The World Shall Rise From Ashes

The imperial palace could be seen from anywhere in Canterlot, and for the young stallion peering through a grimy, partly-boarded-up window, he dearly wished that it weren't so. Even when the oppressive sun had sunken beneath the horizon for a night's respite from its glare, the towering symbol of the empress's power stood starkly against the moon, its silhouette unmistakable.

If Empress Daybreaker weren't already the tallest mare in the world, somepony could accuse her of compensating.

Azel turned away from the sight outdoors and looked to the sparse living room. The top floor of this house had collapsed long before they'd arrived, and he'd eventually learned that the blackened wood had been the result of lightning strikes. Whoever had lived here before had earned the ire of pegasus neighbours who'd seen fit to bring down a storm's wrath onto their home, and the bones had been left for ponies in need to claim.

He'd occasionally squeezed into what was left of the upper level to try to scavenge objects that may have survived a roof falling on them, but it'd been largely fruitless, and he was now too big to fit. His sister was still small enough, but he'd never ask her to attempt something so dangerous.

The kitchen of the house was only really useful for storing food now, since it hadn't had running water for years and the appliances were broken, not that either of them knew how to cook even if they'd had the opportunity. The half-destroyed couch was the only furniture, a kindly-donated quilt allowing it to be used as a bed. A bed that his sister was currently standing in front of, her cheeks puffed out as she gave him a full-force pout.

Amyra had always looked a lot like their mother, with her pale grey coat and light blue eyes. He noted that her blue mane was getting to the length that it would need a trim, and prepared himself for the argument that would result, since she'd always wanted to wear it long like their mom had--it was one of her few memories of her, the long hair worn in loops, and so she clung to it fiercely like a griffon digging talons into their thrashing prey--but he always worried about somepony grabbing a long mane in their teeth and then rearing up for a strike.

She was short for her age, and too thin, but there was only so much he could do about that, when gathering food was a risk. There was a slight tremble in her legs, even as she stared at him stubbornly, and while this was a good day for her health, she was always teetering on the verge of a downturn.

Her tufted ears twitched, and the one that had been shredded by shrapnel a long while ago was slightly behind the other, followed by her leathery wings giving a single flap as she stomped a hoof. "I'm not tired! I want to go with you!"

"I told you, you can't. My work is dangero--"

"But I haven't been out in over a week! And you said you were gonna see Miss Sherbet. Please?"

Many ponies could have faltered under the filly's wide-eyed stare, at least the ones who hadn't decided that the wings and fangs made her a monster, but Azel had known her her whole life, and thankfully, it made him immune. So instead, he sighed and opened one of his wings to turn her around to face the couch, then drape her in the comforting, leathery skin. "Tell you what, if you stay here and get some rest tonight, and you're feeling well, I'll bring you out with me next time."

There would be risk, but he could deviate from his usual route. He could avoid the trouble spots, and maybe find an empty playground and push her on the swing, then get out before guards swept that part of the city.

Amyra grumbled under her breath for a while, but eventually yawned and relented with a small, "Fine..." She slumped against him slightly as he further steered her toward the couch. "But say hi to Miss Sherbet for me? The cookies she sent last time were really, really good..."

"I will," he promised softly, as he helped her up. He grasped the edge of the quilt in his teeth and pulled it over her as she squirmed to get comfortable. "Now you sleep. I'll be back later with breakfast."

"Okay..." Amyra yawned again, and closed her eyes. "Love you, big brother."

Azel cracked a small smile. "Love you too, squirt." He then stayed, his sharp ears twitching, until he detected the change in her breathing that said that she'd really fallen asleep, instead of feigning it until she could try to sneak out and follow him. She'd caught him with that trick once, and only once, and so he was always careful now.

