Chapters Behold the Light—It Beckons
Author's Note
This prologue is meant to help those readers who are not familiar with the world of My Little Pony as portrayed in the Equestria at War mod for the Hearts of Iron IV computer game by offering a brief introduction into that world. Those who are already familiar with the early gameplay of Equestria from EaW, there is still merit in reading the prologue, as I have taken a few minor liberties in the sequence of events and general setup of Equestria.
0. Prologue
Equestria.
For well over a thousand years, the land has prospered under the guidance of Princess Celestia. From her first day raising the sun, fighting wicked beasts, and ultimately banishing her sister for treachery, ponies have enjoyed unparalleled peace and expansion. In recent years, Trouble has shaken that paradise. Nightmare Moon returned, Chrysalis and her changelings attempt to invade the land, the return of the Crystal Empire is marred by the simultaneous return of the wicked Sombra. Thankfully, each disaster is averted by the heroic actions of the newly ascendant "Bearers of the Elements of Harmony."
The world is changing at a rapid pace, however. Mass industrialization, firearms, airplanes, large battleships—Equestria can no longer rely on the efforts of a mere six ponies to defend her citizens. Still, Equestrians are hesitant to change their way of life. Among those seeking to bring Equestria into the modern world is Princess Luna. With her return and reformation, she sought out "her" ponies—the estranged thestrals. Throughout it all, they had remained loyal to Luna, even when she transformed into the evil Nightmare Moon. Their stubborn attachment to the Princess of the Night led to a general ostracizing from pony society at large, though they found little issue with being cast out, given their cultural propensity for isolation.
Advisors closest to Luna fed her reports and information on the suffering and mistreatment of the thestrals, all carefully crafted to elicit certain... emotions from the princess. Wracked with torment for failing "her little thestrals," Luna approached her sister with a proposal to integrate them into pony society at large. Celestia believed that such measures were unnecessary and premature, much to the chagrin of Luna. Celestia permitted her younger sister to pursue thestral integration, offering guidance and a warning: let the ponies of Equestria decide by referendum, and beware the entrapments of emotional manipulation.
So Luna set out to gather support for a "Thestral Integration Movement" in hopes of mending a rift within Equestrian society and to prove to her sister that she could effectively manage domestic affairs.
Far to the south of Canterlot and away from the heart of Equestrian politics, Commodore Light Shine commands a small flotilla out on peacetime patrol. Life in the Equestrian Royal Navy is quiet—save for the exceptionally rare sighting of a sea monster, most ships idle away their time in port, out on standby rescue duty, or training exercises. There is no expectation of adventure, no grandiose tales of bravery, or heroic displays of courage. And for Light, this is a bane and a boon—his career has stunted with no further opportunities for promotion, yet he is able to live a life of comfort and provide for his family.
Tonight, however, Light finds no solace in sleep. Boredom, restlessness, or an unquiet mind, sleep simply eludes him. In a way, he idly wishes for some excitement in his rather mundane life. Of course, one must be careful for what one wishes.
For a thousand years, Equestria has peacefully stood the test of time.
For a thousand years, ponies have lived in harmony.
For a thousand years, that harmony has persisted unabated.
Why would anything change now?
Behold the Light—It Beckons
Something has gone wrong. We don't seem to have an archived copy of that chapter. Behold the Light—It Beckons
Baltimare was not the largest nor most important port in Equestria, but it certainly liked to act it. A regular stream of cargo ships flowed in and out of the city’s various docks, creating an illusion that all Equestria relied upon this stream of goods. In truth, Baltimare’s reach within the nation of ponies extended only into the so-called “Southern Colonies.” Unlike much of the northern half of Equestria’s eastern coast, the southwest region of the nation—from Baltimare to Stableside—lagged far behind in its efforts to modernize and industrialize.
Celestia certainly encouraged those efforts, but made no effort to press the issue. Her little ponies could do as they please, so long as they were happy. Alas, as with anything uttered by a ruler or politician, the common pony naturally divided itself between agreement and dissatisfaction with the sentiment. Many saw no need to change their traditions, and appreciated the Princess’ benign neglect. Others were dissatisfied that Celestia “allowed” the regional barons of industry and commerce to divert resources to their own personal projects instead of building up the burgeoning communities scattered throughout the area.
And still others felt that Celestia intentionally ignored the southwest because, well…
“All thestrals?”
Light nodded. “Yes, sir. All sixty-two serving aboard the Cloudsdale .”
Before him, behind a grand bureau, sat a squat, maroon-colored unicorn stallion dressed in an admiral’s uniform. Serving as the Equestrian Navy’s regional commander of the Baltimore-based fleet, Rear Admiral Hatch Anchor fixated upon a set of three separate reports levitating before him in the glow of his magic.
“Coral Shelf states in his report that nothing happened beyond an unusual dizzy spell”—he glanced up at Light—“the non -magical kind, and says that it is his belief that any connection with the others is coincidental.” Exchanging Coral’s report with another, Hatch cleared his throat before continuing: “Holly Jasper states that she elected to scry the minds of all those rendered unconscious and found visions of Nightmare Moon.” He set the papers down and leaned forward with folded forelegs. “Commodore, it’s one thing to make a medical exception based on circumstantial evidence to scry crewponies’ minds, but sedation? Your medical officer raised questions about it, and nothing came of the situation to warrant that action. Setting your report aside, I want to hear from your mouth why you did what you did.”
Here, then, was the fallout. A more devious or self-conscious commander would have tried to hide his actions. Such a commander would never have all but ordered his medical officer to file a report. Light knew that Coral would file a report regardless, and had Holly’s official statement on the matter never existed, this easily would have been swept aside as an intraship matter—Light’s word against Coral’s, and Light had far more sway and veterancy than Coral.
But that’s what a self-centered, devious commander would do. Pragmatic, even.
Light was none of those. Honest to a fault, he believed that truth would always prevail. Who was right mattered less than what was right. Of course, he now sat before his commanding officer facing the ugly question of whether or not what he did was indeed the right course of action.
He bobbed his head to acknowledge the line of inquiry. “Sir, no one simply has a dream with Nightmare Moon without there existing a deeper meaning buried within it, especially if that dream appears to be a shared one.” He cleared his throat. “There is a significant amount of… fervor throughout Equestria at present regarding the integration of thestrals.”
Hatch leaned back in his chair, his face lacking any indication of emotion. Still, the shift in posture signaled that Light now sailed upon dangerous waters.
”Coral’s behavior immediately prior to falling unconscious struck me as odd, given his mention of some ‘call to return home’ from Princess Luna. Couple that with the other sixty-one thestral crewponies also suffering not only the same sudden onset of unconsciousness but also a shared vision of one of Equestria’s greatest threats?” He stiffened, eking out a smidgen more straightness in his posture. “Sir, nothing may have happened, but I believe I acted in such a fashion to prevent a ‘something’ from occurring.”
Hatch sat silently after Light finished his defense. The ticking of a wall clock heightened the unease present in the back of Light’s mind, poking and prodding at his mental fortitude. The lack of a prompt response suggested that some sort of bureaucracy lurked behind the admiral’s pending decision. Light held his composure as the admiral mulled over his thoughts.
After an agonizingly long minute, Hatch abruptly stood up and approached the bay window and looked out upon the port and the city of Baltimare beyond. “C’mere, Mr. Shine.”
Light Shine stood up and paced himself carefully over to join the admiral at his window. To the right of the view, the naval base and commercial port serving Baltimare held dozens of vessels anchored at their berths or loading bays. Light’s own ship, the Cloudsdale , rested near the far edge of the naval base, with two of her fleet mate destroyers anchored beside her. The industrial sector of Baltimare occupied the majority of the view, with the Hayseed Swamps barely visible through the haze of factory smog.
”Take a look there.”
Light looked out in the direction that Hatch nodded, down in the streets near one of the larger factory complexes. The most prominent factory in the complex had stylized signage of the owning company: “Baltimare Royal Steelworks.” Directly below it, occupying the majority of the open grounds, gathered a large crowd of workers around a singular pony standing upon a ramshackle platform.
”See that crowd?” Hatch asked.
”Of course, sir.”
Hatch let out a humph . “It’s a strike. Baltimare is a breeding ground for communist sympathies and anti-princess rallies. Communists.” Hatch shook his head. “I trust Princess Celestia’s judgment overall, but there is trouble brewing here. The southwest is generally not pleased with how Canterlot has handled development down here. You’re from Stableside, right?”
Light nodded. “Yes, sir. I am.”
”Then you should know how tenuous the situation is down here.”
A slight wince broke across Light’s muzzle. “Actually, no, sir, I do not.”
Hatch raised an eyebrow, tilting his head, giving Light a sideways look of bewilderment. “You don’t? And don’t tell me it’s because of your tour out on the Fire Sea.”
“No, sir—” Light shook his head in response, “—quite the contrary. I have kept close correspondence with Ivy and my family about events in Stableside.”
”I suppose if anyone would keep you in the loop—“ Hatch grunted. “—it would be that darling writer wife of yours.”
As far as he knew, Ivy Scrollheart—or rather, Ivy Scrollshine as she liked to call herself now—diligently kept him well informed as to the general activity within Stableside and the surrounding area. She loved to craft stories, and Light thoroughly enjoyed reading them. “And she does. I believe it is more that Stableside is known for its strong pro-Celestia sentiments. My hometown is not known for…” Light nodded his head in the direction of the strike below. “…deviant political thought.”
A bemused chuckle escaped from Hatch. “‘Deviant political thought!’ Oh Light, you are a character. It’s a good thing I’m not inclined toward any ‘deviant political thought’ myself.”
“If I may, sir, what is the relevance of all this?”
Hatch half-coughed and returned to his seat. “Sit back down, Commodore.”
Light obeyed, returning to his rigid seated posture.
“Listen, Light.” Hatch let out a tired sigh. “Under normal circumstances I’d sweep this under the rug and tell you to watch yourself the next time you want to sedate somepony, but—“
A knot turned in Light’s stomach at the admiral’s heavy drop of the last word.
”—circumstances dictate differently.” Hatch tapped his forehooves together. “The local thestrals have been up in a tizzy of late, and I don’t doubt that word of your decision to sedate your thestral crew hasn’t already been spread among their ranks. Maybe you stopped a mutiny or fight.” He shrugged. “Maybe you didn’t. We’ll never know, but thestrals are going to assume the worst regardless.”
”So—“
”So I will be placing you on probation until further notice.”
Light slumped in his chair as his heart sank. It was such a… trivial matter! Probation? What he did hardly affected the well-being of those thestrals, and was well within his right as a commanding officer. It wasn’t—
“I know this doesn’t seem fair to you,” Hatch continued, “but I need to try and prevent adding fuel to the fire. I can’t speak for the rest of Equestria, but Baltimare is teetering on the edge of chaos.”
