---

Everything seemed slowed to a crawl after discovering Aigaion.

After the fight, Marja assured us the pony battalions still in the city would be given shelter and aid. They would also have the backing of Olenia’s resistance cells to help in their endeavors. In return, the ponies would fight side-by-side against their mutual enemies. I imagine it was their way of showing thanks after all that happened.

It was during this talk that Marja personally congratulated us for a job well done inside the Royal Palace.

Guilt wracked my nerves for what was to come.

Hjortland had days—maybe a week at best—until the Changelings would come crashing down on them. The ponies had found themselves completing phantom objectives, still unaware that they were scapegoats on our behalf. And though we had secured the port into the city with minimal damage, it would still take days' worth of repairs for it to be operational again.

And what then? Would Equestria even keep its word about sending aid?

It wasn’t lost on me that I essentially took part in a suicide mission. One that I had no reasonable chance of winning. And yet, we found ourselves blindly stumbling into another conspiracy in the making. For once we had a chance to do real work, instead of chasing ghosts.

All from the result of an accidental miracle facilitated by the Olenians.

Marja was busy congratulating us, calling us newfound heroes as Brass stepped forward to clear her throat. My heart dropped into my stomach.

Brass then dropped the biggest bombshell of information Marja heard so far.

“We weren’t in Hjortland for Olenia’s sake. We weren’t even supposed to make it this far.”

Confusion, at first. Marja asked if it had something to do with the ‘weapon’ we were pursuing.

Brass confessed reluctantly that it had everything to do with it.

From there, she confessed all that had happened.

About why we were here; How we found the bombs in Vanhoover; How there was one missing; How we were supposed to find it; How we were meant to complete this daring operation by ourselves; How we essentially left our brethren to their fates, condemning them to die; How we would’ve been another statistic of a suicide mission.

All because of a breadcrumb trail leading us into a downward spiral.

As Brass explained the insanity of the situation we were in, realization slowly crests my mind until it dawns with a clarifying radiance. Brass seemed to have understood it too, given her articulate and hollow-sounding words to Marja.

“We were expected to fail. We were never meant to get this far.”

But that didn’t make any sense either! Why would they send us on this suicidal hunt if they knew we would fail? Why would they be so willing to send entire divisions to their doom for something they can’t even verify exists?

Throughout Brass's confession, I had this lingering thought that we were still not seeing the bigger picture. Something was missing to make the pieces fit. And I didn’t know what.

I still don’t know, to this day.

Confusion morphed into rage, yet Marja didn’t say a single word. Her scowl pierced through our excuses like a hot knife through paper mâché. She understands the truth, putting the ill-fitting pieces together in her head rather quickly. Marja understands our odds were stacked against us. Brass understands we were supposed to die. Both mutually agree that the chances of our success—let alone our survival—were minuscule at best.

Brass eventually concludes that we came to Hjortland because it was the best lead we got. And in doing so, we unraveled another plot by pure chance. One that is potentially more dangerous.

Rage morphs into stunned silence as Marja parses this deluge of information. For a while, there was no response. Only a quiet contemplation. When she finally did speak, she asked us what we would do now.

Heading to Canterlot to stop Aigaion, was Brass’s response. We would leave that night.

Marja, of course, wasn’t happy at all. Her rage never truly subsided, only sidelined. She seemed to be seething on the inside at our apparent betrayal. And yet, despite all of it, we had found something that was not just a threat to Equestria. But a threat to the continent as a whole should the worst come to pass.

Stunned silence morphs into a reluctant resolution as a painful vice grips my heart. Marja stays true to her word about harboring Equestrians, giving aid and shelter. And she hesitantly commends our integrity in confessing our true intentions, even if our tactics were underhoofed.

It didn’t justify the guilt of what we had done though, and why we were here. I knew that.

And I think Marja knew this too. Because she had a request for us.

Of course she would.

It wouldn’t make sense otherwise. If we were to go back to Canterlot, Marja humbly (and by that I mean threateningly) asked us to make a promise to her. Should we go through with this, we had to warn Celestia not only of the Aigaion but of Olenia’s dire situation as well. Lest we wish for her people to forever distrust and shun us for all that happened.

Not just from today, but for the past decade. How Equestria turned its back on Olenia in their time of need.

Brass agreed, as did the rest of us, seeing it was the least we could do after all they had done for us. Marja also promised to bury the body of Pumpkin Patch with full military honors after recovering what was left of him. Hearing that promise put me at ease, though I won’t get to see him being buried. In a strangely grim sense though, I preferred it that way. Knowing his remains were safely preserved was good enough, for me.

