Cyclone poked at his breakfast with a hoof. “Dad, this is... um...”

“What’s wrong, Cyclone?” Hurricane asked from the far side of the dining table, glancing up from his own plate. “You love cod.”

The colt frowned. “It’s black. And...” He made a face like he’d just swallowed a rat. “...crunchy.”.”

Hurricane’s ears slid backward ever so slightly atop his brow, a sure sign of unspoken displeasure. “It’s fine, Cyclone. Just eat.”

Cyclone only glared at his plate.

“I especially don’t want to hear you complaining once your mother wakes up,” his father continued. “It’s her favorite, and she’s probably hungry after taking care of your sister all night.”

Gently, Cyclone slid some of the charred fish onto a piece of bread, alongside a few grapes and some hay. His desperate hope was that the sweetness of the fruit would drown out the burnt taste. His teeth ripped into the unsightly combination, and he realized he was wrong. Without even thinking, his muzzle scrunched up.

Hurricane’s ears fell further, though he forced a little bit of cheer into his voice. “Let me tell you a little story, Cyclone. When I was a colt, we rarely had fish. There was a little stream nearby where we could get trout, but that meant Aunt Twister had to be up early with her net.”

“Is Aunt Twister good at fishing?”

Hurricane shrugged. “She was never very good at waking up, so we never got to find out. For our family, it was bread and greens, every day. Most days, I was the one out in the field picking those greens, and the wheat to make the bread.”

“Why?” Cyclone asked. “Mom said fish is what makes us be strong soldiers. You ate a lot of fish, right?”

The irritation on the grown stallion’s face faded slightly, and his ears slid back to their usual, attentive positions. “No, Cyclone. Unlike your mother, I didn’t grow up in a rich family. I was never expected to be a soldier. Aunt Twister and I lived on a farm, and I was going to be a farmer.”

“Like earth ponies?” Cyclone cocked his head. “Why?”

“Back in Dioda, there weren’t any earth ponies.” Hurricane chuckled. “I’d never heard of an earth pony or a unicorn. Neither had anypony else. We divided ourselves up by our cities instead. Your mother was from the capital, Stratopolis. Your aunt and I were from a little town called Zephyrus. If we wanted wheat, or oats, or carrots or whatever, we had to grow it ourselves.”

Cyclone washed down another bite of the disgusting meat with a splash of wine that was really mostly water. “But the earth ponies live close to Cloudsdale.”

Hurricane nodded. “The Low Valleys start about an hour’s flight south of here. Amber Field is three or four, depending on how fast you fly. But that’s how far they are from Cloudsdale, and the city is only about as old as you are. You have to remember, Dioda is fifteen, maybe twenty days flight to the east.”

Cyclone’s eyes widened. “You flew that far?”

“We didn’t have a choice, Cyclone. We lost Stratopolis. The griffons won.” Hurricane’s eyes drifted slowly away from his son, staring out the open balcony and off into the clear blue sky. “Magnus won...”

“Don’t tell him that, ‘Cane.” The sudden words shocked Hurricane out of his stupor, and pulled Cyclone’s attention away from a third torturous bite of his burnt fish. “Magnus didn’t win, because Cirra is still here.” Swift Spear smiled at her husband, and tipped her neck to toss her loose brown mane away from her eyes, almost flirtatiously. On her back, cradled between the mare’s wings, Typhoon cooed at the slight motion. “We’re still here.”

“How is she?” Hurricane asked, gesturing to his daughter and unsubtly changing the subject.

Swift pulled the filly from her back, cradling her in the crook of a foreleg. “Now that she’s not so hungry, she’s fine. Isn’t that right, Ty?” The last words were accompanied by a craned neck and a nuzzle between the muzzles of mother and foal. “I’m glad she’s not quite the fighter you were, Cyclone.”

“What’s that mean?” the colt asked.

Swift smiled gently at her son. “You were always too busy to hold still, Cy. Every time I tried to carry you you’d just squirm away looking for trouble.” She reached out with a hoof to gently tousle her son’s mane. “You only wanted your dad to carry you around. Now, what’s there for me to eat?”

Hurricane gestured with a wingtip toward the small platter he’d set in the center of the table. Swift leaned forward, scooping up a few pieces of bread and some vegetables, before turning toward the cod. “Hurricane, dear, what’s this?”

“What do you mean?” the stallion asked.

Swift gestured to the few remaining pieces of fish. “You burnt the fish, dear.”

“It’s a bit darker than you make it, sure.” Hurricane took another bite of his own meal. “I wanted to make sure it was cooked all the way through.”

Swift sighed. “You incinerated it.” As if to demonstrated, she reached out a hoof and poked one of the pieces of fish, which quickly crumbled into blackened flakes and ash.

Hurricane’s ears snapped back against his head, and his voice dropped into a growl. “Then take the other half of the fish and cook it yourself! I tried my best, but I don’t have a damn clue how to use that firepot thing.” At the winces of his wife and his son, the stallion’s wings drooped. “I’m sorry.”

They sat in total silence for more than a while, with Hurricane moping over his food as Cyclone and Swift watched. Finally, the latter decided she’d had enough. “It’s fine, Hurricane.” The young mother smiled, pushing aside the fish and grabbing herself an extra helping of grapes and bread. “I can’t blame you. After all, why would a mighty Emperor of Cirra ever need to cook for himself?”

The shame on the dark stallion’s expression disappeared, replaced by a tired frown. “Don’t call me that. There is no ‘empire’ anymore. I’m not a politician.”

Swift’s amusement wilted on her face, and with a tired resignation, she replied “Only if you agree not to bring up the Red Cloud War at the table.”

Cyclone pouted at his mother. “Aww, but I wanna know more! Did Dad really win a whole battle with a hundred griffons just by himself? And what was it like when Feathertop erupted? And—”

“Cyclone! Control yourself!” The force in Hurricane’s order severed all further questions. He paused for a minute before continuing. “When you’re old enough to appreciate the truth, I’ll sit down with you and tell you what happened. But talking about it like it was some foal’s story is unacceptable. Every single pony you know lost somepony close to them. We all lost our homes. And those of us who survived… We saw things that would give you nightmares.” He briefly spared a glance to his wife, who hugged her daughter a bit tighter. “You will not make a story of it. And you will absolutely not make it a game. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Dad.”

“Good.” Apparently satisfied, Hurricane took another bite of his own breakfast before being reminded once more that he had ruined his fish. Grimacing, he wiped the rest of the ruined meal onto his cloudstone plate and began to chew on his plain bread. “Do you need me to get you anything while I’m out today, Swift?”

