Derpy Hooves hummed a soft tune to herself as she sat on a bench, the crisp air of the Crystal Empire biting at her coat. Next to her, an unfamiliar pony huddled, trembling from the cold. She had been waiting for hours for permission from the Royal Guard to deliver her package.

Normally, a simple delivery wouldn't take more than a day or two, but these were far from normal times. The kingdom was embroiled in war, and with most of the railway routes shut down, Derpy had to make her way by balloon. A slow and unpredictable method, but it was the only option available.

As always, Hooves' luck had conspired against her. Something—or rather, somepony—was now delaying her even further.

This strange pony, sitting beside her on the bench, had been part of her latest mishap. She’d encountered him after a crash landing, caused by a tear in the balloon. She hadn’t intended to, but her clumsy landing had knocked him out cold, breaking his horn in the process... and his memory.

The stranger had glossy black fur with a green underbelly, and his insect-like wings were damaged, barely able to flutter. A pair of small fangs protruded from his lower jaw, and his bright blue eyes had been filled with confusion when he first awoke.

At first, he'd seemed lost, disoriented—as if seeing the world anew. He could barely remember his name, only that it started with "Tho," and his age was impossible to guess. He looked vaguely insectoid, but whatever species he was, he seemed ill-suited for the harsh cold of the Crystal Empire. With the area perpetually trapped in a blizzard, a creature like him would barely last a day in his current condition.

Fortunately, he had begun recovering, though his speech was slow, and he could barely form coherent sentences. His words were few, but Derpy could understand the frustration in his eyes.

Derpy understood that frustration all too well. Many ponies assumed she was mentally impaired because of her slow speech, her clumsy actions, and her wandering eye. It wasn’t true. Her medical record proved that she simply had a rare variant of synesthesia, where her mind and body didn’t always sync. Her reactions were often slower than her thoughts, but mentally, she was perfectly fine.

Though... she had to admit that her younger years of selective mutism hadn’t helped her reputation. But at least she’d learned Hoof Language, so things weren’t all bad.

"Cold..." the strange pony muttered again, trembling harder.

Derpy frowned, glancing at him. There wasn’t much she could do at the moment.

A pegasus with fewer... difficulties than her might have been able to create a warm air bubble using magic. But to do that, one had to flap their wings in a precise pattern. As Derpy well knew, her wings didn’t always respond as they should, and her body often betrayed her.

Just as she sighed in resignation, a voice rang out, authoritative and clear.

"Derpy Hooves?"

She turned to see a unicorn standing before her, his posture rigid and his expression stern. "I am Shining Armor, Captain of the Royal Guard of the Crystal Empire. I’ve been informed that you have an important message for Princess Mi Amore Cadenza. Is that correct?"

Derpy nodded as firmly as she could, silently hoping her wandering eye wouldn’t betray her.

"Follow me," the captain said, his voice unwavering. "I will escort both you and your companion to the princess." With a swift motion, Shining Armor turned and trotted towards the castle, his hooves echoing against the snow-covered ground. Derpy and her insect-like companion followed closely behind, though the eyes of passersby were drawn to the odd figure beside her.

No one seemed particularly alarmed, though curious glances were cast at the strange pony. Perhaps they thought he was a member of a new clan wishing to join the empire?

But one of the pegasi who witnessed the procession had a very different thought.

Thorax, what in the name of the Great Weaver have you done now?!

Nimbus sighed, a small smile tugging at his lips despite the heavy thoughts that lingered in the back of his mind.

Around him, the "Cutie Mark Crusaders," as they called themselves, were practically vibrating with excitement. The idea of meeting the first non-pony sentient being they'd likely ever encounter was enough to send their imaginations into overdrive.

Of course, their journey wouldn’t be without its dangers. To reach the zebra’s hut in the Everfree Forest, they had to brave its shadowy depths. But Nimbus had spent the previous night ensuring the path would be as safe as possible, using his magic to drive away the forest’s most perilous creatures.

Normally, such a busy night would leave anypony exhausted, but Nimbus’s new body seemed to recover at an astonishing rate. Stamina and magic returned as if replenished by some unseen force, meaning he didn’t need to sleep the way most did. Though his body functioned well without it, his mind required rest, and so he made a habit of sleeping only about six hours a night—just enough to stay sharp.

He had promises to keep, after all.

But being cautious never hurt anyone, so he decided to lend Sweetie Belle his cloak once more, the heavy fabric falling over her small frame. It was only then that the fillies noticed the sword strapped to his side, gleaming with golden light and ruby inlays.

Their eyes widened in unison, and without hesitation, they bombarded him with questions. Nimbus chuckled and gave them a knowing smile, promising, “I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

Naturally, that only fueled their curiosity. They huddled together, whispering, trying to get him to reveal the sword’s secrets. Nimbus simply laughed at their antics, watching the fillies with an affectionate smile.

“Hey, Nimbus, what’s that thing?” Apple Bloom asked, suddenly pointing toward the ground with wide eyes.

Nimbus followed her hoof, focusing on the object that had caught her attention.

There, half-buried in the dirt, was a strange golden medallion, its intricate design catching the sunlight.

He approached cautiously, wary of the unknown. There was no telling what kind of magic might be tied to such an object, and in his experience, curiosity often led to trouble. He picked it up carefully, using the strap to avoid making direct contact. He was no stranger to cursed objects, and he wasn’t about to take any chances.

As he examined it more closely, he realized it was a compass, its needle unnervingly still.

“Well? What is it?!” Scootaloo asked impatiently, eager to get moving again.

Nimbus turned toward the Crusaders, holding up the medallion so they could see.

“It’s a compass,” he said quietly. “It must have belonged to someone who tried to cross the forest… Let’s hope they made it.”

The fillies fell silent, their excitement dimming as the weight of Nimbus’s words sank in. The realization that the compass might be all that remained of a pony who had ventured into the forest—and perhaps never returned—was sobering.

Nimbus offered a small prayer for the lost soul, his voice barely above a whisper. He tucked the compass carefully into his saddlebag. He would hand it over to the guild later, hoping that, one way or another, the owner might be found—alive or not.

