***

Canterlot. October 14th. Year 0 of the New Free Equestrian Calendar (2030).

Canterlot was being reconstructed, piece by torturous piece. Rubble was shifted, bodies were cleared, censuses were taken, and life was slowly trying to get back to some semblance of normal.

That wouldn’t happen for a while. There were ponies that were almost indignant at the destruction that had been wrought, but when somepony would grumble about Canterlot, or often yell, they’d get a reminder - they still had their city, even if it had taken a beating. They still had their nation, even if it had been under strain from the conflict. The humans had lost almost their whole world, and it would never come back, so shut the buck up.

Vinyl saw most of these reminders. Even gave a few. It was sad, really… Even if the war was over, the peace was going to be harder. She saw hard-eyed foals in the rubble that might never stop being angry about the damage that had been done to Canterlot.

They’d prove trouble in the coming years.

None of this was supposed to be much concern to her. All that was supposed to matter as she trotted through a wrecked city, one that she’d helped to lay waste to (having gone in with the Resistance landings, no longer content to merely sit behind her mixing desk), was her beloved.

That’s where Kraber shot those Convies… that tower that collapsed over the railroad, Ze’ev blew that up…

And yet, it was hard not to remember what it had been. Before:

I had coffee there once, with Tavi and her cousin Fiddlesticks. And… I remember seeing a clown once when the train came in here. He was right at one station, there were foals that loved him… This is where Pinkie and I played music for the Royal Wedding...

It was hard not to remember the smaller things.

“Betrayer!” somepony called out as she walked through the destroyed streets. Vinyl looked over, more confused than anything, and saw a pony with a cutie mark of a planet, half-starved, one eye missing. It looked like he’d let most of his wounds since the battle heal himself, somehow. His cutie mark had a lot of scars through it, enough that you could barely see that it had once been a planet.

That seemed fitting, somehow.

Poor bastard, she thought. She and Kraber had talked a bit awhile after the battle, and he’d had a thought about the various rebellions and loyalist Convies that probably should have been happy to come back.

“What if it’s all they know how to do anymore?” he’d suggested. “People want stability. Sometimes all they want is to go back to what they know. Kate’s been traumatized as hell. I’ve been doing the best I can, and it’s not easy. I never sleep cause my family wakes up screaming all the damn time. And I keep getting told they’re the lucky ones.” He’d sighed. “Wish my old ma was here to examine them.”

She didn’t know if Kraber was right, and he’d admitted later that it was just a guess. “Now that you mention it, though…” she’d said. “They’re like automatons. Stuck on autopilot with the command to enforce Solaminan rule, even if she’s dead in the ground.”

“God help us all if the ponies like that breed and pass it on,” Kraber had said. “We’ve got enough work rebuilding already.”

“Here’s my stop, I guess,” Vinyl said as she trotted up to a small station in the middle of Canterlot, a barebones place that had been near destroyed in a firefight between convies and BDF forces. “Tympani Station.”

Well, it had been more of a curbstomp, technically speaking. The BDF present had dropped a nearby tower on a train full of Militia and Guard that had been imported in from somewhere, exploding the locomotive and derailing the train. Nobody had quite managed to get rid of all the wreckage.

Let’s see… Vinyl thought, remembering playing in some of the clubs and bumping into Octavia on the way here, half-drunk, a happy energetic mare.

Up ahead was the Canterlot Opera House, miraculously unscathed by the fighting.

Had to be it.

As she walked in, past the squatters whose houses had been destroyed by fighting, over the cracked tiles, past the soup kitchens, through conditions that Prince Blueblood had hoped to abolish within months (The poor stallion was busy enough that being merely overworked would count as a vacation) to find her.

She’d passed by one mare, a formerly immaculately coiffed pink mare with a purple and white mane, who’d suffered a black eye in the fighting thanks to Scootaloo. It had nothing to do with the battle, Scootaloo had just felt like it.

Guess that’s justice, Vinyl thought, calling out, asking if anyone had seen her beloved. Finally, one stallion with an enormous mustache and a missing eye hidden deep beneath a mass of flesh with sparse blue fur that looked comparable to melted wax had directed her backstage.

And there she was. Tending to colts and fillies in what had once been a dressing room, surrounded by ratty costumes, looking barely the worse for wear since Vinyl had left her.

“Tavi,” Vinyl said, taking off her glasses.

“Vinyl?” Octavia Philharmonica asked, eyes wide.

There were probably some things they could have said. They were an argumentative two mares, who might make arguments about who should have stayed where. But, being honest, they really didn’t want to.

“I missed you so much, Tavi!” Vinyl yelled, and hugged her.

“Is… it’s really you, isn’t it?” Octavia asked.

Vinyl nodded. “Britain’s not so bad after all. I hear they, uh… might have a gig…”

Vinyl honestly didn’t know what to say. It was a half-joking, nonsense phrase, and she had said it more to cover her nerves than anything else.

“Sorry, but I guess I’m a bit more busy with philanthropic work,” Octavia said, voice cultured as always. Every word enunciated. “I suppose I will be for quite some time.”