But I digress. That promise we made to Marja would have to wait for Canterlot. And we still had a long ways to go…

---

Bon Bon wasn’t wrong when she said it would take a few days to go from Hjortland to Canterlot. The last time I saw Hjortland was a chaotic and confusing scene. We had the head start in the race against time to prevent a catastrophe, one that we intended to win. Looking back that night we saw Olenia’s capital lit alight with fireworks and distant combat as we flew away.

Hours had passed. It was an exhausting flight back across Vanhoover Bay. Memories of me flying to the city months prior were still engraved in my cortex. I remember the feeling of hot coals searing the bottom of my lungs throughout the flight. This was no different, and I loathed it. The only difference was I was more acclimated to it by now, though that thought provided only a little comfort.

The flight lasted no more than three hours with just the seven of us. We had arrived during the darkest period of the early morning when the moon was nowhere to be seen and the sun was minutes away from rising. By the time we arrived at Vanhoover, it was dawn on the 10th of June.

So much had changed over the months since we were there last. When we first found the nuclear bombs, the fighting across Equestria had shifted into a static war of attrition, one that seemingly had no end in sight.

One side was focused on bleeding the other dry against an endless pool of reserves, and the other hurled itself into the impenetrable works of various redoubts and fortresses across the continents. Both sides were desperate to end the stalemate.

It wasn’t too different nowadays ever since we liberated Vanhoover. The salient we had opened up relieved some of the pressure on the frontlines, but not enough to warrant a grand liberation from Equestria.

The effects were mostly apparent on the western coast; many Changeling divisions retreated northbound through the railways of occupied Tall Tale and Salt Lick City, leaving the fronts open to an offensive. They planned to reinforce Tall Tale and surround the salient of Vanhoover.

Which was exactly what Equestria hoped to happen. Hundreds of kilometers of land were liberated from the Changelings in the span of a few weeks. From the edges of Mead Lake to the outskirts of Tall Tale. Although not a grand liberation like Equestria initially promised, news of this victory was no doubt sorely needed for the minds and hearts of the ponies back at home.

The journey by plane from Vanhoover took no less than 6 hours to get back to our side of the lines in Las Pegasus, where we soon landed at a local airfield to take an express train to Canterlot. Maybe not an entirely safe trip, but we did not run into any trouble along the way. I counted my blessings on that small victory.

When we landed at Las Pegasus, the seven of us were expecting to ride in a cramped cargo car that was not designed to fit ponies. But no, instead, we rode in a first-class passenger car that screamed ‘opulent’ to me.

I had scarcely thought trains like this still existed after all that had happened the past few years, and yet here my eyes saw the luxurious caboose proving me wrong. There were bouncy cushions coated in thick painted leather, sitting behind finely carved tables of mahogany and oakwood that hosted trays of various delicacies.

On these trays were bottles of Prench Champagne, decades-old Aquilean Wine, and various kinds of cheese coming from all across Griffonia alongside some crackers. There was even a bar table that stretched along the car. A lean-looking Stallion who was well-mannered and spoke little was serving us as the bartender.

All of us were skeptical. But we eventually found ourselves passing the time and enjoying what was offered to us. The bartender encouraged us to relax and let loose; ‘even the finest soldiers of Equestria deserve to let loose now and then,’ as he said.

Rain Drop was the first to break the ice, followed by Syringe. Both began ordering many Apple-Acres Cider mugs and Bourbon shots from Bales. They even tried sipping on some wine. Soon the rest of us found ourselves idly enjoying various treats and beverages.

Some of us were sitting together in one cubicle of seats that were not big enough to fit us all. The rest found an idle stool on the bar they occupied while ordering drinks. Rain Drop was always seen there, never leaving it.

Speaking of which, it was a rainy day during the train ride back. Droplets of water dotted the windows, obscuring part of our vision that hid an overcast sky looming with a depressive gloom.

Not many things to look at outside except for rolling plains and farmlands rushing past us settled beneath smooth peaks of towering mountains. Droplets raced one another down the window sill, some of them flung off at high speeds. The tracks steamed eastward in a straightforward pattern, no looming turns or detours were ever hinted at as the locomotive chugged along a damp, muddy landscape.

It felt calming to look at the monotony of it all. I had always loved the rain but hated being in it.

It seemed to be lighting up as we went further east. But it would be another day or two until we arrived at Canterlot. The whole train ride was not particularly eventful, save for the initial surprise at how luxurious it was.

None of us had hardly spoken to one another. I sat in a cubicle hosting me, Syringe, Brass Screws, and Morning Dew. The rest sat on their stools. The four of us sat together in an awkward silence. Some of us traded glances with one another, only to look away when we caught each other doing so.

