We can only dream about peace

by Mishael3991

Rating: teen
Tags: Profanity, Violence, Slice of Life, Equestria at War, Death, Original Character, My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, Adventure
Length: 5426

The story of a Stalliongradian stallion veteran of the Great War

This story is about the world after the Great War. More than 30 years have passed, a new generation has grown up, but not all wounds have healed on the world where friendship and harmony once reigned. This is my first story, I would be grateful for feedback in the comments.

Written for the 2024 "A long time away" EaW Writing Contest.

Published 2024-08-15 20:40:00 UTC
Last updated 2024-08-15 20:40:00 UTC

Tale of the grey stallion.

Foreword

The Great War had long since ended, the artillery cannonade had subsided, and blood no longer flowed in rivers across the cursed changeling lands. But harmony never returned to Equus. Forgotten in the face of Chrysalis, the feud between Stalliongrad and Equestria flared up again. The sons of those who had liberated Toll Tale shoulder to shoulder stood on opposite sides of the barricades, quietly and tensely waiting to see who would be the first to start the slaughter. On the other continent, the Griffon Empire proudly spread its wings and watched from the sidelines with the cunning, patience and ferocity of a predator, like a vulture waiting for an exhausted beast to take its last dying breath. Among the high tribunes, from which loud speeches sounded, were small ponies, griffons, hypogriffs, changelings, with their little lives and little fates, with their happiness and sorrow, those who move history forward without leaving their names in it. It is about such a pony, with the name Steel Dust, that this story will be told.

Chapter I.

The 687th Independent Mountain Rifle Battalion was never a model unit and was assigned to the 87th Light Mountain Rifle Corps, which existed mostly formally, for it was severely understaffed. The battalion was based near Zayatsk, in the mountains near the border with the Crystal Empire. The area was calm, cold, snowy, and completely dead.
The cold December wind was hitting the window of the military unit HQ. There was silence in the Colonel's warm and dark office, only the sound of the clock mechanism interrupted it occasionally. The office was rather poorly furnished, with only a couple of plants and a calendar on the wall, on which the current date, 10 December 1040, was marked. Opposite Dast sat a pegasus with a dull yellow coat and a faded golden mane, Colonel Cloud Wing. He was tiredly filling out lists and documents, occasionally glancing at the grey earth pony.
“Here you are, Comrade Major,” said the Colonel, handing the documents to the grey stallion, “I give you 40 days, and I want you to be on the spot on the appointed date on the dot. Your salary will remain the same, 262 roubles and 50 kopecks. I'll provide you with a chauffeur, he'll take you to Zayatsk, and from there you'll take the train yourself. Major Klykov will take over for you during your time off.” Cloud Wing switched off the desk lamp and went to the window. “Where are you going in this blizzard anyway? It's impossible to see anything, and the Hearth’s Warming can be celebrated in the unit.”

“Home, of course,” Steel Dust approached the pegasus, “where else would a soldier go? And the blizzard... I think it'll clear up soon, besides, I don't think snow is a problem for ZAZ.

“Also true, Comrade Major. I won't take any more of your time, you're free to go. The chauffeur will be waiting for you at the second entrance, at about 9 a.m. If you are not late, you will be in Zayatsk by lunchtime.” The colonel answered him briefly and confidently.

“And... and you, Comrade Colonel, will you celebrate the New Year here in the unit?” asked the earth pony.

“Where else am I supposed to celebrate it? I've been in the army my whole life since the revolution, this is my home, I have nothing else, my son was killed in 1013 at Whinnyapolis, my wife... left me. So I'm gonna stay here and you, Dust, have fun for both of us, and yes, that's an order, understood?”
“Yes, Comrade Colonel, will be fulfilled in the best way,” Steel Dust saluted and with a smile on his face shouted, “I serve the Soviet Severyana!”

The next day the earth pony was already running along the parade ground, hastily putting on his woollen jacket and cap with a cockade and emblem. The sun was lazily rising, illuminating the snow heaps, which were slowly being raked up by the soldiers, and blinding eyes. Reaching checkpoint No. 2 and passing through the inspection by the checkpoint duty officer, Dust saw the ZAZ-69 assigned to him. He ran to the front passenger door and got into the vehicle, where he was met by the driver.

“Greetings, Comrade Major. Private Maksimov, I'm your driver. Where are we going today?” the driver asked Dust with a pronounced impatience.

“To Zayatsk, to the railway station.” After these words the car started off and drove along the wooded and snow-covered road. Shaking on the bumps and tilting from the undulations of the mountain roads. The sepulchral silence was interrupted by the private's question.