The unspoken words at the end of that sentence: “There’ll be no peace for awhile. The war threw both worlds into chaos.

Neither mare was letting go of the other.

“I’d love for you to come,” Vinyl asked. “It’s been eating me up so much…”

“It’s funny,” Octavia said, “I’d been hoping you could do the same here.”

“But is this really home?” Vinyl asked.

“Was yours?” Octavia asked.

Vinyl shivered slightly. “It wasn’t, but… it was free, at least. I’ll give it that much.”

There was an awkward pause.

"I heard you," Vinyl suddenly said. "On Resistance FM. I listened whenever I could find it."

"I'm glad," Octavia said, smiling slightly. "That was for you. All of it. Especially..."

There was a pause.

“We weren’t so different, you and I,” Octavia continued. “You keeping hope up there, me trying to do the same here. Of course, I had more chance of being locked up or lined against a wall and shot, but..."

“Tavi!” Vinyl hissed, momentarily horrified, and realizing things were reversed.

“I was kidding,” Octavia said, a smile on her face. “Just like you used to. Never quite got the jokes though…”

“That’s why it was funny,” Vinyl said, smiling. “Ah, memories…”

“We can’t go back, can we?” Octavia asked, and Vinyl had to say it. There was only one obvious answer.

No.

“Long as we’re together,” Vinyl said, “Let’s make the best of it. What do you say, Tavi?”

“I think it sounds wonderful,” Octavia said.

***

Ponyville. November 4th. Year 0 of the New Free Equestrian Calendar (2030).

The first of them, an Earth Pony, sat down at the bar, a drink of cider in her hoof as she thought about everything that had happened. Her red mane, once long and topped with a neat bow, was now cropped short and sweaty, and her face was covered in dirt. She was a worker, a builder, and that required muck and toil, something she was more than used to.

The second, a Pegasus, arrived a little while later. Her mane was only slightly longer, and she ordered the strongest ale the bar had. She wore a simple jumpsuit, blue with a yellow stripe, and everypony who saw her gave her a wide berth, save the first.

The third, a Unicorn, was the most elegant of the three, with coiffed hair and a beautiful dress, but the hair was lank and uncared for, and the dress was stained and dirty, like she had travelled a long way in it. The average observer could assume that she hadn’t slept for awhile, and when she had slept, it had been in said dress, and they’d be completely correct. She ordered a wine and downed it in one before ordering another and downing that too.

The average observer would also be correct in assuming that to be a learned habit.

For a long moment, none of the three spoke to the others. They were each silent in their thoughts.

"We did the wrong thing," the Pegasus, Scootaloo, said quietly, speaking first, always the boldest - she didn’t sound bold, though.

"We didn't know it was the wrong thing," Apple Bloom, the Earth Pony, pointed out, almost immediately, as though her response was rehearsed. "We didn't know anythin'. We trusted our sisters, and our sisters trusted Celestia... Solamina."

"It was wrong," Scootaloo said again. "We have minds. We shoulda used them. We could have..."

She trailed off.

"What could we have done?" Apple Bloom asked, looking at her. "What could we have done, Scoots? They'd've never listened to us. Heck, I hear tell that the Guard and the Convies and everypony was brainwashed or whatever they call it."

"Yeah," Scootaloo said quietly. "I guess so."

"So tell me what we coulda done!' Apple Bloom said, looking angry. "What could we do? I don't know the first thing about brainwashin', and I know you don't. Sweetie Belle?"

Sweetie Belle, the Unicorn, remained silent, but she shook her head, eyes fixed on her wine. Silently, she ordered another.

"See?" Apple Bloom said, taking this as support. "We couldn't have done anythin'."

"We could have not fought for Solamina," Scootaloo said quietly. "We could have not supported it. We could have done something else."

"I don't think it matters now," Sweetie Belle said softly, still not looking at the two of them. "Wrong, right... what we lost we lost. We can't ever get it back." She looked at the others. "We can't even move forward. Can we?"

"Can't we?" Apple Bloom returned heatedly. "Can't we?"

"How could we?" Sweetie asked, and she looked up at them. Her eyes were bloodshot and full of despair. "What do we have left?"

There was a long pause.

"Each other," Apple Bloom said. "We have each other. Always."

She outstretched a hoof, putting it on the bar, before looking up at the other two.

Scootaloo looked at Apple Bloom's hoof, then at Apple Bloom herself, then back at the hoof. She outstretched her own hoof and put it on top of her friend's.

Finally, Sweetie Belle put her hoof above the other two's, her eyes filled with tears.

"Cutie Mark Crusaders," she muttered quietly.

"Forever," Apple Bloom said emphatically. "Cos we can move on, all of us. And we're gonna."

"Agreed," Scootaloo said softly.

They sat like that for a long moment.

"What now?" Scootaloo asked.

"They want to put me on trial," Sweetie Belle said softly, and the others have her a look of concern but not (she noted) surprise. "Aiding and abetting the Solaminan regime. My lawyer says they'll probably make me do community service. Propaganda isn't the same thing as killing, and there's bigger things to worry about now the troubles have started again." She laughed. "I got a letter from the Manehatten rebels. They wanted me to work with them. I shredded it."

