Author's Note

Since the prologue was confusing with what exactly is going on I made a few changes in hopes it will be at least bearable.

• two horizontal lines symbolize a flashback, dream or something similar, meanwhile a singular line separates events based in this specific timeline, dream, or reality,
• added few sentences before new events to make it easier to imagine what is happening and where the reader is.

Sorry for any inconvenience regarding the ease of reading.

Prologue

༻༺────⊰ Prologue ⊱────༻༺

“Twilight! TWILIGHT!”, Spike shouted as he ran with his little legs as fast as he could along the beautifully woven rugs that protected ponies’ hooves from the cold, crystal floors of Twilight’s palace. In his hand he held a scroll and on the other side, on his shoulder, he had Twilight’s saddlebags.

Once he made it into Twilight’s study room he found her friend sitting by the desk scribbling quickly on a piece of parchment. Her hair all tangled and messy, eyes tired and posture as if ready to jump at even the slightest sound. Once he was there, Spike said quickly.

“Twilight, I’ve got everything. We need to run, the ponies are already inside. The guards, they- ... they won’t hold for long.” His voice raspy and out of breath, with a tint of sadness, filled to the brim with fear. The small dragon himself was shaking as he stood beside the chair, looking at the purple alicorn in hopes of guidance, or simply a soft word of encouragement.

That, he did not receive, sadly. Twilight looked to him, then frantically at the door, then at him again and spoke quietly, “Alright, let’s go.”

She stood up from the desk, levitated a backpack from Spike’s shoulder and started pushing stuff from her desk into it, as much as could fit. Her unorganized packing was cut short by a loud kick to the door.

Twilight immediately reacted to it and with pure anger and determination written on her face, she spawned a dozen of magical, purple spears levitating near her, all pointing at the door, at the pony who had just broken into her chambers – Rainbow Dash.

“Twilight! Twi-“ Dash started, whilst still lying on the ground from the kick, but when she looked up, she slightly sank, looking at those spears with confusion.

Twilight realised it was her friend, she quickly made the spears disappear and closed the door with her magic. She let her guard down a bit with a sigh and wanted to speak, but Rainbow Dash cut her short.

“Twilight, what in a flying thundercloud has happened to you. You look ... Twilight ...”

Dash’s voice full of sorrow and grief, seeing her friend taking the toll from the current events. She rushed forth and hugged her friend quickly with her hooves and wings.

Twilight wanted to push her away, to stay vigilant and ready for an attack, but she couldn’t move her hooves, couldn’t cast a spell. Her body was in great need of closure, more than anything. She started to lightly shake and put her head down on Dash’s shoulder, mournful and tired tears running down her cheeks.

“Oh Dash ... I- what have I become, Dash...”

“Twilight, shh, don’t worry. You had to, just like Luna had to. Please don’t break down, I need you.” Dash said, in hopes to rebuild Twilight’s spirit.

“Dash, I killed. I murdered. What ... What sort of friendship is that. What has happened to this world.” she muttered in pure desperation and started sobbing into her friend’s shoulder. Her sins and actions coming back to her in full force, as if Dash had opened a Pandora Box itself, releasing all the evil into the world. Although here, this was the intended result. Dash had to be with her friend, let her cry it off, to open that bottle of grief and let it pour its contents into the drain.

She held Twilight and whispered softly.

“Twilight, I am not going anywhere anymore, You are not sending me away. I will be here and we are going to be holding each other up. Don’t even argue, alright?”

After a few seconds, Twilight simply nodded. A minute more and she was done, the embrace was broken and each pony gave each other a sincere, friendly smile, one that you’ll know after seeing it that you won’t be alone.

Twilight let out a sigh and said calmly, “Alright. Dash, we are going to fix things. I have Celestia’s plan to fix the world. It was supposed to be last resort, but considering I am the last standing princess we ought to do it. Are you with us?” she moved a few steps to stand beside Spike, putting her leg over him lightly.

Dash nodded without even a second thought.

”I’m i-“

Then, the door were kicked down again and inside a group of angry ponies with weapons stormed in. They had spears, swords and even makeshift armour on them, blood all over their fur. They roared and shouted and charged at Twilight, Dash and Spike.

Because of Dash, Twilight was not ready for it, but her skills were still way above excellent. With ease, she teleported them away before any of those attackers could land a single hit or even get close.

The trio appeared in a huge cave, the width and depth of a whole village and about half that size in height. She immediately took out a vile with green liquid and levitated it to Spike.

She kneeled down in front of him as he grabbed the vile and said.

“Spike, this is the last time we will probably see each other in this life. I want you to know that your job is to protect this place from anypony and this potion will help you with that. The spell I am about to cast requires a lot of time not only in its charge but also to take effect. Celestia said that you will be perfect for this job and I’m trusting her, because I know you would never leave my side, nor would she try to lie to us, or trick us in any way.”

Few fresh tears left her eyes, just like Spike’s. This is the moment where they are realising what needs to be done and what will ultimately happen next. But they stay strong, for this is the time that requires it from them the most. She continued.

“Just know that I always valued you more than anything in this world. You and the girls were like family to me. To prove that, we are going to change things, we are going to make things right again.

“Once you drink this, Spike, you will fall asleep for a short while. When you will wake up, you will protect this place. I do not have an instruction for you, nor any guidelines. You will know what to do through your instinct and through here and here.” she lightly touched his forehead and then his chest, where his heart is placed.

She took a deep sigh and gave him a last smile.

“Goodbye Spike, my beloved brother and assistant number one.”

Spike whined slightly, both in happiness and sadness. He embraced Twilight and she returned the favour. They held like that for a little bit and when they released each other, Spike nodded with a determined look on his face and drank the contents of the vile, not leaving even one drop. Almost immediately he yawned and lied down, fast asleep, just like Twilight had hoped.

After a few moments of looking at him, Twilight stood up, knowing that right now there is no turning back. She faced Dash and said, her voice filled with hope, “Let’s go Dash, let’s fix Equestria.”

They stepped into a deep dark tunnel present in the cave’s farthest wall and were never seen again.

Few millenniums later.

A group of five unicorns walked along a rocky road, keeping up a quick pace, as if trying to take shelter before a rainstorm, even though the weather was rather sunny with only a few clouds painted on the sky. The clanging sound of sheets of metal welded, riveted or strung together was echoing along the hills with every step they took. White, pristine armour of a royal knight with gold-like accents, each one shining brightly from the sun, blinding anypony taking a glimpse at them, illuminating with honour and nobility. Weapons holstered on their backs and sides, each sporting their own design – two with arming swords paired with heater shields, two with poleaxes and one with a warsword.

They kept walking along the grass, completely away from any nearby road until they arrived near the edge of a forest with sparsely placed trees, providing little, but some shade. A pony knight with a warsword stopped and declared, “Okay, this place will do enough. We can rest here.”

Everypony immediately began to calmly set a small camp, not one to spend a night at, but one to regenerate and calm down after an almost half-a-day walk. They sat down, took off their helmets and began to eat and drink their rations. Silence of pale hills and the forest lacking any sound of birds was quickly broken by one pony.

“Dame Astrala, may I ask a question?” a young mare asked their leader. She was the youngest from the group and looked the most innocent. Her thistle pink-like coloured coat matched perfectly with her striped mane and tail consisting of purple and cream white. Those pink eyes, showing passion but also lack of experience, kept steady at the mare with the warsword resting beside her, slightly crooked so that it wouldn’t fall flat on the grass.