Light perked up. “From… communists and thestrals? We have it so good in Equestria; have none of them seen what it is like to live outside it?”
“That isn’t the point, and I know you know that. All they see are their own lives and the lives of those around them. And if putting you on probation—for a short while—can help to soothe their frayed nerves, then that is what I will do.” The admiral leaned back in his chair again. “Light, I know you of all ponies understand this.”
Light sat silently for an eternal heartbeat. Logically, yes: the demands of a greater whole superseded the desires of one mere pony. But emotionally?
He stared for one eternal heartbeat longer, casting a long, unfocused gaze past Hatch and at the window. Twenty-five years in Celestia’s service. Each year spent playing the tedious political game against complacency and stagnation within the upper ranks. Only two years ago had they finally acquiesced and granted him the commission of commodore and “rewarded” him with the small Baltimare squadron.
He broke his gaze and locked eyes with Hatch. It wasn’t fair to judge the peacetime navy of Equestria. If anything, his commission was a miracle amidst the stranglehold of of said complacency and stagnation. No, if his probation helped Celestia maintain continued peace in some small way, then—
“Yes, sir, I do.”
Behold the Light—It Beckons
“By the sweat of our brows and the labor of our hooves, we made Baltimare what it is today!”
The bombastic cry of a mare elevated atop a podium behind a murmuring crowd seized Light’s attention as he walked by the city’s largest marketplace. While not planned, he had a passing interest to catch one of these communist rallies, not because he believed them, but because he wished to hear the craft of rhetoric employed by the agitators. How they stirred up the common pony to speak out against the status quo. Given his own special talent, he paid particularly close attention to the spoken word.
“You know it, my fellow workers! The political class and barons of industry wouldn’t be sitting so high and pretty if it wasn’t for us!’
A collective sound of agreement echoed within the crowd. The agitator in question wore a tweed, woolen suit of an unflattering, drab gray color, clashing horribly with her dark brown coat and bright blue mane and tail.
“We built this city! Our collective work made them rich! And what do we get in return?”
Bright blue mane? Light cocked his head, intently scrutinizing the agitator’s movements, words, and appearance. He had met some… amusingly colored ponies in his life, but never one whose color palette argued with itself in quite such a fashion as this mare’s. It had to be a wig of some sort. And her posture and hoof movements…
“A poor pony’s wage and stale bread! Nothing by comparison! We live in slums and cramped apartments while the fruits of our labor gorge the fat in their cozy mansions!”
It felt… off. Every time his talent triggered, he could never place a concrete hoof as to why , but it had yet to fail him. Something in this mare’s words simply did not sound right. Light perked an ear, honing in on how she delivered her message.
“We deserve better than this! Collectively, we are stronger than them! The power to change the world is in our hooves!” She raised a defiant hoof dramatically into the air. “In our desperation, we were convinced to surrender it for pennies! I say we seize it back!”
Light nodded. That had to be it: it was all too fluid and practiced; too smooth and clean. He quietly huffed in amusement. No common worker could afford the sort of education and training to speak in such a practiced fashion. She was an elite in disguise. His talent alerted him to the “offness,” and he parsed the rest with ease.
The roar of the crowd washed over his thoughts as Light listened in a final time.
“Comrades—“
Light winced at the word.
“—join us! They will hear our power and we will make them listen! ’
The crowd continued to roar as they stomped their hooves in further agreement. Light simply shook his head in disbelief. He didn’t think the agitator was a spy—no, her words certainly carried an impassioned conviction within them. She may have believed her own message, but she certainly was no factory laborer. Her delivery and practiced motions betrayed her true form: an actor fallen into her role, a charlatan taking advantage of the plight of the poor.
Leaving the crowd behind, Light Shine left the marketplace, navigating on instinct as he pressed on to his intended destination. The walk gave him time to further reflect on the rally—a practiced actor stirring up the common worker to rise up against their capitalist employer. Well, a presumed actor. Truthfully, all his special talent gave him was a feeling of sincerity in a pony’s spoken word. Most of the time, anyhow. It had yet to fail at guiding him whenever it acted up; though to this day he still would not be able to explain why or how to anyone that would ask about it. It remained a mystery to him as well. There were times when concentrating on the words behind the words would bring out a deeper understanding. Sometimes it simply was a gut feeling. Regardless of when or how it manifested, Light would at times simply “know” the sincerity behind somepony’s words.
He broke his train of thought momentarily to confirm his bearings: a look to his left, then a glance to his right confirmed that he neared the end of his journey. Turning down one more street, he subconsciously engaged his idle “autopilot” and returned to his thoughts.
For as oft as he had amateurishly studied his special talent, he still felt that there was much more to be discovered. He had yet—in the thirty-five years since gaining his cutie mark—to discover how to fully control it. Or what, precisely, triggered its activation. That was not to say that he had not made some progress in understanding his talent—for many years he thought it only applied to the sincerity of his own words. Discovering that it could also parse the sincerity of others came as quite the surprise after hearing an old friend of his lie to his face. Well, less “lie” and more “speak the truth and not believe a word uttered from his own mouth”.
He came to a stop and focused on the street before him. There, nestled in a corner of an intersection, was his destination. It looked the same as it had twenty-five years ago. He resumed his approach.
As for the communist agitator? Well, he would never be completely certain of her true intentions or background, but he had learned enough of the world around him to be reasonably certain about his extrapolation. He shook his head, and cast the thoughts aside. Enough of that nonsense.
He had arrived at the local restaurant he had grown attached to during his time at the academy. Light pulled out his pocket watch to check the time: precisely eleven AM. Just in time. Stuffing the watch away, he pressed the door open and was greeted with the familiar tingle of the entrance bell. The smells of Coltjun spices, freshly baked cornbread, and, most prominently, deep fried vegetables wafted his nostrils, eliciting a smile as memories of meals of yesteryear came rushing to his mind. And, if he recalled correctly, there should be a—
“Welcome, friend, to d’Gravy Boat! Grab a number, sit ‘cherself down, and we’ll be whi’chu inna jiff!”
There it was. All these years and Gravy Boat still hollered his greeting from the kitchen to entering customers. Light exhaled an exaggerated breath of satisfaction. With all the uncertainty brewing in society at large, and especially in his personal life, he took refuge in the knowledge that some things still retained their persistent, comforting charm in spite of the changing world around them. Peering around the small restaurant, he took inventory of its current patrons, and caught the sight of a familiar pony seated in one of the booths. A number would not be needed this time.
Light pranced over to the booth, and beamed a bright smile. “Stormy!”
The earth pony in question—his deep, intensely dark blue coat contrasting sharply against the bright colors of the restaurant—stepped out of the booth and embraced his friend with a warm hug. “Good to see you, Light.”
Accepting the embrace, Light reciprocated with a friendly pat on the back. “I am delighted that you were able to join me for a short reunion!”
Stormy Seas chuffed. “Not that difficult when a commodore makes a request for a ‘consultation and coordination visit’.”
Light chuckled. “I simply wished to make sure that our two task forces are up to speed regarding patrolling schedules.”
Stormy shook his head and smirked. “This isn’t about patrol schedules. I know you too well for that.” He glanced back at the table.
“Oh, stuff it with protocol and just sit down.” Light waved a hoof at the table, and sat down himself, with Stormy following suit. “And yes, the request was a pretense. I know that submarine and surface flotillas follow unrelated schedules.”
“Then—“ Stormy stopped himself as a pegasus mare approached the booth.
“Welcome to d’Gravy Boat! My name’s Sunshine Celery, and I’ll be delighted to serve you two gents! What’ll it be for drinks?” the server greeted, expertly flipping two menus from under her wing and tossing them onto the table.
“Coffee, black,” Stormy answered without skipping a beat.
The server marked the drink down, and glanced over at Light. “And for you?”
He cleared his throat, eliciting an eye roll from Stormy, who knew exactly what was coming. “A Keowen hot chocolate with two tablespoons of extra cream, mixed with half a teaspoon of hazelnut, and a quarter teaspoon cinnamon, with a large dollop of whipped cream on top.” He nodded with a satisfied grin, and looked over at the server.
”So one Captain’s Cocoa, gotcha.”
Light shuddered his head in disbelief as Stormy raised an eyebrow. “Wait, you have that as a menu item now?”
The server smiled, and waved a wing playfully. “Oh sure! Gravy added it to the menu after an old regular asked for it every time he came. It’s pretty popular in the winter time, but…” A puzzled look crossed Sunshine’s face. “...not usually in the summertime.” She brightened up. “Not to worry, we still can make it for you! I’ll be back!”
The server trotted off toward the kitchen, leaving Light and Stormy to themselves.
“Just how often did you eat here back in the day?” Stormy asked.
“Oh, not that often.” Light looked up into the air, bobbing his head playfully as he mocked an estimate in his head. “Maybe… two or three times a week?”
Stormy merely stared.
”What? I rather fancy this place!” Light laughed. “I honestly had no idea that they named that drink after me!” He dismissed the thought with a wave of his hoof. “Never mind that though. How fares the submarine service?”
”Nothin’ really to say,” Stormy said. “It’s probably as exciting as patrolling the Fire Sea.”
”Undoubtedly. Why, we had to rescue a poor fisherpony trapped at sea a few weeks ago! The fellow confused east with west!” Light chuckled at the memory.
”He… what? How!”
Two mugs plopped onto the table. “Here ya go, gents! Black coffee and a Captain’s Cocoa!” Sunshine flashed a chipper smile. “Oh! Gravy wants to know if you still like your eggs on the biscuit and paprika on your gravy, Mr. Shine.”
Light blankly stared for a moment, then laughed. “He still remembers? And how did he know… ah, right. Cocoa in the middle of summer. Well! Inform the good sir that, yes, I still prefer my favorite dish the same as always!”
“Will do!” Sunshine offered a wink, jotted a note on her notepad, then addressed Stormy. “What can I get ya?”
Stormy flapped the menu open and quickly scanned its entries until his eyes stopped on one item. “Peanut butter-infused waffles?”
Sunshine chuckled. “Those are deeee -licious!”
“Then I’ll have those with a side of mixed berries: strawberries, blueberries, blackberries.”
“Right you are! I’ll be back with your order!” She trotted off once again to the kitchen.
A bemused humph escaped Light. “Huh. I honestly never would have imagined.”
Stormy raised an eyebrow. “Sure you didn’t. A stallion of your personality and charisma? Nope, never.”
Light waved a dismissive hoof. “Ignoring the implied accusation of such a comment, have you kept up on the political and social events of late?”
”About what, exactly?” Stormy held up an accusing hoof. “And don’t say ‘anything’, ‘cause I know you’re going somewhere with this.”
