The Cirrus, Medical Bay, Griffon Kingdom
6 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

“AAAAAAUUUURGGGHHH!”

“HOLD HIM DOWN!”

“WE NEED FRESH BANDAGES OVER HERE!”

“WE DON’T HAVE ANY! JUST CAUTERIZE IT AND WE’LL DEAL WITH IT LATER!”

“FUCK, WE’RE LOSING HER!”

“SHE’S GONE INTO SHOCK!”

“QUICKLY! SALINE SOLUTION!”

“SHIT! HIS WING FELL OFF!”

“NOTHING WE CAN DO NOW! CAUTERIZE THE WOUND AND MOVE ON TO THE NEXT ONE!”

“NO! PLEASE! LET ME DIE A SHADOWBOLT! LET ME DIE IN THE SKIES!”

“WHERE ARE ALL THE FUCKING PAINKILLERS?!”
The Cirrus, Memorial Deck, Griffon Kingdom
6 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

Rat stood in line with nineteen other Shadowbolts, a pair of cracked goggles in his hooves, as the brazer burned brightly on the path to the memorial deck. Despite being upwind of the flames, Rat felt his eyes sting and burn as he stared into the yellow-orange light. The dim light of the setting sun cast shadows across the memorial deck, causing the metal plates that marked some flagstones to gleam orange. Twenty more would join their number tonight.

An older chocolate-colored stallion with a grey beard and mane stepped forward, his hazel eyes weary and tired. A small crowd had gathered around the deck, watching in solemn silence. The older stallion walked before a podium, clearing his throat before speaking.

"My Brothers and Sisters of the sky, we have gathered here this eve, with heavy hearts, to see to the final task asked of any of us," intoned the stallion solemnly. "Before us, stand the final markers of our fallen. This night, among the shadows and the dying light, we commit twenty more to their ranks. On Wings of Shadows, they have turned from home, to live Skybound evermore. Free now to roam forever more. Though the world shall never know their deeds, for good or for ill, their memories shall live on in our hearts, and carved upon the deck beneath our hooves."

The wind whistled by as the engines hummed softly beneath their hooves.

"Come forth, now, those who bear the fallen."
The Cirrus, Medical Bay, Griffon Kingdom
6 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War (Hours Earlier)

“AAAAAAUUUURGGGHHH!” screamed a Shadowbolt, blood pouring out around the crossbow bolt lodged in his eye.

“HOLD HIM DOWN!” barked Burdock, struggling to administer painkillers properly as the patient lashed about.

“WE NEED FRESH BANDAGES OVER HERE!” called out Tourniquet as a fresh crowd of injured Shadowbolts was brought in.

“WE DON’T HAVE ANY!” replied Burdock, marking the stallion he was working on with a pen and moving to the next one. “JUST CAUTERIZE IT AND WE’LL DEAL WITH IT LATER!”

Rat stared blankly at the carnage around him, numb to the screams as he watched the medical team scramble to deal with the sudden influx of wounded Shadowbolts. A nearby mare with a crudely drawn “3” on her forehead suddenly began to hyperventilate, eyes rolling back into head as the bruise on her chest became darker and more pronounced. A yellow mare rushed to her side, hooking the patient up to a nearby heartrate monitor. The machine began to beep erratically, even as the mare began to sag to the side, eyes fluttering closed.

“FUCK, WE’RE LOSING HER!” swore Lancet, slamming a hoof against the monitor.

“SHE’S GONE INTO SHOCK!” exclaimed Arclight.

“QUICKLY! SALINE SOLUTION!” barked Burdock.

A nearby scream of agony and a dull thump drew Rat’s attention as something bumped against his leg. Glancing down, Rat grimaced as a severed wing rested against his leg, a pool of blood forming beneath it. Thorn howled as Tourniquet struggled to staunch the flow of blood from the ragged stump.

“SHIT! HIS WING FELL OFF!” swore Tourniquet

“NOTHING WE CAN DO NOW!” ordered Burdock. “CAUTERIZE THE WOUND AND MOVE ON TO THE NEXT ONE!”

“NO! PLEASE!” screamed Thorn. “LET ME DIE A SHADOWBOLT! LET ME DIE IN THE SKIES!”

