A son stood over a bed of his dying father, a thick bandage wrapped around his father’s midsection; stained with much blood. He was surrounded by many of his people, each one mourning and grieving of the loss of their leader. The sadness that surrounded them was so overwhelming that some fell to their earth, their hearts wracked with eternal grief. The son ignored them, for his pain was much deeper than their loss.

For he was alone.

He pressed himself against his father, his arms outstretched in a hug, and his face nuzzled into his father’s purple fur. He wanted to cry, he wanted to bellow, yet no tears came down his cheeks and he could not figure out why. He closed his eyes and held his father close to him, fearing that if he let go his father would slip away into the nothingness.

“Our time is running out, my son.”

A powerful voice entered into his thoughts, it was deep yet gentle as the wind. The son opened his eyes to see his father was no longer there. Panic gripped him and he looked around the room to the others, only to find that his people were missing as well. He called out to where they were, his voice trailing as it tried to speak. When no one replied he rushed for the doorway, shoving it open to see his village, yet the place was abandoned and not a single soul walked the paved paths. Not only his people but no animals roamed the treetops, no birds sang in the hovels, there was essentially nothing there.

He was alone.

“Cries of war, echo across the plains, and will come for our people,”

The son heard his father’s voice; he looked for him again but only found the landscape change before him. A gust of wind whipped out of nowhere and he shielded his eyes as the gale plowed into him; so intense was the wind that he felt he would be thrown into the sky like a leaf in a hurricane. When the wind slowly subsided he looked and beheld his people, yet they were not the same as before; instead they were preparing for battle. They were all armed with weapons of many kinds. They wielded their bows, with their arrows, with their scimitars, with their shields, with their clubs and with their slings, and were preparing themselves with all manner of weapons which were invented. Girded about their bodies was thick leather armor that held tight to their bodies. A few among them wore headdresses of a few different animals, these few were leaders, ready to fight and lead the people to glorious battle. The son could do nothing but watch as his people were readying themselves for war. He wanted to join them, he wanted to fight, for what ‘they’ have done, yet he could not move his body. Whatever presence kept him there he knew not.

“Remnants of our past, scar the land, the enemy staining it with our blood,”

A loud but familiar horn echoed upon the land and everyone shouted in joys of battle. They chanted to their god of war, promising to shed much blood upon the fields of battle. The son watched as thousands upon thousands of warriors gathered themselves for battle, beating their war drums in a rhythmic chant that resembled the beating heart. All of his people were on the march, including, to his disbelief, the women and children. They gathered themselves before a large valley, screaming and shouting curses upon their enemies, each hoping to take in their first kill. As their cries of war echoed upon the plains a loud horn blew into the sky, coming from the opposite end of the valley. The son eyes widened and heard many of his people chant the same thing.

The ponies have come.

“The land that we hold dear will once again be besieged, in conflict.”

The son was now running, his heart beating rapidly, and his legs grew strong upon the land as he was in full sprint. He was running alongside his friends, his families, and his people, charging toward a doom that awaited them. The drums of war was beaten in a rhythm, beating as fast as each step taken. His blood pounded faster in his veins, his body sweated from the rush of adrenaline. He saw the foot of the hill that lead into the valley and he continued to press forward. He reached the peak of the hill and it began running down a steep slope, his people charging just ahead of him. He urged himself on, desperately trying to stay at the front and to be at the first clash. However, in his own haste, he began to tumble and slam into the ground hard; dirt and grass went into their air as he tumbled down the slope and coming to abrupt stop at the bottom. His head spun and his body ached from the violent impact; he tasted blood that dripped from his lips. He could not hear his people’s screams nor could he hear the clattering of shields or the sounds of feet being brought down upon the land.

The resonance of silence is all that he heard.

He opened his eyes to see them but instead saw that he was not amongst his people but saw something appear on the opposite end of the valley. He saw a pony in glorious armor that was in a hue of gold and blue. The designs in its armor were magnificent and were crafted in a glorious detail that he could not describe. A cape billowed behind him, its color matching that of the sun. The pony cast his gaze toward the valley, watching the mass of warriors that was advancing toward him. The pony remained calm and was not shaken by what he saw, instead he was steady and immovable by the approaching horde. The pony was ready to face the foe before him. In that moment, the son could do nothing but stare in awe of the noble warrior.

“Their champions will rise to challenge our destiny; and will lead their brethren to battle.”