”Fair enough, dive right to the heart of the matter, then.” Light tossed a quick glance around to gauge for potential listening ears. Few other patrons were at the restaurant at this hour, being just before the traditional dinner rush; planned timing on his part, of course, avoiding both sitting next to others and a longer wait time for their meal. Two other booths held occupants, but both were situated far enough away that the noise of the kitchen, the bustle of the street outside, and Gravy Boat’s cheerful yet distant ramblings provided enough of an audio shroud to satisfy Light’s concern.
”What are your impressions of the communist sympathizers here in Baltimare?”
Stormy lifted his mug for a sip and nodded in satisfaction. “That’s good coffee. Communists? I sympathize with their plight, but they’re being played for fools.”
Light followed suit and partook a sip of his own drink. The rich concoction elicited fond memories of his last time here as a recently promoted captain. “Not that I disagree, but why do you say that?”
The dark stallion cast his gaze out the window next to their booth. “I think everypony knows that the mayor and his… let’s call ‘em ‘business partners’, are corrupt and self-serving. A lot of ponies suffer because of it. But communism ain’t the way to do it. And even if it were, you’ll never convince me that this is a movement led by factory workers.”
”Intellectuals or other well-educated ponies.”
Stormy sipped his coffee. ”Yep.”
“I would imagine their ulterior motive is to set up a communist ‘utopia’ entirely designed to still funnel money and power into their hooves. I have yet to hear, see, or read anything from their movement that declares any meaningful solution beyond seizing and distributing the assets of the wealthy.” Light scoffed at the thought. “Building a movement upon the foundation of theft to counter theft. The irony.” He lifted his mug for a drink.
Stormy held up his coffee before his muzzle, bringing it right to his lips. “Luna wouldn’t have allowed this.” He glanced at Light, a knowing look in his eyes, and downed a gulp of his drink.
An instinctual scowl seized Light Shine’s expression. With the return of Luna a little over seven years ago, his friend had grown rather attached to her. It had led to a number of interesting conversations between the two of them: who was the better princess, who had better policies, even who was the prettier. In the end, none of it really mattered, and they had always laughed at the absurdity of the argument.
His tone suggested far more gravity than mere pedantry. “Luna? She is far too indisposed with her silly little campaign for thestrals to bother with a labor dispute,” Light countered.
“Silly?” Stormy set his mug aside, folded his forelegs on the table, and leaned forward. “She’s at least doing something.”
Light sipped from his cocoa, and glanced over to see Sunshine approaching with their meals, offering her a welcoming smile.
“Alright you two! Your ‘breakfast for dinner’ has arrived!” Sunshine set the waffles in front of Stormy, and the platter of biscuits and gravy in front of Light. “Anything else I can grab for ya?”
Both Light and Stormy shook their heads. “No, I believe we are content for now. Thank you, Sunshine,” Light replied.
”Alrighty then! Y’all enjoy, ya hear?” Sunshine gave a grin, nodded, and trotted off.
The two sat in relative quiet as they began eating their respective meals. Stormy did bring up a good point—at least on the surface. With tensions rising from the changelings in the west, the concerns with Stalliongrad to the north, and now communist strikes and odd thestral behavior domestically, it certainly appeared as though Celestia sat comfortably in her Canterlot palace, content to do nothing as the world around her fell to darkness. No, Light believed, Celestia was dealing with the dangers within and without in her usual way—patiently. She had ruled over a prosperous Equestria for hundreds upon hundreds of years, and guided it through many challenges. She could see the larger picture, surely, and knew how to handle it far better than any mere pony.
He set his silverware down and broke the quiet. “I have no doubt that Luna certainly would more…aggressively pursue overt actions to bring an immediate resolution to the issues at hoof, but I trust that Celestia has a grander plan in motion that will net far greater and more long-term benefits. We simply must be patient and trust her judgement.”
Stormy set his fork down and swallowed a bite. “For how long? I don’t agree with the communists, but there are serious problems that need addressing. And what about the thestrals? Luna’s the only one that’s doin’ anything about them.”
“You have thestral ponies serving in your crew, do you not?” Light cut a piece of his meal, and forked it in preparation to partake, but waited for his friend’s response.
“I do, yes. What of it?”
”Tell me what happened to them two weeks ago. What uniquely affected them, and them alone.” He forked his prepared portion into his mouth.
”They all passed out at the same time, and when asked, they said it was a shared dream about how to integrate into Equestria better. Nothin’ came of it.” Stormy’s face subtly scrunched in suspicion. "Why? I assume the same happened with your thestral crewponies.”
Light bobbed his head in half-agreement, before half-shrugging. “More or less. My executive officer acted agitated before collapsing. After learning it affected all thestrals, we scried their minds, and found out they all had Nightmare Moon haunting their dreams. So I sedated them all as a precaution.”
”You… sedated them? Light, all due respect, sir, but why would you do that?”
The stress on “sir” stung the air with a sharp disagreement. Ever since his own promotion, Light had asked to never be addressed by rank or with an honorific when engaged in casual conversation with his friend. He inhaled a deep breath to temper his own impulse to offer a curt retort. “Because…” He let the breath out. “…because I did not trust them. Not with Nightmare Moon peering into their heads.”
Stormy fidgeted with his food for a moment, forking a bite, and twirling it slowly. “What’s wrong with a little nightmare?”
The choice of words had to be deliberate. Even still, there was no way that his friend meant the Nightmare. Surely not. “A terrible dream of terrors and fears is one thing, my friend. A shared… vision of the Nightmare herself? Between only those of her kind?” Light caught the subtle cringing in his friend’s face, and immediately regretted his choice of words.
”Her kind?”
”Now listen, Stormy—“
”No, you listen, Light.” Stormy set his fork down again. “I say this because I am your friend. This is precisely why Luna is championing their cause. Why I champion their cause. Because of instinctual bigotry toward them being a little different. And that difference isn’t even much more than being naturally nocturnal. Yeah, so there’s some loonies out there, but you can’t tell me there aren’t some fanatics that all but worship ‘oh so perfect and mighty majesty’ Celestia. Sir. ”
The second “sir” dug deeply at Light Shine’s sensibilities, and he locked eyes with his friend. ”And suppose she returns, Stormy. What if this is a portent of things to come?”
The dark stallion shook his head. “We’re not doing this right now. That’s borderline fearmongering, and you know it.”
”Fearmongering? ” Light scoffed. “Thestrals do not just have a shared vision of the literal embodiment of dark evil that knocks them all out and not have it raise alarm bells! The thestral campaign is forcing the issue and is oddly timed with such a frightening event.”
Stormy simply stared at his yellow-coated friend of twenty years, the faintest hint of disappointment in his eyes. “Sir—“
Light winced. ”Do not ‘sir’ me, Stormy. Our friendship is old enough for me to know that your use of that ‘honorific’ in casual conversation is nothing more than a veiled insult to my character.”
Stormy curtly dipped his head, stuck a hoof into his right jacket pocket and fished out some bits. “For dinner.” He stood up. “Don’t let the light blind you.”
A sigh escaped Light’s lips. The pun on his own name was a familiar one—something his friend had used as a precaution in the past in more than one conversation—and in times past, he would find the adage amusing. This time, however, it cut into his conscience like a poisoned barb—it didn’t help that a familiar tingle flushing down his muzzle and face informed him that his talent had triggered at his friend’s words. Light momentarily closed his eyes and shook his head. How could his own friend not see? He looked up. The intent behind Stormy’s words surely was to advise the best he knew how; it would only be fair to offer the same in return.
“May you navigate safely out of the storm.”
Stormy gave no reaction and walked away from the table to the exit, leaving Light alone at the table. Letting out a sigh, he reached for his mug and sipped. The cocoa was now cold. He set it aside and looked out the window, catching his friend walking away. Their conversation had held a certain… wrongness within it. To his recollection, any disagreements the two had in the past never felt quite this tense or combative. Was Stormy under the influence of Nightmare Moon? Light shuddered at the thought—why would he even think that? Nightmare Moon no longer existed. She faced defeat at the hooves of the Element Bearers over seven years ago. She was just a silly nightmare now, right?
His body shuddered again. Why, then, did he fear that she wasn’t?
Behold the Light—It Beckons
Light Shine stared out the window of his living room. Situated on the twentieth floor of the Baltimare Estate Tower, his stateroom afforded him a privileged view of the Celestial Sea and the city’s bustling port. Far below, another gathering of workers crowded around an emphatic figure standing upon a makeshift stand—undoubtedly another communist rally. Or strike.
He shook his head in disgust and removed himself from the grand window, and sat down in an armchair that commanded the living room. Hoofing the day’s newspaper that sat upon the end table, he scanned it for anything of note. The front page headline read “PRINCESS LUNA CALLS ON SUPPORTERS TO MARCH ON MANEHATTAN ”. Raising an eyebrow at the declaration, he scanned the article, and scoffed. Luna wanted a show of support for her referendum this weekend and called on thestrals and thestral allies to gather in Manehattan for a grand speech—not storm the city as the title suggested. Still, with tensions as high as they were, a concentrated gathering of so many dedicated to a cause in one location could easily be stirred up to cause trouble.
“She wants me to come home, Light. ”
Light let the paper droop as Coral’s words echoed in his mind. Was that why? To gather as many loyal thestrals as possible in one place? His muzzle scrunched and brow furrowed. But why Nightmare Moon? To come home… Coral was from Baltimare. He shook his head. Perhaps Stormy was right—without evidence, it did sound like fear mongering. Even still, he could not shake a feeling of dread in his stomach.
Forcing the thought aside, he resumed scanning the newspaper. An article on the third page caught his attention as it described new attempts by the mayor, Ash Moustache, to “bring stability to our streets” by initiating a new “Citizen Militia” composed, interestingly, mostly of thestrals. The article further pointed out the protestations of Golden Delicious, who called the act a “danger to the common pony”, and “a violation of basic rights”.
Light didn’t know whether to be surprised that a member of the influential and powerful Apple family was involved in politics—let alone be a communist— or to fully expect that such a pony would involve themselves in the plight of the common worker.
Whatever the reason, whatever the cause, all sides were only interested in escalation, not resolution. Be it thestrals, industrialists, or communists, everypony appeared firmly entrenched in their positions. Light shook his head in disappointment. They were all wrong, of course. One visit from Celestia, or Twilight Sparkle, or even any of the other Bearers of the Elements of Harmony, and it would all be solved. An agreement would be reached, compromises would be made, and everypony would be happy. Obviously.
He folded the paper and set it back on the end table. There was nothing really more for him to do—being set on probation unexpectedly left him wholly unprepared with no docket of activity to occupy his time, and the communist protests and rallies had shut down many of the city’s entertainment,whether due to employee strikes or unsafe conditions. He stared blankly at the opposite wall. What a boring—
A knock at the door shook him from his descent into melancholy. While he had left no instructions to not be disturbed, he also expected no company nor was anyone outside his crew aware he even was at home, let alone in the city. He stood up and walked toward the door. Perhaps it was Stormy? It would be strange for him to visit after their recent exchange, though not outside the realm of possibility. He glanced at the nearby clock hanging on the wall. It was too early for room service or lunch. He reached for the door, then paused to instead look through the peephole.
