400 Years Ago
The forest’s gloom continued to consume before her even as it broke. The blackened trees loomed, their branches clawing out as if to drag her back in. Ash fell in soft drifts, coating the now open ground in a blanket of grey. Calamity Clue pulled her cloak tighter as the air thickened with an eerie, unnatural stillness. No birds sang, no breeze stirred. Only silence, heavy and watching.
The trail was faint—a scatter of hoofprints across soot, a charred scrap of fabric caught on a branch, and the ghost of a campfire, its stones cold and brittle with age. Each clue unraveled a piece of the mare’s journey, leading her deeper into the ashlands. Ember Gloom had been the kirin the ashlands turned to in times of need—a healer, a guide, a protector against the desolation’s worst. Her sudden disappearance had shaken the small community that relied on her strength, her wisdom. No one had believed she would simply vanish, not without a reason dark enough to pull her into the ashlands alone.
Calamity followed, though the path wound deeper into the silent wasteland, the weight of the ashen stillness pressing heavier with every step. Ember had come this way—through scorched earth and suffocating quiet—but whatever had drawn her into this place, Calamity could only guess. The trail grew colder, the clues fewer, until only the faint memory of her hoofsteps remained.
The ruins emerged suddenly from the haze, jagged and angular, as though some vast, unseen force had ripped them from the earth and left them to crumble. Broken stone walls jutted skyward, streaked with faint green veins that pulsed irregularly, like the dying embers of a fire that refused to go out. Each pulse sent a low hum through the air, a vibration felt more in her chest than her ears.
At the edge of the ruins, the ground cracked underhoof, soft and fragile like charcoal. The air trembled faintly, pressing heavier with each step. Every fragment of the ruins bore scars of violence—blackened scorch marks, deep gouges that spiderwebbed across fractured surfaces, the remnants of a spire collapsed into jagged rubble. Yet it wasn’t the destruction itself that made the place unbearable. It was the quiet weight of something broken, something that shouldn’t be.
At the ruins’ heart lay a figure.
The kirin’s body was unmistakable, twisted and grotesque in a pose of eternal anguish. Charred flesh clung to sharp, jutting bones, the once-graceful form reduced to something unrecognizable. Green light flickered weakly from cracks in her withered frame, threading through her limbs like veins too tired to flow. Her face was a mask of despair, hollow sockets dimly aglow with the same sickly light that seeped from her ruined body.
The amulet embedded in her chest pulsed weakly, its fractured surface spilling light like a broken dam. Jagged and sharp-edged, it seemed as much a part of her now as the scorched flesh it split. Each flicker sent tremors rippling through the air, a disjointed rhythm that clawed at the edges of thought. The green glow danced erratically across the ruins, painting them in broken, shifting shadows.
The ground beneath her shifted with the rhythm of the amulet’s fading pulse, a faint tremor like a heartbeat struggling to persist. The scent of scorched earth thickened, clinging to the back of her throat. The pull of the artifact was relentless, dragging her forward despite the weight pressing on her limbs. Her hooves faltered as the broken edges of the amulet seemed to shimmer, promising nothing good.
A voice whispered through the ruins. Brittle. Fractured. It seeped from the stone, a vibration that carried no malice, only despair. The words were too faint to understand, but their tone was clear—guilt, anguish, and an unspoken warning. The light of the amulet flared faintly, its jagged surface spilling shadows that writhed against the walls.
The hum grew louder as Calamity approached, becoming a song that drowned out her thoughts. She couldn’t look away. Her hoof moved forward, trembling, reaching for the faintly glowing amulet clutched in the kirin’s chest.
The jagged glow drew her closer, each step a betrayal of instinct. Her breath quickened as the hum rose to a dissonant screech, vibrating through her skull. The amulet pulsed erratically, spilling its fire like blood, the cracks in its surface widening with each burst of light.
The moment her hoof brushed the amulet, the world exploded.
The green light surged outward in a torrent, engulfing the ruins and shattering what remained of their fragile structure. Tendrils of energy lashed against the walls, ripping stones from their foundations and scattering ash in violent waves. The hum became a roar, deafening and incomprehensible, as though the air itself were tearing apart.
