Octavia burst through the door to the apartment she and Vinyl shared. her roommate a breath behind her. Gasping for breath as she heard the door slammed behind them, the clicks and snaps of all their locks going up in the unicorn's magic. The streets were still pandemonium, shouts and screams, the breaking of glass and the stampeding rush of hooves on the cobbles. The unicorn staggering back away from the door to join the Earth pony in the center of their meager living room.

“What... just happened?” Octavia managed with a ragged gasp amidst struggling to catch her breath. She jumped a little at a touch against her side, belatedly realizing that Vinyl had sat with a thump. The incredulous expression on the mute unicorn’s face held a horror that she could feel building in her own chest.

Slowly, haltingly Vinyl’s forehooves and ears began to move.

It was a banishment. I remember that much from school.

I don’t know where or how. But it feels like it sucked something out of me.

I feel… heavy, and cold… like I’ll never be warm again.

A sniffle from the still signing mare brought the tears in her eyes to Octavia’s attention and she wrapped her forehooves around Vinyl as the sniffles gave way to silent wracking sobs.

“Shhh, it’s okay… we’re okay. Whatever has happened, I-I’m sure we’ll get it sorted out soon enough.” Slowly she rocked the sobbing mare in her arms, feeling Vinyl clutch at her just as tightly. The sounds of a city in chaos penetrating the thin walls of their apartment as Octavia reached a hoof out to pull a blanket from the couch to wrap around them, her mute roommate feeling oddly chill in her embrace.

They clung to each other as the world outside continued in its madness.

Sharp staccato hoofbeats on the marble floors echoed down the corridor as a dark gray stallion walked with measured tread towards his master's rooms at the palace, a silver tray supported effortlessly in his pale gray magic. His silvered mane was elegantly coiffed, his butler jacket trim and neat, Stirling Service paused for the briefest of moments to clear his throat before pushing open the doors to his Master's chamber.

Broken pottery crunched beneath his hoof as he surveyed the shambles of the room with barely hidden dismay. The breakable was broken, the unbreakable… well, had been given a good try anyway. He heard the scuff of a hoof from the balcony and began carefully picking his way through the devastation. Reaching the archway he regained his usual efficient tread. "Master, I have brought the…" He broke off at the sight before him.

Prince Blueblood turned bloodshot eyes upon his butler, seeming almost to not recognize him. That raw gaze zeroed in on the tray bobbing lightly beside him and before Stirling could compose himself, the cover had been lifted, and the crystal decanter was drawn off in a field of deep blue magic. He managed a noise of complaint as it was upended to the white stallions lips. Stepping onto the balcony he eyed the glugging obscenely long pull of the brandy with displeasure, wincing as Blueblood finally stopped for a gasp and a cough.

Silently, he pulled the decanter from Blueblood’s magical grip and filled a snifter to rest on the stone railing before him. It was, after all, the more orthodox and acceptable way to get absolutely shite-faced if one truly must. He glanced at the food he had brought, deciding now wasn’t the time to try to get his master to see the sense in a base for his drinking.

A distant boom rolled across the city, echoing off the many-towered palace. Stirling glanced out over the sad spectacle of fires burning, smoke and ash and the distant but audible shouts and sounds of unrest. Several sections of the city were hazy with a green mist, riot control spells. “I take it… the younger princesses wouldn’t see sense then?” He murmured delicately, hoping not to press his master too hard.

“Did you really think that they would?” Blueblood rasped harshly, throat probably still raw from the potent spirits. “And we’ve lost the Archmage. Whatever he did to deal with them, it swallowed him up as well.”

That caused Stirling’s eyes to widen. “Astral Glint is gone? How?”

"Nopony knows, maybe Twilight Sparkle was a worthy opponent after all. When they realized the trap they had walked into, they tried to fight their way out, as expected. Whatever spell he ended up casting turned them all into dust." Blueblood sighed and knocked back his snifter, gesturing for Stirling to refill it, which he hastened to do. " In any case, it's finally done. Once the city has been pacified, a joint proclamation goes out to the rest of Equestria. To let them know what has happened." With a sigh the white unicorn left the railing, snagging the brandy bottle in passing as he made his way back inside. "Tomorrow, the Age of the Unicorns finally begins."

