A ripple of silver and gold flashed through the stalks as they yielded to the breeze. Overcast skies cast stark shadows across the highland fields that blanketed the treacherous foothills. Far below, in an unnamed valley, a smattering of hovels and farmhouses sat. High above the chimneys, on the overlooking cliffs, a party of bandits came to a halt on a rocky outcropping, looking down upon their quarry.

“We will take this place next!” an enormous black stallion barked, turning to his fellow ponies. He was suited in thick plate barding and sported a vicious scar through his exposed neck.

“It was plundered last autumn. They won’t have anything for us to take. We shall wait until later, captain.”

The second stallion, shorter but much stockier than the former and dressed in similar attire, hissed the last words with clear disdain, signifying his ultimate authority.

Bowing his head to the dominant steed, the black stallion backed away. “My apologies, sir,” he offered through gritted teeth.

“This village shall be our primary target come the barley harvest. Until then we wait.” The brown coated chieftain spat onto the ground and drilled the saliva into the dirt with his hoof. His eyes involuntarily twitched, and his ears picked up on a strange occurrence: utter silence. The birds had stopped their calling, and the constant hum of the forest critters had ceased. The only sound to be heard was the grass slicing the wind.

A few of the puddles that had formed in the gouges in the mud left by their many hooves began to froth. Without warning, the ground started to vigorously tremble. The strength of the quakes bowled over some of the ponies, and the others dropped low to maintain their balance. They looked to each other for guidance, but there was nothing they could do but wait for the tremors to end.

Minutes later, the earth ceased to shake, and the bandits recollected themselves. Coolly, the captain made his way to the side of the chieftain, knocking some caked debris off of his armor as he did so. Under his breath, he muttered, “That’s the third one we’ve had this month.”

In a hushed tone, the chieftain replied, “Aye. Let’s just hope it’s not a bad omen.” His eyes remained locked on the village below. A grimace on his face hinted at the great turmoil within his mind.

Confused, the captain asked, “Do you think we shouldn’t attack this village?”

“No, we will continue as planned.” He broke his gaze, and turned to the captain. “I only fear that we’re quickly approaching the end of times.”

Before the captain could question further, the chieftain whipped around and galloped back towards the hills. Grumbling, the captain followed after, and with him the rest of the forty brigands. As quickly as they had arrived, they departed. They had been their so briefly, the cool mid-morning sun was only just beginning to cut through the silver clouds.

Soon after, a bush just below the vantage point stirred. A pony, with a twisted face of absolute shock and fear, emerged from the underbrush surrounding the stone bluff. The farmer stumbled his way back down to the village, struggling to balance with the large bundle of kindling on his back.

They had just started poking through the soil a few days ago. Now, the still green barley was tall enough to collect morning dew. Paying them no mind, the stallion raced his way through the fields towards the serene village.

He ran to the central clearing and stood atop the raised mound. Dropping his kindling and picking up a hammer in his mouth, he hit the metal bell planted in the ground as fast as his body would allow. Heads started to poke out of the nearby huts, and a few other farmers began to gather near him to investigate the commotion.

Soon enough, practically the entire village had gathered, lured in by the alarm. Shakily, the farmer released the hammer and started to explain as best he could. Choking on his words, he described the forty bandits and their intent to steal everything they had. In despair, he crumpled to the ground, not minding the dust settling on him.

The peasants broke out in debate, and the volume quickly swelled to unruly levels. Though a few of the more seasoned stallions had attempted to bring a sense of direction to the discussion, they quickly lost control. Panicked ponies talked and yelled over each other, each of them desperately hoping to sway the group to their opinion. The farmers, while exceptonially organized when it came to managing labor, were utterly scattered and dumbfounded when it came to reaching a consensus.

“…Taxes, forced labor, war, drought – and now the bandits!” one mare screamed in tears.

“We should kill them. Kill them all!” an older farmer shouted, “They wouldn’t mess with us again after that!”

“Do you really think a rabble like us could stand up to their steel armor and muskets? You’re out of your mind! What we really need to do…”

Near the edges of the mass of ponies, a young stallion sat quietly. A decoration of two crossed pieces of bamboo adorned his flanks. The black and white pony, Pan Bare, was lost in thought. Or he made a desperate attempt to be. The shouting was not helping.

Pan had always been a thinker. A problem solver. He never thought himself to be particularly adept at farm work or even simple social matters, but for what he lacked in brawn and charm he made up for in clever thinking and immaculate diplomacy. At least, that’s what he liked to believe. Regardless of his constant inner insecurity, he believed he had reached yet another solution. Now came the hard part: making himself heard.

