"Skipting? Little brother?" she said, gently laying a hand against his face. "Can you hear me?"

She carefully grabbed him and hoisted him up, and carefully carried him over to the wall, leaning him against it.

"She is coming, Blóðþrá," Skipting said, looking her in the eyes.

He raised his left arm. Dark blood began to pour from the old wound just below his elbow, splashing to the floor and landing on his trousers, only to, rather strangely, slide off the fabric and onto the floor. Several gasps of horror and shock came from the room's other occupants.

Blóðþrá looked at the blood, then Skipting's arm, then her brother's face, her eyes wide.

"But that means…" she muttered.

Skipting's eyes turned crimson.

"Keep calm, Great Bear. We're going to be fine," he assured.

But the voice that came from his mouth wasn't his own. Instead, it was female, and had a very faint Eastern accent, with a demonic echo and a distinct growl.

The warrior stumbled back, nearly falling over, and leaned back against the left wall. They looked at her face, and were shocked to see it filled with fear, but it also held great anger. Whatever was happening to Skipting, it had shaken the seemingly unbreakable warrior, and enraged her.

"Fuck…" she said quietly.

She gritted her teeth, snarled, and slammed a fist against the wall with a thundering boom, cracking the stone.

"Myrkur fucking damn it!" she yelled angrily.

"Yhauzakh’Kael will be safe, Blóðþrá," the voice assured. "I'm sure Sunset will try to convince Celestia to leave him be. Luna won't let anything happen to him, and neither will you, nor will I and Yhauzkorz-Daenh.”

His eyes changed from that horrible crimson to an almost calming silver, with small rays of blue and green.

“And if she does come here, neither will his Fair Lady,” another voice said, this one male with a thick accent that was an odd yet almost natural mix between Scottish and Icelandic, with a distinct draconic growl. “After all, the bridge of hope hasn't fallen down yet."

Blóðþrá chuckled a little.

"If she were here right now, she would force you to take on a physical form, and then she would punch you in the face for that comment," she mused.

Skipting—or rather, Skipting’s body—nodded in agreement, and the voice gave a small laugh.

"Aye. That she would."

"Skipting?" Sunset said concernedly, slowly and carefully approaching the Prince. "Are you okay?"

Blóðþrá immediately sprung away from the wall, grabbed her roughly by her jacket, and pulled her away. Her crimson slitted eyes bored into Sunset's blue ones.

"What the fuck did I just say?!" she hissed. "Stay. The fuck. Away from him."

The door to the office was suddenly thrown open with great force, nearly ripping it off its hinges. Nearly everyone jumped, their gazes fixing on the door. Blóðþrá rushed to her brother's side, practically scooping him up in her arms and taking him to the corner furthest from the door.

Two women, doppelgängers of Principal Soleil and Vice Principal Mond, entered the room, having to bend down significantly in order to fit through the doorway. Principal Soleil's doppelgänger looked around the office, meeting the eyes of every occupant, her eyes burning with rage.

But as soon as she locked eyes with Sunset, her eyes transformed, turning from hellish miniature suns and pools of fire into rings of soft, warm, caring rose. Her expression of hatred turned into a loving, motherly one as a smile formed on her lips.

Sunset didn't have any time to react before the woman rushed forwards, bent down, and wrapped her arms around her. Instantly, a feeling of calm and warmth flowed through her entire body as she was bathed in a soft heat.

The woman eventually released her, putting her hands on the girl's shoulders, and gazed into her eyes.

"My Little Sun, my beautiful Phoenix…" Princess Celestia said softly. "You can't even begin to imagine how happy I am to finally see you again, to see you safe and sound."

"Mom? But... But how?!" Sunset said in astonishment, unable to believe her eyes. "Nightmare Moon overthrew you and imprisoned you in the sun five years ago! Twilight told me when she came here last time!"

Princess Nightmare Moon stepped forth.

"Skipting informed me of everything that has happened in the eight days since he arrived in this world," she said.