Stirling heard him crossing the destroyed main chamber and into his bedchamber, the door closing softly behind him. The butler turned to look out over the chaotic city, eyes reflecting his sorrow while none was present to see it. “While the Age of the Alicorns has ended.” He murmured to himself… snatching up the refilled snifter and downing the burning liquid in a gulp. The tears that dripped down his face just the result of such potent spirits as he waited for it to soothe the ache in his heart.

Night Light snatched another tin from the cupboard, dumping the contents into a hastily found saddlebag. The panic, it lurked deep in his chest, but he wasn’t going to give it voice. He had to stay busy. He had to DO something. He tossed the tin to the floor with a clatter, grabbing a second, barely even looking at the contents before emptying it as well. His eyes darting over the shelves for something, anything else they could use. He could hear Spike’s frantic weeping and Twilight Velvet trying to console him. He gritted his teeth against his own tears as he furiously discarded a third empty canister and glared at the insufficient contents of the pack.

"Th-they're gone!" He heard Spike wail, the anguished cry was a stabbing pain in his heart. With a stifled oath, he slung the pack over his back and left the kitchen behind.

“We... don’t have much.” He grated out in a rush, realizing how close to panicked babbling he was and taking a breath to calm himself. Twilight Velvet looked up from the inconsolable drake she clutched to her chest, tears dashing from her beautiful eyes.

“S-surely there must be something… anything we can do!?” Her voice hitching at the silent look of anguish her husband gave her.

“Not here… not now. We’ll make for the train depot. If the Crystal Express is still grounded, we’ll get aboard and flee to Shining and the Crystal Empire!” He continued in the most commanding and reassuring tones he could. “We won’t b-be safe here, and you and I both know they’ll come for him!” His eyes darted to the pathetically bawling dragon clutched to his mate’s barrel. “We have to keep him safe. W-we p-promised T-twi-.” He choked off his sob in a strangled gasp, squeezing his eyes shut against the burning tears.

He heard Twilight Velvet’s sharp shocked gasp and whirled. Still half blinded by tears, teeth bared, horn blazing as it pointed towards the large glass window and the shadowed shape beyond, just as the window exploded into the room.

“And it was only after this nearly bloodless coup that Equestria could begin to recover from over a thousand years of the previous dictatorship. Even so, the solution couldn’t be a perfect one, and modern Equestria has many challenges to find answers to.”

Glancing at the approved curricula that had been provided, Wishful Vision began to copy the bullet points onto the board.

“It has been 5 years since the Unicorn Council asserted its authority over Equestria, and while we are still reclaiming our position on the world stage, Canterlot has never been so bustling with new industry!”

Of course, it’s never had such smog problems either.

“The withdrawal of the majority of the Pegasi Tribes occurred in year 4 since the foundation of the new Equestrian regime. They saw their services as unique and irreplaceable and expected their departure to ruin Equestria. They cared little for problems not connected to their all important weather control and often sparked heated debates at Council arguing against needed industrialization efforts if they would make more work for the weather service’s teams. It was often noted that most weather teams did not put in even 4 hour days. When it was communicated that they were expected to adhere to newly defined pay scales that classified them all as part time workers, they went on strike in protest and withdrew entirely in less than two weeks.”

“The Pegasi Tribes seceded because of an excess of pride. A certain number of pegasus families had the courage and foresight to object to the abandonment and remained loyal to Equestria. These families were taken in by the Unicorn Council and the pegasus quarter is now a small but recognizable part of every Unicorn city.

"Some notes must be made of pegasus behaviour and learning abilities. Pegasi, in general, are fairly prideful and lazy creatures. It is often noted that this may lead to stubborn or disagreeable personalities that are not amenable to modern educational requirements. However, this may be simply the result of poor initial rearing. Pegasi foals taken early and rigorously introduced to proper concepts show much-improved absorption of societal education and etiquette. While understandably not able to fully integrate into a magic wielding culture, they often make excellent companions or much-prized servants in areas where long range flight is a boon.

“Of course the loss of the pegasi as a whole has made many old problems begin to resurface. The advent of Wild Weather was a foreseeable consequence and while it has made life harder, this also provides more opportunities for enterprising young unicorns in fields of weather research and management! There will come a day when Equestrian weather is just as orderly as it ever was, but it will be unicorns that manage it!”

Her sharp eyes darted across the attentive faces of the unicorn colts and fillies listening to her lecture. She continued to rattle off the provided information in a concise and professional manner as expected of a level three History teacher.