After a few moments of quiet reflection, the Crusaders adjusted their saddlebags and resumed their journey, following Nimbus with a newfound sense of caution and reverence. They had learned the forest was not to be taken lightly, and they walked a little closer to the stallion, their previous excitement tempered by the weight of the path ahead.

Miss Mayor, the stoic leader of Ponyville, had just begun her usual morning ritual of paperwork when a sharp headache hit her like a thunderclap.

She gritted her teeth, trying to focus through the pulsing pain. Whatever that disgrace of a stallion had slipped into her drink last night had some very unpleasant side effects. The dry mouth, the throbbing headaches, the blurred vision—everything felt out of balance. Her stomach churned in protest, but despite the discomfort, she refused to falter.

As the mayor of Ponyville, showing weakness was not an option. She had a town to lead, and in moments like these, she was grateful to have been born an Earth Pony. Her sturdy constitution allowed her to endure what others might crumble under, even when faced with something as disorienting as a poison-laced drink.

What helped even more was the fact that the Rich family had stopped dumping endless paperwork onto her desk.

For the first time in two years, she could finally see the bottom of her paperwork stack. It was a relief—a rare moment of clarity. She could now turn her attention to older petitions, many of which had been gathering dust for far too long.

She grabbed the next document, her eyes scanning it with methodical precision.

(Hmm... this is... OH MY CELESTIA! Cheerilee?! Since when has she been working with such a meager budget? And doing it all on her own?! What happened to Book Worm and Stone Sage?) Another stab of pain made her vision blur, but she pressed on.

Filthy. Bloody. Rich.

Her hooves trembled slightly as she stamped the document, a grimace twisting her face—half pain, half righteous fury. She approved an increase in the school’s funding (and, as an added measure of professional discretion, she substantially raised the budget). She also authorized the hiring of more teachers. But that would have to wait until the war ended.

Her thoughts were interrupted when her assistant, Paper Crumb, a reliable Earth Pony mare with a habit of always staying a step ahead, knocked gently on her office door.

"A pony to see you, Miss Mayor," Paper Crumb announced, her voice calm as ever.

Seeing that most of the remaining paperwork was inconsequential, the mayor nodded, weary but resolute. “Send them in.”

The visitor turned out to be a mail pegasus, his wings sleek and well-groomed, the familiar brown envelope clutched tightly in his hooves. After exchanging the usual pleasantries, he handed over his cargo—a telegram—and left without another word.

With a sigh, the mayor took the letter opener in her hoof, expertly slicing open the envelope. She unfolded the telegram, her gaze immediately falling on the text.

She read it, her heart sinking as her eyes skimmed the words. She stared at the message for a long moment before pressing a hoof to her forehead, trying to stave off yet another wave of pain.

The details didn’t matter. What mattered was the clear and grim message it conveyed:

Nova Griffonia had fallen. The warrior forces had been wiped out, and the refugees—those who had survived—were to be scattered and absorbed into Equestria, with the majority being directed straight to Ponyville.

Accommodating the influx wouldn’t be difficult—Ponyville, despite its age, was still relatively small, and with the mountain range nearby, expansion was always an option. The Everfree Forest, too, provided ample resources, from timber to game.

No, the real issue would be Ponyville’s acceptance of these new neighbors. The telegram specified that the mayor had just one month to begin organizing plans before the news of Nova Griffonia’s defeat would become public knowledge.

How delightful.

With a resigned sigh, the mayor crumpled the telegram and threw it into the flame of a nearby candle, watching as it curled and disintegrated into ash.

She needed a drink. Or several, if this headache didn’t let up soon.

[Night: Unknown Location.]

Diane kept digging.

The rhythm was all she needed to focus on—the repetitive motion of shovel, earth, lift, throw, repeat. The act itself was soothing in its simplicity, and it kept her mind from wandering too far into dark places.

What was she digging? A grave.

For whom? For herself… or at least for a part of her.

(Not the most glamorous way to say goodbye, but it’ll do.) she thought, releasing a heavy sigh as her shovel sank deep into the earth again.

With deliberate care, Diane reached up and tugged something free from her singed, straight pink hair.

That something was— "NOPE."

Huh?

"I said NOPE, I’m not showing it, okay? This is personal."

... Diane, but that’s the point—you’re figuratively burying your former self. I need to give the readers something symbolic to connect with.

"Can’t you make this part a metaphor instead? I doubt anyone wants to see something so un-PINKIE."

Sigh Diane, we talked about this before. You know that—

"YEAH, YEAH, about the reader immersion thing or whatever. But you knew what you were getting into when you made me! I’m a teenager! I’m supposed to rebel here and there, gosh dang it!"

...

SIGH Okay, fine. We’ll do it your way, alright?

"That’s what I thought!"

The object she’d pulled from her hair wasn’t important anymore. The symbolism of it was enough.

Carefully, she dropped it into the hole. A few violet tears slipped from her eyes and mingled with the dirt. They were the last to fall for what was left of Pinkamena Pie.

Closing her eyes, Diane let her mind drift back to simpler, happier moments… the days before everything had changed. Back when she wasn’t needed.

As a final farewell, she pulled a small bag of gummies from her satchel and tossed it into the grave, a small token of comfort for the version of herself she was leaving behind.

She stood there for a moment, reflecting, the weight of it all pressing down on her chest. A quiet nod, and then she started to fill in the hole.

When the last clump of dirt fell, it was final.

Pinkamena Pie was dead.

Now, it was Diane Pie’s turn to pick up the pieces of what was left of her life.

... What a mess.

She looked at the shovel lying beside her, the tool that had been a silent witness to this odd, sorrowful ritual. “Guess it’s time to give you back to Jacki, huh?” she murmured softly. With a flick of her magic, the shovel levitated onto her back.

As she started walking away, the hunger in her stomach reminded her that survival came first. Growl

"... Food first, then!" she chuckled, shaking off the melancholy. With a cheerful trot, she turned her back on the grave and headed toward a new beginning.

[[A couple of days later.]

Lyra Heartstrings was considered by many to be a lost cause.