“The elder…” he murmured. It was less of a murmur and more a hopeless bleat, and he found himself cringing at the sound of his own frail voice. Still, it must have been loud enough to catch the attention of the some nearby ponies, because they started to stare at him. Pan blushed, the red shining through the white fringes of his coat near his eyes.

He stood up and started walking off. It wasn’t until he was halfway to the bridge that the first ponies to hear him finally comprehended what he said. They rose as well and took off after him. From there the rest of the ponies, seeing where so many of their friends were going, hung their heads and followed.

The village proper was a collection of twenty or so buildings flanked by a stream on two sides, a dense forest on another and open dirt road on the last. The elder lived in a mill outside of the village center, along the banks of the stream. Pan Bare crossed a bridge over the silent snake of water and walked down a path to the elders abode. Somberly, he pushed his way through the door and disappeared into the dark interior.

Shortly after, all of the farmers filed in and sat down. It was a tight squeeze, but despite the cramped conditions, they all took extra care to leave a respectful amount of space between them and the elder, who was sitting on a reed mat near a fireplace in the center of the bare floor.

The elder opened his weathered eyes and drank the sight in front of him. “What do you want?” he asked, quite pointedly. His raspy voice grated against everyponies ears. The still-shivering stallion who had seen the bandits crawled closer and, in a hushed whisper, explained the situation to him.

A look of consideration emerged on the elders face as he closed his eyes. The room was absolutely still with anticipation. He then reopened his eyes and spoke, “Warriors. Hire warriors.”

Confused murmurs broke out amongst the peasants. Who, where and how were the three words that rang out the most clearly. The obvious implication of the elders advice was to hire mercenaries, but that was no simple task. What mercenaries were around were either too expensive, already hired, or more dangerous to them than the bandits.

Then, of course, came payment. Pieces of silver and gold were a sight rarely, if ever, beheld by the farmers. What few commodities had would not be nearly enough to finance the amount of mercenaries needed. If they were to find outside help, it would need to be from a different source. A source more compassionate towards their plight.

The situation seemed impossible, and everypony knew it. Shouting and yelling quickly resumed from where it had paused. Pan, who was sitting in the front directly across from the elder, shut his eyes, shoved his hooves into his ears, and groaned. Oh, how he would have loved to go back in time. As much as he appreciated what the folks of this village had done for him, there were many times when he was staggered by their inanity.

When he opened his eyes, he looked up to the patriarch, and saw that a wily smirk was gradually finding its way on to the elders lips. Somehow, the villagers began to take notice of the strange development, and the din of argument died down until silence once more settled on the room. The elder, now commanding their attention, coughed out some more words. “Find hungry warriors,” he said with a smirk.

A few of the farmers leaned in closer with looks of bewilderment. “Hungry?”

The elder shot them a critical glare. “Hungry for adventure.”

One of the stallions dryly laughed. “What, you think we could hire fighters for free?” He punched a few of his companions in the legs, inciting them to chuckle alongside him.

Without warning, the elder smacked him across the head with his cane. “Head north, to Equestria. Fate be willing, they’ll help us.”

That wasn’t something you heard every day. Never mind the fact that it was a few weeks of walking to get to Equestria, or even the dangers associated with that trek; Equestria was not a place that peasants like them went to. Though hardly anypony still believed the old superstitions they were taught from youth, it was common knowledge that Equestria was a terrible place filled with terrible ponies. Of all the atrocities that had emerged from that land, however, the most alarming was the installation of a pseudo-Goddess their leader: a tyrant at best, a genocidal maniac at worst. It was thus understandable when the entire mill collectively sucked in their breath.

Pan surreptitiously coughed, breaking the silence amongst the villagers in the mill. He stood up and declared, with surprising conviction, “I shall go.” All eyes settled on him, and he internally chastised himself for being so eager. “I mean, unless someone else really wants to go.”

The other farmers shook their head, and the elder piped up and said, perhaps a bit too eagerly, “No, no. You can go.” Reflecting for a moment, he then added, “I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

After some struggling and with some help from his equally elderly wife, the elder got to his feet to stand roughly neck and neck with Pan. He poked his head around the younger stallion, giving him a once-over. “Pah. Nothing but skin and bones. You’ll be killed before you even reach the next town!”

Suddenly, another pony made his way up to the center of the room. The crowd parted for the massive frame of the golden stallion. Every step he took reverberated through the mill and loosened the slightest amount of dust from the upper rafters, coating the ponies below in an even glazing of detritus. He stood beside Pan, dwarfing him, and looked down at the elder. “I’ll go with him,” Koi said, his voice shaking the entire room.