Flames erupted in jagged bursts, though they carried no heat. They twisted in impossible shapes, clawing at the ruins, reaching for her with a will of their own. The fractured amulet split further, spilling its light like poison. The flames wrapped around her, sinking into her skin, her bones, her very essence.
Her form twisted under the onslaught, green fire coursing through her veins as the roar of the amulet filled her thoughts. Shapes writhed in the flames—phantoms of lives consumed, fragmented faces flickering in and out of existence, jagged remnants of something that had no place in this world. They pressed against her, through her, clawing at the remnants of her mind. Ember’s memories bled into her own—despair, battle, and pain, tangled with Calamity’s own fragmented thoughts, until she could no longer tell where one ended and the other began.
The surrounding ruins convulsed under the weight of the amulet’s collapse. The light surged one final time, a violent burst that scattered the ash and left the stones crumbling in its wake. The ground beneath her cracked wide, the green fire surging higher, engulfing her completely in its consuming flames.
When the light faded, the ruins lay still. Their hum had quieted to a faint whisper, barely audible. The amulet was silent, its fractured edges jagged and lifeless. Ember’s body lay motionless, her torment ended.
Through the haze of fading fire and crumbled ash, a figure staggered forward. Flames licked at her coat, green and winding, but they did not burn. Her steps were erratic, her movements aimless, her gaze unfocused. She had no name, no memory, no purpose—only the unyielding fire that burned within her, a flame she could not escape.
The ashlands stretched endlessly before her, but she didn’t see them. She didn’t see anything. Only the fire remained.
Fractures Beneath the Surface
The night in Ash Saddle was thick and heavy, the ashfall dimming the moonlight into a muted haze. Faint glimmers of firelight danced across the trees, their living embers casting a haunting glow that made the forest appear alive in ways both beautiful and unsettling.
Draft Sketches’ horn glowed faintly as she worked, the soft amethyst light reflecting off the charred ground and the runes she was repairing. Beside her, Calamity Clue stood still and silent, her flames barely flickering, their greenish hue blending eerily into the night.
Draft Sketches moved with a quiet elegance, her cerulean coat catching faint glimmers of moonlight that filtered through the ashen haze of the night. Scaled sections adorned her body, their iridescent sheen a subtle reminder of her Kirin heritage before becoming an Alicorn Qilin. Her mane was a striking blend of untamed ruggedness and refined beauty—spiky and wild at the crown, cascading into soft, flowing strands. A bold stripe of vibrant orange ran through the gray of her mane and tail, a vivid spark of color that seemed to glow faintly in the dim light.
Her tail, flowing with a wavy grace, ended in a distinct tuft of fluffy fur, a hallmark of her Kirin lineage. Around her hooves, a soft, ethereal magic shimmered like the faint glow of embers, carrying her steps effortlessly above the ground. Even in the stillness of the night, she moved with purpose, her presence both commanding and serene.
The two ponies worked in near silence, the soft hum of magic and the occasional crackle of Calamity’s fire the only sounds breaking the quiet. Though it was late, Draft showed no sign of weariness; her eyes were sharp and focused on the intricate task at hoof.
Calamity shifted slightly, her movements stiff and controlled, as though bracing against an unseen force. Her wings twitched faintly, their flame-touched edges shimmering in the dim light. They moved with a mechanical smoothness, a reflection of the affliction that had taken root in her body.
When the repairs were complete, the runes pulsed faintly, their glow stabilizing as the last of Draft’s magic faded. She let out a small breath of relief, though her eyes lingered on the runes with a hint of unease.
“They’ll hold,” Draft murmured, though the words seemed more for herself than for Calamity.
Calamity’s flames dimmed slightly, and she glanced toward the forest. “For now.”
Draft hesitated, then stepped closer. “You should visit the hall later. You don’t have to stay down there all the time. It’s…” She paused, her voice softening. “It’s not good for you. Not with what it does.”
Calamity turned, her gaze steady but distant. “It’s better than hurting anyone else.”
For a moment, they stood in silence. Then, with a faint crackle of flame, Calamity spread her wings and leapt into the air, the green fire trailing faintly behind her as she glided toward the hills.
The air was cooler above the treetops, carrying the faint scent of ash and burnt sap. Calamity glided silently, her wings catching the updrafts with practiced ease. Below her, the island stretched out like a mosaic of fire and shadow.
