The dying of the light

Chapters

Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six

Prologue

~The Nys’stralla dies, it does not surrender~

***

A pale, flickering aura of amber firelight danced over the pockmarked earth. Splintered trees and chunks of loose earth and rock surrounded the disorganised line of Thestrals entrenched along the damaged earth works. Smoke obscured the horizon, a twisted, sickening miasma that blocked any wisps of starlight from shining through. A series of deep bass voices rippled across the landscape, faintly at first before growing louder and louder, sending a tidal wave of shivers through the wearied defenders of Windridge. A series of high pitched shrieks echoed across the line, juxtaposing the low, melodic thrum of the approaching force.
At the head of the line, a lone mare stood above the broken palisade, her green eyes fixated on the horizon. Through the smoke a dark, writhing mass of bodies began to take shape, bristling with a sea of wicked swords and spear tips. She gritted her teeth as a jolt of pain lit up her shoulder, a grimace forcing its way onto her face as she clutched at it weakly.

“Form line on me, now!”, she shouted, squinting against the oncoming wave as her wearied soldiers formed up behind her, mana-rifles aimed ahead. The mare released an exhausted sigh, removing her own mana-rifle from her shoulder holster. A faint blue glow surrounded the weapon, and she found herself transfixed on the steady, deep pulsating light. She glanced behind her; a thin blue line of Thestrals stood silent and resolute along the ruined earthworks. Bandaged faces stared out across the horizon, a few soldiers standing with the assistance of crutches or bracing themselves against the damaged fortifications.

Beyond them, small velvety shapes shimmered and shifted through the dark night, carrying ammunition and medical supplies between the scattered defenders. Somewhere in the distance a pony screamed, a long, haunting, pain filled dirge. The mare felt her eyes drawn to the long street behind them, and she grimaced. Scattered equipment lay on the ground and a chaotic bedlam of Thestral soldiers and civilians moved between the sporadic buildings and the crumbling defences. Amidst the chaos, a ragged pony trotted up towards her, a torn and bloodied green uniform marking her as a member of the medical corps.

“Captain Iskra”, the lieutenant greeted simply, offering a lethargic salute to the mare on the barricades.

“How long do you need, Nor?” Iskra replied quietly, supporting her injured leg with the butt of her mana-rifle.

“As long as you can give me. We’re still loading the airship with civilians and the wounded”. Nor then spread her wings and took to the air, hovering a few feet off the ground. She swiveled her leafy ears forwards, a quiet squeak escaping her lips. Iskra smiled grimly.

“Carry on with evacuations, Nor”. Iskra removed her helmet from her belt, fastening it tightly over her head. The bright plumage from her helm swayed gently in the wind, Iskra casting a striking image of calm and poise against the carnage surrounding her. “Once you’re clear and the airship is underway, give the signal and we’ll fall in behind you”.

“Yes Ma’am”, Nor replied, lightly touching back to the ground to salute. “And… thank you. I’ll send any spare bodies from the western defences to support you”, she added quietly, before turning briskly and galloping away.

Iskra turned away from Nor, her eyes glazing over the hoofful of soldiers she had left. An eerie veil of silence had fallen over the assembled Thestrals, slitted eyes fixed dead ahead, ears folded towards the horizon. She took a few steps forward, her eyes stinging from the soot in the air. Through the darkness, the distant black mass began to take shape.

The heavily armoured bodies of Drake soldiers began to emerge through the haze. Spear tips glistened like blood diamonds, their deep chanting now accompanied by the death rattle of spears against shields. Iskra glowered at the opposing force, gritting her teeth as she hoisted her rifle against her shoulder. “Fix bayonets!”, she shouted over the bedlam, the small group of defenders responding as one moving, living entity. Iskra stifled a cry as she clicked her own bayonet into place, blood from her wounded shoulder soaking through the hastily applied bandage.

The opposing force of Drakes increased in pace, flowing over the broken ground like a living, writhing, deadly shadow. The squadrons then began breaking formation, and spreading out at an alarming rate, spilling out across the broken terrain. Dark bodies twisted and writhed in the hellish flicker. The Thestrals stood firm, a line of glistening fangs and flared wings steadfast against the hellish backdrop. Iskra looked across them, a determined fire kindling in her heart.

“At 100 yards, volley fire!”, she shouted, eyes alight with bellicose ferocity. “Present!”. Spittle flew from her lips, her shoulder screaming in protest as she raised her own mana-rifle towards the oncoming wave. She fought down waves of pain and growled, stark white fangs poking between her lips.

Time hinged on a single moment. Iskra narrowed her eyes, watching with desperate intent as the wave of Drakes flowed closer… and closer…

“FIRST LINE, FIRE”, Iskra shrieked. Her voice ripped across the defences in sonic slices. The Thestral defensive line erupted in lethal rifle fire, searing bolts of mana whizzing across the battlefield. The first line of Drakes fell, screams and howls echoing across the landscape alongside the desperate screams of the defenders, creating a sickening melody of noise. As soon as the first line of Drakes fell, another wave washed over them, the separate squads now in an all out charge.

“RELOAD”, Iskra shouted, lowering her rifle to load another cartridge, eyes fixed ahead.

“SECOND LINE, FIRE””, she shouted, another wave of organised destruction slamming into the advancing Drake forces. Another line of warriors fell, and another line took their place. Iskra swore under her breath as she clicked the cartridge back into place. “FIRE AT WILL!” she roared out, her voice nearly drowned out by the surrounding cacophony.

Sporadic rifle fire crackled through the air, Thestral manafire that whirled across the battlefield now opposed by a hail of deadly crossbow bolts. Screams and howls redoubled. Bodies and limbs went flying. Iskra let out a long, haunting shriek, hurling herself forwards and into the melee. Her soldiers moved with her, their voices joining together in an undulating melody.

The world narrowed in around her. The sky screamed red above the clashing forces. Iskra ducked, barely missing the deadly swipe of a battle axe. She swung her body to the side and stabbed upwards, her bayonet finding its mark between the gaps of the Drakes armour. The drake shouted out in pain, stumbling backwards. Iskra took advantage of this and pushed upwards with her back legs, driving the bayonet deeper. A spray of hot blood stained her grey fur, and she twisted the rifle with a feral grunt.

A Thestral soldier hit the ground beside her with a sickening crunch, forcing the mare to turn away from her defeated foe. The Thestrals neck was twisted at ghastly angle, and a crossbow bolt was stuck through his neck, blood pouring out in slow, gargling bursts. Iskra froze, struggling to recognize the facial features of her friend. “Blea?”, she gasped, ripping her rifle free and galloping over.

Iskra skidded to a halt, dropping her mana-rifle to the ground as she fell to her knees. A large pool of blood had formed around Blea, coating Iskra’s legs with a fresh crimson. His legs twitched, lifeless brown eyes staring straight through the mare. She let out a sob; a pitiful wail starting in the pit of her stomach and violently surging its way upward.

She slammed the ground with a hoof over and over, and mumbled incoherent apologies as she slumped over his body, the fire inside her suddenly extinguished. “I… I…”, she whispered, but no more words came to her. The world around her faded away, and a chill came over her, a paralysis far worse than any enemy soldier could hope to inflict. She thought poisonous thoughts, of her and Blea drinking together in Ly’synia, of their training days, songs they’d shared while marching. She thought about his partner back home, distantly wondering if there was any combination of words in existence that could even remotely express the sorrow and anger Iskra felt for her loss.

Her hooves brushed up against something cold. Numb hooves fumbled against a silver chain around Blea’s neck. Iskra unclasped it, holding it aloft. A small glass vial dangled in front of her, half filled with sand, taken from the lakeshore in Ly’synia. Iskra quietly fixed the pendant to her chest, blinking away her tears as she stumbled back to her hooves. With a barely concealed howl, she twirled on the spot, wild eyes desperately scanning the battlefield surrounding her.

A few paces in front of her, Devoke and Caudal, two Thestral soldiers, were locked in a desperate fight against a large drake. The warrior's ornate armour gave him away as a commander, as well as his equally ornate weapon. She watched as with one easy flick of his poleaxe he knocked Devoke off his hooves, sending him flailing to the side. Caudal bared her teeth and dove in, screeching ferociously. The drake met her with a clawed fist, talons sinking deep into her leg. The mare let out a sharp cry, her free hoof fumbling against her side while she flapped her wings rapidly in an attempt to break free. Caudal managed to grasp a knife and swung her hoof forwards in a wild arc, the blade perfectly slicing through the gaps in the drakes silver plated armour and embedding in his shoulder.

He let out a pained shout and dropped the mare. Caudal landed heavily on the floor, crying out loudly as she landed on her injured hoof. The mare limped backwards with a wince, desperately casting around the ground for a weapon to defend herself with. The drake commander glowered at the mare, reaching up and removing the small knife from his shoulder. Caudal’s eyes widened in panic as he stared her down, dropping the knife on the charred ground before charging.

Iskra flared her wings, grasping for her manarifle as she stumbled forwards. The drake commander was almost upon the fleeing Caudal, before Devoke slammed into him from the side, knocking the drake off balance. The pair fell in separate directions, the Thestral stallion somehow managing to correct himself and regain his footing, positioning himself between the two. Iskra watched through blurry eyes as Devoke readied to charge again, a sharp shriek rising into the dark night as he lowered his bayonet to strike.

The drake commander took one step forwards, before jolting backwards suddenly. A bright burst of mana cut through the air, briefly bathing the surrounding bodies in a deadly blue haze. Devoke froze, staring wide eyed at the drake before him. The drake looked down to his shoulder, finding a bloody, cauterised pulp in its place. He stared at Devoke with an almost surprised look, taking a few more unsteady steps forward, before a similar bolt of mana tore through his helm, atomizing the upper right quadrant of his head in a spray of superheated viscera. He fell to the ground in a crumpled heap, bringing up a wave of dust and soot.

Iskra panted and lowered her smoking manarifle, dropping the used cartridge to the ground as she galloped forwards. Spots swam in her vision, the recent burst of mana used leaving her dizzy and uncoordinated. Devoke was helping Caudal to her hooves by the time she got there, the mare wincing through her breath as she tried putting weight on her injured hoof. Three jagged holes pockmarked her foreleg, occasional spasms running along the limb.

“Captain?” Devoke shouted as Iskra skidded to a halt, stumbling slightly over the torn up ground.

“Thank you Captain” Caudal managed to cough between winces, fumbling around for something to stem the blood loss.

Iskra didn’t reply, her bloodshot eyes glued to the sheer massacre unfolding before her. The violent melee continued all around them, the drakes beginning to gain the upper hoof. Iskra watched in wide eyed helplessness as the wave of drakes began overwhelming the heavily outnumbered, battle fatigued Thestrals. Pained shrieks filled the air as more and more of her soldiers were ripped, shredded and pummelled into the ground. Iskra clutched her head, her body shaking at the bloody eviscerations all around her. More Thestrals barrelled forwards from the besieged town, their added strength doing little to stem the bloody tide. A chorus of agonising shrieks and cries echoed across the plateau of carnage, alongside the victorious cheering of drake soldiers as they pushed the Thestrals back.

Iskra shivered violently before standing tall, a low growl turning into a furious scream. She let loose three sharp, sonic shrieks. The sound tore across the chaotic battlefield, the embattled Thestrals immediately recognizing the order for retreat. “FORM LINE ON ME!” Iskra shouted, taking pot-shots with her manarifle while walking backwards. A small gaggle of bloodied Thestrals managed to gather alongside the mare, forming a gossamer line of smoking and crackling manarifles. Iskra stood tall against the fire, a lone bastion of order amidst the chaotic slaughter. Injured soldiers darted behind those still standing, while crimson stained bayonets violently thrusted and stabbed at any drake that managed to break through the barrage of mana.

“MAINTAIN FORMATION AND FIRE AT WILL!” Iskra managed to shout, her vocal cords strained from calling the retreat. The air crackled with residual energy, the Thestral line slowly retreating as the drakes advanced. Iskra stumbled over the maimed bodies of dead Thestrals and drakes alike, her hooves struggling for purchase on the blood slicked terrain. She glanced to her side, catching a glimpse of Devoke further down the line.

“Devoke!” she shouted, the stallion quickly glancing in her direction, nodding to signal that he was listening before turning his head back towards the advancing drakes. “Take 30 Thestrals and form along the palisade.” She moved with cold, deadly purpose as she lunged forwards, bayonet sinking deep into a small drake’s throat before she roughly pulled back, the warrior simply dropping to the floor with a gurgling cry. She bared her fangs with a scream, firing off another sizzling bolt of mana. “We’ll need the cover when this line breaks” she finished with a snarl.

“Yes captain!” Devoke yelled back, turning tail and galloping towards the shattered fortifications. Iskra tore her eyes away, firing another bright burst of mana at almost point blank range, the blue glow momentarily blinding the young captain. A single crossbow bolt seared in her direction, raking across the left side of her face before she had time to react. Iskra howled and fell to her knees, dropping her manarifle in the process. The drake’s crossbow’s rained hellfire against the Thestral line, and bodies twisted and fell in a grotesque fashion.

Iskra held one hoof to her bleeding face, tears forming in her eyes. Blood seeped across her face, obscuring the mare's vision as her body shook violently. A thousand voices filled her head. Some cursed, some prayed, and some did both. Every nerve in her body screamed in agony and her movements were jerky and forced as she dragged herself backwards over the bodies of fallen comrades.

“Fall back” Iskra coughed, hauling herself unsteadily to her hooves. The few defenders who remained standing after the crossbow barrage were slowly being overwhelmed, drake soldiers pouring through the gaps that had appeared. Iskra lurched forwards, spitting blood out of her mouth. “FALL BACK NOW”, she shouted, emptying her lungs in one desperate breath.

The Thestral line almost immediately disintegrated, those still on their hooves dutifully following their captains orders and retreating. The first traces of dawn had begun streaking across the eastern sky, cutting jagged crimson swathes across the horizon. Iskra’s desperate eyes searched for the faintest traces of the signal flare, but to no avail. Cursing loudly, she tore her eyes away, spreading her wings low and wide as she took off with an unsteady lurch.

The drake forces gave them little breathing room, immediately seizing on the moment and surging forwards. A few Thestrals spun around and flew backwards, continuing to return sporadic manafire on the advancing drake force. Bodies continued falling all around as stray crossbow bolts sent them careening into the ground. Iskra grasped at her side, coming up empty hooved, cursing under her breath as she realised she’d lost her manarifle in the chaos.

Up ahead, a line of Thestrals three deep had formed along the broken palisade. Devoke stood at their head with his hoof raised, manarifles poised to fire. Panic gripped her soul as Iskra flared her wings upwards, quickly gaining altitude alongside the rest of those retreating. Not long after, Devoke unleashed a fierce shout, and the broken fortifications spewed forth a thin, but near constant hail of manafire.

Iskra landed just beyond the palisade, stumbling back to earth as another thunderclap of rifle fire was hurled at the enemy forces. She fumbled for the clasp on her helmet, throwing it to the ground while sucking in huge lungfuls of air. Small droplets of sweat fell from her mane as she threw her head back with a grunt, her dark curly locks now falling limp against her matted fur. The handful of retreating Thestrals had safely landed, some immediately turning back to support Devoke’s position. Iskra turned to follow, limping unsteadily forwards.

