Thunder rumbled close to the towers of the ancient structure, shaking loose small parts of its roof. It had not heard the hoofbeats of ponies in countless centuries. Time had not been kind to the strange ruin, and the surrounding jungle was well on its way to obliterating the once-strong walls and spires. Nothing stirred in the jungle, no creatures lurked within, perhaps frightened away by the five monstrous statues that held a silent vigil over the forgotten site.

As if in defiance of the silence below, a beam of light lanced out of a web-shrouded window on the third floor. Within, raised voices were heard, two female and one male. Three shapes galloped past the windowsill, and the grey coat of a pony could be seen for just a moment. He paused by the window, and looked out.

“Come on, Tempest,” a mare’s voice, silk and steel together, called out from within. “There’s no turning back now!”

“Yeah!” shouted another, this one full of irrepressible energy. “This is it! The day of reckoning! We’re coming for you, Chaos!”

The grey stallion nodded, fluttered his wings, and together the three leapt into the abyss.

Somewhere, a bell rang.

Warm sunlight fell on his muzzle to the peal of a distant bell.

“Good morning, Tempest! Doesn’t Cadence’s Bell sound lovely this morning?” The cheerful voice of his mother cut through what remained of his dream, and snapped the grey pony back to reality.

Tempest groaned, and shrugged under the covers. Whatever time it was, it was too early to be awake.

“Get up, sleepyhead!”

He grunted a negative, and rolled over. His mother laughed. “You were so excited about the Summer Sun Celebration that you couldn’t sleep, is that it?”

She pulled the blankets off of him, pulled his window open, and laughed again. “You promised Eureka you’d be there for her, remember?”

Oh Tartarus, I did. “Enough, Ma, I’m up. Good morning to you, too. How do you do it every morning?”

She nickered a little. “It’s called ‘coffee’, and you’ll learn all about it when you apply for the Royal Guard in Canterlot. For now, come downstairs and have a nice, home-cooked meal, Ponyville-style.” And with that, she trotted downstairs, leaving his stormcloud cutie mark shaking in the early morning cold.

Tempest ran a hoof through his cerulean mane, trying to get it to look presentable. He then stretched his wings, and flew out his window into the back field for his morning exercises. He may not have been a morning pony, but every pegasus knew the cure for persistent morning fog; sweep it out, and let the sun in. Forty minutes later found him in the bathtub, soaking his sore muscles. That did it. The morning’s cobwebs were now long forgotten, a faint echo in the back of his mind washed away by the promise of a wonderful morning.

If there was a better smell in the morning than roasting hay fries, Tempest didn’t care to know about it. The smoky aroma rolled through the hallways of his house, and he glided down the stairs to follow, drying his wings as he flew. It was another gorgeous morning in Equestria, another beautiful day to be alive.

His mother had set out a delicious breakfast: hay fries, thick oatmeal with honey, and even an apple fritter. They were a special favorite of his, although some less-charitable ponies he knew called it an addiction; he just couldn’t say no to those flaky, crispy shells, and warm, fluffy insides all stuffed with apple bits. It was something he'd picked up from his late father, who had called them "little pockets of sunlight."

Breakfast quickly devoured, Tempest flapped his wings and returned to his room upstairs. He drew in one shaky breath to calm his nerves, and pulled a long wooden box from under his bed. The old teak creaked as he carefully nudged it open, and revealed a long blade with a slender bitgrip. The weapon’s style was an old one, having fallen out of favor with the warriors of Equestria over 400 years ago, during the devastating war with Nightmare Moon. Back then, they needed as many blades in the army as could be made, so the blacksmiths had almost abandoned any extravagance when forging. Blades like this one were rare, belonging to an age prior to the rise of the Gathering Dark. Of those curios, this one was special: it had belonged to his family for generations, passing from parent to child for as long as Tempest’s family knew.

Tempest trembled a little as he ran his hoof along the looping faceguard of the hilt. He’d be worthy of the ancestral weapon soon, right after he aced the entrance exam for the Royal Guard. After all, a pony was measured by their actions and how they managed the consequences of those actions. To his mind, a name was just a label to identify the cause of a chain of events. The name of the pony didn’t matter. What actions the pony undertook did. If they brought tragedy and sorrow, the pony behind them was similarly marked. On the other hoof, if they served truth and justice, the pony behind them was equally honorable. So, he was going to be a Royal Guard, protecting the citizens of Equestria, in case another Nightmare Moon rose.

Like that’s ever gonna happen, a cynical little pony in his head said.

Instead of the blade, he grabbed a piece of red cloth and slowly unwound it from the scabbard. This he wrapped around his brow, and cinched tight. He would not claim his father’s sword, not yet. However, he could at least show his dedication to his father’s cause and to his duty by wearing the family sigil as he went about his day. Taking up his wooden training sword in his teeth, he stopped only long enough to check in a mirror that the crossed pair of keys sat over the center of his brow before he breezed down the stairs. He tucked the wooden sword into the sash under his wings, pecked his mother on her cheek, and set out towards the fairgrounds. Next Chapter: Chapter 2: The Millennial Sun Celebration Estimated time remaining: 30 Minutes