“Comrade Major, may I ask you something?” he asked the Major in a youthful, inquisitive voice.

“You may.”

“After Zayatsk, where are you planning to go?”

“Home...” Dust repeated again, but in a tired voice and leaning against the door window, “I'm going home.”

“And I'm going home, Comrade Major. Zayatsk is my home town. It seems like just a small dot on the map, but there are a lot of factories here. 20 years ago there were only 200,000 inhabitants, now it's fast approaching half a million. Another 20 years and I won't recognise my small homeland. And you, where are you from?”

“I'm from Krasivsk, private, but about 15 years ago I moved to Sladkiy with my family,” Steel Dust began to speak with a sneer, “so I'm both krasiviy and sladkiy. (meaning is handsome and sweet respectively, the pun has lost its original meaning in translation.)”

Close to the 1 p.m., Dust's ZAZ entered Zayatsk, heading down the main street towards the railway station. The wheels of the car moved through the snow, sometimes losing traction on slippery parts of the road. The whole town was decorated, with garlands, decorated fir-trees in some places, the town was waiting for the holiday.

“Comrade Major, I'll drop you off over there, opposite the main entrance, near the department store, further on foot, unfortunately I can't take you any closer. Passenger trains going to Sladkiy can be counted on the hooves of one pony, so I don't think you'll get lost,” Dust started to pack his things and put on his ushanka, which he had taken off on the road, “I wish you a happy journey!”

Steel Dust got out of the car and walked towards the station. The snow was crunching under his hooves, while he was passing the other ponies, anxious to get to the ticket office as early as possible and not be late. The old wound in his right hind leg, though healed, still reminded him of itself after almost 30 years, and prevented him from running too fast. He was light in his woollen officer's jacket, with only his passport, his military ID card, a few notes and coins, and a notebook with notes and phone numbers. The sun was almost at its zenith and brightly illuminated the city streets. The chimneys of the Zayatsk Automobile Plant, which provided the whole country with machinery, could be seen in the distance. Situated in the mountains and wilderness, Zayatsk remains a stronghold of civilisation. Built before the Revolution as a mine for mining crystals and iron, located near the rivers, it became by chance the cradle of this industrial titan. After buying his ticket, the stallion sat down on a wooden bench and took out his brass pocket watch, which showed 17 minutes past one, he still had about 40 minutes to spare. The honking of cars could be heard from the street and the station building itself was filled with creatures, not just ponies but griffons and even one changeling, to whom Steel Dust looked askance and snorted.

Announcements sounded, the clatter of locomotive wheels could be heard. The earth pony went up the overpass to the platform he needed. Here he was already standing in the crowd, where a long train of green colour was slowly rolling up, which was headed by a red and dirty TEP60. The train wasn't the longest. The grey stallion sat down on his seat in the coupe, climbed on his shelf and watched as another young earth pony of pastel green colour and a white mane, wearing glasses, fogged up from the sudden change of temperature, sat next to him, it was obvious that he was a student.

“Who will you be, my young friend?” Dust began abruptly, taking the young pony by surprise, causing him to freeze for a moment, before answering uncertainly

“Kotov... David.” he answered unsurely and sat down on the seat opposite him, wiping his glasses.

“Oh, don't be afraid,” Dust chuckled, “I'm not your superior, so you can relax. My name is Steel Dust.” The grey stallion extended his hoof to his companion.

David took his hoof and started shaking it, he had a smile on his face, he was now more confident after the acquaintance.

“How far are you travelling, soldier? Or will you get off in Stalliongrad?”

“It's a long way to Sladkiy. With all the stops, it's a two-day journey. And you, student?”

“To Zvezdopadovo, so in Krasivsk we split up. By late evening we'll be in Stalliongrad.” After these words there was silence in the coupe, the train started, and both ponies moved in one direction with a small push. There was only the clatter of the wheels against the thermal gaps, the hum of conversations from other parts of the wagon, and laughter. Outside the window were suburban, one-storey brick houses, and the roads where cars rolled back and forth. Soon they were over and now there were endless snow-covered coniferous forests and fields of state farms. Wanting to amuse himself with something and unable to endure the silence any longer, David decided to ask Dust, who was already lying on his shelf, and asked him with the curiosity typical of students “You're probably an intelligent pony, versed in politics and military affairs. Do you read the newspapers?”

“Why should I read them, it's a claptrap!” exclaimed the Major. “But I do receive a brief summary of what happened. Why such a question, David?”