“Astrala’s just fine, Tayla. I’ve told you that plenty of times.” the leader reassured with a genuine smile, one shown from a mentor to a pupil with great potential.

“Oh, right, sorry. I forgot again.” she said and looked away sheepishly, finishing with a short, nervous chuckle.

“Who have you served under before?”

“Uh, it was Arch-Paladin Sir Lancelot.” she answered, unsure, looking aside, as if cautious when speaking that name.

“Lancelot. Yeah, he’s a weird one. Glad you’re with me now, then. He has a bad habit of pushing young recruits into weird obsession of order.” Astrala said with a bit of a distaste.

“Order? Is it not what we strive for though?” Tayla asked, raising her ears and slightly crooking her head with confusion.

“Yes, we strive for order, but order that can be maintained, that is just and right. Simply order being our goal is incredibly blind and, outright, idiotic. You cannot be so narrow-minded, you always need to think of a better good, of what will happen in the near and far future because of our order. If this order leads to a greater chaos, is this really order?”

After that, Tayla looked down on the ground, taking it as a lesson from her new leader, but having a hard time understanding it to the fullest. Maybe missing the point as a whole?

Another pony let out a chuckle and joined the chat.

“Oh don’t worry, she sometimes likes to monologue and sound all fancy schmancy. Just do not make rash mistakes and do what feels just.” It was a pony that clearly had wear and tear painted over her. She gave Astrala a snarky, but also slightly teasing smirk.

“Miryana, it was a lesson fo-“

“Yada yada, just tell her straight how it is, Asi” she said with a smirk. A pony with pristine white fur and that was the only usual thing in her. Her eyes were a first sight, one being purple, the other being yellow. Her medium sized mane and tail of a similar length had an unusual design to them. They were pitch black, black like coal or void even, and in her hair there were no simple streaks. By the end of her mane and inner side of her tail she sported a half-circle design consisting of yellow, blue and claret colours from farthest to most inner arch.

“Right ... whatever you say.” Astrala said dismissively, slightly annoyed. Then a different pony decided to chip into the conversation.

“I would also like to ask a question, because I don’t think I’ve actually asked before. I mean, It maayyyy be weird to ask this, but the reason is your rank, Arch-Paladin, yet you don’t seem much older than me.” a stallion asked, similar in age to Tayla, but slightly older. His beige fur contrasted greatly with his mainly onyx mane and tail with few horizontal stripes of sandy brown and deep orange. Some tips of his hair strands were coloured in a rather eye-catching Persian green, standing out from his general anointing. His eyes sported the same, distinct and, hah, eye-catching colour.

Other stallion, looking older by at least fifteen years, spoke in a benevolent, but slightly sarcastic way, “Look, Claudin, asking a mare of her age is not really the wisest of approaches, try maybe a compliment or flowers.”

“What? I’m not trying to- ... stop insinuating. I’m trying to ask how did she manage to rank up so quickly!” he said, not showing any sign of embarrassment or stutter in speech, nor in body language from that interjection.

“Sure thing pal, suuuure thing.” He smiled slightly, as if accomplishing a minor, yet important task. He was a pony of a rather usual and unworthy palette – simply a few shades of blue, starting with the darkest, navy at the fur and finishing with cyan and few darker tones on his hair, neatly and regally stacked into stripes.

Astrala smiled with a slight roll of her eyes and spoke, “Should I give a short explanation, or a long story?”

She gazed upon all four ponies, one after another, yet not one dared to speak for all. Finally though, after few seconds, Miryana spoke with a slight move of her hoof, as if shoving away her problems, “I will be honest, I’ve never heard the whole story of young Celestia, but now that Claudin mentions it, I might very well hear it.”

After looking over them once more to check if anypony had a different opinion, she nodded and began her story.

The next day, after their little break, they have arrived at their destination.

“Alright, we have arrived. Remember, stay in formation. Tayla, Claudin, you cover our front with shields with root spell on and attack the sides when necessary. Miryana, Hoel, you focus on the front, hacking anypony coming to break the shield wall. I cover our rears with any close combat or range if counterattack will be necesarry.”

Astrala looked at her team, every single pony cautiously listening, given her their full attention as to not miss any details. Only slightly light-headed was Miryana, but it was to be expected, as always. Astrala continued.

“Now, think twice before attacking. We want to strictly avoid unnecessary bloodshed and definitely do not kill any civilians or unarmed opponents. Our goal is to draw out the enemies so that when the griffons arrive they can take them out and take over the city. We kill anypony that shouldn’t be killed, we come back defeated, even with achieved victory in battle."

She glanced over down at the village, noticing armed dracons taking notice of five armoured ponies atop the hill.

“They have already spotted us. Into formation and march on forward!” Astrala said and the group formed into formation that she had described them to form and began descending down the hill into a small waterside village.

The village itself had a clear resemblance of draconic architecture – slightly raised houses, as to battle any small floods from the ocean as well as to keep rats and moisture away, slanted thatched roofs and great use of local wood, which had a birch-like colour with a light reddish tint, almost as if a small, live flame was inside the wood, quietly burning but never too much as to not be obviously noticeable. The wood’s water resistance and toughness made for a perfect main building material. Walls were created using small pieces of bamboo as reinforcement filled with dried mud to keep the inside rain-tight and warm. Few docks and narrow, long boats where afloat in the water along with a number of fishing nets. No walls, no defences, no nothing – just a simple, quiet fishing village. Why did the griffons need help capturing such a small town? It seemed of no significance. It wasn’t even in the centre of water trading routes, it was literally as quiet as a village could get.

A few dracon guards were alarmed of an advancing enemy forces, but calling them guards could be an overstatement. Proud volunteers ready to fight off the invaders were more proper of a title. They quickly got out to the front of the village, standing near the entrance gate, which was nothing more than two vertical logs holding up two ornamental planks, top one longer than the bottom one, with slanted side edges from top down going inwards, creating almost two reverse-roof-like shapes, just simply flat. It looked more as a cultural sign rather than a proper gate.

Dracons themselves were poorly equipped compared to five ponies advancing at them. Most had simple spears, while three wielded bows and sheathed curved swords. Their armour was even less formidable – simple, small planks of ash wood connected with rope going through holes at the corners of those planks to keep them together and fixed around their limbs and body. All atop clothes that were just simple rags of cloth wrapped around their bodies. Their stances were a mix of scared and unsure. Easy to topple, as if showing their eagerness to drop it all and run away from their indisputable doom. In summary: five armoured and highly trained ponies against nine poorly armed dracons with clearly very limited or no knowledge about battlefield.

One wouldn’t be able to even call this a battlefield. More of a small skirmish. A very uneven skirmish, but still far from a true battle. Which makes it even more questionable as to why they were even sent here to supposedly hold the first line of attack. Sadly, that thought has not reached Astrala as of yet, her mind was purely focused on her task at hoof, straight in front of her eyes.

The group of ponies were slowly getting closer and closer to the village. When they were half way to the ornate gate, dracons with bows decided to try and shoot at them, starting the attack. They grabbed the arrows with their talons, pulled back the string and let go, shooting three arrows at the ponies, as amateurish as one could. Not in a barrage, just one after another, seemingly without any timing.

Two ponies at the front followed the arrows with their gaze and raised their shields with magic to block them. Three arrows bounced off with a sound of metal hitting metal, doing no damage at all. It sounded like metal, but Astrala quickly noticed the arrow bouncing off – the arrowhead was bent from the impact! Was their steel this terrible? It made no dent on the shield whatsoever.

