Crimsonflame flapped her great wings, pushing herself higher, easily cutting through the thin clouds that drifted lazily above Panbios. The air was cold and thin, and she breathed it deeply. Flying was something she rather enjoyed, but something that there had precious little time to practice, even since before the war had started.

Before her, a mountain loomed in the distance. Crimsonflame had long since passed the height of even the tallest mountains, and she knew that what she was seeing was not a peak at all. In fact, on her horizontal approach to the massive stone, she was able to see the bottom of it, where hundreds of feet of gold-colored metal extended from the bottom of the mountaintop, forming the gyroscopes and grand-scale clockwork that allowed the home of the Aurasi to levitate.

This was actually the first time that Crimsonflame had ever witnessed Olympus, a mountaintop that normally hovering over a distant continent, moving slowly and at random. It was truly breathtaking that something such as it could have been constructed without the use of magic.

There was no time for sightseeing, though. Crimsonflame drew closer to the rocky edge of the mountain, and as she did, she saw that she was not alone. All around her were silver-bodied Argasi and dull, dark colored Brontasi, their bronze wings beating heartily to move their heavy bodies through the air even at low speeds. There were even several Aurasi flying gracefully in formation above.

Crimsonflame largely ignored them and landed on one of the many iron runways extending from the edge of the mountain. As she pulled her wings back through the slits in the rear of her robe, Single Horn fluttered awkwardly, landing ungracefully beside her.

Single Horn was panting heavily, but still managed to stand. Her horn glowed as she dispelled the magical wings that Crimsonflame had taught her how to create.

“Are you okay?” asked Crimsonflame.

“Yes,” said Single Horn, with some difficulty.

“The air is thin here,” said Crimsonflame, “recall that Aurasi do not breathe. Will you be able to cast the necessary breathing spell?”

“Yes,” said Single Horn, her horn glowing with white light as she produced the necessary changes to her lungs.

“Good,” said Crimsonflame. Sometimes, it seemed that her student grew in power inversely related to the condition of Panbios. The war was being lost. Choggoths had already gained a foothold on most borders of the continents and were advancing rapidly, consuming everything in their path. Attempts to repel them had proven only mildly successful and, after severe bubbling by several trihorn generals, Ceroria itself stood on the verge of being overtaken.

Crimsonflame herself had been called into numerous battles as well. She now sported numerous new scars, and part of her lower jaw had only recently been surgically repaired. Those wounds were minor, though, compared to the friends she had lost.

Two Argasi guards had been placed at the door to the landing platform. As Crimsonflame approached, they extended their bladed innermost wings, blocking the door.

“Halt!” they both said in unison. “This entrance is for official use only!”

Crimsonflame pulled back her hood, revealing her face, and saw the terror in the Argasi’s metallic eyes. “I am Grand Magus of the Draconian Federation,” she said. “I have been summoned by your master, Lord Goldmist.”

“Of…of course,” they said, lowering their wings and allowing Crimsonflame to pass.

Only after she had passed did she hear a squeak of displeasure. She turned to see the guards blocking Single Horn.

“What is the meaning of this?” said Crimsonflame angrily.

“We cannot permit uninspected agricultural products to enter Olympus.”

“She is not a vegetable,” said Crimsonflame, smoke dripping from her mouth. “Let her through. Or perhaps you would rather send a courier to Goldmist to tell him why you made him wait? Tell me, does he still tear the wings off the subjects who displease him?”

The two guards looked nervous again and, after silent deliberation, lowered their wings and allowed Single Horn to pass.

With Single Horn at her side, Crimsonflame began to ascend the mountain.

The structure of Olympus was modeled directly on its social hierarchy. The actual hierarchy was relatively complex, but was essentially divided into three tiers that were dependent on metal. The Brontasi dwelt on the lowest level. They were made from bronze, and their physical design was simple and heavy. Most of the Brontasi that Crimsonflame had met in her life had been good natured but simpleminded, although some had been cruel and some had been intelligent. Within the hierarchy, the Brontasi were largely manual laborers who worked in the factories or maintained the levitation systems for the mountain. They also made up the bulk of the nation’s soldiers, although soldier Brontasi were larger and considered to be a higher caste than their smaller brethren, on par with the lowest of Argasi.

The silver Argasi lived on the second level of the mountain, which was the area where Crimsonflame and Single Horn had landed. They lived in larger, less crowded houses; many of them were artisans or engineers, and some were quite wealthy. Militarily, they served as basic units in the air force, or as captains of ground troops.

Crimsonflame watched as the metal and stone houses she passed grew increasingly grand as she rose higher on the mountain. Well-dressed Argasi marched along the street, smiling, as if there were no war threating all life in Panbios. They were shopping, talking, eating, and enjoying life, sometimes laughing at their Brontasi servants. They laughed and played while their people were dying in the war below. It made Crimsonflame sick.