The other two laughed at that.

"I'm still building colonies," Apple Bloom said after a moment, looking bored at it. "It ain't the best work, but it'll do."

"There's still colonisation going on?" Sweetie asked.

"Eeyup," Apple Bloom sighed. "Convies wantin' to go home in a lotta cases. Can't say as I blame 'em."

"What about you, Scootaloo?" Sweetie asked, turning to the Pegasus.

Scootaloo smiled bitterly. "I left the Wonderbolts."

"But that was your dream," Apple Bloom said, looking shocked. Sweetie, too, had a raised eyebrow at the Pegasus' news.

"No, it was Rainbow Dash's dream," Scootaloo said. "And Rainbow Dash is dead. Besides which..."

She trailed off for a moment.

"What?" Sweetie asked.

Scootaloo looked thoughtful. "There's... there's something I want to do. What with the fighting and the holdouts though... I have some ideas."

She left her sentence hanging in the air.

"Well, whatever you do, you keep in touch, ya hear?" Apple Bloom said emphatically after a moment. "Promise me."

"Yeah," Sweetie Belle added. "We... we need to be here for each other."

"Always," Scootaloo said, smiling as well. "I promise - wherever I go, whatever I do, I'll be here for you guys whenever you need me."

The three of them sat together in that bar for a long time in silence. There was nothing to be said. They were friends, friends who had each been through the hardest of ordeals, and now found that their pain was for nothing. But they were still friends.

Maybe that was enough.

***

Elliot’s tomb, London. November 10th. 2030.

The tomb was nice.

The white marble, the effigy of a figure with a sword carved into it, was certainly dignified and regal, and Hell Blazer couldn’t help but admire the workmanship involved in the crafting of such a thing. That having been said… he hated it. The whole thing smacked of mourning the Avatar of Albion, not David Elliot. He had said as much when he had spoken at David’s funeral - that they were mourning a symbol, not a man.

Hell Blazer had seen better days. It had been months since the victory, months in which he had drunk himself into stupors every night, smoked and partied and tried to forget the fact that he was suddenly alone in his life. His best friend was dead. His only other friends had died months ago (Lyra and True Grit) or else had left, heading to parts unknown (the Doctor) or their own world (Twilight and the others), leaving Hell Blazer on his own and entirely unhappy with it.

He wasn’t social anymore - he was a goddamn yellow pastel pony with a smart mouth. Anyone who got to know him would think of him in those terms, not as John Constantine the luckiest Convie in the world. Sure, he talked to people when he got drunk, but he had no interest in pony mares (and they usually had little interest in him) and a pony flirting with a human just didn’t happen. Interspecies romance was considered… strange, at best, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to go out with a woman who’d have a pony.

He had come here... truth be told, he didn't know why he'd come here. It was two years to the day since he had summoned the Avatar of Albion. Maybe he felt he had to mark the occasion.

“Things’re going ok,” he said to the tomb, feeling ridiculous. “There’s some remnant forces making noises. I guess it was too much to hope that people and ponies could just get the fuck on. Still, I’d have thought everypony was fucking sick of the war. Guess not.”

He paused, looking at the silent tomb. He wondered what his friend would have said.

“Sir Eleanor of the Holy Order of Albion’s been talking about settin’ up some sort of tomb guard for you,” he continued. “I get the feeling you’d have hated that, but they’re insistent and they mean well. No one’s been able to shift Excalibur. I get the feeling you’d have laughed about that.” he paused, and then in a quiet, almost broken voice. “Please laugh. I don’t care if it’s just in me head, please say something. Don’t…”

He shook his head, and coughed.

“Sorry,” he said. “Just… gettin’ old.”

He was older than he looked now. He’d been easily in his fifties when he’d met Elliot, and the potion hadn’t taken those memories away, even if it had given him the pony body of a twenty five year old.

“I dunno what I’m gonna do now,” he said quietly after a moment. “I’ve got a few offers to go investigate magical sites across the world. Turns out the magical defence that saved Britain from the Barrier might’ve been a little less unique than we thought, though there’s nothing as massive scale as the stuff that happened here. A building here. A Tibetan monastery, complete with some pretty tired looking monks, there. Some of Israel seems like it survived - old bits mainly, no surprise there - and no idea what’s over in the Americas. There’s some Native American stuff at least, though not all that much. The Great Wall of China survived, would you believe it - might’ve been the ghosts. Probably was.” He chuckled. “A few old pyramids too - old stuff from the Incas and stuff, and the Great Pyramid of Cheops too. Try as they might, the Barrier couldn’t burn everything away. It's almost nice.”

He sighed.

“I dunno if I should take up the job, to be honest,” he said. “There are other, better magicians and magic-scholars out there. I’m just… some two-bit magician with a few tricks up my sleeve who managed to get somewhere in my life. I don’t even have that any more.”