The ashen trees glowed faintly with internal embers, their magical nature flickering in the darkness. Meanwhile, Brimwood groves stood out against the more common flora—luminous patches of darkwood trees, their bark streaked with fiery sap. Wild Brimwoods grew sparsely and dramatically, lone sentinels perched on cliffsides or overlooking steep drops, their light casting eerie shadows across the rocky terrain.
She banked toward a jagged hilltop, her wings slicing through the air as the city of Ash Saddle came into view. Perched high on the cliffs encircling the central crater lake, the city was a patchwork of firelight and dark silhouettes. The streets twisted upward, flanked by towering structures built from stone imbued with fiery veins.
Beyond the city, the crater lake shimmered faintly in the moonlight. Its surface was a calm, pale green, untouched by the magic that shaped the rest of the land. The cliffs surrounding it were steep and unyielding, their jagged faces making access to the water nearly impossible. A massive cavernous opening in the cliffs loomed to the west, its shadowed depths housing the Amethyst Palace—a sprawling, open-air structure carved directly into the rock.
Calamity tilted her wings and descended toward one of the many cavern openings that dotted the island’s landscape. These entrances, scattered like pores across the hills, led into an underground world shaped by fire and magic. The air grew warmer as she descended, the faint glow of fiery veins illuminating the tunnel walls.
Deep underground, the caverns opened into a vast chamber. The walls shimmered with veins of molten-like stone, casting flickering reflections across the uneven surfaces. Crystals jutted out in clusters, their fiery cores pulsating faintly, as if alive. Stalactites and stalagmites stretched toward one another, their tips glowing like embers in the dark.
Calamity passed through the chamber, her hooves moving with careful precision across the uneven ground. She stopped at the edge of a narrow ledge, her wings flaring slightly for balance as she peered down into the depths below. This place, like so many others in the caverns, reflected the magic that had seeped into every part of the island.
Further in, she came to her sanctuary—a space she had carved out over centuries. The chamber was scarred with blackened craters and fractures, remnants of her outbursts when the fire had burned too fiercely. Shattered crystals littered the floor, their remains scattered like fallen stars. Yet, there were signs of comfort here, too.
A ledge smoothed by her hooves served as her resting place, softened by salvaged cloth she had brought from the town above. A faintly glowing pool of water sat at the chamber’s edge, its surface undisturbed by the heat that radiated from the walls. Calamity paused by the pool, her flames dimming as she stared into the water’s reflection.
Her mane flared briefly, a surge of green fire illuminating the chamber. She closed her eyes, forcing the fire back with a shuddering breath. The rage was always there, clawing at her, waiting for a moment of weakness.
“No,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Not tonight.”
The flames subsided, leaving only the faint flicker of light in her mane and tail. She climbed onto the ledge, curling her wings around herself as the chamber fell into silence once more.
The ashfall lightened with the first glow of morning, though the sky above Ash Saddle remained shrouded in a dull gray haze. The market square stirred with life as ponies set up their stalls, their movements practiced and efficient. The warm scent of roasted fish and fresh bread mingled with the ever-present tang of ash and embers, lending an oddly comforting vibrancy to the chill of the early day.
Faintly, from somewhere deep beneath the cliffs, came a low, haunting sound—a tremor that seemed to ripple through the earth itself. It was almost like the distant keening of wind, yet layered with an edge that resonated in the bones of those who paused to hear it. The ponies in the square stiffened momentarily before resuming their tasks, their hooves moving a little faster, their voices a touch quieter.
A hush followed her into the square, though none could say why. Her black coat gleamed faintly, as though polished by the ashfall itself, and her midnight-blue mane caught the pale morning light in subtle streaks of silver. She moved with an elegance that seemed unintentional, yet every step felt deliberate, her dark cloak shifting with the precision of a blade in motion.
When she paused, her piercing gray eyes swept over the market, her gaze lingering just long enough to make others glance away first. She smiled then, a faint curve of her lips that carried no warmth, yet no malice—just the calm assurance of one who always saw ten steps ahead.
A merchant glanced up as she approached, his horn glowing faintly as he tended to a row of glowing stones. The fire-veined surfaces flared with gentle heat as he levitated bread over them, baking it directly atop the stone’s warm glow.