A graduate of Celestia’s School for Gifted Unicorns, she was once expected to have a bright future in any field that required a unicorn’s unique talents. It seemed like a given—her magical prowess was undeniable, and her intelligence was revered.

But, as her closest friends jokingly called it, her fall had begun when a peculiar book quite literally dropped into her lap.

It wasn’t just any book. No, this one had come with a flash of orange light and an almost supernatural force. The impact had nearly knocked her off her chair during her penultimate semester, and she had no idea where it had come from—just that it appeared as if by the grace of Harmony itself.

The book had captivated her from the first moment she touched it, and over the years since her graduation, it had consumed her. It wasn’t just a book; it was a puzzle, a mystery, a challenge that she had become obsessed with deciphering.

Four years had passed, and she had only managed to translate about 20% of the book. But what she had uncovered had been more than enough to turn her world upside down.

The author of the book, she discovered, was a “human.”

Humans were a topic of hot debate among historians, conspiracy theorists, and archaeologists alike. Fragments of ancient texts, half-remembered stories, and strange artifacts littered the continent, each hinting at a lost race of beings that had once roamed the world. But the consensus was clear: humans were nothing but myth, and most dismissals of the theory were vehement.

Yet the book... the book was proof. Proof that they had existed. Proof that there was a truth out there waiting to be uncovered. If she could fully decode the rest of it, Lyra could become the one to finally validate—no, prove—the existence of humans.

But there was a problem. To fully unlock the secrets of the book, she needed resources. Her job as a secretary for the Ponivillage Guild was stable, but it paid enough to cover rent and groceries, with little left for her research. To continue, she would need more... much more.

She considered her options carefully.

1. Work at the Canterlot Guild: An immediate no. As much as the Canterlot Guild offered better pay, she couldn’t bring herself to leave her girlfriend behind. Bon Bon had been struggling with her own demons lately, and leaving her alone felt unthinkable.
2. Embezzle some funds: Another firm no. Ponivillage needed the bits it collected for its renovations, and she had too much respect for the Guild’s work to jeopardize it. Besides, Lyra wasn’t sure she could pull off something so complicated without someone like Mare-Do-Well catching wind of it. And who wanted to risk dealing with her?

Which left Lyra with option 3: Hire Nimbus Firebolt—known in the Guild as “The Hunter”—to accompany her on a hunt. She’d heard enough stories about him to know he was as enigmatic as he was dangerous.

She hadn’t met the stallion personally, but from what she gathered, Nimbus was everything Lyra wasn’t—calm, collected, and efficient. He was a beast hunter by trade, often tasked with bringing down the most dangerous creatures in the land. He didn’t just hunt them; he kept trophies—teeth, eyes, claws—reminders of his success. Rumor had it he’d even crossed paths with the Witch of the Everfree Forest, a feat few would dare attempt.

Not that Lyra was intimidated. After all, she had graduated as a Combat Mage—sure, she might be a little rusty, but the skills were there. Still, hiring Nimbus wasn’t a decision she’d taken lightly. She needed him, but she wasn’t sure how to approach him.

Her request was already in his hooves, and she watched as Nimbus read the bulletin she had sent him.

He didn’t need to say a word. The moment he glanced at her, Lyra knew—he’d figured out that the paper was hers.

With a calm, measured stride, he approached her. His emerald eyes were sharp, and his polite smile was a touch too charming.

"I’m guessing you’re Lyra, huh?" he asked, one eyebrow quirking up in quiet amusement.

Lyra looked into those dazzling emerald eyes, and a voice inside her screamed in panic.

(OH NO, HE’S HOT!)

She blinked, feeling the flush rise to her cheeks, and suddenly her mind went blank. Here she was, ready to hire this mysterious, brooding stallion, and all she could think about was how his eyes made her heart skip a beat.

Focus, Lyra, focus, she mentally chided herself. This wasn’t the time for flustered thoughts.

“Y-yes, that’s me,” she stammered, shaking herself out of her reverie. “I’m... I’m Lyra.”

Nimbus's smile widened ever so slightly, as if he found her flustered state mildly amusing. But to his credit, he didn’t press it.

“Good,” he said simply. “Let’s talk about what you need.”

And just like that, the business of the day returned. Lyra might have had her heart racing, but she wasn’t about to let a handsome face get in the way of uncovering the biggest mystery of her life. She had work to do. And this stallion? He was going to help her get there.

Harry James Potter rested his hand on his chin, lost in thought as he contemplated his next move. The room around him was a strange blend of familiarity and comfort, a space that could only be described as a cross between the Gryffindor common room and Grimmauld Place. The crackling fire illuminated the room in soft orange hues, while snow gently fell outside, settling quietly over the world beyond.

His opponent, or rather, his companion, sat across from him, an enigmatic presence whose form was as ethereal as it was real. The creature’s fur shimmered with a dark, cobalt blue glow that caught the light in strange, shifting ways. Its eyes, a piercing turquoise, glowed with an intelligence that seemed to see into Harry’s very soul. Long, flowing strands of mane drifted through the air, moving as if blown by an invisible, eternal wind. The creature’s fangs, sharp and white, glinted in the firelight, a reminder of its more dangerous nature.

Yet, despite its terrifying appearance, it had become a friend to Harry over the months. Its origins were unclear—shrouded in mystery, like many aspects of Harry’s own life. He had first encountered it during one of his frequent mental wandering sessions, when his defenses were high, his thoughts unguarded. The creature had come to him, quietly knocking at the door to his mind, drawn to him by the wizard’s unique magical signature.

At first, Harry had been wary, his natural instincts urging caution. But the creature had shown no malice, only curiosity and a deep sense of sorrow that Harry could feel through the link they’d formed. Over time, that sorrow had been replaced by something more familiar—an understanding that, while their worlds were different, they shared a bond that could not easily be severed.

Harry often likened the creature to the thestrals from his world. Creatures of death, most wizards only saw them after experiencing loss. But Harry had learned that, like the thestrals, the creature was more than it appeared. It was not an omen of death, but rather a creature of magic, tragedy, and untold stories, bound by the same laws of life and death that governed everything else.

