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                    Ghost of Leviathan                     
                     -by Light Shine-                      
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                        For Nought                         
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For Nought
Tok tok tok.
Light Shine stirred in his bed at the sound of hoof taps on his cabin door. The many dedicated years of service to Her Majesty in the Imperial Solar Navy had conditioned his mind and body with vigilant preparedness for rude awakenings at inconvenient times such as this. Age, however, proved a stubborn reminder that long hours and little sleep were games to be played by the young. No matter how often he claimed to retain reserves of youthful vigor, his body would all too eagerly remind him that age was indeed slowly winning the protracted war against his diminishing reserves of natural energy.
Tok tok. “Admiral, sir?” A muffled voice softly called out through the door.
Light’s eyelids felt especially heavy as he willed them open, turning his blurry vision to catch sight of the faintly glowing clock face resting atop his nightstand.
0324 hours. Light let out a huff of exhaustion. A mere four hours of rest. Perhaps if he were two decades younger that may have proven adequate, but his veteran body of over sixty years begged him with stiff muscles and aching joints to remain in bed.
Tok tok tok. “Sir, I have an update for you,” the voice again called through the door, laced with polite insistence.
“Yes, thank you,” Light offered a groggy response, signaling to the voice that he was now awake. “One moment,” he groaned, gently lifting the sheets off his person and rolling upright in his bed. He rubbed weary eyes as he processed whose voice spoke through the door. Day Stride. My aide. Right. He knew she would only disturb him if the report directly related to the mission of his task force. Pushing himself off his bed and onto all four hooves, he forced his body into action despite its protestations; a shiver seized his body as one last act of defiance at the rude disturbance.
Now awake, and not one to present poorly regardless of the situation, Light approached the small sink and mirror nestled snugly next to his wardrobe and freshened his appearance with a small splash of water to his face. The contrast of cold liquid upon his warm muzzle electrified his nerves, jolting his senses to full attention. He dabbed his face dry with a towel, then brushed his golden brown mane and tail, taking practiced care to keep the natural amber streaks in both neatly straightened. Turning to his wardrobe, he retrieved his uniform jacket and gracefully donned it upon his frame.
Once buttoned, he stood up on his hind legs and gave the uniform a gentle tug to properly set it on his torso, the white and gold complimenting his creamy yellow coat. He reached for his old pocket watch resting on the end table next to his bed, gave it a customary wind, and gently popped open the cover. There, inside the recess of the lid, were two small photographs: one of his beloved wife, Aurora, and the other of… an old friend. He closed the cover, placed the watch into an inner pocket of his jacket, and settled back down on all four hooves. Reaching for his officer’s cap and nestling it gingerly upon his head, he took great care not to unsettle a single strand of hair of his mane. He gave the reflection in the mirror a brief inspection before nodding in approval. No matter what the history books may say about the old Element of Generosity, Rarity had it right—it never hurts to look one’s best, never mind the time, place, or event.
Satisfied with his appearance, he opened the cabin door to greet his aide.
The young unicorn officer in the corridor stepped back and offered a friendly salute in recognition of the admiral. Light returned her gesture and greeted the mare with a pleasant smile. “Lieutenant Day Stride! Good morning. What update do you bring me?” A flag aide of his for the past few years, Day Stride’s diligence in staying connected to anything relevant to the admiral’s schedule and activities greatly alleviated the stress of tracking everything himself—even if it meant being woken early.
The lieutenant lowered her hoof and presented a carefully levitated mug and saucer, aglow with her magic. Light Shine accepted the drink, and took a sip—creamy hazelnut hot cocoa, his favorite. “Captain Dart wishes you to know that we’ve received word from SES Goadway; it has been attacked and sunk by a submersible, sir,” the young mare stated. “The senior staff is waiting in the War Room to discuss Kapitän Burgben’s report on the matter.”
Light sipped from his mug, his mind occupied. That brings the total attacks to nine, I believe. And perhaps the final one this round. The admiral’s thoughts wandered, as he partook another sip while Day Stride dutifully awaited.
Fifteen years ago, he managed to convince Solar High Command and Her Imperial Majesty to bring a collection of specialized ships into reality. Once approved and commissioned, those vessels formed what now comprised Task Force Calm Waves, or TFCW—the same ships Light Shine now commanded. However, given the narrow scope of their mission over the past decade, many Solar politicians and chiefs of staff had questioned the reason for their existence. To Light’s eternal gratitude, sightings of and strikes from submarines of the ragtag Lunarist remnants were frequent enough for TFCW to continue operations and receive uninterrupted funding and support.
Not that anypony knows there is more than one submersible.
Of course, while TFCW itself had yet to engage a submarine in combat, it did serve as a central nexus of the anti-submarine campaign against what survived of the Lunarist remnants; collecting data, relaying reports, and coordinating counterstrikes. The propaganda arm of the Solar Empire worked tirelessly to hide the fact that more than one submarine even existed. The elaborate game of manipulation did not exist to deceive Solarist citizens, but rather to hide the truth from the Lunarist remnants—that TCFW knew their game and beat them at it.
Light absentmindedly sipped from his mug again before snapping back to the present. “Thank you, Lieutenant,” he said, finally acknowledging his aide. He replaced the partially consumed cocoa back on the levitated saucer. “Let’s join the others in the War Room then, shall we?”
“Of course, sir,” Day Stride nodded, moving aside to allow Light to enter the corridor. “I also have another report for your eyes only.”
“Oh?” Light perked his eyebrows in anticipation. That could only be relating to… “Our—” Light eyed a passing crewpony, and chose his next words with care. “—primary target? That one?” The two began walking, navigating their way through the ship corridors toward the War Room.
Day Stride affirmed with a silent nod, and levitated her clipboard over to Light, holding it aloft in front of his face with the soft glow of her magic. The admiral scanned the document clasped upon it, eagerly consuming its text.
He halted in the corridor upon finishing the report. “You are certain this report is accurate? Without a doubt?” He questioned.
Again, Day Stride confidently nodded in the affirmative.
”Then…” he trailed off. Perhaps now is the time. “…there truly is just the one left. And we know that one is Leviathan. We can finally end this.” The scroll. “Lieutenant, I need to return to my cabin for… something important.”
The unicorn aide tilted her head to the side in brief perplexity before mouthing a silent “ah” as she realized to what Light referred. The two trotted back to the admiral’s cabin with bridled haste. As Light entered the cabin again, his eyes immediately fixated knowingly on the end table drawer next to his bed. Opening the drawer revealed the scroll which he sought, his attention swiftly drawn to the brilliant seal of Her Imperial Majesty emblazoned upon it. He reached for the scroll, but paused halfway, his hoof trembling anxiously. May this not be for nought. Sun above, let this be the day. Snatching the scroll, he placed it into the inner pocket of his jacket and left once again for the War Room with Day Stride.