“I-” gulped Tourniquet, as she glanced back at the ever-growing line of injured. “I’m sorry…”

“WHERE ARE ALL THE FUCKING PAINKILLERS?!” bellowed Lancet as she struggled to stitch her writhing patient’s wings up.

“Painkillers are being saved for more invasive procedures!” barked Arclight, keeping his tone level even as he helped Burdock set a stallion’s wing. “We’d have more available if you’d followed procedure, Lancet!”

“Oh fuck off, Nightlight!” snarled Lancet. “None of your little friends got mauled by those chicken fucks!”

Before Arclight could respond, a young mare with a crimson coat and blonde mane skidded into the medical bay, a determined look on her face. Upon seeing the carnage, the mare’s visible eye shrank to a pin-prick as she began to hyperventilate. Any courage she’d had seemed to dry up on seeing the triage. Her gaze locked upon Thorn’s severed wing, and she turned green, suppressing the urge to vomit. Lancet said nothing as she retrieved the limb, simply giving the mare a dirty look before storming off. The mare sprang up instantly and dashed to the nearest corner as panic took hold, not even noticing as Arclight made his way quickly to her.

“Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods-” whimpered the young mare.

“CORRIE!” barked Arclight before softening his tone. “I need you to breathe… Slowly… You shouldn’t be here, now…”

“I wanted to help!” moaned Corrie. “But then I saw- oh gods, oh gods-”

“Focus, Corrie!” urged Arclight, again softening his tone. “There’s nothing you can do right now, Corrie. Head ba-”

“I WANT TO HELP!” blurted Corrie desperately, tears in her eyes as her voice dropped to a shaky whisper. “...P-please… You’re my family…”

“...Ok, Corrie,” relented Arclight. “Here’s what I need you to do: Head to the back storage area, and bring as many boxes of medical supplies here as quickly as you can. Bandages, suture kits, disinfectant, and clotting agents first, but if you can find boxes of painkillers after your first few trips, there are many who would appreciate them. Understood?”

“Y-yes! Right away!” croaked Corrie, leaping to her hooves and rushing out of the medical bay.

“Arc, I checked half an hour ago, and we’ve got nothing left!” snapped Lancet. “It’s a waste of time, just like her-”

Arclight slammed the mare into the wall by the throat, expression blank. A metallic gleam and a sharp intake of breath from Lancet signaled the bite of a surgical blade against the mare’s throat. Arclight’s face remained completely passive, his rage only betrayed by a slight glint in his eyes as he stared down the mare. A thin red line trickled a hint of blood against the blade.

“Let me make this absolutely clear, Lancet,” stated Arclight, his voice calm and cool. “You don’t get to decide the value of somepony’s contribution. Ever. And do not underestimate the lengths one will go for family. Now, get out of my medical bay. Unless you wish to become a donor?”

Lancet snarled, but turned away. Rat moved toward his old friend, even as he toiled over another crate of supplies, unpacking and tallying what they had available.

“How bad was it, Arc?” asked Rat. “How many are we going to lose today?”

“During the fight itself, we lost fifteen in all, and we’ve got at least two dozen in critical condition,” murmured Arc as he swiftly unloaded the crate and marked what they had available. “If we don’t get more medical supplies up here soon, that number is only going to go up, but we’re already looking at a dozen who’ll not be back in fighting condition after this mess. Astral will be lucky to be able to fly again, honestly, and he’s the best of the serious cases that’ll pull through.”

“Gods above, how did I screw up this bad, Arc?” asked Rat.

“You screwed up?” repeated Arclight incredulously. “Rat, this op was screwed up! No one knew about Pietro’s mole. Not even the Drakes knew, and they were bankrolling the bastard from the start! There’s no way in Tartarus this is your fault!”

“...doesn’t change who we’ve lost…” sighed Rat, turning away.

“Hush, my friend…” Off to the side, the soft, soothing voice of a stallion whispered to a mare screaming in anguish in fluent, smooth Prench. “Breathe deeply… breathe slowly… It’ll all be okay.” The titanium-white stallion ran a hoof through her mangled mane, still speaking to her in Prench. His hooves were stained with blood, dried and fresh, and his body sported disgusting bruises, but he kept a comforting aura despite the chaos ringing through the air.