He trotted over to the far corner of the room, where their meager few possessions were piled, and carefully set the pair of saddlebags on his back. They were designed for pegasi, so not to impede flight, and while his wings were shaped slightly differently than the feathered ponies', they still accomplished that duty relatively well. The old things were wearing out, and had already had a few patches sewn in before he'd started using them, courtesy of his mother. Further patches had been added by the same donor who had given them the quilt, and he remained grateful.

A few glass vials were slid into the right saddlebag, while the left saddlebag was kept empty. The vials had been washed in the most recent rain shower to rid of them of residue, and if he managed to fill all of them again by the night's end, they'd keep his sister healthy for the next couple of weeks. A small knife was picked up next, built to be mounted on the "wrist" of a thestral wing, and he carefully arranged it on his right wing with the practice of one who'd been doing so for years.

Last was the cloak. When it was laying on the ground, it looked to be the deepest, inky black, with a few shining specks of silver that looked like stars. When he threw it over his body, however, the twinkling lights faded, and its hue shifted, turning to a green-grey that would blend in better with shadow than stark blackness would.

Azel remembered his mother telling him that it had a touch of magic, that it would muffle sound as well as camouflage the wearer, and would make it difficult for ponies to remember details about him, even if they caught a glimpse of his face beneath the hood.

He owed this cloak a lot. A shame that it also happened to be the only belonging he had left of his father's, which meant he owed the old fool of a stallion, too.

With everything in place, Azel again paused to listen to his sister's breathing, and once he confirmed that she was still sleeping, he headed for the window. With the right nudge to the right board to open the way, he slid through the opening, and took off into the night.

The streets of Canterlot were always quiet at night. The empress ensured it. The only ponies that were supposed to be out at this hour were guards, with anypony else who set hoof outside accosted with accusations of wrongdoing, if they weren't arrested and dragged off on the spot. The guards who patrolled at night were making a grand sacrifice for their empress, because nopony was supposed to want to be out beneath the light of a traitorous moon.

Sometimes he wondered why she even bothered letting the moon rise, if she loathed the night so much.

Azel treaded carefully as he traded the run-down district he called home for the slightly nicer one that housed Canterlot's working class. Apartment buildings rose into the sky, never allowed to be higher than the monuments to the empress, and they cast ideal shadows for him to flit between. He'd made this trek regularly, ever since he'd become aware of this particular sympathizer.

Hopefully, he and Amyra wouldn't need the kindness of sympathetic ponies much longer. He'd been slowly gathering bits, everything he could scavenge, bargain for, and steal, and it was almost enough to pay a smuggler to get them out. And once they were past the layers of magical barriers, they'd be able to fly wherever they wanted, in Equestria or beyond.

He reached the right building, and found the correct window lit from within. He pushed off the ground with his hooves, his wings flaring open to catch the air, and he launched himself up with a series of powerful flaps. The sill wasn't large enough for a pony to comfortably stand on, and so his right hooves found perilous purchase while the left ones dangled, and he carefully tapped on the glass with his knife in the agreed-upon rhythm.

It took several too-long seconds for the pony within to reach the window, unlatch it, and pull it open enough for him to slide through. "There you are," the young mare said, in an accent that he'd eventually learned was Manehattan in origin. "It's been a while since your last visit. I was beginning to worry one of the guards had snatched you up."

"Not yet," he responded simply. And hopefully not ever. He pushed his cloak out of the way, and grasped the flap of his left saddlebag to pull it open. "How many have you got?"

"A little less than last time." The earth pony mare shook her head. "They're cracking down. It's getting harder and harder to hide them in with the navels and tangerines."

Azel watched her go into her kitchen. Orange Sherbet was a constant reminder of how very loud the colours of daytime ponies could be. Her pale orange coat was complemented by her cropped-short, bubblegum pink mane, and she tended to dress in bright blues and purples. In fact, she was dressed more often than not, and Azel couldn't remember if he'd ever gotten a look at her mark, or if she even had one.