“Sir, if I may?” Day Stride politely inquired.
“Of course. Speak your mind, Lieutenant.” Light reached for his cocoa again, and Day Stride levitated it over to him as they continued through the corridors.
“Are you going to bring this all to a close now?”
Light Shine supped the final portion of his cocoa and returned the mug to its levitated saucer one last time. Is this really the end? Ten patient years of searching and watching, finally over? Or is it the errand of a fool? The report from Day Stride certainly presented real potential to sunset his operation once and for all, and yet he could not quite shake the fear, no matter how slim, that his true target would not be present aboard the submarine. That fear cast a terrifying shadow across his mind; should his target not be present, then it would be a hollow victory. Yet we cannot allow the darkness of fear to choke the light of hope. It will all work out. It must.
“Yes, I think I shall,” came his response.
Reaching their destination, they halted in front of the door leading to the War Room. Light Shine inhaled deeply, and let out a huff. “Keep up a charade that there will be no change in our operation. When the time is appropriate, I will inform the staff that we will strike at Leviathan.”
Day Stride smirked and shook her head. “You certainly love your little surprises, sir.”
Light softly chuckled. “That I do.” He tugged at his uniform. “Shall we?”
Day Stride pushed open the door for Light, and the duo entered without a word. Those already present halted their sporadic conversing to offer a brief, customary salute to their commanding officer. Returning the gesture, Light took a quick inventory of those present.
The light blue coat of Captain Feather Dart caught his attention first. A few years ago, Light Shine selected the unicorn stallion to serve as the Commanding Officer of the cruiser SES Barnstable—the flagship of TFCW and self-same vessel they currently sailed upon. The bags under Feather’s eyes suggested that the poor stallion likely suffered from a lack of sleep. Such is the burden of command.
Vice Admiral Delchin Ponetrovsky’s stern gaze stood ever as a reminder of the gray-coated stallion’s persistent displeasure toward being a part of Light Shine’s operation. Both of them knew that Ponetrovsky’s assignment to TFCW existed purely as an attempt by Solar High Command to placate the neighsayers within the Mareland government. Even still, his years of naval experience had proven to be somewhat useful, and thus Light tolerated his presence.
The most controversial officer present, and primary catalyst for the early morning gathering, was that of Kapitän zur See Wil Burgben. Light enjoyed the changeling’s presence, but understood that many of the ponies in the Solar Empire still harbored deep-seated animosity and suspicion toward his race. Nevertheless, the Kapitän’s extensive knowledge of lone wolf submarine behaviors had proven valuable to his operation.
The last of the senior officers present was Commander Rain Bloom, Air Group Coordinator for TFCW. The sea green colored Pegasus’ brashness frequently tested the limits of Light’s patience, but his acumen in aerial coordination and data interpretation far outweighed any misgivings.
All senior officers present and accounted for. Light Shine took his place at the head of the table; Day Stride remained by Light’s side, ready to take any necessary notes.
“Kapitän Burgben, what is so pressing that it requires a meeting this early in the morning?” He posed his query at the changeling, despite reasonably assuming with little doubt that his report entirely dealt with Leviathan. A subtle eye roll from Ponetrovsky briefly caught his attention, but Light promptly dismissed the annoyance from his mind.
The changeling cleared his throat and stepped toward the table. “Well, mein Admiral, after receiving Goadway’s transmitted report, I reviewed her sonar logs and photo reconnaissance to compare against all other data collected from previous confirmed and false sightings of what we believe is the Leviathan.” He set a small stack of documents on top of the conference table’s strewn maps. A smile gripped Burgben’s muzzle, awkwardly riding the line between excitement and anxiety as he nudged the stack in Light’s direction.
Light Shine reached for the stack and skimmed through the documents. Collectively, he assumed the series of numbers, visual representations of returned sonar pings, and graphs of other data contained on the pages meant something grand. He looked back to Burgben for further explanation.
The changeling excitedly nodded his head, proudly smiling.
”Yes,” Light offered, “It is all certainly… interesting.”
Burgben tossed a set of two photographs onto the table. “And these! One is from a confirmed sighting two years ago, the other from Goadway’s photo recon! Look!”
Light Shine exchanged the documents for the photographs and compared the two. Both clearly showed a pair of large, rounded bulbs flanked either side of the submarine’s conning tower—one fore and one aft. They alone easily identified the submersible shown in both photographs as the one and only submarine they intentionally shadowed for a decade.
“Identical, ja?” Burgben eagerly commented, his smile shifting more toward excitement.
Naturally. There is only one submersible left for us to hunt now. “Yes, indeed,” Light responded in the affirmative.
“We have the real Leviathan in our sights again, mein Herr!” Burgben tapped near a drawn “X” on the topmost map on the table. Displaying a section of sea and ocean between southern Wingbardy and the Feathered Isles, several similar X’s were scrawled across the region represented, each with a date marking next to them, indicating submarine sightings. The mark that Burgben called to attention was located approximately two hundred nautical miles north northwest of the Feathered Isles, and roughly one hundred nautical miles south of TFCW’s current position. “This is our best opportunity at capturing it!” Burgben’s statement carried a hint of pleading woven within it.
Ponetrovsky scoffed and stepped forward, staring coldly at Light Shine. “Not to pour rain on the bug’s parade, but we’ve been closer to the Leviathan before. Many times. Why bother now?”
Light remained unfazed. The fussy Marelander constantly took issue with Light’s operational conduct regarding the task force. Of course, he also knows nothing of my true target in all this. Nor will he. He maintained his attention on Burgben. Continue the charade for now. “Kapitän, you know we avoid direct interaction with that submarine. Why, then, should we go after Leviathan this time?”
Burgben cleared his throat. “Well… she has been the only submarine detected in the past year of operation, for one,” he sheepishly admitted, before rushing on. “Which is confirmed by official Solar military sources! A year ago and beyond, many professed sightings of the Leviathan were dismissed as false—sea monsters or our own training exercises. No such dismissal has been made in the past year!”
The changeling excitedly gestured at the map. “And if you note the path of the Leviathan over the past few weeks,” a series of X’s on the map formed a rough arc from the southern coast of Solar Mareland down to the last position of the Goadway, “you will notice that they appear to be finishing an attack run. All our data collected from years of sightings suggests that the Leviathan operates for approximately one and a half months, performs around eight to ten attacks, then disappears for a month or so.” He tapped on the X representing the last attack. “With the attack on the Goadway a half hour ago, that brings the Leviathan’s total attacks to nine, and her operational time from the first attack to one month, eleven days.”