“Y-you -- AUGH!” the mare sputtered through her agony, the wound in her side growing darker by the second. “Y-you can’t say that!” she responded in Prench before screaming again. The medics at her side rushed to do whatever they could to save her, but her fate seemed to have been sealed. “N-not -- n-not now when ever-ryone’s dying!”

“It will be, mon ami,” the stallion pressed, switching to Equestrian as he continued to run a bloody hoof through her mane. “It will be. Whatever happens, whatever the grief and tragedy that strikes us, it will be okay…” He paused as the mare screamed again, shakily grabbing his hoof and clutching it with a vice-like grip. “We are Shadowbolts, Rougir… and you know what that means, don’t you, mon ami?” he asked her softly. Her screams gradually dwindled into whimpers, her eyes staring up at him helplessly as her breathing became more erratic, and the medics around her became more frantic. She barely managed to nod in her violent trembling, and the stallion’s mouth quirks up into a small smile.

“Bien…” he murmured, holding onto her hoof and keeping her eyes locked with his ocean-blue pair. The mare’s uneven breathing turned to wheezes, and her deadly grip started to loosen. She started blinking rapidly, trying to fight the glaze that took over her vision, and her mouth gaped as she gathered enough breath to say one last thing.

“Merci, Facade…” she managed to whisper, “... for the sweetest lies… one could ever tell…” she breathed in Prench. Her final breath left her lungs, her heart beat its final beat, and her soul rose to someplace new. And as her body went limp, just for the briefest millisecond, Facade flinched.

Blinking quickly to keep any unneeded emotions at bay, he let out a long exhale and slowly folded her hooves over her middle. Taking a moment to glance up at the other critically injured that flood the medical bay, he happened to make accidental eye-contact with a cobalt-blue stallion who had just finished work on one Shadowbolt and walked away to assist with another. And while neither of them showed it on their faces, their eyes told it all.

Taking in a breath to brace himself, Facade stands from the side of Rougir and turns to Rat briefly.

“Nothing will ever be able to excuse how many we’ve lost, Rat,” he says slowly, his accent thicker than usual. “Nor will it excuse how many we have yet to lose. And nothing will ever be able to live up to the blow that’s been inflicted on us. Nothing ever can, because this…? Something like is never fully avoidable in the life we lead… but that does not mean it’s fully guaranteed, either. We can be prepared as they come, we may have seen the darkest of the darkest wars, and we can imagine circumstances as wild as they may be… but the minute those blows land? All of that goes away. There is no fault in hours as dark as this… only tragedy…” Despite the obvious exhaustion plaguing him, he still somehow managed to pull a reassuring, comforting front, complete with a small smile and all. And without missing a beat, he turns and quickly trots to another failing Shadowbolt on a med-bay cot, fighting the limp in his hip and the strain on his muscles all the while.

“He’s not wrong, you know,” mused Arclight.

“I just wished I believed it…” sighed Rat as the door to the medical bay slammed open again.

“ARC!” squealed Corrie, struggling beneath a small pile of boxes. “I brought as many back as I could, but the disinfectant crates were too heavy for me to lift! I focused on bringing as much clotting agent as I could to go with the bandages and sutures, but-”

“Corrie!” barked Arclight. “Please just breathe! You did fine. You’ve done great work today. Now rest for a moment. Catch your breath, and I’ll send some ponies with you to help with the rest.”

Despite her exhaustion, the young mare seemed to glow with relief and just a hint of pride. Lancet snorted and turned away, saying nothing. Arclight motioned to two uninjured Shadowbolts to help Corrie, but soon found them bowled over by a charging Tank, who skidded to a stop directly in front of Corrie, a very disgruntled Hawk strapped to his back.

“Big Guy is going with,” explained Hawk. “He’s still bleeding, but I’ve seen him shrug off worse, and Celestia help the dumb fucker that comes between Tank and a kid in trouble…”

“Just don’t let him strain himself,” smiled Arclight briefly before moving on to the next patient.

Rat sighed briefly, turning away. A hoof caught his own before he could pass. Thorn looked up at Rat, a desperate look in his eyes. The freshly cauterized stump of a wing twitched as it wept plasma.