Because history is written by the ones left standing.

"Equestria's Earth Pony population has never made any effort to secede or take political issue with the new regime and as such have never given cause to distrust their loyalty to us. While there is an unmistakable majority representation in the labor pool, there are also many Earth Pony business owners and even representatives in the minor nobility! These are grand examples of their Tribe in our society, yet they meet with a certain amount of criticism from the layponies they labor to represent.

This is largely because of deep-seated instincts in the Earth Pony mind that any job that takes you away from the soil and crop growing is somehow a lessening of your worth and a betrayal of your nature. While understandable in primitive pony culture, this is mostly viewed today as an example of how short the distance is between the modern earth pony and their primitive gatherer roots.

While the unacceptably pejorative slur of ‘Strong backs, weak minds’ has undoubtedly been in use for centuries, it is extremely unfair to the individual. The common Earth Pony cannot help the pressures of their culture and the strong emphasis of their primitive instincts. Most Earth Pony families, which tend to be large as the same instincts encourage such a state, cannot manage their highly physical jobs and provide appropriate education to their offspring.

They tend to do much better when permitted their unwavering focus and being unburdened with more complicated management requirements. With proper beneficent managers, they can produce the highly efficient labor they are known and prized for while permitting their foals to receive the very best education their station in life will allow.

Despite these advances both socially and economically, it is worth pointing out that during the previous dictatorship, Earth Ponies were elevated to equal status, yet barely managed to attain minor representation in economics or politics. It was left to the unicorns to deal with these facets. The artificial uplifting efforts of the usurper were aimed at enforced evolution of the race. While this might be seen as laudable if misguided, it is vital we recognize that their deeper reliance upon instinct and more primal urges means they need slower and more firm guidance, not anarchy to thrive.”

The cell door creaked badly as it swung ponderously open, hinges in bad need of grease squealed their complaint for the movement. And as Prisoner 37 was cast into the cell where she would likely spend what remained of her life, the door gave the greater complaint. Her heavy chains rattled as they were fixed to an iron staple secured deep in a thick wooden beam, and they made more of a racket than she did. The spine-chilling screech was followed by the reverberating slam as the massive steel door swung closed, the sound of bolts being secured and locks turned faded into silence. Faint hoof steps fading into the distance. The darkness was nearly as complete as the silence. Heavy and oppressive. Only a faint line of light from a slow burning torch in a wall sconce showing where the door was.

And then the silence was broken by muted sobs.

And the crazed giggling started, and the laughter, foul curses and mocking catcalls from the cells surrounding 37. Soon the noise reached a manic crescendo before quieting down only to be met with a soft unintelligible murmur from their new block-mate. Now and then over the endless, timeless dark of their existence, they taunted and mocked her. Communicating the misery of their lives onto a newer, fresher target, yet all they ever got was that same endless murmur until some weeks later another cell was filled and they had better entertainment. For 38 was a screamer, crying his innocence to the mocking dark, easily goaded into howls of rage or sorrow, they made good sport of him, well, until he managed to somehow choke himself with his own chains.

The cell was cleared, and readied for the next occupant. No pony was punished for their hoof in his demise, there was quite literally no worse place they could be sent. For ponies on the Black level knew they would never leave it, so long as life remained in them. There was no rehabilitation, no point to even trying. Their crimes would never permit reintegration. 38 had just found an express path to removing the problem he ponified.

Over the years, the cells around 37 emptied and were again filled. Sometimes with the mad, the malicious, or the sad. Yet never 37’s cell. All that ever communicated to the outside was the clink and rattle of the chain bound to the steel collar about 37’s throat, and the softest of murmurs. As time passed, even 37’s gender was forgotten, just as everything else about his or her life was. 37 was a black level inmate, tracking the slow path to the grave, just taking slightly longer about it than most did. The guards eventually had a pool going on when 37 would finally check out. Had the inmate known that, it might have brought the ghost of a smile.

Where 37’s bits would have been put, would never be known.

The blast of steam from the railway engine signaled its final stop on the line for the day, ponies stepping from the passenger cars onto the broad platform of Ponyville station. Where once the platform would have been crowded and the train would have been making ready for the late afternoon Canterlot segment, that run was now handled by a private, high-security line that did not make stops in Ponyville.