“Okay, assuming this is our sub,” Feather Dart interjected, his brow furrowed, “how do you know that they won’t attack a tenth time? You did say they attack eight to ten times in a run.”
“A fair question, mein kamerad!” The changeling’s voice beamed in excitement and pride as he continued to build momentum. “My team and I have made the following observations:” Burgben shifted the table maps to bring a map of the Celestial and Mediolano Seas to the forefront. “The average distance of the Leviathan’s typical attack run is approximately 9,000 nautical miles; this comes from observations of fifty-two of said attack runs.” He gestured to a number of red arrows that extended across the Mediolano Sea, each originating from marks scrawled over various foreign ports located on the southern coast of Griffonia. “As for where the Leviathan calls home, we know with reasonable certainty that it must be in this region, given the submarine’s operational range.”
Light brought his knees to rest up onto the table, forming a ponderous arch in front of his muzzle. “True, true, Kapitän, but how does this factor into the possibility of another strike? Or, rather, the lack thereof?”
“Ah, simple, mein Admiral.” Burgben held his head high. “With the attack on the Goadway, we can reasonably assume the Leviathan has traveled approximately 8700 nautical miles. We also know much regarding how the Leviathan conducts its attacks. Based on the average ammunition expended in each recorded attack—and accounting for the extra expenditures from one of the strikes on this run—and assuming she maintains a minimum torpedo compliment in reserve for self-defense, and knowing what a submarine of her type typically carries as a torpedo complement, we determined that Leviathan is down to just her reserves. Combining her presumed ammunition reserves and travel distance, we can say with near certainty that she intends to return to port!” He inhaled a deep breath, satisfied with his argument, and beamed a pleased smile.
“This is why you called a meeting?” Ponetrovsky’s irritation cut through the air. “You know we’re not going to do anything about it! We never have.” The Marelander shot a look of contempt at Light Shine. “And we never will.”
Rain Bloom stepped up. “While I don’t share the vice admiral’s… feelings—” the pegasus gave Ponetrovsky a sideways glance before shifting his attention at Burgben, “—I hate t’say that I agree. We’ve found the fish before, but ne’er caught it. So why the meetin’?”
Burgben’s head whipped back and forth between Ponetrovsky and Rain Bloom before locking eyes with Light Shine. “Herr Admiral, please,” his voice desperate, “I have reason to believe the Leviathan may be the sole remaining Lunar submarine left in operation, if there were even any others to begin with. Sightings of it have diminished, and if the Leviathan disappears, it would be a major blow to both the morale of this crew and to the image of the Solar Empire! If not now… when?”
There was a momentary pause as the officers fell silent, expectantly waiting for a response from the admiral, who merely stared at the cacophony of maps and documents strewn across the table. He could feel the scroll in his jacket burn brightly, as if to encourage him to action with its warm embrace. Yes. Today, most certainly, needed to be the day.
”Mein hengste,” Burgben started hesitantly, “if—”
Light held up a hoof to signal Burgben to stop. He tugged at his uniform, straightening it as he stood up, and locked eyes with the changeling. “With the information presented, and based on your best models, are you certain we can catch Leviathan if we act now?”
The other officers in the room exchanged dumbfounded glances. Ten years of operation, several crew rotations, dozens of sightings of Leviathan, countless hours of drills, hundreds of pages of data—never once had Light ever hinted at any action beyond shadowing the submarine in an endless game of cat and mouse. Except, the cat never caught its prey, nor dared try. No pony honestly expected Light Shine to actually give any meaningful order to try and confront the notorious sub.
“Well?” Light queried again.
Burgben snapped to, and tore through his notes with anxious haste. “I, uh…” He scanned document after document, his mind slowly accepting that this was real, and not just another drill. “Ja.” He set his mess of notes down and nodded eagerly. “Ja, mein Admiral! Of course we can!”
A steward entered the room pushing a meal cart that carried a covered platter, silverware, and steaming mug.
Light Shine smiled. “Excellent,” he stated, both in acknowledgment of Kapitän Burgben’s affirmation and to the delivery of his breakfast. He sat back down in his chair and nodded. “Then consider the order given to begin Operation Sea Storm.” The platter and second mug of cocoa were placed before him as the steward lifted the cover to reveal a hot meal of fluffy biscuits topped with scrambled eggs, all smothered with country gravy. Light began to cut into it before stopping to look up at his officers. They each stood motionless in disbelief, wondering if they had heard their commander correctly.
This is what I get for holding back for so long. “Honestly, gentleponies.” He looked over at Day Stride and gave a slight nod.
The mare wasted no time. “You heard the Admiral! Operation Sea Storm is a go!” She bellowed, “This is not a drill! Action Stations!”
Despite each woefully outranking the feisty mare by several margins, Ponetrovsky, Feather Dart, Burgben, and Rain Bloom knew all too well that when Day Stride barked orders as she did now, it was as if the Admiral himself gave it. A mix of “ayes” echoed in response. Feather Dart promptly dashed out the room to resume commanding Barnstable and to prepare the ship for full speed and action stations.
Ponetrovsky glared at Light with disbelief and suspicion before leaving for the ship’s command center at an unhurried pace. Light Shine simply ignored the stallion.
“Kapitän Burgben,” Light Shine called the changeling’s attention upon finishing a bite of breakfast. Burgben halted collecting his papers, perking up to give his attention to the admiral. “After giving Commander Rain Bloom the information he needs to coordinate the launch of the air group, would you please work with Lieutenant Day Stride to gather all information you have on Leviathan into a brief for my review?”
“Jawohl, mein Admiral!” Burgben briskly saluted, and returned to gathering his papers. Day Stride took up position next to the changeling, notepad and pen levitated within the wispy glow of her magic, and patiently waited.
“Admiral!”
Commander Rain Bloom’s boisterous salutation interrupted Light Shine’s next bite. “Still feelin’ up to ridin’ with the air wing?”
“Certainly. Once I finish breakfast, mind you.” Light gave a warm smile, and partook his next bite.
“Right-o!” The pegasus gave the admiral a pat on the back. “See ya ‘board Aurora in an hour!” He departed the War Room, following Burgben and Day Stride as they exited.
Light Shine swallowed and reached for his mug, blankly staring across the room as his mind wandered again. May this truly be the final act, Leviathan. I am ready for the journey to be over now.