“Captain Iskra!”. A shout came from behind her. She stopped and turned slowly, careful to avoid putting more weight on her injured leg. A young mare in a bright green uniform was galloping towards her, stumbling over her hooves from the weight of two heavily laden saddle bags. She looked remarkably well kempt with her mane tied up into neat little braids, her uniform similarly unblemished. Iskra stared blankly at the mare for a moment, struggling to remember her name through exhaustion.

“Siatra! Yes?” Iskra finally replied, squinting through hazy eyes as her shoulder flared up with pain once more. Another wave of dizziness swept over her, and she felt an overwhelming urge to throw up.

“We’ve completed evacuations Captain, the town is emptied” Siatra spoke quickly, wincing as she couldn’t help from staring towards the bitter fighting not twenty feet away. The Thestral line was showing signs of breaking, the two forces currently engaged in vicious, close quarters fighting. As soon as one drake fell, another would fill their place, and the Thestrals were quickly finding their numbers dwindling. She gulped, before continuing, “I… I’ve been instructed by Nor to provide care for your injured”. She brought her gaze back to Iskra, letting out a quiet squeak when she saw the cut across her face.

“Thank you, Siatra”. Iskra stared straight past her, a grim look fixed across her sharp features. “Where are the reinforcements Nor promised me?” she asked, turning to face the smaller mare once again.

Siatra gulped, glancing away from Iskra’s piercing stare. “There… there are none, Captain”. She finished. “Captain Rydal’s company was… the western defences have broken”.

Iskra remained silent, wide eyes staring directly through the young medic. The past few weeks of her life flashed across her eyes; clinging desperately to every inch of ground, slowly being beaten back every day, and watching while her friends were cut down all around her. Iskra’s face fell slack. They’d done their best to survive. And now…

“They’re through, Captain” Siatra spoke quietly, readjusting her heavy saddlebags across her back. Iskra turned back to look down the wide street, eyes glazing over the scattered fighting line. She vaguely registered Devoke galloping towards them, rifle in hoof. The bayonet of his weapon was painted scarlet, and he had a fresh laceration across his dark flank. “Captain Iskra”, she said louder, waving her hoof at the mare. “What… what are your orders?”.

“My orders…” Iskra mumbled, swaying slightly on her hooves. The nausea returned triplefold. Iskra closed her eyes tight, holding onto her pathetic wish of being anywhere else in the world at that moment. She remembered her last night in Ly’synia. There was music and ponies, and they’d been so young and alive. The sky was a clear haze in sepia, the darkening clouds gently swaddling the sun to rest. She chuckled, a nostalgic smile gracing her features for a fraction of a second. To die on that day would have been alright.

She licked her dry and cracked lips, savouring the bittersweet taste. Devoke and Siatra simply stared at her, the latter panting heavily. Iskra’s chest muscles slowly constricted and relaxed, straining against her armour. She raised her head up, struggling to force her scattered mind into submission, casting off her daydreams with a vigorous shake.

“We play to our strengths,” Iskra stated in a low tone, bringing her focus back to the pair of Thestrals standing in front of her. “We can’t beat them in an open fight, and we don’t have the numbers to continue holding here. Siatra?”.

“Yes, Captain?” Siatra looked up, straightening herself as she did.

“Tell the medical staff we’re falling back to the town centre, take any equipment you can carry with you and tell them to set up a casualty clearing station in the town hall. Treat as many of the wounded as possible, and get them on their hooves for evacuation to Cantermere”. She gestured behind her with a hoof, barely pausing for breath before dismissing her.

“Yes, Captain, right away,” Siatra replied, kicking up a haze of dust as she took flight.

“Devoke?” Iskra turned to face the stallion. “We need to buy time for Siatra to get as many of our wounded ready to move as possible. Pull back our forces to the town centre. We can’t afford to hold ground for long, so we’ll fight on the move, then group up with whatever remains of Captain Rydal’s battalion”.

“We’re… we’re retreating?” Devoke stared across at Iskra with incredulity. Iskra maintained her serious expression and nodded briskly, walking forwards as Devoke fell in close behind her.

“We can’t hold our position anymore, Devoke,” Iskra spoke with urgency, picking up her pace into an unsteady trot. “This is the best option I can think of”. She stopped dead in her tracks, tears in her eyes as she placed a hoof on his shoulder. “Go to the town square and round up any stray soldiers you can find, we’ll meet you there”.

“Right away,” Devoke replied, reluctantly turning tail in the opposite direction. Iskra shuddered slightly, and continued forwards, before Devoke’s voice called out. “Iskra, wait!”.

Iskra turned around, coming to an unsteady stop on the broken ground. Devoke trotted forwards, removing his manarifle from its holster and pressing it into Iskra’s hooves. “You’ll need this.” He spoke softly, dark brown eyes meeting Iskra’s bright green. Iskra nodded, taking the rifle from Devoke as he turned to leave. She opened her mouth to thank him, but the words died just short of being spoken.

Instead, Iskra stood silent, staring at the fading form of Devoke as he galloped away from her. Her body ached, and every impulse she had was telling her to flee. She stared down at the rifle in her hooves, watching lethargically as the blood slowly dripped from the bayonet to the dry ground below. She had a duty to fulfil, and a home to protect. Iskra glanced skywards, catching sight of the mare in the moon. The stoic effigy of Ly'synė peered back at her. Ever watchful, ever silent. Iskra blinked, sending a silent prayer to the heavens, before lowering her head, focusing on the ensuing battle before her.

Something glinted in the corner of her eye, and Iskra paused, staring down at her chest. Blea’s pendant nestled against her fuzzy chest, unblemished by the bloodshed of the past few weeks. She stared at the small glass vial, watching in fascination as the sand inside gently shifted from side to side. She thought poisonous thoughts of her friend's body, still and lifeless in that forgotten street.

She exhaled.

“The Nys’stralla dies, it does not surrender,” Iskra mumbled to no-one in particular, pawing at the ground with one hoof, before breaking into an all out sprint. A bellicose shout burst through her sternum as she charged forwards. Her armour rattled against her side, along with the flashing bayonet, and the ground disappeared beneath her furious hooves as she charged forwards.

Chapter One

Far below the golden spired towers and battlements of Cantermere castle, the once quiet city had come alight with the movement of hundreds, if not thousands of Thestrals, both soldiers and civilians alike. Shouts and orders bounced across crowded streets from one group to the other, the words barely distinguishable amidst the chaotic bedlam of voices. Groups of hastily assembled refugees threaded their way through the crowds, laden down with heavy bags and carts containing whatever their hooves could carry. The city square, which was once a wide expanse of open space flanked by coffeehouses, restaurants and shopfronts, was now filled almost to the brim with soldiers. Boxes of medical supplies, food and water rested in large, messily assembled heaps next to canvas tents. Soldiers hovered over the heads of the crowds, desperately trying to gain control over the influx of Thestrals that had descended upon the small city. Distant rumblings of faraway cannonfire permeated throughout the night, occasionally drawing the attention of the disorganised masses.

A small field kitchen had been set up towards the eastern end of the city square, steeped in tall, dark shadows from the castle directly beyond it. Already, the beleaguered staff were struggling to keep up with demand, rationing out half portions for the hundreds and hundreds of hungry equines lining up. A phalanx of guards in white armour stood still and resolute just beyond, blocking the small winding path to the castle proper beyond. Anyone who made the mistake of straying too close was met with a line of sharp, glistening fangs and sparking, crackling horns, resulting in everyone keeping a wide, cautious distance.

Beyond this small pocket of relative order, the majority of military and civilian activity accumulated around the grand, imposing Ly'synė statue. Situated almost exactly in the middle of the city square, the dark statue towered above the comparatively tiny Thestrals encompassed in her shadow. Outstretched wings flared across her dark marble body, scraping against the dark horizon from east to west, her noble head defiantly facing the rising sun. Adorned in her royal armour and regalia, the Thestral’s princess of the night stood quiet and still over her flock, a reassuring figure for those in her presence in spite of her long exile. A few older Thestrals kneeled below the immense effigy, clutching onto sacred items while uttering prayers and pleas. Foals cried, exhausted parents holding them close while absent mindedly rocking them back and forth.

Off to one side, a small collection of supply crates had been roughly dragged together, creating a makeshift desk of sorts. The royal Ly’synian battle emblem had been erected behind the crates, gently fluttering in the turbulence created from the flight of so many Thestrals in close proximity. A rough wall of boxes, some already opened, had been erected around the area, affording those encamped within some small façade of order.

Situated within, a bespectacled teenage stallion leant over the desk, holding his head up with one hoof as he frowned at the scene unfolding before him. He rubbed his bleary eyes, holding back another yawn as he returned his attention to the sprawling mess of papers before him. Various military reports, refugee counts and supply quotas stared back at him unremittingly, the assorted letters and numbers seemingly bleeding into one monotonous blur. The beginnings of a migraine were nagging at the corners of his mind, and he rubbed his hooves against his temples in absentia.

He stifled a frustrated groan, flexing his grey wings about his body in repeated, steady motions. He rolled his shoulders at the same time, a series of quiet pops and cracks reverberating through his joints. A sleepless night spent receiving both refugees and wounded soldiers returning from the front lines had kept him on his hooves almost constantly, which did little to sedate his sore muscles since their flight from Ly’synia.

A flash of golden fur blurred into his periphery, momentarily catching the stallion off guard. He jolted upright, leafy ears swivelling forwards as he snapped his head back to face whoever had just materialised in front of him.

“Mislana?” The pegasus stallion spoke quietly, flashing a brief look of concern in the young Thestrals' direction as he stumbled to his hooves. He flared his wings out for balance, eventually managing to stand upright behind the table. He flashed an embarrassed smile, his cheeks turning a light red.

“A-Amber Dawn!” he stuttered out a reply, awkwardly folding his wings back down at his side. “I was just…”

“Taking a break?” he smirked, unfastening his heavy saddle bag and setting it down on the table between them. “You look like you need one…” he added at the end, his ears partially drooping.

Mislana bit his bottom lip and exhaled, his shoulders deflating as he collapsed back into the chair. “Yeah,” he replied while yawning. A high pitched squeak left his lips, making Amber Dawn flinch and rub his ears. Seemingly undeterred, Mislana pulled loose a few of the papers from underneath Amber's saddlebag. “Any updates for me?” he asked, glancing up at Amber while propping his head upright with one hoof.

Amber mumbled something in reply, most likely heavily punctuated with various curse words. He reached into the bags, ears still twitching, and produced a small stack of papers, in addition to a telegraph. Mislana reached forwards and took the papers, pushing his glasses further up his nose as he began skimming through.

“We’ve got four casualty clearing stations set up and on standby…” He inhaled slowly, tracing the lines of text with his hoof. “And C.R.I. have already begun discharging their least critical patients…”

“The hospital?” Amber tilted his head quizzically. Mislana nodded in confirmation. “They’re still awaiting transports, but the director assured me they’d be ready to start receiving military casualties within a day or two”.

Something resembling a deep, low thunder cut through the stallions’ conversation. Mislana looked up from his desk, his slitted eyes carefully studying the eastern horizon. An amber glow flickered across the sky, briefly marring the otherwise stunning constellations and galaxies above them. Mislana felt drawn towards them, finding himself studying the subtle reds and blues pushing and pulling at his eyes. Streaming bands of stars bled out across the night sky, the thousands upon thousands of shimmering lights reflecting in the dark pools of his eyes. His jaw dropped slightly, and he imagined a pony just like him in another galaxy, staring back and seeing him as just another speck in that infinite canvas.

“They’re getting closer…”

“Mhm,” Mislana responded, reluctantly dragging himself back into the present moment. He smirked, a small, bitter thing. “So much for getting any sleep.”

Amber Dawn exhaled through his nose, almost smirking before his face settled into a troubled frown. He set the stack of paper to one side and slid the telegram into his hooves, still vaguely distracted by the distant cannonfire. Amber shifted uncomfortably from one side to the other, resting his weary limbs. “When… when did you last get a bite to eat?” he hesitated in an attempt to distract the Thestral.

“I had an orange… “ he paused, tapping a hoof against the ground. “Yesterday?” He glanced down at his stomach, only just noticing the dull throb of hunger pains for the first time that night. Shaking his head and shrugging dismissively, he finished reading the telegram. His ears perked forwards, an apprehensive smile tugging at the edges of his lips.

“Has my sister seen this yet?” Mislana glanced up towards Amber, his tone more urgent than before.

“I brought it straight to you,” Amber Dawn shook his head, casting a lethargic gaze towards the lofty castle situated beyond the Ly'synė statue. “What does it say?”.

“The first battalion of Equestrian reinforcements have reached Ly’synia…” He smiled hopefully, perhaps for the first time that night.

Amber stared back at him with wide, surprised eyes. Mislana hoofed the telegram over to him, allowing the stallion to read through the few lines of text with his own eyes. “We… we need to bring this to the Margravine, right away!” Amber’s eyes were absorbed in starlight. Reaching across the desk, he took hold of Mislana with one hoof and half dragged, half pulled him to his hooves.

Mislana stumbled awkwardly, cursing under his breath as he nearly fell on top of the Equestrian guardspony. He mumbled an apology and brushed himself off.

“She’s still in the castle, right?”

Mislana nodded his head almost indiscernibly, glancing skywards. The full moon hung low across the star speckled horizon, and the first hints of dawn were still many hours away. His face tightened at the corners of his mouth, and he turned back around to face Amber Dawn.

“We’ve got a few hours still,” Mislana breathed, gazing out across the crowds in an effort to hide his exhaustion. “We can’t disturb the Dream Council until sunrise…”

“Really?” Amber inquired incredulously, tilting his head to one side. Mislana nodded, distracting himself by folding the telegram paper neatly and storing it securely in a small pouch at his side.

“It… didn’t end well last time I disturbed Lavinia’s dreamwalking..” Mislana mumbled, idly scraping his hoof across the cobbled ground.

“Yeah…” Amber took a deep breath, faux cringing while adjusting his uniform. “I dunno’ who’s heads hurt worse after that, hers or the rest of the castles” He snickered, managing to elicit a similar reaction from Mislana. “Hey, means you’ve got a chance to get some food now, right?”

Mislana opened his mouth to protest, but was quickly cut off by Amber.

“Look” Amber Dawn placed a hoof on Mislana’s shoulder. “You’re no use to us if you can’t even see straight!”

“But- but I’ve still got so much work left to do…” Mislana protested, forcing back a particularly large yawn from escaping. “Look”, he started, brushing Amber's hoof from his shoulder. “I’ve still got the casualty reports from Windridge to sort through, I’ll take a break after that”. A pause. “I promise.”

Another crescendo of cannonfire broke through their conversation, significantly louder than any previous episodes. A few distant cries and shouts rang out across the crowded square. The bombardment lasted for several long, agonising moments, briefly casting a nauseating, flickering glow across the anxious inhabitants of Cantermere.

The stallions both cringed, nervous eyes glued to the horizon beyond the city walls.

“Mislana,” Amber began, swallowing a sour lump in his throat. “Get some rest while there’s still some time, alright?” He turned to face the Thestral, a nervous tinge to his tone. “I can look after things on this end for now.”

