~Tohro~

Gauntlet and I have been escalating the parameters of this combat drill for the past year. It initially started off as a simple trial of one soldier against three, and slowly grew from there.

It's a necessity of this war. With Shokenda and the elites being a continuing factor, there are going to be moments when, say, a dozen soldiers against one target isn’t going to be enough. The odds will fall in the one target’s favor, either because of an inordinate amount of strength or magic, or because they’re an abomination of nature. We have to have a contingency plan for these beasts.

So, I've decided to pit a dozen soldiers against the most dangerous beast in Imperial-occupied Equestria: Me.

I stand in the center of the training grounds, completely surrounded. Six melee infantry form an inner circle, and six crossbow wielders form the outer circle. All I have are my wing blades. If I get taken down, then I'll know these soldiers are well on their way to being ready.

I’m scheduled in for a little one-on-one time with Caro tonight, but that’s no excuse to take this easy. I draw my first wing blade and take a gander at the inner circle. The Legion is a more unified group than any other group of foes I’ve faced, making it difficult to single out the strong from the weak. I’ll just have to play this by ear.

I swing my wing blade and give them the go-ahead. “Begin!”

Two soldiers with battle axes come at me first. Their aim is true, and they don’t swing wildly like some might be tempted to. They’re difficult to read thanks to how well they judge their moments of opportunity; one bum rushes me, knocking me off-balance, and the other comes at me with a vertical slash. I dodge with a roll backward, landing on the rim of the inner circle, where a soldier with a broadsword waits for me.

I block their attack, but my wing blade gives out and shatters. I grab another, ducking horizontal and diagonal slashes. I sidestep a thrust, leap forward, and tap the soldier on the neck with the wing blade. “Out. Drop your weapon.”

They do as I command and step out of the arena. I kick the dropped sword away and ready myself, turning around to see the remaining three sword wielders unite up with the axe swingers. They approach in a blockade, the unicorns of the group forming a shield just as I grab my crossbow.

Speaking of crossbows, two pegasi fly over the shield and fire a few rounds of bolts at me. These crossbows have been modified to fire at low velocity, but that doesn’t stop the bolts from stinging as they rain down from above. I shield myself with my wings, then charge directly at the blockade, leaping into flight just as the soldiers ready their weapons.

I grab a second wing blade with my off-hoof and smack the crossbows out of the hooves of the pegasi. They immediately grab their own blades and come at me from the front and the rear. They’re fast and precise, blocking my blows and striking hard whenever I defend, but I interrupt their pattern with a buck to the front soldier’s ribs, and a forceful grapple of the rear’s foreleg. They drop their blade as I bring them down to the dirt.

But lying down on the job is what did Shokenda in, and that’s what has done me in. Four of the soldiers seize the moment of my impact to charge at me, forming an even circle around me with their weapons crossed overhead. In a real battle, any attempt to trip them up would be met with a severed leg.

One of the soldiers takes off their helmet. It’s Mistral. “You’ve been pinned, Sergeant.”

“Aye, there’s the rub!” I cross my eyes with my foreleg. “Let me die with dignity!”

The pegasus I had grounded struggles from beneath me, clearly irritated at their situation. She too removes her helmet, spitting out a mouthful of dirt. “Sir, this is far from ideal.”

I get off of her, helping her up and patting her on the shoulder. “Go wash your mouth out, and be quick about it.” I turn to the four soldiers who brought this exercise to a checkmate. “Atten-tion!”

They all stand rigidly, their chests thrust out and their weapons held close to their barrels. Not an inch out of place, in a perfect horizontal lineup. “Sir!” they all yell in recognition.

I pace back and forth among these four, continuing to make sure they stay in line. “Captain Gauntlet and Smart Cookie are hosting an expedition to a recently discovered batch of Precursor tombs. They will be bringing twelve of the Imperial Legion’s finest to serve in this endeavor, and I was charged with selecting those finest. For your attentiveness and unity, you have been selected. Are you honored?”

“Yes, sir!” I believe they genuinely mean it.

“Good. Report to Captain Gauntlet in his chambers immediately. He will fill you in on the details.” I wave my foreleg. “Dismissed! Those who were asinine enough to get taken out by yours truly during that exercise will be cleaning the stained glass windows of the Rainbow Palace’s throne room.”

The sound of synchronized, shuffling hooves of disciplined soldiers is music to my ears, and the muffled grumbling of disgruntled weak links is a guilty pleasure. They have to be disciplined. I was never allowed to trip on my way to becoming the Blackwings’ top assassin. I expect the same for the Imperial Legion. Hell, I expect more, now with the Elites in the picture.

I hear a flutter of wings behind me. I turn and see three field soldiers approaching from above. They land in a bow before me. “Sergeant Tohro!” the lead mare says. “We come with a call for aid from Ferocity Keep.”

“Ferocity Keep is a Blackwing settlement,” I comment, raising an eyebrow.

“Not anymore, apparently. According to our scouts, they lit their signal fire and waved an Imperial flag. That means they want our help.”