The sound of aircraft engines roared across the flight deck as the light carrier SES Aurora briskly sailed into a headwind. She fell behind the main group of the task force, though intentionally so—the carrier needed to sail into the headwind at maximum speed to generate extra lift to properly launch her heavy aircraft. Unfortunately, the direction of said headwind blew many degrees west of TFCW’s heading—the latter racing off at flank speed to catch Leviathan. Nevertheless, the carrier did not need to keep up with TFCW in order to be useful—her tools and weaponry took the form of aircraft, which allowed her to strike farther than any gun or depth charge ever could. Even still, she would work to catch up with the rest of the task force once her air wing had launched, loyally escorted by SES Golden Ray, one of the five task force destroyers.
Light Shine and Rain Bloom made their way across the flight deck toward the final aircraft awaiting launch. The rest of the air wing—three Buckingham TF7 long range medium bombers equipped for anti-submarine warfare—were loitering high above the carrier, having taken off from the flight deck a few minutes earlier.
“We should be to the Leviathan’s rough location in about twenty minutes!” Commander Rain Bloom shouted above the wind and engine roar. “I know y’aren’t worried ‘bout it, but the wing’s got plenty of fuel and munitions to engage for ‘bout an hour after that before needin’ t’head back!”
Light Shine nodded in acknowledgement and boarded the airplane, with Rain Bloom following shortly behind him.
“If all goes well, the fleet’ll be a half hour out from engagement once we call it quits and get back to Aurora!” Rain Bloom offered a half-salute, half-wave. “Here’s to our success!” The pegasus clambered past and took his station at the radio and radar position and wasted no time radioing confirmation and instruction to the rest of the air wing.
The outer door to the aircraft closed, helping to muffle the ruckus of the craft’s engine. Light climbed into his own personal seat situated over a ventral observation dome, fastened his safety belts, and donned a flight helmet and headset. His aircraft, a Cloudbreak GR Mk I large reconnaissance plane nicknamed “Peeping Cloud”, was an older style turbo-prop plane (as Light Shine found the slower, more fuel-efficient propeller engines more suited to longer flight times than the more modern jet engines). Despite its deceptively outdated appearance, it carried an innovative and semi-experimental magical air radar that could better “see” through cloud cover compared to more conventional, non-magical designs. The final set of equipment carried aboard were a dozen radio-controlled remote sonar buoys which could be parachuted down to the ocean surface from high altitudes.
Light Shine braced as Peeping Cloud raced off the flight deck and took to the skies. Once airborne, he watched through the ventral observation dome as they zoomed above and past the rest of TFCW, the ships clipping through the calm seas at relatively high speeds themselves. His flagship, Barnstable, naturally led the small flotilla at the head of its wedge formation. Following behind her, four destroyers of the task force kept pace and formed a wedge with Barnstable, fanning out to allow for maximum visual coverage. Taking up the center rear of the formation were the two auxiliary ships of TFCW: a supply and equipment ship and SES Copper Cog, a unique submarine tender-carrier.
The flotilla of ships soon disappeared below as Peeping Cloud both ascended above the cloud layer and past the much slower ships. The flight to Leviathan’s estimated position was uneventful, as Light had expected. This wasn’t war. The Solar Empire had both maintained peace back home and avoided international conflict for nearly fifteen years.
The next several minutes passed without incident, with Peeping Cloud pulling ahead of the Buckinghams per operational procedure. Its specialized detection equipment dictated that it scout ahead of the air wing; as such, the medium bombers thus held back to let it pass.
As Peeping Cloud raced ever closer to their target, Light felt an anxious knot turn in his stomach. He wasn’t a pacifist by any sense of the word, but neither was he bloodthirsty. Great care taken over the past decade ensured that all offensive measures committed by his task force were as non-lethal as possible. The intention was to capture, not execute. Enough Equestrian blood had been spilt in the wars for dominance and unification. Enough lives were lost defeating the Nightmare one final time.
Light Shine let out a tired sigh. And I pray you were not one of them, my friend. A crackle in his headset interrupted his reflections.
“Admiral, we’ve got visual,” the voice of Rain Bloom came through the headset. “You should be able to see it through breaks in the clouds at… two klicks, port, twenty degrees.”
“Acknowledged, thank you,” Light replied, snatching a pair of binoculars resting beneath his seat. Bringing them to his eyes, he scanned the ocean below as much as the intermittent cloud cover would allow. There, through the gaps, a black splotch in the distance caught his attention—the conning tower of a submarine cutting through the ocean. As Peeping Cloud continued to close the distance, the odd bulbous protrusions situated on either side of the conning tower became increasingly more visible. Until now, he had forbidden any recon aircraft from flying this close to the submarine, and none had captured accurate visual confirmation of the purpose of those bulbous protrusions. Still, even as he now saw them more clearly, their purpose did not readily make itself known.
As practiced in many drills before, the Buckinghams—affectionately referred to as “Bucks” by their crews—swooped in a wide arc outside the sub’s visual range to approach from the southeast; directly opposite of TFCW’s course and heading. They then descended below the cloud layer in a deliberate move to make their presence known to the submarine. Like clockwork, it altered course in a direction reciprocal to that of the original approach of the Bucks.
Standard procedure, Light mused, even for you. Maintaining sight with his binoculars to the best of his ability, he could barely make out movement of several figures atop the submarine’s deck and hull. What he assumed were crewponies appeared to be rushing into the two bulbs. As the Bucks maneuvered around their prey for another pass, a pair of small turrets situated atop the submarine conning tower opened fire with what Light gathered were the light anti-air autocannons mentioned in Burgben’s report.
They had prepared for such an event, naturally. They expected the submarine to be equipped with light anti-air defenses. He cast his augmented gaze at one of the Bucks as it went in for another dive. As expected, the blue shimmer of a magical shield appeared before the nose of the plane, cast by the unicorn passenger aboard it. Light had ensured that his task force procured at least a half-dozen unicorns specialized in shield casting to act as an additional buffer against any lighter caliber anti-air fire.
A flash from the submarine followed by a distant dull whump interrupted Light Shine’s mental review of the situation. He looked over at the Bucks once again.
”Admiral!” Rain Bloom’s voice came in over the headset again, “The Leviathan’s got bigger teeth than expected!”
Light returned his attention to the submarine. The protrusions looked far less bulbous now, having turned to face the oncoming Bucks, each with a pair of protruding barrels angrily pointed at the offending aircraft. Turrets? You added multi-purpose gun turrets? Another flash bloomed from one of the turrets, followed by the whumping of another flack explosion near one of the Bucks. He let out a huff, impressed at the turn of events. “You sly devil, always a trick up your sleeve.” Light quietly said to himself, smiling. “I should have known.”