Mislana hesitated, dark, wide eyes still fixed on the flickering hellfire just beyond the horizon. His hooves trembled slightly beneath his body, and he finally hung his head, letting out an exhausted sigh. “Thank you Amber” he mumbled, relaxing his tensed muscles while fumbling to pick up a dark blue cloak that had been slung over the back of his seat. He threw it awkwardly across his lithe frame, attaching the silver clasp across the front.

He tucked his loose, dark mane into the hood, stooping down to pick up his discarded sabre. He slung the weapon across his shoulder, pinning the loose cloak to his body more effectively and managed to summon a grateful smile directed at Amber Dawn.

“Get some rest, alright?” Amber said over his shoulder, already setting to work sifting through the mess of reports Mislana had left scattered across the tables. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you in the morning,” Mislana snorted, mimicking the pegasus’ words as he slowly weaved his way through the pulsating mass of bodies encapsulating them. He tore his eyes away from the sky, needing anything to distract him from the inevitable firestorm looming just beyond the horizon.

Stomach rumbling, he instead focused his gaze on the dizzying heights of Cantermere castle far above him. Even from this far below the ground, candlelight from the small windows managed to shimmer through the thick of night, resembling something similar to the sky lanterns released during the summer sun celebrations. Mislana yawned once more, pulling his hood over his head before melting away into the lively night.

Chapter Two

It was a series of rushed, frantic voices that woke her from her fitful slumber. Her grey ears twitched, and her body stirred as she stifled a pathetic whimper. Her eyes fluttered open, a pained grimace settling across her features as she weakly lifted her head. A deep throb emanated from somewhere above her, the floor gently vibrating beneath her bruised body.

Iskra squinted across the small room.

Several other soldiers were lying all around her, with varying levels of injuries. Several pairs of hooves blurred past her, stirring up the stale air in their wake. The sickly smell of blood, sweat and vomit, amongst other things, filled her flared nostrils, barely masked by the acrid wash of disinfectant. A small needle had been fixed to her foreleg, with a small IV fluid drip hung unceremoniously above her head.

Half lidded eyes flickered around the room, coming to an unsteady stop on the exit door. Voices shouted from outside, an unseen urgency, or fear, lacing their tones. She craned her neck, wincing from the slight movement, and strained to listen to the commotion.

“Incomi… portside… take co-” A mare’s voice shouted across the bedlam, soon drowned out as a series of sharp cries and shouts from above filled the air. The room rattled and shook all around her, Iskra letting out a pained cry as she was roughly jolted against the cold wall. Pain flared all across her body, shooting down from her shoulder like a bolt of lightning. A loud bang rang out, followed by the sounds of splintering and buckling wood ripping through Iskra’s frazzled senses. The shouting continued.

A dull thud sounded out next to the mare, followed by a familiar voice moaning in pain.

“Ly'synė dammit!” The voice groaned, followed by a scraping of hooves against the wooden floor. Iskra forced herself to turn around despite the pain, her tearful eyes managing to register a grey, Thestral shaped blur in a tattered green uniform stumbling to her hooves.

“N… Nor?” Iskra gasped with dry, cracked lips. She barely recognized her own voice; it seemed rougher, or more hollow. The mare stopped moving, doing what seemed like a double take before kneeling down beside Iskra’s makeshift cot.

“Captain Iskra?” she gasped, removing a small canteen from her saddlebags and offering it to the injured mare. Iskra clasped it with shaking hooves, taking several long, deep swigs. She almost coughed it back up as a fiery, burning sensation spread down her throat and warmed her stomach.

“There’s no water left, Captain,” she responded absently, taking a small gulp herself before tightly screwing it shut again, tossing the canteen back into her open bag. “I- I had no idea you’d been picked up on the last airship,” the mare wheezed, her face contorting slightly from the burning liquor. “Fuck, that’s rough.” she complained, clipping her bag securely closed once again.

“Where… who are..?” Iskra stuttered, cringing as further crashes and shouts reverberated through the airship's hull. The mare kneeling above her flinched, ears flattening against her skull. Her face blanched, her eyes small, terrified pinpricks, trembling against the noises coming from above.

She turned back to face Iskra, burying her fear deep inside her body, and tried to put on a brave face. “It’s Siatra, Captain.” she busied herself by checking Iskra’s drip, fumbling around with the giving set’s luer lock, halting the slow release of fluids from the almost emptied IV. Siatra released a shaky breath, eyes fixated on the open doorway beyond. “I…” she flinched, her voice threatening to break as she held back a small sob. “Lieutenant Nor, she…” Siatra turned back to look at Iskra directly with watery eyes. “She stayed behind, with the rearguard in Windridge.” She reached back into her saddle bag intent on taking another liberal dip into her small canteen, before the airship veered suddenly to the left.

Siatra shouted out, hitting the ground hard before sliding roughly into the opposite wall. The other Thestrals lying in the room let out various shouts and cries. Those who couldn’t find a suitable hoofhold in time found themselves sliding painfully across the floor, crashing into one another as the ship continued to swing violently off course. Bodies slammed into one another, collapsing into loose, crumpled heaps against the far wall. The ship’s body groaned under the strain, creaking metal and fracturing wood sending alarming shudders throughout its structure. Iskra clung desperately to the railings against the wall, hissing venomously through her teeth as her injured shoulder protested to the strain she was putting it under.

After a few, agonising moments, the vessel righted itself, returning to a more or less flat trajectory. Iskra immediately let go, collapsing back into her cot while breathing heavily. The sounds of flak and manarifles firing above deck punctuated her laboured breathing, a wave of dizziness and nausea slamming full speed into the mare. She struggled upright, managing to put weight on one of her hooves before collapsing back onto the floor with an exasperated gasp.

Siatra stumbled forward, half carried by the ship's momentum. “Here.” She spoke through ragged breaths, unclasping a small pouch on her belt and taking a small vial of liquid in her hooves. Iskra eyed her through spinning vision, straining her eyes to read the small words imprinted on the label. She fiddled with the vial, small rivulets of sweat running down her face as she focussed on carefully piercing the film cap with a needle, drawing up a small amount of the clear liquid into the syringe. “This should help with the pain.”

She tapped her hoof against the syringe, spilling a few drops from the needle point as she removed the trapped air, before unceremoniously plunging it into Iskra’s shoulder. Iskra jolted from the sudden movement, opening her mouth to protest before a numb sensation began spreading throughout her body. Her shoulders relaxed suddenly, the tension leaving her body as she slowly reclined back into the cot. Her head felt light as she gently swayed from side to side, an induced serenity settling across the mare.

Iskra’s vision blurred in and out of focus as she watched Siatra pocket the vial once more, throwing the used needle onto the floor behind her. “Just stay here, Captain” she half pleaded, half threatened, clipping her saddle bag securely shut before leaning down to pick up her dropped sabre. She grabbed Iskra’s body with trembling hooves, dragging the mare so she was laying on her side instead of flat against her back. Iskra squinted, trying to focus her dazed eyes on the weapon the young mare clung to so tightly. A splash of crimson stained the silver blade. She managed to tilt her head upwards, holding an unsteady, startled gaze on the young medic.

Siatra bit her bottom lip and recoiled from Iskra’s gaze, taking a deep breath before breaking into a fierce gallop. Iskra lifted her hoof, her mouth opening to speak, but she was too late. With a dissipated sigh, she slumped back to the ground, eyes rolling to the back of her head as she surrendered herself to the narcotics enthralling kiss.

She blinked, eyes glazing over as she finally, mercifully, lost consciousness.

***

It had been a warm summer, though it rained sometimes.
Iskra reclined backwards, fanning her wings out behind her as she gently drifted across the lake’s shimmering surface. Her mane and tail swirled all around her like seagrass, lending an almost ethereal effect to the drifting transient. A chorus of muffled shouting and laughter echoed all around her, gently teasing her waterlogged ears with its infectious joy. She closed her eyes, taking deep, steady breaths all the while. The faint, sweet scent of honeysuckle greeted her nose, and a wide smile split across her bright face.

Glinting fangs reflected the dazzling sun high above the small forest grove. She licked her lips, savouring the faint taste of cherry wine that still clung to them, and let out a joyful shriek. She kicked her hindlegs out, sending a glittering spray of clear blue water in chaotic jets all around her. Snorting with laughter, her eyes fluttered open as droplets of water rained down all around her.

***

Iskra lay sprawled across the cot, barely registering the commotion still carrying on outside. Distorted, demonic faces flashed through her mind, far too fast to comprehend, let alone recognize. Her eyes were wide, flat saucers.
She shouldn’t be here.

Iskra hyperventilated, feeling as if her head would explode.

She couldn’t be anywhere.

Thousands of voices filled her mind, clawing and screaming. She wanted to cry.

Iskra felt her consciousness shredding in her hooves, and everything went black.

***

The emerald foliage above shifted and shimmied along the branches, where the wind was gently laughing in its dizzying destinations. Iskra’s green eyes relaxed once more, content with coasting along the warm undercurrents.
Something brushed up against her leg from beneath the water, startling the young mare. She kicked out involuntarily, flipping her body around and upright in a flash. Keen eyes narrowed, she surveyed the surrounding area, scanning for any telltale ripples beneath the lake's surface. Nothing moved around her for several moments. She relaxed her body, a nervous giggle escaping her lips, before the lake surface erupted in front of her.

***

Those who were living did their best to survive.
The airship continued on its slow sojourn, listing slightly to the left as the continual threat of cannonfire lingered in the background. Somewhere in the background, a Thestral whimpered and sobbed quietly.

Iskra licked her dry and cracked lips, cringing in the flickering candlelight. Across the room, two medics worked tirelessly to resuscitate a collapsed soldier. She watched with half lidded eyes as Siatra cursed loudly, using the soldiers ribs like ladders as she climbed up on their chest. Audible pops and gravely cracks resonated in Iskra’s ears as they worked, the other medic shouting for assistance while he worked on securing the soldiers airway.

Iskra mumbled something across the cramped area, her voice returning muffled and diluted, as if she were swimming underwater. The stallion medic tore a quick glance at Iskra, barely registering her presence before returning to the task at hoof. A dark shape galloped past her, skidding to a stop by the collapsed soldier. They shared a few rushed words, before a bright golden light began emitting from the new arrivals horn as they knelt down to lend assistance.

Iskra recoiled in pain, tightly clamping her eyes shut as the light beset her senses. Her synapses flared in pain, cascading bolts of energy firing all around her bruised body. A muffled wailing assaulted her ears as her body twisted and writhed beneath her.

***

She squealed, limbs flailing wildly as a set of strong hooves dragged her underneath the once tranquil water. Instincts kicking in, Iskra clasped her mouth shut, pushing desperately off of whoever had latched onto her. She kicked her rear hooves off the mud logged lake floor, streamlining her body as she swam upwards, breaking the surface of the water with a gargling gasp. Spitting out lake water, she spun around angrily, soon locking eyes on the perpetrator.
A pair of lively brown eyes stared back at her, complete with a goofy smile and a raised eyebrow. The stallion burst into fits of laughter, one hoof pointed unsteadily at Iskra as he treaded water with the other three. Iskra fumed, green eyes glaring as if staring down an enemy, despite a small grin adoring her face.

“Blea…” She growled, shrieking in faux anger as she dived underneath the surface, target firmly locked in her sights. Blea let out a panicked laugh-turned shriek, turning tail on Iskra as he made a beeline for the lake shore. The other Thestrals cast a few lazy glances at the commotion, a few pausing to watch Blea’s unfortunate fate play out.

***

A stiff wind blew across Cantermere’s airship landing docks, the cool mountain air stirring up loose locks of Iskra’s tangled mane. She took small, steady breaths, her hooves locked in an iron grip on the stretcher as she was carried down the gangway by two weary unicorns.
Various dock workers, civilians and military personnel all stopped what they were doing to watch the sombre procession disembark, setting aside their tools and weapons as the miserable survivors spilled out of the damaged airship.

Iskra glanced down at her body. Her front left leg was covered in bandages, the rest of her scraped, bruised and bloodied to a ridiculous degree. She silently thanked Ly'synė that there was nobody there waiting for her.

The crowd was deathly silent, faces awash with dismay, or shame. Nobody cheered. A thousand eyes stared at her. Through her. Every small noise felt like the shattering of a million glass shards. She idly wondered when the leaves had begun falling. The world hadn’t been dying on the other side of the sunrise.

Melting thoughts pirouetted through Iskra’s mind, dancing around her like burning ribbons. She closed her eyes, shuddering as the faces simply turned away.

***

Blea burst out of the water, sending a kaleidoscope spray of water all around him as he broke into a gallop. Soon after, Iskra too burst out from underneath the water, taking flight briefly before landing back down on the stallions fleeing form. The pair fell into the sand in an uncoordinated heap, rolling and grappling with one another in the shallows.
With a loud grunt, Iskra finally gained the upper hoof, pinning the stallion to the sand with her body weight. Blea bit his bottom lip, panting heavily while Iskra tightened her hold on him. Stray locks of his dark mane intertwined with Iskra’s own curly strands, and small giggles escaped his lips through ragged breaths. Iskra’s glare soon softened as she dropped her head against his chest, giggling as she softly nuzzled his chest.

Blea whispered something in her ears, and she cackled with joy, leaning forwards to affectionately kiss the stallion. The birds whistled, and the trees were laughing.

And she was lost in him.

Chapter Three

The city of Cantermere stretched out before Mislana, a sprawling metropolis of stone, glass and open plateaus nestled against a cluster of sharp, snow capped peaks. A continuous line of walls and battlements ran around the outer edges of the city proper, penning the buildings neatly against the mountains beyond. From his lofty vantage point in Cantermere castle, Mislana was able to make out the sprawling orchards and pastures beyond the city walls. Just beyond them, a thick cloud of ashen smoke continued to rise from the villages and fields in the distance, fluctuating bursts of amber and gold from the rising sun occasionally forcing their way through. Within the city itself, tiny dark specks flitted between buildings and along narrow streets like ants in a colony. The area surrounding the Ly'synė statue was still abuzz with activity, and Mislana watched with drowsy eyes as more and more refugees continued streaming through the city gates beyond. He gawked at the scene unfolding before him, taking small, liberal sips from a silver pitcher of water that had been placed on the window sill.

Each speck of familiarity danced and shimmied lazily in the morning mists, seeming more like a broad collection of clumsy, fluid strokes on an artists’ canvas than the physicality of Thestral civilization. Weak sunlight pleaded and threatened with the gathering storm clouds, poking and prodding at the mountainous climates patchwork defences. Mislana yawned, casting off the last remnants of sleep. His wings twitched at his side as he shifted his weight from side to side. The sky had this intriguing texture, almost as if one could just dive right into it. Mislana smiled to himself; a small, tender thing.

Tearing his eyes away, he set the pitcher aside on a small table, turning his back on the sprawling vistas beyond. He strolled across the large room that was serving as his temporary quarters, a series of shivers running along his spine as he caught himself in a cold draft of air. He cast about for his discarded armour, nonchalantly swiping his armoured leg braces from the stone flagged floor as he sat down on the edge of the large bed. He fumbled around for a few moments, trying to force the stiff leather strap through the metal clasp in vain.