A courier, of some kind? He opened the door.
“Hello?” He asked.
The pony bowed slightly. “Sorry for the interruption, sir, but there is a gentlestallion at the front desk waiting for you.”
Light furrowed his brow. “Did this stallion offer a name or reason for the visit?”
“Says his name is Page Turner and is an independent journalist looking for a story.”
“Hmmm.” Not that Light did not appreciate a little attention once in a while, but the timing and unexpected notion of a self-professed independent journalist taking interest in anything Light had to offer meant that this “Page” was digging for an exceptionally particular story. Given his lack of notoriety, one would only come knocking at Light's door—metaphorically speaking—would be if somepony else directed Page to himself, or if he specialized in news about the Navy.
“Did he perchance volunteer any more information other than his name and profession?” Light queried further.
“No, sir,” the courier said, “just that he wanted an interview with you.”
Light pursed his lips and bobbed his head slowly. “Very well. Inform Mr. Turner that I shall meet him in the lobby after lunch at precisely 1400 hours.”
“Will do.” The courier nodded, and trotted off.
Light closed the door, and sighed. “Well, I at least have an activity to look forward to now. And some company.”
At the appointed hour, Light walked into the grand lobby of the Estates, eyes searching for any obvious journalists waiting in the corners. When none made themselves apparent, he approached the reception desk.
“Pardon me, but is there a stallion by the name of ‘Page Turner’ waiting for me in the lobby?”
The receptionist shook her head. “Not that I know.”
“I see.” Light pulled out his pocket watch. It read one minute until Two. “Very well, would you please inform Mr. Turner, should he approach the desk, that I will be waiting—“ he pointed to a secluded corner. “—over there?”
“Of course. It’s Light Shine, correct?”
“Yes madam, it is.”
“Very well.”
With that, Light left the desk and retired to the appointed alcove. It was a little disappointing that his guest did not have the courtesy to arrive early for their meeting. Perhaps an unexpected rally delayed him. Or he lacked a reliable timepiece. Whatever the matter, Light used the afforded time to gather his thoughts one final time.
As if on cue, the main lobby doors burst open from the outside and a slightly disheveled unicorn stallion with a white coat and black mane stumbled in; he wore a pristine trilby hat and messenger bag to complete what Light assumed was the journalist look. The newcomer appeared youthful and energetic, rapidly scanning the lobby for someone or something. If his presumption was correct, then the object of his search undoubtedly was Light himself, though the assumed journalist did not find his quarry.
Light simply watched on in silence, observing the unicorn and his motions as the latter hesitantly trotted through the lobby toward the front desk. The faint sound of muttering could be heard; while Light could not make out anything the stallion mumbled, the movements of his head between his surroundings and the notepad levitated in his magic suggested a nervous and split concentration. That would leave the journalist vulnerable to manipulation so long as Light maintained a stoic composure. Of course, manipulating the poor pony—even if it failed—would be a terrible tragedy of moral conscience.
He shook the thought from his head. Now was not the time to be tempted by un-harmonic thoughts, and he thrust the errant musing aside. The pony now chatted with the receptionist, and, out of the corner of his eye, Light caught a hoof pointing in his direction.
No, he would do as he always tried to do with everypony. Be honest and understanding. His eye twitched as the thought of his interaction with Stormy Seas crossed his mind, but also cast it aside.
The sound of approaching hooves signalled that his guest now approached. Now was the time to establish initiative.
”Page Turner!” Light turned with practiced care and extended a hoof.
Page halted momentarily, then reached out a reciprocating hoof to shake. “Yes! I take it you’re Commodore Light Shine.”
The yellow-cream colored pony offered a warm, disarming smile. “Correct you are, sir. I assume you did a little metaphorical excavation to track my person down.” Now was the time to lay out the bait. “Seeing as I tend to avoid making waves in social circles, I find your desire for an interview to be extraordinary.”
”Make waves?” Page pulled out a pencil from his bag with his magic, slight grin on his face as he did so. “Funny coming from a navy guy. Are you okay with an interview?”
There was something about the way Page spoke that suggested he was not a local. Light motioned to the chair opposite of the one he had occupied, and moved to resuming sitting. “By all means. Where are you from, Page?”
”Manehattan, originally.” Page took his seat. “You’re not from around here either, right? Stableside?”
While his hometown was certainly no secret, it also was not public knowledge. For Page to know this meant he came prepared with enough information to guide his questions. Which also meant he could attempt to make speculative questions that Light would need to take care when answering. “Yes, I am originally from Stableside. Born and raised there.”
“What made you join the Royal Navy?”
Starting slow with inoffensive questions, perhaps to lull him into a false sense of security—a typical opening play for a journalist. “To see the world!” Light offered cheerily. “In all honesty, I joined because I love ships and grew up working for the family shipping business. I wanted a little more than the simple life of a merchant captain, and coupled with my desire to serve Equestria at large, I joined Her Majesty’s Royal Navy.”
The pencil in Page’s magic scribbled on his notepad. “How would you say the Navy life has treated you? Any fun adventures?”
“The Navy life has its own excitements that I imagine few others would experience, but Equestria has enjoyed a perpetual peace in terms of global politics that has left little reason to change how we have engaged in our activities for hundreds of years.” Light felt that was diplomatic enough of an answer to avoid most controversies.
Page nodded, seemingly in agreement with that statement.”Yeah, Equestria has been pretty safe from outside threats for a long time. Do you have a favorite color?”
Favorite color? The question held zero relevance to anything, but its straightforward presentation held enough serious tone to convince Light that the stallion was playing his own game to disarm the interviewee. Wear down his patience, then strike with the controversial question. He would not fall for it. “White, navy blue, and golden yellow.”
”Mmmhmm,” Page hummed. “Favorite food?”
“Sage country gravy, eggs sunny side up, flaky biscuits, with paprika.”
”Favorite book?”
“Aeronautical and Aerostatic Engineering Manual.”
Page stopped and raised an eyebrow. “A… technical manual? For airships? You don’t read anything, what, more casual?”
”Of course I do,” He steepled his forehooves. “But you inquired about my favorite book.”
”Does that explain the rumor that you never use contractions?”
Page bordered on wasting his time at this point. To lose his patience or end the interview would be to admit defeat, as it now made itself clear that it was a contest of will. He would not be bested. “Perhaps. My father believed that contractions demonstrated a lack of patience. He taught me to temper my language, and I have found it to be adequate for my desired method of verbal delivery.”
Another eyebrow raise from Page. Perhaps a sign of the battle of wits shifting in Light’s favor, reactions indicated a lack of restraint and temperament. Or perhaps it was a ruse. “Okay, interesting. Were you privately tutored by him? Maths, writing, politics… history?”
”Some, yes, but I was also blessed with a personal tutor as well.”
“I see, I see.” More scribbling. “You continued your education at the Baltimare Naval College, right? Officer’s track?”
“Yes.”
”How would you say your crew would rate your leadership skills?”
Now they finally were breaching into the meat of the interview. “No pony will ever go through life without making a few mistakes. No pony is perfect. With that said, I believe my crew views me as a considerate and competent commander.”
“What would you say your worst mistake was?”
The trap. Admittedly, Light has partially set himself up for it with his statement about “no pony being perfect.” To avoid the question would stand in contrast to that statement, and to acknowledge his choice to sedate would be to admit it was a mistake to do so. He could attempt to deflect to another incident, but undoubtedly Page would press on to the question of sedating thestrals. Still, it was worth the attempt. “Well, a few years ago, when I was captain of the destroyer Encounter , we were told to investigate rumors of a sea monster lurking about in the Fire Sea, but there was a major storm rolling in on the horizon. We were told to wait until the morning to depart, but I believed we could make good time, scout the area, and return before the worst of the storm arrived, if we taxed the engines for the entire journey.”
Light noticed that the Page’s pencil didn’t move. As suspected, this was not the story he wanted to hear. “So we pressed the engines, and definitely made excellent time reaching our destination—if I recall, we managed to hit 36 knots, an impressive speed, mind you—only to suffer engine failure. Thankfully, the reported sea monster either had vacated or was a false alarm, though we now faced the very real problem of the storm reaching us without our engines.”
He relaxed back into his chair. “Thankfully, we were able to weather the storm without much difficulty, but limping back into the harbor with a damaged engine? All for nothing? That by far was my worst mistake. To my eternal gratitude, the admiral at the time found the incident humorous, and commended my boldness.”
Page politely bobbed his head. “Yes… interesting story." There was a slight pause, before the stallion looked Light straight in the eye. "Could you tell me why you were recently put on probation?”
There it was. They were getting to the heart of the matter. Time to play games. “Probation? Who told you I was on probation?”
”I can’t divulge my sources, but I do know that you were placed on probation by at least…” Page flipped through the pages of his notebook. “…as of last week.”
“I presume if you know that I am on probation, then surely you also know why as well.”
“Do you believe that thestrals are equal with other ponies?”
“Of course.”
“Why would you sedate thestrals without their permission?”
“There was a concern of possible trouble.”
“A dream?”
Page had clearly spoken with either Coral Shelf or Holly Jasper before entertaining an interview with the commodore. “A nightmare. Of the Nightmare.”
“But nothing happened.”
“Because nothing ever does, is that what you are implying?”
“Reports of other thestrals experiencing the same or similar didn’t lead to any rioting or aggression. You are the only pony to take a drastic action.”
And there was the lie mixed in with the truth. Light leaned forward. “You mean to tell me that you possess definitive proof of every other pony’s actions relating to the dream incident with the thestrals? Every single pony and every related reaction?”
Page flipped through his notes as though to search for something he could not find. “There’s… there’s enough evidence… uh, ponies don’t—“
Page paused, then flipped through his notes, as if searching for something. Failing to find whatever he was looking for, he took a quick breath before responding.
"I, uh, don’t possess that evidence, no. But ponies don't—"
“Mr. Turner, I stand by what I did.”
The white stallion’s ears flicked to attention.
“I would never claim infallibility in my actions,” Light continued, “but we were isolated out at sea. Twenty-two of my crew succumbed to an unknown malleus that affected a particular race and only that race. Several of the thestrals aboard the Cloudsdale had their minds scried, and in each one, Nightmare Moon was found.” Light shifted in his chair, and leaned back. “One cannot count how many dangers are averted each day because they are never realized.”
”But… would you jail a protestor before they get violent?” Page countered.