“Permission to shoot?” Rain Bloom asked over comms.
As much as he desperately wished to not risk fatally damaging the submarine, Leviathan clearly gave him little choice. “Granted. The Buckinghams may engage,” Light responded.
“All Bucks! Weapons free! I repeat, weapons free!” The Commander gleefully ordered. “Remember, superficial! Superficial! Shoot to scare! Shoot to scare!”
The Bucks alternated strafing the poor submarine with their own autocannon fire, each spraying a path parallel to the vessel. Thankfully, the scare tactic appeared to work, as ponies fled the large turrets and disappeared back into the sub’s conning tower. Within moments, it descended, retreating beneath the water’s surface.
“Admiral, Buck 2 reports a casualty and minor damage,” Rain Bloom reported.
“Do they need to return to Aurora?” Light queried. “Status of the casualty?”
Rain Bloom pressed a hoof to his headset and relayed the questions. As the response came through, he nodded. “Pony’s dead, sir. Buck 2 says damage is superficial and will stay with the group.”
“Acknowledged.”
Peeping Cloud dove down to take up a low path mere feet above the ocean’s surface, and ejected one of its sonar buoys ahead of the assumed path of the submarine, as per the established plan. As the buoy actively pinged the submerged vessel, Rain Bloom recorded its path.
“The Leviathan’s definitely tryin' to escape below the thermocline layer,” Rain Bloom reported, “They’ve changed course too; heading… southwest.”
Light Shine raised an eyebrow. Changing his heading made sense, but southwest? That would take them in the opposite direction of his presumed base of operations, unless…
“He—“ Light caught himself, sputtering a cough to cover his slip, “They likely intend to throw us off their trail. Inform the Buckinghams to commence dropping their cracker charges. Inform our pilot to prepare to drop a Conjoined Twin sonar buoy.”
“Aye!” Rain Bloom acknowledged, passing the order onto the Bucks. Peeping Cloud arced around for another pass, and dropped the Conjoined Twin dead ahead of the sub’s new heading. The dual buoy configuration sank beneath the surface, the first of the joined buoys coming to rest several meters above the thermocline layer as its twin continued to drift to its resting point several dozen meters below the aforementioned layer. Following shortly behind, each of the Bucks rotated dropping a cracker charge at thirty second intervals. As each charge detonated deep under water, the resulting shockwave from their explosion would bounce off the submarine’s hull and return valuable sonar pings for the buoy to pick up.
As the minutes passed, Rain Bloom called out the path of the submarine. There was nothing more for Light to do but wait.
“That last one was weak,” Rain Bloom observed some time later. “Admiral, I think she’s changed course on us. Ordering the Bucks to execute a ‘T’ drop.”
Light reached into his coat and popped open his pocket watch. Nearly thirty minutes had passed since the first cracker drop. He hummed ponderously. That Leviathan had held his course for this long surprised him. He returned his watch to its resting place, and pulled his binoculars to his eyes once again and observed the Bucks perform their “T” drop.
The three bombers arrayed themselves in a forward wedge formation approximately five hundred meters apart. The first Buck dropped its cracker above the last reported position of the submarine, and the right and left Bucks dropped their crackers each roughly ninety degrees to the left and right of the first cracker—all in hopes of determining whether the submarine had changed course or simply stopped.
“She’s stopped,” Rain Bloom answered the unspoken question.
“Inform the Buckinghams to switch to concussive charges and maintain their standard drop intervals,” Light ordered.
The pegasus relayed the command, and the Bucks pelted the sub with their payloads.
A few minutes later, Rain Bloom’s voice cut through the comms again. “Sir, she’s rising!”
“Get the Buckinghams to higher elevations,” Light returned. “Order them to ready vectors for strafing.”
A moment later, the submarine burst to the surface, her smaller anti-air turrets opening fire as soon as the vessel leveled out. Once again, two groups of submariner ponies rushed out from the conning tower’s hatch to operate the two dual-purpose gun batteries.
“Commence strafes! Weapons free! Weapons free!” Rain Bloom ordered.
“Tell them they have permission to direct fire upon the two large turrets. Shoot to disable.” Light Shine was not about to lose another member of his crew to their return fire, and disabling the turrets would remove one more weapon Leviathan could use against his ships when they arrived. Rain Bloom acknowledged and passed the order along.
The Bucks crisscrossed over the submarine, blanketing both turrets with gunfire. Several hits impacted the turret housing, punching through their lightly armored structure. Again, the crews of those turrets could be seen fleeing back toward the conning tower, though fewer in number. Light Shine peered over the sub, and noticed an oddity with one of its dive planes near the bow. It was deformed and locked into an upward position.
Is that why you surfaced? Light pondered. Are you unable to control your descent now? He smirked. What a lucky hit. Let us ensure you cannot dive again, either. “Commander, tell the Buckinghams that they have permission to damage the conning tower, but only enough to prevent it from diving. Do not destroy it.”
“Fine. At least it’s somethin’.” The disappointment in Rain Bloom’s voice was unmistakable.
Again, the Bucks lined up for another strafing run. Fire from the sub’s small anti-air guns raked the sky, impacting against the shields of each plane. Returning fire from the Bucks pelted the conning tower, blasting holes into its superstructure.
Light observed flames bursting out from an engine of one of the Bucks.
“Buck 3’s taken a serious hit!” Rain Bloom reported. “It’s critical, Admiral—they’ll need t' disengage!”
“Will they be able to make it back to Aurora?” Light asked.
A pause. “They said they’d try, but no promises!”
“Radio the destroyer Jubilee Sun to prepare for rescue operations, and to maintain radio contact with Buckingham 3 until she either lands safely aboard Aurora or ditches into the water.” Light looked back down at the submarine below. “And tell Buckinghams 1 and 2 to disengage and return. Peeping Cloud shall remain to continue tracking Leviathan.”
“Aye.”
The damage to the superstructure of the submarine was extensive, but not critical. At least, it appeared as such to Light’s eye. Peeping Cloud once again ascended above the cloud layer, and his vision of the sub became intermittently obscured again.
No more playing cat and mouse, my good sir. Light Shine relaxed back into his chair. I let you roam free long enough.
Light disembarked the small helicopter that had carried him from Aurora back to his flagship. Day Stride stood waiting for his return near the helipad, notepad dutifully levitated at her side, undoubtedly ready to brief the admiral with any relevant updates during his absence aboard Peeping Cloud.
