Overshadow’s wings finally gave out, and with a yell, he crashed face-first into the burning sands. The impact itself definitely hurt, but when the hot sand got into his bandaged wound, he let out a pained cry. Frantically, with his eyes wide, he rolled over to the side and looked at his back right leg.
The gunshot wound looked even worse than it had previously. It had not been tended to properly, but there was little that could be done with the limited equipment he had. The sand had gotten in the bandages, too, stinging him and sending sharp, hot pinpricks of pain through him. It was not a pretty sight, and it hurt.
Overshadow took a deep breath, furrowed his brow, and began to replace the bandages. He took what he had left from his pack and wrapped it around the wound. After a few moments, it was secure. One small victory, but was a pyrrhic one.
That was the last of his bandages.
Overshadow stood back up, both his back legs shaking as he did so. Panting, he scanned the horizon for anything.
But there was nothing. No clouds, no rocks, no trees.
Nothing but sand and sky and heat as far as his eyes could see.
The batpony’s ears dropped, and he couldn’t help but panic a little. The hunger pains in his stomach were intolerable, the thirst tickling at his throat was overwhelming. His wings drooped uselessly at his sides, and his brain was foggy from exhaustion, fear, and pain.
All he could do now was start walking.
Overshadow was lost in the Zebhara Desert. For two days, he has been flying, trying to get back to Chiropterra. He is nowhere close to it.
His last meal was at the end of the first day. His water canteen had ran out earlier today. His tent was blown away and buried by a vicious sandstorm. The Chiropterran military uniform he was wearing did absolutely nothing to keep him cool under the sweltering sun.
Overshadow slowly walked along the top of a dune, his hoofprints and drooped wings creating a trail behind him in the sand. He couldn't afford to use up all his energy trying to rush. Flying wasn't an option either, exhaustion crippled his wings and they refused to even fold up.
Nothing to do but walk. And recall how he ended up here.
Overshadow was part of the Pale Crescent Legion. Not a particularly famous or well-known legion of Chiropterra, but respectable in its own right. They were often some of the ponies who would often be tasked with launching raids into neighboring states to capture new slaves for the nation.
It was on one of these raids that things went horrifically wrong.
Things were already bad enough. Catching new slaves was getting harder and harder, as the natives were adapting to the legion's tactics. The Pale Crescent Legion was spread very thin, and had to resort to operating in the daytime as well as the night. But then Overshadow's group was ambushed and attacked by the native Imazeeb tribeszebras. They had been too far away from the rest of the legion and being attacked during the day was perfect, as the heat would slow the ponies.
The violent encounter led to everypony in Overshadow's group being killed, and himself being wounded. That was the gunshot wound that the bandages were attempting to conceal - a zebra mare had gotten her hooves on a rifle and shot Overshadow right in his leg.
Overshadow took to the skies, but his compass had been destroyed in the fight by an errant shot. Already navigationally challenged by the sweltering heat, the daylight, and his inability to read the stars at night, the soldier was soon hopelessly lost. All he could do was try to find his way west and pray to the Nightmare that he would make it home soon.
Two days had passed without success.
Overshadow returned to the present and drearily gazed around.
Still naught but the infernal heat, the blistering sand, and the shining sun.
Overshadow knew he was dehydrated, and was desperate. There had to be some form of water around. An oasis, a plant, anything! He scanned the area around himself, taking in every little detail, hoping against hope that something would be available.
Finally, his eyes settled on something. He narrowed them, trying to focus. Then, his eyes widened as he realized what he was looking at.
Water! Not just a puddle, but a whole lake! Overshadow's face turned into an expression of great relief, and with all the energy he could muster, he threw himself forward, his hooves grinding against the warm sand and sending it up around him, ready to drink as much as he could and soak himself in it to finally cool himself down.
He didn't even take notice of the fact that there were no plants around it, no trees, nothing. Just a big pool of water. But Overshadow was not thinking clearly. He was so incredibly parched, that when the lake disappeared behind a hill, he panicked again. There had to be water there, it wouldn't make sense if there wasn't! He made it up the top of the hill, and-
Sand.
No water. No lake. Just sand.
Overshadow breathed heavily before letting out a loud, furious yell. He reared up on his hind legs and angrily slammed his hooves against the sand, a string of curses escaping from his parched lips.
The lake was a mirage. Nothing but a hallucination from a dehydrated pony, growing more and more so under the burning sun.