“Good morning,” Obsidian said, her voice smooth and measured, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “It’s impressive how quickly you bring warmth and light to this place. The stones—are they always so steady?”
The merchant blinked at her, caught off guard by the compliment. “Steady enough,” he replied, tilting his head slightly. “You just have to know how to handle them.”
“Ah,” she murmured, her gaze lingering on the stones. “Like anything powerful, I suppose. Missteps can lead to… less desirable outcomes.”
The merchant chuckled nervously, unsure whether to agree. She didn’t press him, instead letting her eyes wander toward the town beyond, where the faint sound of hooves and voices rose with the morning bustle.
“You’re new here, I take it?” he asked, adjusting the bread atop the stone.
“Quite,” she said lightly, turning her full attention to him. “And already enchanted by the fire in this place. It seems to run through everything—your homes, your trees… your very lives.”
The merchant’s ears flicked. “That’s the truth of Ash Saddle. Fire keeps us going. Keeps us warm. And… keeps us safe.”
Her smile widened, though her eyes remained sharp. “And what of the fire beneath us? The cries from the caverns? It must take a strong heart to live with such… reminders.”
The merchant hesitated, shifting his weight. “We’ve learned not to dwell on things that don’t need fixing.”
“A wise approach,” Obsidian said smoothly. She stepped back, inclining her head in gratitude. “Thank you for your time—and your patience with my curiosity.”
As she moved through the market, her presence drew polite greetings but few lingering looks. She was careful to balance her inquiries with a warmth that never crossed into familiarity, weaving herself seamlessly into the rhythm of the square.
Near a stall selling woven goods, a mare offered her a smile. “Not often we see travelers out this way.”
“I imagine not,” Obsidian replied. “A place like this must draw only the determined.”
The mare laughed softly, tying off a bundle of fabric. “Or the desperate.”
“Or the ambitious,” Obsidian countered, her gaze flicking briefly toward the high cliffs that loomed beyond the square. “I see strength in places like this—fire forged by hardship. Even the flames below seem to temper your resolve.”
The mare’s smile faltered slightly, but she nodded. “We do what we must.”
Obsidian lingered a moment longer, letting the conversation ebb before moving on. Every word, every reaction, was a thread in the tapestry she was weaving. Each step she took was deliberate, her mind cataloging everything she observed: the rhythm of the town, the mood of its people, the tension they carried in their eyes when the sound from the caverns echoed through the air.
By the time she left the market, the sun was high enough to cast faint light through the ash-choked sky. Her steps carried her toward the cliffs, her expression serene but her mind alive with calculation. This place, with its fire and its secrets, would burn brighter soon enough—she would see to it.
The entrance to the caverns loomed wide and foreboding beneath the ash-laden cliffs, a dark maw that whispered secrets no filly had ever dared to unearth. Jasper stood at its threshold, her heart pounding like the beat of war drums. The stories of the “wailing mare” were whispered by firelight in Ash Saddle’s homes, the kind of tales meant to keep foals from wandering too far into the dangerous hills and caves. But Jasper had never been one to heed warnings.
The lantern in her teeth swayed with her unsteady breaths, its dim light barely cutting through the oppressive darkness. She stepped inside, the air cooling rapidly around her as if the warmth of the world stopped at the cavern’s edge. Her hoofsteps echoed softly, swallowed almost immediately by the vast emptiness ahead.
The first cry startled her.
It wasn’t a sound Jasper had ever heard before, not from any living thing. It was raw, fractured, and guttural, rising into an eerie wail that seemed to fill the very stone. She froze, her small frame trembling.
“Keep going,” she whispered to herself, swallowing the lump in her throat. Her father always said fear was something you pushed through, like walking into cold water.
She moved deeper into the cavern, drawn by the sound of anguish so profound it stirred something deep inside her. Was the wailing mare just a legend? Or was she someone who needed help? Jasper adjusted her lantern, its soft glow illuminating jagged stone walls that seemed to close in as she ventured further.
Calamity Clue sat in the heart of the cavern, motionless but for the trembling of her scorched wings. The flames that clung to her body were a sickly, unnatural green, flickering with a life of their own. They wreathed her form in a halo of anguish, their heat warping the very air around her. Her once-sleek coat was marred by cracks and glowing embers, her fur long since reduced to ashen wisps. Her wings, once powerful and graceful, were tattered and uneven, their edges glowing like molten metal ready to shatter. Her mane, too, seemed caught in the fire’s grip, curling and whipping in ghostly tendrils as though it, too, was alive.
