Author's Note

The episode at the beginning was inspired by this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FmUA_Yxl0PM.
Of course, the roles are changed according to the story.

Chapter Four. White Path

February 1008

The snow fell from above in small white flakes, swirling in the rare gusts of cold wind. The blind sky seemed indifferent to events below, separated from earth by an impenetrable cloud curtain.

The heavy body was pressing down on Mellow’s back, causing his legs to buckle. The gray stallion already wanted to give up and run off in search of somepony… but he couldn’t leave his friend to die so close to the frontline.

They were moving down the street of a small town not far from Canterlot. The locals had left on Luna’s order, so the town was empty now. Maybe there were some Equermacht fighters hiding somewhere. Or the Harmonic soldiers were already looking for them.

A cannonade came from far away. Equestrian troops were advancing on the positions the enemy had left behind – and there was no telling where their counterattack would end.

Or how long it would take them to get here.

Discord, I’ve even dropped my rifle, Greg thought as he turned into a random alleyway. His breath came out noisily in clouds of steam. I just hope I don’t run into anyone on the way…

His legs were completely tired. In a narrow alley between two houses, the gray pony carefully unloaded the body of the pegasus with the shrapnel sticking out from his belly and laid him down on the snow. Then he crouched down beside his friend, leaning against the bright red brick wall.

We’re doomed, came a thought. I can hardly walk any further now. And if I stay here to rest… Dropper may die. I don’t even have any food with me, let alone healing potions. I can’t even help myself, much less others…

Greg looked at the pegasus lying there, his broken wing spread out on the snow, and gritted his teeth.

No… I have to! Otherwise, what would be all my resistance for? If I do like everyone else, how will I differ from those who raise their hooves in moonlight at every opportunity and consider those they oppose undeserving to live? And most of all, indifferent to each other?

I’ll save you, Dropper. Whatever it takes.

The stallion took a breath, rose to his hooves and, once again lifting Stratospheres’ thick body onto his back, slowly walked out of the alley.

And then stopped dead.

In front of them, a white pony in helmet and green Harmonic Army uniform stood a few paces away, pointing a rifle at them. It was as if she hadn’t expected to see them here – and now she was confused, staring at Greg with Dropper slung over his back.

Mellow froze, not daring to breathe. He was completely defenseless against her now. If he tried to run… or attack her… he would be shot. And it would end as ingloriously as it had for Consited.

Besides, the gray pony couldn’t raise a hoof against her.

The mare could kill them right now though. They both wore the Lunar Army’s uniform, probably belonged to those who had tried to reach the capital – what other reason would she have to finish them off? Or capture them: with a gun in her hooves, the white pony could do it alone.

They remained silent, looking at each other cautiously and apprehensively. The snow fell around them, and even the rumble of cannons seemed almost inaudible at that moment. Greg thought it was like the silence after another battle near Canterlot, when both sides exhausted their strength and decided to rest for the night.

No one had fired a shot that snowy evening – and just like that, the white pony didn’t fire either.

Her gaze fell on Dropper, and her blue eyes widened slightly. The mare hesitated for a few seconds – and then reached into her bag.

Could it be a grenade…? Greg thought in panic… but she pulled out a healing potion and hoofed him a small bottle.

The gray pony opened his mouth in surprise. Then closed it. Then opened it again. And closed it again. He looked into her eyes in disbelief. Then at the potion on her hoof.

Turned his head to the lying Dropper, then looked at the potion again.

Finally, he reached out his foreleg and took the bottle.

The white pony didn’t smile. She just nodded and pointed the barrel of her gun at Stratospheres, as if to say, Come on, what are you waiting for?

It took Greg a few seconds to come out of his daze. He tilted his head back hesitantly, and with his legs ducked, he carefully pulled Dropper’s body away. Then he looked up and stared at her again in amazement.

“You…” Why the hay did my voice crack at the worst possible moment! “…just let us go?”

“Yes,” she nodded. “You’re not a threat right now. Otherwise, I’d do my duty and send you where you deserve. Slowly pull the shard out of his stomach and give him the potion. You can pour some directly on the wound to make it heal faster.”

Greg stared at her for a moment, then nodded and, grasping the sharp edge with his teeth, carefully pulled the shard from Dropper’s wound.