“Sir!” The lieutenant shouted above the roar of the helicopter’s motor as she reviewed her report, “Jubilee Sun reports a successful rescue of all downed crew of Buck 3! Both Dragonflies report that Leviathan has resumed a northeast course again, remaining above the surface!”
Light acknowledged the report with a nod. He recalled catching a glimpse of the two Dragonfly helicopters heading toward the submarine when he had passed them by while enroute back to Aurora aboard the Peeping Cloud. He swiftly left the helipad with Day Stride, and the two made their way to the bridge. “What is our time to intercept the submarine?” He asked.
“Just under ten minutes,” Day Stride responded, “and we should be in visual range in less than five.”
“Good.”
The duo reached the bridge in a timely manner, entering with little fanfare beyond the standard acknowledgement of the presence of a flag officer. “Captain Feather Dart,” Light Shine addressed as he approached the ship’s commander, “Anything of note to report?”
Feather Dart offered a quick salute. “Crew’s excited, sir! Spirits are high—we’re all eager to bring this all to an end. Oh, and Copper Cog recently reported that she is ready for any and all scenarios regarding the sub’s capture.”
Light nodded. If desired, the submarine tender could—with practiced care and plenty of time—bring a submarine into its internal dry dock for transport and repair. Or capture, for that matter. He moved over to the comms station, and spoke with the attending crewpony. “Please inform Kapitän Burgben and Admiral Ponetrovsky that I request their presence on the bridge.” The crewpony acknowledged the request and called down to the command center with the request.
Light approached the fore of the bridge and looked out the windows to the ocean before him. Pulling out his pocket watch and popping it open, he took note of the time—0706 hours—before staring at the small photo of his friend, and letting out a tired sigh. Nearly thirty years. Thirty years too long. The sound of hoofsteps entering the bridge behind him and a crewpony calling out the visual acquisition of their prey brought Light back to the present. He snapped his pocket watch shut and stowed it. Perfect timing. He leaned over toward Day Stride. “Fetch me a pair of binoculars, if you would,” he asked in a low tone. The unicorn nodded, and left to acquire a pair from a locker.
“Gentlecreatures!” Light Shine turned to welcome Ponetrovsky and Burgben and gestured out the bridge window, “Our first victory. Ten years of patience and planning. Ten years of waiting. Now we finally can…” Come together once again and make amends. “...rejoice in the fruits of our labors.”
“Ja, mein Admiral!” Burgben said excitedly, a wide grin on his muzzle. “I, for one, am eager to study the Leviathan and learn her secrets!”
“Yes,” Ponetrovsky interjected sarcastically, his expression one of clear dissatisfaction. “Ten years milling around when we had the power to end this when it all started. Yes indeed, what a glorious victory.”
Light Shine held a neutral face as Burgben scoffed. “Ha! Mein Herr, you know as well as I that we allowed the Leviathan to escape precisely so we could gather more intel on its operations, ports of call, its—”
“Yes, I’m aware, Kapitän,” Ponetrovsky cut in, “But ten years?” His gaze now fixated on Light Shine. “How many pony lives were lost? How much money was burned on this pet project? This is more than simply gathering intel!” He let out a laugh. “And you!” He motioned a hoof at Burgben. “He kept you in the dark! Marelander intelligence is aware that this was more than just one measly sub! Our own task forces have apprehended and sank two! And we know that the Solar Navy has apprehended and sank others! Why then, Admiral, has the best anti-submarine task force that this world has ever seen been wasted on shadowing what was effectively a ghost until now? What game are you playing? Why sacrifice hundreds of lives to attacks you could have stopped a decade ago!”
Silence gripped the bridge at the brazen display of nigh insubordination. Light Shine glanced at Day Stride, who now stood behind Ponetrovsky with levitated binoculars, her face red with silent rage. The scroll once again seemed to burn with comforting warmth within his jacket. Light reached into his jacket and calmly withdrew it, holding it out for all to see the seal emblazoned upon it.
“You may recognize this seal,” Light Shine began, “It is that of the Empress’ own personal insignia.”
Ponetrovsky gagged in shock. “What in—.”
Light continued, undaunted. “Upon this scroll is inscribed a special decree from Her Imperial Majesty; one that this entire operation is founded upon.” He placed it back into his jacket. “There is but one reason why Solar and Marelander navies were so fortunate to find and remove those submarines, Admiral.” He shifted his view to Burgben. “My sincerest apologies, Herr Kapitän. Secrecy needed to be maintained on the highest level. Yet thanks to your tireless work and that of the hundreds of other ponies and creatures of this task force, our feigned inability to catch Leviathan encouraged brash action from leftover Lunar remnants: to take to the seas, seeking a fool’s glory as lone wolves beneath the waves. Leviathan inspired them all to act merely by existing; by being the first and most successful. Our apparent inaction over the past decade led to the capture or defeat of all remnant Lunarist submarines.”
“But the lives lost!” Ponetrovsky interjected, his tone striding a thin line between wroth and befuddlement. “Dozens of Solar and Marelander vessels sunk! What about them?”
“Yes… all with falsified crew manifests.” Light stated, a hint of satisfaction in his voice. “After we observed with certainty that Leviathan and the other Lunarists only ever attacked military assets, I worked with High Command to commission hundreds of remotely controlled dummy ships to act as decoys.”
Burgben’s eyes widened. “Mein Herr! You mean that all of… everything about this was an elaborate ruse? Even the propaganda about ‘false’ Leviathan sightings? That was fabricated?”
Light Shine nodded. “Of course. All of it carefully crafted to lure and catch the remaining Lunarist remnants. Allowing Leviathan to continue to operate meant keeping the remnants active—inspiring them to continue falling into our traps.”
“So why catch Leviathan now?” Ponetrovsky postulated, his words laced with elevated suspicion.
Light Shine turned to face out the bridge window again. His exchange with Ponetrovsky had consumed so much time that he no longer had need of any binoculars—they had finally caught up with the submarine. The destroyers of the task force moved ahead and now flanked the vessel, which had come to a stop, as if resigning itself to the inevitable capture. The two Dragonfly copters hovered above, standing watch.
“Because Burgben’s assessment was correct. There are no more submarines left to capture. Because Leviathan is…” Light paused, concentrating his attention on the submarine. Was it…?
“Admiral!” The comms crewpony at the back of the bridge spoke up, “Pardon the interruption, but the Dragonflies are reporting that the Leviathan is listing to starboard!”