I’m still not convinced. “It could be a trap.”

“Not when a dragon is involved.”

It’s amazing how fast one can change their mind. I walk up to the mare and pat her on the back. “See, you should have led with that.”

She has the good sense to look chagrined. "Of course, sir."

"Lead with the important bits, and share the details if needed afterwards, this isn't bedroom gossip," I tease with a wink. “I want you to dispatch an away team to perform cleanup duty. Help is already on the way.”

~Vision End~

~Caro~

Oh, Dragos’ fangs, I missed this!

The dragon is determined to stay exactly where she is, claws dug into the side of watchtower, wings spread out, furious flames spouting from her mouth. The Blackwing soldiers of this keep were prepared for this, surprisingly, as they continuously reload javelins into the crossbows that line the walls. If only those were enough; even as a javelin pierces the dragon’s side, she simply rips it out and tosses it at me and the soldiers down below.

I push a few younger Blackwings out of the way, shielding them from the impact. They and the others, who try to keep a steady blockade up along the wall and entrance, are sitting ducks until the dragon can be brought down to their level.

That’s where I come in. If we can’t go at her from the side or the ground, I’ll just have to be the outlier and hit her from above.

I get up, get a running start, leap into the air, and shout “Wuld nah kest!” In a single burst, I fly upwards, above the walls of the keep, right to the dragon’s level. That gets her attention. She wastes no time in spitting balls of flame at me, to which I shout “Jaaril lahspaan!” A magic shield appears in front of me, breaking the flames on impact. I will the shield away, then throw Excalibur, sending its mighty blade into the dragon’s shoulder.

“Dur hi! Key los ni vos do grik zun!” She yelps as I call Excalibur back to me. I begin my descent.

She’s surprised at Excalibur’s power. So was I, once upon a time, but suffice to say I’ve grown numb to it. It is but an extension of myself now. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?!” I yell as I hit the ground. “You’re not the only ones with ancient secrets!”

She leaps off the tower and flaps her wings hard, kicking clouds of dirt and blowing away the smaller soldiers. I stand my ground, squinting through the onslaught, listening to her words. “Ruth mey! That blade was crafted by the essence of this sacred land! Essence that does not belong to you!”

“Well, you say that.” I can’t help but give her a cocky grin as I twirl Excalibur, before launching myself skyward once again. I sail up, past her, in a neat arc that drops me on the fortress’ roof, just out of reach of her snapping jaws. “What’s your name, dragon? It’d be a bother to fight without at least that formality, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Dovah do not answer to worms, especially those that steal our blood and souls,” she growls, before once more unleashing her flames.

“Oh, how fitting for one such as you.” I pull back from the ledge, and toss Excalibur over the side, blade first, recalling it once I hear her roar in pain and rage. “Really, how old are you? You’re not very good at this whole dragon business,” I say as I rest Excalibur once more against my withers.

“I thought we were past baiting, Caro,” I hear Rasahrel muse.

“Do you even know me? I’d just like to see her stop clinging to the wall and fight,” I reply. Flames are once more licking the side of the tower. Their heat warms my fur as I stand at the far side, against the crenulations. “This might be good practice for the little ones.”

“I agree.” Rasahrel seems content with the conversation there, so I get ready to go along with the oldest plan in my book. Except this time, I’ll have something this dragon might not take kindly to. She wouldn’t be the first.

Her fire’s petered out, but I can hear her taking another deep breath as I stride over. “Hey, catch!” I yell.

She looks up, and jerks her head out of the way as I fall past her, my sword missing her neck by mere inches as I swing late. I manage to grab onto her tail briefly, killing my momentum enough that I can once more shout “Wuld nah kest!” rocketing me once more up towards her head.

She unleashes a blast of fire that tingles my underbarrel as I soar up and over the flames, landing a kick in her face before leaping once more to reach the roof.

The building shudders beneath my hooves as her head appears over the roof’s edge. “I will enjoy tearing my brethren from your body, one soul at a time.” She once more breathes fire, but this time it’s not directed at me. It licks along her spines, down to the tip of her tail, and across her wings. “This is for you.”

“You brought me a present?!” I yell with a feral grin.

She lunges at me, flame-cloaked claws drawn and poised to kill, and I raise Excalibur in defence. I can’t help the elated feeling welling inside my chest. I am a stallion of simple taste, and battle is a flavor that never gets old. Our edges clash, as I feel the roof groaning beneath our combined weight and effort.

I hop up and over her claws, then Wuld past her. Flames lick along my body as I pass beneath her fiery wing. I land further along the keep wall, keeping up a brisk run as I grunt through the burns. I might be up against more than I bargained for; the Blackwings below definitely are. I’m amazed they haven’t made a retreat. But, as Tohro tells me, that’s not really their style.

“Oi, jackasses!” I shout down at the soldiers below, garnering their attention. “Get the hell outta here! You’re all out of your league!”