The bloody piece of metal fell to the snow. Blood ran down the pegasus’ beige fur, but Mellow had already reached for the potion and poured the rest into his unconscious companion’s mouth, splashing some on the narrow, oozing red gash. Then he ran a hoof down Dropper’s throat, forcing him to swallow the healing liquid.

The white pony watched Greg with approval. When he was finished, and the wound on the pegasus’ belly seemed much smaller (and even the leg was no longer twisted so unnaturally), she silently turned and headed off down the street.

“Wait…” Mellow turned to follow her. “What… what’s your name?”

“Aurora. Lieutenant Aurora Dusk,” he heard from the distance.

Aurora… Thank you, Greg thought gratefully. With all my heart. So there are still ponies in this war who can feel and empathize. It means not all is lost. And that’s what matters.

The snowfall grew heavier.

The unarmed pony in the gray overcoat walked through the empty town, carrying his friend carefully on his back. And silently falling white flakes were covering their tracks.

The medical tent reeked of blood, alcohol, and bleach. Greg wanted to get out of here, but he couldn’t yet. His legs still hurt, and he hadn’t walked all those miles through the snow just to put Stratospheres in someone else’s hooves and not even know how he was doing.

The doctor in the red cross helmet examined Dropper with undisguised disbelief.

“It’s a miracle he survived at all,” the medic muttered, glancing at Greg sitting next to him. “The abdominal wound was indeed serious. The sharp edges had damaged the intestinal wall and passed very close to the aorta. Any careless movement could have been fatal.”

The gray pony remembered throwing his friend to the ground in that alley and shivered.

“Tell me, Doctor… is he going to be okay?”

“Well, yes… as far as that’s possible.” The doctor, a middle-aged blonde unicorn, hummed in amazement. “I haven’t seen a patient since the war began who looked healthier… in terms of visible potential for recovery. Look at him: badly wounded, transported from the front on hooves, and now he’s sleeping like nothing happened! When it’s his turn, he’ll be operated on. Of course, his broken leg will bother him for a while, and his wing probably won’t be able to lift him into the air – but if he doesn’t get a bullet in his head or heart, he’ll live for a very long time.”

The doctor was silent for a moment, then turned back to Greg.

“You gave him the potion, but not immediately – several hours later, after you were safe. But in your hasty retreat from the front lines, you didn’t get a chance to take it with you. So, who gave you the medicine that’s now literally worth its weight in gold?”

“I met… a soldier,” Mellow replied, realizing that he had to do something. If he said the enemy had helped them, they would both end up as inglorious as Consited. “We reached a town and stopped to rest. A soldier passing by saw us and decided to help us. That’s all.”

“Maybe you remember a name? Rank, unit number?”

“He… didn’t introduce himself,” Greg smiled weakly. “Well, you know: the front, all that stuff… We just didn’t have time for that.”

“Okay, it’s a small thing,” the doctor sighed and turned to the other wounded waiting on the adjacent beds. “Excuse me, I have patients to attend to.”

Greg nodded and headed for the tent exit.

On his way, he suddenly stopped at an unattended tray of tools.

A shiver ran down the gray pony’s spine at the sight of all those scalpels, scissors, and other things he didn’t even know the names of. But on impulse, on hunch, he looked around, quickly grabbed a scalpel with his teeth and hoofed it into his pocket.

Stepping outside, he closed the door behind him and breathed in the frosty air, looking around at the temporary camp around him.

It had initially been a small rear base north of Everfree Forest, from which “volunteers” (at least that’s what the official chronicles called them) were transported to the front lines.

Now, after being forced to retreat, thousands of ponies had gathered here, fleeing the front to avoid being crushed by those they’d dragged through the mud yesterday. As Greg watched the entire herd charge, scramble, run, and shoot up with morphine, he could barely keep a straight face.

The end justifying the means cannot be righteous, he thought, stepping aside to let the medics pass with the stretcher carrying an injured batpony. And yet… why… why, why all this? What kind of stupid strategy is it to throw thousands of ponies to the front – instead of trying to improve something in the center? Why not try to establish a reasonable new order in Manehattan first? To find a compromise, so that the Gestaponies don’t search houses for more internal enemies and freaks like Zick don’t shoot prisoners in jails? So that on Hearth’s Warming Eve there’s a night party instead of a curfew?!

The gray stallion gritted his teeth.