The elder cracked a wry smile. “Yes, that’ll do.” He turned around and sat back down on his reed mat. Reaching behind his back with a hoof, he massaged the sorer joints. He roughly coughed and cracked his neck. “That’ll do perfectly.”

Two days north to Huang Hoof. From there, either find a way north out of Umala, or follow the Yangtze to the sea and hope that there will be sailors willing to take them to the northern shores. From there, it was who knows how long to reach Equestria.

Pan ran over the timetable for the fifth time in his head. He was sprawled out on his mat, drenched in cold sweat and generally speaking feeling quite ill. From experience he knew it was only nervousness, not any sort of physical woe. Even with the comfort of knowing that he was perfectly fine, he still felt terribly fearful . His stupidity knew no bounds, and volunteering for the task of travelling hundreds of leagues through potentially hostile regions hoping to somehow reach a near-mystical land that may or may not be evil went against every instinct of self-preservation he had.

Perhaps that was it. He had a death wish. That wasn’t an entirely unreasonable desire, given the living conditions of the village. Remembering back to his colthood, when he had been an apprentice under an affluent politician on the outskirts of Alfalfura, he recalled encountering numerous artistic engravings that romanticized the sustenance farming lifestyles of the Umalian peasantry. Of course, once he joined his fellow Umalians in the fields, his appreciation for the sacrifices of the country folk vastly depreciated when he was eventually adopted into their lot.

He slammed a hoof into the mat, cursing his luck. Now he knew why he was doing this: He was getting back what should have been his. A life of adventure, of great things. As a colt, he had thousands of opportunities to explore as a budding scholar. When that was ripped from him, he was consigned to the pitiful existence of working the fields. So what if he died? To have died in the midst of a noble task would be far preferable to perishing at the end of a bandits spear, face down in the mud.

Shaking his head, he sat up and waited for his vision to clear as the blood circulated. It was no use trying to get some sleep, so he got to his feet and walked over to the door. He slid the panel to the side, and stepped out onto the unpaved paths of the village. Luckily for them, the skies were kind enough to be perfectly clear and offer a spectacular visage of the cosmos. After a bit of wandering, he found himself approaching the stone bridge that spanned the creek. In the distance and through the veiling darkness, he could make out the mill where the elder lived.

Standing on the bridge, he leaned against the wall, feeling the cold stone seep through his coat. Despite the discomfort, the sensation was oddly soothing. A voice out of nowhere startled him, causing him to jump and sharply inhale.

“Can’t sleep?” the low rumble asked.

Realizing it was Koi, Pan lowered his guard. “I take it you can’t either?”

The older stallion chuckled, then took his place across from Pan on the bridge. Like Pan, he stared up at the stars. “I’d be more surprised if we could sleep.”

Pan cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“Well,” Koi started, “The way I figure it, if we weren’t worried, we’d be thinking too much of ourselves.”

Agreeing, Pan responded, “...and we would not be anticipating the dangers. Hubris, essentially.”

“Hubris?” Koi asked.

Internally, Pan bucked himself in the mouth. Externally, he showed nothing to give away is exasperation. Of course he wouldn’t know what that means. He’s a farmer. Coughing, Pan explained, “Thinking too much of ourselves. Overly proud.”

Surprisingly, Koi answered, “Oh, no, I know what it means. It’s just funny that you bring up that particular word.”

“How so?”

The gold stallions face scrunched up for a second, as if he was debating whether or not to tell Pan about what seemed to be bothering him. Finally, he flatly said, “Nothing. Nevermind.” To permanently end that stream of conversation, he decisively pointed his muzzle to the sky, returning his attention to the stars and preventing any further questioning from Pan.

Pan’s eyes had now adjusted fully to the darkness, and he could see Koi in full detail. As always, the sight was humbling. Koi stood a head above him, and weighed easily twice as much. All of that extra weight was pure muscle, too. He was the villages strongstallion, and was often called upon to pull carts or move lumber. Just eyeballing it, Pan could guess with reasonable comfort that Koi’s legs were easily as big as his own torso. Koi briefly caught Pan’s gaze, and the younger one quickly averted his eyes. The evening forest critters were droning from all around, giving Pan something to distract himself with by focusing on.

“Hey, Pan...”

“Yeah?”

“You used to be some sort of a scholar, right?”

“Eh... when I was a colt. That was ten years ago, before the banditry flare-up. Why do you ask?”

“What was that like?”

The question was completely unsolicited, and put Pan in an awkward position to try and answer. “Well, uh...”