His father’s words touched his soul and he beheld the same pony raising a sword into the air with his hoof, his body moved in a fluid motion that resembled more of an acrobat then a fighter. He froze in place as he saw the pony lift the steel blade back and swiftly brought it forward, directed at him. The instant it was brought down thousands of ponies began to charge, roaring out a battle cry so loud it shook the very air around him. He saw the ponies descend down the slope, their banners billowing in the wind as they charged into the fray, ready to tackle the enemy head on. The armor gleamed brightly before the sun, making it shine as a beacon to the land. The son could only watch as the thundering of hooves approached him. The sight gripped his heart to a point that he was powerless to run. He tried to turn, to get away from the incoming enemy but he was rooted to the dirt and he could not budge.

“As we fight for our birthright we will show the outsiders our wrath; and that the shadow will never consume our hearts.”

The son watched as the two sides would soon clash, his heart raced as worry grew within him for his people. Light flashed above him and he looked at the sky to see it split in two. Two colors, opposite of each other, filled the sky. One side crimson and the other azure, turning the sky into a bleak twilight that would consume them all. When the son looked down he saw the two forces approaching at a rapid pace, charging out in reckless abandon. On his left was ponies, Equestria’s finest soldiers that the land has ever known. To his right was that of his people, his own race bringing themselves to fight against the ponies that wronged them. The two armies’ raised their battle cries further, so loud that it deafened the son’s ears and he tried to block it out. Then, at the last minute, the two armies raised their weapons toward one another and clashed; the sound booming as metal scraped upon metal, and steel upon flesh.

The son closed his eyes in fear. He huddled himself onto the ground and cried out, almost screaming as the battle raged around him. He was not ready for this, he was never ready to lead, and he could not take this responsibility. He wanted his father, he wanted his guidance, his wisdom. He was not prepared for the life ahead of him. The cries of his people sent shivers down his spine and he couldn’t not help them, for he didn’t know how. He saw the captains fall one by one and his people were screaming out for him to lead. He felt weak inside, the world around him came crashing down. He felt his body cave in to sorrow as he could do nothing to save his people. The cries haunted him, wracking his body in eternal torment. His heart felt it had rent in two and wallowed in his own anguish.
“However, this is not your future, my son.”

His father’s voice reached out to him, a feeling of ease rushed through him as if he was plucked up from the sea of darkness.

He opened his eyes, everything was quiet.

There was no sound of fighting, no clash of weapons, and no cries for help. There was only silence that greeted him. He slowly lifted himself off the ground, his body shaken from the horrific screams he heard mere moments ago. He was sitting in a field that was both calm and serene. A wind blew gently across the land, creating waves on the ocean of fields.

“I have faith in you, my son.”

His breath shuddered as he heard the words uttered. He turned around and saw his father standing before him. He wore clothing that would rival any king. A set of bracelets were on each of his forelegs. Golden Jewry was wrapped around his neck, the golden pieces so wide that he could easily see his reflection. His father’s fur was deep in purple and his under belly was a lighter shade. His headdress was that of an eagle, the highest rank of warrior and few leaders would wear them. His father stared at him with golden eyes, the same as his own, and they bore into his soul. The son felt his body shake, almost to the point that he would fall again, yet his father’s eyes were filled with compassion. In that moment the son fell forward and went into his father’s loving embrace. He wrapped his arms around his father’s midsection. His lips quivered and his eyes began to water. His father returned the gesture, wrapping his massive forearms around him as he buried his face into his thick neck. The two stayed like that for some time, the sun descending into the horizon and basking the land with the last of its light.

“I believe in you, my son.”

His father spoke again, his voice bringing much comfort to his troubled heart.

“You will become a powerful leader. You have much potential within you.”

His father’s words were soothing and his mind was at ease because of it. As he continued to listen to his father’s words he could not help but feel this was leading to something. He felt his father’s forearm close tightly around him, bringing him further into his embrace; his warmth so inviting.

“My son, there will be times when life will throw everything it has at you. Where you must stand for your beliefs and to face those challenges head on. The time for you to pick up the sword… is now.”

His words pierced his heart. His mind tried to wrap around everything that he had said. His father wanted him to lead. He held his father more tightly, he knew what his father wanted but did not. He still had much to learn, that much was true, however, he wished for his father’s guidance, he needed him here. He-

He felt a paw caress his cheek. It was so unexpected, so needed, that he began to cry at the touch, tears streaming down his cheeks. The paw came upon his chin and his head was lifted up to see his father’s smiling face. As he stared into his golden eyes he saw that his father did care for him, that he loved him no matter what. He would be proud of him.

“I love you, my child. You… must rally our people. Lead them to a better future. I leave them all to you.”

The last words echoed as his father became silent. The warmth he gave was gone. His father left the world of the living and now rested in the spirit world, a realm where only the dead would take comfort in. As his father lay lifeless in his arms the son cried out for him to return, but no matter how many times he cried out for his name he would never return to his side.

For he was alone.