But no – it’s surely needed to intimidate, propagandize, imprison, and send those who disagree into the thick of the battles! And the battles themselves – what are they for? To spread that hell all over Equestria? Oh, yes, that’s the real purpose of the new government! To maintain its miserable existence in the lands of a once united nation at any cost – even the lives of its own people. That’s what it’s all about. They don’t give a damn about the rest. Even if half the world goes up in flames, they want the Lunar Banner to keep flying over Manehattan.

Mellow sighed and lowered his head.

And I, like so many others, am condemned to be a tool of this regime. Must…

Suddenly he blinked.

Wait… but… why I… must?

At the sudden thought, the gray pony froze, staring into space with his mouth agape.

I just happened to be there when it all started. There was no way I could avoid that. I have nothing that links me to Nightmare Moon’s bloody regime. Except… he looked back at himself, except for the uniform I’m wearing.

He shifted his hooves and looked up at the mountain range that stretched north of the camp. Somewhere out there, on its western edge, Canterlot towered behind a shroud of clouds, and now the majestic city could finally feel safe and secure.

And since I have nothing to do here, why don’t I just…

His breath caught at the revelation, brilliant in its directness.

…leave?

The word, just one word, so simple and… so hard to find.

For a brain that was already beginning to be poisoned by the corrosive acid of war, despite Greg’s best efforts to remain normal and not slip over the edge of good and evil, to not become like the individuals around him, it was difficult, almost unrealistic, to think that there was a third option in the choice between becoming a monster and death.

Not to choose at all.

Do what morality, reason, and heart tell him to do.

Stand with the light.

Choose the good.

Do. Better.

But they won’t let me out, Greg sighed, lowering his eyes back to the camp. No way. Once Nightmare Moon traps you with her evil magic, she won’t let go. So…

The gray pony closed his eyes. And when he opened them again, they were burning with determination.

His lips curved into a triumphant grin.

I’ll leave myself. And as soon as possible. Before the LDs get here and make terror as usual. A memory flashed before his eyes: the body of a lilac pony killed in the mess hall at lunch. And they’re good at it, I know.

Greg’s eyes turned back to Equestria.

Tonight. I’ll do it tonight. No one can stop me yet. Everypony’s all fled, those fucking warriors…

Mellow snorted happily. He wasn’t afraid of anything anymore.

“Hey,” he called to a passing unicorn with a rifle, “where’s the mess hall around here?”

The unicorn stopped for a moment, pointed silently with his hoof, and galloped on. The Lavender, with a dozen notches on its buttstock, dangled funny on his back, flapping on his fat rump.

Greg fumbled in his pocket for his papers (what if they demanded to see them before giving him food?), then nodded slightly and headed in the direction he had been given.

A lilac twilight was falling over the camp. Hiding the ponies of the Equermacht that had gathered here. Hiding everything they had done.

Greg decided not to take anything. He had no weapon (except the stolen scalpel), and he was unlikely to get any at the camp: the next Four Stars shipment had been delayed, and a lot of the guns from the previous one, just before the offensive, had been left on the battlefield. Food was issued three times a day, one portion per pony – and it was really necessary to show a military ID, so it was impossible to stockpile. But Mellow was willing to put up with it – whatever it took to stop seeing those haunting symbols of the night light around him.

The darkness thickened like blackberry jam. The snow crunched by the hooves squeaked louder than an un-oiled wagon, so Greg tried to move through the drifts. It was slow, but at least it didn’t give him away too much.

There was a fence around the edge of the cluster of tents – thin metal poles with five rows of barbed wire stretched between them. The lowest one was very close to the ground, so climbing through it from below was a guaranteed injury. Or getting caught with one’s clothes.

There were also sentries around the perimeter. Mostly batponies, whose eyesight made them excellent night guards, and a few unicorns, who occasionally gave off the glow of telekinesis. Sentinels also roamed the camp. But there were only a few of them, and an ordinary pony might be able to get past them.

After waiting for an earth stallion in a battle saddle with two mounted rifles and a headlight helmet to pass, Greg slipped out from behind the corner of the barracks and crawled cautiously to the edge of the camp, burrowing into the snow.

Halfway there, he peered out of the snowdrift and immediately dropped his head back down. A batpony in an overcoat decorated with crescent moons and a helmet with a purple crest was approaching Greg, looking around the perimeter.

Mellow held his breath and tried not to move. The snow was cold as hell on his face and legs, and the gray pony was trying hard not to shiver.