Her face, once calm and collected, now bore the marks of unrelenting agony. The molten glow of her eyes burned through the darkness, but they lacked focus, as if caught between fury and despair. The faint outlines of her bat-like ears flicked weakly in the oppressive heat, but they added no softness to her twisted silhouette. She was a shadow of her former self, her figure both regal and horrifying—a living embodiment of torment.
Her wails weren’t intentional. They tore from her in jagged, piercing sobs, a raw and visceral expression of pain she could no longer contain. Each cry was dredged from the deepest well of suffering, her own anguish twisted and magnified by the spectral remnants of others—ethereal spirits bound to her curse. Their agony interwove with hers, each carrying their own silent tragedies, amplifying the haunting sound that filled the cavern. Together, their cries resonated with an intensity that shook the stone itself, a chorus of torment that longed to escape, to lash out, to make the world feel even a fraction of the pain they carried.
But for Calamity, it wasn’t just the flames or the spectral whispers that broke her. It was the slow, crushing loss of herself. Once calm, collected, and precise, she had been a pony of reason and resolve—a solver of mysteries, a seeker of truth. Now, every memory of that former life was a jagged reminder of how much she had been twisted, how far she had fallen. The fire had not just consumed her body; it had hollowed her out, leaving only fragments of the mare she had been.
That loss was the deepest cut of all, and it was the driving force behind her cries. She was no longer just Calamity Clue, the once-dignified protector of Ash Saddle. She was something else now, something alien even to herself—a creature of anguish and rage, unable to extinguish the fire that devoured her inside and out.
But this time, she wasn’t alone.
The flickering light of a lantern approached, its glow faint but steady. Her eyes flared open, glowing like molten gold swallowed by sickly green fire, twin embers of the curse that consumed her. She rose with a snarl, the flames surrounding her surging in response to her fear and anger. Whoever had dared to intrude here would regret it.
The intruder—a filly—stumbled into view. Her wide eyes reflected Calamity’s fiery glow, and for a moment, the cavern was silent.
“Leave,” Calamity growled, her voice rough from years of disuse. The flames around her flared dangerously, casting menacing shadows on the walls.
The filly didn’t run. She didn’t scream. Instead, she took a cautious step forward, her legs shaking but her gaze steady.
“You’re the wailing mare, aren’t you?” Jasper’s voice trembled, but there was a strange determination in it.
Calamity blinked, her flames dimming slightly. The filly’s courage—or foolishness—caught her off guard. “I said, leave.”
“Why are you crying?” Jasper asked, her small voice cutting through the tension. “Are you hurt?”
For hours, Jasper stayed, her curiosity outweighing her fear. She spoke to Calamity in fits and starts, her words innocent and free of judgment. Calamity, in turn, remained guarded, her answers short and wary. But as the hours stretched on, the filly’s presence began to chip away at her defenses.
Jasper didn’t flinch at the flames or recoil at Calamity’s appearance. She sat at a careful distance, her lantern resting between them like a tiny campfire. “Do you live here?” she asked, her head tilted.
“Yes,” Calamity replied simply.
“Why?”
Calamity’s gaze softened, but her voice remained sharp. “Because I have to.”
Jasper frowned, her brow furrowing. “That’s not a reason. You don’t have to live in a scary cave. There’s plenty of room in Ash Saddle.”
Calamity barked a laugh, bitter and low. “Ash Saddle doesn’t want me. They never have.”
Jasper fell silent for a moment, her expression thoughtful. She glanced around the cavern, her eyes falling on a strange, misshapen object resting near the wall. It shimmered faintly in the dim light, its surface molten and uneven as though it had been caught in an eternal flame. She pointed. “What’s that?”
Calamity’s molten eyes followed her gaze. “That was once a sculpture,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with regret. “A friend made it for me centuries ago. She said it was supposed to remind me of hope. But... my fire didn’t care.”
The slagged remains of the once-delicate piece were still recognizable in places—a curved edge here, a faint glimmer of a gemstone there. “It’s one of the few things that’s survived this long. Damaged, but not destroyed. Just like me.”