The mare shook her head. “If we need anything, we can stop in the forum on the way back from our debriefing with the Praetorian and the Third Legion.” Smirking, she added, “But I’m feeling just fine today, since that’s what you were actually asking.”

Rather than react to her added comment, Hurricane cocked his head. “The Praetorian is back already? I thought the Crystal Barbarians would hold that damn fort longer than three days.”

Swift shrugged. “You sent Thunder Hawk and Iron Rain on the same mission, dear. What were you expecting?”

A feather scratched against Hurricane’s temple. “The name is familiar... who’s Iron Rain?”

Hoof met face with a resounding echo. Thinking her mother was playing some sort of game, Typhoon cooed again, and reached out her stubby little legs in an attempt to replicate the motion. “I swear by Mobius, Hurricane, some days you’re impossible.”

Cyclone turned toward Swift. “Mom, Blaze said that name yesterday. Who’s Iron Rain?”

“Another hero, like your dad,” Swift explained with a teasing glance in Hurricane’s direction. “Maybe you can meet her today when you come with us to the debriefing.”

Cyclone’s eyes widened with excitement, and he turned his head toward his father. One of Hurricane’s eyebrows had climbed a fair way up his forehead, but the other remained low. “I’m not going to the debriefing.”

Swift turned to her husband with surprised, widened eyes. “Where could you possibly be going that’s more important?”

“River Rock,” Hurricane answered flatly, before taking another bite of his bread. “To meet with Lapis and Muffintop.”

“Who?” Cyclone asked.

“King Lapis is the ruler of the unicorns, and Chancellor Muffintop is the leader of the earth ponies. They’re like your dad, but for the other two tribes.” That brief explanation then let Swift turn back to her husband. “That meeting is today?”

With a nod, Hurricane stood up from his seat. “We’re finalizing the accords now. I’ll be able to get us much more reliable supplies from the unicorns, and hopefully some land from the earth ponies so Cloudsdale can stop feeling so crowded. Are you sure you’re up to the meeting, and keeping an eye on Cyclone and Typhoon?”

Swift shook her head. “Sorry, Cane, but I think I’ll have to pass on this one. I’ll be fine with Typhoon, but can you take Cyclone, please?”

Hurricane frowned. “I can’t just take him to River Rock, Swift. I don’t have time to watch him.”

“Well, you’re welcome to take Typhoon instead, if you can figure out some way to feed her.” Swift smiled in a way that sent Hurricane’s tail whipping back and forth. “It’ll be good for Cyclone to meet some unicorns and some earth ponies. Plus, doesn’t King Lapis have a daughter? Maybe she and Cyclone will be friends.”

“I don’t have the time to foalsit him, Swift. Cirra still needs my full attention—”

“Don’t your foals, Hurricane?” the mare interrupted. “Doesn’t your family deserve some of your precious time?”

Hurricane opened his mouth to object, but couldn’t find the words. Instead, he ground a hoof into his brow. “Fine,” he grumbled, before turning to face his son. “But you need to promise me that you will be on your absolute best behavior, Cyclone. You have to stay with me at all times. Is that clear?”

Barely able to contain his excitement, Cyclone answered quickly. “Yes, Dad!”

Hurricane nodded. “And I’m flying.”

Cyclone didn’t care. To his young mind, the thought of seeing the unicorn capital was more than enough joy to push aside the disappointment of not getting to practice his flying with his dad. He’d been on the ground once or twice before, beneath Cloudsdale, and all there was to be seen were foothills and a few small farms. In contrast, River Rock promised homes of wood and stone, giant walls, and, if the stories were to be believed, statues of gold and windows made entirely of gemstones. Plus, he’d get to spend the whole day with his dad!

Eagerly, the colt scampered over to his father, and with a mighty running leap and a pump of his feathers, landed squarely between the grown stallion’s wings. Hurricane grunted from the sudden weight, but then retrieved his helmet from its place on the table as though nothing had gone wrong. He nodded once to his wife, smiled briefly, and walked calmly to the balcony. There, he spread strong wings, flapped once, and launched into the sky.

As Cloudsdale disappeared behind them, father and son both remained quiet. As was his usual practice, Hurricane seemed to maintain total focus on his flight. Cyclone leaned his head forward over his father’s armored shoulders, watching as the clouds below gave way to wide open air, river valleys, and immense fields; most lay fallow in the winter, but a few showed sprouts of potatoes or carrots or other hardy crops that would serve as staples in the lean months of winter.

Their silence persisted until Cyclone got his first glimpse of something breaking up the flat fields and little stone cottages of the earth pony farmers below. Around the corner of a sloped cliff in the distance, the foal caught a glimpse of a huge stone wall topped with wooden slats. As his father pushed forward further, even more of the structure came into view: not only the enormity of the thirty-foot tall wall, but the wood and stone buildings it surrounded.

“Dad, what’s that?”

Hurricane tilted his head slightly. “That’s Amber Field, Cyclone. It’s the earth pony capital.”

“What’s a capital?”

“When a race has a whole bunch of cities, one of those cities is chosen to be the capital. It’s where the ruler lives, and where important decisions are supposed to be made. The city we’re headed to, River Rock, is the unicorn capital. Back on Dioda, Stratopolis was our capital.”

“Did the griffons have a capital?” Cyclone asked.

Hurricane sighed, loudly enough that his son could hear even over the wind. “Yes, Cyclone. It was a city called Angenholt.”

“What was it like?”

A shrug unsettled Cyclone’s chin. “I’ve never seen it. I doubt anypony alive has. And that’s enough talk about griffons.”

The colt pouted, but his lips parted enough to grumble “alright.” Then his focus turned back to Amber Field and its wall. “Why do they have a big wall like that? We could just fly over it.”

“We’re at peace with the earth ponies, Cyclone. They know we don’t want to hurt them.”

“But still, why?”

“The earth ponies don’t have any enemies that can fly, Cyclone. They’re worried about things on the ground, like the crystal pony barbarians and those wolf-monsters I keep hearing about.”

Persistent, Cyclone’s hoof tapped on the base of Hurricane’s helmet. “But what if something did? What if the griffons attacked them? Or a dragon?”

“I thought I told you not to talk about griffons.” Hurricane gave his son a quick glance of only mild disapproval before he continued. “And dragons don’t attack ponies. But if some sort of flying monster did attack them, they would need our help.”

“You’d go fight the monster for them?” The excitement in the colt’s voice was obvious.

“Or some other legionaries,” Hurricane replied. “There are lots of skilled soldiers in the Legion.”

“Yeah, but you’re the best, Dad.”

Hurricane chuckled as he shook his head. “No I’m not, Cyclone.”