The station house was growing old, the paint faded and beginning to peel, most of the Equestrian Railway funds were going to more lucrative lines. Once the gateway to the City of Unicorns and the site of the Castle of Friendship Ponville had had its moment of fame, now the anemic Ponyville line from Appleloosa was almost an afterthought. Still, regardless of how out of favor a town became, there was always a need for trains, and the fares to keep Ponyville connected at some level were enough to make it worth it to keep the non-priority southern tracks in good repair, more or less.

The brick red stallion felt the wooden planking of the platform creak under his weight as he stepped down from the train car, his eyes drawn down to them for such a distressing complaint. The years had brought change to the one time Apple farmer, brother to the Element of Honesty. Still a mountain of a pony, his size no longer had the heavy set healthy bulk he had once enjoyed. His long wheat colored mane and tail had been shorn close, a health measure since lice and other complaints plagued the camps from time to time. It was just now beginning to lengthen enough in the front to show a fringe of forelock. Prison life had also left its mark, in the wear lines of the heavy harness and the faint ridges of old lash marks.

Still, he had served his sentence, and given them no cause to prolong it. And now, he was home again, having managed through favors owed and old-old family connections to scrape up enough for a one-way ticket across country through towns who had no use for ‘a convict'. Four long years and they lay heavy upon both the stallion, and the town he'd dreamt of every night he'd been away.

Confident the old platform was going to hold him for now, Big Mac took one slow step as his eyes lifted, only to freeze, hoof upraised, as his gaze locked with another pair of green eyes, brimming with tears. The platform had cleared of the few other passengers as he lingered and now was empty of all save for one other pony. The dark pink mare closed the distance slowly while he continued to imitate a statue.

“S-so you made it h-home.” Cheerilee stammered, voice tight with emotion. The earth pony mare looking him over with deep sympathy in her large expressive eyes.

“Eeyup.” He husked in a voice like gravel from disuse. Slowly lowering his hoof back to the ground, feeling his cheeks beginning to burn, thankful for his dark coat and cursing the laconic nature that drove all words from his head and left him just staring at the Ponyville schoolmarm, swallowing with a throat suddenly very dry.

Slowly she lifted a soft, gentle hoof to touch his chest, concern in her eyes as she traced the worn harness mark across his breast. Her sorrowful eyes lifting to meet his again, so expressive and deep. “I-I missed you.” She breathed, and followed it with a meep of surprise as two dark red forelegs clutched her tight against a red-furred chest hitching with unexpressed emotion.

The tears came hot and hard, forcing him to grit his teeth against the force of the raw anguish that tore at his heart. Sorrow and hurt long bottled up, threatening to finally bubble over. Two dark pink forelegs clutching him back with strength only an earth pony could muster, a creaking, crackly squeeze that communicated so much more than mere words could oddly helped quiet the maelstrom inside him, for now.

“Shhhhh, it’s alright, c’mon. Let’s go home.” Cheerilee husked in a voice made nearly as raspy as his by sudden emotion.

He took a breath to say something… Anything. To tell her he loved her, that he never wanted to leave her again… “E-Eeyup.” He managed to rasp back, pausing to toss his grip to his back before letting the mare lead him towards her little cottage.

Octavia awoke, drawing in a long slow breath, not wanting to move from the warmth of the bed, or let go of the precious thing curled against her belly. A little smile curving her mouth as she regarded her sleeping marefriend.

Vinyl had her nose nuzzled deep into the gray mare's chest ruff, the soft warmth of her slumbering breaths just making Octavia clutch her more tightly. A pair of limp white forelegs wrapped around her barrel as they lay in the tangled nest of their blankets.

When they had stopped being just friends and had become something deeper was hard to say. It had been a long, incredibly subtle shift during the busy professions they both enjoyed. But the evening she acted upon a whimsical impulse and kissed the mute, showy unicorn was a memory she'd treasure forever, right next to the stunned expression Vinyl had been wearing when she drew back from it. Tavi teased her that she had ‘left her speechless'. A remark guaranteed to get a patient eye roll and a raspberry from the DJ.

They complimented each other in so many ways and exploring a more intimate relationship had added a new warmth and light to their lives, even as the world around them became increasingly depressing and dreary.