Three dull thuds resonated from the large wooden door across from where he sat, startling the young Thestral. Mislana half sighed, half groaned, dropping the leg braces to the floor as he climbed to his hooves. “One moment Amber!” He called out, fixing his cloak across his body while trotting briskly across the room to open the door. He shook his messy mane, lifting it away from his eyes as he opened the door. “Have you got those casualty reports for-”

A slender, dappled grey unicorn stood in the hallway, smiling warmly at Mislana. He stood barely a head over the Thestral, and was adorned in an almost ridiculous level of finery. Moonsilver bracers laced along his slender legs in shimmering, interlocking patterns. A grey, almost translucent cloak hung from his shoulders, twinkling in prismatic bursts as it fluttered in the light breeze. His dark mane tumbled across and down his shoulders, embedded with small ringlets of amber embedded in shining moonsilver. Twin braids crowned his head, with small blue flowers matching the shade of the stallions’ eyes intricately weaved in between them.

Mislana stared at the newcomer from across the hallway with wide eyes, his jaw hanging slack. He blanched, suddenly hyper aware of his own dishevelled appearance in contrast. He mumbled something, struggling to get his mouth to cooperate with his brain.

“Apologies for the interruption, Mislana,” The stallion spoke in a good natured tone, stepping on his back hoof with another warm smile. “I hope I didn’t disturb your sleep?”

“You’re… you’re not Amber Dawn” Mislana eventually managed to vocalise his thoughts. He forced a shaky smile onto his face, sharp white fangs poking through his lips. His leathery wings twitched against his side beneath the cloak, and a rosy tint lingered beneath his pale cheeks.

“I should hope not” The unicorn chuckled, extending a delicate hoof towards Mislana. “Moor’ak, junior member of the Ly’synian dream council.”

His voice cascaded against Mislana’s ears in much the same way a lullaby would, seeming both distant and intimate all at once. Mislana shivered almost imperceptibly as he reached forwards and took Moor’ak’s hoof in his own.

“Margravine Lavinia asked me to escort you to the dream council chambers,” Moor’ak smiled, brusquely shaking the Thestrals hoof. “This is your first time visiting Cantermere, correct?”

“Yes… yes it is…” Mislana fumbled for a reply, averting his eyes from staring too long at the other stallion. He felt as if his heart would burst out through his sternum.

“I only wish it were under better circumstances.” Moor’ak lamented, letting go of Mislana’s hoof with a weary sigh. As if to drive his point home, the distant rumbling of cannonfire started up once again, casting a hellish flicker against the rain speckled windows. The unicorn's ears flattened against his skull for the briefest of moments, his body tensing for a split second before he regained his poise. He shook away the anxiety, the silver ringlets in his mane quietly clinking against one another as he plastered another smile to his face, albeit a more nervous one than before. “Are you ready to go?”

Mislana tore his eyes away from the floor, straightening his limbs to bring himself face to face with Moor’ak. “I guess it would be rude to keep my dear sister waiting” He flashed an encouraging grin, straightening his cloak while gesturing a hoof out towards Moor’ak. The unicorn smiled as he spun on his hooves to walk alongside Mislana, his horn bathing the dark hallway in a pale blue sheen as he closed the door behind them with his telekinesis.

***

“Lavinia, she… she doesn’t really like talking to me about her duties within the dream council” Mislana sighed, turning round what seemed like the millionth corner along their trek through the castle. “I don’t resent her for it.” He quickly added, “from what I’ve read from the accounts of previous dreamwalkers, the process isn’t exactly… easy on a pony.”
Moor’ak glanced across to the Thestral, a downcast expression working its way onto his face. “It’s.. hard to explain Mislana,” He sighed. “Dream walking is… it’s like learning to walk all over again. Or fly, in your case.” He winked at the Thestral before continuing. “A dreamwalker has to learn how to turn every idea, every image, every thought they experience, into a privileged, readable moment.”

He stopped himself as a pair of castle guards sauntered past them, craning his neck to watch them round the corner before continuing in a lower voice. “Years ago, Ly'synė was the night's lone protector. She alone communed with the shadows and monitored the realms of night, but more importantly,” Moor’ak’s eyes softened, his blue eyes full of empathy. “She possessed a heart that could reflect upon the true, visceral depths of everything we chose to forget when the sun went down.”

Mislana remained silent, leaning closer to Moor’ak as he listened attentively to the unicorns' every word.

“The task suited her well,” He spoke in a resignatory tone, turning to gaze at the smaller thestral. “It’s our duty to uphold our Princesses’ legacy during her absence, and to bear the personal costs it brings.” Moor’ak came to a halt, Mislana following suit as they turned to gaze at an intricate tapestry hanging on the wall. A patchwork collage of twinkling constellations rained down across a twilight landscape, blanketing the sleepy villages and the ponies within in their silver glow. A crescent moon hung low across the horizon, cradling the prone form of the alicorn Princess of the night. The mare lay silent and still, forever loyal in her eternal vigil of the night. Mislana blinked at the faded tapestry, before angling his head to face the unicorn once more.

Moor’ak started walking again, Mislana breaking into a trot to catch up with him. “Mortal ponies were never intended to experience the dreamscape,” Moor’ak lamented, sighing heavily. “It takes a toll on a pony's mind. Every session, it…” He pursed his lips, searching for the right words. “When your consciousness leaves your body, not all of it returns. You lose small parts of yourself each time… you’re still yourself, but there's pieces missing, here and there.”

Mislana frowned, nodding almost imperceptibly as the Moor’ak finished speaking. “I think I know what you’re talking about” He swallowed a bitter lump in his throat. “Lavinia, she… she hides it well, but I can tell the difference in her like night from day…” Mislana held his breath, blinking away the beginnings of tears from the corners of his eyes. “I just wish I could help her, somehow.”

“You are helping her, Mislana,” The unicorn replied. “She speaks very highly of you, you know?” Moor’ak winked at him in an attempt to lighten the mood. Mislana managed a small smile, blushing furiously. They turned one last corner, coming to a stop at a large doorway.

“We’re here.” Moor’ak squared his petite shoulders, gesturing his head towards a set of heavy oaken doors.

Mislana stared at the entrance, feeling almost disappointed in the lack of grandeur. The simple wooden doors had been left ajar, leaving a meagre amount of natural light from the hallway to illuminate the room beyond. He nodded, a frown tugging at the edges of his mouth as he adjusted his cloak again, quickly falling in behind Moor’ak as the stallion brushed past him and went inside.

A thick, smoky haze of burnt incense hung in the air. The smoke swirled slowly, sensuously, creeping underneath Mislana’s cloak and down his neckline, sweeping in and out of his mouth with each quick and shallow breath he took. Mislana shivered instinctively, sticking close behind Moor’ak as his eyes adjusted to the dim light. A scattering of colourful cushions and rugs lay strewn around the floor, forming a rough circle in the centre of the chamber. Multiple unicorn/ thestral hybrids were still inside, talking and socialising with one another in small groups. Each one was adorned in a similar fashion to Moor’ak, and Mislana couldn’t help from feeling distinctly out of place in his comparably drab cloak. A few turned to look at the newcomers, studying them briefly before quickly turning back to their own quiet conversations.

The walls followed the circular pattern, and were covered from floor to ceiling in colourful paintings and mosaics. Small equine figures were visible in the various scenes, taking part in jovial festivals, fighting and dying in long forgotten battles, or partaking in ancient rituals, the details of which now long lost to history. A thick band of dark wood ran around the edges of the room where the walls met the ceiling. Carved within were the phases of the moon, alongside almost indiscernible etchings of the seasons, cycling from winter to summer and winter again.

The faint outlines of the new moon faced towards the east, swaddled gently to rest in the heavenly glow of the rising sun. Directly opposite, a silver full moon reigned high above the rest of the room. Dark shades of cosmic blue and purple danced behind it in dizzying patterns, and bright pinpricks of starlight bled across the walls and faded away into the masonry. Mislana’s jaw hung low, eyes wide in awe as he took it all in. High above them, a large glass dome covered almost two thirds of the roof. His ears swivelled forwards to listen to the gentle tapping of rain against the glass, and he wearily eyed the gathering storm clouds outside. Luscious ivy vines tumbled down along the walls, creating living borders that separated the different tapestries from one another.

Moor’ak turned back to face Mislana, grinning widely. “Impressive, no?” He gestured around the room with a hoof, his mane falling about his slim shoulders in tumbling, onyx cascades.

“It’s… it's certainly not what I was expecting,” Mislana mumbled in reply, finding himself more distracted by Moor’ak’s smirking voice and sparkling eyes than the room's ornate decorations. “Where’s my sister?” He asked, exhaling through his nose as he tried in vain to stop himself from staring at Moor’ak’s lithe form for too long.

Moor’ak bit his bottom lip, seeming to hesitate for a moment. “Over here.” He replied at last, gesturing for Mislana to follow him across the room. Mislana trotted across the room in Moor’ak’s direction, quickly spotting where Lavinia was.

The mare sat slightly apart from the rest of the dream council members, cradling a small mug of steaming tea in her hooves. Her dark mane hung limp at her sides, and her grey fur was slicked with a pale sheen of sweat. Dark eyes stared at the far wall, bloodshot and unseeing. An ornate neck collar, far too large for the mare to be comfortable wearing, hung heavy around her muscular neck. Its colour was the epitome of darkest night, somehow seeming to bend the surrounding shadows into its gravity. Emblazoned within was Ly'synė’s crescent moon, its gleaming silver shades jutting forwards sharply from the surrounding void.

Mislana’s face twitched as he fought off a frown. He glanced towards Moor’ak, who shared a similar expression. Mechanically moving one hoof in front of the other, Mislana slowly made his way over towards where Lavinia was sitting, while Moor’ak busied himself with adjusting his braids. Mislana cleared his throat as he came closer, prompting the mare to lift an unsteady head in his direction.

“Mislana?” She uttered, her voice quiet and strained. Her eyes narrowed in concentration, struggling to keep a steady focus on Mislana’s approaching form. Seeing Lavinia in this state rattled him, and he had to fight hard not to whimper. Stealing his nerves, Mislana shook off his fears, bringing himself round to face Lavinia.

“Long night I take it?” Mislana quipped half heartedly, neatly folding his legs beneath his body as they came eye to eye.

Lavinia smiled warmly, her face brightening up despite her exhausted state. “Yes-” She tensed up suddenly, seemingly distracted for a brief moment. Then, without warning, her eyes rolled into the back of her head. She fell back heavily against the wall, coughing and spitting, wings and legs spasming violently beneath her as she collapsed. Her mug smashed against the floor, spilling its contents. Mislana flinched, wings flaring outwards as he instinctively held her upright.

“Someone, help!” He shrieked, panic building in the pit of his stomach as a painful, undulating moan escaped Lavinia’s lips. “Hey, hey…” He whispered hoarsely, turning back to face his sister as she lay twitching and wailing on the floor. “I’m right here, okay?” He looked into her eyes, locking his steady gaze with her wild, unfocused one. “I’m right here…”

Moor’ak came to a sliding, grating stop at Mislana’s side, horn aglow with blue energy. “Stand back!” He grimaced, his horn alighting with sparking mana as he gently pressed it against Lavinia’s forehead.

“What…what are you doing?!” Mislana rasped, holding Lavinia’s hooves tightly in his own. Moor’ak didn’t reply as he closed his eyes, face tightening in concentration. Beads of sweat ran across his forehead as his horn began to pulse brighter.

“It’ll…” He grunted, taking steady breaths as his face twitched, “help her with the pain.” His horn flashed suddenly, blinding those in the immediate vicinity. Moor’ak yelped, legs trembling as he fell back onto his haunches. Lavinia slumped against the wall, hissing through her teeth as she took deep, ragged breaths. By now, a large group had gathered around them, faces wrought with anxiety and concern.

Mislana blinked furiously, head still reeling from the blinding discharge of Moor’ak’s magic. He clutched at Lavinia’s hooves, face wrought with concern. Her eyes were clasped tightly shut, her face a conflicting mixture of pain and relief. Moor’ak groaned quietly, holding a hoof to his head as he was helped back to his hooves by another unicorn. A trickle of blood ran from his nostril, dripping small crimson splotches onto the carpeted floor.

Mislana mouthed a silent ‘thankyou’ to Moor’ak, hooves trembling slightly as he cradled Lavinia against his body. “Lavinia…?” He stammered nervously, eyes sparkling with moisture.

Lavinia groaned loudly, weak eyes fluttering open. “Thank- thankyou, Moor’ak.” She rasped through gritted teeth, pushing her hoof against Mislana’s shoulder as she robotically slumped into a sitting position. Moor’ak nodded tiredly, leaning heavily against the nearby wall wall.

Mislana’s eyes flew around the room, nervously watching as the surrounding ponies whispered amongst themselves. Each one he made eye contact with quickly averted their gaze, quietly dispersing into small groups. He bit his bottom lip, doing his best to hide his frightened trembling from the rest of the room's occupants.

“They’re getting worse, Margravine…” Moor’ak grumbled, those surrounding him nodding along in tacit agreement. Mislana glanced at them anxiously, wings twitching protectively at his side as he stood in between Lavinia and the rest of the dream council.

“I know…” Lavinia replied, her end of her nose scrunching up like discarded paper as she pushed herself up from the ground. Moor’ak open his mouth to speak again, but was ultimately silenced by a searing glare from Lavinia. Mislana automatically offered her a stabilising hoof, but she brushed him off with a good natured wave of the hoof. Standing at her full height, the mare towered over the rest of the room, her athletic body still managing to strike an imposing presence, despite the situation. “I appreciate your concern everyone, I truly do…” She spoke louder, addressing the room as one. “But I’ll be fine. We have larger concerns at hoof than my health.”

She turned to face Mislana, ignoring the dream council’s discontented murmuring while placing a caring hoof upon his shoulder. “I’m sorry that you had to be here for this, little brother,” She spoke clearly, soft eyes entreating him. “Did you manage to get enough sleep?”

Mislana blinked, snivelling slightly as he bit his bottom lip. “I guess so,” He replied, absently scraping his hoof across the ground in messy, circular patterns. “What…” He hesitated, avoiding making direct eye contact with anyone in particular. “What was that?”

Lavinia didn’t reply directly. She pursed her lips, lost in thought, before turning round to face Mislana with another sickly smile plastered to her strained features. “Venturing through the dreamscape takes its toll on me,” She began, sitting neatly down on her haunches to remove Ly'synė’s neck collar. “Think of it like the scar tissue that forms after an injury,” She tugged and pulled at the heavy item, hooves recoiling suddenly as it was encased in a pale blue sheen. Mislana shot a glance over his shoulder, watching as Moor’ak carefully removed it from her body with his telekinetic grip. Lavinia sighed in relief, her ribcage expanding and contracting as she took in large lungfuls of air. “It's nothing to worry yourself over, just an unpleasant memory, of sorts…”

Mislana didn’t reply outright, tilting his head to one side while frowning.

“I’m fine, honestly,” She added, flexing her large wings about her body as she stood up. “We’ve got a war council meeting to attend now, correct?” She turned towards Moor’ak, who nodded his head slightly. “Your father has gathered everyone already so I take it?”

“We’re not ready to convene just yet, Lavinia,” Moor’ak replied warily, extending his hoof out to support Lavinia. “It was postponed in order to give you a chance to rest up after attending to your duties here.”