“Did you hear what happened in Prištinaigh? I don't think the River Federation will stand for it, the Chancellor will definitely do–”

“The River Federation is too weak to do anything to the Griffon Empire, and the Empire will probably break its claws when it gets into the little Equestria of the East. They'll shake each other's limbs, mutually apologise, and the fact that troops there mutually fired on each other and demolished a village on the border is nothing. Because this is politics, and no one will start a war because of a couple of killed mares and stallions, but the people must be kept in suspense, how else will politicians defend their cottages and mahogany offices?”

“But it's not the first time and it wasn't this bloody before.”

“So what? Griffons can only respect strength, and on their continent there is only one type of relationship, slave and master. The one who is strong is the master, and as long as you stand over them with a raised stick, they will respect you, fawn over you, and sit back, but as soon as you give up the slack, they'll get cocky and show their temper. The River Federation is an ally of Equestria and they won't last long without each other. If the Griffon Empire goes East, Equestria will break their backs from the West, and if they go West, the River Ponies will do it,” Dust coughed. “Equestria is all fluffy and kind as long as it's profitable. The Great War has already shown what happens to its enemies, or should I remind you of how Blueblood razed the Great Hives to the ground? And the River Federation is just a pawn on the board, and as we know, in chess you can sacrifice a pawn for a larger figure. Except this isn't chess and a pawn here is a couple of thousand lives and after your grand victory, you'll have to face the mothers and wives of the dead.”

“Then, comrade, who do you think is right here? The Harmonists, the Imperials, or our revolutionary comrades from Prywhen?”

“No one, not even our own. No matter how genius Comrade Lunin or Comrade Vasiliy may be, we are faced with the fact that Equestria is stronger than us in everything, and they have more and stronger allies than we do. We're cornered,” Dust grinned, but his expression quickly changed to one of sadness, “and, alas, there is nothing we can do about it. We must not go into open confrontation. Ideas should be fought for, not died for.”

“What a crazy world!” exclaimed David. “We could have been friends, kissing, hugging, running round the field, but no, we have to go straight to war, pick up a rifle and go bang, bang, bang. Why is it so?”

“Because when it comes to money, many people forget about friendship and honour. Once upon a time, the Equestrians owned the whole world, including the Griffon Empire. The first to want to screw Equestria in return were the Changelings, and as a result Chrysalis is now a statue in Canterlot Gardens, with at least six million Changelings left to rot in the ground forever, not counting civilians. And how many Equestrians died in botched meat assaults blamed on their commanders? But look at them, standing proudly on parade, all polished and medalled. Now the Griffons want to try their luck. It's the Equestrians' own fault, they let the Empire get stronger,” the Major sighed deeply and heavily. “The crazy thing about it is that neither I, nor you, nor anyone else here can influence it. If one of the Princesses orders it, the Equestrian ponies that only yesterday were living peacefully will start killing.”

“So you think there will be a war after all?” David asked, his ears slowly lowering.

“Of course, only an optimist with rose-coloured glasses would believe that everything will be fine. Obviously, they won't strike directly, as long as the Griffons have room to grow. Most likely the Empire will try to advance in Zebrica, but will probably fail there, because Harmony has 3 bastions there, Kiria, Aris and Arabia.

“Then why is Equestria so afraid of Stalliongrad? You've seen the map, how small our country is and how huge Equestria and its allies are. According to you, we're in great danger, but the radio said that in a year's time, in case of war, there would be a red proletarian banner over Canterlot Castle...” the student asked uncertainly.

“Because Princesses are afraid of social ferment. The ponies of Equestria still remember that Stalliongrad is their friend. Sure, they try their best to forget that fact. Vasiliy was wrong to compromise and give up the Changeling Workers' Republic in favour of returning the Severyanian territories. Perhaps the expectation was that the changlings wouldn't accept the occupation and would turn against Equestria. It would be a stab in the back, but I don't think S.M.I.L.E. is stupid enough not to see any movement in that direction, although the bugs are good at hiding their emotions.

“May I ask you a provocative question?”

“Shoot.”

“And are you, as a soldier, going to be involved in the war or are you just serving for perks and a pay?”

“Excuse me?” Dust asked, puzzled.

“You sound like a worrywart that the first to give up his position and go to bow to the Princesses. Of course there will be no peaceful solution, but the enemy must be met face to face, as Sinister Serov commanded, without compromise. You recognise the victory of capitalism over the workers' movement, the last Major centre of which is here in Severyana.” he said wryly.