“What!?” Light Shine exclaimed. He wouldn’t. “No!” He turned to face the comms pony. That madpony was scuttling his ship. “Tell Copper Cog to move in to commence capture and rescue operations now!” He next focused on Feather Dart. “Captain, get launch crews on station and prepare life rafts! We are not going to lose that submarine!”
Orders were swiftly relayed, and within moments the submarine tender surged ahead, pushing past the foundering submarine, releasing a pair of its own midget subs as it passed. As Copper Cog positioned itself forward of the submarine, the tender began submerging its exposed aft section below the waterline. Large boom cranes situated toward the rear of Copper Cog readied an elaborate net. The midget subs raced to either side of the larger submarine, jockeying their own positions to connect with the net.
Two of Barnstable’s motor launches, each with a large inflatable raft in tow, rocketed across the water to aid in saving any of the submarine crew that elected to escape—of which there were a number now climbing out of the wrecked conning tower.
Light Shine anxiously observed the scene unfold before him. They were so close. He was so close. Light refused to let decades of patient waiting and planning be for nought. It was imperative that they save Leviathan.
Those ponies from the submarine that had exited the vessel were now swimming toward the life rafts. The midget subs were coordinating with Copper Cog as the large net with interwoven tubing and canisters was lowered, then guided under the slowly sinking submarine. Once in place, the canisters and tubing would be pumped with compressed air. Two large cylindrical drums were rolled off the tender’s sides and guided to the port and starboard of the submarine. Long hoses connected the drums back to Copper Cog to also be pumped with more compressed air as needed, once attached to the net.
The procedure was a delicate one with little room for error. Gratefully, the submarine appeared to be sinking slower than expected.
As the net and drums neared their positions, more crewponies emerged from the submarine. Light Shine squinted to try and better make out coat colors and cutie marks of those that looked like officers. Binoculars would help. Silly me. Ah well. One of the presumed officers had a dark blue coat and silver mane. His heart leaped with hope. Thank the Sun above! May it be so!
“Sir!” The voice of the comms crewpony called out again, “Copper Cog reports that they’ve stabilized the Leviathan and have begun the process to haul her aboard.”
Light breathed a sigh of relief. “Good news, crewpony. Good news.” He turned to face Feather Dart. “Captain?”
“Yes sir?” The stallion replied.
Light Shine tugged at his jacket. “Once the crew of that submarine has been evacuated and brought aboard, have them lined up on the helipad, if you would.”
Feather Dart gave a nod. “Yes sir.”
Admiral Light Shine exited the main superstructure of Barnstable onto her aft deck with Lieutenant Day Stride, Kapitän zur See Wil Burgben, Vice Admiral Delchin Ponetrovsky, and Captain Feather Dart following close behind. A cool, moist breeze wove around them bringing hope with the refreshing ocean air. Above them, Daybreaker’s Sun basked all present with its warm embrace, shining gently upon the ponies and creatures below. The water beneath them calmly stretched out into the horizon, quietly lapping ever so subtly against the hull of the ship. It is a good day today. All will be well.
Before the quartet of officers, the stoic submariner ponies arrayed themselves into two separate lines. Despite their stony expressions, Light understood the subtle signs of hatred and weariness in their eyes. Flanking either side of the submarine crew stood two lines of his own crew—armed crewponies, all glaring at the submariner ponies betwixt them. He saw it in their eyes, too—hatred, though mixed with pride, not weariness.
A pang of sorrow struck him as he took the scene in its entirety. These were ponies who never fought in the War of the Two Sisters. Who never knew Celestia and Luna. Ponies raised on stories, fed dogmatic lies, taught to hate—drilled, dieted, and bred for war.
Light Shine simply nodded to those with him and stepped forward to inspect the captives. Day Stride and the others remained in their positions to allow the admiral his time alone with the submarine crew. Ponetrovsky furrowed his brow in displeasure at the unspoken order, but reluctantly obeyed.
Ponies of every background and race filled the ranks of the captives. As Light slowly strode past each, he was struck at how they really were no different from those ponies under his own command. Well, save the thestrals, of course. So easily these poor ponies could instead be trapped below the waves, aboard a floundering submarine. Or killed by more gunfire. They were lucky that the day played out as it had.
Reaching the end of the first row, Light furrowed his brow. The pony with the dark blue coat and silver mane was absent from the row. He looked ahead to the second row, and saw the pony standing near the end. Walking more swiftly, faces and muzzles blurred in his mind as he continued to glance down at the pony with ever increasing anxiety.
Then, standing before him was the pony with the dark blue coat and silver mane.
A thestral. Not an earth pony.
Light Shine’s heart sank.
A rush of emotions flashed through him—fear of years potentially wasted, anger at his own overconfidence and hesitancy, and denial at the possible truth facing him—before a calmness gripped his soul and he snapped to reality. Gracefully moving back to the front of the two lines, he faced his captives.
“Where is Leviathan?” He boomed his query.
There was a silence that followed—one of confusion and resistance. Ponetrovsky and Burgben exchanged puzzled looks; wasn’t the Leviathan aboard Copper Cog? The submarine crew held their heads high, as if to protest the question.
Light pressed the query. “I know you all are aware of whom I speak! Where is Leviathan?”
A tense silence followed as the submariner crew all defiantly stared blankly ahead. Light Shine paced back and forth, allowing the question to hang in the air. Finally, a mare dressed in an officer’s uniform stepped forward, breaking the stand-off. “I am Leviathan!” she boldly proclaimed.
The senior staff of Task Force Calm Waves balked at each other in confusion, save Day Stride. “Leviathan is…” Burgben started, his mind reeling at the revelation.
“…a pony.” Ponetrovsky finished with bewildered ire. “Not a vessel.”
Light Shine spun to behold the mare who dared profes to be Leviathan. He approached the mare, locking his eyes with hers. The anxious thumping of his heart pounded at his nerves. Do not let it be this way. Do not let it mean what I fear. It cannot.
“Captain! Escort the rest to the brig,” Light Shine ordered without breaking eye contact. The submariner mare held her cold stare in return.
The captives, many of the armed crewponies, and Captain Feather Dart filed away with little fanfare, leaving the rest behind.
Again, a tense silence gripped the air for a moment. “Liar.” Light Shine’s accusation cut with indignant frustration.
The mare broke eye contact and spit onto the deck at Light’s hooves. “Solarist scum.”
Of course that is how she would respond. He felt righteous anger swell inside him—not at the mare herself, no, but at the world that molded her: to hate Solarists simply because they existed. It was the same hate he saw in the eyes of his own crew: to hate Lunarists simply because they exist.