At that time their horns quickly glowed and cast a spell on each other, encasing their hooves in a soft magical glow, which was made to strengthen their stance and increase their mass when standing still, to make them way harder to topple over.

After roughly five arrow strikes from each of the bowmen the dracons stopped the attack and decided to just wait for the oppressors, creating a wall of spears. Without any sort of shields such wall looked incredibly weak, but they had no better alternatives. The group stopped around the length of six adult ponies in front of the dracons and Astrala spoke from the back of her group in draconish.

“Dracons! We are the Holy Knights of the Celestial Order hereby fulfilling the request of the two kings of the Great Pegagriff Driarchy of aid in the ongoing war of unjust annexation of their lands! We do not want bloodshed, as it is not our intention, thus we want to avoid it! I ask you to put down your weapons and surrender, so no one will be hurt! Although, if you decline, we will have to defeat anyone actively trying to prevent us! Your response will determine the further outcome!”

One dracon scowled at them and shouted in an oriental, way more accurate accent than Astrala’s.

“Go away! We are NOT giving up on our kind! This is our land!” he spoke, clearly frightened at the picture before him, his voice didn’t sound very sure and dominant even though that was his intention. It was filled with hopeless anger and sadness, understanding they are clearly outmatched and will be killed in mere seconds, erased from the world.

Astrala made no reaction, nor showed any emotion as a response. She simply said calmly one word to her group.

“Advance.”

Ponies started walking forward again and the dracons knew that it is a losing fight as soon as they noticed their first step, but they carried on nonetheless. Their idea of a spear wall was toppled by their fear. They screamed and ran forth at them with their spears forward, blindly hoping for a hit. Not aiming at anything specific, just running forward, getting ready to receive a hit or a slash and feeling the excruciating pain of life floating away from their bodies. They knew they will lose, but that loss to them is in defence of their home. They are not scared of death, they will die with honour and dignity. Or so they hoped – gods be the ultimate judges of their sacrifice.

First dracons got in range to try hitting the armoured group and few spears already hit the shield wall, making them bounce back very slightly, but overall staying relatively riveted. Two ponies with poleaxes kept watch on any spears trying to go over the shield wall and with high precision were pushing them away. The skill gap was clearly visible here, a group of dracons were just blindly thrusting their spears hoping to hit something, meanwhile the group of ponies were working as one singular unit, defending themselves as proficiently as nature is at balancing the ecosystem.

Few dracons rushed in straight at the shield wall, hoping that their bigger mass would make the ponies topple over, but thanks to that rooted spell nothing of this sort happened, not even close. Two ponies at the front stayed fixed in place, not bothered one bit at a rush of few dracons hitting the shields with their all might. This strength would normally push away any pony, easily throwing them off balance at the very least, mainly thanks to the size difference. Ponies simply pushed with their shields against them, nudging them away and keeping the shields forth, facing the dracons.

One dracon decided to actually do something more than tackling the problem head on and move to the side to thrust at the pony wielding a shield. Tayla noticed that and with her sword, holding it in a hoof-grip, she bound the spearhead with her arming sword and angled the sword higher, trimming the angle more downwards, making the spear bounce up to the side and missing her armoured body. Astrala, seeing this, proclaimed the death sentence to the dracons with three words to her group with total calmness in her voice.

“No holding back.”

After those words, Tayla brought her sword forward, angling it in the same direction, sliding the edge across the dracon’s throat in a very quick and professional, tight slash. Attacked dracon didn’t even try fighting back – he fell on the ground, clinging on to his life, covering the wound on his neck with his claws, in dire hopes of stopping the bleeding. Then, the poleaxe wielders, who were mainly protecting the shield ponies from getting a spear thrust into them, started to not only deflect and push the spearheads away, but also delivering counterattacks to attacking dracons with blades of their axes, sometimes with spears on top if more range was necessary, making quick thrusts rather than shallow swings.

Screams of pain started to echo along the hills behind them and forth into the village. One screamed and before he fell on the ground another dracon was struck, and again, and again. In a matter of seconds, from nine dracons, only two were alive. They quickly took few steps back, taking in at the sight in front of them. A shield wall with two poleaxes sticking out, covered in blood, and under it a pile of bloodied dracons, some still gurgling and trying their hardest to stay alive, but completely in shock from the pain, soon to be dead no matter what. A big pool of blood covering more and more, spreading like a flu along the residents of a contaminated village.

One dracon started taking steps back, dropping his curved sword on the ground, shaking uncomfortably and completely terrified of the picture. The other dracon unfurled his wings and tried to escape the battlefield. Sadly for him, Astrala’s horn glowed, sending a yellow lightning bolt, hitting the dracon mid-air. He screamed loudly, but only for barely a second before falling down on the ground with a loud sound, breaking few bones, his lifeless body slightly smoking from the impact where he was hit.

“Miryana, check if he is still alive. The battle is over.” Astrala said and, quickly enough, Miryana started walking to the fallen dracon to check for any life signs.

The last dracon collapsed on the ground, shaking and crying, unable to deal with the situation presented in front of him. Astrala quickly said after looking to the side, spotting him in a state of surrender, “Tie him up after making sure he isn’t a threat.”

Claudin stepped forth to the dracon slowly, but he tried picking up his sword again, in hopes of scoring a quick and desperate hit at the pony, his face filled with anger and hatred, covered in fresh tears of sadness and hostility. His claw shaking, trying to thrust the sword in sheer desperation of at least damaging the parasite that invaded his home. Sadly, the knight was ready for such a possibility. He blocked the hit to a stop with his shield, making the sword thrust aside, its momentum throwing the blade off and greatly opening the dracon. With a quick thrust he slid the tip of his sword into the dracon’s neck. He immediately let go of his curved sword and his eyes went red, trying to breathe quickly, but only managing to taste the blood, which quickly started filling his lungs. He fell back, his body quickly coming to a still and the battle was over in just two minutes and a half.

Astrala sighed and spoke while putting her sword back to the scabbard on her back.

“This could have gone a lot better. Nevertheless, good job. Especially you two Tayla and Claudin. Good awareness and show of skill. Now, split up and make sure the civilians aren’t trying anything. Don’t round them up, don’t do anything. Just watch over them and don’t get jumped on. Griffons should arrive soon. They better have an explanation.”

Four ponies nodded and started walking into the village with their weapons ready just in case, not in mood for any chit-chat or teasing. Even though they were knights, killing others with such a huge advantage was nothing honourable, nothing to be proud of, yet those were their orders and who were they to disagree. Should a good knight follow orders or his morals? What are morals if not just a set of life-long orders? Morality of this fight was shaky at best and it was making Astrala uneasy.

Civilians hid in their houses, none was outside and the group wasn’t going to risk walking inside in case of any of the dracons feeling justified in revenge for the killed defenders of their village. It wasn’t necessary anyway so they simply kept stationed in key places of the village where one could see at least one other pony from their squad.

Astrala was looking at the dracon that died last, his lifeless body still pouring out fresh blood from his neck and she quietly muttered to herself, as if hoping for an answer to arrive to her.

“Why do you keep fighting? ... why? What is so special about this continent ...”

Unable to understand dracons’ resilience and rash jumps into fights that were lost from the start, she began to wonder about the significance of this place to the griffons. Her mind cleared up so she began thinking more rationally.