I mean… what was there to say? ‘Gee, I’m glad we are still alive!’ ‘I guess things are looking up!’ It felt silly to even attempt any small talk. None of us were in a talkative mood. The only words spoken were orders for more drinks and food from the Bartender, acknowledged by a mute nod.

For the longest time, the quiet awkwardness had ruled with an iron grip. As tense as the atmosphere was for what was at stake, nopony found the energy or desire to make small talk.

I traded one last scan across the table. Syringe sat next to me, Morning and Brass also sitting next to one another. Both pairs sat crunched together as the journey felt like it slowed to the rate of molasses despite the speed we were going.

“... Just to make sure,” Syringe finally pipes up from my right, “We did collect the package, right?”

“Of course,” Brass confirms as Morning nods beside her.

“I have it in my bags,” the latter leans back with a reassuring shadow of a smile.

“Good. And… as for the other?” She asks reluctantly.

A painful vice grips my heart.

“Sunshine has it,” Brass answers for me.

“... Good.”

The saddlebags felt heavier than they should. The knowledge of what burden I bore inside them as I journeyed as far as I had weighed on my consciousness every waking second.

A reprieve from this responsibility would come once I reached our destination. And at the moment, it seemed so far away despite how close we were.

“... Hey, Morning,” Syringe suddenly pipes up, “You said you had family in Canterlot right?”

Caught off-guard by the question, she gives a nervous sigh.

“Y-Yeah. My mother and father.”

“What are they like? If you don’t mind me asking.” Syringe asked with caution.

It took her off guard for only a second before Morning scratched her chin in thought. “Well, before the war, they helped each other run a tailor shop. But last I saw them, they had to sell their business to make ends meet.” She answers with a reserved tone. “They told me they would be fine, and they were more worried about me than anything else. But… I don't know, I think it still hurts them to lose their life’s work like that.”

Her words were slathered in a coat of sorrow. A reminder of what was at stake, and what had been lost. The train car rolling took over the soundscape for a few seconds.

“... My condolences for them, Morning.” Brass nodded, her voice reserved. “I hope they are okay.”

“Me too,” Syringe agreed, “I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

“Don’t be. It’s okay. I honestly don’t mind talking about it. It just... it makes me homesick when I do, that's all.”

“Hm.” Brass hummed.

“You think you’ll get a chance to talk to them while we are over there?”

Morning must have never thought of the possibility before. Her face lit up in hopeful curiosity at Syringe’s question. But only for a moment as she gives a bitter sigh and a sad frown.

“No, I don’t think so. I doubt they will give us leave. And…” she trailed off rubbing a hoof on her withers, “last time we talked we argued a lot and kinda finished on a sour note. So... I don’t know if they still want to talk to me after all this time.”

“I’m sure they would,” I felt my mouth compulsively speak. I was surprised at my sudden initiative for a split second before I continued without hesitation. “No parent wants to let go of their child that much.”

I thought back to my father, who always cared for me growing up. And how he is gone. A twinge of emotion I learned to suppress for a long time threatened to swell in my eyes again.

“I’m sure they wouldn’t care what you said to them last time. They would still want to see you.” I finished, blinking the tears away before anypony noticed.

“... I guess.” Morning still sounded unsure. “Still though, I don’t think my family takes priority over this.” She pats her saddlebags emphatically. “But, we’ll see. What about you Syringe?” Morning turns to her. “You have any family, I hope?”

“Some, yeah,” Syringe answered quickly, clutching her mug of Cider. “... They were decent enough.”

Bitterness grated her voice.

“... Bad History?” Morning dared to ask.

“A bit.”

My ears droop as I reminisce on a conversation between me and Syringe in the past.

They were a good family... It didn’t last long, though.

“Sorry,” Morning disengages with a slow lean back against her seat, eyeing the window that showed a depressing-looking Equestria. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s fine,” Syringe interjected. “I’m over it, I just don’t wanna reminisce.”

“Fair enough,” Morning nods, “Brass?”

“What? My family?” She asks with a huff as if she was hoping she would be ignored.

“Yeah. Just trying to pass the time. What were they like?”

“... Good folks,” she reluctantly answered, following a sip of water. “Not much to be said. I was an only child too. They worked in Manhattan’s Steel Mills for a long time. Didn’t get to see them much except for dinner and when they tucked me in bed. I usually hung outside of my home most days.”

Morning looked on, expecting more. Only for Brass to shake her head. “Like I said, not much to be said. But they were still good to me, so that’s all that matters.”

“... Where are they now?”

“Staying in Manehattan, probably. If they were smart. I followed in my dad’s hoofsteps and worked in the mills for a long while. That was how I got my cutie mark.” She looks down at her side reverently. “He’s probably still there now.”

“Neat. I got mine because I came up with a cure for mildew in my mother’s garden.” Morning pivots to a different topic.