Vinyl's ears twitched as the clock tower began to toll the hour. Eight o'clock in the morning. If allowed, the DJ would sleep til Eleven if she could get away with it, and Octavia was sorely tempted to not only let her but join her in subtle protest of mornings and all they stood for.

She had a noon recital, however, including time spent rubbing elbows with the noble elite. If being honest with herself she could barely tolerate these events, but the orchestra needed sponsors if they were all going to keep their jobs. It bothered her, though, how poorly the Canterlot earth pony community seemed to regard her. As if keeping her job and paying her bills was somehow betraying them.

With a resigned sigh, she gently released her marefriend, giving her a soft kiss as she began scooting towards the edge of the bed to start her morning. Tenderly pulling the covers up and over Vinyl, smiling as the unicorn instinctively migrated into the warm hollow her body had left in the mattress. Vinyl insisted she wasn't cute, but Octavia knew better, she got to see the adorableness of snoozy morning Vinyl much too often to buy that anymore.

Blueblood took a measured sip from his glass, the slightly watered whisky burning his throat pleasantly as the ice cubes clinked against each other. He frowned, Stirling always made a point of decorum when he had a visitor by icing his whisky. It slowed him down, which was the whole point, keeping him from draining an entire bottle over the course of his meeting. Still, the ice in his glass annoyed him.

But not quite as much as his ‘guest' was, however.

The frigid pony standing before his desk, Mistral of House Arcana, was a pain in the plot at the best of times. Her snide nasal voice would quickly become nails on slate after a few minutes, especially when she used that wheedling tone to try and secure some concession that was sought after. She was aptly named, a frost white coat, elegant mane styled into the diamond encrusted curls that were currently in vogue. Her blue eyes so pale one would be forgiven for thinking she was blind. Yet it was all just a complementary theme for the absolute glacial frost of her personality.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, Mistral?” He smarmed in that oh so special way he had for speaking to anypony beneath him. Which meant everypony who he graced with his presence. Cultured and proper, while implying by tone that he was being ever so gracious and kind to even be breathing the same air. He delighted to see her pupils shrink in fury, it pleased him to no end that he could get under her skin so easily.

The look in her eyes was the only outward change to signify his success with the tactic, her face might have been carved from the ice it resembled otherwise. A pity that.

It was nearly a half hour before she left, Stirling having been waiting in the antechamber to bow her out politely before letting his distaste for the mare show as he came to attend to his master. His glass was empty and the stallion in question was slumped in his seat, his eyes closed. A small wooden case of ampules lay open before him. One missing, no doubt the empty sitting in the silver injector syringe next to it.

"Master?" Stirling asked quietly and flinched almost imperceptibly as Blueblood opened his eyes. They now glowed a pale blue with the brimming mana brought from use of the accelerator drug.

"That frozen… cunt.. She's go-ing after Fancy." He slurred out, blinking languidly with fatigue. "Get the word out." He huffed in a sigh. "I can't help him this time." Slowly he lost the last of the tension in his body and slumped heavily against the armrest of his chair. "T-tell ‘im to get out… wish him… luck."

Stirling watched his master drift into a gentle sleep. A strange and unique reaction to the accelerator, which left virtually every other unicorn who used it crawling the walls. It ached his heart to see the last son of the Blood lost in addiction. And yet, nothing else brought him peace such as this… even the whiskey only helped him get through the day now. He rarely slept without the drug anymore. As quietly as he could, the aging butler slipped from the room and down the hall towards the sleeping chambers.

Passing the door to his master’s private rooms, he paused beside a dark mirror to adjust the collar of his jacket. Horn lighting as he drew a silver comb from his pocket, he held it for a moment in his magic before with a swift movement he tapped the mirror, releasing a melodious crystalline chime. Anyone watching would see him grooming in the mirror so long as the note of the chime remained. Giving him scant few seconds to scratch a hasty missive upon the dark silvered surface of the mirror with the comb. Bright white lines forming shimmering words shining out from the enchanted surface before melting away into it.

The chime faded away and he pocketed the comb, aware of the shaking in his grip. He closed his eyes, willing the strain to ease. He had much to do to look after his master’s interests, and he couldn’t afford weakness right now.

Miles away, in a lower district, a similar dark mirror chimed, and a hastily scrawled message shimmered into view.

‘They are coming. Get out!’

Author's Notes:

*deep breath*

Okay, Here we go colts and fillies.