The soft jingle of magic fights against the bitter freezing storm, the lilies in its grasp safely shielded from the terrific onslaught. The golden glow intensifies for a moment, before neatly placing the flowers along hundreds of others, their frozen white petals reflecting the glow.

Celestia sighs as her eyes scan over the black marble sign. To those who gave their lives in the struggle against the Umbrum Tyrant. May your souls one day see sunlight again. A hollow snort emanates from beside the Sun Princess.

"You have something to say, sister?" She doesn't need to turn to see the baleful expression on Luna's features.

"Tis' the same thing we say every year, Celestia." Her voice is calm, but from experience, the alabaster alicorn knows this calm will not last. "We do not see the purpose behind Our visit."

"It is customary to pay respects to the dead, Luna." Celestia begins with a frown, knowing all too well where this line of conversation will lead them.

"They're not dead, it's simply easier for you to think so." An old wound awakes a familiar ache in Celestia's heart, and despite everything, she can't help but bite back.

"You think I haven't tried to help them? We both know that all we can do is wait."

"No. All you do is wait! Each year we prepare for this pointless pilgrimage, each year We propose a solution, and each moon-forsaken year you deny Us!" Snow crunched under Luna's hoof as the mare dug into the frozen ground. "And each year you condemn these ponies to suffer, and for what? To maintain an air of purity? To keep the status quo?"

"Sister! Dark magic is not to be trifled with." The air around Celestia grew hotter for a moment, the snow beneath her hooves melting in an instant. "We both learned that lesson, and paid for it dearly." Her somber tone was noted, and duly ignored.

"Nonsense! As any field of magic, one needs to be capable enough to utilize it. Failures of the past were marked by carelessness and ineptitude. Need We remind you of the terrors a simple attraction spell can bring?" All around them, the wind picks up, the encroaching snowdrift repelled only by the sheer heat emanating from Celestia. Neither of them notice.

"No. I will not allow it. My answer is final."

"We see things for what they are now, Celestia. The reasoning behind your actions. All you wish to do is to trample any ideas We propose, nip any differing opinions in the bud. We-" Luna sighs, shaking her head. "All is pointless. The Council will not listen to Us, hooflickers, the lot of them." Her wings shoot out, the wind lifting The Mare of The Moon without effort.

"Sister, please, wait! You don't understand"

"This discussion is over, Celestia. Farewell."

As The Solarch Diarch watches the other mare disappear into the metallic clouds, she pays no mind to the quickening wind, or the drop in temperature, the lonely postament long forgotten.

"Heave lads, ho lads! The production line must be operational before the shaft is dug out!" Auburn Leaves, a hay-maned brigadier in his fifties hollers to his crew, his earth colored coat glistening with sweat.

With a final grunt, the ponies on the ground set the support beam in place, one of many to be erected before the building could be called operational.

"What's the rush? We've got plenty of coal, and the brazier are plenty warm enough, if you ask me." One of the mares grumbles, wiping sweat off her brow.

"That's why you're not Captain, Lumber! You live in the now, when we need to plan for the future! What will you do if the temperature drops tomorrow?" Another worker, a stallion, chastises her.

"Idunno, freeze to death? Not like we can last long without the Equestrian's help anyways. Wonder what's taking the scouts so long to reach their town..."

"OI, you two, quit slackin and go back to work! We've a schedule to maintain." The two workers growl, but fall in line with the rest of the brigade. Leaves sighs and thanks heavens he's not the one lugging the heavy weights around.

Suddenly, a magically amplified voice roars through the workplace, everypony freezing at the sound.

All unicorns, proceed to the worksite in short order.

Nodding to his second in command, Leaves hurries towards the middle of the city. They better be finished when I'm back, or we'll have to pull an all-nighter on this one.

Auburn Leaves shivers, a labored breath escaping his chest. I can't be imagining this. It's getting colder. A few dozen unicorns surround the cleared worksite, a circular shape marking the future generator site.

Murmurs plague the gathering crowd, many of them pertaining to the possibility of failure.