Light huffed. “Like those who attend the communist rallies?” Light extended his right hoof to his right side. “Inaction—“ He extended his left hoof to his left side. “—and overreaction are equally bad. Insist on avoiding action under the auspice of safe, inoffensiveness inevitably leads to a detractor taking advantage of that inaction to nefarious ends. React with panicked fear at the slightest notion of an errant misdemeanor and one will face explosive resistance eventually.” He brought his hooves together.
“The middle ground is difficult to find,” he pressed on, “and will always show signs of both inaction and overreaction—we cannot please all ponies all the time. The burden of command thus demands that every leader do their best to find that frustratingly evasive balance betwixt them. I would rather err on the side of action than inaction. To do something rather than nothing.”
“So… you would jail protestors?”
Light Shine sighed. “Mr. Turner, your query leaves much to the imagination and ample room for misinterpretation. I cannot answer the hypothetical as it is presented.”
The journalist jotted a few notes down, before frowning and erasing a portion of it. “Okay, yeah… where do you stand on the thestral issue?”
”Again, you are asking far too vague a question to properly answer.”
“Erm," He tapped his pencil against the side of his snout. “Do you believe that thestrals should be treated the same as anypony else?”
Light tapped his hooves together. Now that they were into the serious questions, the cracks in his interviewer’s confidence and resolve were showing. “Mr. Turner, is this your first interview?”
The notepad floated down to rest on his lap and Page extinguished his magic. “I, uh…” The unicorn’s ears lowered. “Yeah.”
Again, the temptation to take advantage of the situation flashed into Light’s mind—to maneuver the young pony toward an advantageous position for Light Shine’s own benefit, but again, he pushed the thought aside. To act on such a temptation would go against everything he believed. “I see. What do you want out of the interview? An exposé into some deep-seated conspiratorial hatred? To uncover the truth?”
Page nodded his head. “I just... I want to get the real story about what happened. I already interviewed... one of your crew, and it sounded like there was a big story here." He rubbed the back of his head. "But with all the tension involving the thestral rights movement, I… kinda came in sounding more biased, more emotional, than I should.” The white stallion levitated his notepad into his satchel.
A fresh journalist that had yet to be tainted by the poison of chasing sensationalism. Perhaps there was an opportunity here still to be taken. One to hopefully spare the poor lad from a future of lies and manipulation himself.
”What is your ultimate dream, Mr. Turner?”
The white stallion looked up, his ears perking up slightly again. "My ultimate dream? I want Equestria to be better. Everypony thinks it's a paradise, and in a lot of ways maybe it is. But it’s also not for everyone. I want it to be that way for everyone. Night, day, earth pony, unicorn, pegasus, thestral, whatever." Page sat a little taller, look of determination now on his face. "And then maybe I can help make the world better too. Or at least try."
Light smiled. The dreams and hopes of youth. “Save Equestria one story at a time?”
”Something like that, yeah.”
”Commendable.” Light nodded in satisfaction. “And your quest is to discover the truth, not the thrill of a popular story?”
”Yes! No. I mean, truth, yes, not a sensational story.” Page nervously chuckled. “Well, I mean, a front page story is nice, but the truth is what matters.”
That certainly was the dream of every pony—to both do right and be successful in the endeavor. “I am relieved to hear that, Mr. Turner. What about this, then: I treat you to dinner tonight, grant you my perspective on the story you wish to collect, and you promise a fair report on the event.”
Page perked up again. “I… you’d…”
”Yes. I know it is not much in the grand scheme of the universe, but if it helps an eager soul seek and tell the truth, then I wish to help.”
“I—thank you!” Page hopped up, seizing one of Light’s hooves, and shook it vigorously. “Yes! Yes, thank you!” He stopped, and let go. “And… call me Page, if you don’t mind.”
Light chuckled. “As you wish, Page.”
Behold the Light—It Beckons
A light rapping on the suite door alerted Light Shine that his guests had arrived at the prescribed time. He ran through his mental checklist to ensure that everything was set in its place: the radio was tuned to the correct station, and an appropriate amount of chairs was set around it in the living room. He glanced over at the serving table, noting that the nuts, berries, crackers, cheese, and vegetables were all properly arrayed neatly in their designated areas. Yes, everything was ready.
Trotting over to the door, the thought of Coral Shelf turning down his invitation pained his conscience. While true that he was not the only officer to turn down his invitation, Coral’s insistence that his refusal stemmed only from his prior obligation to attend a local thestral rally for today’s event sat poorly with Light; he could not shake the feeling that his first officer was evading interaction with him. Still, perhaps at the conclusion of the day, Coral would be more amicable to making amends.
Enthusiastically pulling the door open, Light greeted his guests. “Ah, welcome! Glad you all could join me this evening!”
Of those officers whom Light invited, two responded favorably. The first, Alderberry—the officer on duty during the thestral incident aboard the Cloudsdale— stepped forward to offer a quick salute. “Sir.”
Light smirked and shook his head. He would let the offending use of the honorific in a casual setting slide this time. While being outside proper protocol, he knew that the junior officer’s use of the salute out of uniform clearly was a lighthearted jab at Light’s discomfort for “unnecessary saluting”. Alderberry returned a knowing smile, confirming Light’s assumption, and the emerald-colored pegasus stallion walked past the commodore into the suite.
“‘Ello, Commodore Shiney! Awfully nice of thou t’ invite us oop ‘ere!” A burly, sky blue earth pony mare playfully, and gently, pushed on Light’s shoulder.
Light returned the gesture with a pat on the mare’s own shoulder. “Wonderful to see you outside the engine room, Dainty.” Serving as the Cloudsdale’s chief engineer, Dainty Hammer lacked much of the social graces that the commodore possessed, but she more than made up for it with her chipper demeanor and ever-present determination to keep the Cloudsdale in pristine condition. The stocky mare thudded by Light, her plodding further indicating her lack of social graces.
“Wher’s t’ snap—Ooo!”
Light huffed in amusement; Dainty had clearly noticed the snack bar. Turning his attention to his next guest, Light extended a hoof. “Page! I am delighted that you were able to accept my invitation.”
The white stallion accepted the hoof, shaking it briefly. “Yeah, thanks for inviting me.” He walked in. “Wish I could be there in Manehattan to hear her in person, but this’ll do.” He followed Dainty’s lead, approaching the snack bar for some treats.
Inviting Page certainly was a controversial one. Not that Page himself was controversial; instead, Light choosing to invite the journalist begged the question to any uninitiated outside observer—it reeked of social manipulation for influence. On the contrary, the intention behind inviting Page was actually more out of a desire for company, than self-serving interest. Well… mostly. He did hope that by bringing Page into his abode, interacting with close friends, and experiencing the stallion in a casual setting would help the journalist see that Light was not a “bad pony.”
The final guest stood stoically in the hallway, maintaining a steady eye upon Light. Returning the gaze, Light Shine cocked his head slightly. “Mister Seas. I see you found my invitation.”
“Indeed I did, Mister Shine. And I saw that you still remembered my address.” Stormy’s eyes remained locked with Light’s. Tension saturated the air as the two friends silently stared at one another, as if to dare the other to break the silence or eye contact first. Pride was on the line. For one to cave before the other would be to admit fault or err. Neither could budge, neither could—
A twitch agitated his eye, and Light blinked.
“Ha!” Stormy blurted. “Victory is mine!”
Light blinked several more times and wagged head before rubbing his eyes. Too many late nights had clearly left him bereft of proper energy and willpower. “Perhaps this time! You know I won the last round!” He moved forward to embrace his friend.
Stormy accepted the embrace with one of his own, and replied in a low tone. “Only because I let you.”
Light Shine scoffed, withdrawing from the embrace. “If you say so.” Light gestured for his friend to enter. “Welcome in, friend.”
Stormy accepted the invite with a nod, and walked in. Closing the door behind him, Light followed Stormy back into his living space, before halting the dark pony in the hallway. “Stormy, I do hope that our little… disagreement has not dampened our friendship. While I still have my reservations about—“ He stopped himself. “Never mind.”
“Of course. I apologize if I came off a little coarse,” Stormy offered in return.
“Right then!” Light nodded. “Let us settle in and hear what the Princess has to say, yes?”
Stormy chuckled. “I’m going to get you to use a contraction one day, mark my words. But yes.”
The two resumed entering the living room. Dainty busied herself eating a plate full of delectables, while Alderberry stood before the living room window, taking in the sight of the city and Page sat quietly in one of the chairs. Light glanced up at his wall clock as Stormy grabbed a few snacks and joined the rest: just over five minutes before the speech.
Perhaps one of the most pivotal moments in all of Equestria’s recent history now approached its zenith—either the three primary tribes of ponydom would accept thestrals as a formally recognized equal, or the status quo would continue. For his own part, Light Shine never quite understood quibbling over the status of thestrals within Equestria—thestrals generally appeared to prefer solitude (from what he saw) and no pony treated them with disrespect.
Lost in thought now, Light blankly stared into the ether—by his own logic, then, what did it matter that the referendum was presented? If all it did was formally recognize the thestrals as the “fourth tribe”, then nothing would change. A shiver washed over his body. He still could not shake the sinking feeling that something was off about the whole affair. He twitched his head to shake the thought—it was just… the changing of the times, no? That surely was the reason for his concern: just resistance to change.
“Ey up, sir!” Dainty’s boisterous voice called out. “Wha’ ye gawping a’?”
Light broke from his train of thought, looked over at the chipper mare, then out at the evening sky, and chuckled. “I am admiring the brilliance of the pale moon!”
“Don’ play me fer a daft mare!” She stuffed a large bite into her mouth. “I know ye are deep in though’—spill it, aye?”
Light Shine let out an amused sigh. “I deeply appreciate your interest, but—“ He looked up at the clock again “—the hour is upon us! All I shall say at the moment is that I hope the referendum tonight proves to be a boon to Equestria.” He moved to turn the sound dial on the radio.
”Of course it will!” Stormy said. “I for one can’t wait to welcome the new era of four official tribes!”
“Yeah! Formal equality for everypony, finally!” Page chipped in.
Light turned the volume up, and the sound of staticy music filled the room. Glancing over at Alderberry, he noticed the emerald pegasus quietly waiting in his seat, a cordial half-smile pressed upon his muzzle, taking in the idle chatter between everypony else.
Satisfied with the volume, Light nodded to himself and took up a standing station next to Alderberry. “You are a rather silent one, tonight.”
Alderberry looked up at his commanding officer, then bobbed his head. “Don’t really have much to say. One of those ‘did my part, not much to do’ moments.”
”Is there something that bothers you?” Light queried.
”Nah,” Alderberry shook his head, “not that so much as I just hope things in Baltimare work out more than anything. Referendum’s nice and all, but it’ll just be a beginning. I hope.”
That was understandable. A vote and royal decree certainly held their own merits, but, in the end, individual ponies were the ones that really mattered. Though again, Light simply did not see how much would change—thestrals were not mistreated, nor were they really discriminated against—he shook the thought again. Just let the events play out.