I can’t stick around long enough to see if my words are given heed. The dragon intercepts my path. I duck and roll below another billowing wave of flames, taking a jab at the dragon’s throat with Excalibur. I miss. She slams her wings down, buffeting me where I stand.

Her growl rattles my bones, and I can’t help it as my smile widens. “I have scorched fleets of hundreds. You have yet to do more than scratch me, even with a piece of this sacred land’s essence. You are not worthy of the fear and hatred that Dovah have given you!” She lashes out with her right front claws, tearing a hole through the roof where I’d been standing, as I vault over her attack, and once more kick off into the sky using her snout. I climb into the tower window and sprint down the spiral stairs. She crawls after me, tearing out chunks of the wall and slashing at me with flaming claws. As the scratches and burns build up, I begin to see just how much I overestimated this one. She’s nothing compared to the poisons of Almoskir, but I might need to call in some aid all the same.

~Vision End~

“Cinnamon, I am most bored.” Nutmeg gives a small groan as she lets herself sink lower in the sky. “Fancy a race?”

“Stop yourself and keep flapping.” Cinnamon replies. He rolls his eyes as his sister groans, her wings thrumming against the air as she rises back up to match him. He nods to the keep below. “This fight has been rather interesting to watch, if you really need to distract yourself.”

“Daddy wins every time. It’s grown dull. I don’t understand why he doesn’t allow us to intervene right away.”

“For the last time, it’s to protect us from those who would be less accepting of our presence. Ponies beneath Caro are a paranoid lot, so we can’t arrive as soon as the dragons do, lest you want an ally’s blade in your scales.”

Nutmeg snorts, dismissive of her brother’s injury. “Be a more cowardly beast of destruction, why don’t you?”

“Maybe I should be! Better that than associating with her lot.” Cinnamon gazes upon the burning dragon and the flaming ruins of the keep, and thinks about how he’s one of the few dragons who sees such destruction as a loss.

An equine whistle pierces the air. Nutmeg and Cinnamon take notice of its origin; Caro is poking his head out of the tower window, one of the few that remains wholly intact from the dragon’s onslaught.

“Try turning your fear into something other than cowardice.” Nutmeg tucks her wings and starts to dive. “There is more than one way to embrace your heritage.”

~Caro~

They’ve never let me down before. I know my leap of faith is well-placed. As the dragon closes in with a decisive thrust of her talons, I make a running jump. I slice through two of her claws on the way down, and relish her cries of discontent.

My fall is slowed when I land on the leathery back of Nutmeg, and my spirit is put at ease by her chipper laughter. “Whee!” she cheers. “I’m eight for eight!”

I roll off of her and drift to a halt on the keep walls. “To Cinnamon’s twelve for twelve. You need to catch up.”

“Then jump from high places more often!” She makes a landing and bows to me, before flapping her wings menacingly at the dragon approaching from above. “What would you have me do?”

“You’re more acclimated to fire than I am. Draw her away so I can find a crack in her defenses. I’ll get you started.”

“Yes, sir!”

I stomp my hoof and shout, “Zahkrii bel kinz!” Golden sword constructs surround me. I direct them upwards, and with a wave, throw them at the dragon as she swoops in, slicing at her stomach. I dive out of the way as she makes her landing and breaks down a few brick layers of the wall.

At this point, the keep is a lost cause. This is more of a matter of stopping this flaming mass of aggression.

I descend the wall and try to get a vantage on the dragon. Her self-inflammation is still going strong, but Nutmeg is doing well against it. She uses her small stature to her advantage, leaping over the dragon’s attempted slashes and fire breathing and landing on her back, getting in a few slices of her own. The bleeding is stoppered sooner than I’d hope; the fire cauterizes the dragon’s wounds too fast for her to bleed out. We’ll have to end this with a mortal blow. But how?

“Dragonborn!” A greasy Blackwing grunt approaches me and salutes with the wrong hoof. “If I might make a display of assistance?”

“What is it?” I ask.

He gestures to a pile of bags lined up next to the supply carts at the keep’s entrance. “See, we have these—”

We’re bombarded by a lob of flaming spit that collides with the supply carts. Whatever was in there doesn’t take kindly to the fire, exploding after merely a second, sending me,the grunt, and the other remaining Blackwings into the air.

I get up just fine but the grunt is clutching his ears, fittingly grunting in pain. As I try to yell for Cinnamon to get down here, a bitter, burning sensation invades my mouth and throat. I enter a crippling coughing fit as I stumble away from the burning carts. I think I just inhaled smoke... Any attempts to call out are replacing with croaking and coughing. I won’t be able to use any Thu’um like this. Son of a…

A welcome black dragon lands before me. It’s Cinnamon. “I’m here,” he announces with quiet dignity.

I gesture to my throat as more coughing escapes me, trying to tell him what just happened.

He understands entirely, his eyes widening with concern. “That can’t be good. Orders?”

I point to the burning wreckage behind me. Cinnamon understands that too, bless him. He makes a flying leap to the remains of the carts and exhales a gentle, frosty breeze over them, stoppering the flames and putting an end to the awful smoke. I wipe the pained tears from my eyes as Cinnamon returns to me.