My ears perked at that, thankful for the subject change from families for now. “Wait, I thought you said your parents ran a tailor shop?”

“They do, but my mother had a small garden of flowers she would tend to in the spring. One time I saved her garden from a mildew outbreak in her plants. Got my mark since then.”

“I got mine from medical school.” Syringe segwayed atonally as if it wasn’t anything special. “I was the only one in my class who scored flawlessly on their final, and that was when it appeared. Didn’t notice it until somepony pointed it out the next day.”

“Wait, you scored a perfect score? In Medical School? I thought that was impossible!” Morning asked with a hint of astonishment.

“I guess not,” Syringe answered with a smirk.

“I… wow. That sounds like it was insanely difficult.”

Syringe gives a bitter sigh, the smirk dissipating instantly. “It was. Studying for that damn thing gave me many migraines.”

A wayward hoof of mine stretched out and sympathetically patted Syringe a couple of times on her shoulder. She nods in approval of the gesture.

“And you, Sunshine?” Morning asks.

My heart skipped a beat. “What, you mean my cutie mark?”

“Yeah.” She simply answered, waiting expectantly as all eyes were on me.

I swallowed a thick band of saliva.

“Uh, well,” I felt my heart beat slightly faster. “This is gonna sound embarrassing, but… I don’t know; what my mark means or where it came from.”

No reaction. Only dumbfounded stares. Syringe was the first to speak. “Wh-what do you mean by that?”

“I mean, I know what it looks like and all, I just…” I blubbered the words in my mouth for a few seconds. Eventually, I gave up with a sigh. “I don’t know what it means. Or why I got it. And nowadays, I don’t think I will ever know. So at this point, I don’t care for it.”

“Do you remember where and when you got it?” Morning attempts to narrow down.

“Only that I remember waking up in bed one morning, and it just sorta happened. Nopony knew what caused it. And to this day I kinda just went with it.”

Awkward silence reigned for a few seconds until Syringe cleared her throat.

“... So, wait, let me get this straight: you have a cutie mark, of which you don’t know where you got it, how you got it, or what it could mean. And you just sort of… lived with it?”

“What do you even do for a living?” Morning piles on, “Like, what is your talent? Were you good with the weather?”

“How’s that even possible?” Brass spoke aloud, more to herself than to me.

I felt heat rising to my cheeks as I gave an exasperated sigh. “Look, I am just as confused as you are, and I wish I had the answers to your questions. But the fact of the matter is I just don’t know. I have been pondering about it all my life and I don’t have an answer.”

Their eyes were fixed on me, all of them ravenous in curiosity. I gazed down at the table. The heat on my cheeks dissipated, but the sense of shame remained.

“See? I told you: Embarrassing.” I mumbled.

I felt a hoof pat me on the back. I look up to see Syringe, unsmiling, lending a hoof out to reassure me.

“I understand how you feel, believe it or not.” She frowns. “Too well. Had some ponies I cared for who were like that as well. Don’t let it discourage you from living life to the fullest.” She looks out to the window, “Especially in times like this.”

Again, her words echoed back to me from a memory.

I knew ponies who grew up their entire lives without Cutie Marks.

I looked to my left; Morning and Brass nodded and shrugged respectively. Turning back to Syringe, I gave a shuddering sigh. Letting go of a breath I didn’t realize was being held.

“Thanks, I guess.” My voice muttered, not sure what else to say. It made me feel somewhat better about the circumstances, granted.

But only a little, and only for a short time.

I gazed outside at the scenes zipping past me. Various hamlets, farmhouses, and villas with pastures and gardens to look after had sped by, with hardly any time to enjoy the fleeting majesty that warranted a gaze upon them.

Poppy fields were blooming past us, even in the torrential downpour. It wasn’t vibrant, but even still, it held beauty that begged to be admired.

A tiny smile crept to my lips. Just as fleeting as this landscape was, so too were these moments of respite. Maybe it was melodramatic of me, but it felt good to think about how far we had come, to enjoy whatever life that remained with us. However fragile it seemed.

And yet, just as fast as the landscape zooms past the window, so too did the novelty of the moment come and go in a blur.

---

Princess Celestia.

Shepherd of the Sun, Guardian of Harmony, Diarch of Equestria, Godmother of Ponykind, Queen of the Unicorns, Commander of the Pegasi, Chancellor of the Earth Ponies, Princess of Canterlot.

Admittedly, I could not remember all the titles bestowed on her at the top of my head. Only the most recognizable ones stood out. If one were to collect and record all of the titles and deeds held by her, they could fit a novella’s worth of words inside.