“But that’s what everypony says!” The protests saw Hurricane fold his ears back against his head. Ignorant of his father’s agitation, Cyclone continued to shout directly at them. “They say—”

“That will be enough, Cyclone.” Hurricane waited for total silence from his son before relaxing his tensed shoulders with a deep breath. “Look, Cyclone, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shouted. But today is going to be a very stressful day for me. I’m signing an agreement with Chancellor Muffintop and King Lapis that does what you asked about. We’re far better soldiers than either the unicorns or the earth ponies, so we’ll be supplementing their defenses to protect against the barbarians, and whatever other threats attack them. In exchange, we’ll get food from the earth ponies, and land for our own to start building up some forts and new cities.”

Cyclone cocked his head like a confused dog. “Suh...sup...suplimenning? Barbarians?”

His father grinned at his son’s more pleasant show of curiosity. “Supplementing means ‘adding to’. We’ll be helping the earth ponies and the unicorns protect themselves, but we won’t be doing all of the fighting alone. And barbarians are ponies who don’t come from a country or a system like we have. Instead, they try and fight their way in, and steal what they need. Usually, when we say barbarians, we mean the crystal ponies.”

“The ones made out of rocks?”

Hurricane smiled. “I know I told you that earlier, but it turns out they aren’t actually made of rocks. They just look that way.”

“Okay.” Cyclone’s eyes scanned the land below again. “What about the unicorns?”

“They’ll be providing us the steel, stone, and raw materials we need for our equipment. The treaty also says something about raising and lowering the sun, though I doubt Celeste needs any help.”

More flapping and more silence followed Hurricane’s brief explanation. Amber Field disappeared beneath their hooves, and still Hurricane flew on. Before long, the flat farmlands gave way to a wide river valley, flanked on both sides by cliffs and mountains. Hurricane ducked low toward the water, letting Cyclone dip a wingtip into the beautiful smooth surface, though they never stopped in their flight. On the shore, earth ponies and unicorns alike looked up from the roads, pulling carts or simply traveling, to the rare sight of a lone pegasus so far from both Cloudsdale and an active battlefield.

Cyclone had never seen the canyons or the mountains before. The sheer variety of colors dazzled his young eyes, and the crisp air and clear water tickled his fancy, but the ponies on the shore were the real interest. He’d never spoken to a unicorn or an earth pony before, nor had he seen the former’s magic. And as the wingless ponies continued on their way, he simply watched. At times, a pony would wave in his direction, and he’d shoot a flap of a wing back.

"Dad?"

“Hm?”

“Can we come down here more often?” Cyclone settled back against Hurricane’s neck. “I like seeing all the ponies.”

Hurricane hesitated to answer. Then, to Cyclone’s surprise, his father actually tilted his head, glancing back to look his son in the eye. “When you’re old enough to be expected to serve in the Legion, Cyclone, you’ll be spending plenty of time down here.”

“But when do I get to join the Legion?”

“When you’re older, Cyclone. We’ve gone over this before.”

“But all the other colts already started practicing!” the colt whined. “You won’t let me have a wood sword! What if I don’t practice? I’m never going to be as good as you! I’m never going to be any good!”

The grown stallion’s eyes clenched, and his ears fell flat, trying desperately to shut out the whining. “Fine, Cyclone. Look, I’ll take some time tomorrow and teach you something. Just… can we fly quietly?”

“Really? You promise?”

“Yes,” Hurricane hissed through gritted teeth. “Now stop bouncing; it’s making it very hard to fly straight.”

Cyclone froze, realizing that he had somehow found his way to standing upright with his hooves between his father’s shoulders. “Sorry, Dad.” Gently, he lowered himself down, wrapping his forelegs around his father’s neck, and nuzzling into his back.

Hurricane was grateful for the respite, however short-lived it proved. The river curved ahead, and from behind a particularly dense evergreen forest on the mountain slopes, father and son got their first good glimpse of their destination: a towering spire of gray stone, capped with a crenelated parapet. Below it, an enormous castle was carved into the side of a cliff, overlooking the river valley with countless balconies and massive windows too high to be viewed as weaknesses for any land-bound assailant. On both shores of the mighty river, buildings of stone and wood and brick fought for Cyclone’s attention, wreathed within an unbroken border of thick stone walls. In the water, boats slid under the tall stone bridges decorated in ivy and moss. The air smelled like bread and fire and a thousand unfamiliar scents.

Soon, black wings flew over the city, and a few ponies looked up at the black stallion in black armor. Cyclone waved at them, though the ant-sized ponies below didn’t seem to notice.

And then, all at once, they had landed. The view of the city was blocked by tall walls of rectangular gray stone, connecting round towers, an enormous gatehouse, and a castle that put every building in Cloudsdale to shame. Confined within those walls was a courtyard of fountains, marble statues, and carefully trimmed plants that provided plenty of interesting sights for a curious young mind.

“Whoa…” Cyclone scampered down Hurricane’s wing, letting his hooves clop against the heavy, firm stone of the ground. “What’s this place, Dad?”

“Castle Burning Hearth.” Hurricane chuckled to himself. “I always thought it should be called ‘Burning Hearth Castle’, but I guess the unicorns don’t like saying things in the right order.”

A third voice cut in from across the courtyard, approaching calmly. “Have you considered that, since we built the castle, our order is probably right?” Cyclone jerked toward the sound, and saw an icy blue unicorn approaching with a smile on his face. He was tall, like Hurricane, though he lacked the pegasus’ imposing musculature. If anything, the unicorn reminded Cyclone of his aunt. Like Twister, he seemed to have groomed himself to look fancy and impressive, and his gem-studded steel armor matched the part perfectly. The colt’s parents called it ‘political’.

“It’s been a long time, Commander.” The unicorn extended a foreleg, which Hurricane matched with one of his own. The clap of a steel shoe with an unshod hoof made Cyclone wince, and he ducked against Hurricane’s side, pulling down his father’s wings as a makeshift blanket for good measure.

“Three months since East Garden,” Hurricane replied. “I’m glad to see you’re well, Captain.”

“Who’s the little one?” The unicorn bent down, letting his eye glance through the little opening between Hurricane’s wing and his armor. “Is this your son?”

“His name is Cyclone.” The comfort of feathers retreated around the colt. “Cyclone, this is Captain Chiseled Gem, of the Diamond Guard.”

Cyclone struggled to hide behind his father’s foreleg, but quickly found himself bluntly forced out into the open for his effort. The unicorn looming overhead got down onto his knees and smiled, and suddenly he didn’t seem quite so frightening. “That’s a good name, Cyclone. I have a little foal of my own about your age, actually. Maybe someday you two can meet.”