“This is out of control, sir. I suggest we back off and recuperate.”

“And what would come of that, dragon?” a commanding Blackwing asks. “We run to the next keep in our guard rotation and that dragon will tear that one down too. I know that’s what the Empire wants, but…”

Another Blackwing runs up from the wreckage and yells at Cinnamon. “Can’t you tell that thing to bugger off?!”

“Presumptuous, much?” Cinnamon mutters in response.

I feel the heat of the raging dragon behind me just before she slams down on the wall, whatever’s left of it. Cinnamon covers me with his wing as we face her. “Dovahkiin!! Dispense of these traitors! This fight is between you and me!”

“Since when do you have a code of honor?” Cinnamon asks with a false politeness.

“You will hold your tongue, hatchling.” Even more embers emerge from the dragon’s mouth. “Begone!” She lets loose a stream of wild flames.

Cinnamon leaps straight at the inferno, flaring his wings out and countering the blaze with his icy breath. He outlasts the dragon’s flames, and keeps the cold air blowing long after they’re expunged. The dragon is forced to back away, lest the cold put out her burning body.

Nutmeg has other plans. She flies up from behind the dragon and delivers furious swipes to the back of her head, then uses her momentum to slam her into the wall. Brick and mortar comes toppling down above me, which Cinnamon shields me from with his mighty wings and scales.

“It appears my dear sister has yet to quell her recklessness.”

We’ll have to work on that, then. I’m about to summon Excalibur and do what I can to assist Nutmeg without my shouts, but the sword is dispelled as quickly as it appears when Cinnamon grabs ahold of me and takes me clear across the keep, landing on the other side and taking me into the armory. He’s insistent on getting me away from the battle, despite my flailing my hooves in protest.

I manage to work through the searing agony of my throat for one commanding yell. “STOP!!”

Cinnamon pauses, and after a moment of hesitation, sets me down next to a wall of rusty weapons. I dust myself off, let out a few more pained coughs, and cast a disapproving stare at my draconic ward.

The look seems to be paining him. “Sir, please don’t hate me for this. All I’m concerned for is your safety.”

I shake my head, knowing that’s at least partially a lie. It’s fairly obvious that he’s concerned about himself, if his constant glances and strokings of his broken horn are more than just standard tics.

In truth, I blame myself for that horn. It was another dragon that did it; a stray one that was feasting on Ivarstable’s livestock. It was Cinnamon’s first time fighting one of his own kind, and all of his training availed him little against serrated claws. His horn, and a few layers of scales, went down the river, and I was left to finish that dragon off in a heat of rage. The attack on Cinnamon cut deeper than I thought it would.

I speak in a hoarse whisper. It’s all I can manage. “I… I know you’re... worried, kid, but let me tell you something Tohro told me... when the pegasi ruled over Olympus, they…” I go into another brief coughing fit. “...They wore their scars like ceremonial medals. A battle scar mean that you hurt... and bled... for your homeland, and now... a part of you is permanently embedded... into its soil.”

“Most compelling, Father, but I’m not eager to get another horn cut off for the sake of honor.”

I touch Cinnamon’s hand as it wraps around his broken horn once again. “You want… to help Equestria… You and Nutmeg… want to be good dragons… To stop Saviikaan.”

Cinnamon nods. “I do. And she most certainly does.”

“That means… you shoulder a burden…” I hunch over and cough again, very nearly losing my breakfast. “You… You’re gonna hurt and bleed… because you’re standing up against a toxin… A hateful culture… But if you run from that burden, it’s… it’s only gonna hurt more.”

Cinnamon squeezes his horn tightly. “But I—”

The dragon’s hand scrapes through the window, causing every weapon and armament on the wall to clatter to the ground. Seeing that her arm and hand isn’t as ablaze as the rest of her, I spring into action, grabbing two swords off the ground as I slide beneath the flurry of sharp claws. The moment the dragon’s hand hits the wall, I throw myself at it, piercing her palm with one sword, pinning her hand to the wall, then slit her wrist with the other. Her cries of pain shake the room as I make a confident stride back towards Cinnamon.

I point at the pool of blood forming beneath the dragon’s hand. “...She bleeds for fire and death. What… do you bleed for?” I ask him.

“I…”

The dragon pulls her hand off of the wall, throwing the blades aside. I have to duck the second one, and Cinnamon just bats it away with his wing. He and I stay close as the room begins to shake even more violently. Dust cascades down from the ceiling, prompting Cinnamon to put his wings around me and pull me beneath him.

The dragon’s violent, burning eyes are the first thing I see when her flaming head bursts through the ceiling, before a cavalcade of bricks falls upon me and Cinnamon. He’s able to take the brunt of it, but I can hear his grunts of pain.

“Hi ruth mal key! You would turn my own kind against me!” the dragon yells. “You poison their minds with your delusions of worth!”

Something feels different about Cinnamon when he rises, releasing me of his grasp. He crouches down and growls at his massive foe. “What’s more worthless than the hatred and destruction you spread?!”