“You... you bastard, how dare you?” Dust came up to him, grabbed him by the collar and lifted him up “I took an oath before you were even born, almost died at Sorif in 18th. When my time comes, I'll do it again, of course, what are you talking about?! I'd advise you to keep such questions to yourself before you get maimed. I'm not going to punch you in the face, but someone else will, and with great pleasure.”

“All right, all right, no more questions.”

The Major let him go, he was indeed a patriot of his country, ready to sacrifice himself for it, but he didn't want to send green, untrained soldiers to senseless slaughter. He lowered his head and looked thoughtfully at the table. With a heavy sigh he replied

“Honestly... I don't want that to happen. Now, can we cut the chatter before we both get in trouble and get in a fight?”

The rest of the journey was relatively uneventful. David buried his head in his books and made no more sound. By evening the train was approaching the city of labour glory, Stalliongrad. Even on the approach to it, among the endless industrial chimneys and the smoke coming out of them, a majestic building, the Palace of Soviets, was visible. Awe-inspiring and the majesty of the genius that created this ferroconcrete wonder. The proud and tall statue of Steel Stallion towered above the endless little streets and multi-storey houses. And then, with a jingling squeak of brakes, the carriage bogies came to a halt. Steel Dust took out his watch, it read eight o'clock in the evening. He got up quietly and left the carriage, heading for the station buffet, as he had no food with him. He returned at half-past nine, well-fed and with a gift of a couple of buns and a new issue of the magazine for his son, Arctic Spirit, which featured on its cover a large Equestrian Avro Vulcan tailless strategic bomber painted in a camouflage of sky-grey and earth-green. A few hours later, at night, the train started moving, leaving behind the snow-covered stone jungle on both sides of the railway tracks, back into the unbridled dark forests where the spruce trees spread their mossy paws to shield the snow from the day and night light. The carriage was quiet and the lights were out, but Dust wasn't about to fall into the realm of dreams. His gaze was drawn to the moon, here, on a quiet December night, without the light pollution of the cities, Faust's moon was perfectly visible. The Major savoured this moment of peace and tranquillity, something that everyone lacked in their present life. But all of this was treacherously interrupted by another train that was heading opposite, towards Stalliongrad. It was a cargo train, and the cargo it carried quickly reminded the stallion of the times in which he lived. On many platforms were military lorries, the latest T-64 series tanks, PT-76's, SPH 2S3's, and yet unknown to him anti-aircraft missile systems, with a launcher for 4 missiles and on a 6-wheeled chassis. After such a sharp return to reality, fatigue caught up with him again, and he decided to go to bed, because there were still many hours of exhausting road ahead, and then several hours of travelling on foot. In the morning Dust was already in Zlatotsvet, and by lunchtime he was in Krasivsk.

“It's time for me, soldier,” said David, who had already packed his things. “Here I'm changing trains to Zvezdopadovo.”

“Tell me, comrade student, you live in Zvezdopadovo?” asked the Major putting his feet on each other.

“No way, I'm going further, to the Republic of Nova Griffonia, to build the Guidonuovo HPP. We will build a collective happy communist future!” replied David.

“In that case, student, I wish you a happy journey and new labour feats.”

Before leaving the coupe, David turned and looked at the grey earth pony from over his shoulder

“And I'm sorry again, I don't know what came over me.” Dust nodded silently in his direction and watched David leave the carriage in silence.

Left alone, Dust looked at his hometown again, where, alas, he couldn't walk once more, for the stop wasn't long. The train started up again, leaving behind another stronghold of civilisation. White patterns of hoarfrost glistened on the glass, drawing out various figures, augmented by imagination. Among the pearly branches, Dust could see the figure of a white pony. One that reminded him of his wife, Anna. Fond memories began to warm his soul, he remembered travelling with her on the same train in 1024, returning from the Konzan Military School. They had been so into each other that day that Dust had travelled with her all the way to Sladkiy, resulting in him having to go back to Krasivsk afterwards. At 3:20 pm local time, he reached Sladkiy. Exiting the railway station, he ran through the familiar snow-covered streets of his town. Making his way through the crowd, Dust hastily managed to get into the PAZ, nearly pinching his tail with the doors. In a couple of minutes the Major was already walking through Victory Park, in the centre of which a concrete memorial had been built. Walking along the tiled road, among the large dark fir trees, in complete silence he approached the red five-pointed star in the centre of which tongues of bright flame were flickering. Around the fire were stone slabs with countless lists of those who hadn't returned home. Behind the flame was the figure of a soldier, in overcoat and helmet, holding a SVETA rifle in his hooves, above him was the red inscription “1011-1018”. In his hooves, Dust was crumpling a bouquet of red peonies, a symbol of spilled blood and valour. As he gazed at the monument, memories began to flash in the Major's mind, making his head droop and his ears flatten against his head.