A crackle of static followed by a simple jingle cut the music short, and a mare spoke, her voice clipped and clear: “Good evening, mares and gentlestallions. We welcome you to a special broadcast straight from Manehattan where Princess Luna will be addressing Equestria tonight on the referendum for thestral representation. While we wait for the Princess to address the nation about… ”
Light furrowed his brow. No matter how many times he heard arguments or statements from members of the pre-Referendum faction, he still could not quite bring himself to an understanding of why it needed to be enacted this way. Throughout it all, Princess Celestia remained silent about the manner; for Light, this meant that the issue was not nearly as dire as many made it out to be. If real discrimination against thestrals was present, then surely she would step in and address it, no? He cast his gaze out the window at the moon; it was bright, and appeared larger than usual. Even still, he wondered if his discomfort with the referendum stemmed from something… worse. He never cared for the night—despite the many late evenings spent throughout his career. His name, Light Shine, stood so opposed to the darkness of the night and even his cutie mark—that of a bright sun with an inlaid wreath—starkly contrasted the muted glow of the moon, no matter how bright the latter shined. He just felt… uncomfortable with the dark.
And thestrals are natively nocturnal. He winced. Consciously, he held no animosity toward any thestral. Despite the fallout between himself and Coral Shelf, he considered themselves friends. Yet despite his active efforts to cordially treat thestrals as he would any other pony, he still felt an instinctual, almost primitive, wariness toward them as a whole. It was not fair to them—was it?
Light returned his attention to the radio, focusing only for a brief moment to mentally note that the radio host was still speaking, before returning to his thoughts once more.
Yes, the thestrals reportedly all rose up in rebellion when Nightmare Moon first appeared a thousand years ago. Yes, they nearly did again almost eight years ago when she returned. Yes, many now exiled themselves in faraway Chiropterra. Yes, many of them still chose a life of solitude and separation from the rest of ponydom. Light took in a deep breath then let it out. Now Equestria considered a sudden referendum to artificially integrate through legislation what one thousand years of peaceful co-existence had failed to accomplish.
“…the Princess has taken to the stage. Mares and gentlestallions, Luna. ” The mare host ended her speaking, and a soft hiss filled the void and Light abandoned his errant thoughts to return his attention to the broadcast.
All present in the room fixated upon the radio, each silently suspended in eager interest to hear the message Luna wished to deliver to crowds both seen and unseen.
“As Princess of the Night, I protect and nurture the dreams of Equestria, ” Luna’s practiced and regal voice cracked through the static of the transmission. “Standing before you, I realize now how gravely I have misunderstood that role. For what use is a dream if we do not strive to make it real? ”
“Tomorrow we vote on laws, on ideas, on decrees, ” she continued, her voice slowly rising with passioned intensity. “I do not know what will happen, but I do know that far more important than any change of law is the change in our hearts.
“What use is a law if it is ignored? What use is a smile that is forced? What use is a peace founded on exclusion? ”
Light frowned. That was not the Equestria he knew and loved. During times like these he wished his talent worked with indirect communication, but alas, it had yet to trigger during radio broadcasts, letters, or phone conversations. He needed the speaker physically present for it to work.
“I once asked you what had happened to Equestrian friendship. ” Light squinted his eyes and furrowed his brow in disbelief. This was Princess Luna? How could she be so blind to the plethora of pony friendship all around her?
“It stands before me. This cause has brought us together, and formed friendships that will transform our nation, and make our dreams possible!” Luna’s voice continued elevating with the rising energy and fervor of the crowd’s cheering piping over the radio. “No vote, no law can change what we have created here tonight! ”
A wild cheer erupted from the crowd. Light maintained his furrow, mentally scoffing at the Princess’ words. He felt a tinge of awkwardness for disagreeing with royalty, but Luna clearly—
The mental image of Nightmare Moon flashed in his mind space. His expression turned to terrified realization. Could it be? Is that why she made these nonsensical claims of exclusion and a lack of friendship? He subtly shook his head and tossed the thought aside, aghast that he even entertained the notion.
“Tonight, I make a promise. On this night, in the city that never sleeps, I will make the dreams you have entrusted to me a reality! The first of many dreams becomes real tonight! A dream of friendship! Of a great wrong righted! Of night and day made whole again!”
The cheers of the crowd continued, and Light resigned to the notion that despite the flawed arguments and rather twisted portrayal of reality, this was the direction Equestria appeared to be drifting towards. From his little entourage of friends gathered, he knew Stormy was elated by the speech, and Page appeared rather pleased by it as well. Dainty and Alderberry seemed to receive it positively as well, but were clearly far less enthused than their colleagues.
A sudden sharp pop and crackle spat from the radio, followed by panicking screams.
“What in tarnation?” Stormy said, standing up from his chair.
Page also stood up. “What the hay was that?”
“It certainly did not sound… pleasant,” Light commented, “almost like—“
The radio hissed and the radio host’s voice came through. “Mares and gentlestallions, there… there appears to have been some kind of… explosion at the stage! We don’t know what is going on. From what we can see, Princess Luna appears… injured, but fi—“
The radio cracked and the hiss of static filled the room.
“What is going on!?” Page blurted.
Dainty lurched forward at the radio. “Ah, y’ berk radio! I’ll bray ye iffin’ ye don’ star’ chipperin’ again!”
“Dainty!” Light exclaimed, “Hold a moment, I do not think… that…” he trailed off as he noticed the hue of the moonlight within the room shifted to an unnatural color. He slowly approached the grand window, his eyes locked upon the moon.
The others quietly moved over to join him, mimicking the same shocked stare.
“Is… is that…?” Stormy started.
“I think it is,” Alderberry answered the unfinished question.
Before them all, bathing the world around them in deep red, was the herald of anger and fury.
A blood moon.
Author's Note
Luna's words for her speech are taken directly from the events depicted in the Hearts of Iron mod "Equestria at War" as of the published date of this story. I took the liberty of combining the two variants of her speech into one.
Behold the Light—It Beckons
“Oh aye, a blood moon? We’ve nawt seen thos’ ‘cept when… ahm… Moony’s been ‘round, nay?” Ever the mare to lack subtly, Dainty blurted the very thought that occupied the minds of everyone but dared not openly admit. Still, she spoke the truth.
Light looked over at his closest friend, locking eyes with him. “Yes, those are the only other times in recorded history.” The statement rode dangerously close to outright claiming that Nightmare Moon had returned. In a way, he worded it that way to test the emotional volatility of his friend. It was foolish to test, knowing that uttering the statement held inherent risk of sparking agitation from him.
“Nightmare Moon’s gone, Light!” Stormy retorted with a huff. “That mare was defeated by the Elements, and there’s nothin’ more to it than that!”
“Easy now, Stormy,” Light said, bobbing a hoof in benignly. Precisely the reaction he suspected, Light both secretly felt satisfied to be proven correct yet regretful that he had not elected for a more tactful approach. Though it did satisfy him that he had received a reaction from Stormy. He continued: “I think it is fair to recognize that it is both strange to see a Blood Moon again, and that the only other instances it has appeared in history were both during Nightmare Moon’s… visitations. Other than that, we do not know what is going on.” A daring game of implication, yet plausible deniability.
Stormy stared for a moment longer, his steeled face barely hiding his combativeness, before he turned aside and let out a huff of frustration. “Alright, fine, but maybe this is just Luna gettin’ really angry or somethin’.” Ah, the comfort of the unknown—anything could be possible, no? It was only natural for one to bristle in defense of his world view.
“There was an explosion at the stage, right?” Page interjected, glancing from pony to pony. “No way that could’ve been an accident. Sabotage, or…” He trailed off, silently implying the alternative.
“Wot, ye thinkin’ assassination?” Dainty put in, once again breaking through the hesitations of “polite” conversation.
Alderberry scoffed and stepped forward. “Who’d be stupid enough to try to…” He shook his head in obvious disbelief. “Who’d be crazy enough to try regicide?”
Page echoed with his own scoffing huff. “A racis—“
“Enough!” Light interjected, stomping a hoof down. It was one thing to imply action, another to flagrantly assign blame. “There is no benefit to idle speculation. Something terrible has occurred, and we have another Blood Moon. We can assume with high certainty that there will be trouble in our future, but for now we know very little. Our best course of action is to seek out more information about what happened in Manehattan.”
“Ah can pop thru’ t’ stations fer anotha signal, aye?” Dainty offered. “Reckon somepon’s got t’ave somthin’ ‘bout th’ explosion on t’waves.”
“It is worth an attempt,” Light agreed.
“Hang up,” Page said, looking at Light in bewilderment, “what’s she doing? I didn’t understand that… at all.”
“Ah says ah’m gonna pop thru’ th’ stations fer—“
“Dainty,” Light cut in, “not all of us are blessed with an understanding of your delightfully unique accent.” He winked at the burly mare.
Dainty blinked, then let out a chortle and landed a solid pat on Page’s back. “Giv’ i’time, y’ll pick oop on i’, luv!”
“Ack!” Page exhaled as the heavy hoof made contact with his back. “Yeah,” he wheezed, “don’t have her strength either.”
The rest of the group all snickered at the sight, and Dainty giggled again, moving over to the radio to begin carefully tuning through the stations.
“Well,” Light said, letting out a huff, “while Dainty fiddles with the radio in hopes of finding another live station with news“—he winked at Page, who rolled his eyes—“I intend to pay a visit to the naval base in hopes they still have a connection with any of the military bases in Manehattan. Perhaps they will have more information.”
There was a collective nodding of acknowledgment from the group, save one pony. Page darted a glance between everyone. “You all are taking this rather calmly, given there was an attempt on Princess Luna’s life.”
Stormy shrugged in response. “What’d you have us do about it outside what we’re doin’ now? Not like we can do much about it.”
“Or that panicking would solve,” Alderberry added.
Page opened his mouth to respond, paused, then let out a long sigh. “Fair.”
Light Shine gave a final nod to the conversation, content to finish it and move on. “Right then. Dainty, I will leave you to your attempts. Alderberry, I know you have your family stationed here with you; do you want to return to them?”
Alderberry offered a single, practiced nod. “Yes, sir, I would. I don’t see much use for me to stick around. If something does happen, you’ll let me know? Sir.”
“Certainly.” Light gestured to the front door with his muzzle. “Off you go, Commander!”
Alderberry saluted, then made his exit.
“Stormy, would you care to join me?”
His friend nodded. “Makes sense to me. I should check in with my crew anyhow.”
Light looked over at Page. “I would offer for you to join us, but given the circumstances, I know they will not allow a civilian on base. You are, however, welcome to stay and keep Dainty company.”
“Oh, uh,” Page darted a glance over at Dainty, who beamed a disarming, childish smile, “yeah, I guess that’s fine. Don’t have anywhere else to be. Wait, you don’t have a telephone?”