Sensing his discomfort, Koi put a hoof up. “You don’t have to answer.”

“No, it’s fine.” He shuffled his hooves a bit to shake out the cold. “I used to be the apprentice of a landlord outside of Alfalfura.”

“Alfalfura? So then how’d you end up here?” Koi asked with an obvious hint of disbelief.

Pan lapsed into an uneasy silence, considering how to best word his story, then said, “We saw the bandits coming well before they reached the walls of the manor, but there wasn’t anything we could do. We were too far from the city to try and bring help, and my master didn’t usually maintain a full rotation of guards.” Unwillingly, he sighed, trying to diffuse the tension the memory was causing within him. Looking up at Koi, he said, “They murdered the master and everyone else. I managed to climb over the wall before they saw me, and I ran as fast and as far as I could. When I looked back, all I saw was fire and smoke.”

More softly, Koi asked, “and how did you end up here?”

Exasperated, he continued. “I wandered the wilderness for a bit, doing what I could to survive. Eventually, I was picked up by the same group that built this village a decade ago. I guess they took pity on me, seeing as my situation was the same as theirs. I lost my future to the bandits, they their homes.”

When Koi didn’t say anything back, Pan then said with over-the-top machismo, “but that’s all behind me. I’m fine where I am.”

After a strained lull, Koi, changing the subject, said, “I was just wondering if you had any idea what we’ll be up against. We saw the old map the elder had in the mill, but I’m not counting on it being accurate. And I haven’t kept up with whats going on in the outside world for quite some time. Do you know anything?”

Pan shrugged. “Nothing that you probably wouldn’t know. Most of the things I know come from the traders and officials that occasionally pass through, and we both know how infrequent that is.”

Snorting, Koi grumbled, “I never stick around to listen to them. When did the last caravan come around?”

Pausing to think, Pan replied, “About five moons ago.”

“Bah.” Koi spat into the creek below. Seconds later, a plop! was heard. “What did they say?”

Again trying to recollect to so long ago, to the heavily armed merchant wagon that stopped by town to offload some of their wares and negotiate a few bargains. The leader had been a stern faced light brown stallion with a black beard. Pan tried to remember what the gruff trader had said. “Well, apparently things have calmed down between the Jade Lotus and Red Dragon, but he mentioned something along the lines of ‘the quiet before the storm’. Rumor has it, the Red Dragon Clan is gearing up for something big.”

He looked over to Koi, whose brow was furrowed and jaw tense. “But that news is about a season old. I have no idea what we’ll be facing. Assuming nothing has changed a lot, then the worst we’d see is bandits in some of the less travelled areas. Other than that, the only other danger is the Jade Lotus, and that’s only if we do something stupid.”

Laughing, Koi said, “I wouldn’t count on us being the smartest ponies around.”

Out of courtesy more than out of actual mirth, Pan joined him.

Eventually, Koi’s throaty guffawing diminished, and he turned to his new partner. “For what its worth, we should try and get some rest. Judging by the map, we’ve got more than a few weeks of walking ahead of us.”

“Sounds like a plan. Until morning.”

“Until morning.”

They bowed to each other, and Koi departed, disappearing behind the corner of a bamboo palisade nestled amongst the sprawl of huts and lodges. Minutes later, after savoring a few more breaths of the night air, Pan followed him into the village center, heading back to his own home. There was no sense in him sticking around at such a late hour.

He approached his hut--a small, single room affair--and noticed that he had left the door panel open. Apprehensively, he stepped inside and closed the panel behind him. He groped with a hoof, trying to find his mat. Instead of the springy and hard material of bamboo, however, he found himself prodding something which could only be described as flesh-like.

“Eep!” the pony squeaked.

“GAH!” Pan cried out, backing away and hitting his flanks against the wall.

“Shh! Shhhhhh! You’ll wake the whole damn village up!” the mare snapped, standing up and waving a hoof in front of his face. She planted to hoof over his mouth, stopping any further attempt by him to vocalize his distress, and also forcing him to breath through his nose.

Pan tried his best to recompose himself, and once he was settled enough, he placed his own hoof over the mares and pushed it away from his mouth. The mare lightly dropped the limb to the floor.

He scanned over her, trying to recognize the form in the dark. A white coat, a black mane, and an indiscernible black cutie mark. After running through his memory banks, his eyes shot wide. “Rise? What are you doing here?”

“Saying goodbye,” the mare said with a hint of resignation.

“Goodbye?”

Part of him wished he was asleep, because he was far too tired to fully comprehend what was happening. The other part desperately hoped he was awake, because Rise was without a doubt the most ‘desirable’ mare, so to speak, in the entire village. If she truly wanted to offer a final farewell, he was all ears.