A trick of the light.
Overshadow resumed his slow walk. He had wasted too much time and energy being angry and frustrated after the mirage.
He had redirected his anger towards the Pale Crescent Legion, his Lord Commander, and even Chiropterra himself. How in the Nightmare's name had they not thought to train the legion how to survive in the desert? It seemed so obvious. Survival courses would have helped him immensely here, but in their infinite wisdom, they weren't given that training.
Overshadow was always vocal about how he thought things should be done, but now he finds himself questioning if it all was worth it in the end. Here he was, stuck in the desert, his whole group dead and himself with an injury that is getting worse by the day.
He had to stop and give himself some rest. Thankfully, the cruel sun was setting, and the desert was beginning to cool. Overshadow gave a sigh of relief, eager to rest in the cold desert breeze.
But then, panic surged through him as the realization set in.
The sun was setting. The desert was cooling down. It would not be a cold, calm desert breeze that would help cool him down, but a harsh, whipping, freezing wind that would chill him to the bone and leave him a shivering mess.
He might even die if he's left out in the cold.
Once again, Overshadow whirled around, trying to find anything he could use as shelter.
But there was nothing. Only sand.
In desperation, Overshadow looked down at his dark teal uniform. He bit at and ripped it off and tried to use it as a makeshift cloak. His superiors and the Lord Commander of the Pale Crescent Legion would not be happy, but that was the furthest thing from the pony's mind at the moment.
He then made his way down the dune he was walking on to the bottom. Hopefully he would be spared the worst of the cold winds.
He was not.
The frigid gales swept right through Overshadow as the night set in. The wind whipped and howled around the shivering pony, who couldn't even lift his bat-like wings to shield himself. He could only sit there and try to endure it.
He shakily looked up at the bright moon. Immediately, prayers to the Nightmare rattled around his mind. Prayers he had grown up saying every time he even caught a glimpse of the Mare in the Moon. He opened his mouth to say them, but stopped, and only gazed up at the silvery crescent hanging in the sky.
Eight years ago, the Mare in the Moon had vanished. The Nightmare had returned to Equestria, and Chiropterra was ready to mobilize, but before they even were able to arm the devoted and set sail for the enemy's shores, she was defeated. 'Purified'. That defeat shook the nation, but they did not worry. Like the Mare in the Moon itself, Equestria's newly reformed Lunar Princess was merely the shell hiding the true glory of the Nightmare underneath. And like the stars that released her from her thousand-year confinement, Chiropterra would be the ones to help crack it and set her free once more.
But then Operation Moonshine failed. The conflict that they had hoped to bring was not ignited. The Nightmare was once again stifled. The moon's light did not shine in their favor.
Overshadow remembered what he thought when the news broke. Everypony in Chiropterra knew that the Nightmare was defeated by the Solar Princess a thousand years ago, leading to their escape and the formation of the nation they called home. But within a decade, after her long-prophesied return, the Nightmare was suppressed twice in a single decade.
It boggled his mind. "There is no God other than the Nightmare," the Chiropterran creed proclaimed. He had grown up with stories of the Nightmare's fearsome might, the Moonspeakers would chant and sing and praise her incredible power and roar with the promise that she would return and smite their enemies, and yet... she failed. Three times, she had failed.
Overshadow was beyond confused and distraught, and he had begun to question why things had turned out the way they did. Was it all for naught? Was Chiropterra doomed from the very beginning? Were they chasing a dream that would never become real? Had they been so entranced by the light of the moon that they had failed to see the beauty of the stars around it?
These were thoughts that never left his mind since that day. And now here he was, all alone, thinking them again. He was no stranger to feelings of disillusionment, but it was overwhelming now. A crisis of faith had been brewing within him for the past year, and it was coming out now in full force. The Nightmare couldn't save him, he was completely alone here.
Overshadow did not look at the moon, but instead gazed at the stars. Even though he couldn't remember which stars were named what, which constellations they were part of, or how they could be used to navigate, he still found them beautiful. More beautiful than the moon.
Though he was freezing and shivering, he basked in the beautiful light of the stars.
Day three.
Overshadow barely slept. In fact, he tried to stay awake most of the night, because he feared dying in his sleep. But he made it through the night.
Now, the radiant sun had returned in full force, and Overshadow found himself internally debating whether or not the frigid desert night was better than the intolerable heat and light of the day. It's a useless discussion, but better than thinking about how he's dehydrated.