"Rapid excavation of this scale has never been attempted before. Have we taken into account the possibility of a chain reaction? The whole city could be swallowed by a giant sinkhole!" A mare protests, casting a quick heating spell on the tips of her ears, as a particularly strong gust of wind crashes into the city.

"You've got a better idea?" Another one argues. "If things stay as is, we'll be frozen solid in a week's time! Even yaks can't survive below -50 Celcius!"

The first mare scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Whatever, but if I'm still breathing under all the rubble, I reserve the right to say 'I told you so'."

“Everypony, stay silent. We’ll need all the concentration we can get.” The arguing pair turns sharply towards the voice’s source, ready to give the interrupting fool a piece of their minds. Any complaints they have die in their throats, as their eyes focus on the offending stallion, his eyes hidden by round goggles, the opaque apparatus meant to stave off ice-blindness.

“Bicker to your heart’s content after we’re done with construction, have I made myself clear?” Leaves scoffs as he watches Head Overseer Snowdrifter command their combined effort. The lad is half past his twenties, and by the Heart, his ego is rapidly outgrowing him. Sooner or later, somepony’s going to pop that bubble, mark my words.

The young stallion clears his throat, a barely visible aura fixing the hem of his heavy winter coat. “Our time grows near, mares and gentlecolts. Our actions today decide our Empire’s future, hundreds of lives depend on our skill and expertise. We’ve trained for weeks, and each of us knows our part. We will. Not. Fail.”

Murmurs quell a tad as Head Overseer casts a studying glance over the crowd. Satisfied with the state of his workforce, the stallion continues.

“On my word, supporting unicorns are to establish a bond with casters, and provide a constant flow of mana. Casters, on the other hoof, are to proceed according to memorised instructions. The excavated material is to be placed at the appropriate quadrant for extraction of useful materials. Upon completion, all participating unicorns will be given additional food rations, as well as two days off from work.” As he speaks, the glow surrounding his horn intensifies to rival the snow glare.

“Now!”

Autumn Leaves sucks in a lungful of air through grit teeth, the spell coming to him naturally as his magic merges with the others, an intoxicating flow of mana moving in a single direction. The world around him grows hazy and distant, the loss of feeling in his hooves having nothing to do with the surrounding cold.

"Keep'er steady, lads!" He hears himself say, not to anypony in particular. "We're getting closer." Like a ticking timer in his mind, an invisible pressure gauge steadily relaying the information, the stallion feels the moment of truth approaching. Whoever's the caster, they better do a stellar job. One wrong move, and we'll all be under the rubble.

The sound is almost deafening. Tons upon tons of rock and crystal displaced in a blink of an eye, the action followed by a soul-searing pull of magic as their collective mana rushes to rejuvenate the casters.

Before he can register whether or not the spell worked, the sound of cheering reaches Autumn's ears, the voices tired, but happy. A small smile tugs at the corners of his lips as the stallion's legs shake, fatigue quickly setting in.

Maybe we're not doomed after all.

“Captain Hoof!” Your eyes snap to the stallion entering your tent, production graphs and research plans set aside for the time being. "The main shaft has been successfully excavated. As per Autumn's report, the Profiles manufacture is operational and will reach the projected output in 24 hours." Snowdrifter is as reserved as ever, but you feel the enthusiasm oozing off of him. "If everypony sticks to schedule, we'll begin construction of the shaft structure within a day."

"I see." You rapp your wingtips against the wooden table, waiting for the unicorn to speak again. "Anything else, Overseer?"

"If I may, Captain." A rolled-up piece of parchment floats from his saddlebag onto the table. Unfurling it, you recognise the dates and numbers.

"According to our weather report, the temperature will worsen over the course of the following weeks, far beyond our ability to mitigate it. Now, my engineers have presented blueprints for suitably heated bunkhouses and infirmaries, but even those might prove insufficient."

Truth be told, you found yourself pondering the same problem the last couple of days. Ever since Dawn brought you the weather report, your faith in finishing the construction in time has been growing weaker.

"How much time do we have?"