His mind drifted to thoughts of Sirius, the late "dogfather," who had once taken in a thestral, much to Molly’s dismay. Harry could almost hear Sirius’s laughter as he’d struggled to figure out what to do with a creature that had both terrified and fascinated him. And then there was the thestral’s strange habit of making Mrs. Black’s portrait scream in terror. It had been a source of dark amusement for the marauder, and Harry couldn’t help but smile at the memory.

The creature before him—this friend—was no less a mystery.

When was the last time Nimbus had needed to use the bathroom? Harry mused. Could creatures like him be entirely different from the beasts I know?

“…Red Five, One!” The creature’s voice echoed softly through the room. It was a strange voice—feminine, yet indistinct, like a dream fading on the edge of waking. It held its hand of cards up, its eyes gleaming with the same intensity as they did when they played their mental games, each move a carefully thought-out piece of the puzzle they had created together.

“Wild! Yellow,” it announced with a sly grin, its sharp teeth showing.

Harry’s lips twitched upward as he examined his own hand. The game they were playing was a strange one, a mix of wizarding card games and something else entirely. It wasn’t the cards that mattered, but the bond forged through each round—the subtle exchanges of wit, of intellect, of shared understanding.

Then, in a flourish, Harry slammed down his final card—a Wild +4. He let out a dramatic cheer, throwing his fist into the air as if he had won a great battle.

The creature’s smile faltered slightly, but only for a moment. It let out a sigh, its voice playful despite the evident defeat. “As always, well played, my friend.” The figure extended an appendage—a clawed paw—and Harry, grinning widely, bumped fists with it.

"Best out of three?" Harry teased, but the creature only laughed softly, a sound that seemed to resonate in the depths of his mind.

The room was quiet for a long moment as they both sat back, allowing the conversation to settle into a comfortable silence. Harry couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of peace. He had made many friends throughout his life, but this one was different. This bond wasn’t born of friendship alone, but of shared understanding and quiet companionship.

"Time to go," the creature said softly, its eyes filled with a sorrow that spoke of untold stories. It would never be truly free, not while it carried its penance—its need for redemption for a past Harry could only sense, not fully comprehend.

Harry nodded, his heart heavy. "I know. You have your own path to walk."

The creature’s gaze softened for a moment. "And you have yours." It paused. "Thank you, Harry. For... everything."

With that, it began to fade, its shimmering form dissolving into the air like mist. Harry sat in the silence that remained, reflecting on their time together. They had both found something in the other—a refuge from their respective lonliness, even if for just a while.

**Content Warning: Alcohol, drugs, and mentions of self-termination**

**[Year Zero Since Luna's Return]**

[First Winter]

Today was a special day in Ponyville, as the pegasi, with their wings and magic, orchestrated the first snowfall of the year. It was a gentle, almost serene spectacle—flakes drifting down in perfect choreography, blanketing the town in soft, glistening white. The townsponies were bundled up, going about their business, while the air smelled of pine and fresh beginnings.

But today wasn’t special just because of the snowfall. It was also the day Princess Celestia would announce the fall of Nova Griffonia and the impending annexation of its refugees into Equestria. A historic moment, surely, but not one without its complications.

The logistics of incorporation were, on the surface, simple. The refugees numbered barely 300, and with the vast expanse of mountain ranges and open land that Equestria possessed, finding them a place to settle wouldn’t be difficult. There were plenty of places to build homes, find work, and make a fresh start.

The real challenge lay in the hearts and minds of the ponies themselves. Despite not being combatants, the refugees were still griffons—a species with a long and storied reputation. They were known to be brusque, stoic, and often disdainful of weakness, particularly emotional vulnerability. They were creatures of pride, and that pride didn’t necessarily mesh well with the openness and harmony that defined Equestria. The ponies of Equestria weren’t used to facing such coldness.

And then, of course, there were the old grudges—the memories of past wars and tensions that had divided their lands for centuries. It was more than likely that some of these ancient scars would resurface. After all, even the deepest wounds didn’t always heal, especially when they had never truly been addressed.

(Amusing.) The mayor thought dryly, sipping her cider, the warmth of the drink blending with the slight heat of mezcal that had been added for a little extra comfort. She had been facing these kinds of political dilemmas for years now, but this one felt different. The refugees weren’t invaders—they were survivors. But would the rest of Equestria see them that way?

The mayor leaned back in her chair, her hooves resting on the table. She didn’t have the answers. She couldn’t predict how the ponies would react. What she could do, however, was make sure Ponyville was ready. There was no avoiding the future, but maybe there was some way to shape it.

Her thoughts drifted toward her own town—a place that prided itself on inclusivity, though it had seen its fair share of division. She had seen ponies come and go, found kinship and rivalry alike, and through it all, Ponyville had remained a welcoming place. Or at least, it had tried to be.

But this was different. The griffons were not like the other newcomers Ponyville had seen. This wasn’t a matter of welcoming travelers or adventurers; this was about accepting a group of individuals who carried with them not only the weight of their own histories but the weight of a defeated nation, one that might yet have grudges of its own.

The mayor took another sip, her eyes narrowing slightly. It was going to be a long winter.

"Guess we’ll find out soon enough." She muttered to herself, her breath fogging the air in front of her.

[Middle of Winter]

Fluttershy lit a cigar, the flame briefly illuminating her face in the darkened cottage. She inhaled deeply, the smoke curling into the air like an ethereal cloud. The warmth of the fire from the hearth did little to ease the cold in her bones, but the cigar—thick with the scent of herbs—did.

Beside her, the table was strewn with surgical tools: scalpels, forceps, and vials. Their silver gleamed against the dim light, stained with blood—her blood. Her body bore the marks of her work: bruises, cuts, deep gashes that could have been fatal if not for her meticulous care. Bandages wrapped around her torso and legs, slowly soaking through with red. It didn’t matter much to her anymore.

Fluttershy was different now. No longer the timid, anxious pegasus who had once shrunk from the world. No, she was something else—a creature of cold determination, living on the fringes of her old life. Physically, she was in the prime of her life. Her muscles were compact, firm, defined under her pale yellow fur. Her mane was cropped short, more practical than the flowing locks she used to cherish. But her face, still youthful, had an edge to it. A fierceness that had never been there before.