“This is neither the time nor the place for petty dogmatic insults!” Light’s fury blazed with every word. “This is not about an egotistical war that left millions dead!“ The faces of so many dead friends, comrades, and innocents flashed into his mind’s eye. Pain swallowed up the fury in his heart, smothering it as fast as it had flared, leaving only deep sorrow and regret as a tear crept down his cheek. “If you had any inclination of who I am or of what he meant to me… you would never falsely claim the title of Leviathan.” He fixed his gaze deeply into hers, his eyes pleading. “I… I need absolution.”
The mare stood still, unsure how to act.
Three decades. Three wars. An ideological divide wider than the Frozen North and deeper than Tartarus. “Please,” Light begged, his eyes wet with desperation. He reached for his pocket watch and opened the cover, displaying the photograph of the stallion to the submariner. “Please… where is Leviathan?”
The mare stared at the photo, then faced Light Shine again, now noting the tear streaking down his cheek. “You… you’re him, aren’t you? The only one he’d ever—”
Light Shine nodded, placing the watch away again. “Surrender to. Yes.”
The submariner closed her eyes in shame and looked away. “I—I’m sorry. I don’t know where he is. I’ve never met him. Only ever saw photos. But I know he spoke highly of you.”
Light simply stared ahead as another tear crept down his cheek. All for nought. “Your name,” he queried, barely managing a whisper.
“Commander Guided Arrow,” she replied, before looking him back in his eyes and saluting. “Sir.”
He wiped the tear from his face, grunting in a vain attempt to suppress his emotions. “Commander Arrow, may I trust you with a favor?”
Arrow balked at the question, hesitating. “Y-You would ask a Lunarist for a favor?”
Light Shine sighed and gave a warm smile. A traitorous act, some would certainly claim. But reconciliation needs a beginning. “You are a pony, just as I am. One who may yet offer me one last hope for absolution.”
“What do you want me to do?” The mare quizzically asked.
“Upon our return to port in Sunset, I will arrange for your release on one condition.”
“Which is?”
“Deliver personal correspondence to Leviathan.”
Arrow’s face subtly twitched in response. “I—I don’t know if he even—“
“Try,” Light softly cut her off. “Please. Just… try.” Deep down, he felt an instinctual understanding that no message sent would ever reach Leviathan; everything about the submariner’s demeanor and expression also suggested as such. And yet, he would never forgive himself for not at least seizing upon an opportunity to try. Even if… when it proved a vain attempt, Light at least hoped that such a display of trust in a thing as simple as delivering personal correspondence would plant a seed of healing within the Lunar remnants; proof to them that there are Solarists like himself that hold no animosity.
Arrow gave a nod. “Okay. You have my word.”
“Then my aide Day Stride will provide you with the necessary papers for your release and my personal message to deliver to Leviathan once it is written,” his voice scarcely a whisper.
The submariner captain fidgeted. “What of my crew, sir?”
“I shall see that they receive the best treatment I can afford.” The words stung as they left his mouth. He knew that the “best” that could be afforded Arrow’s crew was internment at a re-education camp. “You are dismissed.” Light signaled to the last remaining pair of armed crewponies still present. “Escort Captain Arrow to her cell.”
As the guards ushered Arrow into the ship, Light heard another set of hoofsteps approach. “Admiral, how do you know this… ‘Leviathan’ pony?”
Ponetrovsky. Light refused to grant him any acknowledgement of his question. Knowing the vice admiral as he did, the question would undoubtedly be a trap. “Dismissed, Admiral,” he ordered.
“Don’t think that you—”
“I said dismissed,” Light Shine curtly repeated.
With a flustered huff, Ponetrovsky withdrew without further argument. Burgben swiftly and silently followed suit, sensing that Light Shine clearly held no interest in any discussions.
Day Stride alone remained with the admiral, patiently and silently waiting.
Light Shine sat down upon the deck and pulled out the sealed scroll from his jacket. He silently stared at the Empress’ seal resting upon its front. His entire life had poured into the contents contained within. He risked his reputation and standing to obtain it, nearly losing his commission in the process. The Empress warned him about the danger of his request, even testing his resolve by seizing all his assets. His unshaken determination through it all proved his sincerity, and she granted him his desire—even graciously returning all that was his, with one important caveat.
With practiced care, he broke the seal, and unraveled the scroll.
There, arrayed in brilliant calligraphy at the top, lay Leviathan’s true name. Below, the words of the Empress burned brightly.
Be it known to all that I, Empress Daybreaker, Sole and Rightful Liege of Equus, Sovereign of Ponykind, She Who Raises the Sun, Goddess of Light, and Protector of the Day, do hereby grant the request of Admiral Light Shine, Loyal Servant to the Empire, to extend to you a complete and total pardon for all your sins and crimes committed against Myself, My Loyal Subjects, and the Solar Empire.
This Imperial Decree absolves you from any judgment against your past actions as an enemy participant in any and all wars or hostilities against the Empire and its allies.
Be warned, my little pony, for your fate is now in the care of your benefactor—the above named Light Shine. His life shall forever be entwined with yours. Should you betray my trust, your life as well as his shall be forfeit.
Serve your Empress and the Empire well, and both you and he shall prosper.
As it is written, so it shall be,
Empress Daybreaker
A tear dropped upon the imperial pardon, wetting the parchment and ink, followed by a second. Light Shine’s rigid posture wavered, his hold upon the scroll loosening. It fluttered in the breeze, then fell from his hooves onto the deck before being swept away by a gust of wind to a watery grave. A hollow cognizance of his greatest fear consumed what little remained of his strength.
Day Stride’s shadow appeared next to him. ”It is over,” Light Shine resigned quietly. He turned to face his loyal aide. She was the only other pony beside his wife that knew everything he had sacrificed. All of it now in vain.
“Twenty-nine years, and I still cannot forgive myself for losing him,” he said, his voice faltering. “Both of us, caught up in the passionate fervor between Light and Dark; Sun and Moon. Blind to the consequences. Only after losing him to the Night did I understand, yet refused to believe until now—”
He collapsed into a trembling embrace with Day Stride, weeping bitterly as tears of grief-stricken regret streamed down his face.
”I shall never see my friend again.”
Author's Note
This is a little late, but to any who come by in the future, I wish to give special thanks to the following for proofreading and offering suggestions to the text to improve it:  
The Great Scribbly One (https://www.fimfiction.net/user/428005/The+Great+Scribbly+One)  
Kaipony (https://www.fimfiction.net/user/9351/Kaipony)  
Deeshuur (https://www.fimfiction.net/user/725014/Deeshuur)  
Podrick Equus (https://www.fimfiction.net/user/101559/Podrick+Equus)