Creak… creak… creak… creak…

The sentry was now right before him. If the thestral looked closely, he could see a strip of loosened snow ending right in front of his nose.

Greg mentally sent up a prayer to Celestia. He just didn’t know who else to turn to in these moments to ask for a small miracle.

For a while there was silence. His heartbeat sounded like a hammer in his ears – it was amazing that the batpony standing next to him couldn’t hear it! Greg painfully wanted to breathe, but that would give him away. Each passing second seemed like an eternity.

But when, in Greg’s opinion, a small universe had time to be born, live, and die, the snow creaked again nearby. Now the hoofsteps were fading away.

Having waited until the guard was far enough out of earshot, Mellow opened his mouth wide and breathed out. The gray pony was face down in the snow – and he couldn’t believe his luck.

But he had to keep going. It would be foolish to stop in the middle.

So Greg crawled on.

Finally, he reached the perimeter. The first row of wires was just above eye level, and it would be as suicidal to sneak out from below as to squeeze between the bottom two. Clothes might protect him, but the guards would definitely notice.

But Mellow had an ace up his sleeve.

After carefully rummaging through the pockets of his overcoat, the gray pony shook out the stolen scalpel on the snow and brought it to his mouth with his hoof. He took the sharp piece of iron carefully between his teeth, moved a little closer and began to cut the wire with the cold blade.

Very quickly Greg’s neck went stiff. It was very uncomfortable to move his head alone without the help of his legs, but he had no choice.

The stallion squeezed his eyes shut with effort. The damn wire was so hard to cut! The sound of metal on metal seemed to echo throughout the place.

Please, not now…!

Suddenly the wire snapped.

Mellow, who hadn’t expected it, fell headfirst into the snow again. His face was already wet – but not just from the melted snow. Tears of gratitude and relief were in Greg’s eyes.

The rest was just a matter of time.

The gray pony pushed aside the broken ends of the wire with his hoof and climbed into the hole. He had to bend over to avoid the second row, and he drew in his sides to avoid the scraps of barbed wire lying around.

The scalpel remained in the snow. The used tool was no longer of any use to him.

And only when he was completely on the other side, Greg laughed to himself.

He was free.

HE WAS FINALLY FUCKING FREE!!!

The gray pony crawled another twenty meters away from the camp before he got to his hooves.

He didn’t know exactly where to go, so he just kept going.

The light path he had chosen, as white as the endless snow around him or the pony that had helped him, had to lead somewhere sooner or later.

The path through the forest, trodden by the many soldiers who had come to the camp, was hard and squeaky underhoof, but Greg walked it carefully anyway, listening to the howl of the wind.

The moon appeared behind a light haze of clouds, and its pale, diffuse light was just enough to keep him from walking in total darkness. But he could hardly see his own hooves.

Greg’s nerves were as taut as the ropes of a sentry’s battle saddle. Despite his seemingly successful escape, the gray pony still twisted his head sharply and flinched every time the wind moved the bare bushes.

The main thing was to get as far away from the camp as possible. And then he could rest a little.

Suddenly something made Greg stop. A sound nearby, barely audible, but different from the noise of the winter forest.

Mellow glanced cautiously to one side, then to the other. He turned and looked back.

Nothing.

A chill ran down his spine and the stallion could barely keep his teeth from gritting.

If Greg heard any more suspicious noises now, he would surely break into a gallop and run deeper into the forest.

But all was silent. Only the wind, the rustle of branches and his own heavy breathing.

Greg stood still for a moment, then moved on.

Suddenly the same sound came again, louder this time, and as if right over his ear.

And the gray pony recognized it.

It was the flapping of the leathery wings of the thestral.

Greg didn’t have time to raise his head. Something heavy crashed down on his back, sending him sprawling on the snow. The impact knocked all the air out of his lungs and his eyes filled with tears. The poorly secured helmet flew off his head and landed somewhere nearby.

A cold blade stabbed at his neck, and he heard a whisper, “Furprife, moferfucka!”

“You…” Greg exhaled in disbelief, trying to see who was lying on top of him out of the corner of his eye.

But this pony was one he already knew.

Dusty Night grinned, clenching his trusty knife in his teeth. The sharp edge shifted, slicing through the skin of Greg’s neck.

“I’ve watched you for a long time, Greg Mellow,” the thestral hissed, his tongue pushing the knife to the corner of his mouth. “And your friend too… sorry, I can’t remember his name, that’s too silly… I didn’t like you two from the beginning. Too kind… too naive… maybe just cowards… or enemies.”