She took another drag from the cigar, exhaling slowly. The bitter taste soothed her for a moment as the smoke rose into the air, swirling above her head in soft tendrils. The crackling fireplace provided a steady, rhythmic background to the scene, though it could not drive out the silence that had settled over her life. Her animals had begun their hibernation, Angel Bunny included. The forest was still. Quiet. Empty.

Fluttershy’s thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the recent past. She’d done it, hadn’t she? She had slipped from the world she had once known, into something darker. The life she had been so terrified of had fallen away. She had been given a chance to escape, to leave it all behind, and she had seized it. She had chosen solitude.

But the choice wasn’t without consequence.

(Isn’t this what you wanted?) her inner voice sneered, harsh and unrelenting, cutting through the haze of smoke and wine.

Fluttershy gritted her teeth, the cigar clenched tightly between them as her eyes narrowed in frustration.

(For years, you begged to disappear—to become one with the forest, to escape from everypony, every expectation. And now look at you. You've isolated yourself. You have nothing but your animals... and the few things you've chosen to remain behind to tie you to this world. A literal god offers you the chance to leave it all... and what do you do? You kill a friend to prove you're capable of growing a spine!)

Fluttershy’s breath hitched, her grip tightening on the cigar until it was nearly crushed. The anger flared, but it was quickly replaced by something else—something much darker. The nagging, relentless pain from the past, from years of rejection, of feeling like an outsider among both ponies and animals, surged in her chest.

(You’re damaged goods. Used. Who would ever want to be with you? Who would want to breed with a monstrous half-breed—)

The cigar fell to the ground with a heavy thunk, the sound almost deafening in the quiet of the cottage. Fluttershy expelled the final drag, spitting out the stub and letting the tears spill over. Her wings snapped shut, covering her face as she broke into silent sobs. The weight of it all—the isolation, the regrets, the years of battling herself—crushed her.

But this was what she had wanted, wasn’t it? To fade into the background. To escape the pressures of family, of friendships, of love. She had built her life around a delicate illusion: that the creatures she tended to were enough to fill the emptiness inside. But even they had begun to drift away, finding their mates, their families.

Fluttershy wiped her eyes roughly, the tears smearing across her fur as she pulled herself back together. Her gaze fell onto the papers scattered across the table—official documents, notes, and a photograph. She lingered over it for a long moment, her heart a maelstrom of confusion and bitter longing.

A mask. A disguise. A symbol.

(Until that day comes...) she thought, her gaze narrowing as her hoof reached for the mask. The white mask with sharp, angular eyes. Mare-Do-Well.

She slipped the mask over her face, the cold porcelain chilling against her skin, and for the briefest moment, Fluttershy was someone else entirely. Someone stronger. Someone with purpose.

The silence of the cottage stretched out before her, the only sound the crackling fire and the quiet murmur of wind outside. Fluttershy let out a steadying breath.

(Mare-Do-Well will keep trotting.)

And just like that, she was someone new again.

**[End of Spring]**

[Ponivillage, Griffon Training Fields]

[Nimbus Firebolt POV]

[Five Months Before the Gallop Gala]

Nimbus crouched low, his hooves light on the cold grass as he smoothly dodged an incoming strike. His opponent—a young griffon eager to prove himself—lunged with a swift kick. Without breaking his focus, Nimbus effortlessly sidestepped, grabbing the griffon’s leg mid-swing and forcing him off balance. In one fluid motion, Nimbus pinned the griffon’s limb to the ground, ready to strike, but he stopped just shy of landing a crushing blow.

"Time!" a voice rang out, halting the match.

The griffon let out a relieved exhale and took Nimbus’s hoof to steady himself. A few other griffons chuckled, knowing that their instructor had a reputation for pushing them to their absolute limits, only to stop just before a fight got too serious.

Nimbus stepped back, scanning the group of fifteen griffons who had gathered in an orderly line. They all stood a little straighter at the sound of his voice, awaiting his judgment.

"Good work as always, soldiers," Nimbus began, his voice carrying authority. "I see that you haven’t let your pride get to your heads… at least, not for all of you."

A few chuckles rippled through the line, aimed at a young griffon with a swollen purple eye—proof of the lesson learned the hard way. Nimbus ignored the soft laughter, instead focusing on his critique.

"However..." He let the word hang in the air, causing the group to tense. "That doesn’t mean the rest of you ‘eaglets’ are without faults."

The use of "eaglet" caused some feathers to ruffle. It was one of the most degrading terms in griffon culture, reserved for the weakest, youngest members of a group. But Nimbus had long since earned their respect, in part because he didn't care for their cultural niceties. He was blunt, direct, and brutal when needed. It was how he'd trained them to be strong.

His emerald eyes scanned the group, zeroing in on the only female in the group—a griffon named Fulgora.

"Fulgora! You keep overextending on your jabs, and your footwork needs more work. You’re predictable!" Nimbus barked, the griffon snapping to attention with a swift, "Yes, sir!" A slight blush crept onto her face, but she didn't let it show.

He moved on, continuing his assessment, calling out each griffon by name and pointing out their weaknesses with sharp precision.

"Cesar! How many times in the name of the Moon have I told you to use your damn hips?!"

"We’re at number fifteen, sir!" the griffon responded, not missing a beat.

"Aldair! You have wings! USE THEM!" Nimbus barked again.

"Yes, sir!" Aldair replied, wings fluttering slightly in acknowledgment.

The group stood silent, knowing better than to interrupt. Each name spoken was a reminder of how far they had come, how far they still had to go. Nimbus never sugar-coated his words, and they respected him for it. His harshness pushed them to become better, faster, stronger. And every day they trained harder, knowing that one day they'd need to be at their best.

Once he finished the individual assessments, Nimbus stepped back, his gaze sweeping across the line of griffons.

"Something very important is going to happen soon, featherbrains!" he announced, his tone shifting from critical to serious. "Do you know what it is?"

"No, we don’t know, sir!" the griffons answered in unison, their interest piqued.