The dragon roars as flames swell in her gaping maw. “Better a destroyer than a servant to this livestock! I’ll devour you for your blasphemy, vax!”

As the flames in her mouth continue to grow, Cinnamon looks between me and the dragon. He opens his mouth and prepares another wave of ice, but I don’t think it’s going to be enough to block the dragon’s flames this time. I’m surprised it even worked at all before. The dragon won’t relent until Cinnamon and I are cooked alive. We can’t just resist her fire; we have to stopper it entirely…

“Dragonborn! Use these!” A soot-covered Blackwing unicorn sprints into the room, levitating three heavy bags. He tosses them my way. They fall on the floor, spilling out some of their contents. Sand. These are sandbags and nothing more...

I’m about to ask what sort of mockery this is, but as the Blackwing points between the dragon’s mouth and the sand, I realize his intentions the same time as Cinnamon does. “Thank you, friend!” he says, leaping into flight as he grabs two of the sandbags.

I’m filled with pride as he flies right at the growing inferno in front of him. He raises the first bag over his head, slices it with a claw, and throws it into the dragon’s mouth, filling her maw with sand. Her fire breath is aborted, replaced with garish, sickening gags and sputtering as she keels over, trying to rid her throat of it. Before she can, though, Cinnamon breaks another bag and throws it over her head and neck, raining the sand down along her body and quelling her self-inflicting flames.

From the sky comes a white dragon I welcome the sight of. Nutmeg smiles and winks at me as she makes landfall beside me. “Target practice, is it?” She grabs ahold of another bag, shoots up to the dragon’s head and smashes the bag over her head like a club, splattering more sand over her and doing away with whatever embers remained.

“You… accursed…” The dragon now knows what it’s like to choke on one’s own words. As she raises her arm, ready to crush me where I stand, Cinnamon intercepts. He dives into her hand shoves it against the wall, and lets loose his frigid breath, coating the length of her limb in ice and freezing it to the wall. “NO!” she yells, thrashing about like an displeased baby.

“Death from the sky!” Nutmeg yells triumphantly as she flies towards me. I reach out with my forelegs and let her take ahold of them. She swings around and flies me upwards, a good shouting distance away from the dragon, though I don’t need to shout to end this.

Nutmeg lets me go. I summon Excalibur as I break into a spin. I slam into the dragon’s neck and slice through it several times over, bringing her destruction and intolerable screaming to an end.

~Vision End~

~Tohro~

Our first priority when we arrived at Ferocity Keep was to set up a perimeter and help Caro do away with the dragon, but its cries of agony rattled the sky shortly before our arrival, putting that plan to rest. Our next concern was addressing the distress call from the Blackwings, and even that was put to rest when, of all things, they surrendered as soon as we set hoof in the keep. We were confused, and we insisted that we weren’t on a mission of conquest, but they insisted we take them to Everfree, in chains or otherwise. It seems they’re just as tired of this war as anyone else.

One young recruit’s words have resonated with my heart. “Shokenda’s lot is with the dragons and she let that one rip us apart! What kind of a god does that?”

One you shouldn’t worship, that’s what. So now we’re answering the call for aid, not with blades and ballistae, but with medicine and healers. We should have brought more sages.

“They’re still cleaning the blood out of the armory,” says Captain Gauntlet. He directs a sage to a cart of wounded Blackwings before turning back to me. “The Dragonborn did a number on the beast. Sword carvings and bloodstains on the walls, scorch damage all over the ground, we even found puddles of ice. How does that happen?”

“When it gets cold, sir,” I say with a straight face.

Gauntlet narrows his eyes at me for a while, but he breaks into a smile the same time I do. “Are you giving me lip, Sergeant?”

"Sorry, sir, but these lips are promised to somepony else," I say with a pout and flutter of my eyelids. "And I think the sunny princess would rather you kept yours for hers. Unless you want somepony else to grace her hoof tomorrow?" I flash a deliberately suggestive smirk.

I can see Gauntlet blush a deeper red than his mane, though he maintains his poise. “Do your job and wrangle that walking disaster area of yours.”

Oh, gladly.

While I search the keep plaza for Caro, I’m greeted by a few familiar faces. Blackwings I stood alongside long ago, looking at me like I’m a hero again, despite the black mark on my eye. It’s comforting to know that Shokenda’s hold on them can be broken. Perhaps truth is more powerful than even the lord of all dragons.

I ascend the one remaining set of stairs and go into what I think was the keep’s armory. I instinctively reach for a wing blade when I see the black leathery wings of a dragon, but I quickly retract my foreleg. It’s just Cinnamon. Nutmeg is there too, crouched in the corner next to the stallion I’ve been looking for.

“Busy day, huh?” I ask Caro, gesturing to the gigantic hole in the wall, along with the skeleton of the dragon. “That’ll fade in time, right?”

“Its soul is his now,” says Nutmeg. “Without a soul to occupy it, the body will disappear. Not that there’s much of a body to begin with.”