“Is King Lapis waiting for me?” Hurricane asked.

The cutesy tone fell away from Captain Gem’s voice. “You’re a bit early, Commander. We’re still waiting on the rest of the gathering to show up.”

“Chancellor Muffintop?”

Gem shook his head briefly, and then with a groan, got back onto his hooves. “He’s been here for two days. We’re waiting on Star Swirl. The old geezer decided he had to go deal with some ‘magical phenomenon’ two months ago, and nopony’s seen a hair of him since.” The unicorn rolled his eyes quite visibly. “There’s no sense standing out here in the middle of winter. Even if we can’t formally start, you might as well sit down with the King and the Chancellor.”

Hurricane shrugged. “Whatever you prefer, though it really isn’t that cold.”

The comment earned a wide-eyed stare from Gem. “It’s freezing, Commander. Literally.” To emphasize the point, he exhaled slowly, creating a cloud of steam. “So, is Cyclone your only foal?”

The Cirran commander smiled honestly. “No. He’s my eldest, though. We’ve got another filly.”

“How old is she?”

Hurricane made a show of glancing up at the sun overhead. “Not quite a day yet.”

“Well congratulations!” Gem moved to clap a hoof on Hurricane’s shoulders, though he stopped when he observed the bladed scales on the crests of the pegasus’ wings. “Is she healthy? And your wife?”

“Both fine,” Hurricane replied. “Typhoon looks just like her mother, and Swift’s already got enough to keep her busy. That’s why I have Cyclone with me today.”

“Lucky colt,” said Star Swirl. “Is this his first time down to River Rock?”

Cyclone almost jumped, and his head snapped in the direction of the speaker at a speed that would put most whips to shame. Standing nearby, a blurry stallion in what looked like a blurry purple robe had appeared; there was no other word for it. Nopony had heard him, and nopony had seen his approach. Cyclone was sure he hadn’t heard the old unicorn with the huge beard approach either, yet there he was, standing on the other side of Hurricane with a sly smile slipping out from the middle of the silver hair on his face, and a wide brimmed hat covered in bells that jangled as his head dipped. Gently, the elder pony placed a hoof to his lips, hoping to calm the colt.

“Dad! Dad, who’s that?” Cyclone ducked behind Hurricane’s forelegs, clinging tight to the closest one as he dared to peek out only a single eye at the mysterious unicorn that had appeared out of thin air.

As if pulled from a stupor, Hurricane and Chiseled Gem both turned toward the wizard. Star Swirl smiled at them, offering each pony a ringing nod. “Forgive me, my friends. Just an old stallion’s idea of a practical joke. A little magic trick, nothing more. And... Cyclone, was it? I’m sorry for scaring you most of all. My name is Star Swirl. Some ponies like to put a long list of titles after it, but you don’t need to worry about those.”

“How long have you been standing there?” Chiseled Gem asked, still breathing a bit heavily.

A sly sideways glance escaped the wrinkled brow of the old stallion. “Long enough to resent being called a ‘geezer’, Captain Gem. And since it’s clear that everypony is waiting on me, I might as well accompany Commander Hurricane into the meeting. Could you go find Clover and tell her to set up the study, Captain? She’ll know what I mean.”

Frowning slightly, the unicorn soldier nodded once, turned stiffly, and began to walk away. After only three strides, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder. “We should meet away from the battlefield more often, Hurricane. And it was good to meet you too, Cyclone.”

Silence reigned for a sparse few seconds, before Hurricane’s wing nudged the colt on the shoulder. “Bye, Captain Chiseled Gem.” Then, turning back to the funny-looking stallion with all the bells, Cyclone voiced his curiosity. “How come you were all blurry, mister Star Swirl?”

“Just a little magic trick.” Cyclone’s eyes grew wide, and Star Swirl smiled again. “Would you like to see another, Cyclone?”

“I’ve never seen any magic.”

A deep laugh escaped from behind a beard. “Oh, now, that’s something we’ll have to remedy. Tell me, Cyclone, do you know why your father is here today?”

Cyclone nodded. “He’s meeting with King Lapis and Chan-celery Muffintop.”

“Chancellor,” Hurricane corrected.

“Still, very good,” Star Swirl added. “Are you ready, Commander Hurricane?”

Hurricane nodded. “I am, but what does this—” Even as Hurricane began his question, Star Swirl’s hat levitated from his head, revealing a thinning gray mane and a wide, tightly-coiled horn glowing with what could only be magic. Both pegasi heard the sound of a snap, like the cracking of thin ice on a lake, and then suddenly found themselves no longer in the courtyard. All sight was a blur of colors on a gray stone background. The most notable feature, beyond the strange surge of nauseating vertigo unfamiliar to the pegasi, was the thick warmth of a room lit by a fireplace.

“Greetings, everypony,” Star Swirl called out, as his guests shuddered from dizziness, trying to find their hooves. “Apologies for my delayed arrival, but it appears I’ve gotten here at exactly the same time as our Cirran guests, so I suppose I am on time.”

The room swam into focus for Cyclone: an enormous chamber divided in two by a stripe of violet velvet carpet running from a pair of titanic doors of solid steel to an oversized throne, presently vacant. Before the throne lay an impractically sized table of strangely red wood, polished to a beautiful sheen, and surrounded by four cushions. Two were occupied.

The cushion nearest the throne held a gently aging unicorn stallion wearing a sapphiric coat beneath a deep blue mane. Both were beginning to gray, though neither had fallen to a solid bank of silver. Atop his head, a crown of of silver or platinum or perhaps white gold was perched, studded with countless diamonds.

An ivory unicorn filly with a swirled purple mane, probably ten or eleven by Cyclone’s guess, rested at his side. She had no cushion on which to rest, and instead used the older unicorn’s side for a cushion. At the sudden arrival of the two pegasi and Star Swirl, she looked over with an expression of pure boredom.

On the opposite side of the table, a brown earth pony stallion reclined before a plate of sweet breads and what looked at first glance to be steaming hot beer. His coat was dotted with black spots, and his naturally dark gray mane had been groomed back from his eyes. Though most of his body was thin, he seemed to have put on weight in the belly that bunched up near his flanks, creating a sort-of crease where a dress saddle might have otherwise sat. He looked, at Cyclone’s guess, to be a similar age to the colt’s own father.

“Star Swirl!” the earth pony rumbled, lurching upright on surprisingly slender limbs. “How good of you to join us. And I’m glad to see you in good health again, Emperor Hurricane. It’s been some time. I see you’ve brought a representative to help you through the political game.”