"When the time of the summer solstice arrives," Nimbus said, his voice lowering to emphasize the importance of the moment, "Her Majesty Princess Crescenta Luna Newstar will come in person to see your progress! Do not let me down. UNDERSTOOD?!"

"YES, SIR!" The griffons’ voices roared in unison, the energy in the air palpable.

Nimbus nodded sharply, satisfied with their response.

"Good!" He motioned toward the exit with a flick of his hoof. "Class dismissed! Go shower, ladies and featherheads! You know where the food is!"

As the griffons filed out, Nimbus stood alone for a moment, his gaze turning to the horizon. He had given them his best, and now it was time to see if they could live up to the expectations.

Maximus Fulgora sat by the campfire, tearing into a roasted fish with an almost feral intensity. Her sharp beak ripped through the tender flesh, and her feathers shifted in the warm glow of the firelight. She was surrounded by her Circle—friends, allies, survivors. Griffons, just like her, who had endured the horrors of the past few months, each of them burdened by the weight of their people's tragic fate.

The fire crackled as a gust of wind swept through the trees, carrying with it the crisp chill of winter. The Griffons weren’t known for their emotional closeness, their culture more defined by independence and a grudging tolerance of others. But in these dire times, a certain camaraderie had formed, even if it took time to build. That bond was forged in shared hardship, not the kind of friendship ponies might cherish, but a connection born from necessity, respect, and survival.

Fulgora chewed thoughtfully, the fire casting shadows across her hardened face. Despite the warmth of the flames, the thought of her people’s situation was enough to make her insides twist in frustration.

What a disaster. A monumental failure.

Her thoughts went back to the elders—the so-called “Great Council” that had once held the fate of the Griffons in its talons. They had been offered the equivalent of a miracle, a solution to their resource crisis, and all they had to do was accept it: a ceasefire, an offer of trade, peace, and the chance to rebuild. Yet, they chose war, insult, and defiance instead. The Council’s arrogance had sealed their fate.

Fulgora’s sharp eyes narrowed as she thought of the decision to kill the messenger—a foolish, pride-driven act that had doomed them all. The council had dismissed the offer, calling it an insult to their honor. They had killed the pony diplomats, killing not just them, but any hope of a peaceful future for their kind.

The griffon’s beak clenched tight as she thought of the elderly members of the council. If only she had been in charge, she would have accepted the offer without hesitation, saving lives, and sparing them all the suffering that followed. Theirs had been a moment of foolish pride—one that had cost her everything.

Almost the entire griffon military had followed the orders blindly. Except for Gilda and her regiment—the "Sharp." Fulgora’s old friend, a griffon who had always been different, who had once shared a bond with a pony. Gilda’s refusal to join the mindless war machine had saved many, including Fulgora’s family.

The memory of the day the order came down, of the desperate evacuation, still haunted her. Gilda had used every connection she had to create safe passage, sending families to the border before the real horrors began. When the front-line troops were decimated, and the council turned the citizens into nothing more than meat shields, Gilda’s intervention was the only reason Fulgora had escaped.

She still remembered the faces of the griffons she had watched fall—elderly parents, chicks who barely knew how to hold a weapon, all discarded in the name of war. The sight of it still burned in her memory, and the pain of her little brother’s death weighed heavily on her heart.

"I would have killed them myself," Fulgora muttered bitterly, her voice low and hard. "Those bastards... if I could go back, I’d sacrifice my wings just to be the one who swung the axe."

Her eyes flicked to the other griffons around the fire, some of them staring into the flames, others talking in hushed tones. They had all seen too much, lost too much. But none of them shared the depth of her anger—the fire that burned in her chest for the council’s betrayal, for the deaths of so many innocents.

And none of them knew the truth behind her bitterness—the death of her younger brother. That pain was the thing that drove her, kept her sharp, kept her from giving in to the despair that often tried to settle over her heart.

Fulgora stood up abruptly, tossing the remains of the fish into the fire. She stretched her wings, feeling the familiar ache in her joints as she unfolded them. The pain was constant now—a reminder of the sacrifices, the lost battles, and the things she could never undo.

"I’ll make them pay," she muttered, her voice cold and determined, her mind focusing in the enemy's of the nation that now she served. "Every last one of them."

[Zecora's Hut]

[The Same Day]

Sweaty Belle sat cross-legged on the cool stone floor of Zecora’s dimly lit hut, the scent of herbs and ancient incantations filling the air. She bent over her notebook, scribbling down meticulous notes, her brow furrowed in concentration. Zecora’s rhythmic voice echoed in the room as she carefully demonstrated the process of extracting an elixir from a rare, luminescent flower that only bloomed during the full moon.

The young filly was an exceptional apprentice, a natural when it came to learning the intricacies of potion-making. Her intelligence was sharp, her curiosity boundless, and above all, her respect for Zecora’s craft was unwavering. Every detail, no matter how minute, was carefully noted, and every step in the brewing process was followed with precision. Zecora often smiled at the filly’s dedication, something that had been rare in her previous students.

Belle’s fascination with potions had caught the entire village off guard. Most expected her to follow in her older sister’s hooves—running the boutique, handling fashion orders, and preparing for high-society events like the upcoming “Gala of the Gallop.” But instead, Belle had found herself drawn to the world of herbs, powders, and magical concoctions. While her sister was absorbed in her busy schedule, Belle had embraced the quiet solitude of Zecora’s teachings, finding peace in the art of potion-making.

Success had its price, however. As her sister’s business grew, the pressure of maintaining a high standard in Ponyville’s fashion world kept Rarity away from home more often than not. Belle had come to accept this sacrifice, though she often wished for the simple comfort of having her family close by. It wasn’t easy, but it was a reality she had learned to navigate.

Still, despite her growing talents and newfound passion, there was one thing that seemed to elude Belle—the elusive Cutiemark. She had been waiting for it, hoping it would arrive like a silent promise, a badge of purpose. But it seemed that destiny was in no rush. The empty space on her flank lingered as a quiet reminder that the path she was carving was one she had to walk without the usual markers of success.