Rise blankly stared at him. “You are leaving in the morning, aren’t you?”

Dumbfounded, Pan started to trip over his words. “Huh? I... oh, yeah. Yes I am.”

The two silently stared at each other for a painfully long time.

Finally, Pan said, “So...”

Flustered and exasperated, Rise dropped her head. Then, much to the stallions confusion, she walked up to him and held her mouth close to his ear. “You’re unbelievably awkward, Pan,” she said, and then planted a peck on his cheek. “...And that’s why I want you to come back safe. Be careful out there. I’ll be waiting, regardless of what my father wants for me.” Without another word, she stepped away and pulled back the panel. Turning back just for a moment to flash a quick smile, she ducked through the hole and stepped out into the village, closing the door behind her.

Stupefied, Pan felt his cheek with a hoof, still flush with warmth. ...What just happened?

Faintly silhouetted by the moonlight, he noticed a reed band dangling from the ceiling above the door. He hooked it on his hoof, and pulled it closer, moving it around the room to try and get a good view of it in the dark. After a bit of fumbling, he found a patch of light beaming through the reed wall, and looked to see what the trinket was.

The intertwined band of stalks was long enough to tie around his hoof, and attached to it was a small wooden totem, of seemingly abstract design. The exact meaning of the token was uninterpretable, but he understood the general purpose: a good luck charm.

After a bit of finessing, he managed to get the bracelet onto his right hoof, snugly and securely fit. Not wanting to waste the few more hours of darkness he had left before the sun rose and he’d be off, he eased himself back onto the mat, and stared at the totem until he felt his eyelids grow heavy.

Once more, he went over the plan in his head. Leave the village. Travel north through lands none of them have ever seen. Don’t die. Hope that somehow, someway, they’ll find the help they need in a country they’ve only heard of in stories. And, perhaps above all, hope that outdated map that the Elder had was still accurate.

No matter how much he tried to distract himself, though, it was no use. As if the bandits that morning hadn’t been enough, and the earthquake around the same time, their last harvest had been poor, and it seemed that with every passing day the food supplies dwindled even further and further with no sign of improving. Though no one spoke of it, it was apparent that they’d starve without the barley harvest. The life of a farmer is a miserable one, and gets worse every day, Pan concluded.

Success was the only option. If he and Koi could not return with warriors, then everything he knew would be gone. The village, his family for the past decade, his home.

And now Rise to add to that list.

His left hoof reached for the bracelet, feeling its coarse surface. The souvenier a small gesture at best, and hardly anything that would be substantially helpful, but the fact that he knew at least one pony wanted him to return safely eased his mind immensely. As his eyes finally shut, he continued to gaze at the band. He’d take whatever luck he could get, and odds were, he’d need it by the end of this.

It was hanging over him. Looming. Ever present.
No. Not just him. The whole village. The whole world.
The tendrils poked and prodded every cranny of the earth.
Searching, pushing, twisting, but not disturbing. Always hidden, never noticed.
Waiting, thinking, biding its time. Playing the game as it was intended to.
The shadow began to shake the branches. A slight nudge, a bit of guidance.
Setting the scene for when the time was right for the greatest reveal in the history of trickery.
High above, the greater powers started to shatter. The dam was cracking.

Mist filled Pan’s lungs as he delved into the shrouding fog of the morning. The sun had risen quite some time ago, not as if he could tell, and there was no use in delaying their journey any further. In brooding silence, he made his way to the village center, passively watching the murk slip away and diffuse around him. In a manner befitting a funeral procession more than a send-off, he walked through a crowd of villagers, not daring to look any of them in the eye.

Thick mud sloshed against his hooves, causing him to momentarily lose balance and pitch forwards. An outstretched leg broke his fall and the pony helped him regain his equilibrium. Pan peeked up, and saw that Koi was grinning down at him while he shook the mud off of his hoof. “Are you ready?” he asked.

Pan glanced backwards, at last allowing himself to face his fellow peasants. The fog did little to disguise their strained and worried looks; purse lips, chiseled wrinkles, and unwavering eyes. Behind them, the squarish forms of the homes and barns of the peasants stood, barely visible and more shadow than tangible. So this is what I’m trying to save, he thought to himself. Desperately, he tried to catch a glimpse of the white mare that had solicited him last night, but to no avail. Sighing, he hiked up his shoulders to resettle his saddlebags. Looking to Koi beside him, he said “I guess so.”

After a few seconds hesitation, they drifted off northwards into the fog, hoping to find a miracle or die trying.