“Please…” begged Thorn. “My wing mates are already moved on. Let me die among the skies with them. I can’t live on like this…”

Rat nodded once, hesitating only a moment before drawing his blade. The knife sank softly into Thorn’s neck, the stallion sighing in relief as crimson flowed onto the starched sheets.

“Thank you…” sighed Thorn as he closed his eyes for the last time.

Rat said nothing. His throat felt too tight. His heart twisted in his chest.

“Son, it’s time…”

The Cirrus, Memorial Deck, Griffon Kingdom
6 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

Rat flinched, shaken from memory. He now stood before the pyre, the line before him long gone. Wasp’s goggles dangled from his hooves. Slowly, he passed the goggles to Book, the old stallion giving a sympathetic glance before placing the goggles into the fire.

Flames gleamed across the lenses as they cracked. The cloth straps ignited and crumbled to ash. The frame and buckles coiled in the heat, breaking the brittle glass and twisting away. Only the steel tag remained in Book’s tongs as he set the tag into the last open space.

The glass cover for the stone had been removed from the center, revealing a rectangular opening with two metal rods spaced evenly in the middle, pointing toward the sky. Goggle tag and rods meshed perfectly as Book places Wasp into his resting place, flattening the ends of rods with a hammer. The tag was secured, but not permanent. Permanent came next.

A small crucible of a clear polymer resin was brought before the stone. Resin filled the gap, edge to edge, as the stone was tapped to remove bubbles. Now, only a dragon would be able to destroy these markers. The only tomb that seemed fitting for comrades like theirs.

Rat sighed as he turned away. Twenty new tags had joined the Memorial Deck today. He briefly wondered how many more he would see before his own joined them.

Down below, a shuttle balloon for the wounded who would not be staying to fight loaded up with passengers. More family that Rat would no longer fly beside. A familiar face caught Rat’s eye, and the young stallion flinched. Ignoring the exclamation of his team, Rat vaulted over the railing to the flight deck below, rushing to the heated argument of an old stallion and a red maned mare.

“Dammit, you don’t have to go!” snarled Patch, unshed tears gleaming. “How can you leave us like this?!”

“For the last time, I’m retiring, not dying, Patches,” sighed Razor. “And it’s not just the ankle that’s convinced me. Despite your insistence to the contrary, I am old. There’s only two ways for a Shadowbolt like me to go out; the Memorial or retirement. And I distinctly remember making a promise to stay alive.”

“But you could take a role here!” argued Patch. “You could stay out of combat here! Why won’t you stay here?!”

“Because he couldn’t stay out of combat here, even if he took a non-combat role,” explained Rat. “He’d miss it too much, and he’d find a way back in unless he steps away.”

“Took you long enough,” smirked Razor weakly. “Guessing you’re going to ask why I didn’t say anything until now?”

“No, I know why,” replied Rat. “You knew we’d try and talk you out of it.”

“And you’d have done it,” sighed Razor. “Patches, I want nothing more than to stay. But I made you a promise, and with my injuries as they are, there’s no way for me to stay and keep that promise. I won’t be far away, and I’ll check in on you. And when you find that this life is too much, you’ll have a home waiting for you on the ground.”

“Please… We-” She cursed under her breath before she corrected herself. “I need you here. Don’t leave me.”

“...Dammit Patches…” sighed Razor before lowering his voice. “If it were just my injuries, you know I’d suffer whatever non-combat indignity Dante tossed me to, just so I wouldn’t have to. But there’s another reason why I have to leave, and it’s one that I don’t want anyone else on the Cirrus knowing. The same reason why I left earlier this week and didn’t tell you…”

With that, Razor reached into his belt pouch and tossed something that gleamed in the fading light into Patch’s hooves. A silver locket with the Vietmanese character for “love” engraved on the front with an elongated Vietmanese dragon looping around to chase its tail. Inside, three locks of mane were delicately tucked into the frame. While not the typical tourist junk, it certainly wasn’t an expensive piece, by any means.

Patch’s green eyes went wide at the sight of the three tresses, staring even as one hoof reached up to touch her braid. “How… Where?” she stammered, unable to look away even to ask.