Belle’s eyes darted to the unfinished potion bubbling gently on the table, the flickering flames casting a soft glow across her face. Her heart swelled with pride at the progress she had made in such a short time. Even if her Cutiemark hadn’t arrived yet, she was certain of one thing—this was where she belonged.

Zecora finished her explanation, and with a thoughtful nod, she gestured for Belle to take over the next step.

“Your turn, my young one. Show me what you’ve learned.”

Belle’s eyes shone with quiet determination as she set to work, her hooves steady as she carefully added the ingredients in the correct order, just as Zecora had instructed. As she worked, she realized something that gave her a sense of peace: her journey wasn’t defined by the marks others saw on her flank. It was shaped by her actions, her learning, and the magic she created with her own hooves.

And perhaps, just perhaps, that was enough.

[Canterlot - Tea Time - Royal Gardens]

Princess Celestia sighed contentedly, a warm cup of tea cradled between her hooves as she basked in the golden sunlight that enveloped the royal gardens. The day was serene, the soft hum of the wind rustling through the trees a stark contrast to the tension simmering beneath the calm surface of Equestria.

Beneath a delicate parasol, Princess Luna sat at ease, munching on a slice of turkey bacon. The quiet moments like these, shared between the two sisters, had become rarer since Luna’s return as co-ruler. The burdens of leadership, with its endless stream of politics, diplomacy, and now the looming specter of war, had kept them both occupied. So, once a month, they tried to carve out time just for themselves—time to talk, to laugh, and to be sisters again.

However, the conversation, as it so often did lately, turned to the war.

The words fell heavily between them as Luna spoke, her voice tinged with both resolve and sorrow. “Sister, we’ll need to raise taxes. To rebuild and strengthen the navy, at least for the time being. The threat looms ever closer.”

Celestia took another sip from her cup, her movements slow and deliberate, though her mind had already drifted. She knew the weight of Luna’s words all too well. Taxes would go up, resources would be stretched thin, and ponies—her ponies—would suffer. Her gaze wandered over the gardens, though she saw none of the beauty around her.

"The cost of peace,” Celestia murmured to herself, her voice barely above a whisper.

Luna’s voice cut through the thick silence that had settled over them. "There is no choice, Celly. If we don't act now, we risk losing everything. The Elements... they must come to Canterlot. We need them trained, prepared. We cannot let them be caught off guard again."

Celestia’s expression hardened, her hooves tightening around her teacup as a surge of emotion washed over her. "I... I know you're right. But it pains me, Lulu. The very thought of sending them to war... my children... to face horrors none of them should have to endure."

Her eyes fluttered shut, her wings folding tightly around her as she tried to quell the rising tide of emotions. "I have failed them... all of them. I promised peace, and now I must once again send them into the storm."

Luna watched her sister with a sorrowful understanding, knowing that there were few who could ever grasp the true weight of Celestia's responsibility. With a quiet, determined movement, Luna approached her elder sister, folding her own wings around Celestia’s trembling form, offering whatever comfort she could.

“Celly, you’ve done so much for them already,” Luna said softly, her voice gentle but strong. “You’ve protected them, you’ve kept them safe for centuries. You cannot bear the guilt for this war. You do what you must, as you always have. They trust you.”

Celestia let out a heavy sigh, the weight of her responsibilities pressing down on her chest. “And I will carry it, Lulu. But that doesn’t mean I won’t bleed with them, every step of the way. I will never be the ruler who looks the other way.”

For a long while, the two sisters sat in silence, each processing the reality they faced, the world they had fought so hard to protect now teetering on the edge of destruction. But in that shared silence, Luna’s presence—strong, steady—was a quiet balm for Celestia’s troubled soul.

Just a few meters away, a statue, long frozen in place, seemed to shift ever so slightly. It wasn’t much, just a subtle movement of an eye, followed by the mischievous stroke of a white bird’s feathers across its stony surface. A faint chuckle, almost imperceptible, echoed from the stone figure.

It seemed even the statue understood that no matter how much they tried to shield themselves, the storm would eventually find them all.

And as Celestia wiped the tear from her cheek, a strange calmness washed over her. They had endured the darkness before. And they would again. Together.

[Ponivillage - Night - Sugar Corner]

Diane Pie yawned with exhaustion, the soft glow of the bakery’s lights illuminating the last of the day’s work. The counters were clean, the ovens turned off, and the scent of freshly baked goods lingered in the air, a sweet reminder of a day well spent.

She stretched, her muscles protesting the long hours, before carefully hanging up her apron and placing it next to her dirty laundry—nothing but a few shirts, some pajamas, and socks. The laundry was modest, as always, but she couldn't help but pause for a moment. The mundane task was almost comforting.

But only almost.

She gave a quiet chuckle, brushing off the fleeting thought. And they used to call me crazy.

Now, after everything, things were different. She wasn’t the same mare she used to be, stuck in a perpetual haze of denial. Her past had unraveled, and along with it, the lessons she’d never paid attention to before—like how the mind and body could intertwine in strange ways. And yes, she was talking about sex.

It wasn’t something that interested her much beyond the basics of health and wellbeing. But now that she was aware, well... let’s just say there were things a pony just shouldn’t witness.

And this is the moment when I vote to remain a virgin forever, she thought sarcastically, her mind doing a dance she hadn’t indulged in for some time. Sarcasm had always been more of a Maud thing, but she was learning how to appreciate it more these days.

Her momentary amusement faded as she thought of Pinkie. More specifically, Pinkie’s absence.

Her cheerful mood slipped, a crack appearing beneath the surface of her usually composed demeanor. Diane didn’t even consider herself Pinkamena anymore—not really. The old name, the old life, was gone, buried along with more than just her former self. A part of her had died that day. The real Pinkie Pie had died. And now... Diane was left with this hollow space.

She cast a glance at her Cutie Mark. Her hoof hovered over it for a moment, and then with a small tug, she peeled it off, revealing a plain patch of fur underneath. No Cutie Mark. Just nothing.

Pinkie Pie had a Cutie Mark. Pinkamena Pie had a Cutie Mark. Diane Pie did not.