Light bobbed his head. “Oh, I do indeed possess one, but given how close my suite is to the naval base, I would rather inquire in person.” Light started toward the front door, and motioned for Stormy to follow. “Right then! Stormy and I are off. Best of luck, Dainty.”
“Aye, sir!” Dainty replied.
Exiting his suite with Stormy, Light tightened up his demeanor. Now away from the others, he allowed his concern over any potential reaction to the failed assassination of Luna to surface. Regardless of who initiated the attempt, thestrals would undoubtedly be furious that harm had come to their… well, that harm came to Princess Luna.
“You know there will be protests from this,” Light said, closing the door behind him and starting toward the elevator. “Thestrals pointing hooves at anypony that is suspect.”
A huff came from his friend. “Not this again. Demands for justice? Yeah. They aren’t all going to wildly blame ponies. Maybe some of the more extreme ones, but come on, Light, if Princess Celestia had an attempt on her life, I doubt you’d be as level as you are now.”
A difficult question to truly answer. Would he be calm in such a situation? On one hoof, Light felt he could keep his composure regardless of the situation—like he had after being put on probation—but could one really know how they would act in any given situation prior to its occurrence? This was more than a simple question of one pony’s reaction, though. “Perhaps, though that is focusing entirely too much on the individual.” The elevator chimed, its doors sliding open, and Light and Stormy stepped inside. “Even you must admit that we have an unusual situation on our hooves. Princess Celestia does not have a nigh-religious following of ponies who view her as some… divine being. Nor does she have a race that is uniquely loyal to her.”
Stormy stood in silence as the elevator hummed along its journey, dinging as it passed floor after floor on its way to the lobby. There was a delicate balance to maintain if Light hoped to nudge his friend over to his point of view—the objectively correct point of view, naturally. His friend had proved to be quite the stubborn one in the past, but patience and time saw him eventually come around to the truth, most of the time.
With no response coming from Stormy, Light pressed on. “Given the elevated levels of tension, I am most concerned that herd mentality will take over and lead to rash actions. It distresses me to say it, but Baltimare is a powder keg of political and social discontents. Anything could ignite it.”
A trio of dings from the elevator signalled their arrival at the designated floor, and the doors slid open. Silence greeted the duo as they stepped out into the grand lobby. Not a pony was to be found in the foyer, which did not shock Light at this hour. What did, however, was the lack of any receptionist at the front desk.
“I suppose you have a point, to a degree.” Stormy’s response echoed throughout the lobby, serving to heighten Light’s mild concern. “Yeah, herd mentality and all that, and yeah, Baltimare is a bit on the tense side. Maybe there'll be some demonstrations and protests, but once Princess Luna addresses the nation again, it’ll be fine.”
The echoes of their hooves rattled throughout as the two made their way to the main doors leading to the outside. Light cast nervous glances around the room, checking every corner, nook, and cranny he could see for signs of… well, anything .
“Now, don’t you get any idea in that head of yours that—” Stormy cut himself short upon noting Light’s nervous behavior, before letting out an annoyed huff. “Oh c’mon, Light! You can’t seriously be scared right now.”
Light shot his friend an incredulous look. “The receptionists are missing. And I happen to know that said receptionists are thestrals.” He caught an irritated eye roll from his friend. “Yes, yes, I know you think I am prematurely, and unfairly, casting judgment upon the poor ponies, but you need to understand that the front desk is always staffed with at least two receptionists at all hours. Were they not present when you arrived here earlier this evening?”
“Well, yes, but—“
“But nothing!” Light interjected and halted his gait right at the doors. “Stormy, listen to me, please! Thestrals do not simply share a collective dream and then abandon their posts, only for a Blood Moon to appear, and it all be a mere, inconsequential happenstance!” He stomped his hoof onto the marble floor, sending echoes reverberating throughout the lobby. With pursed lip and indignant expression, he locked eyes with his friend, who himself adopted his all too familiar emotionless, deadpan expression. Despite the surety he held of his own position, this still was no time to further elevate the tension of the night with impassioned rhetoric.
Inhaling a deep breath, Light closed his eyes as he slowly exhaled. “I am not making any accusations.” Yet. “There are too many unknowns to make an accurate assessment of the situation. Even still, there are also too many unusual events occurring at the same time for me to ignore. Am I concerned? Yes. Yes I am. I do sincerely hope that nothing will come of this. That Luna’s thestral referendum will pass tomorrow, and we will all move on from this tragedy. But—“ He peered deeply into his friend’s eyes, hoping for a sign of an open heart and mind. “—but as I hope for that day, can you understand my fears that there is a chance that the situation may deteriorate further?”
The two stood in silence. Stormy held his composure. Light desperately wanted to move on and address the situation at hand, but he also knew that his friend needed time to digest the moment. Agonizing seconds passed, before Stormy finally turned into the doors and pushed them open.
“Fine,” he curtly offered. “I still think you’re blowing things outta proportion, but fine.”
“I hope I am as well,” Light said, letting out a sigh of relief and following his friend outside. While he did not expect much in the way of activity in the evening hours of the day, especially on a night such as this, he still found it odd that the street was completely devoid of traffic. No taxis, no pedestrians… nopony. He paused in mind-thought as a distant sound caught his attention, and perked his ears.
Stormy mimicked the same attentive focus at what Light presumed was the same sound. “Sounds like there’s a bit of a commotion off that direction.” Stormy motioned a hoof toward the west, in the direction of the downtown region of Baltimare. “Almost sounds like…”
“A fight?” Light finished for his friend.
“Yeah, that.”
Honing in on the distant noise, Light could just make out the echoes of angry shouting, the thuds of blows being exchanged by combatants, and… screeching? “We can make a slight detour to see what the commotion is about.”
Stormy turned to give Light a bemused look. “You… actually want to investigate?” He tossed his head back in laughter. “You! The one who was just whinin’ about danger around every corner? Ha! That’s rich!”
Light rolled his eyes. “Stormy, I—”
“Let’s do it.” Stormy bolted off toward the sound of fighting.
Light shook his head and chased after his friend. He had no intention of getting involved in the fight—assuming it was even a fight—but his curiosity about the night’s strange sequence of events begged him to at least observe from a distance. As long as they remained far from the chaos, they would be safe.
Racing down the street, Light took note of the buildings around him. Under normal evening conditions, the darker, subdued colors of the city environment fed his fears of lurking dangers hidden within the shadows. He twitched as an anxious shiver washed over his body, tossing a frustrated glance up at the night sky. The red taint that the Blood Moon drenched across the cityscape further heightened those fears as it warped an otherwise unfriendly scene into a nightmare of blood-soaked pavement and angry caricatures of brick and steel urban beasts. He shuddered at the imagery, stumbling as he briefly lost his concentration.
He inhaled a deep breath, slowly released it and regained his composure, peering ahead to see Stormy slow down and cautiously approach a street corner. He picked up his gallop once again to catch up.
“What do you see?” he asked, trotting up beside his friend.
“Oh, it’s a fight, alright,” Stormy responded. “Gotta be hundreds of ponies.”
Light peered around the corner for himself to take in the sight. Before him, about two blocks away, two large groups of ponies clashed in the streets, wielding clubs, hurling objects, or throwing bare hooves. Some ponies were locked in wrestling matches, others haphazardly zipped and zoomed in the sky in amateurish attempts at jousting, while still others verbally assaulted their foes with insults.
Squinting, Light tried to make out some of the combatants. Those on the right side of the fight appeared to all be wearing plain, laborer’s clothes, and were of mixed races. Those on the left, on the other hoof…
“It’s a group of thestrals fightin’… everypony else, I reckon,” Stormy observed. “Forget protesting, this is somethin’ else entirely.”
Light slowly bobbed his head in hesitant affirmation. He had feared that disagreement, angry rhetoric, and even some minor physical altercations would occur, true, but… this? This was no exchange of gentlemanly hooficuffs and it was far worse than the tales spun of the “pie skirmish” in Appleloosa. What he witnessed before him was much more disturbing than anything he had conjured in his mind. Ponies were exchanged blows so hard as to bruise muzzles and break bones! Only now did he realize that several bodies lay unmoving on the street, many of their coats matted with fresh blood.
On the outskirts of the crowd, a small group of thestrals stood at attention observing the fight. A lone thestral would occasionally approach them, engage in some sort of dialogue, then leave to join the fight again. Elevated above the chaos atop a stage, these ponies had a commanding view of the development of the conflict, and appeared to be rather calm about the affair. Light squinted in hopes bringing the trio into better focus. Of the three, one in particular attracted his attention. There was something about how that particular pony—a stallion, it seemed—now leaned upon the stage railing.
A shift in the sea of ponies stole his focus away from the stallion. A group of perhaps a few dozen thestrals took to flight in a mostly coordinated effort, soaring high into the sky before diving down and swooping into the opposing mob, knocking a number of ponies to the ground. The sudden disruption in the “front line” allowed for a group of grounded thestrals to surge forward, piercing into the center of the horde of ponies. Almost immediately, the mob lost what little cohesion it had, and ponies began to flee the scene, running in all directions away from the core of the fighting.
Amidst it all, a sudden leap into flight by the “coordinating” stallion from the stage seized Light’s attention again, and he locked his focus upon him. There was something far too familiar about that stallion, even though he could not make out his features. Almost as if on command, the stallion inexplicably returned the gaze, and a cold chill shot down Light’s spine as his face flushed with a harrowing dread. He froze, his mind caught in a loop of desperation as it frantically struggled to process why that particular thestral seemed so familiar, despite his inability to make out discernible features.
“Time to vacate!” Stormy blurted, shattering Light’s paralyzation and backpedaling away from the street corner. A number of ponies fleeing the fight were headed toward their position.
“Right you are!” Light spun around, stealing the briefest of glances back at the familiar flying thestral—he was motioning at Light—before dashing away from the scene. With Stormy in tandem as they galloped back down the street toward his resident tower, he mentally reviewed the path back to the naval base while darting a look back and forth at his surroundings. It was a left on Fifth Avenue, and they should be near Eighth, but he had not counted the city blocks when they were racing to investigate the fight.
He slowed slightly as he focused ahead, hoping to spot his resident tower amidst the row of other high-rise buildings. If he could quickly make it out, he would have a better idea of where they were and—
Without warning, the lights across Baltimare winked out, plunging the world into suffocating darkness, drenched only with the tormenting red din of the Blood Moon.
Light slowed to a walk and frantically looked around for his friend. “Stormy!”
“I’m right behind you,” came a reply, “like I’ve been the whole time!”
“You have a dark coat!” Light shot back, a hint of panic in his voice. “Can you blame me for losing sight of you?”
“No, but you’re easy enough to find, and we need to keep moving!” Stormy said. “You still know how to get to the base without lights?”