A noise distracted him from his thoughts, however, and he looked up. Accidentally looking into the sun for a moment, he seethed as the light ravaged his sensitive eyes. When he was able to look again, he saw two vultures circling above him.
A grim portent.
He's been seeing something else, too, though he's not sure if it's just another mirage or not. Every so often, when he looks over his shoulder, he'll catch a glimpse of something moving among the dunes behind him. It's always too far away to tell what it is.
Overshadow initially thought it was a tatzlwurm. They are known to roam the Zebhara, and prey on travelers who tread the sands carelessly. Overshadow has not even thought to try to walk without rhythm, but if that was indeed what was following him, it would've eaten him by now.
The other possibility - again, disregarding the fact that it was most likely just another mirage plaguing his suffering mind - is that it's a sapient creature. A pony, or a zebra. In his paranoia, he'd even considered that he was being tracked by the Imazeeb tribeszebras who his group attacked, waiting for an opportunity to kill him, or watch and savor his slow, painful death.
It was possible, but not likely.
Overshadow then began to ponder the natives. This was their homeland, and they were the undisputed masters of navigating the desert. Chiropterra may have lived in this continent as well, for a thousand years no less, but this was not their home. He was taught that the natives were backwater savages who needed the light of the Nightmare to be useful to them. But they were doing just fine without them, as they have been for generations.
Yet another disconnect between what he was taught and what he has experienced.
The more he thought about Chiropterra, the more he began to realize and accept that it simply was not what he was led to believe. It was a false light in the dark, comparable to the hallucinations and mirages he's been seeing. For his whole life, he was raised to believe that Equestria was the enemy and that the and his people would be the reclaimers of their original destiny, but now he's at a moment where he can choose his own destiny. He's done nothing but be an oppressor, and he has a chance to make amends and forge a new path for himself.
He then considered never returning to his home. Perhaps he could instead try to aim for Tobuck - a refuge for exiles of all kinds. If the infamous Wallnut Drive could escape and thrive there, why couldn't he? Who knows, he might even recruit Overshadow into his mercenary band.
Or even Equestria? That was a far-fetched possibility, but not impossible. He could stow away on a ship from Tobuck or Hippogriffia, and seek asylum. A magical fantasy of being a valued asset to the Princesses of the Sun, Moon, and Friendship danced around behind his eyes.
Plus, Equestria always touted itself as the land of friendship and harmony. Maybe he could make real friends there, and that thought brought a smile to the weary Chiropterran's face.
He makes a vow to himself that if he does escape this desert, he would work to bring Chiropterra down, in one form or another. He's proud to sever ties with it, and make his own way.
At that moment, the sun's heat felt a little less harsh, and he continued on his determined path.
The vultures did not leave him.
It’s the fourth day. Overshadow’s third without water.
By this point, he had fully accepted that he would not make it out of the desert alive.
And yet he pressed on.
He wobbled and wavered as he ambled forward. He wheezed, trying to inhale as much air as his lungs would allow. In, and out. In, and out. The flow would keep him moving. He had to push on.
But no pony, no matter how determined they are, how righteous their cause, would be able to make it through this. Starving, dehydrated, his injury growing worse and worse, and his mind swimming with the effects of all of this, he couldn't hope to escape the sands.
There is nothing in the desert, and nopony needs nothing.
Overshadow finally stopped moving forward. His eyelids fluttered, his eyes rolled back into his head.
With a soft whimper and a whump, the batpony collapsed onto the hot sand.
His mouth was open, and he was still breathing, but he is barely alive.
All he could do now was stare straight ahead. The sun’s heat seemed to keep him immobile, to trap him there in that spot and bind him to the sands.
Overshadow’s thoughts turned once again to the Nightmare. In this torturous moment that seemed to stretch on and on, he realized that he understood how she felt. In his mind, addled by the starvation, dehydration, pain, and overwhelming heat, he felt like he was there for a thousand years. And he saw that, just like the Nightmare's actions led her to imprisonment, his own actions as a Chiropterran soldier led him here, to the top of a dune in a sea of sand.
Every second was agonizing.
Overshadow just lay there. Unable to think, to move, his breathing slowed, his eyes were glassy.
And then, the sun’s light was blocked by something. But the batpony did not notice. He could barely comprehend anything that was happening around him.
The only thing Overshadow could think about as he began to lose consciousness was the sweltering heat, and the incendiary light of the sun.