When she emerged, he smelled the contents of the bag she was carrying before he saw them, and the scent immediately awakened a roaring hunger. He barely contained himself for long enough for her to place it down, and then undid the tie on the bag with a snap of his teeth, letting a few of the round fruits roll along the floor.

He lunged, and Orange Sherbet politely looked away.

Azel's fangs sank in, cutting through the rind and hitting the flesh. The juice of the blood orange flooded his mouth, and the flavour, almost like somepony had blended an orange with raspberries, was something he was too hungry to truly savour as he drained the fruit dry. When he dropped the spent orange, the reddish juice dripped down his chin, and he wiped it away with his wing before gathering up the few others that had left the bag to place them safely back inside.

It wasn't a perfect substitute for the real thing, and while the thirst had been quelled for a time, there were still instincts roiling for him to sink his fangs into a pony instead. Like always, he ignored it, and he nodded his thanks to Orange Sherbet as he slid the bag into his saddlebag. "We'll make them last." It wasn't like he had a choice. "And Amyra says hi. She liked your cookies."

That earned a small smile in return. "Say hi back for me, then, and tell her I'll send a batch with you on your next visit."

He nodded again, and headed for the window. "She'll like that." With one last glance back, he slid through the open window again, and opened his wings to glide to the ground. The window swiftly closed behind him, and the light within the apartment went dark.

Once his hooves met the cobblestones again, Azel took a deep breath. One stop down.

Now he just needed food for his sister, too.

"Now why is it that an upstanding mare, such as yourself, would be out after curfew, Lady de Lis?"

Fleur fought to keep her breathing steady. The slightest hint of nerves, and it would be a sign of apparent guilt to pounce upon. Three guardstallions had accosted her barely a block away from her home estate; they were one earth pony, one pegasus, and one unicorn, all covered in that gaudy golden armour that the empress insisted on, which still didn't quite escape being tinted by the moonlight. Each one looked like a cat who had cornered a mouse, self-satisfied predators intending on toying with their prey.

Fleur kept her head high, thankful for the long legs and long neck that allowed her to angle her stare down on stallions of their height. She would not give them the satisfaction of seeing her afraid, not now and not ever. "I'm certain that when I choose to take a relaxing walk is none of your business, gentlecolts." Her sneer showed just a hint of teeth. "Unless you'd like to take your displeasure with my insomnia up with my husband?"

That gave them pause. Lord Fancypants had weight to his name, just enough to make the grunts stuck with the night shift hesitate in doing anything to cross him. There were strings he could pull, and nopony wanted to be the one who found that string wrapped around their neck.

But numbers brought boldness out in ponies. "You know what insomnia can be a symptom of? A guilty conscience." The unicorn took a step toward her, eyes gleaming. "Maybe there's somepony we can escourt you to, in order to get a confession off your chest."

Her jaw clenched. "No thank you."

The earth pony chuckled. "Or maybe there's somepony else you were heading to meet, to help you get a night's sleep. Somepony you wouldn't want your husband to know about." He gave the kind of grin that made Fleur's stomach churn. "Or someone."

"She is headed in the direction of the griffon district." The pegasus stickered. "Bedding down with carnivores, Your Ladyship? How scandalous."

Her breathing remained steady. Her tail, however, gave a single, angry lash. Her height gave her options other ponies didn't have, including more potential angles to send her horn right into a throat, and right now, she was imagining every last one of them.

Instead, she caught sight of movement between a pair of buildings, and once realization dawned, she gave the kind of smile that could make a cat feel like a mouse, if they were smart enough to recognize it. "One."

The unicorn blinked. "One what?"

"One griffon," the pegasus responded smugly. "She's admitting it."

Her tail gave second, much more deliberate lash. "Two."

The earth pony's ears splayed, his braincell apparently firing just a little bit sooner than the others. "Guys... I think she's--"

"Three."

Her tail lashed a third, and final, time. Then several pounds of thestral dropped out of the sky, and landed on the pegasus's back, sending the guardpony slamming into the ground with a symphony of cracking wing bones.