Not that it really mattered. She’d come to understand that Cutie Marks weren’t everything. They were just a superficial sign of a talent that was already inside you. Pinkie had her balloons, her joy, her parties. But Diane, well, she had her own skills—baking, building, and a knack for making things work when it seemed like nothing ever would.

How else could she have built the Party Cave without anyone noticing?

She smiled faintly at the thought. But then her eyes fell on something else, a shiny gold ticket resting on her nightstand.

The Gala of the Gallop—an exclusive event held each year in Canterlot. Pinkie had always dreamed of attending. She used to talk about it with the kind of innocent excitement that only Pinkie Pie could muster.

Diane’s lips twitched into a nervous laugh. Pinkie’s plans for the Gala had always been... chaotic, to say the least. Diane knew that if she went, she’d probably end up trying to turn it into a Ponivillage-style party.

At least Twilight would be there to keep things slightly under control. Though, Twilight... well, she was a different story. A true tragedy, really. So much potential, so much left to give, but the world... the world wasn’t kind.

Her thoughts darkened, but before she could spiral further, she was pulled back to the present by a sudden, sharp chill creeping down her spine.

Instinctively, Diane’s head snapped toward the window. Her eyes widened as she saw a strange collection of orange objects flying through the night sky. Her heart skipped a beat as one of them fell toward the neighbor’s house.

The acrid scent of smoke hit her nose, and panic flared in her chest. She froze for a moment, trying to make sense of what was happening, before the reality of the situation struck her like a bolt of lightning.

Without wasting another second, she scrambled to gather the essentials. She grabbed her bag, her tools, and whatever else she could manage, before leaping out of the window and into the streets below.

Her hooves carried her swiftly to the entrance of her "Party Cave," where she quickly grabbed the loudest, most reliable party cannon she had. Without hesitation, she fired it, sending a burst of confetti and noise into the air, hoping to alert the town to the fire that was spreading.

Then, without skipping a beat, Diane bolted toward the Cake family’s house, her heart pounding in her chest as she raced against time.

[Bar la Yegua-Chsuca - Ponivillage - A Few Hours Earlier]

Nimbus leaned back in his booth, savoring the rare moment of relaxation. The atmosphere of Bar la Yegua-Chsuca was filled with the usual blend of noisy chatter and the clinking of glasses, a perfect mix of lively spirits and friendly faces. Seated across from him were Applejack and Rarity, the former with a cup of cider in front of her, the latter with a delicate glass of wine. The trio had found a quiet corner to settle into, away from the hustle of the rest of the patrons, enjoying the evening and each other's company.

Applejack had practically dragged Rarity to the bar, insisting that the seamstress take a break before exhaustion took its toll. Rarity had been working tirelessly for days, but Applejack had sensed the tension and knew it was time for some downtime. Rarity had protested, of course, refusing to drink more than a single glass. But it only took that one glass to loosen her up.

Nimbus raised his own mug in a half-hearted salute as Rarity, already feeling the effects, began to laugh a little too easily. He couldn't help but notice how quickly her usually composed demeanor was slipping away under the influence. She wasn’t the heavy-drinking type, but with a quick sip, her usual restraint had disappeared, and now, she was giving way to her softer, more emotional side.

Applejack, however, was unaffected by the alcohol. Her ability to hold her liquor was legendary, a fact that Nimbus had regrettably come to learn as the evening wore on.

The conversation turned to lighter topics after a while, as they all chatted casually with Starlight Shimmer, one of the new waitresses at the bar. Starlight had been a bit of a surprise to the local crowd. A recent arrival in Ponivillage, she had nearly perished in an accident that required Zecora's healing touch. Now, Starlight was working to pay back the zebra’s help, despite Zecora’s initial refusal of any compensation.

As they continued their conversation, Nimbus discovered more about his companions than he had expected. Applejack, for example, revealed a deep-seated fear of enclosed spaces and water. When she was a filly, she had fallen into a well, nearly trapped there for a whole day. The memory still haunted her, and though she had learned to cope, it was clear that it had shaped her in ways most ponies wouldn't understand. And when she shared the story, Rarity, ever the dramatist, had been reduced to tears, pulling Applejack into a hug despite the discomfort of the confession. Nimbus watched quietly, amused, as the two mares shared a moment of unexpected vulnerability.

Then, to everyone's surprise, Rarity kissed Applejack on the lips. The kiss was short, a spontaneous gesture of affection, and it left Applejack stammering in shock.

“Eh, whu, w-what?! Rarity! What the hell was—”

Before Applejack could finish her exclamation, Rarity slumped forward onto the bar table with a dramatic thud, immediately succumbing to the effects of the alcohol.

Applejack stared at her, blinking in confusion, while Nimbus struggled to suppress his laughter. He watched, incredulous, as Applejack gaped at her friend, likely too embarrassed to form a coherent sentence. Nimbus let out a loud, uncontrollable laugh that echoed across the bar.

“Shut up, you face egg,” Applejack muttered under her breath, her face redder than a tomato, but just as she was about to voice another protest, an explosion rocked the air, its shockwave reverberating through the building.

Rarity shot up from her drunken stupor with a start, her eyes wide with panic. Nimbus didn't waste a moment. His instincts kicked in as he bolted from his seat, his mind already shifting into combat mode. A couple of griffons were hot on his heels as he dashed out of the bar and into the chaos unfolding outside.

The air smelled of smoke, and the heat from the growing flames was unbearable. In the distance, he could see the flickering orange glow of fire consuming parts of Ponivillage. It didn’t take long for him to realize what was happening.

"CAPTAIN!" a griffon shouted above the din. Nimbus turned, spotting one of his students soaring toward him.

"DIAMOND DOGS! WE’RE BEING ATTACKED BY DIAMOND DOGS!" the griffon called out, before being struck down by a sharp arrow that embedded itself in his neck.

Nimbus’s heart skipped a beat, his mind racing as the world around him seemed to shift into slow motion. He dove toward the fallen griffon, but the situation was already spiraling out of control. The Diamond Dogs had launched a surprise attack on Ponivillage. There was no time to waste.

He could only hope that his friends were safe as he leapt into action.

Author's Note

Nobody expects the Dog inquisition !