“Oh…” Lavinia’s mouth hung slightly open. “In that case,” she started, brushing Moor’ak’s hoof aside with a good natured smile “Would you kindly ask the kitchen staff to bring some food to my quarters?”

“Of course Margravine.” Moor’ak replied stiffly, bowing his head with practised ease before leaving the siblings alone once again. Mislana couldn’t help staring at Moor’ak’s fleeting form as he left. Eyes transfixed on the slender, shifting lines of toned muscles, spellbound in watching the way his mane and tail tumbled and fell about the stallion's body in cosmic waves of shining onyx.

Lavinia cleared her throat at him, startling Mislana out of his daydreaming. She smirked down at him, lightly giggling under her breath as Mislana blushed furiously. Lavinia bit her bottom lip, bouncing her eyebrows flirtatiously.

“Shut up…” Mislana mumbled furiously under his breath, turning his head away while biting his hoof.

“I didn’t say anything,” Lavinia giggled, ruffling her younger brother's mane with her hoof.

“It’s not what you think it is!” Mislana pleaded, voice cracking from the raised pitch.

Lavinia, holding back her chuckling, leant towards Mislana’s side while sporting a dirty grin. “Tell that to your wings then.”

Mislana gasped, turning his head to see his outstretched wings beneath his cloak. Lavinia cackled loudly at this revelation, tossing her head back as her body trembled with laughter. Those who were left in the room all turned towards the commotion, staring at the siblings in confusion. Mislana mumbled obscenities to himself, awkwardly forcing his wings to co-operate and fold neatly by his side.

He glared at Lavinia, eyes narrowed dangerously as he tried to hold an angry glare through his flushed face. The mare quietened down after a moment, taking large, wheezing breaths. “Oh… Oh I’m so sorry…” She spoke through fits of laughter. “Come on, let's get some food, alright?” She took a few deep, slow breaths, calming herself down again.

Mislana lessened his glare. “Fine…” He muttered, slipping past Lavinia as he trotted briskly towards the exit.

Lavinia watched him go, still smirking. A few members of the Dream Council looked at her with quizzical expressions. “It’s just too easy,” She chortled to no one in particular, sighing to herself before following Mislana out.

Chapter Four

“Thank you, my dear.” Lavinia spoke softly, smiling warmly as the kitchen porter gently set down the last serving tray on the table. Rain hammered persistently against the glass balcony doors, drowning out any form of reply that she may have received. Despite the coming of the dawn, the day remained overcast and lifeless, almost as if all the colour were being drained out of the world. Mislana was situated directly opposite her, fidgeting nervously in his seat. He tapped his hoof against the floor in quick, fast beats, constantly shifting his gaze around the room.

His sister's temporary quarters were very similar to his own; only slightly more spacious. A four poster bed was situated across from where they sat; the sheets looked as if they hadn’t been touched. An ornate suit of dark blue armour stood its silent vigil in the corner, watching over the siblings in much the same way a gargoyle would. A fantastic splay of white feathers burst out of the helm, which fluttered gently in the draughty castle air. Leant against the wall to one side was an equally impressive sword staff. The dark wooden handle bore intricately carved runes and ancient symbols, giving way to a gleaming moonsilver blade. To the other side, an older set of wingblades rested atop a small table. Wicked, barbed blades splayed out from the metal framework at alternating angles. Mislana shivered as he studied them.

The door swung shut, signalling that the pair were finally alone. Mislana sighed, bringing his eyes back towards the table. Plates of honey roasted locusts, fruit salads, stuffed mushrooms and multiple choices of herbal tea stared back at him. His stomach rumbled, his appetite returning somewhat.

The corners of Lavinia’s muzzle upturned at this, and she fought back a yawn as she poured steaming tea into two glass chalices. The sweet aroma of summer berries caressed against Mislana’s nostrils as he lifted the tea to his face. The hot steam burned against his skin, but he took little notice as he breathed it in.

“I couldn’t help from noticing that you’ve taken a bit of a liking to Moor’ak.” Lavinia grinned, taking small nibbles from one of the stuffed mushroom cups as she reclined lazily in the seat.

Mislana groaned, placing his tea down on the table once more. “Please, don’t.” He replied with a pained, icy tone, leafy ears drooping to the sides of his head. “It doesn’t matter, so just drop it. Alright?”

“Hey, I think it’d be a good match!” Lavinia replied nonchalantly in between mouthfuls. “He’s the heir to Cantermere, so you could certainly do a lot worse.” She winked at Mislana as he squirmed uncomfortably. The stallion was pretending that the bleak view from the window was the most interesting sight in the world instead of meeting her eyes.

Sighing, Lavinia dropped her food, dragging her body back into a more acceptable sitting position. “Hey,” She began, trying to get Mislana’s attention. “Mislana, look at me.”

Mislana slowly turned back around, his sharp features covered with a gloomy scowl. He glared daggers at Lavinia, face slack and emotionless.

“I’m not mum and dad, okay?” She spoke softly, taking one of his hooves in her own. “I know I tease you sometimes, but I just want you to be happy,”

Mislana smiled softly, biting his bottom lip as his glare softened.

“Besides, if you don’t make a move, I might have to.” She winked at him, bouncing her eyebrows with a fang filled smirk. Mislana snorted, a wry smirk finding its way onto his face despite his best efforts.

“A-As if any stallion could make you happy.” He mumbled in reply.

“Very true,” Lavinia acquiesced, inspecting her hooves as she sighed. “I think I intimidate them…” She grinned, flourishing her limb in an uncharacteristically dainty manner as she took another sip of tea. Mislana exhaled through his nose, shaking his mane away from his eyes as sank further into his chair.

“They were good rulers, Mislana, but they were terrible parents,” Lavinia added softly, her previous energy and presence seeming to fade away. She exhaled, seeming to deflate somewhat as she sunk forlornly into her chair, suddenly seeming far older, more fragile. He saw, perhaps for the first time, the lines etched into her face, the dull lethargy in her eyes, and the way her body sank further and further into itself with each passing day.

Mislana frowned, hoof twitching as he struggled with his reply. An uncomfortable silence fell across the siblings, punctuated only by the intermittent bursts of flak in the distance.

“Mislana?” Lavinia finally spoke, a pitiful expression plastered to her face. Mislana finally looked up.

“I’m sorry…” She stuttered, eyes moist and trembling. “I should have… I should’ve told you from the very beginning how bad this world was… how bloody it all could be.'' She swallowed. “I thought by lying to you, that I’d be able to p-protect you, somehow…” She trailed off, wiping her eyes along her fetlock as she exhaled. “I can’t lie to you anymore.” She squared her shoulders, blinking away the last of the tears as she regained some of her former composure.

“No matter what we do, ponies will die”. Lavinia continued, locking eyes with Mislana. “Even if we defeat the Drakes, there'll still be a whole country to rebuild, forests to replant, f-friends to bury…” She shuddered, almost imperceptibly.

“I know…” Mislana replied, taking Lavinia’s hoof in his own. “I’m with you, alright?” He smiled reassuringly at her, unable to think of anything else to say. “We’re all with you.”

She smiled, clasping Mislana’s hoof tightly in her own. “I’m… you’re…” She stuttered, struggling to find the right words. A pause. “I know how much you care, but…” She sniffled, trailing off once again.

Mislana bit his lip, withdrawing slightly. “I know what you’re getting at,” He replied in a flat tone. “We play the cards we’re dealt, right?” He lifted an eyebrow, face hardening. “If I can do something in order to protect those I love, then I’ll do it.”

“Even if it means taking lives?”

He took a deep breath, attempting to release the building tension in his muscles. “I may not have the makings of a soldier, but I was still born in Nys’strova, and I have a duty to protect it. I didn’t expect loyalty to be a clean thing to live by.”

Lavinia blinked, gently letting go of Mislana’s hoof. “I… truly wish I didn’t have to ask this of you.”

“I know… I don’t enjoy the idea of taking lives, but I couldn’t live with myself if I just stood to the side and let someone else fight for me.” Mislana looked up at her with a fragile smile. “It takes strength to protect those you love” He sniffed. “You’ve given me that strength, and I’m by your side, no matter what.”

Lavinia lunged forwards, encasing Mislana within her limbs and wings. She squeezed him tightly, limbs trembling as they held onto one another. She mumbled something in his ears, though the exact content of her words was lost on him.

***

“As of right now, we still have the Equestrian parliament on our side,” Lavinia gestured across the table, wings bristling at her sides. “We’re going to need their armies if we have any chance of surviving this invasion,” She blinked tiredly, forcing down another yawn as she glared out across the room. “We don’t have the numbers for a counter offensive of that manner, let alone the resources to facilitate and maintain such an attack.”
Mislana opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off with an indignant snort from across the table.

“When have those cowardly Equestrians ever stuck their necks on the line for us!?” A Thestral stallion replied, eyes fixed and pointed as he stamped his hoof. “We mean nothing to them apart from acceptable casualties!” He seethed, a small minority of thestrals around him nodding and murmuring in agreement. He puffed his chest out, gaining more confidence as he continued. “The Drakes aren’t even gunning for us, we’re simply in the way of their real goal!”

“They’re our allies…” Lavinia hissed with barely concealed rage, eyes twitching as she stood taller. “It’s our duty to protect them… Ly’synė spent eons alone, facing countless nightmares, alone! In order to protect those who couldn’t do so themselves! We suffer to uphold her legacy. We give our lives, our blood, to uphold our promise to her! I won’t be the coward who breaks faith with her, or her sister! Not today!” Her voice cracked as she verged on shouting, limbs trembling as she leant forwards intently. “You are a coward, Fosse.” She spat vehemently. “You really are. I won’t let you waste our peoples’ precious lives on fruitless posturing!”

“Ly’synė has been gone for a millennia! And I don’t see the Equestrians with us today either…” Fosse bristled, casting a side eye towards Amber Dawn. The Pegasus stood to the side of Lavinia, jaw clenched tightly shut as he gazed coolly in Fosse’s direction. “You talk of sacrifice, of blood and suffering… but do you even understand half of the pretentious nonsense you absentmindedly spout? Let alone put your own body on the line to uphold your precious Cy’lysė’s principles!?” He squared his shoulders, holding a piercing glare on the mare, as if getting ready for a physical confrontation. Lavinia winced at his last comment, her poker face slipping into a slight frown. “They don’t care about what happens to us. They never have. I…” Fosse shuddered, sighing as he pushed his dark mane out of his face “You’ve brought your armies to Cantermere, and they’ve fought bravely alongside my own soldiers. I’ll forever be in your debt for that. However…” He lowered his voice, eyes pinning down Lavinia “I can’t stand idle as the Drakes murder, burn and destroy our people, our forests, our homes… We’re alone, Lavinia. There’s no cards left to play anymore. We need to hit them now, while we’ve still got the capacity to do so.”

“Capacity? What capacity?!” Lavinia snorted, regaining some of her confidence as her eyes narrowed. “We’ve lost nearly fifteen hundred soldiers, either dead or missing already!” The mare seethed, her facial muscles stretched tightly across her jaw. “That’s almost a quarter of my army! Just to stall the Drakes main advance from reaching Cantermere! Another two thousand are already deployed across the border towns and the capital, and we’re losing territory in the western provinces faster than I can keep up with! Just…” she blew out a frustrated breath. “What soldiers exactly do you intend to use for such an attack? Because I’m telling you now, we don’t have any!” She threw her hooves up in the air. “We can barely hold the ground we’re already covering!”

“This arguing isn’t getting us anywhere!” Mislana interrupted, voice breaking as he almost shouted across the table. He flared his wings, puffing his chest out in order to make his body seem larger than it actually was. Fosse opened his mouth to rebuke him, but was stopped by a small tap on the shoulder from Moor’ak. Moor’ak shook his head, the two glaring at one another for multiple seconds, before the older stallion finally relented. He gestured towards Mislana with his hoof, tilting his head in a faux form of respect. Mislana shot a small smile in Moor’ak’s direction, taking a deep breath.

“Thank you…” He began, addressing the room as one whole. Lavinia blinked tiredly at him, collapsing back into her chair with an unsteady nod. “As my sister was saying earlier, we don’t have the numbers to play this aggressively,” He glanced down at Lavinia, worry etched into his face. “Our forces are already stretched thin as it is, and we don’t have the infrastructure to move the supplies we’d need for such an attack. At this current juncture, we simply don’t have the means to put any sort of pressure on the Drakes attack.” His eyes danced over the room, pausing to linger on the seething Fosse before he carried on. “We’ve got a growing problem with refugees coming in from the surrounding towns and villages, so we need to organise transportation further south for these thestrals.” He paused. “The…” He licked his lips, mind pirouetting through burning hoops as he tried to figure out how to correctly voice his thoughts. Eventually, he shook his head with a sigh, deciding on keeping it simple.

“This city will be attacked.” Silence. “The Drakes have been attacking our border garrisons relentlessly for the past month. Two nights ago, we received a telegram from Captain Iskra of the fourth rifles battalion that the Drakes had overran her forces in Windridge, and that she’d ordered a retreat.”

A series of gasps and murmured words spread around the room like ripples across a pond. Mislana grimaced at this response, eyes darting nervously around the assembled crowd. “We’re running out of time!” Mislana stammered louder, trying to regain some form of control over the room. His eyes landed on Moor’ak, who simply stared at him in wide eyed disbelief. “If- If we can halt their advance here, it’ll buy us some time for the Equestrian forces to arrive!” He spread his hooves out towards the crowd, attempting to wrangle back their quickly disintegrating attention.

“They wouldn’t dare attack Cantermere!” A mare spoke up to the murmuring agreement of those surrounding her.

“We’ve got to leave now!”

“Where are the Equestrians!?”

“Should we negotiate?”

Mislana swore under his breath, turning to Lavinia for support. The mare was staring directly through him, her eyes thin and wide as dinner plates. He squeaked under his breath, heartbeat raising as the claws of panic sunk deep. He looked out at the other Thestrals, desperately searching for some support within the sea of panicked voices.

“If I might interject,” Amber Dawn speaks up, “my fellow Equestrians are here, with you. The break-through train was able to make it through the corridor into the station last night, and deposited the newly formed One-Twenty-Second Irregulars out of Seaddle. It also offloaded food, water, and medical supplies.” He then looks to Mislana, “We also evacuated civilians on that same train, and though the telegraph service is spotty at best, suspect at worst, we did receive word shortly before this meeting that the train made it to safety.”

Mislana smiled, letting out a shaky breath as he mouthed a silent thankyou towards Amber. “The Equestrian reservist forces are helping secure our flanks while we continue to mobilise the full extent of our military.” He paused, swallowing a bitter lump in his throat. “It’s not ideal, but the best chance we have is in holding our ground. The Drakes have the numbers advantage, true, but we can even the odds a little more to our favour if we can hold them here.” He placed his hoof down on the table, hovering over where Cantermere was situated on the map. “There’s a natural bottleneck in the terrain, see?” He gestured to the surrounding terrain, those around the table craning their necks to see. “The Drakes will have no choice but to pass through Cantermere in order to continue onto Nys’strova and the rest of Equestria”

He stood back, raising his head above the crowd. “We could, in theory, relocate ourselves further south to Ly’synia, but this would leave Equestrian cities open to attack.'' Mislana empathised, glancing around the room as he gauged the responses he was receiving. “So that's not an option. “We need to protect our people. All of our people.”