Nopony knew exactly how old she was. Myths and legends surrounding the origin of the Alicorns remained flexible over time. Even Celestia herself is unsure of her age, but it is understood by the general public that she was at least over a millennium given her banishment with Nightmare Moon. With possibly more centuries hidden beneath at the bare minimum.

It dawned on me, there and then, what I was about to do.

Princess Celestia is arguably the most beloved and important creature in the world. The common creature idolizes her, monarchs and nobles alike envy her status and gravitas, and tyrants and monsters still respect the power her name possesses, despite her seemingly serene visage. She is the closest to a living goddess that many in this world can look up to, a motherly deity that many can hope would nurture them through an uncertain future.

And I was about to meet her.

My squad and I trotted at a brisk pace towards the Grand Staircase leading deeper into the keep. My heart paced in my chest at what was to come. We were escorted by a Quaternion of guards donned in golden plate armor carrying modern weaponry. The echoes of their metal hooves carried across the empty halls.

Hardly any servants were seen. Only the soldiery remained; stoic-faced guards standing upright in various stations across the halls that stared evenly into space, carrying bolt-action rifles. It is a strange sight of the old combining with the new. They looked like breathing statues.

As we neared our final destination, my mind traveled back to my previous encounter with one of the Alicorns.

In my first deployment to the Ruby Mountains, I had seen a passing glance of Princess Luna from a distance. And though I wasn’t up close, I could still see the grace and majesty her posture and presence inspired.

No words describe how one would feel in her presence, for they paled to what she entailed.

I can only remember sensations; Awe, joy, fear, hope. Like a cocktail of colors coursing my veins. It had left just as fast as it had arrived. Like a brand brief in its time, it leaves a powerful impression on you forever.

To physically look up to a (potential) living goddess in person is a rarity already. But to converse with them?

Within each of the Diarchs of Equestria lies a seed of consciousness, no larger than a single grain of malt. They contained a millennia’s worth of experience and knowledge within dense singularities of mostly forgotten memories. Memories of great joy and great sorrow, bubbling in an airtight cauldron more ancient than the oldest mountains that stood since the beginning of time immemorial.

Despite what Celestia had witnessed—her sister’s banishment, and all the millennia of strife and isolation that would drive any other creature mad—she had retained her sanity against all odds. She stood tall as a motherly figure guiding her wayward children through the struggles of life.

At least, that’s what I was led to believe. Throughout all my life I had heard fairy tales and non-fictional accounts of the deeds of Celestia. She is claimed to be so powerful in magic that she could annihilate entire mountain ranges with a single spell without breaking a sweat.

But were any of these allegations true? I wasn’t so certain, but I was about to find out for myself.

“We are here,” one of the guards breaks me out of my stupor.

I shook my head, finding myself standing in an open hallway that hosted large stained-glass windows overlooking the inner citadel of Canterlot Keep. The Quaternion stopped us just shy of two towering doors in varnished Cedarwood, with vibrant streaks of violet and gold painted over the emblazoned solar emblem of Celestia. A mural of a sun dawning, with the night as its backdrop.

No words were spoken. One guard of the door nods to another, the former tapping his hoof on the door thrice for whoever was on the other side. With a groan that sounded softer than I was expecting, the doors slid inward. A voice booms from beyond the doors in a staged, ceremonious tone.

“Presenting the heroes of the Cloudsdale Land Division; Pegasi from the 1st Commandos Regiment!”

“Enter,” A tired voice echoes across the throne room.

My ears perk.

Celestia’s voice was familiar. I can remember certain radio broadcasts in the past where she would speak to us. Every time she spoke, she carried a tone of benevolence and patience in the face of unwavering animosity.

But here? There was no such benevolence to be found, no love to be heard. Only cold acknowledgment.

It did not sound like the motherly tone that I had remembered at all.

As the seven of us traded wary looks with one another, we cautiously trotted across the crimson carpet of velvet. At the end of this long hall was our final destination. Stained glass windows flanked our sides as we continued, detailing a picturesque history of Equestria. Starting from the unification of the Three Tribes, and ending at the recent history of the Six Element Bearers.

My eyes could only trade passing glances at them, as they were fixated on one individual.

Princess Celestia’s billowing mane and tail were seen gently weaving through the air like a careless gust of wind. Her posture was upright and stiff, her wings unfurled as she looked down on us from beneath her chin. Each wing stretched up to five meters, her horn taller than her neck. Her barrel was defined yet slender, slim yet built.

But her frown betrayed any notion of nurture and guidance. Her eyes stiffened to a contemptuous gaze, with a stare that could petrify even the most fearless of creatures. Her brow furrowed deeper as we got closer. Her pupils were dilated and stern as she measured each of us in a manner of seconds.