Hell Blazer turned to leave, only to find himself, to his very great surprise, facing a man in a suit. The man was tall, with brown hair. He wore a simple black suit with a black shirt and deep red tie, with a pin on his lapel shaped like an odd arrowhead over an oval.

“Hello,” he said, sounding American and sarcastic. “Come to say goodbye?”

“Sort of,” Hell Blazer said with a frown. “‘Scuse me.”

The man held up a hand.

“Before you go,” he said, “I have something here for you.”

He reached behind him and produced, almost from nowhere, a long, WWI issue British bayonet. The most distinctive thing about the weapon was the inscription.

‘Speed-killer’.

“I believe Mr Elliot would have wanted you to have this,” the man said quietly. “As a reminder.”

Hell Blazer reached out and grabbed the weapon, looking at it with wide eyes. He looked up at the man.

“How did you get this?” he asked.

“Solamina’s corpse had to be disposed of,” the man replied. “And it had this lodged somewhere vital. I merely… retrieved it.”

Hell Blazer looked down at the blade, and smiled.

“Cheers,” he said. “Who are you?”

“A friend, Mr Constantine,” the man said quietly. “One who could have done more, but did not. Consider this… my apology.”

Before Hell Blazer could question him further - including on his use of his human name - the man turned and walked away, leaving the yellow pony on his own. He turned back to the tomb, and smiled, before putting the dagger away.

“Take care, mate,” he said as he left. “I’ll come back soon.”

***

Iron Wall. Guardpost 17-Gamma. November 12th. Year 0 of the New Free Equestrian Calendar (2030).

Fancy Pants sighed as he stamped another form. He looked out of the window of his office in Guardpost 17-Gamma, stared at the massive form of the Wall outside, and wondered why he was still here.

The Wall was obsolete. He highly doubted the new order (Prince Blueblood of all ponies) would want to keep the thing, and yet there had come no orders for his relief.

Just as well, he thought miserably. I don’t deserve it anyway.

He had allowed for this, just like everypony else who had marched under Solamina’s banner. He had gone into the city of London under Shining Armour and Flash Sentry, with the intention of slaughtering the humans if they didn’t surrender. He had thought he was doing the right thing.

“Yeah,” he said aloud, smirking. “Right for who? Solamina, that’s who. Tyrant bucking Sun.”

“Excuse me, sir?” a voice asked. He looked up from the window to the door of his office, where a pony in Night Guard armour stood.

“Can I help you, son?” Fancy Pants asked.

“I come with a message from the Prince, sir,” the Night Guard said. He passed a small scroll to Fancy and saluted, before walking out.

Frowning, Fancy Pants opened the scroll and read it.

Dear Fancy,

Checked our records here on Guard deployments and noticed you’d been sent to the Wall. Bit of a dumb idea on Auntie’s part given your competence rating, but the way Hell Blazer and Discord both told it she wasn’t exactly firing her own thrusters anymore, so I suppose it makes sense that she'd not always go for the most rational plan.

Anyway - you might have heard that there’s a lot of unrest in Equestria. Plenty of Solaminan loyalists making noises, and Manehatten and Las Pegasus are both flying her flag. Times like this, Equestria needs good honest Commanders on side, and that’s you.

Consider this your new marching orders: take as many troops as you can spare and come to Canterlot, we’re gathering an expeditionary force of Night Guard with backup from the Dead Men from Earth and some Equestrian Army forces. You’ll be one of the AEF commanders on the field - given your rating it should work, and there’s no Avatars on the other side to make things a pain.

Hope to see you soon, old friend.

Blueblood.

Fancy Pants dropped the letter, eyes wide. He was being offered…

He was being offered a second chance.

Before he could think much of the offer beyond acknowledging that he’d had it, he heard a noise from outside his office. Scowling, he stood up and marched outside.

He found himself seeing an argument between a pompous looking Royal Guard Unicorn officer - not one Fancy recognised, but an officer from a different unit - and the Night Guard.

“Your entire force are traitors, serving a traitor!” the officer said snappishly. “I’m surprised the garrison commander didn’t have you arrested as soon as look at you!”

“And you’re a traitor to Prince Blueblood, the legitimate monarch of this land!” the Night Guard snapped back. “I’m surprised the garrison commander doesn’t have you arrested!”

“The garrison commander,” Fancy Pants said sharply, catching both stallions’ attention, “can speak for himself.” He walked up to the officer. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“Lieutenant Key Stone,” the Unicorn said haughtily. He offered a scroll to Fancy, who took it with a frown.

To the officer holding this,

I, Astra Solamina Maxima, leave these standing orders in the case that I am ever deposed. You are hereby ordered to seize land and await further orders from me. Link up with others who receive these orders, and above all resist any who claim to be the legitimate rulers of Equestria. There is one ruler: myself. Until you receive countermanding orders from a superior officer loyal to me, or from myself, you have authority to enact martial law in your areas.

Signed,

Astra Solamina Maxima,
Empress of Equestria and the known world.

Fancy looked up at the stallion.

“Well?” he asked.