“Where do you think, Patches?” smiled Razor. “Vietmane. It’s the whole reason I left that day, but it’s not all that I found there-”

“You found her!” Patch cut him off sharply, almost jubilant. “Was she okay?!”

“Found her and brought her back to Equestria with me, alive, well, and eager to reunite with her long lost sister...” smiled Razor. “That slippery bastard Prose is looking after her while I was here, and she’ll be staying with me once I retire. So that’s why I can’t stay. I can’t look after both of you, and I know you’ll be safe here… I’m sorry, Patches…”

In one of the whiplash-inducing changes of mood she was known for, Patch almost immediately started shoving Razor towards the transport. “GO already! Damned idiot. Longer you’re up here, the longer someone else is watching Shimmer!”

“No need to give me a teary goodbye…” quipped Razor with a chuckle as he hobbled toward the transport, glancing at Rat. “Tell Hox to keep a sharp eye, and there’ll be Hell to pay if anything happens to her.”

“Take care of yourself, old nag…” smiled Rat, placing a wing over Patch comfortingly.

“Same to you, little whelp…” smirked Razor as the ramp lifted and the shuttle balloon lifted out of sight.

The Cirrus, Dante’s Office, Equestria
6 Years Before the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

Rat continued to wander the Cirrus, long drained of emotion when angry voices caught his attention. A small mob had gathered outside Dante’s office, cursing and throwing insults and taunts. Curse stood nearby with Hex, his right-hoof mare, the stallion wearing his usual smirk while the mare her scowl. Rat spotted Cloak nearby, catching the stallion’s attention as soon as he could.

“What’s all this?” asked Rat.

“See for yourself,” gestured Cloak. “My words wouldn’t do it justice…”

“Traitor!” howled Sever.

“Face us, old coward!” jeered Spider.

“You gambled with our lives, you bastard!” snarled Belle.

“The only thing staler than you was your intel, blundering fool!” snapped Bit.

“Washed-up old relics have no place here!” jeered Libra.

“Then perhaps you should retire before I realize what you are,” intoned a familiar voice.

Dante moved through the crowd with ease as all voices suddenly fell silent. The old stallion strode calmly through the crowd, his expression unreadable.

“It’s odd,” mused Dante lightly in spite of the fury in his eyes. “I could have sworn I heard objections and insults moments before… Are they not valid enough to voice to my face?”

“Dante!” shouted Nightshade.

“At last, someone speaks!” quipped Dante.

“You’ve failed us, Dante!” accused Nightshade, gritting her teeth. “We never should have taken this contract!”

“This contract earned us more than triple our earnings so far this year,” growled Dante. “And it would have cost us much more if we’d ignored the matter.”

“Earnings be damned!” spat Nightshade. “What good is gold if none live to see it? You sent us directly into slaughter while you sat comfortably within your office! Is your greed so powerful?”

“This was not about greed, Nightshade!” snapped Dante. “You were young when war split the world in fragments, but I still remember the tags we mounted from that disaster, and believe me, twenty dead would be a merciful number during the war!”

“We had no business there in the first place!” snarled Nightshade. “Let the nations slaughter their problems out! We are the Shadowbolts! We answer to no nation! We answer to no creed but our own! Perhaps you have forgotten that in your old age?”

A deathly hush fell over the crowd as Nightshade’s words descended. Rat could feel his eyes widened at Nightshade’s blatant bid for power, knowing that even in his old age, Dante would not be an easy opponent. As far as he knew, this was the first time in decades since such a challenge had been made. Dante looked up at his former student, his gaze hard and unreadable.

“...Is that a challenge, Nightshade?” asked Dante.

“It is,” replied the mare, sealing their fates.

“Then you know the price for failure,” replied Dante.

“I will not fail,” snarled Nightshade.

Dante said nothing, merely motioning for all to follow to the Arena. The stadium now served as a courtroom by combat for many disputes on the Cirrus, but none so brutal as Challenges.

“You all know the rules,” announced Dante. “No weapons, no armor, no moves barred. Last to stand is declared winner. Nightshade, last chance to stand down.”

“Let’s begin,” replied Nightshade coldly.