Cinnamon clasps the bone claws of the dragon, sighing. I dare say he wears a look of pity. “Such a destructive, pitiful creature. She was willing to set herself ablaze just to do meager damage to a single keep. Father must be giving Saviikaan hell to make his forces so desperate.”

I kneel at Caro’s side and take in his smile. Humble, but simultaneously proud. Though something seems off. The usual burns and blemishes that come with a dragon battle are everywhere on his body, but more than that, he seems to be breathing oddly. “You okay, love?” I brush his messy mane aside and end up covering my hoof in soot.

“He inhaled an unhealthy amount of smoke,” says Cinnamon. “I don’t know how bad the damage isl.”

“I need…” Caro mutters. It’s like his throat is made of gravel.

“Let’s get you to Shae.” I interlock my forelegs with his and help him to his hooves. I point to the dragons. “Either of you injured?”

“No, sir,” they both say.

If I have any regrets, aside from the pile of bodies I created for Shokenda, it’s that Caro and I will never fly alongside each other, at least not in this life. We’ll have forever in the eternal sky to do that once we both die, but until then, I guess we’ll just be stuck with the kids whenever we take to the air.

On the bright side, I do get to say I’ve flown alongside dragons. I fly ahead in front while Nutmeg follows up from behind. Between us is Cinnamon, and atop his back rides the Dragonborn, finding another way to live up to that title. His grey mane is swept back, flapping in the wind, his unkempt coat rippling and shimmering like diamonds… I need to keep my eyes forward.

The entrance to Everfree lies beneath us. We make landfall, and without much surprise, the rows of soldiers at the entrance step back at the sight of two dragons. Her Majesty was kind enough to make it known that Nutmeg and Cinnamon are our allies, and their relatively small size helps mark them as such, but having these two on our side is something we all have to get used to. They’re helping us as much as we’re helping them.

“At ease, all of you,” I say, strolling past the soldiers. I turn back to the dragons. “You two go back to the keep and help with anything Captain Gauntlet needs.” I offer my hoof to Caro, who nods approvingly as he disembarks. “I hope you both know you’re making a good impression.”

“We have to,” says Nutmeg. “Saviikaan is destroying so much more than ponykind, he’s tainting draconic dignity. We have to put a stop to his toxin. Redeem our race.”

“I know a thing or two about redemption,” I say, patting Nutmeg on the arm. “You’re on the right path. Now, off with you!”

As they take flight, I lead Caro to the entrance. This is a standard routine at this point. He’ll come home a bleeding mess, I’ll escort him inside, and he’ll be properly taken care of like the hero he is. He doesn’t seem to think much of it; even now he wears a determined, focused stare instead revelling in his special treatment.

My ears perk up at the sound of murmuring among the soldiers. “It’s not like they’re much of a threat, but still… I didn’t sign on to work with the enemy…”

I see Caro grit his teeth. For once, I’m as angry as he is. I swing around, snap into a commanding voice and yell, “You’ll speak when spoken to, maggot!”

The soldier, that swine, immediately falls back in line with a few awkward steps and the sound of rustling armor. “Sir!”

“If you have anything else to say, keep it to yourself.” I point at the two younglings flying into the distance. “If you mistook your brain for porridge this morning, you’d do well to remember that those two dragons are free dragons. Their minds and souls weren’t bent and broken to the will of that fake god.” The soldier not looking quite cowed enough, I channel Gauntlet’s intense, punishing glare. “Name.”

“Sir—”

“Name!”

“I-it’s Rustled Laurels, Sir... Fifty-first platoon. P-private...”

“Thank you, Private Laurels,” I say with a well-practiced growl. “Congratulations. You’re getting a temporary promotion to a new training regimen.” He goes to speak but I put a hoof up, smiling dangerously. “You’re going to be performing drills with the Dragonborn and his two hatchlings with the special operatives. Ever wonder how much damage you can do against a baby dragon with a wooden toothpick? I guess we’ll find out." I glance back at Caro. "Sound good to you?"

Caro nods.

I look back at the coward. “Well now! We’ll be seeing you starting tomorrow morning before the sages are out of bed. Best get your beauty sleep before then.”

Without a backwards glance, I turn a cool ninety and march imperiously through the gate, Caro at my side. The Rainbow Palace lies ahead, through bustling crowds and far more festive streets. Puddinghead’s influence can be felt in the colorful banners and flora that decorate even the most humble homes. It’s almost enough to distract me from the words of that distasteful soldier.

“Special… operatives?” Caro asks quietly. It kills me to hear his voice so rough and fragile.

“The Queen, the Captain and I had a few ideas when we were finalizing the investigation into Temerity’s scheme. The Blackwing elites are a travesty, no doubt, but it got us supposing, what if the Imperial Legion had elites of its own?”

Caro stops walking. I realize just as quickly as his eyes widen that I could’ve worded that better.

“Not at all like Temerity’s drones. This will be units bred for the jobs no mere soldier can handle. I’m tired of seeing my allies get swatted about like flies. It’s time we raised the bar.”