“I, ehm…” Light squinted his eyes, peering down the street again. Everything looked so… foreign and hostile in the dim light of the Blood Moon. “I…” His heart raced, his eyes darting from random point to random point. Nothing looked right! Nothing felt right! He needed to maintain his composure, collect his thoughts, beat back the darkness—
A shove pushed him forward. “We don’t have time! Move! ”
Light shot a glance behind him, and caught sight of a trio of thestrals flying toward them. Gasping, he bolted into a gallop again. There was no time to think, no time plan, no time to ponder. Only time to act. His instincts engaged as he let go of his thoughts and focused on just running. What the street signs read, which buildings he passed meant nothing—not that he could make them out anyhow. The thunder of his hooves pounding the pavement mimicked the thumping of his racing heartbeat.
Left. The word flashed in his mind, and he obeyed his instinct without hesitation, turning at an intersection to head north. Toward the coast, yes. This was the way! If he-eeeee could simply-eeeee —he jostled his head. What in all of Equestria was that shrieking sound? He turned his head around to see the source of the high-pitched squeal, catching sight of a thestral soaring from the sky in a dive toward him.
”Ah!” Light yelped, tucking his legs in to duck into a roll as his attacker’s own legs swiped at him, grazing his buttock. The near miss was enough to knock him out of his attempted roll, leading him to tumble onto the pavement, and leaving him on his back. Flailing aimlessly for a moment, Light twisted his barrel to flip himself back onto his belly and re-established his footing. Staying low to the ground, his eyes scanned the sky in a desperate attempt to find his assailant. Failing to do so, he jumped onto his hooves and dashed down the street again.
He was at a severe disadvantage against his thestral attacker—lacking night vision, he could not make out the nightscape with any reliable clarity. If the thestral made this mistake of engaging him on the ground in a fair hoof fight, Light’s earth pony strength would certainly tip the scales, but that assumed his assailant would make that mistake.
His ear twitched at the onset of the sound of a rapid swooshing right before a hoof connected with his right side, knocking the breath from his lungs, and sending him hurtling to the pavement, tumbling across the street before slamming into the brick of a storefront. Pain shot through his whole frame as his muscles ached from the punishment inflicted upon them. Light groaned, both at the physical agony and his rusty combat skills. The life of a senior officer had left him softer than he now cared to admit. Lifting himself up onto his hooves once again, he winced at a sharp sting in his side—a rib undoubtedly was fractured.
Adrenaline coursed through his veins as his flight or fight instincts surged to the forefront of his consciousness. The muscles throughout his body instinctually tensed up as his ear twitched at any and all sounds around him.
His right ear twitched, and he spun to face the sound of whooshing air. The blur of a diving thestral rapidly filled his vision, and Light reared up, thrusting a hoof forward to intercept the assault. An explosion of pain burst through his body as the thestral slammed into his outstretched hoof, while also collapsing at the impact of a kick to his chest. The two tumbled to the street, but quickly recovered to face each other. Releasing a high-pitched squeal, the thestral dashed forward to swipe a punch at Light. Barely managing to pull his face out of the path of the swing, he countered with a swing of his own, landing squarely on the thestral’s flank to the sound of cracking bone.
Undaunted, the thestral pivoted and threw another jab toward Light’s face. His vision flashed as the offending hoof connected solidly with his left eye socket, tearing into the flesh of his cheek. Instinctually, he countered wildly, thwacking his assailant in the temple.
Light shifted to bear down on his opponent again, halting at the sight of the thestral lying motionless on the pavement, her eyes blank and lifeless. Light heaved deep breaths as blood and adrenaline coursed like fire within his body, masking the pain that burned throughout. He approached the mare’s body, and gave it a gentle nudge. No response. Reaching a hoof forward to shift her mane aside, he uncovered a deep, penetrating indentation on the side of her skull.
Dead. She was dead. He had never taken a life before. Not this way, not this personally. Pain mixed with horror. How… how could it have come to this? He was no killer. If only—he winced at the pounding throb in his head and grimaced. If only she had not attacked! It was her fault! She did this!
Light gasped at the sting of blood entering his eye, closing it to prevent further contamination. He hurt all over, but was still serviceable. He just needed to find Stormy—his head shot up in realization. Stormy!
Distant shouts and muffled impacts of flesh against pavement caught his attention as he listened once again to his blood soaked surroundings—a nearby fight? Stormy? His heart pounded in his chest. Aiming an ear toward the direction of the noise, he slowly moved toward its presumed source, grimacing past his own pain. Another loud grunt echoed through the night air.
Poking around the corner, he spotted a shifting blob of pony-like figures tussling some several dozen feet away. Between the darkness of the blood night and the clouded vision of his blood-soaked eye, he could not make out who was fighting. Was it his friend and the two other thestrals that attacked them? Or was it a minor spillover from the mob fight from earlier? It was so close to where he himself had fought, that it was reasonable to believe it was Stormy and the two thestrals, but… what if it was not?
There was no time to deliberate. He dropped his guard and bolted down the street, gritting his teeth at the sharp pain piercing his right flank and the sting of his swollen eye. He fought the temptation to unleash a battlecry, wanting to retain as much surprise as one could muster while charging in at a full gallop. Nearing his target, the blob became more identifiable: two winged ponies—undoubtedly thestrals—were locked in melee with a dark-coated pony. That pony appeared to be holding his ground as best as one could while lying on his back: alternating between defensive gestures to block assaults and the occasional offensive kick.
Now within a few feet of the fight, Light let out a yell, and leapt toward the thestral pinning the dark pony on the ground, swinging his hind legs forward, aiming a now extended hoof at the thestral.
As the weight and force of his hoof connected with the head of the thestral, a sickening crunch of a caving skull reverberated up Light’s leg, followed by a pop in his chest.
The thestral’s body hurled to the pavement, flopping limply to a cold rest. Light himself tumbled to the pavement, wincing again as his right side was racked again with a sharp pain. He placed a hoof to his flank and twitched at the feeling of a broken rib.
Gritting his teeth once again and suppressing a groan, Light rose to his feet and spun around, only to be tackled to the ground. Impacting upon the street, Light’s adrenaline flared up once again, and he instinctually bucked at his attacker, managing to blindly land one hoof. The thestral was flung aside by the impact, rolling away from Light before extending his wings to assist in recovering from the blow. Letting out a hiss, the thestral lunged back at Light, who in turn wildly threw a kick to counter the assault.
Light barely missed landing his strike, only managing to soften the thestral’s thrust, with the offending hoof grazing his cheek.
The thestral landed on Light, winding him. He needed to end the fight sooner than later, preferably leaving himself as the clear victor. He attempted another kick as he desperately countered the assailant’s own hoof strikes. Finally locking forelegs, the two found themselves in a momentary pause, neither able to maneuver without compromising their position. In that moment, Light met the frenzied stare of his opponent, and at last took notice of his features.
There before him, bruised, bloodied, and eyes full of rage and hate, was the familiar thestral from earlier: his own first officer.
“C-Coral?” Light sputtered, his one good eye widening as he reeled at the shock of the discovery. “Why—”
Coral Shelf screeched and lurched his head forward, mouth agape, and sank his fangs deep into Light’s shoulder.
Light yelped in agony and shock as his adrenaline surged once more, breaking a hoof free of the stalemate. Channeling all his might and energy, he threw a final blow, slamming his hoof against Coral’s head, the force tearing him off his shoulder, ripping flesh and muscle.
Coral spat chunks of meat and blood back at Light’s face as he reared up and slammed a hoof onto Light’s muzzle. As Coral reared up to strike again, Light managed to swing first with his right hoof, landing it squarely into the left side of Coral’s barrel. It disrupted his strike, but not enough to stop Coral from swiping a second blow on Light’s cheek.
Blood and saliva pooled in Light’s mouth, forcing a gurgled cough. He believed he still had the stamina to keep going, but his vision was both obscured from blood spilling into his eye and blurred from agonizing pain—coupling that with the darkness of the night, he could no longer concretely make out Coral’s movements. Despite this, if he could just land one more solid blow…
Another form slammed into the blur of Coral’s body, also incidentally jostling Light to his side. The form—Stormy, it had to be Stormy—recovered from the tackle, lunged at Coral, and threw a flurry of pummels, targeted at what Light assumed was his head. His friend roared in passionate fury, rising in crescendo as he pressed his assault.
Light shifted his weight in an attempt to stand up, but was met with excruciating agony from his left shoulder and right rib cage, forcing back down to the pavement. He moved his weight to his hindlegs and right foreleg, and managed to prop himself up on the second attempt. As the adrenaline waned, the fiery torment of a myriad of bruises, the broken rib, and the gaping hole in his shoulder raged throughout his senses, nearly sending him into paralyzing shock. Mustering what remained of his strength and leaning heavily on his mental discipline, Light pushed past the torturous agony and returned his woozy attention to his friend.
Stormy had collapsed next to Coral, who also lay unmoving.
”Sh—Storm…” Light choked, his voice gurgling with blood and saliva. “You… you okay?”
He could barely make out the movement of his friend’s head. “Yeah,” came a weak reply.
Light carefully stood up, cradling his left foreleg up against his chest, and limped over to his friend.
Stormy, for his part, looked bruised and bloodied from muzzle to tail. His breathing was laborious, and one eye was badly swollen. Grunting, his friend slowly rolled over to his stomach and stood up, flinching as he did so. Which of the two ponies was in worse condition was difficult to ascertain—Light knew his injuries, but could only guess at the totality of Stormy’s.
He turned his gaze upon the bodies of Coral and the other thestral that still laid motionless on the street. Why did they act so… violently? Why would his own first officer assault him! What madness would consume these… beasts to such extremes? His brow furrowed. No sane pony would ever stoop to such horrid violence!
Both stallions’ ears perked at the distant sound of shouting. He couldn’t quite make out if the sounds were coming or going, but Light did not wish to risk finding out.
“We need—” Light winced as a sharp pain pierced his lung. “—to leave.”
Stormy weakly nodded. “Yeah.”
Light gingerly turned about face, nearly stumbling as his head spun and throbbed with dizzied nausea. Finding his way through the streets of Baltimare without the illumination of street lamps already proved to be a difficult challenge—combining that with his obstructed and fuzzy vision would make it nearly impossible.
He felt a hoof rest on his back, eliciting a tinge of pain, as his muscles instinctually winced.
“Oh, sorry,” Stormy apologized, removing his hoof. He stood next to Light and sighed, his face flinching before hacking a cough. “Yep, that hurts.”
Light labored a deep breath. “I think… the bashe… ish…” He coughed, and spat more blood-tainted spittle onto the street.
“Don’t talk. Just walk.”
Light mumbled a weak, affirmative hum, and began hobbling his way down the street, heading generally toward the direction of Baltimare’s coastline.
They had a long night ahead of them.