Nobody spoke for several moments. Mislana blinked, glancing from Lavinia to Amber Dawn. His sister looked back at him with an unsteady gaze, though he could swear he saw her smile in approval. Finally, Fosse cleared his throat, addressing the room.

“How long will it take the Equestrian irregulars to arrive in Cantermere?” He spoke clearly, looking hesitant towards Amber Dawn. He glanced at Lavinia, narrowing his eyes curiously as she sat slumped back in her chair, a vacant look painted across her face.

“Two, maybe three days at most,” Amber Dawn replied. “Depending on the layover time in Ly’synia, they’ll be here within the week.”

Fosse nodded slowly, simmering down considerably. “Alright…” He began, blowing air out of his nostrils. “Mislana?”

Mislana jolted, turning back to face the older stallion. He eyed Moor’ak standing just behind Fosse, who shot him a reassuring hoof pump. “Yes?” He asked, holding his hoof flat against the floor in order to stop himself from fidgeting.

Fosse sighed, his chest deflating somewhat as his face slackened. “How… how can I be of assistance?”

***

The steady sounds of hooves against dirt was all that greeted Mislana’s ears. He readjusted the heavy saddlebags along his flanks, walking slowly and with purpose. His military issue cloak flapped in the stiff wind, and he shivered as he gathered it closer to his body in a futile attempt to stave away the biting morning chill. The world had this rich, pastel texture to it, and the faint aroma of pine needles lingered in the air. He glanced behind their column, taking one last look at the fading walls of Cantermere in the distance. A smattering of heads poked above the battlements, watching silently as they marched onwards. Some cheered, some waved small flags, but the majority watched the mass exodus in tense silence.
He glanced across his side, flashing a nervous smile at Lavinia as she trudged alongside him. Her white fetlocks were already speckled with mud, hooves digging into the waterlogged soil with each step forwards. She narrowed her eyes at Mislana, a meagre suggestion of tension flickering across her face, but said nothing, eyes fixed dead ahead. Up ahead, more columns of Ly’synian soldiers, alongside Cantermere’s forces, tracked dutifully north into the Nys’strovan countryside. Mislana found himself momentarily awe struck at the spectacle of it all.

Thousands of Thestrals marched in thick, ever shifting columns. Hundreds of prismatic battle emblems rose high into the sky, scraping against the sepia horizon with blazing colours rivalling the sun itself. Multiple bodies streaked in between the separate groups, delivering relevant messages and orders to the different commanders present. Somewhere in the distance, a snare drum was being played in a steady, heartbeat thromb, falling in line with the persistent fall of hooves. The dark blue armour of the Nys’stralla stood out sharply against the lush greens and rich browns that coloured the surrounding pastures. From his vantage point in the rear, they looked very similar to lines of ants in a colony.

Mislana blew out a long breath, shaking his head as he tried focussing on the coming days. Up ahead, a stray cat strode along the grassy verge, in the opposite direction to the marching Thestrals. It had something in its mouth. A songbird. It was still alive, beautiful wings fanned and flopping. He narrowed his eyes as the cat sauntered by him calmly, watching with morbid interest it crawled underneath a wagon. The bird squawked, pleading and praying, but the cat would not listen. Mislana trained his eyes dead ahead.

Summer was over.

Author's Note

https://youtu.be/92SXD-UZ7Ss

Chapter Five

The next day brought with it yet another heavy thunderstorm. The sky loomed dark and foreboding, with dirty bands of blackened clouds rolling in from the northern mountains in wide sweeping motions. The numerous streams and rivers that criss crossed the forest floor had quickly burst their banks, flooding the plateau with fetlock deep ponds of water. All the roofs leaked, and Thestrals stood huddled together under any scant cover that was to be found. Despite the abysmal weather conditions, small columns of soldiers continued marching dutifully forwards from the south, moving to fortify the hastily prepared defensive positions. Thestrals worked tirelessly to bail out fox holes and trench lines, using spare cooking pans and wooden bowls as makeshift buckets.

Mislana’s teeth chattered as he rung out his wet mane underneath the protective sheen of Moor’ak’s telekinetic shield. Lavinia followed close behind him, hooves splashing as she quickly darted into cover. Fosse stood waiting for them, regarding the siblings with a raised eyebrow as they hurriedly dried themselves off. Moor’ak flashed a warm smile at Mislana, the stallion somehow remaining completely spotless in spite of the storm.

“Apologies for our late arrival,” Lavinia began, removing the hood from around her head. “Our scouts reported back earlier than expected, so we were waylaid while receiving their reports.”

“It’s… fine,” Fosse muttered, thin eyes glaring out into the rain. “Any updates that I need to be made aware of?”

“Nothing good,” Lavinia frowned at him. “The Drakes have made ground faster than we’d anticipated…”

“...” Fosse met her eyes. “How much time do we have?”

“We have two days…” Lavinia paused, nostrils flaring as she exhaled. “Three at most.”

“I see…” Fosse remained still, his face and tone somewhat unreadable.

Lavinia continued. “We’ve got the majority of the Nys’stralla dug into defensive positions along the entire length of the forest,” She swept her hoof out in front of her. “Although, we can’t bring up any of our artillery until the rains let up some more. Even bringing up supplies along the roads is proving impossible with this mud…” She stomped her hoof with an irate growl, bringing up a splash of water that lightly soaked those within the immediate vicinity.

“Is there any news from Ly’synia?” Mislana interjected, placing himself in between Lavinia and Fosse.

Fosse stepped back, wiping away the water spots on his armour. “Yes…” He replied simply, ignoring Lavinia’s outburst. “The Equestrian irregulars out of Seaddle are expected to arrive in Cantermere in two days' time. It would be sooner, but they’re also having… issues, in regards to transportation; our trains can only carry so many soldiers at a time, and the air guard doesn't have enough ships to make up for the deficit.”

Mislana nodded his head, pursing his lips while clicking his tongue. “Any progress regarding civilian conscription?”

“The Nys’strovan territorial army currently stands at just under twenty thousand soldiers.” Fosse replied. “Chancellor Sovaan has assured me that he’ll be able to double those numbers by the end of the month.”

“That’s good news, but it does little to help us here and now,” Lavinia muttered, her tone sharp and thin. “We need those reinforcements if we’re going to have any chance of holding the Drakes at bay.” A dark scowl lingered on the precipice of her face, not going unnoticed by those surrounding her. She raised her hoof again, but was prevented from slamming it into the waterlogged ground at the last moment by a gentle nudge from Moor’ak.

She flinched away at his touch, taking a moment to consider Fosse’s words before slowly replying. “Then our plans remain the same.'' She sighed in frustration. “Can you spare any unicorns to help move along our artillery?”

“I can give you ten unicorns,” Moor’ak replied for Fosse, his telekinetic shield dimming slightly as the rainfall increased in intensity. He paused momentarily, channelling more mana into the sparkling shield before continuing. “We’re still working on building the redoubts along the right flank. Although, I’m more than happy to lend my own horn in assisting with moving the artillery?”

“I’d appreciate that greatly,” Lavinia replied, her scowl faltering. She addressed the group as a whole. “Our scouts will keep a close eye on the Drakes movements, and in the meantime we’ll continue building up our defences here the best that we can.”

“Lavinia, if I may speak freely?” Fosse glanced across the clearing, pressing closer to the mare’s side.

“Of course…” Lavinia regarded him with a wary gaze.

“I’ve been speaking with the other members of the war council and…” He hesitated, seemingly unsure of whether he should divulge the information or not. “I think we should consider negotiations with the Drake forces,” Fosse stated quietly, his tone calm and reserved. Mislana cringed, watching as Lavinia recoiled venomously. Her face twisted into a poisonous glare.

“What…” She replied icily, staring daggers at Fosse as he squared his shoulders.

“The Drakes clearly outnumber us Lavinia. Without Equestrian reinforcements, we won’t be able to hold them back.” He paused, hardening his glare to match Lavinia’s. “Just… have you ever stopped to think about our ‘relationship’ with Cy’lysė? We’re fighting and dying for a country that colonised us! They’ve known about the threat the Drakes pose to us for months, and what have they done? Nothing!” He stomped his hoof for emphasis, pressing his body forwards. “They’re attacking us because we’re in the way of their real goals,” He held his eyes on Lavinia’s, continuing in a more reserved tone. “This conflict doesn’t concern us, and enough thestrals have died already.”

“Life is long, Fosse, and ponies memories are fickle…” Lavinia murmured, right eye twitching. “There’s a good reason why we surrendered to Cy’lysė’s forces at the end of the Lunar rebellion…”

“And what do you think will happen when Ly’synė returns?” Fosse whispered in a strained, urgent tone. “Cy’lysė has overlooked us for too long, and we finally have the chance to do something about it!” He snorted, nostrils flared. “Ly’synė will return within our lifetime, and we need to be prepared for when she does.”

Mislana looked between the pair nervously, tapping his hoof relentlessly against the water logged forest floor. He glanced at Moor’ak, who seemed to withdraw into himself as the two Thestrals continued arguing.

“Ly’synė lost the war!” She raised her voice, drawing the attention of passers by. “I know what you're asking of me, and I can’t allow it.”. Lavinia bristled, sharp fangs peeking out from her lips. “We were wrong, Fosse…” Her voice faltered, threatening to break into something more pathetic. “Nightmare Moon was a parasite... She poisoned Ly’synė’s mind, until there was very little left of her…” She trailed off, trembling as she stared at unseen nightmares.

“And what was Cy’lysė’s response?” Fosse spat, jabbing a hoof into Lavinia’s chest. “I don’t care about her reasons, a thousand years is too much to forgive!”

“You haven’t seen what I’ve seen…” She eventually continued, her jaw tightening as she met the stallion's harsh glare. “My dreamwalking has allowed me to see… glimpses, echos, of the Lunar rebellion… Cy’lysė’s forces won in the end, that is true, but the real cost of victory was paid almost entirely by the mortal ponies who fought it.” She stood up straight, bringing herself face to face with Fosse. “Betraying Equestria now will destroy all of us, and for what? She flashed her sharp fangs, a low growl emanating from the pit of her stomach. “What you propose will only bring about more bloodshed, and I can’t allow that.”

“I don’t care how many of them live or die!” His eyes were alight with fire, a fury barely held at bay. “What matters is our freedom! What matters is that our foals never have to live through what we have!”

“Enough!” Lavinia shouted, wings flaring outwards as pressed herself into Fosse, causing him to stumble backwards a few steps. “This conversation is over!”

Both Mislana and Moor’ak flinched at this last outburst, backing away from the pair. Fosse simply glowered at Lavinia, jaw tightening as he took several deep breaths. “Very well. I tried.” He nodded his head stiffly, walking away in such a manner as if melody had never been invented. Lavinia massaged her temples, groaning loudly.

“Margravine Lavinia?” Moor’ak finally spoke up, gently pressing a hoof against the mare's shoulder. “I’d like to apologise for my father, he-”

“There’s no need, Moor’ak,” She abruptly countered, eyes still lingering on Fosse’s dwindling figure. She quickly changed subjects “You mentioned being able to assist in moving our artillery into position?”

Moor’ak took a moment to respond, caught off guard by Lavinia’s sudden switch. “Yes… If I may ask, having a few more hooves at my disposal to help move the artillery would be a great help.”

“Of course, Mislana can assist you with that.” She glanced at Mislana, still somewhat distracted. “Our house guards are currently stationed in the centre of the camp, so they’ll be available to help you.”

“Thank you, Margravine,” Moor’ak lowered his head in a bow. “Is there anything else I can assist you with?”

“No, thank you Moor’ak,” Lavinia replied, before turning to address Mislana. “Come find me once the artillery are in position.”

Mislana nodded brusquely, biting his bottom lip as he glanced nervously at his sister. She smiled tiredly at him, a brittle and thin affair, nodding her head to the pair of stallions before taking her leave. She flicked her hood back over her head, trotting into the rain with an uneven and jerky gait. Mislana turned to face Moor’ak, a wry grin worming its way onto his face despite the previous exchange.

“You know you’re gonna’ get soaked, right?” He gently teased, smirking at the smaller stallion as his face dropped.

Moor’ak pursed his lips, staring flatly at Mislana.

“I’ll be fine… probably…”

***

Moor’ak was not fine.

The rain continued falling in droves, quickly soaking the little unicorn through and through the moment he dropped his telekinetic shield. The occasional flash of lightning lit up the fields surrounding Cantermere, followed by the deep bass thromb of thunder. Mislana grunted, his rear legs trembling as he pushed his whole weight against the back of a stranded wagon. Several other Thestrals worked alongside him, helping to provide some forward propulsion while Moor'ak and another unicorn attempted to lift the heavy carriage out of the quagmire.

Several agonising moments passed, before the wheels suddenly lurched forwards onto more solid ground, the movement nearly catching Mislana off guard as he flared out his wings to steady himself. The thin telekinetic glow surrounding the wagon's frame quickly dissipated, both unicorns exhausted from the exertion. Mislana trotted around the side, rapping his hoof against the side to give the driver the all clear to move again.

He stood back, his heart pounding against his ribcage as he sucked in several deep lungfuls of air. He glanced at Moor’ak, who looked almost unrecognisable compared to their first encounter. His dark mane was plastered to his shoulders in thick, tangled dreadlocks, while his once immaculate fur was now splattered with dark mud. They’d quickly abandoned their heavy cloaks early in the day; one unlucky soldier having been dragged flailing and cursing into the mud when her cloak was caught in an artillery piece's wheel.

Mislana flapped his wings, coming to an unsteady hover around ten feet off the ground. The wind grasped and pulled at his body, and it took a considerable amount of effort to maintain control of his flight.

The last of the cannon had finally been pushed back onto solid ground, allowing the soldiers a much-earned break after several hours of slogging away tirelessly in the mire. He smiled, panting heavily while angling his wings downwards and coming to a heavy landing in the middle of a large puddle. He tilted his head towards Moor’ak, who was struggling to remove his rear hoof from the thick mud. “You’re a lot stronger than you look” he called out, a wry smirk creeping across his face.

“That’s… that’s the last of them, right?” Moor’ak managed between exhausted gasps, stumbling forwards as he finally freed himself from the mud.

“Yeah, we’re all good for now,” Mislana replied, watching the heavy wagons slowly making progress along the road.

Moor’ak exhaled in relief, attempting to materialise another shield above his head. His face twisted in concentration, his horn briefly alighting with a bright blue glow which quickly dissipated.

Mislana chuckled, sliding alongside Moor’ak with an outstretched wing. It did little to shelter the unicorn from the elements. Moor’ak glanced up at him, frowning.

“Can’t keep it up, Sparky?” Mislana smirked, earning a frustrated sigh from Moor’ak.

“It’s not that!” He protested, shooting a half hearted glare at Mislana. “I’m just…” He paused, mumbling to himself as he struggled to come up with a decent retort, eventually settling on, “Cold.”

“Me too,” Mislana snorted, blinking away the rain that got into his eyes. “Do you… do you want to get something to eat with me?” Mislana asked, grateful for the mud and cold concealing his nerves. “Or, at least go somewhere a little dryer than here?”