"I allowed myself to extrapolate the data found in Miss Dawn's report. Doing so has led me to believe that the City will become unlivable in two months' time, not accounting for any unpredictable changes in weather. At our current rate, we won't be able to construct the Generator in time."

“That is... Most troubling.” You rub the bridge of your nose in irritation. “What are our options?” The unicorn shifts in pace, as if unsure whether or not you will approve of his solution.

“We can impose a two-shift system on critical infrastructure, which, while doubling the workforce requirement, will raise our efficiency...” He dozes off for a moment, before resuming. “By about 85%, accounting for accidents and exhaustion caused by overworking.” Noticing the look you’re giving him, Snowdrifter continues. “As for outside help, you better consult Miss Dawn. From what I remember, she should be close to reaching their settlement, Winterfort, was it?” Despite his efforts, you can hear the contempt in his voice at the mention of the Equestrian frontier town.

“Indeed. I’ll send somepony once Dawn reports. In the meantime, you may begin developing the two-shift schedule, in case of dire news.” Snowdrifter nods, gathering his notes into the saddlebag.

“As you wish, Captain.”

As the stallion makes for the exit, you turn to a crystal-powered telegraph sitting on your desk. Tuning to the wavelength of Dawn’s regiment, you type a message with utmost precision, as to not waste any magical charge.

Dawn. Winterfort. Report.

Pondering for a moment, you add.

Urgent.

Sending the message, you return to city planning, the hoof-drawn map laid bare before you. The makeshift hothouses will freeze over in a few weeks... They may not like it, but we’ll have to resort to hunting for a while. Your eyes drift over the sketched bunkhouses, their silhouettes outlined in light blue. The living spaces won’t be warm, per se... But they’ll carry us through the worst of the approaching freeze. They’ll be plenty comfortable after that.

“Captain? A moment of your time, please?” A guardstallion you can’t quite put a name to steps into your tent, a worried expression on his face.

“Go on.”

“We’ve found a filly sitting among the graves, the one you-”

“Shifting Tides?”

“That’s the one, Sir. When we asked what she was doing there, she asked-” The stallion coughs, and you can almost hear the pain in his voice. “She asked if you could call an emergency meeting. Says that her mum and pop will wake back up to attend.”

“I see.” You sigh. It’s been a week since you visited the distraught filly, but for all you know, it might as well have been a lifetime ago. “I reckon you took her with you?” He nods, unsure of your answer.

“Don’t keep her out in the cold, then. I’ll look after her for the time being.” He manages a smile, saluting you on his way out.

“Right away, Sir.”

When the tent parts for the second time, you see her. Her navy blue locks flowing down the mint coat of her neck, a heavy coat covering the rest of her. You bury the pang of pain in your heart at the dejected look in her eyes, ones that, for a brief moment, flicker with hope.

“Captain?” Her voice is tiny, yet it strikes at your core.

“The name’s Hoof, kid. Let’s drop the formalities for now, alright?” She nods timidly, approaching the wooden table as you move the single chair towards her. Crawling on top of the seat, she eyes the table with curiosity.

“Is that the map of the city?" You nod, watching the unicorn pick up a pencil, a pale aura gripping it flickering as it moves. "Did you draw it yourself?"

"Sure did." The filly looks unsure for a moment, thinking of something to say. A subtle shiver wracking her silhouette makes you acutely aware of the surrounding temperature.

"I guess that's why you're a captain, and not a painter..." As soon as the words leave her mouth, the pencil drops to the table, the filly covering her mouth with her hood. "Not like being bad at drawing is bad or anything!"

You chuckle, the sound cutting her spiraling short. "Can't say I was ever good at fine arts. Now, my brother? He was a natural." The filly's ears perk up, her attention diverted from the recent faux pass.

"Back in kindergarten, there was this group of foals who thought they were better than others, something about being related to royalty." You move towards the stove, its flickering maw roaring to life as you shovel more coal into it.

"At first they were more annoying than anything. But over time, they started demanding special treatment. Taking the other foals' porridge, hoarding toys and the like." You take a second seat from your bedside, taking your place at the table.