A screaming premonition in my brain informs me that all the rumors and predictions surrounding Celestia’s power and magical prowess were very much true, and not exaggerated.

A cold chill trembles my body. I suddenly felt tiny in her presence.

Our group stopped just shy of the steps to the throne. There was a moment of silence between us, Celestia waiting for us to speak our piece with her cold eyes. Brass Screws was the first to make a move, bowing her head gracefully to the floor where her face almost touched the carpet.

Soon, each of us felt compelled to do the same. As we all bowed to the Princess of the Sun in greeting, the latter bowed back in kind.

“Princess Celestia,” Brass Screws began as she lifted her head from the floor, “my name is Brass Screws, Sergeant 1st Class. I speak for the ponies you see before you.”

“So I see,” Celestia finally speaks, her voice like sharp cobblestone grating skin.

My ears flick at her tone. Again, it did not sound warm or motherly at all.

“I hear you bring me news. A warning of what is to come? My advisors thought this to be more important than talking with my sister.”

There was disdain in that voice. Acidic, and corrosive to the ears.

“That we do,” Brass nods resolutely, seemingly unphased, “but before we do, we have a request we humbly ask of you.”

This got her to raise a brow in skepticism, tilting her head to the side at an angle.

“What kind of request?” she asks with grating impatience.

Brass turns behind her, nodding to me.

My heart sank to my stomach and I understood with perfect clarity what to do. The Princess’s eyes locked onto mine for a second before I darted my head down and quickly got to work.

Shrugging off a saddlebag, there was a brief moment of me digging out a crumpled and dirty pile of clothing with my hooves before gently dropping it to the floor. Spreading it out, it was revealed to be a purple uniform of the Equestrian Army.

Specifically, Pumpkin Patch’s Uniform.

It had barely survived the trip back to Equestria. When fighting ended in Hjortland Palace, Brass made it a priority we recover whatever we could from his remains. His uniform was badly tattered, caked with blood, stained with waste, and smelled of old copper with a hint of urine. But for the most part, it was still in one piece. It carried his name on the back collar of his shirt, as well as his rank insignia on his shoulders.

I carefully folded up the remains of the uniform into a neat pile, holding it gingerly with my wingtips as I carefully trotted forward to the bottom of the staircase. I plant it down at the base, like a tribute to a grave.

As I retreated into the group, silence reigned supreme in the halls. Celestia says nothing but stares down at the neatly folded uniform with her brow still anchored above her eyes.

“We wish to give our fallen comrade a proper burial with military honors.” Brass solemnly broke the silence. “And we also request their families are honored, given benefits from the government to compensate for their loss and sacrifice.”

Again, that silence overtook the throne room. A brief period of contemplation.

I dared to look up at Celestia’s face. She looked down through her muzzle. But beneath that stare of gravitas, there was a shift in the eyebrows. The stare had shifted into a look of brief sorrow.

It made her look strangely mortal for a few seconds. Perhaps she was?

“What was their name?” she asked softly, but loud enough for her voice to echo across the hall again.

“Pumpkin Patch. A Stallion who fought for Equestria after the loss of his son.” Brass simply said.

“... His son,” Celestia repeats. “A father fighting to avenge his loss.”

My eyes stung. Tears again threatened to pool up. A deep breath through the nostrils followed by a hard blink suppressed them as I calmed down.

“Raven,” Celestia calls from her throne. An Earth Pony Mare with a Cream Coat and neatly tied bun stepped forth diligently, one hoof clutching a clipboard.

“See to it that the family of this Pumpkin Patch from the Wonderbolts Division is compensated for a year’s worth of bits and that they shall pay no taxes. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Princess.” Raven simply replied, trotting behind the throne with ease and grace as she scribbled the newfound objective on her clipboard.

My eyes drift to Brass Screws, shoulders visibly slouched from the weight of her burden being lifted off. A servant mare carefully gets to work using their magic to fold the uniform up neatly, floating it beside her as she trots it off elsewhere.

Whatever happened to it, I do not know. All I remember was feeling a great relief that the deed was done, though still saddened at the loss.

“It is done,” Celestia states, “Now, down to the matter at hoof. You said you had a message for me?” She wastes no time pivoting topics.

My eyes shift to Brass. Her expression was unreadable as she stoically raised a hoof towards Morning Dew. The latter nodded with a slow trot forward, shrugging off her saddlebags as well. Kneeling, she carefully extracted a thick binder in her mouth from the bags.

Inside contained the necessary calligraphic, cartographic, and photographic evidence needed to warn Equestria of the impending attack.

Morning gives a low bow to Princess Celestia, the Binder sitting on the floor in front of the staircase leading towards the diarch.

“We bring you information from the Changelings themselves, about an impending attack from a secret weapon. One that is aimed directly towards Canterlot.”