“I’ll go anywhere you want, as long as it gets me out of this Ly’synė damned rain.” Moor’ak said with a little smirk, teeth clenched against the insistent chattering.

Minutes later, the two bedraggled stallions sat sheltering inside a large canvas tent. Mislana perched on the edge of the bench seat, shivering in the draughty air. Directly across from him, Moor’ak sat hunched over a steaming bowl of mushroom stew. He cradled it in his hooves protectively, in much the same way as one would hold a newborn foal. Canvas walls bounced back heated conversations and raucous laughter, with crowds of Thestrals coming and going from the small canteen almost constantly. Civilians ran frantically to and fro, collecting empty tankards and plates left behind from the sudden influx of bodies trying to find some reprieve from the relentless rain. The canvas roof hung low at certain intervals where the rain had accumulated throughout the day.

“You’re not hungry?” Moor’ak asked, nibbling on the edges of a piece of black bread. Mislana turned to face him once again, fidgeting in his seat.

“Not so much” He replied absently, idly observing the other Thestrals in the room. “I miss the food in Ly’synia” A fond smile found its way to his face, albeit a small and nostalgic one.

“It can’t be that different, surely?” Moor’ak chuckled. He propped his head onto his hooves, regarding Mislana with an inquisitive expression.

“It’s not, if I’m being honest,” Mislana conceded, smiling at the unicorn stallion. “What… what do you think you’d be doing right now, if we weren’t… y’know” He gaze lingered on Moor’ak. “Here?”

“I’d be back in Canterlot,” Moor’ak mused, his eyes gently fluttering shut as a tranquil expression came across his face. “My friends and I used to drag our blankets and mattresses out onto the balcony during summer. We’d all bring our favourite snacks and drinks and books, and we’d read to one another and talk about stallions and mares and gossip from school the whole night…” He gently opened his eyes, basking in the nostalgic glow of memories. “We’d have these terrible storms that lasted all through the night. The thunder always felt so… large, as if I could feel it in my heart, or like I had pins and needles all over my body. But everything would always smell so… fresh and new, after the storm had passed.” He shook his head, still grinning. “I’d always walk through the park the morning after. I loved seeing how rough, and clean, the world was after the storm had passed.” A pause. “Memories are a weak anecdote for reality, though.” He frowned.

“That sounds so… peaceful…” Mislana replied. He found himself feeling warm from the description, a small part of him experiencing some level of nostalgia for something he’d never had the chance to experience. He frowned, somewhat unsettled by the notion. “You used to live in Canterlot?”

“I studied magic at Cy’lysė’s school for gifted unicorns until I was eighteen” Moor’ak replied, a hint of pride creeping its way into his voice. “I only returned to Nys’strova last year, to take my place on the Dream Council.”

“Why’d you return?” Mislana blurted out before he could think. “I mean-” He stumbled over his words. “It sounds like you had a whole life over there. Friends, magical studies, balconies…?”

Moor’ak grinned at his last comment, pausing to have a small sip of water before replying. “Duty, I suppose, or family…” His gaze lingered on Mislana, carefully studying the Thestral stallion. “I’m guessing it's a similar reason as to why you stayed.”

“W-What?” Mislana almost choked on his drink, sitting himself upright.

“Don’t tell me you’ve not thought about leaving before?” Moor’ak gently pressed, finding slight amusement in Mislana’s reaction. “I know I haven’t known you for very long, but you’re pretty easy to read.”

Mislana clammed up, tapping his hoof against the floor in fast, repetitive beats. “I…” He stammered, struggling to formulate a response. “I’m not sure I understand?”

“You’re very good at your job, Mislana” Moor’ak began carefully, taking hold of Mislana’s hoof in his own. “You have a good attention to detail, you're willing to get your hooves dirty… quite literally.” He smirked at this, earning a light chuckle from Mislana. “But, you don’t seem to take any enjoyment from it”

“Why would I enjoy violence?” Mislana retorted, feeling somewhat defensive as he retracted his hoof.

“That’s not exactly what I mean,” Moor’ak frowned, taking a moment to rethink his wording. “It’s just, I can’t imagine you having wanted to have gone into the military, had it not been for the accident of your birth.”

“I guess…” Mislana twitched nervously.. He felt as if his chest had been cracked open, and Moor’ak now had an unobscured view of his heart and vital organs. “You’re not wrong…” He paused, taking a moment to consider his words before continuing carefully. “My…” A sigh. “My whole future, it’s always felt like I’ve never really had a say in any of it.”

Moor’ak nodded, waiting patiently for him to continue.

“I think I always assumed I’d end up going into the military,” Mislana mused, taking a large swig from his tankard. “My parents were always very… keen for me to do so…” He trailed off, seeming to shrink into himself some more.

Moor’ak nodded. “I’m getting the sense that’s not what you would have chosen for yourself, given the option?”

“You’re partly right,” The corner of his muzzle uplifted. “It’s like there’s two different thestrals living inside of me, and they want completely different things… One of them wants to live up to my family name, make my parents proud y’know?” He trailed off, frowning venomously into his drink. “Despite what they thought of me…”

“What does the other one want?” Moor’ak asked softly, brushing Mislana’s hoof with his own.

“I… I don’t really know how to answer that question” Mislana mumbled, sighing heavily as he took another heavy drink. “I guess the other one wants the same thing, only on my own terms.” He sniffled, blinking. “I know who I am. I know I’m not well suited to what the world demands of me. But this is my duty, and it’s my responsibility to bear. This is my home, and I’d do anything to protect it.” He paused, glancing upwards. “I think there comes a point where you have to ask yourself, is this worth what it's doing to me? As soon as that answer is no, then it's time to walk away, right?” He blinked. “I haven’t gotten to that point, so I’m content with what I need to do.”

“But what do you actually want?” Moor’ak gently inquired, his blue eyes remaining tranquil pools of rainwater.

Mislana took a few moments to consider his question. “I think there’s some things in life that you’re meant to run away from,” He began slowly, dark eyes rising to meet Moor’ak’s own pale blue. “But this isn’t one of those.” He added, “I want to be there for my sister.” A pause. “I want to be someone deserving of my parents' respect, even if they didn’t agree with all my choices…” He held his gaze on Moor’ak for several moments, gaging the unicorn's reaction. “I can figure the rest out later.”

Moor’ak sat in silence for several moments, contemplating Mislana’s words. “I can’t say I’m envious of your position.” He eventually replied, gazing at the Thestral with a mix of awe and pity. “Although, I can empathise with you…” The corners of his muzzle lifted, faintly. “And, you’re most definitely a thestral I can respect.”

Mislana mouthed the words ‘thank you’, and grinned, not quite sure how else he could reply. He gently squeezed Moor’ak’s hoof in his own, letting go after a few moments as the pair contented themselves with listening to the steady onslaught of rain against the canvas roof.

***

Hours later, Mislana lingered on the far edge of the main fire pit, quietly surveying the scattered Nys’stralla members as they gathered for the evening's meal. Their jovial voices dissipated through the humid air, the nocturnal Thestrals seeming to gain more energy and mirth after the worst of the storm had passed. Moonlight streamed through the forest canopy across hazy bands of rising mists, gently obscuring the sporadic constellations just beginning to take shape on the horizon.

Mislana turned his face away, refusing to look at them. A part of him was probably jealous, and he refused to admit it. A twilight landscape greeted his dark eyes, and he flattened his ears as he frowned into the darkness. The northern horizon was segmented into a jagged series of ivory shapes that poked out above the forest canopy. Hazy clusters of greenery clung to the rising slopes, eventually giving way to darker patches of earth and stone. He bit his bottom lip, raising his eyebrows in admiration of the sheer immensity of the topography laid out before him.

All too soon however, the scrape of hooves against dirt broke his concentration, and he turned to see his sister slowly walking towards him, two steaming bowls cradled in her front hoof. She’d ditched her armour for the night, instead wearing a flowing midnight blue cloak.

“I thought you’d be hungry” Lavinia offered a wooden bowl to Mislana, setting it down carefully on the floor as she lowered herself to the ground.

“Thanks…” Mislana replied distractedly, turning his head again to gaze out into the expanse of wilderness. He set the steaming bowl to one side, stomach rumbling as the scent of polenta and mushrooms drifted up towards his nostrils.

Lavinia yawned lightly, stretching her forelimbs about her head before digging in fervently. Mislana stared at his sister as she shovelled spoonful after spoonful into her mouth. His nostrils twitched, but he had little appetite, despite the hollow pains in his stomach.

“How…” Mislana stuttered, fumbling with the clasp of his cloak. “How are you so calm right now?” He couldn’t hold his gaze on Lavinia for too long, so instead he tilted his neck to admire the myriad of stars above their heads. “I mean, we could… die, tomorrow…” He flopped onto the floor next to Lavinia, swallowing a bitter lump in his throat.

“It’s not the thought of dying that scares me, Mislana” Lavinia replied, somewhat muted. She pursed her lips. “It’s… it’s the waiting that I can’t stand.” She pressed a hoof against the ground, pushing through the damp earth. “It would be living, without having known that I’ve done my best.” She smiled reassuringly at Mislana.

“The Nys’stralla dies, it does not surrender” Mislana intonated, accompanied by a dark chuckle.

“I suppose that’s one way of viewing it,” Lavinia replied lazily, taking a moment to enjoy another spoonful of food before continuing. “Though, I like to think whoever said that missed the point.”

“What do you mean?” Mislana glanced at Lavinia, a quizzical look plastered across his face.

“Martyrdom is noble, but it’s not a very fruitful philosophy to base our lives off.” Lavinia’s brown eyes reflected the sporadic starlight. “I’d much rather live on in flesh and blood than as a mere idea.”

Mislana sat quietly for a while, considering his sister's words carefully. “Ly'synė is nothing but an idea to us now…” He whispered, checking over his back to make sure no one else was listening. “A very beautiful idea, but an idea nonetheless.” A pause. “She lives on through the stories we tell about her, the faith we have in her return… We’re in love with the story, right?”

“You’re right, partially,” Lavinia mused, setting her now empty bowl aside. “No one, save the Sun Goddess herself, has any living memory of Ly'synė.” She glanced upwards, admiring the patchwork blanket of night sky. The cool kiss of the air was a welcome addition to that still night, and the mare took a moment to revel in it, smiling softly as she did. “We’ve been separated for such a long time, but… I feel her presence in every moment. It’s something that’s always been a part of me, ever since I was foaled…” She grinned, something more foalish and naive than would befit the leader of an entire nation. “I can’t explain it, but I know it’s there.”

Mislana raised his eyebrows, nodding his head as he pondered over Lavinia’s musings. “I’m sorry,” He began, tracing little circles in the dirt with his front hoof. “I promised that I’d be here to support you, and I will be… I’m just…” His voice trembled. “Scared…”

“It’s alright to be scared,” Lavinia brushed against his shoulder with a hoof. “It means we’re still alive.”

She squeezed him tight, before loosening her grip and sitting upright once more. “I’m going to need you by my side in the coming days,” She spoke quietly, albeit firmly. “It’s taking everything I have to keep us united…” She sighed, hanging her head in frustration.

Mislana hesitated. “You’re worried about Fosse?”

“Yes…” Lavinia sighed, rubbing her hooves against her temples in sharp, practised motions. “The worst part is that I can almost empathise with the point he’s making…”

“Hmm?” Mislana cocked his head to one side, waiting for his sister to continue speaking.

“Cy’lysė has mobilised her armies a lot… slower than I had expected her to do…” Lavinia gazed forwards, lost in thought. “Thus far, we’ve received little military or material support from Equestria, outside of the occasional trains pulling into Ly’synia.” She exhaled, pulling her cloak closer around her shoulders. “Our border defences have all but disintegrated in the past week, meaning we’re now the only thing standing between them and the rest of Nys’strova…”

“Do you trust him?” Mislana inquired.

“I trust that he has Nys’strova’s best interests at heart…” Her dark eyes glinted in the moonlight. “Whatever that means for him, I couldn’t begin to tell you.”

Mislana hesitated, unsure of how to respond to the information Lavinia had just shared with him. He tilted his gaze up, blinking. He saw the bands of purple shadows washing over the landscape in front of them. He knew it was just the shadows of the mountains to the north, but still, he couldn’t help from being mesmerised, finding some small enjoyment in the fact that he was watching the very edge of the night spilling over the world before his eyes.

“We just have to hold on for a little while longer.” Lavinia’s soft voice shattered the veiled silence. She slowly climbed to her hooves, brushing her cloak off as she gathered it about her. “Get some sleep, tomorrows going to be a long day.” She attempted a smile, but settled somewhere between a frown and a grimace. He watched as she walked away, leaving him alone with only the stars to keep his company.

Mislana couldn’t sleep, and there was little point in pretending that he could. The moon was so very large and bright that night. The mare on the moon gazed down upon him with cool detachment. Mislana vaguely recalled the numerous passages written about Ly’synė’s life, and he couldn’t help from wondering if she was able to see him in that moment, or was able to sense any of the struggles her faithful children were enduring in her absence.

He sighed abjectedly, reclining onto his back as he admired the growing void.

Chapter Six

The sun split through the trees like horizontal lightning. Shards of light bounced off the morning dew that hung from the pine needles. In a small grassy clearing, a heavily bandaged mare perched on the edge of a fallen tree trunk, slumped forwards over herself. The faint sounds of beating snare drums, marching hooves and shouted words weaved through the ancient forest, tickling Iskra’s ears, but she took little notice. Set down before her; a pen and parchment, blank, save for two words.

I’m sorry.

She didn’t know what else she could say, if there was anything left to say at all. It was her duty as a Nys’stralla captain to write condolences to her fallen soldiers' families, though written words only allowed for so much meaning and sentiment to be expressed, and all her attempts at letters found herself falling pitifully short of expressing how angry, alone, afraid, and sorry she truly was.

She glanced around at the foliage. Despite the onset of autumn, there was still so much green in the world. So much life. A small brook surged past the clearing just ahead of her, its banks swollen and broken. Colourful songbirds dipped and dived between the evergreen boughs, and small woodland animals scurried from place to place in the lush, damp undergrowth. She couldn’t find it in herself to enjoy any of it.

Iskra closed her eyes tightly shut, desperately wishing there was something in that damned forest that could convince her everything would be alright. She was shivering, but she was fooling herself to think that it was from the cold. Perplexed, she hugged herself with trembling forelimbs; the past few days had given her a lot of time to think.

Lying in the hospital bed for days on end, gritting her teeth from the blinding pain her body had inflicted upon it, courtesy of the Drakes. She’d spent the time staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling, doctors and nurses and soldiers and civilians coming and going and coming again, speaking words and uttering sentiments she couldn’t understand at the time. Even now, only one thought broke its way through the remnants of narcotic deluge: she should’ve died instead.

She couldn’t hope to be that lucky; the leaves and the wind and the rain and the cloying stink of river moss filling her nostrils bore apathetic testament to that uncomfortable fact. She was, for lack of a better word, alive. And she was alone. Confused, and angry too.

She should have died in Windridge. That much was clear in her mind. She’d replayed the events of those weeks in excruciating detail over and over in her head, each time coming to the unsettling conclusion that she could have, and should have, done so much more. Over half her battalion lay dead, the town they’d given their lives for now under enemy occupation. A more naive mare may be able to convince herself that the Drakes would bury her fallen soldiers, but she’d seen enough by now to know better.