Jasper stared at the warped sculpture. “Your friend still cares about you, doesn’t she? If she gave you something like that.”
“She does.” Calamity’s tone was sharp, but it softened as she added, “She helps where she can. I’d be worse off without her. But most ponies aren’t like her. They’re afraid of me. Afraid of what I can do.”
“You didn’t mean to ruin it,” Jasper said softly. “It’s not your fault.”
Calamity sighed, her flames dimming slightly. “It doesn’t matter. I’m dangerous, little one. Being near me is dangerous.”
The townsfolk found them after hours of searching.
Jasper had been missing since early morning, her empty bed discovered along with the absence of her lantern and a few small supplies. Her parents, frantic but not entirely surprised, recalled the filly’s endless fascination with the sprawling network of caves beneath Ash Saddle. Despite repeated warnings, she had been enamored with the idea of exploring the endless underground passages.
“She kept talking about the caves,” her mother said, her voice taut with worry as she clutched a lantern of her own. “I told her it wasn’t safe, that she could get lost or worse.”
“And now she’s gone and done it,” her father muttered, his jaw tight. “If she’s in the lower chambers…” He trailed off, unable to finish the thought.
The caves were not just dangerous—they were another world entirely. The interconnected passages sprawled beneath the entire town and surrounding hills, a labyrinth of vast chambers and narrow tunnels that carried echoes of every hoofstep. Accessible from nearly every street, cellar, or hillside, they were as much a part of Ash Saddle as the buildings above. Everypony knew of the caves, but only a few ever dared to explore their true depths.
Draft Sketches, her expression as calm as it was unreadable, led the townsfolk’s efforts to search. “The caves run beneath almost every street,” she said, addressing the gathered ponies. “We’ll check every entrance. Stick to the main passages, and keep your lights steady. If she’s down there, we’ll find her.”
Draft’s calm instructions echoed through the gathered crowd, her ethereal presence commanding attention. Ponies exchanged glances as they split into smaller groups, a few shifting their weight uneasily or adjusting their lanterns with sharp, hurried movements. One stallion hesitated before heading toward a tunnel, his hooves dragging as though reluctant to move, but he didn’t voice his hesitation.
As Draft turned to lead her own group, the low murmur of whispered conversations carried through the air, quickly silenced when she glanced over her shoulder. The shuffle of hooves echoed faintly in the cavernous space, the quiet tension filling the gaps where words might have been.
It wasn’t long before one of the groups reached a chamber where faint, flickering green light danced along the walls. The sight of it sent a ripple of unease through the ponies gathered there.
“There she is!” a stallion called, his voice carrying through the cavern.
Jasper stepped into view at the far end of the chamber, the small beam of her lantern dwarfed by the sickly glow behind her. She looked unharmed, though her mane was dusted with ash, and she held her lantern close. Behind her, the source of the unnatural green light came into view—a form everypony recognized immediately.
Calamity Clue was already there, her molten gaze fixed on the ground as if hoping she could will herself to be unseen. Her sickly green flames flickered dimly, their glow making any attempt at concealment futile. She didn’t move to flee or speak to the filly beside her. For all her power, she felt impossibly small under the weight of the moment.
But even if her flames hadn’t betrayed her, the anguish she carried would have. The tension in her posture, the way her wings drooped like dying embers—it was clear she wanted to disappear. But Calamity knew better than most that there was no place she could hide.
The sight of her ignited an immediate uproar.
“Get her away from that thing!” a mare shouted, stepping toward Jasper.
“She’s not a thing!” Jasper shot back, her voice louder and sharper than the crowd had expected. “She didn’t hurt me!”
Jasper’s mother pushed forward, her lantern swinging as she grabbed her daughter and pulled her close. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is down here? What were you thinking?”
“I... I wanted to see her,” Jasper said, her voice steady but quieter now. “She’s not scary—she’s in pain.”
Her father’s expression darkened as he stepped toward her. “Jasper, this isn’t some adventure! You could’ve been hurt—or worse! And she’s the last pony you should be near!”
“She didn’t do anything to me!” Jasper insisted, her tone firmer. “She just—”
“She nearly destroyed the southern district not two moons ago!” another stallion interrupted, pointing toward Calamity. “And for what? This thing doesn’t belong here!”