She looked quickly at the panorama of the village, taking in every single small detail that she could notice. Fishing nets and buckets almost empty, with few to no fish in them. Chimneys smoking greatly and forge fully lit up, as if it was worked on just a moment ago. A small bamboo stand with wooden, carved masks of various shapes and colours. Some white, some blue and some a mix of few different colours, all different and unique with shapes just as much as with the colours. A wooden cart filled with bread, pies and cakes. Some wondrous variety of cookies as well. Another cart, this time with barrels, one still open with fish inside. Yet another cart, this time half full with lidless crates, filled with bags of what seemed like zebra gunpowder, an expensive item. Was this the prize griffons wanted their claws on? But it was so little, only few small bags, not enough for anything of significance to be made if with other than dracon’s traditional fireworks. But then another question arrived, why using zebras’ gunpowder rather than their own? Was it actually for some weapon? Zebra gunpowder was known for being very powerful, having a deep black colour, almost as if looking into an empty void of lies and deception. Was this imported for some secret weapon to be made? But why a weapon in such a small village. To hide from a possible attack? They would at least have some more skilled dracons protecting it. Things were not adding up.

Astrala decided to come closer to the gunpowder to examine it more closely. She levitated one bag up to her eyes and looked at it carefully, but found nothing out of ordinary. It was indeed gunpowder from zebras, but nothing more than that. Four small boxes, three stashed full to the brim with small two-hoof-sized bags and fourth box having only one bag that was open, meaning that they were using it for something.

“He is dead. I will look out for civilians.” Miryana said from behind her. Astrala simply nodded and looked again at the gunpowder. No doubt such a small and poor village would not be able to buy so much gunpowder, but if it was meant to be for a weapon, then why here, without anyone guarding it?

She put down the bag and slowly made her way to the blacksmith, trying to see what he was working on. Gunpowder is highly explosive, if any weapon was to be made it would be at his place. She immediately noticed a stack of hooks for fishing rods and a bunch of nails, still hot from shaping them. Nothing out of ordinary then, just typical blacksmith work. No signs of any weapon being worked on. Yet that open bag was clearly a sign of something being made with it here.

She decided to risk it and knocked on the blacksmith’s door. After a moment of silence she knocked again and still got no response. She spoke in draconish to residents that are probably inside, “Please, open the door. I need to ask questions. You do not want me to break them down.”

Finally after three or four seconds the door slowly opened, but no one was standing in the doorway. Either an obvious trap or this blacksmith was more of a wimp than a harmless child. She proceeded inside very slowly, taking in the layout of the building she could see from still being outside. There was a wall to the left of the door and almost immediately after the door, meaning the only way to go inside was to go right after passing the door-frame. So an attack could come from the right, or from the above. She decided to bet on the above as the house was big enough for a small attic, meaning someone could very easily hide above the door.

She stepped inside and with the corner of her eye immediately looked up and noticed a small dracon kid with a knife sitting on the railing above the door. Noticing her getting inside, he immediately fell down with a knife tightly in his grip, intending to slide it deep into her neck between the armour plates. Luckily Astrala’s bet was spot on. Her horn glowed and encapsulated the small dracon in a levitation aura, just to slow him down ever so slightly. This gave her time to move her hoof straight back and knock the knife away with a 180 degrees swipe behind her. The small dracon fell down into her hoof and she pushed him down on the ground, making him squeak in surprise and fear, closing his eyes shut. Though she swiftly released him with a step back, she didn’t want to harm no dracon and definitely not a child. Well, at least not a dracon that doesn’t defend himself. Those from before didn’t count! Or did they? No matter, they started it... just as him right here, right now ...

The child didn’t move though.

The blacksmith was standing near them and was probably supposed to be a bait. When he noticed the dracon child on the ground he quickly said, “No! Please, don’t do it! I- I will talk! Just please, spare him!”

Astrala looked at him and around the house. It was a very poor house, one big room and a very small attic with a small internal balcony and a ladder. She didn’t see any beds so those must had been above. On the ground level there was a very basic stove setup and a table. Not much more space for anything else beside a small chest near the dracon blacksmith who wore baggy pants and a black apron. He was quite muscular, but clearly very old. He was the type of a dracon that was very rare – his scales were, unlike in normal dracons, very noticeable and big, looking like small little shields. Astrala hadn’t had a chance to fight Battle-born yet, but griffons told her that those were very fierce fighters, their scales protected them from any blow and only sustained injuries into vital parts, going through openings in their natural armour plating. Their lifespan was also three times of a normal dracon, being able to easily live up to 400 years, some in history managed to double that. By the kitchen stove there was a smaller, female dracon. Covering her face in fear, but watching Astrala very closely, watching her every move, watching a burglar who had disturbed the peace of a wife, husband and their small child, a child that noticed that Astrala wasn’t trying to attack him and quickly ran to his father, hiding behind him. She noticed that the child wasn’t Battle-born like his father. Their gaze met and the child gave her a strong, confident look full of hatred, but also with slight glimpses of fear and uncertainty. Definitely fiercer than those of the defenders of the village.

She rose her gaze to look at the blacksmith and spoke with calmness in her voice, like a deadly, well performing and precise killing machine.

“I noticed gunpowder from the zebras. I wanted to ask for its intended use.”

“Gunpowder? It’s for fireworks ...” the dracon said with a straight face and simply giving a small emotion of relief that it was actually nothing major.

“Fireworks? Buying expensive gunpowder just for your fireworks?”

“Yes, we ran out of gunpowder, because the griffons took the provinces with our mines up north. We have a festival in upcoming weeks and needed to prepare for it. The local shogunate has donated this gunpowder to us so we can act as if there is no war in our country, but you clearly ruined that closure.” he said, not with hatred, but with disappointment.

“I see. And where are those fireworks?”

“North of the village there is a house as far as it goes, in front of it are boxes with fireworks, you can go and look there that it’s the same gunpowder.” he said and coughed rashly, either from cold or his old age. He then promptly added. “We were supposed to make more from the surrounding villages, as they didn’t have dracons with a skill allowing them to create fireworks anymore, apparently.”

“Thank you.” Astrala nodded and turned around, ready to move out from their house. Before that, the dracon spoke again.

“Your draconish is very fluent for an invader. And a pony at that.”

She stopped, looked at him and said, “To go into a war without knowing your enemy is a sure way of losing said war. I hope you teach that to your kid. He has courage, but that is useless without skill.”

She turned to the door again, but didn’t go. She looked to the dracon again and added a few words.

“Or maybe just make a good blacksmith out of him. Also, however this may sound, bury the defenders with dignity and pride. They did their job as best as they could and I had no honour in fighting them, I was following orders and apparently had outdated information. May their souls rest easy.” She left, wanting to check those crates with fireworks just in case, but she had no reason not to believe that dracon. He didn’t look like he was lying and even if, she did it purely out of curiosity, not for tactical advantage. She only was supposed to hold this village, not look for any war information.

Curiosity can sometimes be a dangerous thing. You might find something by mistake and then be hunted down for simply knowing something. To one it may be trivial, but to other it may even be considered a stake between life or death. Sometimes though, curiosity can save a friend from a demise that wasn’t even being expected before. It’s like playing a game without knowing the rules – you might win or you might lose, but you have no way of telling. Very similar to how life works, even when you have calculated for everything that might happen, something will still surprise you, something you haven’t accounted for.