Dante merely nodded, moving to his place in the arena. There were no countdowns, no jeers or commentary, nothing but rapt silence. Dante’s face remained impassive, staring Nightshade down, fighting the battle in his mind before it began. Nightshade snarled as she took her place, gritting her teeth as she prepared to strike.

Dante held Nightshade’s gaze without flinching, calmly preparing for the inevitable conclusion to this fight. The only sound was Nightshade’s breathing, rage seething from every hiss of air. Tension rose second by second. Finally, a strangled cry of rage rose from Nightshade’s throat, and the mare launched forward, eyes blazing.

And in an instant, it was over. Dante and Nightshade stood on opposite sides facing away from each other. Suddenly, Dante coughed harshly, crimson liquid splashing on the arena floor, his expression twisting in shock. The old warrior crumpled, falling to the ground as blood poured from his lips, the ghost of his surprise lingering on his face as the light faded from his eyes.

Not a sound was heard. The world turned on its head. In the time it took to blink, an era had ended. Nightshade stared in silence before addressing the crowd.

“Dante has fallen by my hoof!” proclaimed the mare. “Challenge me or swear your loyalty!”

A brief hush fell over the crowd. A single voice called out clearly a moment later.

“THE STRONGEST LEADS!”

Rat turned and looked around at the other members of the crowd. Another Shadowbolt stood up and called out.

“THE STRONGEST LEADS!”

One by one, voices rose up to join the others.

“THE STRONGEST LEADS!”

“THE STRONGEST LEADS!”

“THE STRONGEST LEADS!”

“THE STRONGEST LEADS!”

Rat stared out numbly at the rising crowd, not fully believing the sequence of events. Curse smiled coldly as he surveyed the scene. Something felt off about the whole sequence of events. However, the proof of the reality of the situation lay in a puddle of blood on the ground. Rat felt numb. Nothing was right. And yet, the stallion rose to his hooves, joined by his team, and let his voice be heard.

“The Strongest Leads…”

Green Pastures, Cloak’s Front Porch, Equestria
50 Years After the Shadowbolt/Wonderbolt War

Cloak leaned back and calmly sipped his lemonade as the foals stared up in shocked silence. Kingfisher’s jaw worked furiously as he attempted several times to choke out a response. A few foals whimpered in the back. Finally, Kingfisher found his voice.

“N-no way,” he stammered. “Nightshade cheated. There’s no way she could have beaten Dante.”

“Weren’t you listening?!” argued Flare Glider. “Dante was old! Really really old! His age just caught up to him!”

“Me not listening?!” protested Kingfisher. “What about you?! Even Rat, Cloak, and the others knew something was wrong!”

“They lost a father figure and a teammate!” snapped Flare Glider. “Of course the world is going to seem on its head! That doesn’t mean that Nightshade just turned her back on the code she was raised by!”

“You’re both wrong,” interrupted Cloak softly with a hollow laugh.

The two foals looked up at the stallion. Cloak seemed to have aged a dozen years with the weight in his expression. Although he smiled, his eyes lacked any warmth or mirth, and his voice carried a slightly bitter tone as he continued.

“Nightshade didn’t cheat,” murmured the stallion. “No challenger ever cheated in this tradition, and despite her faults, Nightshade wouldn’t be one to break that.”

“However, there was much more than met the eye that day, make no mistake, but that is a tale for another night. Not tonight, for the stars shine too bright while the gentle breeze carries the warmth of the day before, as Luna’s moon lights up a clear night sky. Only when the mist rolls in, the wind chills your heart like the howls of the Timberwolf, and the sky is as black and lifeless as the Void of Hell Itself; then, and only then, we will continue…”

As Cold Snap watched his grandfather rise and enter the house, he felt a harsh chill run up his spine. Was that a promise or a threat? With another chill, the foal had an even darker thought: Did it matter either way?

To Be Continued...
End of Arc 4

Author's Notes:

So.... Yeah. Been a while.... Honestly, I blame 70% life getting in the way and 30% on trying to get every sequence in this just right. As usual, I have no estimate on when the next arc will be out, but I'll be trying something different and writing the arc out ahead of time. (Let's see how long that lasts, right? ) Anyhow, hope you enjoy!