A number of laughs broke out around the room, and Cyclone was suddenly aware that the ponies sitting at the table in front of him were not the only ones in the room. In fact, as he spun in place, he counted ten, then twenty, and then his mind simply gave up on numbers and he darted underneath his father. The motion only earned more laughs, and Cyclone folded his ears back and closed his eyes in the hope that would somehow make the other ponies go away.

Hurricane coughed into his hoof. “It’s Commander Hurricane, please. That title is going to drive me mad.” With a casual step, he removed the comfort of his presence from his son. “This is Cyclone, my eldest. Cyclone, this is Chancellor Muffintop, the ruler of the Earth Ponies.”

“It’s just ‘Muffin’ between friends. Come, take a seat.” Muffintop’s grin seemed far too wide to Cyclone. It looked like the earth pony was going to bite somepony. “I understand you’ve already met Lapis, Hurricane. Thank you again, by the way, for hosting us.”

King Lapis shrugged. “I have the luxury of not leaving my home, Chancellor, as I would prefer not to leave River Rock in Platinum’s hooves just yet.” The stallion gestured briefly to the bored filly at his side. “Oh, apologies, Emperor Hurricane—”

“Commander,” the stallion growled.

“—this is my daughter, Platinum. Platinum, this is Emperor Hurricane of Cirra, and his son—”

Platinum made a show of rolling her eyes. “I heard you when Muffintop introduced them, father. Do I look like some sort of field-working peasant who needs everything repeated for her?”

Lapis winced. “Ahem. Chancellor, you would not by any chance have elected to bring Puddinghead, would you have?”

The earth pony snorted around his beer. “My son? Oh, you must be joking. He’s much too young to be dealing with politics.”

Hurricane cocked his head. “How old is your son, Chancellor?”

“Fifteen.” And then, with a wry smile, he added, “If I may, how old are you, Hurricane?”

Hurricane’s eye developed a sudden twitch. “I’m twenty-three, Chancellor. But I was drafted into the Legion when I turned twenty.”

Sensing the hidden edge in Hurricane’s words, Star Swirl placed a wiry-veined hoof onto the tabletop. “Stallions, while I hate to be the bearer of bad news, the better part of River Rock’s nobility didn’t come here for the intrigue of hearing about your families and your life stories. There is a great deal to get done today, for all of us. So, to begin…” Star Swirl’s hat flipped from his head, levitated in an aura of gold. From within its brim, a rather thick tightly bound scroll appeared. “…I have here the most recent draft of the proposed accords and treaties, which each of you had the opportunity to peruse with your courts, senates, and committees as necessary…”

Cyclone was barely listening. His focus was on the golden magic billowing from Star Swirl’s horn, and around his hat. It was incredible, and the colt had to know more, somehow. He knew not to interrupt grown-ups, so he waited as Star Swirl kept talking and talking. All the while, he glanced nervously past his father at the huge crowd, who seemed fascinated by all the boring words getting thrown around.

Finally, Star Swirl stopped talking, and the unicorn king picked up. Sensing his opportunity, Cyclone slipped past his father and tugged on the wizard’s night-sky motif robe. “Um, Mister Star Swirl?” He got no reaction, save the jingling of a few bells. “Mister Star Swirl?” With each repetition of the name, the bells on the wizard’s robe rang out.

“Cyclone.” The colt froze at the sound of his father’s voice, sharp and piercing, though not terribly loud. “You promised not to interrupt us.”

“But I wasn’t interrupting—”

“That will be enough, Cyclone.” Hurricane’s right wing spread out, as if to send the colt away, and then he looked up at where he was pointing, and the crowd of utter strangers that filled the room. “Star Swirl, is there somewhere private Cyclone can wait while we’re working?” The irritation in Hurricane’s voice could not have been more obvious to his son, and Cyclone tried to bury his face in the velvet carpet with the quiet hope that it might somehow make his mistake go away if he disappeared.

“Platinum,” began King Lapis. “Why don’t you take Cyclone and go find Clover? I’m sure the three of you could find something constructive to do.”

“Like what?” Platinum somehow managed to both groan and whine. “He’s, like, one. And I don’t have anything in common with a hoofmaiden who just happens to be good enough at magic to be worth Star Swirl’s attention.”

In front of the eyes of his entire kingdom, Lapis brought a hoof to his brow, and then dragged it slowly all the way down to his chin. “I’m hoping that the three of you can become friends, Platinum. Because someday, Cyclone will be the Emperor of the Pegasi, and Clover will be the Archmage of River Rock, and it would be very, very good for you to have a good rapport with both of them.”

Scowling, Platinum rose to her hooves and stomped around the table toward Cyclone. The colt cowered at the older filly’s approach.

“Look at this, Father. He’s afraid of me.”

“He’s just shy, Platinum.”

Hurricane shook his head. “He’ll get over it. Cyclone, please go with Princess Platinum.” His father’s tone made it clear that the words were not a request, and Cyclone obeyed. Though he stood, his eyes stayed locked on the silver-shod hooves of the unicorn heiress. “I’ll find you once we’re done here. Don’t wander off this time.”

Cyclone lowered his head as Platinum approached. At another nudge from his father, he took a step forward, and then another, and soon he was following the older filly away from the table and the comfort of his father’s side.

Behind him, the creaking voice of Star Swirl spoke up. “His question wasn’t bothering me, Hurricane.”

“It was a distraction,” Hurricane countered. “I agreed to bring him along on the promise that he wouldn’t get in the way of our talks. Cirra can’t afford to wait; we need this food and these supplies.”

Muffintop smiled. “Just an item of advice, Commander, from an older and more experienced statesman. It pays not to show your hoof so early in negotiations. It won’t do your position any good to look desperate when the bartering starts.”

“A soldier is always desperate,” Hurricane countered. “These papers are just as important to Cirra as any battle I’ve ever been a part of. They represent Cirran lives, and our futures.” The pegasus cast a fleeting glance in the direction his son had disappeared. “They’ll decide my son’s future.”

“What is he, three years old?” Muffintop asked. “Isn’t it a bit early to be preparing him for a soldier’s life?”

Hurricane scowled. “He wants it for himself, though what he wants hardly matters. Look at the accords we’re about to sign, and tell me what other future he has. Tell me what other future my nation has.”

Silence ruled in the throne room of Burning Hearth.

“Clover? Clover, what are you doing wasting my time? Get out here and take this foal off my hooves! I have better things to do!”

Cyclone had wilted; his head hung heavy and his eyes stayed locked on the stone floors of the castle so that the most he could see of his guide were her well-trimmed white fetlocks, ending abruptly where her hooves met gilded shoes.

“Clover!” Platinum shouted again. “I know you’re up here!”