Silence. No fanfare, no audible gasp. Only a sudden, oppressive quiet that smothered everypony as the news was announced.

It was broken by the sound of Celestia's horn crackling to life with magic. The binder enveloped itself in a golden hue as Celestia brought it closer to her. She flips it open and reads the contents inside with haste. Eyes darting across the papers, pictures, and maps.

Her eyes give a low scowl.

“... Aigaion.”

She speaks the word with venomous contempt. I understand from the simplicity of her tone that she recognizes its existence.

She knew it was real before we even got here. And she knows exactly what it is.

There was a slight twitch of an eyebrow, relenting the frown for only a second before furrowing deeper again. She finally breathes in to speak.

“Where did you find this information?” she asks, her gaze never leaving the contents inside.

“In a command room occupied by the Changelings, hidden deep inside of Hjortland’s Royal Palace.” Brass answered with simple diligence. “... Which brings me to my next point at hoof.”

The sudden reluctance in Brass’s voice, followed by the subject change, was enough to draw Celestia’s hard gaze back toward us with a skeptical look.

“... There is more?” She tersely asks.

Again, my heart felt like it sank to the deepest crevices of the earth at her voice. Like a mother scolding her children. I braced myself inward for what was to come, forcing my body to be still with a fixed frown of my own.

I looked back at the others. each of them petrified of their own apart from Brass. each of them carrying a look of uncertainty, fear, and awe.

“There is,” Brass swallowed. “We implore you to listen as to how we acquired this intel.”

Celestia’s brow raised higher somehow, but she otherwise nodded slowly.

“The ponies you see before you today,” Brass began with a hoof stretching to all of us behind her, “the information we carry with us, and the resolve to see this deed done, all of it wouldn’t be possible without the aid of Olenia’s brave resistance fighters.”

Celestia leaned forward ever so slightly. “Resistance fighters in Olenia? I thought they were extinguished years ago.”

“So did we,” Brass continues, “but we were wrong, Princess. They are alive and, while not faring too well, are still kicking. And our presence in Hjortland had inspired them all to rise in rebellion across their country, battling against their Changeling Oppressors with partisan warfare as we speak.”

“Well and good then, you wouldn’t have survived without their aid. I commend their bravery and sacrifice.” She remarks with practiced rehearsal and cold delivery. I cringed inward at how dismissive it sounded. “Was there anything else? This information is in dire need of parsing, and we have little time to spare.”

My ears droop, and again that cold shiver shakes my body as I gaze over to Brass.

Brass stood unflinching.

“You must aid Olenia, Princess Celestia.” She speaks firmly, a tad louder for all to hear.

Silence returns to the throne room. Brass’s words echoed across the mostly empty hall as she and Celestia stared at one another unblinking.

“Need I remind you, we still have ponies inside the city. And the Olenians have personally told us they are willing to give you their full cooperation should you intervene. We already have divisions on the ground, we can help establish a beachhead. This can only do good for us.”

Brass presents her case with cautious rhetoric, speaking in a careful cadence as she comes off as diplomatic rather than demanding.

“It falls on to you, Princess, and it is the least we can do. The intel we provided to you proves that Canterlot is in grave danger. If it weren’t for Olenia’s brave fighters, we wouldn’t have made it this far to warn you of this threat. We wouldn’t have found this intel in the first place.

“It would be immensely selfish of us to leave our pony and olenian friends hanging to dry, Princess. Especially after all they did to help us. We must help them in kind.”

Her last sentence sounded like a plea. And to be fair, it practically was. Brass had hung her head down just a little after speaking her piece, still making eye contact with the monarch in front of us.

Neither party backed down in their staring contest. But I could see it in Celestia’s eyes. A twinkle of contemplation. She opens her mouth to speak.

“What exactly would they have me do?”

Celestia’s question didn’t come off as rhetorical, and so Brass carefully answered.

“Send aid. Divisions, weapon shipments, another invasion if you must. I know what I am asking is a tall order and no small feat, Your Majesty, but if I may be blunt: I feel this is a moral imperative that we must uphold, for the sake of ending this war sooner rather than later… If nothing else.”

“Hmph.” Celestia sighs through her nostrils, leaning back against her seat. “This is a decision I cannot make lightly. And I suspect that you know that already. In any case, the threat to Canterlot is a more tangible and dangerous priority than the prerogative of Olenia’s future.”

I felt my heart stop at those words. Brass stepped forward.

“I understand, Celestia. I do not wish for you to assign Olenia’s security as a priority over Equestria’s. I am asking you to aid Olenia as soon as you reasonably can. After Canterlot’s threat is dealt with, I implore you to explore the opportunity that Olenia has to Offer.” Brass tried once again.