"Were they really better C- Hoof?" You shrug.

"Were they better at something? Sure. Each of us is better at doing something than the other. Problem is, they thought they were better, period. And they sure weren't afraid of flaunting that every chance they got." By now, the filly was hanging on your every word.

"So my brother decided to challenge that. During arts and crafts, when they started boasting about how better their drawings were compared to the rest, Tender bet that, If he got a higher grade than them, they'd have to keep their mouths shut for a month."

"And if he didn't?"

"He'd have to do everything they said the entire month." The filly gasps.

"That's mean!"

"That it is. So, they do their best and present the results, and, can you believe it? They looked worse than that map you saw!" The filly giggles, a soft jingle that fills you with hope.

"So the moment of truth comes, and when Tender grabs the brush, which was quite a challenge, mind you, seeing as he was an earth pony, something magical happens." You work your mouth trying to put the memories flashing through your mind's eye into words. "It was like the brush danced across that canvas, his body flowed along a waterway only he could see. For him, drawing was no harder than breathing is for you and me." You take a deep breath, focusing on that moment in time.

"When he finished, the most beautiful landscape I've ever laid my eyes on painted that canvas. Pines of the deepest green color stretched into a baby blue sky, the forestry melding with the most colorful of meadows." You smile at the recollection, and beside you, the filly does too. "He got his cutiemark that day, one of the first in our class, too."

"So did he win? Did he beat those meanies?" The filly asks, fire in her eyes warming you just as well as the fire stove behind the two of you.

"The teacher praised him, but still gave those kids a higher grade. Something about their parents donating to the school's fund." Tides harrumphed, pouting.

"That's unfair! Did they make him make true on his bet?" You snort. This filly is far too precious.

"Actually, it was Tender who wanted to honor the bet. Said that a word was a word."

"Did he do it?"

"No." You rub the back of your neck, wondering if you should continue. Might as well finish the story. "My friends and I cornered those bullies, showed them what happens when you don't play fair." You skirt around the more violent side of the events, but you get the notion that Tides understands what you mean. "After that, they stopped bothering the other foals."

"You were mean to them too, right?" She frowns, the expression slowly morphing into a more understanding one. "But if that stopped them from being mean... I guess it's alright?"

"Ponies can be mean, Tides, but that doesn't mean we have to stoop to their level." You sigh, turning to look at the crackling stove. "Thing is, we can't always be better than the mean ponies, and when that time comes, we need the strength to do what has to be done to protect those we love." A lull in conversation sets in, and in the corner of your eye, you can see a pensive expression on the filly's face.

"Where's your brother now, Hoof?"

"He went to live in Canterlot a few years back, haven't heard much from him since..."

"Since the mean unicorn took over?"

"Yeah, since that."

A buzzing noise snaps you out of your thoughts, your attention diverting to the telegraph.

"Wait a moment, Tide. I'll be right back."

Approaching the machine you decode the transmission.

Hoof. Found Survivors. Sent them with Swift's squad. Heading For Winterfort. ETA 48 hrs.

"Is it something bad?" You hear the filly ask, worry in her tone. "You look sad."

"It's nothing, Tides. I'm a little tired, is all." Changing the subject, you continue. "Want to hear how I got my cutiemark?"

The filly squeals and begins peppering you with questions as you launch into another story. Yet despite everything, you can't help the growing pit at the bottom of your stomach.

Author's Note

A Beacon Of Hope

We see it, Captain! Out in the distance, an Equestrian outpost is jutting out of the snowy landscape around it. The sight fills our scouts with hope, yet something odd is troubling them. Why is their beacon down? Why had they not sent help? We will find our answers at the outpost.

Promising Beginnings

With everypony cleared from the excavation zone, the few unicorns we have consolidate their efforts, and the mass of earth and crystal disappears right before your eyes. A seemingly bottomless hole now stands in the middle of the city, right next to the castle. Ponies steel themselves as they gaze into the deep abyss.

We have to build the Generator. The weather will get colder. We have to hurry.