“Just a moment, Princess,” a quieter, shakier voice called back from somewhere down the stone halls. Cyclone immediately decided he liked it better than Platinum’s harsh, demanding tone. “I’m in the middle of—”

Platinum’s hooves stopped abruptly at a t-shaped fork in the hallway of heavy stones, and she turned right, toward the source of the voice. A blue light flashed briefly, leaving Cyclone blinking as the sound of heavy metal hinges ground into the air.

There was a gasp and a crash, and a then a gentle ringing, like the tapping of glass. Some sort of liquid sizzled and popped.

“—an experiment,” the gentle voice finished. “And now it’s ruined…”

“Well, it can’t have been that important, or somepony else would have been here to see it.” Platinum stepped forward, out of Cyclone’s line of sight. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to follow the Princess into the room. “I have tea with Lady Dazzle in two hours, and I need to look proper. I cannot be burdened with some barbarian colt. You’ll need to look after him.”

A tingling magic pinched the fur on Cyclone’s neck, and before he realized what was happening, he was suddenly in the air, feeling like he was being choked. When he tried to bring his hooves against the strange force and free himself, however, there was nothing to find; he felt his own neck. With an abrupt lurch, he was dragged around the corner and plopped—rather painfully—at the hooves of an olive unicorn filly dressed in a rather bulky sort of dress.

“You can’t just hurl him around like he’s your cat, or—” the olive mare stopped, looking down at Cyclone, and her eyes widened until the colt was sure they would pop out of her skull. “You’re a pegasus.”

Cyclone swallowed once, and nodded slowly.

“A real live pegasus, right here in front of me.”

The pegasus in question edged backward, and sent a nervous glance over his shoulder, but in the few seconds that this ‘Clover’ filly had taken to notice Cyclone, Platinum had already disappeared. He was alone with the strange green unicorn.

“Oh, this is so exciting!” The unicorn leaned down over Cyclone with a huge smile spread across her jaw, baring far too many teeth in his direction as he tried to scamper backward. “I’ve never met a pegasus before! I mean, I’ve seen some. From a distance, of course. I’m not important enough of a mage yet to go with Star Swirl when he meets with Commander Hurricane. But still!” The words came nearly as fast as Cyclone could process them. “This is amazing! I have so many questions. Can you fly? Or are you still too young?” In the moment that the colt hesitated to answer, Clover’s eyes widened. “Do your parents teach you to fly by throwing you off a cliff, like birds?” The thought made Cyclone wince, pulling back further. He got nearly a second’s pause before Clover’s onslaught continued. “I have to imagine you can fly, since your wings are so big in relation to your body size… unless you just grow into them, the same way hooves and ears work. Would wings work that way, or would they be more like horns? Or are they actually big? My sample size isn’t very large; does Commander Hurricane have really small wings for his body? No. I suppose that wouldn’t make sense, at least if my observations are correct. Mathematically he shouldn’t be able to fly at all. Oh! How much do you weigh? And how old are...”

The words trailed off slowly, until finally the unicorn was simply staring at Cyclone. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Did I scare you?”

Cyclone was quiet for a moment, and then forced himself to shake his head from side to side. “Nu uh. Soldiers don’t get scared.” Despite the false sense of bravado, the colt’s legs were trembling.

“Aren’t you a little young to be a soldier?” Clover continued to whisper her questions. “You don’t actually fight, do you?”

Again, Cyclone shook his head. “Dad says I can’t.”

The admission seemed to calm the older filly. “That’s good. I guess I haven’t introduced myself yet. I’m Clover.” She offered a little smile, less intimidating than that which had accompanied her earlier show of obsession.

“I know,” Cyclone told her, avoiding her direct gaze. “Princess… um…”

“Platinum?”

Cyclone nodded. “Platinum kept calling you.”

“Well, I hope she wasn’t too mean to you. She’s always mean to me.” Clover drew in a slow breath, and then released it. “What’s your name?”

“Cyclone,” he told her.

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Cyclone. I, um… I hope this doesn’t sound rude, but why did Princess Platinum bring you up here?”

Cyclone was quiet, as a little blur of water gathered beneath his eyes. His little forehead clenched down and his eyes squinted like vices, to keep himself from crying. “I got in trouble with my dad. He told me I had to be quiet while he was talking, and I asked a question.”

A frown wrapped itself over Clover’s features. “That doesn’t sound very fair. What if you had a good question?”

Cyclone shook his head. “I was bad. I didn’t follow my orders.”

“You just said yourself that you aren’t a legionary, Cyclone—”

“But some day, I will be,” he interrupted. “I’m gonna be the best.” And, for the first time in their conversation, a little spark appeared in the colt’s eyes. His gaze rose from Clover’s hooves to actually look the mare in the eye. “I’m gonna be just like Dad.”

“…and that’s why I suspect you Pegasi might have magic of your own. At the very least, Hurricane, I appreciate you humoring me for a few moments with these experiments. I’m certain your time must be very valuable.”

“The Legion will keep running without me, Star Swirl.” After hours of talks, interrupted only for lunch, Hurricane didn’t need to add his desperation for something less stressful to do. Somehow he was sure Star Swirl knew. “Long enough, at least, to see if I can grant our soldiers the strength of magic to add to their blades. Nihil erit post Legionem.”

“I’m sorry, what was that last bit?”

Hurricane had to shake his head to wrap his mind around the strange question. “It’s easy to forget you wouldn’t know that. It’s ancient Cirran.”

Star Swirl raised an immense, bushy brow. “A Cirran language? You arrived on our shores speaking perfect Equiish; I admit I assumed that our populations simply diverged. I find it much harder to believe that we have a convergent language—especially since our populations have never before met, at least in recorded history. I suppose it lends some explanation to why your alphabet and numerals are foreign.”

“We’ve always spoken Equiish,” Hurricane replied. “Ancient Cirran… we call it that, but it was never the primary language of the Empire. Don’t quote me on this, Star Swirl, but I think the Cirran language was invented for the Senate. The myths say Lūn descended from the sky and taught it to Roamulus, so he could keep secrets from his enemies. These days, most Cirrans only know a few words. I’d have a hard time holding a conversation, but I use it to write. The characters are easier than your alphabet. Most Cirrans write anything they think is important or formal in our language. It doesn’t get spoken much, though; we just use it for naming things. Buildings. Weapons. Gentes.”

“What’s a gente?”

“Gens,” Hurricane corrected. “Gentes is plural. It’s a term for a family, if that family is important enough to have a name.”

“So not all Cirrans have a gens?”

Hurricane shook his head. “Especially not after the Red Cloud War. A lot of pegasi don’t have that sort of family left. In the years to come, I’m sure we’ll see a lot of new gentes.”