There were two options. He could follow this order, seize land and link up with any Solaminan loyalists until such time as either the AEF came and crushed them - but he was a Commander. High ranking officers in martial law had a lot of opportunities for personal power. It might be a short time, but it would be a profitable one.

Or… he could fight for Prince Blueblood. His friend.

Well, that wasn’t really a choice.

“Sergeant Ever Honest,” he said to one of the nearby guards. “Take the good Lieutenant to the dungeon and lock him up.”

“What?!” Key Stone said, eyes wide in shock. “How dare you? This is treason!”

“No, this,” Fancy said, holding up Key Stone’s scroll, “is treason - treason to Equestria and everything it stands for, and treason to her ruler Prince Blueblood. We committed enough atrocities in the war, Lieutenant. I feel like fighting for the right side for once.”

As Sergeant Ever Honest and two more Guards took Key Stone away, Fancy turned to the rest of the guards in the courtyard.

“Anypony who’s sick of being a traitor, sick of being the wrong side, and sick of this bucking wall, follow me!” he yelled. “We’ve a chance to do something right for a change, and I am not going to waste it! Anypony that still wants to serve Solamina, stay here! We won’t come looking for you!”

The cheers and whistles of the Royal Guard around him made Fancy Pants smile. Now this… this was the right thing.

Finally.

***

London. November 14th. 2030.

Freedom Heart held onto one thing as he wandered through the streets. Hope. Hope, that she was alive and hope that he could find her in that colossal city. London felt like it was snarling at Freedom Heart to leave at once. The gazes from the people he walked past felt like they were taunting him.

Murderer.

Brute.

Traitor.

It gave Freedom Heart little comfort to think logically, that none of the citizens walking the streets had seen him in battle. It was a big war after all.

He had come to London to find what was left of his family. The intel he got before he left said that his wife, Fair Heart, and his daughter, Brave Heart, had fled to London during the war. Now Freedom Heart was picking up the pieces of his old life, starting with the most important ones. While Fair Heart was no longer alive, he wasn't going to stop until he found Brave Heart. Even if it meant searching the rest of the human world.

Admittedly though, he didn’t know where to go next. London was a big place, thousands of people and ponies were trying to start new lives or continue old ones but the scars of battle were displayed across the city for all to see. Alleys were painted with blood, walls were wounded by bullets and scattered Converted were sat in the rubble of, what could be only assumed to be, their old homes. To think, he had helped in this madness. Freedom Heart could only remember it like some nightmare but it haunted in every waking moment even when he tried to look back on far more joyous memories.

He had wandered around London for hours, hoping for some sort of clue to his family’s location, before he spotted a human soldier on the side of a street. The man stood there, his eyes panning from one side to the other almost automatically. It was worth a shot.

Freedom Heart approached the soldier, now vastly aware that he may have killed this man’s friends during the war. The closer he got the more the man’s features told a story. The soldier’s left eye was dull and lifeless, this was a man you had lived through many battles. They were battles that were before the Solaminan empire though, as his medals showed. There were a fair few of these kind of soldiers on the street. Who better to help with the aftermath of war then those who had lived through them and into the next war.

“Can I help you sir?” asked the soldier, breaking Freedom's train of thought.

"I'm looking for my daughter," Freedom answered. "She and her mother fled here but I'm not sure where she'd be now."

The soldier nodded. "Best bet is to go to one of the shelters and see if they passed through." He drifted off for a moment before returning to another reality with another nod. "The biggest place is the one on Piccadilly. Just keep going down this street and you'll see it."

Freedom Heart thanked the soldier and went on his way. The old warrior didn't seem to harbour any hatred towards him. If he had known what Freedom had done, would he have still let him find his little filly?

It didn't take long before Freedom Heart found the shelter the old soldier had spoken about. Shelter was a very apt name for it. Calling it a building would imply that it looked structurally safe. During the war, it would have made a lovely home for the mice seeking an escape from the chaos. The banners reading Piccadilly Shelter and All Welcome almost acted as bandages for the place. Ponies and people alike wore bruised faces as they walked into the building. Some gave him a hurried glance before returning to the shelter.

What must he have looked like to them? Freedom Heart was stood there in the most dignified (if a bit battered) suit he could find. It was the only thing he could find that didn’t feel like something his war-time self would have worn.

No face in the shelter looked familiar. Freedom Heart guessed it was too much to hope that he would immediately find his daughter in that place. There were fillies there, some looking to be around Brave Heart’s age but most were huddled together with human children, waiting for food from the staff.

Freedom spotted a violet mare in the corner watching over the residents of the shelter. Like the soldier from before, she wore a military uniform but she had obviously seen far less years then the gentleman. Freedom Heart approached the Pegasus, trying to smile at least a little to ease his own worry.

“Can you help me?” he asked.

“Of course,” the mare replied. “are you trying to find somepony?”

“Yes. My daughter Brave Heart fled to London with her mother when the war started but her mother...”

“What did she look like?”

“She had chestnut fur and a yellow/green mane.”

“I can help,” said a new, smaller voice.

