Let them remember us as monsters.
Father, protect me.
Tears of a fallen sky, mourning of the ancient heavens as the sun shies away from the living and hides behind the clouds that befall those who are about to die.
For it was a sad day, a mournful moment in the timelines of history. It was under Equestrian skies, with hundreds of thousands as witnesses to the final solution, the ultimate sacrifice. When an entire race would lose everything to preserve those they deemed better than themselves, to see about the rebirth of a new dawn, of a new sun where no war would plague the world and no diseases would quell the light of life.
This was a moment where the newborns of a new planet recently risen out of the fires of war and devastation, recently birthed from the blood and suffering of a dying race, would see their fathers, their mothers and cousins go and die, perish at the hands of evil, suffer in the name of their creation.
Wails and tears falling could be heard throughout the small villages as the knights and protectors walked through the main streets, armor placed upon their shoulders, arms held tightly in their clenched fists. Blood would be spilled, bones would be shattered.
These were prices they knew, these were costs they would take. Smiles on their lips as their blood dried upon the stones of the earth they had come to call, daughter.
The children approached their fathers and mothers as they marched towards the impending darkness that lingered on the horizon. They begged and cried as the warriors held their heads high and simply marched forward, ignoring them and continuing onwards. To death.
But also life.
In the eyes of the small ones, the innocent ones, the blessed ones, they saw purity. Something the father race lacked in its entirety, but that it had managed to replicate in the forms and bodies, in the souls of these, their children. To see them as a new species, as a new creation simply fueled the resolve of the great warriors.
That if the father race would not survive to see another day, that at least everything that they held as good would. Let the hearts of thousands of well intentioned men and women, of millions of souls who never raised a hand against someone else despite being spat in the face and insulted, let the tears of a million hindered eyes weep with joy to know that they did not die nor cry in vain.
To know that despite the wars, the crimes, murders, rapes, holocausts and wars. To know that no matter how gray the night may have seemed, no matter how dull the day became. To know, and hold for fact, that it would be our better side that lived. Let those who did good on earth, let them know that heaven was not a lie, and it was no wonderful fantasy.
To know that with the death of the father race, with the sacrifice of millions, heaven would be reached.
The great warriors, the lost race of fools and tainted souls, the once mighty guardians of a world so rich they became engulfed in greed and led to its destruction. In the end they salvaged everything they could. Their homeland gone and their hearts aching for that which was lost.
The children wept on as their fathers left the homes and marched towards the darkness, towards destruction. Cries could be heard far and wide as hooves attempted to hold the hands. Hands that were wet with salt of tears. Tears of mourning and regret, of sadness and fear.
A woman would look down at a couple of equines, newborn foal in their hooves. A woman would feel the tears run down her cheeks as she saw the tears matting the fur on the equine's faces. A woman would kneel down before them and whisper that everything would be alright. That there was nothing to fear, that they would not let anyone harm them.
A woman would then hold her weapon in her hand and continue her march towards the darkness.
An equine adept in magic would gaze upwards at the tall one with grey in his hair. An equine adept in magic would ask, 'Why?' And the man would whisper, 'For you.'
A million souls would lose their place on earth so that a billion would continue to hold theirs. A million would then see their own infertile, aging species perish in a blaze of fire and death as the darkness was beaten back with steel, fire, blood and valor.
A billion eyes and voices would weep and clamor their sorrow to the skies as flying beasts of steel, ridden by their beloved fathers, would erupt in flames and crash onto the seas and grassy plains. The child would gaze upon the burnt steel animals on top of which their protectors marched to war, and weep. There was nothing they could do, nothing but feel the salt against their faces and thank them for everything, for all they taught them, for all the love they received.
The father race had seen them born, had raised them from the ranks of mere beasts and made them much more. The father race had lost many in their protection and guidance, and now...
Now it was time to see a father and his greatest demonstration of love. The darkness had followed them from their world, it had brought the same appearance and language, it had brought the same war beasts made of steel.
But it had not brought the same hearts.
The false monsters battled against the father race for centurial spans of time, spewing fire and smoke towards the skies, cruelty and malice towards the hearts. The father had shielded his son against it all, using his own body, his own flesh.
So that the fire will not harm the tender skin of the innocent, the guardian will hold the flame with his bare hands and feel the heat tear at his flesh and bone.
So that the rage and hatred will not corrupt the souls of the newborns, the father would hold himself tall and proud before the innocent. And, as the cruelty of the beasts lashed against him, he would hold and not falter.
So that when the skies became a dark and dreadful tone, when the ash fell and turned the snow grey, when the air stank of foul and death. The father will paint them blue, he will make the snow fall fresh once more, he will see the smiles upon the children, no matter the cost.
And when the father failed? When the child was faced with the reality of his world? He will deny it. Time and again until his words change the world. Never will he ask of his child to partake in the battle.
So it was, that a billion sons and daughters of a golden race saw their creators march off in their defense. Flags were flown at half mast, the rain falling lightly as the figures left and disappeared amongst the mist. They would be gone, they would be lost.
But their legacy lived on. In the hearts of everypony, love, kindness, tolerance and friendship. These were the traits humanity valued, these were the things they knew made them good. Because no man is perfect, no man is a saint. But what good is there in being perfect?
Mankind would not be remembered by Equestria because of their beauty, or their technology. It would not be medicine nor science that made the ponies love them.
It was their sacrifice and conviction.
That when the skies are dark, humanity will never lose that spark in their hearts, that glimmer of hope and love that makes us who we are. Imperfect, prone to evil as much as good. Human.
Human in our hearts, in our souls. Love and deeds of great selflessness, acts of bravery, not with arms, but with understanding, with compassion. That no matter how many times the whip lashes at our backs we will never stop extending our hand to those in need. That is what we are, that is why we will be remembered.
For never letting our pain and suffering obstruct our hearts, that we never fail to see the light at the end of the dark tunnel. That we overcome the half of our souls that lurks in shadows, that we stare evil in the eyes, and despite the terror in our hearts we rise and shout in defiance, in opposition. That we never surrender who we are inside, no matter how much the consequences hurt our bodies.
For we know that our souls remain clean.
Let Equestria remember us as monsters. Let them remember our horrible history, let them remember our hideous crimes against man and nature. Let them remember every single atrocity ever committed by the hands of our kin.
But never let them forget, that there were, amongst the countless beasts, amongst the numerous knifes and daggers slashing at the innocent, let them never forget, that there were many who placed themselves before the blade and its target.
Never forget those who raised their voices in protest, never forget the millions who dared make a change. That it is over their mutilated corpses and mangled bodies that heaven is achieved. Even if it was not meant to be our heaven, let the end represent the rebirth of a new kind, pony kind, in heaven.
The one we built.