Back then, in December 1018, as part of a separate 438th Rifle Regiment, his company was tasked with taking and holding the height 1056 in the marshes to cover the 5th Guards Tank Brigade forces moving towards the lake. The Chrysalis Empire had already all but fallen, Vesalipolis had been taken by the Equestrian forces, and Ditrysium was not long to go. The northern group of troops had moved on to Soryth, to Key Lake, where it was rumoured that the changlings were developing a secret weapon against the Alicorns. He had been a sergeant in those years, commanding a rifle squad. He no longer remembered everything that had happened then, it was all jumbled together. He remembered how they had received orders to hold the height until the main forces approached, how his company had been transported to the position on a number of lorries, how they had entrenched themselves. The terrain was hilly and forested, but the height his company held was particularly rocky and therefore lacked dense vegetation. Over several days of fighting, the company survived several assaults with mortar fire. The company's numbers dwindled exponentially until it almost completely lost combat effectiveness. Soon permission to withdraw was granted and then the company commander, forever imprinted in his memory, standing with a bloody bandage covering half of his disfigured face, gave the order to withdraw, leaving Dust's squad reinforced with a heavy DShK machine gun to cover the withdrawal. Five riflemen and two machine gunners held off the changelings until they were all killed. Left alone, with almost no ammunition, Dust was hit by a burst from a changeling MG12 machine gun. Pinned to a ravine, bleeding from wounds on his hind leg, he was rescued at the crucial moment by pegasi, not from the Red Army, but from the Equestrian Pegasi Division, as could be deduced from the patches on their uniforms and weapons. After these events, Dust received the Order of Courage and was sent to the hospital, where he met the Victory. Remembering what had happened before, his fellow soldiers who had stayed there, the pegasi who had saved him but were now his enemies, he wilted and slowly laid the bouquet down. After standing for another couple of minutes in silence, punctuated by the sound of the gas burner and gusts of wind, stallion finally moved on. Slowly and confidently galloping along the snow-covered narrow streets he opened the entrance door, running into the high-rise where his flat was located, he climbed the stairs actively and excitedly waving his tail. Here it was, the cherished door, upholstered in brown leather, with the number 46. The key inserted in the lock opened it quite easily, and the Major crossed the threshold. A mare of about 40, with white fur and maroon mane, came out of the kitchen.

“Well, back home, soldier boy?” she asked with a smile, leaning against the wall.

“Anna!” he exclaimed, running up to her, “It's been so long.” Dust hugged his wife tightly, rubbing his neck against her and pressing his weight a little.

Anna grabbed his sides sharply with her hooves “Why haven't I received any messages from you? I was beginning to worry, what if your Mountain Rifle unit had already been sent to the Blackrock mountains? Or do you want me to get a funeral and your beloved mare to be in grief forever?”

“Heh, and you're still as keen and attentive as ever. I didn't have a chance, the letter wouldn't have reached you in time, and I couldn't get to Zayatsk to telegraph or telephone. Well, as you can see, I'm safe and sound.” With these words he began to rub his muzzle against her nose.

“Well, in that case, if you would be so kind,” she said in a quiet and calm voice, closing her eyes snidely, “you could wipe up the puddle beneath you.”

Dust looked down and saw a puddle underneath him, made from the snow on his ushanka and jacket. He smiled embarrassedly, showing his teeth “Yeah, yeah, okay. Where's Spirit? Where's my favourite colt? He should have been home by now, if memory serves. It's been almost a year since we've seen each other.”

“Dust, you know very well that he's an aeromodeller and that his club is until 7 o'clock in the evening, and now it's only fifteen to five. So are you going to stand there like a statue or will you come in and have a cup of tea?”

“I'd love to, but even more than that, I'd love to have something to eat.”

“Be patient, Cossack, you will become an ataman! The cabbage soup is almost ready.” Anna said, returning to the kitchen, wagging her tail. Dust followed her, on the cooker he saw a large pot with orange-yellow bubbling liquid inside, with cabbage and potatoes in it, probably the added tomatoes or tomato paste gave such colour to the liquid. Anna stood and stirred the contents. “What, are you watching your subordinate, Comrade Major?” she asked flirtatiously.
“That's right, Comrade Junior Lieutenant, the senior is simply obliged to keep an eye on the junior and give out his valuable instructions to ensure that everything is at its best.”