After a few hours of standing around the village a group of around twenty griffons flew by and landed in the centre. One big griffon in a gray and green armour was standing and looking around. Astrala approached him and spoke, “Captain Garner, we have-“

“Yes yes, I can see you took care of our business. Your job was to keep them at bay and wait for reinforcements, not slaughter them like animals!”

Astrala looked a bit surprised, taken aback by his outrage. She collected her thoughts and responded quickly.

“Captain, there were nine dracons who fought against us and no sign of reinforcements from them. It was barely a battle. Even if we wanted to, there was no poi-“

“Ah, so you wanted to take the glory of taking this place over, huh? Ignorant unicorns ...” he shook his head and looked away while continuing to speak.

“And it’s WE who are savages.” he scoffed.

Astrala looked at him with a slight crook in her head and a gear somewhere in her mind clearly unable to move, not understanding his point of view in any way, shape or form. That last sentence was filled to the brim with sarcasm. She wanted to speak again, but was interrupted by Garner again.

“Men! Search the place! Look for the war criminal and bring him forth! He shall be sentenced by the order of Our two true Kings!”

After this call, the twenty or so griffons began raiding houses, kicking down doors and pushing away any civilians with much unneeded force and brutality. In seconds the place was filled with screams and cries of hopelessness and fear.

Astrala and her team looked quite disturbed at the brutality, but none of them spoke up. Those dracons were already peacefully following orders, there was no need for force, nor brutality. Astrala moved back and simply let the thing play out. She was a knight, she knew her place was not to throw ruckus. Additionally, she couldn’t afford to let down her Elders on this crusade. Breaking ties with griffons or even disagreeing with them was simply not an option, or so she thought.

Finally, five griffons were dragging an old dracon on the ground towards the captain - it was the blacksmith. The old fellow still had strength in him, thus the five griffons were needed, but his age had gotten into him and after a bit of struggling he gave up completely. He was thrown down in front of the griffon captain, trying to get up, but Garner put his claw down on his head and pushed him back on the ground, digging his face into the dirt with the dracon groaning in annoyance and still slightly struggling.

“Hello, you piece of walking dunk. Remember me? I’ve come here so you can see the result of your actions in full force. No one attacks the kings and lives to see their calm future. Your head will do nicely as a trophy, you animal!”

He grabbed him by his horn and threw him aside with much force, making him land a meter away on his chest, groaning slightly from the impact. That griffon had amazing strength to body ratio. It took Astrala by quite a surprise. From her experience, she expected that to be work of some magical pedant or ring, as they could be enchanted to grant the wearer increased strength.

With a quick claw gesture from the captain, more griffons surrounded him and carried him to a rock, putting his head on top of it, chin first. Already knowing what would be the next action, the dracon began struggling a lot harder, his wings and tail trying to fend off slightly smaller in shape griffons, but to no avail. One dracon against so many griffons is no match, especially an old dracon. Even his higher strength and finesse of being a Battleborn wouldn’t help. He was being held tight, with a cheek now, due to struggling, pressed down onto a rock, breathing harder and quicker.

As a last resort to maybe get out of this situation alive, he opened his mouth, his chest and the inside of his throat started to glow bright like a fresh virgin flame in the fireplace just about to start its fiery dance. Before anything more could had happened, the captain quickly put a glass-like ball into dracon’s throat and swung down on his head with his fist, making the inside of the dracon’s mouth destroy the glass ball. Green, gassy ooze poured from his mouth that, with addition to growing flames in the dracon, started to quickly liquefy said ooze. The dracon started screaming in agony and thrashing even harder.

The captain simply grinned evilly.

“I see you like our new toy?~. You might call it an anti-dracon-fire-breathing ball. Name still in progress, but you are one of the first to feel it working. Burns like hell when combined with fire and kills you in minutes, like a poison. Your destiny has already been set. Now you can die in agony from it or accept your crimes and be executed, keeping your honour. What will it be?” he said and leaned a bit closer to the dracon with a sinister grin.

The blacksmith let out few pained tears and whined, green liquid, which was now slightly smoking, still dripping from his mouth as if never ending, creating more out of thin air. His breathing uneven and harsh. He faintly nodded with a brutally defeated look in his eyes.

The captain simply nodded with a smirk. His face and back was held down tighter and positioned on the stone for an execution before griffons made space for the captain, who took out his war axe into his claw, smirking at the dracon. He put the butt of the axe on his shoulder, holding the shaft with his claw and said.

“You have no idea how greatly it pleases me to see a brute so willing and submissive. Maybe you can be controlled to do good. Just maybe.”

After that he quickly swung the axe forth, around his back and down onto the dracon’s neck. The back and front of the neck had those thick, big scales, so the captain was aiming at the side, which thanks to the orientation of the dracon’s head on the stone was more visible. Still he did a rather shallow hit, not even killing him entirely in one swing. The dracon screamed in pain, feeling his neck sliced open, thrashing more and desperately shouting. Another swing made him slowly quiet down, his body still moving like a small animal taken over by a parasite, yet his eyes lifeless, his soul escaping his body clear as day with each passing second. Another and last swing managed to severe the head from his body, making it fall down and roll a bit on the ground. Eyes moving slightly, yet having no life in them. Mouth still making little motions as if screaming, yet no sound was coming. Tongue still flailing around, yet slowly and without control. His body began to spasm for a short while and then finally took to rest.

The captain sighed and picked up the head by the horn, the big wound pouring a lot of blood down on the dirt like a small waterfall.

“You will do fine above my fireplace. My grand possession. A token of strength and competence.”

The captain looked to Astrala and smirked.

“Oh, I almost forgot, hero~. You have a new objective. Down south along the coast you will stumble upon a road which will take you to a beach. In few days we will be waiting there with a boat for you. You will move down south to another island and will help us taking down the shogunate. Don’t be late!” he spoke as he was wrapping the bottom of the severed head with cloth to stop it from dripping so much and hooked it to his belt. After he was done talking, he made a circular motion up with his claw and he, along with his group of griffons, took off into the skies and flew away, leaving Astrala and everyone else dumbfounded by what has just happened.

Unable to process anything right now, she simply looked south and said.

“We are leaving for a new task. Let’s go.” They started walking south, few meters from the calm ocean. Her group quietly followed her, sharing at least the emotion of being unable to determine their stance on the whole situation. They simply marched on to their new destination, leaving scared and confused dracons from the village with ten fresh bodies to bury, one being a body of a now headless war veteran.

Few years later

It was a bright, sunny day. Some may say that for late summer it was even too hot. Summer being summer though, it surprises you not only with an unexpectedly heavy, yet short rain, but also with weather almost twice as hot as the day before.

The bailiff of the village was sitting down in a shop beside the owner himself – his dear friend. Two were having a thrilling conversation of possible new trade deals with the west, being able to buy some more luxurious items with their hard earned food supplies still being in the process of gathering.

“And that is why we need to gather them quicker. If the caravan comes soon, we need to have goods to trade with!” The shop owner spoke. A feeble looking stallion with green fur and yellow shaded hair that sported quite a fancy clothing for a member of a small village. His distinctive look being a very southern, bushy moustache.

“Yes, but the caravan will be making one of its last stops here. Why should we even expect them to still have any goods left?” The bailiff said. He was a rather young stallion for a position of a bailiff. His black and red hair slightly messy, fur brown with few bleak patches all around. His vest, although looking simpler than that of a shop owner, was dyed in blue and red colours. Blue dye was one of the hardest to obtain, thus also one of the most expensive. Under this vest he sported a simple white shirt with flared sleeves and simple bleak brown pants.