Caro nods, waving his hoof for me to go on.

“It’s still a work in progress, but we’ve been picking out skilled and disciplined soldiers to put them through especially vigorous training. There are separate units for earthwalkers, pegasi and unicorns. Some alchemy is involved, mostly to enhance their abilities, and the physical training is especially brutal. I’m talking about bones breaking and...” I notice that I’m talking way too fast, and more little ones are passing by. “It’s voluntary. Most importantly, it’ll help when the next attack comes.”

‘When’ is a hard word to say these days. We among the Empire’s higher-ups refuse to say ‘if’ when it comes to the remaining Blackwings’ next plan of attack. Or worse, Saviikaan’s. But when is when?

Caro starts walking again, rubbing against my side as he steps aside for some giggling foals. “Good...” he rasps, “...idea... Cinna...mon and... Nutmeg will... also benefit. I’ll... tell them tonight.” He’s wheezing at the end of his sentence, and from the look on his face I can tell he’s completely annoyed with his current predicament. “...Shae?”

“Right away, hon.”

~Vision End~

~Shae~

The life I’ve found for myself here is worlds away from Wintercolt Academy, and yet so much of it is similar to my days as a student of the magic arts. It was easy to readjust to the warm, comfortable beds, company among robed unicorns, and a sense of order and security I haven’t felt in so long. My days in the Rainbow Palace are quiet and peaceful, spent in meditation, reciting the will of Fauste, and harnessing my power over the Fae. I believe I made the right choice to become a sage. It’s a bit more spiritual than the academy, but then again, I’ve been exposed to more spiritual elements than any student would in their entire education.

A sage’s responsibility is to surrender one’s self to the well-being of others, and I know a thing or two about self-sacrifice. Maybe that’s another reason why I feel so at home among these robed wise ones.

Celina and Luna walk beside me as we step into the infirmary, greeted by the gentle smiles of more sages. Their auras are as clean and smooth as they come, unmoving and contained within in their bodies, their brightness indicating large reserves of magic. The sick and injured are less so. Their auras are broken or eroded, or even slipping away right before my eyes. I see a little of their brightness return upon seeing the princesses.

“Hello, Shae. Your Highnesses,” says an elderly sage by the front of the room. “So glad you could join us.”

There is so much about magical healing I never considered as a mere student. It’s one thing for the body to heal, but if the spirit is broken, that which heals is nearly useless. Instead of slapping healing solvents on their wounds and shoving potions down their throats, I instead sit with my patients, concentrate my magic, and slowly mend their bodies like one fixes a fine rug or a broken building. I can see the wounds no one else can, looking through the eyes of Fauste.

Meanwhile, Celina and Luna speak to the patients not as subjects or citizens, but as equals. While I sit next to a sick boy and levitate healing water over the burnt half of his face, I listen to a conversation between Luna and an older lady, whose bones had weakened to the point where they were no stronger than wooden sticks. With any luck, we might be able to prepare a remedy to strengthen those bones. Until then, she’s still and bedridden.

“My grandchildren went off to become Blackwings behind my back. I was the only one taking care of them, feeding them, clothing them, keeping a roof over their heads, and they repaid me with betrayal,” she says.

Luna nods. She carries much wisdom for a child, and it shows more than ever now that she’s taken on an older form. “I can’t say I know the feeling of betrayal. That was impudent of your grandchildren.”

“For ten years I cursed their names, and then, just a week ago, when my body finally gave in and I felt these old bones crack, there they were, standing in my doorway, ready to help me. As if they never left.” The lady sighs, smacks her lips, and grunts. “It’s hard to forgive them.”

“The memory of their betrayal hasn’t left you,” Luna explains. “It haunts you.”

Celina speaks up. “Luna, if you could perhaps go into her dreams…”

The lady’s aura pulsates harshly as she shifts about. Her bones truly are in a sorry state. “Yes, could you, Your Highness? I keep seeing them leaving me again, every time I sleep… If I could purge that thought from my mind, I might find it in my heart to call them family again.”

“That will be your choice to make,” says Luna. She puts on a confident smile. “But I can assure you, your dreams will be made peaceful. That will be a start.”

“Thank you, Princess.”

“Rest now. I’ll be with you in due time.”

I try to be humble in the best of times, but right now I’m filled with pride for Luna and how I’ve raised her. I made theatrics of it, but I didn’t know what to expect when she fell from the moon, into my embrace. All I knew was that she needed somepony to find her, and Equestria needed her. I’m glad she chose me. When she’s ready to take the throne, Equestria will be in good hooves.

I see a soldier speaking to the old stallion at the entrance. Their auras both flicker, and my mane prickles down my neck. I feel like they’re taking glances at me. I walk over to them and ask, “Am I needed?”

Just as they’re about to answer, I feel an intense aura within the walls of the Rainbow Palace, one that has the sensation of a roaring dragon. I hold up my hoof, interrupting the soldier and the sage.