She said to him with a chuckle “This isn't an army, Dust. You'd better get some sleep, you must be tired from the journey.”
Dust left the kitchen and headed for his son's room, which was a little further down the corridor from the kitchen. It was clean and tidy, almost completely empty. A money tree grew on the windowsill in a large white pot. Green curtains hung on the sides, and a made-up bed stood to the right. A wooden engineless glider hung on the wall, next to it, above the desk, hung a portrait of Vasiliy Wheatin. On the bookshelf, among many literary books mixed with Marxist literature, stood a metal model of a twin-engine An-24. Looking round the room, Dust was extremely pleased. He left on the table his present in the form of a technical magazine bought in Zayatsk. After that the stallion lay down on the sofa in the hall, his eyelids growing heavy, his bulky body reflected in the black screen of the TV “Record”. Eventually his thoughts and memories of the day calmed down and soon he fell asleep. He woke up feeling the warm breath on his face, opening his eyes he saw the silver face of Spirit, his 13 year old son. When he saw that he had woken his father a smile appeared on the foal's face.

“Dinner's ready, Mum said to wake you up.”

With a yawn, Dust sat down on the couch, patting his son “Did you miss me, Spirit?”

“How could I not? Of course I was expecting you to come for New Year.”

“Did you see what I brought you, what I left on your desk?”

“Of course! Thank you, Dad, it takes a long time to get one of these and it's hard to find one anywhere.” He replied happily, his tail wagging frantically.

“Let's go before Mum starts swearing.” Dust said, getting up and leading his son behind him.

The whole family was gathered, Anna and Spirit had already started their meal while Steel Dust was tuning the radio to the Petershoof Radio frequency. As soon as the white noise faded into intelligible words, the voice of an announcer came from the speaker
“...In these threatening and difficult days for the world proletariat, the heroic people of Severyana firmly declare: We will not abandon the burgeoning flame of the Changeling Proletarian Revolution. We will not leave our comrades alone in the face of world imperialism and the military! Supporting the statement of Comrade Wheatin, who has issued a serious warning to the arrogant Equestrian Princesses, we calmly say: Keep your hooves away from the United Hives! Down with the humiliating terms of the Vesalipolis Peace Treaty, which drove the already exsanguinated changelings to armed rebellion under red banners!”

Dust tried to take his mind off the subject and switch the station to listen to music, but found only another news broadcast
“The situation in Vesalipolis is escalating, with reports that the bourgeois pro-Equestrian government has been captured by Nationale Volksarmee fighters. Our sources also report fighting in the streets of the cities...”
As they heard this Steel Dust fell into thought while Anna's pupils narrowed, her breathing quickened, and sweat began to appear on her body

“Another war?! Dust... Tell me they won't send our troops there.”

“Anna, not in front of the child.”

“Yes, of course. Spirit, please wait in your room and close the door. Mum and Dad need to talk privately.” The foal nodded quietly, clearly upset that he would have to miss this conversation, and left the kitchen. When they heard the door to his bedroom close, Dust answered her

“Anna, let's not jump to conclusions. They might not send them. It could be a lie. It may be disinformation, but it's possible. Back in 1018, we left changelings with nothing, and the Princesses put up their puppet Thorax, and now it looks like they have had enough.”

“Dust, I don't want to, I don't believe it, I can't take it again,” tears welled up in her eyes, “we won't survive another massacre, and they don't want it either. You're a veteran, you've seen what Equestria looked like after that war. Empty grey streets with no one around but mares. Even here, at the factory my mum worked at, it was just kids and mares. My father didn't come back, missing in action, instead of him there was a funeral and a photograph, mother was alone, and there were two of us. My younger sister and I used to go to the collective farm field by ourselves, just to have something to eat. Don't leave us, please.”

“You know without me what kind of world we live in, eternal wars are inevitable until we build a new world, not even Princesses can fix it. What is the point of millions of dead if the lesson is never learnt?”

“What if they use magic bombs? The kind that are one per city.”

“They'll be used, sooner or later, but they're not saved for us, they're saved for the Griffons”, he walked over to her and hugged her “Everything will be fine.”

Steel Dust stroked her back and wiped away her tears. In his heart he was aware that nothing good was going to happen. The world was once again facing a crisis, the solution to which would probably be found in war. The future of millions of beings remained bleak and murky....