She looked at her son. Blóðþrá was holding him in her arms, speaking softly to him while running her fingers through his hair, making the movements of the grayish persian blue, dark cerulean, and phthalo blue strands look like the waters of the sacred Moonlight Lake in the Everfree Forest. His eyes, cyan like her moon and harlequin like her beloved wife’s eyes, were empty, staring at nothing, until they closed, and his breathing softened as he fell into the embrace of sleep. His face was blank, but it was the face of a broken man.

Instantly, Nightmare was brought back to the period following Skipting's return home.

She had seen countless soldiers suffering from PTSD throughout her centuries of life. She had seen soldiers whose minds had been broken by the horrors they had experienced or committed, and their inability to cope. She had interacted with soldiers who looked or acted as though they were fine, only to later learn they had taken their own lives.

She had seen even the bravest, the toughest, the most battle-hardened soldiers lose their minds and end up either dead or placed in a mental asylum. It broke her heart to see her soldiers suffer like they did, and it even further destroyed her when she could do nothing to help them.

But it even further tortured her heart and soul when it was her own child. And that torture was only made worse by the fact that her beloved son's trauma was caused by his horrific actions in Dragovan, and by what he saw as his own failure.

To the Nightmare, the Dreamwalker, the very Incarnation of Nightmares, who had been through countless tragedies and faced the most terrifying of foes, who protected the dreams of her subjects no matter what…

… That was infinitely more horrifying than anything she had ever faced.

To her, Skipting's very existence, with how damaged his body, mind, and soul were, was a fate worse than death.

How Skipting had not taken his own life—whether in those three unforgettable months since his return or the nearly seven years since then—or how he had not gone insane, it was a mystery. At least, it was to his fellow soldiers in the Lunar Guard. But Skipting's family and lovers were some of the only ones who knew how he had held on to his sanity for so long, how he had not simply cut his own throat yet.

The only other people alive who knew the truth isolated themselves from the world, keeping to themselves within their respective hidden dwellings. Amongst the nobility of Equestria, their very existence was known to none but the royal family and their most trusted guards, with mere rumors the only slight fragments of knowledge. Amongst the common people, none knew of their existence but a shaman living near Ponyville, and the people of said village, for the hidden people trusted the shaman, and they had a close, trusting, and important history and friendship with the people of Ponyville.

Any and all records of their existence and history were closely guarded by their people, and any and all copies of the records that had been entrusted to the Lunar royal family were kept in Skipting's personal hidden archives, as he was a trusted member of their society, and a very close friend of their great seer, their fearless captain, and their wondrous ruler, who all believed him to be a descendant of one of the Four Brothers.

The hidden people's knowledge of the truth would be kept to themselves, for they knew the importance—and the danger—of secrets. The trust which had been placed in them to keep the truth a secret would never be broken, for they were as loyal as the world was old. Any who threatened the sanctity of their isolation and culture were harshly punished, executed, or condemned to one of a few fates the hidden people considered worse than death.

And the thing—or rather, the person—who had kept him sane, kept him going, was none other than one of the very people responsible for her son's descent into rage and grief-induced madness. The very one responsible for the sudden anger issues and occasionally violent outbursts he had after the war.

One of his closest friends and allies.

One he would go through Tartarus and back for.

One he would move mountains for.

The one whose predicament alongside him years ago, in their youth, earned him the title of "God Killer."

Nightmare sighed as she looked back at Sunset.

"I freed Celestia from her prison in the sun because she more than deserves to see her daughter again, to be with her once more."

"Mother Nightmare," Blóðþrá said, looking at her beloved parent, "I understand you decided that Aunt Celestia and Sunset should be allowed to see each other again. But I can't believe you would actually completely let go of your hatred towards her, considering what she did."

She shot a venomous, hateful glare at Celestia.

"I know I can never forgive her for that," she hissed.

"I thought long and hard about that, Blóðþrá," the goddess responded. "It was the final factor I had to think about before I released her. Believe me, it was the hardest thing for me to overcome."

She looked at her sister with a cold hatred.

"And I can never forgive her. The way she has treated our family and allies is unforgivable."

Her expression softened.

"But I knew I could not keep her imprisoned any longer. For as much pain as she has caused our family, she at least deserves to be with her daughter. After the pain she experienced before the rebellion, she deserves some happiness, at least."