“Dragonborn. Understood.”

Rarer than not that Caro shows up at the palace’s doorstep with a trail of blood in his wake.

Or, in this case, from his mouth.

Caro takes a seat on a couch in the lounge overlooking Celina’s garden. Tohro sits next to him, tenderly rubbing his back every time he goes into a fit. I’ve never dealt with a case like this; not everyone is as willing to gallop into the fire as the Dragonborn. More often than not, those injured by the dragons are running away from it. That much smoke at once, and from the wildest inferno Caro has had the displeasure of confronting? It’s no wonder his throat is a wreck. Internal injuries, and in such a sensitive area…

“I keep urging him to wear his armor and he goes and gets his throat fucked up just to prove a point,” Tohro sneers. “He’s impossible to work with.”

I work out the kinks in my neck as I prepare the spell that’ll hopefully fix this. “In that case, let’s gag him and be done with it.”

Caro is as being stubborn as he can be without vocalizing. He grunts sourly, looking between me and Tohro as he lies down on the couch, ready for treatment. Despite the unfortunate circumstances, his aura is gentle pulsating, alight with happiness.

“Well, actually, I’ll need you to not gag…” I summon an orb of water, and cast a little bit of healing magic into it, causing it to shimmer like a sunrise over the ocean.

Tohro immediately sets to massaging Caro’s neck. His shaking aura shows that he’s more nervous than Caro, who I’m pretty sure would rather be rid of the burning, throbbing aura in his neck. At the very least I can see the source of his pain better than anyone else can.

I approach Caro and stretch the orb of water out until it’s like a rope. “Open your mouth as wide as you can, relax your entire body, don’t breathe, and tap the couch when you need me to pull it out.” I point at Tohro as he starts sniggering. “No.”

“What?” he asks incredulously.

Caro nods. “Rea...dy,” he mutters, opening his mouth.

Tohro gets off the couch and watches with baited breath while I slip the water into Caro’s mouth. I’m not sure how gentle or forceful I should be. Too little force would block entry to Caro’s throat, but too much could result in a lungful of water.

I slowly build up the pressure of the water until the entrance to Caro’s throat gives it passage. I can hear and feel his discomfort, his body tightening as this foreign entity flows into him. Tohro grips his hoof tightly as I move the water deeper into his throat, until it touches the burns.

Caro squirms, just for a second, and then slams his hooves down, determined to not panic. I hold the water still, and then massage the burns, like a moist cloth on a stain. The water cleanses the lacerations and blood from his throat, while the healing spell closes the wounds.

After about a minute of this unpleasantness, I see the aura of his wounds begin to fade. I pull the water back out, slowly, and then toss it into the fireplace. The enchanted fire doesn’t go out, instead burning away the water and filling the room with steam.

I fetch Caro a cloth as he sits up and starts coughing again. These coughs are ones of cleansing, not of agony. He takes the cloth and coughs up whatever foreign moisture, blood, and pieces of his throat are left to lose.

“Caro?” Tohro approaches with a glow in his aura.

As soon as he can breathe, Caro seizes Tohro by the neck and pulls him back onto the couch for a tight, rough embrace. I chuckle, watching Tohro attempt to pin Caro, only to lose his grip when Caro nips at his wing, grapples his barrel, and turns him around to fall on top of him.

The lounge’s doors burst open. Rosemary comes dashing in with loud fanfare, with several packs weighing her down. “Dah-dada-daaaaaaaah!!” she exclaims, slamming the door behind her with a light buck. “I have been looking for you all day!”

“Lovely to see you,” I say, taking her hoof and granting her a kiss on both cheeks. “What have you been up to?”

I just now notice that there’s soot on my lips, and Rosemary smells like burnt wood. “Loooong day over the forge,” she says. “Onslaught and Treesap brought me a mountain’s worth of iron and I had to make use of it. Imperials are breaking their own swords like mad on the training grounds. I barely had enough to make—” She turns and notices Caro and Tohro, who have just fallen off the couch. “Oh, you’re here!”

“Yes, I am,” Caro says. His aura has become uneven all of a sudden. He pushes Tohro off of him and stands. As he passes by Rosemary, I hear him mutter quickly, “I’ll pick them up tomorrow morning… Don’t mention them again.” He takes a seat on the cushion by the fireplace.

Rosemary nods and steps back over to me. “So, how are the little ones feeling?” she asks, pretending as though nothing awkward had just occurred. “It’s not every day a filly gets to become a matriarch of an entire empire, eh? You can’t tell me they aren’t at least a little nervous.”

“I think the one who’s most nervous is me,” I confess. “Celina and Luna already have what it takes to rule. Good heads. Strong will. An understanding of hardship. They know what lies ahead.”

“So what has you in a tizzy?” Tohro asks, defiantly remaining on his back.

“Just worries for the sake of worrying. Pay me no mind.” I take a deep breath. “You know how mothers are. We always get it into our head that something’s going to go wrong.”

“It’s just a coronation,” Caro says. “What’s the worst that could happen?”