“You’d just have to believe me here, like your father always believed me. Trust me on this one, I heard that this caravan is a true prize! Or as they would say in their lovely west – crème de la crème!”

“What does that even mean? Like cream of cream?”

“It’s an expression- ah, never mind. Just trust me, Venture!”

The Bailiff sighed, slightly lowering his eyesight. He lifted it up again and smiled at his friend.

“Alright, Bristle, my friend. I will trust you on this one. I hope you are right.”

“Ha! That’s the spirit!” the shop owner smiled with a light lift of his hoof. He then stood up and said. “How about a small toast? To have a little taste of that sweet wine we will soon have in our possession?~”

At this time, the door to the shop had opened and inside walked a mare wearing dirt-coloured gambeson with small padded shoulder pads and a shirt underneath similar to the Bailiff’s. She had a pair of normal, dark green pants and a padded skirt around her rear, on top of which she had a pair of saddlebacks on both sides. Her clothes were quite dirty and so much could also be said about her fur hygiene. She wore a pair of very beaten boots on front and rear hooves, stained with dirt and, just like few little spots on her gambeson, dried blood. Her fur in Dutch white colour with one visible splotch on her neck in a slightly lighter colour, more resembling a tone of a clear champagne. Her hair resting to one side, about almost two heads long, very messy and unattended, wielding an angry, fiery and lively colour with ends finishing in a way more feminine rosy red colour, yet still retaining clear sharpness and danger in its tint. Although this mare’s look seemed very aggressive, her eyes were of a slightly different story. She had eyes in a deep colour of Persian green, gently calming your soul against her fiery hair, yet they have retained that sharp look of hers, like two pure emeralds. Her face sporting a small scar on her cheek that seemed to have been made by a shallow cut of a sword tip. On her forehead she wielded an unusually long horn, finely sharpened, as if the sharp look wasn’t clear enough already. Last items that had been standing out the most were her weapons. On her chest she had a belt with a dagger in it, on her rear side she had a short sword strapped into the belt of a saddlebag, between the bag itself and her padded skirt and most importantly, the most eye catching of them all, a long scabbard with a long sword in it, with its handle starting beside her face resting along her back and then angling down, sticking lightly from her other side. Either a killer, assassins, paid mercenary or all of the above.

It was hard to tell if she was a capable fighter. Her clothes and protective gear obstructed most of her body shape, although she was not a short mare. Clearly one of the taller ones, probably taller than an average stallion even.

Both bailiff and the shop owner looked to her in surprise. A small village on barren fields with a bit of a flourishing forest rarely sees sights like these. Adventurers happen to come and go sometimes, showing their existence in the world, but never a pony with three weapons on her! One could believe she possibly had a whole siege equipment in her saddlebags! A battering ram, or maybe even a siege tower?

She walked up to the counter, looked at Venture and asked in a slightly raspy and tired voice, but clearly feminine, “Are you Duke Venture? The bailiff?”

He blinked few times and coughed impulsively. He was not an excelling fighter, so a sight of more than one weapon on a pony was enough to intimidate him. His father wouldn’t be proud of such a reaction. He quickly nodded and said.

“Yes, Duke Venture, at your service miss. I’d like to welcome you to our village, Bronislava, and ask you, if I may be so bold, as to what might bring you here?”

At such elegant and lavish words, Bristle couldn’t help, but raise an eyebrow, which quickly formed into a small, knowing smirk. He decided to not interfere, as there was no need for him to.

The mare nodded to the bailiff and said with an emotionless face, “I heard you were having some issues with unsettling drekavacs and bandits. I’d like to offer my help in exchange for Krons.”

“Oh, I see. Well yes, of course, I would be delighted to elaborate further on that. Uh, Bristle, we will finish our conversation later, if you don’t mind.”

“Ah, not at all!” Bristle said and looked to the mare. “And, if you miss would ever be in need of a large variety of supplies, I’d be utmost obliged to show you around! Mythic Bristle will make sure you will get what you are looking for at a price which shall suit us both!” At the end he made a slight bow of respect.

The mare nodded with a very small smile, mostly out of respect, and said, “Thank you, I might come around to at least take a look.”

Then her gaze fell on the bailiff once again and she asked, “May we be on our way?”

Venture nodded, made a slight motion with a hoof to the shop owner as for a goodbye and exited the shop, leading the mare to his house.

They walked along a beaten dirt road amongst few simple houses, which, to a intrigued eye, looked far more intricate in their appearance than one would expect. In general, these houses were nothing out of ordinary. Simple timber framework filled with a mix of woven twigs and hardened mud, which made for a solid, hard wall. A style of building so popular that it was also prominently used in big cities – it was a technique called ‘wattle and daub’. After the first story of those houses there was nothing more, but a simple thatch roof, yet it was tall enough to possibly house enough space for storage and a sleeping place.

Amongst some houses made clearly as living quarters there were also pastures with shelters for animals, such as cows, pigs or chickens, although for chickens a much smaller coop was more suitable. Beside those, the land stretched far showing its fields of wheat and more, still growing at full swing, beautifying the land by giving it a warm, shiny tint of yellow beside some green, lush trees and bushes.

They were, in fact, right outside of the market square, which was not very big, yet made it all up for its unique beauty. There were a few houses dotted around the square, mostly as shops, like bakery. Closer to the square there were two shopping stands set, one selling fish delivered from the northern oceans and other trading in tools and nails, possibly made by a local blacksmith. There was also a third one – a travelling merchant. His cart was easily that of a double of those puny shopping stands. He seemed to trade in simple jewellery, accessories for clothing, like scarves or such alike and an immense amount of various trinkets, starting from simple, abstract necklaces to even small statuettes symbolising some gods or god-like ponies and creatures. Yet, the most memorable part of the square was the centre piece itself – a big oak tree, that of about eight stories high, marvellously decorated with some pieces of linen tied with nice rocks hanging down from some branches of this tree. Few small incarnations of a local god or goddess carved from wood and painted were also hanging, but a bit higher. After a few seconds of precise inspection, one could notice that such wooden carvings were exactly four and were facing all four sides directing north, south, west and east.

But was this tree the only thing that looked intricate to an alien eye? Certainly not, as yet another part were the living houses themselves. It seemed that those houses, which didn’t do for shops or animal shelters, were painted on some sides with bright white paint and then decorated with few streaks of red and blue creating flowers, waves and eagles, greatly making, what would be a dull, boring, same-y town, into a beauty in itself, one of a kind.

Seeing all this, the mare asked Venture, “Is the town getting ready for some celebration?”

The bailiff sighed and answered, “No, rather trying to still live with it, because of past events. You see, the issues we have been facing came right at the Day of Lady Zhiva. While we were celebrating, we were raided by a group of thugs and outlaws. Normally we would have somepony see them from afar, but everypony was just so caught up with the holiday ...”

He let out another sad and pathetic sounding sigh. Shortly after, he continued.

“After the attack we had no intention of continuing the celebration and decided to bury the fallen of the attack, until we noticed the undead themselves coming out of the saint catacombs of Rova Divine. We had to bury them somewhere else, not in the place of heroes. We failed them as those who still walk the earth.”

The mare, after a second of pause, asked, “So those are the two thing you need dealing with as I heard from others? Bandits and drekavacs?”

While walking, he looked at her with a raised eyebrow and questioning look.