Finally, though, she came to the edge of the topmost portion of the mountain. That, she knew, was the dwelling place of the Aurasi, the gold-bodied rulers of Olympus and its associated colonies. As far as Crimsonflame knew, the Aurasi served essentially no purpose, aside to live lives of luxury from the money taken from the lower castes. From what she knew of their religion, the Aurasi were considered the direct descendants of the mythical fourth class, the Adamantasi. The authority of the Aurasi was not of a religious nature, though; the six hundred year rule of Goldmist had essentially brought an end to any sort of religion that might have existed before him.

As Crimsonflame passed through the grand golden gates at the base of the heavily fortified mountaintop, the difference between the Aurasi and the Argasi became apparent. Unlike the Argasi, the Aurasi possessed no city; the mountaintop was bare, save for the delicate gardens and orchards of golden apple trees. Instead of many houses, they lived in one single, massive golden palace at the top of the mountain, the Palace of the Gods.

Crimsonflame and Single Horn climbed higher on the golden path, rising through fluffy clouds that drifted by. Crimsonflame pushed away the clouds, and Single Horn seemed enamored with the beautiful but synthetic landscape that surrounded her. Even though the only plants that grew this high were golden apples and a few light colored alpine flowers, Crimsonflame had to admit that the chaotic yet ordered placement of rocks and plants was indeed beautiful.

Lord Goldmist sat atop a grand, golden throne, surrounded by only the most beautiful of golden Aurasi mares, their narrow, perfectly crafted wings extended behind them seductively. He lay in an awkward position, drinking slowly from a crystal goblet filled with freshly squeezed golden apple juice mixed with freshly collected blood. It was still warm, and the fluid slid pleasantly down his metal throat.

“Announcing the Grand Magus of the Draconian Federation, Crimsonflame, daughter of Rageclaw the Great,” called a female Argasi guard from the base of one of the perfect marble columns below.

“Crimson!” said Goldlmist, sitting up and placing his goblet on one of the many perfectly crafted tufts of clouds that passed through the outdoor throneroom. “I was wondering when you would appear!” He spread his massive golden wings, and floated down to greet her. As he did, he noticed the small gray monohorn at Crimsonflame’s side.

“So you haven’t eaten it, yet, I see,” he said, eying the monohorn. It had grown somewhat larger than the ones he kept, and far less gaunt. It did have a rather defiant expression on its face, though, which amused Goldmist but probably would have caused practical problems for maintenance. “I rather like that one. How much for her?”

“No pony…owns me,” said Single Horn, with some difficulty.

“It talks!” said Goldmist, his eyes widening. “I say! You simply must tell me how you accomplished that. I really would like mine to talk. It would be so much better if they could beg.” He leaned down to frighten the small creature, but it stood stoically, staring directly into his eyes. It truly was a defiant creature.

“Why have you called me here?” asked Crimsonflame, unamused.

“Ah, yes. Business.” Godlmist flapped his wings and flew back to his thrown, where he resumed his place among the lovely, smiling mares. “I am officially withdrawing my support for the war.”

“You what?”

“By my order, all ground forces are to be retracted. All air force is to take up positions defending Olympus. We will fight only for defense of ourselves.”

“Of course,” said Crimsonflame, under her breath, but still audibly. “Of course. Now that Olympus is over Draconian territory, you give up active participation.”

“As I’m sure you are aware, Olympus is sovereign regardless of whatever it is floating over.” He sat up, and stared down at the dragon and one-horned pony below him. “This war has ceased to amuse me. At first, it was fun and all, planning the battles and playing hero, but now…it has just grown so tiresome.”

“It is a war,” snapped Crimsonflame.

“A war started by Draconians, I might add, that we Aurasi are now expected to help finish for you.”

“That is a lie!” cried Single Horn. She almost said something else, but Crimsonflame held up a claw to her, stopping her. Crimsonflame turned her attention to Goldmist, and for just a moment, Goldmist was the slightest bit afraid.

“Think about what you are doing,” she said. “You may fly above us, but you are just as much a part of Panbios as the rest of us. If we fail, your people will fall along with us.”

“I am actually assuming that you will fail,” said Goldmist, smiling. “Surely you have seen it, Grand Magus. You know that this war is unwinnable. Even with all five nations fighting, the Choggoths are still advancing. Nothing you do can stop them. Nothing ever will.”

“So you would leave your own people to die? You would play a fiddle on top of your hill as the world burns?”

“That, actually, is an excellent idea! But no. I fully expect to survive this war, even when the Choggoths inevitably triumph. It is a known fact that Choggoths cannot fly. Even if they could, they only consume organic matter.” Goldmist held out one of his hooves, as if admiring the luster of his metal skin. “And we…well, we don’t actually have that limitation. It is my belief that we, the Aurasi, can live in piece with the Choggoths below, should it come to that.”

