The dying of the light

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.