“Drekavacs?”

“Drekavacs are those who you call the undead. They are corpses infused with souls of fallen heroic-like spirits, which you earth ponies bury underground. Usually that happens, because of some specific trigger, but it is always a defined one to the village, town or area itself. Possibly those bandits might have done something to the crypt, maybe something completely different.”

He kept looking at her while walking, clearly knowing those roads. Normal pony would have tripped already. He gave her a slightly confused look mixed with unsure amazement and a slight tint of worry.

“I see. You seem to be knowledgeable in this regard. That might be what we need.”

He sighed yet again and stopped in front of a house that had two storied and another one in the roof, so one story more than every other house. It was painted green and then the second floor was made from logs stacked vertically with a little bit of mud between the seams.

He opened the door and said, “Please, come on in”

The mare stepped inside and glanced around quickly. It was a normal village house. Inner walls not painted, wooden plank floor and a small, steep staircase to the upper floor. In the centre, just as you walked in, was placed a table for six, eight if added stools on the shorter sides. The long sides had a long bench each made very cheaply out of a log cut thin enough to not waste wood, but thick enough so that it doesn’t break after few months of using it. On the right, just by the staircase there was a small compartment area for some tools possibly, one could make out a bucket and a broom against the wall. On the right side, by the door, there was a small rack for any coats and further along the wall turned right, creating a small room, where kitchen was housed. It was a simple set of a fireplace and a few stone slabs along with some cupboards on the walls and a window overlooking the front of the house. The smoke exited through a hole in the roof making for a chimney. It was exiting at an angle. Above the hole was a slanted, thatched roof. Being at a different angle than the rest of the roof, it created an opening for smoke to come out, but not to let the rain in. Since there seemed to be no place for sleep or storage, beside a singular small chest and few other furniture, the sleeping quarters must had been on the upper floor.

By the kitchen stood a mare, roughly the same age as both the mare with red hair and the bailiff himself. Venture said, “Please sit down by the table.”

The mare sat down, putting her long sword and saddlebags down on the same bench, just beside her, the sword slightly resting the hilt on her lap.

Then, Venture came up to the mare by the kitchen and kissed her on the cheek.

“Hey honey, could you fetch us some beer?”

“Oh, of course.” she quickly said and with the corner of her eye took a glimpse at the mare sitting at their table. She quickly looked away and started rummaging for mugs.

In the meantime, Venture sat down opposite to the red-maned mare.

“Well then, I will be straight to the point, as to not waste your time too much. W-“

“Don’t worry, I have time. " she cut him off and added, "Besides, I have some questions anyway, so no need to rush.” Afterwards, she gave him a small, sincere smile just to loosen him up a bit.

The bailiff nodded and started speaking.

“Well, as I said before, we were attacked at the most inopportune moment. Many of us quickly grabbed for the weapons of any kind that was the closest, trying to fend off the bandits. We have managed to kill one and make the others flee but it was not without losses. Mainly, there were not here to burn us down. I believe they wanted to intimidate us by killing off some of us and didn’t expect us to kill one of them. They robbed a few ponies closer to the edge of the town and killed few stallions, including my father.

“Beside stealing from others they also managed to steal my father’s warhammer. It was a family’s crest, if you could say, and was with us for generations. It’s a fine steel with obsidian ornaments and a really beautiful hoof grip, fluted even. Beside those bandits getting what they deserve, I really want to have it back ... It’s the only thing that really reminds me of my father and grandfather and basically my whole lineage. Losing it would be equal to failing them.”

His wife then put down two mugs with beer on the table for both of them and sat down beside him, putting a hoof around his back. After a light sip he continued.

“Gust is our forester, he allegedly saw them and knows where they are, roughly. You can ask him for the directions. As for the catacombs ...

“There is a road, south to the village. Follow it. Once you go past a big boulder, turn right on a slightly beaten path in the grass. This will lead you to the cemetery. Do what you feel is best, all I want is those drevacs to be there no more.”

“Drekavacs.” she corrected him and then nodded, confirming her readiness for this task as well.

Bailiff took a sip, then started to gaze into his mug. After a long second he looked back up at the mare and asked, “Who told you that we had trouble and to see me, if I may ask?”

The mare took a sip as well.

“It was a rather short mare with long, blonde hair and cream coloured fur.”

He let out a light snicker and smiled.

“Sunny. Always has a right idea of what’s best for the village. Will have to thank her later. Again.”

“Hm. Fitting name.” the mare said, but still showed not much of an emotion. After that, she quickly asked, “By the way. Do you really have a title of Duke? Or is it a name?”

“Oh no, no, it’s a name. I’m not even a Lord nor a Sire. Quite a long way to a Duke.” He snickered again and took another sip.

His wife made a pleasant, short hum and said, “Ya would look good as a Lord~.”

“Mhhh, great. Though I doubt you could look any better with any title in existence.” he smiled and won a sincere, lovely laugh from his wife. Then he looks to the mare again and said. “Either way, those two things would be what we require. If you will manage to do both of those I could part ways with, let’s say, 80 Krons. Does that satisfy you?”

The mare looked a bit aside, as if calculating his answer.

“Depends. How many of those bandits were there?”

“About five I believe.”

“How well equipped?”

“I think I saw one with more plate than the others, while one had none. They had rather basic swords, I think. Well, and now a good warhammer.”

The mare looked at him again and said, “If you throw in a room for the night and a little bit of provisions, 80 Krons sound good to me.”

The bailiff nodded, looking relieved and content with their little deal.

“Yes, that sounds reasonable! Thank you greatly!” he said, stood up slightly and held forth his hoof, which the mare bumped and they shook it once, as for an agreement met. After sitting down again, he added. “I myself don’t have room here, living with two kids already and my mother, but my friend runs a local tavern. I will talk to him and get you a room. As for provisions, when would you expect them?”

“At least for tomorrow.”

“That is manageable. Alright, I think we have it all said in stone then.” he smiles sincerely, happy that he has a chance to see his father’s warhammer again. Losing something this precious, not only in huge monetary value, but also in sentimental value, is never a pleasant experience.

After a small sip, the mare said, “I also have a few questions considering your holiday and so on. First of all, can you tell me more about the Day of Lady Zhiva?”

“Oh, you are interested in our culture?” Venture asked, slightly surprised at that.

“Yes, I am. I’ve noticed that some of the houses are painted very nicely and the tree looked quite interesting, even if the decorations were on a simpler side.”

“Alright, well, you do quite surprise me, I must be honest. I’ve met two unicorns beside you in my life and they never wanted to talk about anything else than work and their share in profits.”

The mare shrugged and spoke, still without showing more varying emotion on her face than that of a log of wood, “I found out that I am not a typical unicorn.”

“I see. Well, either way, the Day of Lady Zhiva is a special celebration to the goddess of bountiful harvests. She helps us get as much yield from our farms and animals as possible for a given year. If we had low amount of rain throughout the year, she helps us by making sure we don’t harvest dried and useless wheat and when we contract a disease in our soil, she makes sure to save a portion of our resources. We thank her by celebrating all day and night in her name. We mainly sing songs and dance in her pleasure, basically give her a show, to thank her in her dedication. Although this celebration was cut short this year. I fear she might have been displeased with us, or maybe is now that we didn’t finish. I will have to ask granny Raspberry for her opinion if we should just keep our routine or celebrate in a different day. I am way too young to make such a decision.”