Calamity shrank back slightly, her flames dimming, but she didn’t retreat. She didn’t look at the crowd, or at Draft, or even at Jasper. She stood silently as their anger grew.
“Enough!” Draft’s voice rang out, silencing the clamor. She stepped forward, her presence commanding but distant. “That destruction wasn’t her fault.”
“Wasn’t her fault?” the stallion snapped. “We’re still fixing the damage!”
“You are,” Draft said, her tone cool. “Because she fought off a Shiranui to keep your homes from being leveled completely. Or would you have preferred she let it rampage through the town unchecked?”
The stallion faltered, his indignation momentarily sputtering out. But another mare, emboldened by the tension, spoke up.
“She still destroyed homes,” the mare said, her voice sharp with anger. “Ponies are living in shelters because of her! It doesn’t matter what her reasons were—this town keeps paying the price for her being here!”
Draft hesitated, her gaze flickering toward Calamity before returning to the mare. Her voice, when she finally spoke, carried an edge of cold authority. “I see. It’s easy to shout and point hooves when you don’t understand the burden of real responsibility.” She stepped forward, her ethereal mane shimmering faintly in the sickly green light of the cavern. “You think it’s my job to stand on every corner, fight every battle, and sweep up after every disaster like some guardpony on patrol? Do you have the faintest idea what my duties demand of me?”
The mare flinched at Draft’s sharp tone, but her frustration didn’t waver. “We needed you!” she shot back, though her voice trembled now under Draft’s piercing gaze. “You weren’t here! The southern district burned while you were—what? Handling royal matters? Sitting in that palace?”
Draft’s eyes narrowed, her voice dropping to an icy calm that carried through the chamber. “Yes, I was handling royal matters. I was ensuring that this town continues to exist, that the resources you need to rebuild even reach this island. Do you think the fortifications you hide behind, the supplies you take for granted, appear out of thin air? They come from work you’ll never see—alliances you’ll never understand. So forgive me if I’m not here to personally hold your hoof every time life gets inconvenient.”
A ripple of murmurs passed through the crowd. Some ponies shrank back, chastened by Draft’s words, while others exchanged uneasy glances, their anger simmering beneath the surface.
The mare’s ears pinned back, but she wasn’t finished. “Convenient? We’re rebuilding homes while she”—she jabbed a hoof at Calamity, who stood silently at the edge of the chamber—“burns everything she touches. You weren’t here to stop it. You weren’t here to protect us.” Her voice cracked slightly. “We needed you.”
Draft’s composure faltered, the mare’s words landing harder than she cared to admit. For a moment, her royal mask slipped, revealing a flicker of frustration—and perhaps something else, a hint of guilt. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by her imperious tone.
“You needed me,” Draft repeated, her voice laced with derision. “You needed me to what? Wave a hoof and make everything better? You forget yourself, and your place.” She turned slightly, letting her words ring out for the others to hear. “Do you think I’m some town steward? Some common unicorn tasked with chasing wild beasts from your doorstep? My work goes far beyond this town. I am your Gem of Time, ruler of Ash Saddle, and my duties are greater than any one of you. Including you.” She fixed her gaze on the mare.
The mare shrank under Draft’s piercing stare, though her defiance lingered in her tense posture. “And what happens when the next fight destroys another home?” she asked, her voice quieter now but no less bitter. “Are you going to leave us to fend for ourselves again?”
Draft’s patience snapped. She stepped closer, her voice rising sharply. “You have no idea what I’ve already done to keep you safe. Do you think the Shiranui would’ve stopped with the southern district if it hadn’t been for her?” She gestured sharply toward Calamity. “Do you think my absence means I don’t care? Or that I owe you an explanation for why I wasn’t here, personally, to protect you? Maybe you should consider this: without me, there wouldn’t be a town left for you to complain about.”
The tension in the room flared, the air thick with unspoken hostility. The crowd exchanged uneasy glances, their anger now mingled with the undeniable truth of Draft’s words. Jasper’s mother pulled her daughter closer, murmuring softly as she tried to calm her.
Calamity remained silent throughout, her glowing, ember-like eyes fixed on the ground. She made no move to defend herself, no effort to justify the destruction left in her wake. Her presence alone seemed to suffocate the cavern, her flames casting eerie shadows that danced with the unease in the air.