Azel Moonstrider always did have impeccable timing.

Aiming for the winged guards was always the first step, and as the guard stallion hollered from his place on the ground, Azel's hind hooves struck out at his head, meeting the helmet with a swift set of clangs that left the pegasus seeing stars. He used the kick to push off, wings beating to send him airborne again, and as the hood of his cloak flew backward, his eyes shone a luminescent yellow, reflecting the light cast from the unicorn guard's horn.

He spotted the pistol clasped in blue-tinted magic that was rising in the air, but Azel knew not to go for it. Instead, he went for the stallion's head, and the flat side of his knife swung toward the light-wreathed horn. The glow cut out at the moment of impact, a gunshot ringing out as the pistol struck the ground, the bullet sent into the shadows and striking only the stone of nearby buildings.

The unicorn cried out and reared, his magic flaring wildly in the backlash of interrupted telekinesis. He was too occupied in trying to regain control that he didn't see the second wing coming, until the impact cracked against his jaw and sent him to the ground with his fellow guard. Then Azel whirled around, ready to take on the earth pony, only to find him slumping over already, the soft pink glow fading from Fleur de Lis' horn.

She smiled as Azel looked at her, casually placing one of her hooves on the guard's helmet. "One of the finest insomnia-cure spells ever developed." She gave a toss of her head, flipping her long mane. "Though, tragically, it can't be self-cast, so I'm doomed to still be awake well into the night." She looked at the downed guards and sniffed derisively. "They really do send the rejects to the night shift, don't they? Everypony's bastard foals given guard jobs so they'll stop whining to their illegitimate parents for bits..."

Azel shrugged silently, and simply strolled over to the shadows he'd tucked his saddlebags away in before launching his attack. He opened the right one, and scooped the glass vials up into his wing before walking back to the unconscious stallions. Then he brandished his knife again, and went to work.

His mother had taught him the right places to make shallow cuts that would provide enough blood before the bleeding slowed and the wounds sealed up, never threatening the life of the pony. Not that he assigned much value to the lives of ponies like this, but it was necessary to pick his battles. Beaten up and humiliated guards would bring investigations, but dead ones would get entire city blocks burned to the ground. Blocks hiding more thestrals than just him and his sister.

He filled each vial and stowed them away with practiced motions, one by one. He no longer needed to drink it to survive, but foals couldn't live on just fruit. Amyra still needed pony blood to keep from falling deathly ill, and it'd be years before the oranges would be enough.

When his work was done, he found Fleur staring at him with a grim sort of curiosity. He offered no answer to her unspoken questions, instead posing one of his own. "Why are you out here?"

She didn't answer right away, her ears rotating in search of possible eavesdroppers. "I'm in the process of arranging for my... house guests to stay with somepony else for a while." She shot a disdainful look at the guards again. "I had reason to believe that suspicions had been roused, but it seems I was off regarding which day they'd come to harass me about it." She looked back at him with a smile. "I'll make the most of the time you've bought me, and them."

He nodded. "Good." He remembered one of those house guests, as he'd personally escourted the young thestral colt to her door.

She nodded back. "And in the spirit of that, I won't keep you. I'm sure we both have places to be."

"Yes." And with that, he adjusted his cloak, lifted the hood again, and headed toward home.

The door was open.

Their house's door was never open. Azel came and left through that single window, and they kept the house dark--not that their eyes required much light in the first place--and everything was kept boarded, to better keep up the illusion that nopony lived there at all. But now the boards were gone, the old, rotted door torn right off its hinges.

Azel didn't bother keeping up his stealthy approach. He ran into the house, ignoring the splinters riddling the floor that threatened to spear his frogs, and once he was in the living room, stopped dead in his tracks.

The quilt was across the room, with a massive tear through his centre. And the couch was empty.

His sister was gone.