Iskra inhaled, and exhaled, suppressing the urge to kick and scream against all that was unfair and wrong in the world. All those years of military training, of memorising her ancestors' great deeds, of honing her physical skills, all had done very little to prepare her for how… dirty, the physical reality had been.

They’d spoken not one word about the viscera and the blood and the way the bones would crack and splinter when up against the butt end of a rifle. They’d spoken nothing of the abject terror and horror of standing by and watching friends and comrades ripped apart and discarded with all the ceremony of dropping a used cigarette. The screaming too; Drake or Thestral, their screams sounded all too similar. No matter how many times she’d scrubbed her hooves clean, she couldn’t get rid of the scarlet glint that haunted her waking hours.

If there was any honour or pride to be found in what she’d done, Iskra failed to see it. She stared down at the paper: her heart screamed the words, but her mouth and hooves seemed unable to find their shape. Instead, her mind spoke through the silence to nobody else. She held her face in her hooves, wishing she could just claw it off.

Some time had passed before she decided to move again. She flipped the cover of her notebook with a miserable sigh, placing it neatly into the green canvas bag on her flank. She glanced at the sun through the trees, realising she’d spent almost the entire morning out in the forest. She was almost late for her meeting with the Equestrian liaison officer in Cantermere, so reluctantly she left the sleepy forest grove behind her, following her hooves and her ears back to the city.

She felt more akin to a ghost than a thestral, silently drifting through throngs of silent soldiers heading to and from the impossibly grand city gates. The walls stretched outwards, spanning the horizon east to west as far as the eye could see. It was hard not to feel small in comparison, the looming city gates seeming to swallow up those who passed under them like some ancient, megalithic beast frozen in stone and mortar. In reality, Cantermere took on the role of the capital city of Nys’strova in everything but name. The mountainous city spilled out across the surrounding area for miles and miles, its buildings and castle and walls having stood for centuries, a lasting testament to the hopes and dreams of their ancestors. Throughout its long history, not once had the city fallen out of thestral hooves, not even during the chaotic closing moments of the lunar rebellion.

She regarded all of this with an empty, slack gaze, quickly disappearing into the crowds as she passed underneath the gates and into the city proper. She hung her head low, hoping to avoid the attention of the unicorn guards flanking either side of the wide street. Her pace was slow, her breaths measured, as she steeled her nerves for the coming day.

***

Iskra fidgeted with her hooves, slowly shifting her weight from one side to the other. Each movement brought with it a fresh wave of pain from her injured shoulder, but she merely gritted her teeth, choosing to welcome the sensation, however uncomfortable. It reminded her that she was still alive.

She took a moment to rest, feeling somewhat nauseated from her long walk across Cantermere to the airship landing docks. Wiping invisible sweat from her brow, she cast a wary look at her surroundings, taken aback by the sheer amount of activity she was witnessing. Hundreds of thestrals worked tirelessly, unloading heavy wooden crates packed with important supplies for the war efforts from the hulking frames of docked airships. She struggled to identify any singular word or phrase being shouted across the mele, the whole scene coming across as something out of a dream rather than reality. To the far end of the loading platforms she watched Equestrian soldiers streaming down the wooden gangways, forming up into their squads in the meagre amount of space that was still available. She hadn’t been waiting all too long, but she’d already counted that the Equestrian soldiers she alone had seen would have outnumbered what remained of her own battalion two to one.

Upon this realisation, a sour, bitter feeling began growing in her stomach, stoked on by the consistent pain radiating from her shoulder. She scowled, kicking a small stone across the ground in frustration.

“Captain Iskra, I assume?” A stallion's voice broke through the backdrop. A golden pegasus stallion was approaching her, a dark blue cloak hanging off his muscular shoulders. He smiled politely, coming to a gentle stop just a few paces from where she stood.

“Amber Dawn.” Iskra replied curtly, pushing herself away from the wall she’d been leaning on. “You wanted to see me?”

“I apologise, I wish you’d been given more time to recover, but that’s a luxury we don’t have at the moment.” Amber Dawn expressed, glancing skywards briefly before bringing his attention back to Iskra. “Would you mind walking with me?” He gestured a hoof out towards the wide expanse of the airship dockyards.

“As long as you don’t mind walking too slowly,” Iskra responded with a grunt, her curiosity starting to get the better of her as she wanted to get a reading on the Pegasus. “Why have you requested my presence here?” She pressed him lightly, struggling to keep her tone even. “Surely you’ve been given the chance to look through the Windridge report I’ve drafted?” She couldn’t help from wincing as the last words left her mouth, distantly hoping Amber Dawn wouldn’t notice.

“Regrettably, I haven’t had the time to look through it fully,” Amber Dawn admitted, earning a particularly piercing glare from Iskra as he led her along the edges of the loading platforms. “I’ve always found it far more useful to get my information first hoof,” he ducked his head beneath a wooden crane. “Any additional information you’re able to provide on the Drake forces would be of the utmost use to me.”

Iskra clamped down on her urge to scream, instead choosing to narrow her eyes in focus. They came to a pause, allowing for a small group of Equestrian soldiers to pass in front of them. She waited for them to pass before eventually formulating a reply. “You had all this,” She waved a shaking hoof in front of them, gesturing towards the equipment and soldiers currently unloading, “And you just left us to fend for ourselves?”

“I’m sorry?” Amber quickly replied, his face scrunching in confusion.

“Do you…” Iskra began, but quickly trailed off as the anger that had been growing inside her finally reached its zenith. She took a deep breath, struggling to force her brain into cooperation. “At the start of the war, there were just under a thousand thestrals in my battalion. We had commanders, medical attachments, our own ancillary departments, anything and everything you can think of that allowed us to be combat effective.” She spoke slowly, an inescapable bile rising from the pit of her stomach. “We held onto Windridge for just under one month, alone!” She threw a poisonous glare at Amber Dawn. “Would you care to take a guess how many of us made it out of that hell alive?”

“Fifty seven.” Amber Dawn responded morosely, his face and tone softening as he stopped walking, turning about to face the thestral mare dead on. “I was in Ly’synia when we first received word of the Drake incursion, the telegram found its way into my hooves two days after the first attack.” He swallowed an uncomfortable lump in his throat, ears dropping to the side of his head.

“Fifty seven,” Iskra intoned icily, refusing to break eye contact with the pegasus no matter what.

“As a foal, I was always told that the Nys’stralla stood amongst the best militaries on the continent,” She scoffed, pawing a hoof across the ground. “Disciplined, organised, brave to the very last…” She paused, flexing her leathery wings about her body in wide, stiff motions before continuing her tirade. She reasserted her gaze, “We had orders to hold Windridge, and that’s exactly what we did.”

You did exactly what was asked of you, Iskra,” Amber Dawn consoled her, his words soft but direct. “It was a difficult situation, but you performed your duty admirably.”

She frowned, eyes trained on her hooves and the ground. “I was just the last idiot left standing.” She glanced upwards, glare hardening. She shook herself out, tucking her unkempt mane behind her ears. “You want information on the Drakes, right?” She spat out the words, her voice hoarse and raspy. “They’re stronger than us, they outnumber us twice over, and the Margravine is an idiot to think that she can stop them!” She stomped her hoof for emphasis, cringing involuntarily as another horrendous wave of pain bolted directly up her leg. She spun on a sixpence, stray tail hairs whipping across Amber Dawn’s nose, snorting through her nose as she strode off in the opposite direction.

“Iskra? Stop! Where are you going?” Amber Dawn called out, taking a few steps forwards to follow the mare.

“Anywhere that isn’t here!” Iskra shouted over her shoulder, angrily barging past multiple gawking bystanders. She angled her head downwards, preferring to direct her gaze anywhere other than their burning eyes.

Amber Dawn burst into a swift trot, rounding on the mare's side to block her exit. “Stop, please,” He stated calmly, placing a hoof firmly against her shoulder.

“What do you want from me?” Iskra hissed, glowering upwards at the stallion's impassable face. “I have nothing left to give you!! I’ve already told you, we can’t beat them!” Her voice wavered on the edge of a sob, but the anger soon took hold once more. “Your fellow Equestrians seem to have gotten the memo,” She spat, voice dripping with venom. “There’s nothing left to do here apart from leave, before more lives are pointlessly wasted.”

“That’s what we’re trying to prevent!” Amber Dawn spoke softly but with emphasis. “I can’t take back any of what you’ve been through, I wish I could, but I can’t.” He held his gaze on the smaller mare, watching carefully for her reaction. He swallowed an uncomfortable lump in his throat, levelling himself with her. “But you deserve to know the truth…” A pause. “Our position isn’t exactly favourable. The Drakes do outnumber us, even with the addiction of an entire Equestrian battalion. The Nys’strovan leadership has agreed on defensive tactics, intending to hold the Drakes at bay just north of the city. The plan is to hold on here until significant reinforcements can arrive from Ly’synia… As it stands, that’s really our only option.” He blinked, waiting for Iskra to speak.

She remained still, quietly contemplating the Pegasus' information.

“You’re the highest ranking officer to survive any recent encounter with the Drakes,” Amber Dawn continued, grinding his hoof against the loose stones. “I have to believe there’s a reason for that…” He glanced upwards, taking a moment to consider his wording. “You’re obviously an intelligent and resourceful leader, you wouldn’t be alive if you weren’t, and I’m willing to bet on the fact that you’re able to improvise and make do with little to no resources,” He smiled hopefully at her. “Like I said before, anything you can tell me will be useful.”

“I…” Iskra inhaled sharply, bottom lip trembling. “I don’t know…” She trailed off, turning her face away from Amber Dawn. Her eyes swept across the landing strip, soon coming to rest on a small group that had gathered at the far end of the platforms. She cocked her head to one side, watching with curiosity as a group of nervously assembled civilians were ushered along the wooden gangways by equally anxious looking soldiers. She closed her eyes, pursing her lips as she exhaled long and hard.

Every instinct she had was telling her to run, spread her wings and leave that awful place. A smarter mare would have turned tail and ran, far and fast, but she remained standing where she was, stuck and torn between the two maddening impulses. The midday sun gently warmed her bare skin, and she found that all the noise and activity and life surrounding her was a strangely welcome, if uncomfortable sensation.

“Iskra?” Amber’s voice broke through the silence.

“I’ll help you,” Iskra finally replied through gritted teeth. She turned to face Amber Dawn. “I doubt I'll be of much use if it comes down to another fight…” She smiled sheepishly. “That being said, I’m willing to assist you with evacuations, and I’ll try to answer any questions you have relating to the Drakes.”

“Thank you, Iskra.” Amber Dawn replied brightly, smiling appreciatively. “I know you’re still recovering, but the help is greatly appreciated.”

“I’ve just got a few things I need to take care of first,” Iskra frowned.

“Of course,” Amber Dawn replied, removing a checklist from his saddlebags. He glanced upwards. “Come and find me once you’re ready And again, thank you.”

Iskra nodded once, a smile made of paper hanging off her tongue. She was ready to leave, when a commotion from across the landing docks drew her attention. A large group of thestral soldiers had gathered at the entrance gates, drawing the attention of a mixed group of Equestrian soldiers and thestral civilians. A stallion in white armour stood at their head, engaged in what seemed like a heated conversation with an Equestrian guardspony. A single battle emblem identified the newcomers as members of the Cantermere city guard.

Amber Dawn scrunched his nose in confusion, glancing towards Iskra. “Friends of yours?” He asked hopefully, a noticeable edge in his voice.

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Iskra muttered, nodding her head for Amber Dawn to follow her as she moved forwards to greet the newcomers. They quickly closed the distance between the two groups, the armoured stallion raising his head upon sight of Amber Dawn.

“How can we help you?” Amber Dawn inquired, coming to a halt alongside Iskra.

The stallion cleared his throat. “I am Lieutenant Druska, of the Cantermere guard.” He glanced at Iskra, hesitating upon sight of the injured Thestral. He cleared his throat. “I am under orders to take over the evacuation operations here.”

Amber Dawn glanced sideways at Iskra, the pair sharing a confused look between themselves.

“On whose authority?” Amber Dawn inquired.

Druska remained silent, regarding the Pegasus with what seemed like disinterest.

“Who gave you these orders?” Iskra pressed herself forwards, bringing herself face to face with Lieutenant Druska.

“The general, Fosse,” Druska replied, his body a statue. “And you would be?”

“Captain Iskra, fourth rifles battalion of the Nys’stralla,” Iskra replied flatly, taking mild enjoyment from the stallion's reaction.

Druska scrunched his face in confusion. “I was expecting someone taller…” He mumbled out loud before thinking, flinching as Iskra’s eyes narrowed in outrage.

“And I was expecting a stallion,” Iskra shot back with a piercing glare. She reached forwards and snatched the paper dispatch from Druska’s hooves, humming quietly as her eyes scanned the document. When she finished reading, she crumpled it up in her hooves. She tossed it back at Druska, smirking subtly as the crimped up orders bounced off his forehead.

“Leave.” Iskra told him, projecting her voice so the rest of the group would be able to hear. “Now.”

The lieutenant tilted his head in confusion. “We… we have orders from Fosse to-,” Druska began, but was quickly interrupted by Iskra.

“The Margravine herself has assigned the Equestrian forces here to oversee the evacuations,” Iskra replied, stepping closer to Druska. “Our orders don’t come from anyone else. Is that clear?”

She maintained eye contact with Druska, everyone else remaining silent as the pair stood staring at each other, until Druska eventually relented.

“You’ll regret this,” Druska mumbled under his breath, ensuring that only Iskra would hear him. With that, he turned on his rear legs, the group of guards in front of him parting to allow for his exit.

Iskra and Amber Dawn stood in silence, neither one attempting to move until the Cantermere guards were long gone. Amber Dawn was the first to speak.

“What did those orders say?” He inquired, glancing across to face the mare.

Iskra sighed. “Fosse is attempting to wrestle control of the airship landing docks out of the Margravines hooves,” she scuffed her hoof along the ground, kicking at the loose pebbles. “If I were to guess, I’d imagine he’s realised that the dice are loaded, and wants to secure his escape before all hell breaks loose.”

“And they thought this would work?” Amber Dawn gestured forwards with a hoof.

“He’ll be back, and with more friends next time,” Iskra replied, flexing her wings about her body. She turned to face Amber Dawn. “I agreed to help you, but I need you to do me a favour first.”

“Thank you, Iskra,” Amber replied, seemingly encouraged by Iskra’s reassertion. “What do you need?”

“I need you to secure transport for everyone remaining in my battalion,” Iskra stated quietly. “Our wounded are already being processed, but I need additional spaces for those currently fit for duty.” A pause. “They’ve done more than enough. I’m not about to leave them trapped in this butcher's yard.”

Amber Dawn remained quiet for a moment, considering Iskra’s request. “And for yourself?”

Iskra closed her eyes, exhaling through her nose. “The Nys’stralla dies, it does not surrender.” She looked up at Amber Dawn. “It’s my duty to ensure as many thestrals as possible can escape this city. I can’t do that if I run away once again.”

Amber Dawn didn’t reply outright. “Fifty seven, right?”

Iskra smiled. It was a small and sad thing.

Author's Note

~Wear me like a stone~
~Hate me when you’re all alone~