Draft stepped back, her voice regaining its icy calm as she addressed the group. “This conversation is over. Take the filly home, and remember this moment the next time you want to hurl accusations at the ponies who stand between you and annihilation.”
Jasper’s mother nodded quickly, pulling her daughter toward the cavern entrance.
“You’re grounded,” she said firmly, her voice soft but brooking no argument.
“But—” Jasper began, only for her father to cut her off.
“No more adventures,” he said sharply. “You’re staying where we can see you.”
The crowd began to disperse, though their anger lingered in their expressions. Draft turned toward Calamity, her gaze softening just slightly before she flicked her tail and walked deeper into the shadows of the cavern, leaving the wailing mare behind.
As the last flickers of light disappeared into the tunnels, Calamity released a long, shuddering breath. Her flames, faint and green, barely illuminated the jagged walls around her.
She turned and retreated further into the caverns, the echoes of the townsfolk’s accusations ringing in her ears. The glow of her cursed fire danced along the slagged remains of the sculpture in her sanctum—a bitter reminder of the weight she carried and the isolation she could never escape.
In the darkness, she let the anguish take her once again.
Later that night, as the search party dispersed and the commotion faded, Draft found her way back to the cavern. She stood at the edge of Calamity’s sanctum, her hooves making no sound as her ethereal magic carried her.
“What were you thinking?” Draft’s voice cut through the silence like a blade.
Calamity flinched, the glow of her flames shrinking. “She came to me.”
“And you let her stay?” Draft’s tone was sharp, but there was a note of concern beneath it. “You’re lucky she wasn’t hurt—or worse. Do you think I can protect you forever if something happens?”
“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Calamity muttered, her gaze fixed on the warped sculpture near the wall.
“That’s the problem, Calamity,” Draft said, stepping closer, her voice steady but laced with worry. “You don’t mean for these things to happen, but they do. Letting her stay around you... it’s too dangerous. You’ve seen what happens when you lose control, even for a moment. Do you think a filly like her could survive that? I know you care, but caring won’t stop the flames.”
Calamity turned away, her wings trembling. “I didn’t hurt her.”
“Not this time,” Draft replied. “But what about the next time? Or the time after that? Do you think the villagers will forgive you again if you make one mistake?”
The words stung, but Calamity knew they were true. She nodded silently, her flames flickering weakly.
That night, the cavern was silent, save for the faint crackle of Calamity’s ever-burning flames. She sat alone in the heart of her sanctum, her molten gaze fixed on the warped remains of the sculpture Draft had once given her. The chamber felt emptier than usual, as if the filly’s absence had carved out something she hadn’t realized was there.
Jasper’s voice echoed faintly in her memory, soft yet unshakable: “You’re not scary. You’re in pain.”
It wasn’t the first time somepony had pitied her, but this time felt different. Jasper’s words hadn’t been empty, nor had they been born from fear. They carried something Calamity hadn’t dared to face in years—a belief that beneath the flames, there was still something left of her.
Her claws of fire scratched at the thought, trying to tear it away, but it clung stubbornly, burrowing deeper. What did that filly know about pain? What did she know about what the fire took, about how it twisted and warped and consumed?
Calamity let her gaze drift to her scorched wings, the jagged edges glowing faintly like the embers of a dying fire. She didn’t feel like the thing Jasper thought she was—didn’t feel like anything but the remains of somepony long dead, kept walking by the curse that gnawed at her from the inside out.
And yet...
She closed her eyes, the darkness behind her lids swallowing the green flicker of her flames. Jasper’s presence had been like a lantern piercing through her endless dusk, naïve and fleeting, but undeniably bright. For a brief moment, it had made her wonder what it would feel like to have that light stay—to be something more than the fire and the ash.
But it couldn’t stay. It never could.
She forced herself to open her eyes again, her flames flickering unevenly against the stone walls. She couldn’t afford that kind of thinking. Not for herself, and certainly not for Jasper.
Whatever the filly had seen in her, it didn’t change what Calamity knew to be true: she was dangerous, no matter how tightly she tried to hold the fire back.
The memory of Jasper’s kindness lingered, like the faint afterimage of a flame burned into her vision. She let it sit there for a moment longer before turning away, deeper into the cavern where the glow of her flames couldn’t reach.