“You are a fool, Goldmist.”

“Of course I am.” He pointed to his head. “Blessing of Madness, and all. But through my insanity, I have vision. I admit the new world order will probably be rather boring, but also, maybe not.” His expression suddenly became far more serious. “Understand, Crimsonflame. I like you. I consider you my friend. This is not personal. I have been forced to send my own people into a veritable meat grinder in a tremendously unpopular war. I…I can’t bring myself to do it anymore. I cannot let our young stallions and mares die for your war. I just can’t.”

“I understand what you mean,” sighed Crimsonflame. “I know how you feel, more than perhaps even you could know. But please. Goldmist, I am begging. We need your support in this war.”

“Our weapons will still be available for sale, but this is my final decision. By my authority as the strongest of all Aurasi, I will not permit another of my people to die in this failing war!”

“Fine,” said Crimsonflame, her monohorn assistant looking up to her, as if to ask why she was acquiescing so easily. “I cannot conscript your people. I cannot force you to fight. But know this, you gold-plated fool. You will live to regret this decision.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It is, but not from me,” said Crimsonflame. “Consider those words as spoken by the Choggoths below.”

Crimsonflame sat in her private study. The lights were out, and the only light came from a flickering, enchanted fire. All around her were books and stone-like Draconian machines, all arranged neatly on shelves constructed from fine oak to fit the mostly circular room.

In the center of the room was a chair, but Crimsonflame could not bring herself to sit in it. That chair, like the rest of the room, had belonged to her father. As the new Grand Magus, Crimsonflame had inherited the room, but she had still yet to change any element. Her father’s last, unfinished work still sat on the desk, the books he had been reading gathering dust stacked on the floor instead of the shelves.

Instead of sitting in the chair, she sat on the floor next to it, leaning against it. In her hand, she held an earthen goblet of rum rubies. She took another deep swig of the small minerals, and felt them tumble down her throat. Then she lowered the mostly empty cup, and looked at it.

She suddenly lifted the cup and threw it against the floor. It shattered, sending the small gemstones skittering across the floor toward the fire. Crimsonflame put her hands against her eyes, and could felt tears welling within them.

“Crimson Flame?” said a high, quiet voice. Crimsonflame wiped away her tears and looked up. The door to her study was open, and a pair of large, concerned looking eyes were looking in from the darkness outside.

“Single Horn,” said Crimsonflame.

“Are you…okay?”

“No,” said Crimsonflame. She had gotten the news just after she had arrived back from Olympus, and its effect on her had been profound. “Commander Grayrock…is dead.”

Single Horn gasped, and slowly entered the room. Crimsonflame turned away from the her, staring into the fire instead.

“How?” asked Single Horn.

“The fool…the battle he was leading turned, and rather than retreat, he charged in single-hooved in an attempt to buy time for the wounded to be evacuated. He succeeded, but…he was lost.” She smiled, even through the tears. “He died a hero, in battle, protecting his people. Surely there was no other way he would have wanted to go.”

“But you are still sad.”

“He was my friend, Single Horn. More than that, even. I loved him. I don’t think he ever knew…and now…now he won’t.” She put her claw to her eyes, covering them so that Single Horn would not see the tears as she fought the urge to weep uncontrollably.

“I think he knew,” said Single Horn, reassuringly even in her shaky voice.

“It’s not just him,” breathed Crimsonflame, trying to calm herself. “I remember them all. My friends. Those I trained with, lived with, cared about. I remember them in life, and when I think about how…about how I won’t ever see them again. To know that I was the one that sent them into battle. I might as well have killed them myself!”

She pounded her fist into the floor, causing the stone to crack and Single Horn to jump. It hurt, but she hardly noticed the pain.

“I’m tired of this war, but we aren’t even winning. Goldmist was right, we can’t win, not with what we have now. Even with a thousand Aurasi. But what can we do?”

“It isn’t your fault,” said Single Horn.

“What isn’t?”

“The war,” she said. “And the deaths. Not your fault. Remember why you fight, Crimson Flame. Why?”

“To protect the ones I love.”

“If you give up, only then, you have failed. Fight like uncle Grayrock, until the very last. I believe in you, Crimson Flame. We all do.”

That such a creature could offer such words was astounding to Crimsonflame. Even as its own kind were enslaved, it had the kindness to offer Crimsonflame support, to encourage her, and to remind her why she fought.

“Come here, Single Horn,” she said. The monohorn approached, and Crimsonflame took the small, fragile creature in her arms. She could hold back the tears no longer, and the two of them wept together in remembrance of the fallen, those who had, hopefully, given their lives to ensure the survival of Panbios and the happiness of those who could remain behind.