Celestia’s skeptical brow raised again, somehow looking more hostile than her scowl.

“And… you expect me to take your word on this? That Olenia and our pony divisions are still alive and well, waiting for aid as we speak? With no proof of their existence or otherwise? It sounds to me like you are uncertain Olenia will survive the week without us. It sounds to me they are desperate for our intervention.”

"They are!"

The bellow left everypony on edge. The guards stepped a little closer together, clutching weapons. I looked back, seeing our group doing the same.

For a brief, terrifying moment, I thought an altercation would ensue. But nothing came to pass.

“Answer me this, Sergeant Brass Screws." Celestia finally broke the silence with a scathing tone. "How long exactly do Olenia’s fighters have before it is too late? Do you know? Or are you merely estimating their demise?”

Again, Brass didn’t reply. A tight vice gripped my heart as I found it hard to breathe.

“Do you know the implications of a failed invasion in Olenia? Based on a loose rumor that Olenia might be alive? How many hundreds of thousands of ponies would have to bleed until we realize our folly? Do you know this plan will succeed? Or do you hope it will?”

Still no reply. My heart sinks.

“What if you were wrong? What if the Changelings were more prepared than you think? What if they had less time than you suspect? What if the Changelings wanted us to invade Olenia? So they could destroy our chances of victory before the ponies left their ships? Should they fail, how would you explain to the hundreds of thousands of family members who lost their loved ones that their lives will forever be shattered because of your failures?”

Brass’s ears droop to her temples. And yet still, she had no reply.

“Exactly. You cannot answer because you do not know. You couldn't have known, because there are too many unknown variables in this ‘plan’ of yours.” Her words left no room for mercy in her speech as she dissected Brass's argument bit by bit. “You would be responsible for shattering the Equestrian War Machine because of a hunch. Because you think it is a ‘moral imperative’ to do so. Because you think we should save Olenia. Is that it?”

“... And you would leave our ponies to die? Alongside our newfound Olenian brethren?” Brass asked with appalled volume. “Tens of thousands are going to die!” She screams.

The guards stepped forward. Celestia leans in with them, menacingly.

“I have heard it all before, Sergeant Brass Screws.” Her acrid stare pierced through our souls. “I am not going to wait for months on end for new divisions to be trained up for a resistance movement that won’t survive the week. I will not risk sending more pony lives into a meatgrinder that the Changelings will no doubt fortify for the next incursion.”

A bitter sigh travels through her nostrils as she relents the frown ever so slightly.

“It is too late. It would be too little, too late for Olenia. But it is not too late for Equestria and for all the pony nations still standing on this continent. For as long as we are still at war, Equestria’s survival takes priority over everything else.”

And that was it. With a simple wave of a hoof at her command, Celestia had sealed Olenia’s fate. As well as the fates of all the ponies and deer who fought, and now died, for our sake.

I felt sick, dizzy, angry, and stricken with a sadness that threatened to boil over as my gaze dropped to the floor. I blinked several times. But a few tears of rage quietly slipped out.

“Raven,” Celestia calls once more, the former dutifully standing by her monarch’s side. “S.M.I.L.E. will need to help to parse this information. Send this to their department of cryptology immediately.”

“Yes, your grace.” She bows before trotting away at a swift pace, heading behind us down the double doors.

“Will there be anything else?” Princess Celestia asked with cold indifference, with a tad of annoyance. Brass sighed.

“... No.” She answered softly.

“Then you are dismissed. I have other matters to attend to." She turns to their guards. “See to it they are transferred back to their Division Commander, and have them back on duty soon.”

Rage flared up in a fiery tendril of adrenaline at those words. With a nod and a salute, the gilded-plated guards ushered us back where we came from. As I stared at Celestia one last time, her eyes locked onto mine.

For a moment, there was eye contact. It was ephemeral, yet eternal. For a few seconds, in those eyes, I saw something. A glint of an emotion that was masked throughout this meeting until now.

Pain.

My body was twisted at the behest of a guard ushering me onward, losing eye contact with the monarch. My mind captures the image with almost perfect clarity. The look of hurt in her eyes.

She had a facade of stone, but beneath the mountain, there was a sadness inside that I couldn’t measure how much there was. I imagine quite a lot, given that she is the monarch of ponies in this time of crisis.

During what is considered to be the worst period of Pony History.

For a brief moment, I empathized with her.

Then, I am reminded of Olenia.

Then there were just confused, and conflicting thoughts.

I wasn’t sure what was going to happen to us now. But one thought stood out with clarity above all the maelstrom of troubled voices in my mind.

Princess Celestia had failed Olenia.

And there is nothing we can do about it.

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