He grinned and swung the blade at Greg’s throat.

“And I was right. But your cellmate turned out to be just a trembling idiot, but you aroused my sincere interest. Unlike him, who shat his pants at the mere thought of pulling the trigger, you weren’t afraid to pick up a gun and shoot. Except you only hit once in all that time, and I even know where you were aiming.”

The batpony pressed his hoof down on Mellow’s head, pinning the gray pony to the ground.

“Missing! You were aiming to miss on purpose! And even in combat, you preferred to fight with the butt of your rifle, leaving the commander and I to do all the dirty work. Dropper’s the one who’s really dedicated to his cause, his country, and the Horsecoacher… albeit a bit too lenient. And you two were just a bunch of pathetic subponies. But if that horned asshole was just scared out of his mind, you’re much more interesting…”

“Don’t you dare… talk like that… about Consited!”

Greg struggled to get his head out from under Dusty’s hoof.

A hard slap on his ear made him howl and put his nose back in the snow.

“And what are you gonna do to me, huh?” the thestral hissed. “You’re trapped. You can’t escape. You’re an enemy of the Republic, an enemy of the Lunar Army. And to hide your vile intentions, you dragged your commander here alone, preventing him from dying heroically on the battlefield while you planned to join the other side! But I’ll stop you. I’m gonna finish you here and now.”

“And you?” Greg snapped at him with a jerk of his head. “What did you do? You just ran away – the very first one, leaving your squad, including me and Dropper, at the front! So who’s the bigger culprit, me or you?”

“Shut up!”

Dusty punched him in the jaw.

A nasty metallic taste spilled into his mouth. Greg spat, wishing he could do the same to the batpony’s face.

The blade of the knife turned again toward the gray stallion’s neck.

“Get ready to die, Greg Mellow,” Dusty said. “You deserve it like no one else.”

No… no, no, no, no!

Greg couldn’t believe what was about to happen. After all, he’d been on the front lines for ten days, fighting – despite some significant moments – in the very first ranks. And he survived! Survived, damn it! Unlike many who were cut down by machine gun fire from planes or grenade shrapnel from the enemy.

And it all had to end so stupidly?!

But I know the answer. My resistance now goes beyond quiet sabotage.

To be free, I must fight. Wrest my right from those who, by their own or imposed beliefs, deny it.

But dying in battle is not nearly as humiliating as meekly sticking out the neck.

So when Dusty Night swung the knife clenched in his teeth, Greg tensed his entire body and with a mighty jerk threw the thestral from him, sending Dusty into a nearby snowdrift.

The gray earth pony rose to his hooves, breathing heavily… and barely had time to jump aside.

The knife thrown by the thestral sliced through his overcoat and whistled into the darkness. If Greg hadn’t seen Dusty kill Consited in exactly the same way, he wouldn’t have expected anything like that from his former squadmate. And he certainly wouldn’t dodge.

But now it was his turn to make a move.

Without waiting for the batpony to grab another knife (if, of course, he had really prepared for the clash), Greg lunged straight at his opponent. Dusty was already spreading his wings – probably to escape this time. But the earth pony was faster.

He crashed into Dusty Night at full speed, and they both rolled in the loose, cold snow, clutching each other.

After a short struggle, Greg was on top, and he didn’t wait for the next attack.

A hard hoof strike made the thestral tilt his head back and spit out a few teeth. In the faint light of the moon, some kind of dark splatter was visible, frozen to the snow.

Blood. It’s blood again. But now I’m ready to spill it.

Not because I’m a sadistic, paranoid, moral freak, no. Well, not so much because of that.

But first and foremost, out of self-defense.

After a few more blows, the thestral fell silent and didn’t move again. After checking his mouth with his hoof to make sure there were no sharp objects, Greg leaned down to his face and exhaled reassuredly.

Dusty Night was breathing.

Oh, he’s simply passed out. Still, knowing how insidious the ponies fanatically loyal to the Republic could be, I think it’s best to leave.

Unlike Stratospheres, this one clearly doesn’t deserve the mercy of being brought to the camp for help.

Greg strode forward – unarmed, unhelmeted, and wearing a torn gray overcoat. The moon that had emerged from the clouds illuminated his path, which looked like a white trail through the dark night.