“Oh? Why are you too young for that?” the mare asked curiously. Her eyes were clearly very interested in it, but her face overall still stayed calm and very reserved.

“Because I haven’t yet seen every good and bad from Lady Zhiva, I don’t know her personality that well, I can’t predict her opinion. The elders can, to some degree, and the last thing we want is to upset our Lady.”

“So your Lady Zhiva is a goddess, yes?”

“Yes, that exactly she is, kind of.”He nods and takes a sip.

“Can you tell me more about her? Her appearance and such?”

“May I ask first, why are you so interested? Uh, not to pick or anything, I’m just- ... I don’t think I’ve heard an outsider so interested before.”

The mare took a sip and said in a well-detailed manner, “I’m just interested about it, that’s all. It simply intrigues me. Can’t tell more, because I’m not sure if there is more. Besides, knowing those things helps me at work. I literally walk from village to village, town to town and help ponies in exchange for money. I am good with sword and have some good knowledge about the surrounding beasts and what more. If I know what to expect in a specific area I’m in, for example a new type of hoofshake, it is more likely I will appear like a worthy investment.”

“You sound like Bristle, that shopkeeper. Well, a tad bit, but similarly calculated work idea.” He smiles and then, after receiving a small nod of acknowledgement from her, he continues. “Lady Zhiva is an orange looking earth pony with mane in the colour of purest and most bountiful wheat field. She has a poor looking, shapeless, brown dress made from woollen cloth, fastened at the waist by a simple girdle. She also wears a sleeveless, grey tunic and a white wimple over her hair. She has a simple bag over her back, hanging from her side in which she always stores a hoofful of wheat. To the belt of her bag she has a small harp strapped to it carved from a sweet cherry wood with rich, red colour and simple, steel strings. The harp, as it’s told, is a gift from an unknown god for her dedication to manual labour while still finding interest in other things, like music. She also sings very well and loves to dance. Thus why those celebrations please her.”

The mare nodded, still clearly interested in every word he spoke.

“Mhmm, but why the cherry harp? Isn’t she a god of bountiful harvest as you said before?”

“Well, you don’t think us, village folk, are only interested in our crops, right? We do a plethora of other things! To be honest, crops, animals and other type of work really does not take much of our time from the day, simply because there is no need! We love to have other things to do, just like the city folk. Some say that we do even more, because we here have the true way of living, but that sounds like some over the top nonsense~” he laughed slightly.

The mare made a singular nod and said, “I understand. Last question I would like to ask about the crypt. You said something about Rova Divine?”

“Ah yes, Rova Divine. She was a hero of our country. It’s a nice story but it is also quite long.”

“Don’t worry, I would like to hear it if you don’t mind sharing.” the mare said and took a sip of the beer she had been provided, soon to be empty.

“Well, I would advise you hearing it from somepony more knowledgeable about history, but in general it goes like this.

“Rova was a mare living in a small village that was not far from here, but nopony knows where exactly. It was raided by rival tribe called Staraya Ladoga that had already taken lands of the eastern tribes and was moving quickly into central tribes from said east and their attack origin, which was the south. Her village was burned down and she was the sole survivor, facing around three dozen invaders still standing.

“She had no real chance of defeating them, so she asked Perun, god of war, for help in defeating her opponents. She received his blessing and power. Using it, she killed them all!

“After her victory, she departed to the capital and gained an audience with the leader. Later on she was the leading speaker in the process of uniting central tribes into one big family. After few battles a name for this new country was decided - Kingdom of Lechita. Our country was created only because of the invaders’ attack. If not for that, some doubt the tribes would have united at all.”

“Huh, I see. I remember one story that sort of confirms this idea. I heard that Lechitians were the strongest and fiercest fighters around these parts.” the mare chimed in, but it was impossible to tell if she was making fun of Lechitians via sarcasm or if she was genuine.

“Well, that would make sense. Rova was given powers from the god of war himself. Her actions led to creation of Lechita and, in turn, setting an example of a perfect fighter. But if you ask me, it is sort of an exaggeration. We earth ponies like to think of ourselves as the best, better than rival tribes or countries.”

“Makes sense. Continue now, please.” the mare said with a slight and gentle, horizontal move of her hoof, lightly sipping her beer and putting elbow of her foreleg on the table so that she can rest her cheek on her hoof. Her eyes showing incredible interest in the story, even more so than before.

“Well, the tribes united and took to the fight with the invaders. Ultimately, they won and even gained some territory, as well as gave back annexed lands to the eastern tribes.

“Sadly, the last battle that finished the fight was also Rova’s place of her last breath. She was defeated in a town slightly more to the south. Some say it was Perun’s contract which spoke that she may live with the powers of a god, but only in the time of war, so when the fighting has stalled and it was her last fight, Perun made her lose so that she won’t get corrupted with power.

“Lechita’s leader, after the truce, has given her a title of Divine and named the town she perished in with her name – Rova. Sadly, not long ago, the town has fallen into the wrong hooves, just like other of our towns.” Bailiff looked down in sadness. For a pony living in an isolated village, he really loved his country, or at least seemed like he did.

“I see. Current circumstances are not the greatest for you, that is for sure. Either way, that was an incredible story. Ah, also, one more thing. The Divine is just a title?”

“Well, sort of? Back then there were no real titles beside social and hierarchical ones, there were ponies and gods. We cannot name one a god, we have no such right, but Rova had shown such great resolve and strength that Perun deemed her a goddess, or at least a demigoddess. So, she became a Divine of resolve and persistence, as well as fighting skill and revenge.

“I mean, we don’t really think about it that much, it may be a little bit different, but nopony really bats an eye.” he replied with a sincere smile.

“Quite interesting, but I won’t bore you with more questions, even though it didn’t seem to bother you much.” she gave him a small, sincere smile, as to not make him think that it is a bad thing.

“Oh, well, if you want to hear more stories you should ask Gran Raspberry. Just mind her hard accent, she is a farm pony and there is no way I can make that accent go away.” he chuckled a bit and sipped his drink.

The mare quickly finished her drink with a few chugs and said, “Will remember and thank you kindly for the drink.”

“Uhm, If ya want, Ah c’n also help a with a bath an’ clean yer clothes. Not t’ sound rude, but they uhm ...” Venture’s wife said, at first with some confidence, but that sound faded as soon as she realised she could say something offensive to a guest that is friendly and helpful. That would not show proper manners, which is why she had been quiet for the whole conversation. She preferred her husband to speak to guests, he is a bailiff after all.

“If it is no trouble, but even if, that would be for later. First I’ve got to finish the work I agreed to.” the mare finished and got up from the table, slowly putting back on her things to be ready for the road again, starting off with a visit to forester Gust.

“If you don’t mind-“ Bailiff started quickly, as if hoping to not miss his chance, “Can I ask for your name? As I said, I did not meet many unicorns this friendly and interested in legends, plus if you really will help us, it will mean the world to us. I would like to honour your name.”

The mare finished strapping her scabbard on her back. Her horn glowed bright yellow, slightly tinting to a golden shine, lifting the scabbard just enough so that another magical grab, holding her bags, was able to fit them on her back. Once she was ready she glanced at the door shortly, sorting out a general plan of action to finish everything in the best order possible and most importantly – in one day.

She looked back to the bailiff and answered his question with an emotionless, slightly confused or lost sounding voice. As if unsure if honour is what she wants, or what she should receive. Slightly reluctant, she answered

“I’m Astrala. Or so I think I am.”