Long passed are the days of ancient Roam, and gone is her marble splendor. Her legions, once powerful, march only in the pages of dusty books, her gods long since forgotten in all but name. Her emperors and statesmares are dust in their tombs, her flag flies no more above her ancestral lands, lands now called Equestria.

But she is not gone. Indeed, a revival may soon be hers, for there is one thing of Roam's that lives once again. It lives in the roar of crowds and the smell of oil and sand, and the clatter of wooden wheels. It lives in olive branches and colored pennants, and its name is on the lips of every pony. Chariots live once more in the hearts and minds of ponies.

Scootaloo is no different. Never quite able to claim the sky, and drifting aimlessly through her adolescent years, she stumbles upon this ancient sport, and something in it calls to her, as nothing before has. It will take years of practice, the truest of friends, and tears, sweat, and yes, even blood, but there will come a day when she can experience the rush of the wind in her mane, and the roar of the crowd in her ears.

This is a story of long-dead glory reclaimed, a story of bitter rivalry and sweet passions. This is a story of life new-lived, of speed and triumph and death and love. This is the story of the Scarlets, greatest of their time.