Celestia removed her hands from her daughter's shoulders, stood up, and went to stand before Skipting. Blóðþrá gently put her sleeping brother down, put herself between him and Solis, and hissed at her, her twin axes gripped tightly in her hands, ready to strike at a moment's notice.

"Stay away from him, you bitch!" she snarled.

"Listen to my daughter, Celestia," Nightmare said. "You will not touch Skipting."

Skipting's eyes, which had been closed once he had finally fallen asleep in his sister’s arms, snapped open. His gaze met Celestia, and almost instantly, a burning hatred filled his now crimson eyes. He slowly rose to his feet as more and more dark blood spilled from his arm.

"Well… if it isn't the Dawnbringer," that strange female voice said through his mouth. "I assume you are here to finally punish Yhauzakh’Kael for what he’s done?"

"I am here to see my daughter again, and to put an end to this disaster. That is all," Celestia answered.

He smirked.

"Don't lie to me. I can practically taste your hatred. You would love nothing more than to strike him down where he stands."

He rose to his full height, staring his aunt in the eyes.

"Or perhaps you would like to torture him first? Cause him as much pain as possible before you finish him off?"

"Watch your tongue, snake," she said, her gaze hardening.

"You will not silence us anymore. Not after all you have done."

"'After all I have done?' I have done nothing wrong. Everything I have done has been for the safety and benefit of my subjects."

"You allowed the nobility to take advantage of the lower-class people, and you allowed your soldiers to embark on and continue with their mad ‘crusade.’"

"I made sure that the actions and behavior of the nobility was monitored, so they would not be able to make certain decisions without my approval. Those soldiers were respectable men and women, all of whom sought to protect our country from the Children of Dark."

"Some nobles did so anyway, yet you did nothing to stop or punish them. The Children of Dark are a peaceful people. They had no desire to seek out conflict."

"But those like the Berserker are—"

"I suggest you cease attempting to justify your misdeeds, Dawnbringer," the voice said.

The goddess of the sun gave her nephew a harsh glare.

"My so-called 'misdeeds' are nothing compared to yours. You left an entire country almost completely defenseless for months! You killed hundreds of my soldiers!"

"I only killed those soldiers at Maedwyn to protect the Children of Dark they were torturing and slaughtering. And I only killed your men in Éorwyn in order to defend my son!!" Skipting growled, his eyes briefly flashing silver.

"That child of yours is responsible for the deaths of almost an entire village!"

"It was on the orders of the High Lords!” he roared, a wave of pure rage and darkness pouring off of him. “Valarim was being plagued by insane zealots who had been persecuting, torturing, and executing its inhabitants! Had Talion not done it, then the High Lords would have, and that would have led to even more carnage than what my son did!"

Sunset looked at her mother in shock.

"Mom, why are you acting like this? Is what he's saying true?" she asked.

"Stay out of this, Sunset," Celestia ordered. "This is between Skipting and myself. This doesn't concern you."

"But it does concern her, sister. She more than deserves to know the truth," her sister retorted.

"She can't handle the truth!"

"Yes she can. She needs to know why you are so hostile towards Skipting. He saved your daughter's life, for Discord's sake!"

Celestia looked at her daughter. Her gaze fixed itself on the chain around her daughter's neck, the rest hidden beneath her shirt. But she could make out the shape resting just above her breasts. Her left hand went up to her neck, feeling for the object hanging from it.

She let out a soft sigh, the words, “Please help me, Kori,” just barely audible.

“Once this is all over,” she said softly. “Then we’ll talk about this. I promise.”

Sunset glanced over at her cousins. To her surprise, Skipting was looking at her mother with… a smile, as if he was relieved to hear those words come out of his aunt’s mouth.

“I apologize, Mother Nightmare,” he said with a slight bow. “But I am afraid I must be going. I have some students to confront.”

With that, he beckoned for his sister to follow, and the pair left the office. Sunset looked at her adoptive mother and aunt.

“Is everyone ready?” she asked, to which everyone nodded. “Alright. Let’s get this shit over with.”