Star Swirl nodded in comprehension. “So what is yours named? The Cirran word for ‘Hurricane?’”

“Do I come across with that much of an ego?” Hurricane chuckled gently, joining Star Swirl’s deep-throated amusement. “No. My family is Gladioprocelarii—the Storm Blades. Supposedly, we have a warrior’s history back to Roamulus, though my grandfather never had any proof, even back when we still had the farm in Zephyrus. It’s not a very famous name—”

“Really?”

A sigh escaped the pegasus’ lips. “It wasn’t a very famous name. Not like the the Accipitres, or the Celsus, or the Kataigismós from Nimbus, or the Palatinus.”

Star Swirl’s bell-bedecked robe rang as the old stallion came to a halt. “We’ve arrived, Commander.” He didn’t bother to remove his hat, but nevertheless, a golden glow appeared around the handle of one of the identical doors set into the maze of claustrophobic stone hallways that made up the castle. With relatively little groan or creak, the door swung open.

In the center of the revealed chamber, Cyclone’s oversized wings beat the air with far too much effort. As he hovered gracelessly in place, panting from the exertion, a forest green mare levitated a long string alongside his feathers in an aura of purple magic. As the door opened, she abruptly dropped the string. “Star Swirl!”

Hurricane followed the old wizard who had been addressed into the rather spacious study, earning a stunned, stuttering greeting for his efforts. The forest green filly stared up at the black-armored soldier, and her jaw struggled to close enough for her to form anything resembling Equiish speech. Finally, she managed one word, though she repeated it several times. “You’re… you’re…”

“Clover, this is Commander Hurricane of Cirra. Please don’t call him ‘Emperor’; I know that’s what everypony says, but he doesn’t like that title. Hurricane, this is my apprentice, Clover. Forgive her if she asks any prying questions; she’s never met a pegasus before. I hope you’ll both forgive me for rushing introductions.” With those words, delivered entirely in a single breath, Star Swirl stepped into the office and knelt onto his forelegs at Cyclone’s side. “Are you alright, Cyclone?”

Obviously confused a bit by the question, the dark red colt offered a small nod.

“That’s good. I know Platinum can be a bit of a... blunt character, but I also know that deep down, she does mean well. It seems you and Clover have hit it off splendidly, though.”

“Uh huh,” Cyclone answered. “She asks a lot of questions.”

Star Swirl broke into a healthy laugh, heartier than it seemed his old body had any right producing. “Curiosity is good for a growing mind,” the stallion pronounced, once he found his breath. “And for an old mind like mine as well, from time to time. Today, we’re going to try and answer a very interesting question: do pegasi have access to magic?”

Clover’s eyes broke wide. “You think pegasi have arcana? That would be incredible! Flying and magic!”

“I don’t know for sure just yet,” Star Swirl answered. “I know they have mana, and some sort of structure in their bodies to use it. Commander Hurricane was kind enough to humor me with a few small spells at our last meeting that told me as much. Today, we’re going to see what we can do with them. So, Commander, why don’t you step into the middle of the room. And Clover, can you fetch an Apprentice’s Ball?”

The filly nodded, squirming her way past Commander Hurricane’s imposing armored figure and moving toward a wooden armoire near the chamber’s door. Meanwhile, the grown soldier placed himself in the center of the room, facing Star Swirl.

“I’m ready.”

“Good.” Star Swirl grinned. “I’ll walk you through a few basics of magic as we do our tests, so you can understand what we’re doing. Let’s start with what we already know for the sake of the young ones, shall we?”

“You never explained what your spells told you,” Hurricane answered. “I don’t know either.”

“I’m more than twice your age, Commander. I was including you in my earlier statement.” Star Swirl found a bit of humor in the flick of Hurricane’s tail, and the slight drop of his ears. “Most living creatures in the world produce mana, or magical energy. It comes from bone marrow. All bones, not just our horns or your wings or what have you. When I or any other unicorn use magic, we gather that mana into our horn and transform it into arcana, which you might be thinking of as spells or tricks or unicorn magic.” Turning briefly toward Cyclone, the wizard continued his thoughts. “Basically, mana is like dough for making bread. It’s not very useful on its own, and its a little dangerous because it can make you sick. But with my horn, I can cook it into lots of interesting types of bread. And earth ponies know how to cook it into other types.”

“Earth ponies have magic?” Hurricane asked.

Star Swirl shrugged. “It’s only a theory, since nopony has been able to show any real sign, but I think so. Whatever an earth pony does for magic, it’s subtle. There’s no glowing or tricks. It’s something inside them that makes them bigger and stronger than pegasi or unicorns, and lets them live longer than us too.”

“Earth ponies live a long time?” Cyclone asked.

“Twice as long as unicorns, if they don’t get sick. I’ve heard of earth ponies living to be two-hundred and fifty, though that’s quite rare. They grow up just like we do, but once they hit twenty or so, their aging slows considerably. But all that is beside the point. I noticed that your wings have very similar bone structure to a unicorn’s horn. Lots of points that can interact with the mana in your body. My guess is that you might be able to do magic with your wings.”

Clover removed her head from the armoire, holding what looked like a plain leather ball in her teeth. Rather than using her magic, she carried it over and dropped it in front of her mentor.

“This is so exciting!” she announced as she stepped back.

Star Swirl beamed, and even Hurricane offered a nod. The former of the stallions gestured to the ball. “Clover, go and fetch some tea, would you? You already know how this exercise works, and I doubt the Commander will pick it up faster than you can brew us something to drink. You won’t miss anything.” Clover nodded, and her mentor turned toward Hurricane as she left the room. “This is an Apprentice Ball,” Star Swirl continued. “If you fill it with arcana, it bounces. You’re going to try and make it bounce without touching it.”

Hurricane swallowed once and then nodded. “How do I start?”

“Focus on the ball. Imagine in your mind how it feels, and how much it weighs. Focus on how much energy you’d need to lift if.” Star Swirl let Hurricane focus his mind for a moment. “Describe it aloud, if that helps.”

“It can’t be that heavy,” Hurricane spoke rather calmly, despite the furrowing of his brow in forced focus. “It’s just a leather ball. Even if it were cored with iron, it would be easy to pick up. But it’s probably fairly soft, if it bounces.”

“Good,” the wizard added. “Now, maintain your concentration, but I want you to try and move those thoughts to your wings.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Close your eyes, Commander.” Star Swirl paused briefly, and Hurricane obeyed. “Now touch the very tip of your nose with a wing.” As soon as the dark feathers had moved, Star Swirl continued. “Describe yourself as you stand right now.”