Beside the two ponies was a small, sandy coloured colt who bowed to the two. He looked at Freedom Heart closely and turned to a group of children -ponies and human alike- who were watching intently, and smiled.

"I didn't mean to eavesdrop on you," he said sheepishly. "I heard Brave Heart's name and I thought-"

"That's alright." Freedom Heart returned the colt's bow. “Do you know my daughter?”

The little pony nodded. “She’s the one who found found me and told me about the shelter.”

“Could you take us to her?” asked the mare official.

The colt nodded again.

Freedom Heart’s face lit up. "What is your name?"

"Silk Cuff sir."

"Well Silk Cuff Sir-"

The colt gave a small giggle and seemed to relax a little.

“-I’m glad you did hear us.”

All three of them left the shelter post haste. Silk Cuff lead them down alleys and through, what were once, gardens, periodically stopping along the way and mumbling to himself. The other children from the shelter had stayed behind. Freedom Heart didn’t know what kind of sign to take that as but if Silk Cuff knew anything about where Brave Heart would be then he would go for it.

“How old was she when you saw her last?” the mare asked, catching Freedom Heart’s attention.

“Two,” Freedom Heart replied. “I doubt she’ll remember me.” Then a question popped into the stallion’s head. “Why did you decide to come with me?”

The mare look towards Silk Cuff, straight and strong.“To help,” she said simply.

“Thank you miss…”

“Violet Charm.”

“We’re here,” chimed in Silk Cuff.

‘Here’ was apparently a the ruins of what was once probably a decent park. Swing sets had become twisted and the chains removed while the slide was littered with bullet holes. Even an area for children hadn’t been safe from the war.

Silk Cuff was looking around the park, almost in a panic.

“Brave Heart?” he called out.

A few pieces of rubble toppled over and the faces of bruised and dirty children poked out. As they revealed themselves to the visitors, they straightened up and tapped their make shift armoured outfits. They looked like knights made out of scrap.

Freedom Heart’s face lit up when he saw her. In the centre of them, standing prouder and with the most armour on, was his daughter. He knew those eyes anywhere. They were the eyes that he imagined when he needed hope. Those eyes looked at him with suspicion and it nearly brought the stallion to his knees.

"Brave Heart," he muttered

"Another pony who needs the help of the Children of Albion?" Brave Heart said with vigor in her voice, like a noble warrior.

Words escaped Freedom Heart in that moment. He had played out this scene over and over again in his mind and even in his thoughts he didn't know what to say.

He cleared his throat and tried to say...something, anything.

"I have important business with you Brave Heart," he declared with the same nobility Brave Heart did.

Violet Charm shot him an understanding smile. He was trying.

Brave Heart turned to the rest of the 'Children of Albion' and gestured to move along. A few seemed to take the chance to play in what was left of the park. ‘Knights’ or not, they were children.

"What troubles you?" Brave Heart asked.

"I'm looking for my daughter," Freedom Heart replied, trying not to let his nerves show though by Violet's wing on his back, he failing that.

"What's the filly's name?"

"Brave Heart."

Silk Cuff was watching this with awe at the scene. The little colt was almost jumping with anticipation at what Brave Heart was going to say.

Brave, for the briefest of moments, lost the pride in her expression. Carefully she approached and reached out a hoof to touch his face.

I am real. Let's go home.

Swiftly, she turned away and began to walk.

"Liar!" Brave Heart declared.

"I doubt you'd remember me. You were only two when-"

"You died!"

That might have been preferable to living as puppet for the war.

Freedom Heart toppled to his knees, meeting Brave's gaze on her level. Violet joined him, whispering encouragement into his ear.

"What did Fair Heart say happened to me?" he managed to say.

Some of the other children had come back and began to point makeshift weapons at Freedom Heart but Brave Heart gestured them to move along once more and, with only a little hesitation, the obeyed.

“She said my dad died defending us as we escaped,” she said somberly.

In a sense, that’s partly correct.

“Your mom was better at handling bad news than I was.” Freedom gave a slight smile.

Violet Charm stepped forward. “Whatever happened, happened. I’m sure your father had a good reason for not being around during the -”

“I was a monster,” Freedom Heart said. His mind drifted as he spoke. “I was just another puppet that Solamina used in her war.”

Violet Charm looked on at him confused.

“As soon as the war ended and I gained my sanity back,” he continued, “I tossed away my liaison rank and came to find you.”

“Why did you toss away your rank?” Violet Charm inquired.

Freedom Heart looked sombre. “Puppet or not, I remember everything I did.”

Silence. Time took a breath.

Most of Brave’s anger washed away from her expression.

“Why did you tell her that?” whispered Violet Charm

“I could never lie to my daughter,” Freedom replied, tears beginning to roll down his face.

“What’s my birthday?” Brave asked and time seemed like it was ready to continue.

“February 12th.” It brought a smile to Freedom Heart’s face to remember the day his little filly was born. When he stood by Fair Heart’s bed and they both watched her sleep in Fair’s hooves, he could have lived in that moment for eternity.

“Miss Brave Heart, I think -” Silk Cuff tried to note.

“Where did we live?” the filly asked, cutting Cuff off.