“I’m in the middle of this room. My wing is right in front of me—”

“But isn’t your wing part of you?” Star Swirl asked. “How can it also be in front of you, if it is you?”

Hurricane opened his eyes. “I’ll help you try to find our magic, but I don’t have time for riddles, Star Swirl. What do you actually mean?”

Near one of the walls of the room, Cyclone stepped forward. “Do you mean that his wing is by his head, Mister Star Swirl?”

“Don’t interrupt, Cyclone,” Hurricane snapped, letting his annoyance compound. The colt stepped back from his father, and felt his tail brush against the wall.

Star Swirl sighed. “Your son is right, Hurricane. Think about what he said for a moment, and compare it to what you said. Is your wing in front of your face, or is it in front of you?”

A little growl built in Hurricane’s throat. “This is ridiculous. They both mean the same thing.”

“You’re right,” Star Swirl replied. “But only because of the way you’re currently thinking. Right now, your mind is in your head. You’ve taught yourself to think of ‘you’ as your eyes, and your skull, and your brain. Perhaps your heart, too, if you’re feeling poetic. This may take some getting used to, Commander, but that isn’t the only way to view yourself. Close your eyes, and try to hold what you’re seeing in your mind’s eye. See those feathers in front of your nose.”

The adult pegasus shut his eyes again. “Alright.” He didn’t see his son mirror the gesture. “Now what?”

“Try to visualize what you would be seeing if your eyes were on your shoulder. Think of what your muzzle looks like from the side. It doesn’t have to be exact. But move your eyes onto your shoulder.”

Cyclone watched his father’s brow grow deeper and deeper as the grown stallion struggled to utilize his imagination for such a strange request. “Is it hard, Dad?”

“Quiet,” the stallion answered, a bit harshly. He stood in silence for what seemed like forever to his son, before speaking up again. “Alright. I think I’ve got it.”

“Good,” Star Swirl answered. “Now keep going. Let your mind’s eye move onto your wing.”

“What?”

“Try and get to the point where you’re looking into your own eyes,” the wizard answered. “That’s the first step.”

“If you insist.”

Cyclone had seen his father’s teeth ground together, when a day was particularly stressful. Never had it been so obvious as that day, when the grinding of Hurricane’s focus filled the small room in the castle. Cyclone’s ears flattened, wishing he could shut out the noise. Thankfully it only lasted for a few moments, before heavy breathing replaced the discordant noise.

“I… think I’ve got it.” Hurricane’s chest moved up and down heavily. “I don’t know if it’s right; I don’t look in a mirror much—”

“It’s not about imagining your face perfectly,” Star Swirl cut in. “The point is that you’ve put your mind in your wing. Tell me where your face is now.”

“It’s… in front of me?”

A hearty chuckle escaped the old wizard. “See, you do get it. Took you a bit longer than your son to understand, but I’ve always found younger minds to be more pliable. Now comes the tricky part.”

“That wasn’t the tricky part?”

Ignoring the question, Star Swirl glanced down at the ball. “Without letting your mind move back to your head, go back to those thoughts of the ball lifting up off the ground. From inside your wing, imagine picking up the ball.”

“I don’t know if I can,” Hurricane protested. “This isn’t easy.”

“It’s a new worldview,” Star Swirl countered. “I hardly expect you to pick it up instantly. Even young unicorns who are used to this idea take a little while, and their horns are much closer to their natural state of mind than your wings are.”

“You can do it, Dad,” Cyclone added. The encouragement didn’t seem to help Hurricane. Instead, he flinched.

For a colt expecting a miracle, waiting was a horrible torture. Cyclone’s eyes flitted between his father and the ball, back and forth, back and forth, over and over again. Hurricane would frown, or sigh, or suck in a deep breath from moment to moment, but the ball stayed still. Briefly, Cyclone tried to emulate his father, placing a wingtip on his muzzle and concentrating. The effort didn’t last very long, though. Waiting turned into pacing back and forth, getting a better view of the flicking of his father’s tail and the way his teeth were clearly nibbling on his cheek.

“Can I help?” Cyclone finally asked.

“Quiet, Cyclone,” his father cut in. “I need to concentrate.”

The colt frowned and lowered his head onto his hooves to lay down. Watching the ball was getting boring. Really boring. Star Swirl seemed content enough to watch Hurricane in silence. The colt began to twiddle his hooves against one another, and closed his own eyes and settled back into his imagination.

The room faded away. Cyclone was a grown stallion in his own mind; a soldier, standing next to his father in matching black armor. Steel plated with onyx was the sign of an officer, and a hero of the Legion. That’s who Cyclone was. Just like his father. They nodded briefly to each other, mouths not free to speak for the swords in the way. It didn’t matter. They both knew what they had to do. The griffons were coming. They’d finally caught up, just like everypony was always so afraid of.

But they weren’t going to win. Not this time. They weren’t ready for the best two soldiers in the whole Legion. They weren’t ready for magic—

The door to the room slid open, and Clover walked in as quietly as she could manage with her hooves clicking against stone. She saw Hurricane and whispered not a word. Her purple magic set a tea kettle onto a table behind Star Swirl, and silently she began to prepare four cups of tea. Milk from a small glass bottle and honey from a stone jar made for a beautiful gentle brown that seemed to have exactly the right amount of smoothness.

Cyclone had never tried tea, but it smelled nice. A lot better than Cirran ale or watered down wine, at least. When purple magic levitated a ceramic cup over to him, he reached out his hooves and took it eagerly. The steam that wafted up to his nostrils promised a delicious flavor.

Then he drank it.

“Gah! Ow!” The young pegasus dropped his glass at the bitter taste and the unexpected heat. With a surprisingly loud crack, the porcelain shattered, spilling hot tea onto the flagstones. And in that instant, as the crash rang in his ears, Cyclone was afraid.

Commander Hurricane opened his eyes and turned toward his son, glaring and frowning. “Why is this so hard for you, Cyclone? Just be quiet!” The last word, shouted into the small room, echoed off the bright orange glow of the walls. The rest of the room’s occupants stumbled backward in fear as Cyclone shuddered against the foot of the wall, staring up at his father with abject terror in his eyes.

Almost immediately, the father in Hurricane knew he was wrong to have yelled. The grown stallion sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

His nostrils smelled smoke. Not the steam from the tea, but a true, thick smoke that briefly made Hurricane cough. And as the stallion turned around the room to try and find the source of the unexpected smoke, his eyes fell upon his own wings.

Tongues of orange flame rose from his near-black feathers, though the wings beneath the fire were unharmed.

Hurricane only broke from his slack-jawed awe when Cyclone broke down into tears.