“Colton.” Freedom Heart stood tall once more. Proving that he was the stallion who was her father and not some soldier anymore sounded more than fair.

Brave Heart’s face grew distraught as she seemed to struggle to think of another question. Than her eyes lit up. With new vigor, she approached Freedom Heart.

“What did my mom and dad used to call me as a nickname?”

Freedom wiped the tears from his eyes, leaned down, and whispered something in the little pony’s ear. Whatever he whispered in her ear, it made Brave’s eyes widen and similar tears begin to roll down her face as Freedom leaned back, beaming with a proud smile.

Brave Heart stood there, dumbstruck by the words she heard.

I did come up with the nickname.

“Brave Heart?” Silk Cuff asked softly.

In a flash, Brave Heart embraced her father for the first time since his ‘death’.

“Daddy.”

That had been Brave Heart’s first word all those years ago. The two heart’s were beating with the same rhythm as they shared tears and apologies for all the time they had missed together.

Violet Charm turned to the rest of the Children of Albion who had gathered to watch the reunion.

“There is a lot of work to do.”

***

Leith, November 30, 2030

It had not been an easy month. Wars, Kraber decided, drawing on some half-remembered analogy from one of his nightmares, were like amputations.

He’d been mildly pleased to wake up from his dream - he was on an old steam locomotive, an American model, which was pelting through New Hampshire. He could remember it all vividly - screams and gunfire. A heavy LMG that’d be worth near a fortune today.

And there’d been an immense pony near him, one near twice the size of the average one. He’d long since accepted the dreams, but…

They were getting worse. He was sure of it. Behind every corner in his dreams, whether he was remembering something as innocuous as buying a gun in some town in New Hampshire (It was strange - according to libraries, and what few records had been scavenged from other countries or anomalous areas, most of his dreams centered around New Hampshire. He’d only been there a few times. None with ponies) there was a sense of something following. Something seemed to peek at him from every corner, and he knew that something else was coming.

And yet, as he was explaining to this fresh-faced youngin with an awkward Garand converted for BAR mags from the Dead Men, he was happiest with his family and his… son? Genealogy would be a bitch.

“Didn’t ya hear me, chommie? Fok off!” Kraber yelled.

“But the Dead Men-”

“Consider me resurrected or some kak, I don’t care,” Kraber said. “I havenae seen my family for six years! As of today, I’m on leave.”

“But-”

At nearly six feet, Kraber practically towered over the Dead Man standing before him, his brown, syrupy-colored eyes burning into him. “Hou jou fokkin bek,” Kraber hissed, and the lack of a weapon looked somehow more unnerving on Kraber than anything else.

This man could break me, the Dead Man thought to himself.

“I. Am. On. Leave. I don’t want to work in any fokking colonies, I don’t want anything more than to be with my family. Plus, Button Mash’ll be over to teach Kate how to use an Xbox controller with hooves. Find someone else, I am not in the fokkin mood.”

There was a brief, disturbed pause.

“Why would you…”

“Because virtual reality helps with pain,” Kraber said. “We’re gonna try and play Portal.”

“Viktor?” a mare asked, rather sleepily, coming to the door. “Wuzz goin on?”

“It’s Jehovah’s witnesses, ignore them. I’ll make you some cheese grits soon,” Kraber said.

“...Mokay,” she yawned, and crawled back into the bed.

With that, Kraber closed the door, and headed for the kitchen, firing up a breakfast for his foals.

His foals. Oh, genealogy was going to be a bitch here. It was a weird thing to think about, having foals, not children. Maybe he could change, be with them, but - nah. They needed him as he was. A child not being able to recognize their father was terrifying.

As was… he paused. Damn near everything terrified him. He and his wife had sex, of course. She’d needed a hug, she’d felt weird sleeping in his bed, and then all of a sudden, it had happened. Human-pony relationships weren’t the norm, and you’d get a few weird looks if it happened, but everyone just sort of accepted it. And again… what else was he going to do?

After Kraber had stolen cheese and some grits from a food storehouse in Canterlot, promising his wife and kids to make cheese grits (it was going to be weird being the only one in the family that could eat meat, but then, meat was expensive, so it wouldn’t be much of an adjustment) like back home, back in Boston after they’d moved back from Germany, and finally gotten to see old Strychnine Jones and the crew from back in med school, he’d realized: there was no back home. Nothing would ever be like Earth for generations to come. Maybe it never would be.

‘Am I up for this?’ he’d wondered. ‘Can I rebuild a-”

And he’d stopped thinking that way, abruptly. Even if he wasn’t up for this sort of thing, even if he was too bosbefok thanks to seven years of hell, what the fok else was he going to do?

Up for it or not, he’d do it anyway. Cause that was what fathers did. Cause above all, he missed them so much.

“Cheese grits!” his daughter Anka laughed from off in the distance from inside his Leith house. She was bouncing, but apparently the right word for a bouncing equine was ‘pronking’.

He remembered something. One of the bad dreams he’d gotten awhile back, a feeling of someone’s presence in his head. He’d dreamed of being somewhere in New Hampshire, somewhere with ponies (But that couldn’t be right, could it?) and hearing a song. “Trying to wallow in the hope of what I can be, not what’s been taken away…”

It was another day.

“Make sure you take all the meat, we can’t digest it!” Peter yelled.

“Mmmmrm… kids, ‘m tryin to sleep,” Kate groaned.

Small steps. Small steps.

***

Somewhere between Appleoosa and Dodge Junction. December 1st, Year 0 of the New Free Equestrian Calendar (2030).

Somewhere in a tent in the planes between Appleoosa and Dodge Junction, a Unicorn mare was dreaming.

...CelestianotCelestia...

“Hold that bucking line!”

"Friendship is dead... but vengeance is sweet."

“There is definitely something off about all of this, though. I want you to keep her under close observation, clear?”

"You’re right. She asks the impossible. And we’re going to give her it if it kills us."

"I know this… man. I know him better than you, better than even you, Commander Lake. I have seen the truth of him. There is nothing to redeem in this man. The moment he remembers everything, the moment he remembers what he is and what he can be… we’re dead."

"Equestria stands upon the brink of chaos. It is our efforts, and our efforts alone, that prevent rogue elements like the mutants, the rebels and the traitor Blueblood’s Midnight Guard from gaining a true foothold over Equestrian soil."

Do you understand, now?

Twilight Sparkle awoke with a gasp, eyes wide, shaking, panting, feeling like she was going to throw up. She coughed, trying desperately to not wretch.

"Ma'am?!" she heard True Grit's voice say from outside her tent. "Everything ok in there? You alright?!"

"I'm fine," she called back quietly. "I'm fine Grit. Just... dreaming."

Of course she wasn’t fine. She had been dreaming...she had been dreaming of lives she never lived, lives she had seen somewhere before, but she couldn’t remember… the life of her counterpart, happy and smiling in the bright sunshine of an Equestria that had never known war, had never heard of a “human”... and other lives, lives where she remembered… things... terrible things…

'KILL ME! PLEASE! I CAN’T STAND IT ANYMORE! KILL ME SO I DON’T HAVE TO WATCH MYSELF HURT ANYONE AND BE MADE TO ENJOY IT! KILL ME TO END THIS NIGHTMARE!'

She didn’t know where these dreams had come from, though she had the vaguest sense of memories... floating...

“You will understand in a moment, and we will know if the Twilight who walks among the enemy is an impostor - or a broken mirror."

… but she didn’t care where they had come from, really. It was all just a reminder of the life she had lost, a life she had forfeited. She should have known better.

She didn't know how - didn't remember how, for reasons she suspected had something to do with the Empress, but Solamina had done something to her, something that had broken the boundaries between her mind and that of... her counterparts? Other parallel selves, from other worlds, just like the Twilight she had fought had been from another world? She shuddered to think of just what had happened to her in these other worlds that caused...

'KILL THE ELEMENTS OF HARMONY!'

... these memories. These horrible, horrible memories.

‘Did Solamina ever really care about me?’ she wondered idly. ‘No. Celestia did. Solamina… didn’t. I don't think she could.’

In Canterlot, she remembered Lyra saying that what most ponies wanted to do, when overworked, was just to bail. A lot of the ponies around, like Moondancer (poor, depressed Moondancer) had agreed with this, but Twilight hadn’t. She understood now, though.

She’d been strong-legged into it. She’d never accepted this. She’d only had a dying godling infuse something into her, and something inside was crying out at her to stop this madness, to just stop, rest, and -

Do what?

She was surprised to find that it was her own voice asking her this. Exactly. What would she do? Lie down and die? Drown herself in drugs and drink? Escape the responsibility? No, she’d been strong-legged into it, but it was worthy work. And if she didn't do it... well, who would?

There you are. Learning.

“What time is it?” she called out.

“About three hours ‘til dawn,” the Unicorn called back. “You wanna start out now, ma’am?”

Twilight frowned. She could try sleeping again, but she had a nagging sensation that doing so wouldn’t be wise…

I know your fears. I know your hopes. I know your soul - I have tasted the darkest regrets and the deepest torments that lie in the very heart of you.

“Yeah,” Twilight said, getting up slowly and sighing. “Let’s pack up, Grit. We have work to do.”

Twilight Sparkle... I accept your sacrifice.

Author's Notes:

Hey guys :-) Sorry this chapter took a while to get out - there's been a whole load of other AOA related stuff going on and everybody's been super busy. You'll find links embedded in this chapter to a bunch of AU's currently going on in the AOA multiverse - suffice it to say, it's all go.

Anyway: this chapter sets up a lot of stuff that a lot of folks are doing. From here, we can leave 2030 and start going beyond, really seeing where our heroes - and in some cases, our erstwhile villains - go next. I promise you, the next chapter will be out soon - it's already well underway at the time of writing this. :-)

Cheers to The Void and Doctor Fluffy for sterling work as always. :-)

Cheers to all favouriters and commenters. I hope this story continues to be worth your time. :-)

Jed.