The son awoke from his slumber, sweat pouring down his face as he tried to comprehend the dream. His father was there; he was still alive yet he was not. He didn’t know what to imagine. It... it felt so real to him. He lifted himself from his makeshift bed, breathing heavy breaths as he tried to calm himself.

“Ahuizotl,” a voice entered his room, breaking him from his thoughts. “it is time.”

“I’m coming, Tenoch. Just… just give me a minute.” Ahuizotl replied, his voice weary. He went off his bed and began to dress himself up, adorning his body with the proper attire. He did not like to dress in such a manner, as it would not even befit him, but he had to do it. Besides, he had to attend his father’s funeral. After he was fully dressed did he take leave of his home and into his village.

Ahuizotl saw many of his people, his own kind, walking amongst the streets, each dressed in the same manner as he. The citizens had different coats that matched with their attire, while the warriors, the proudest jaguar and eagle warriors he had ever known, were garbed in their armor as a sign of respect to their fallen king. As he made his way down the long streets he saw the procession just ahead of him. He saw Tenoch, the elder of his people, at the head of the column. Behind him were small children, spreading out small lilies onto the path. Behind the small children were lines of mourners, wailing and crying out to their gods to grant safe passage for their leader. Behind them was a long casket, adorned with many trinkets and personal belongings. He saw his father, his body laid out on a flat dais, being carried by several ponies who once lived with them. Ahuizotl watched as the ponies moved along with the procession. Unlike the other ponies that lived on the outside, these ones lived with them in the jungles of Amarezon. They knew of the ways, they lived as his people did and they defend the jungles and they would not let outsiders destroy their homes. Ahuizotl respected them as much as he did his people. As the Procession continued he joined with them, following them into the jungle.

Hours passed as the procession continued, following down a path that stretched deeper and deeper into the heart of the jungle. He knew this route, it was all too familiar. Near the the top of the jungle foliage he saw where the procession was heading. It was their forbidden city, a place they once called their own, however, it was now barren and desolate and Ahuizotl knew the reason. As he passed the archways leading into the city, memories of his childhood poured into his mind. The forbidden city was once a metropolis where tens of thousands of his kind lived and thrived. The streets were filled with many market stalls that sold their wares, towers that stretched as the trees of the jungles, and their temples were magnificent to behold that they would rival Canterlot itself. When he was just a child he ran and played with many of his friends, enjoying life to the fullest, never once thinking that anyone would dare attack it.

Yet someone did.

It was a grim day that no one would have predicted. An army clad in black and bore no mark attacked them without warning. Whatever soldiers they could gather were quickly slaughtered by their rampage. The ponies plundered what was not tied down, they burned homes that stood in their path and they killed everyone that they saw. Ahuizotl remembered that he was huddled against his home, holding onto a spear from a dead warrior. He was scared, he was frightened, he did not know what to do. Everything was burning around him, his people dying in the streets, and the enemy was everywhere enjoying the plunder. As he cowered in fear he did not see three of the black clad ponies taking notice of him. One of them called out ‘get them all’ as the others charged at him. He gripped the spear even tighter, not knowing what to do or what to think. He prayed for help but whatever he did, nothing was stopping their charge. It was in that moment, when they were almost upon him, his father appeared killing the assailants.

He watched as his father land in front of him, garbed in his leather armor and eagle headwear. He held a blade that bore many sharp stones on either side, the edges sharp enough to cut clean through the head of one of the attackers. One fell to the earth instantly while the other was thrown back toward the third pony, a sharp blow directly across it’s eye. His father stared at the third attacker, the two eyeing each other for a briefest of moments, before charging at each other and joining battle. Before Ahuizotl could see or comprehend at what he saw he felt a strong foreleg wrap around his midsection and carry him off. He calmed the moment he felt the touch, the smell so familiar, the voice so sweet and gentle. The moment was overwhelming and he slipped into unconsciousness.

Ahuizotl’s mind snapped into place as he stopped in front of the procession. His people were still mourning, yet much more softly than before. The children that tossed the white lilies had stopped and were now standing beside their families. His people gathered in a semicircle in the center of the forbidden city. He saw two headstones, each identical to one another. In front of them his father was laid, placing next to an open grave that was freshly dug; for a brief moment he thought his father was merely asleep. His gaze turned toward the old structures that surrounded them, and he could clearly see the burn marks that still remained. His eyes followed the ancient structures to the temples, their frames destroyed and broken on the ground. The invaders sacked the city, leaving nothing for his people, even salting the earth so that the crops would not be usable. A voice soon entered his thoughts and he turned to see Tenoch addressing the people.

The elder spoke of many things, even gave blessings upon his father and his seed. He told of their history, dating back to the time when the regal sisters came to power, even retelling of their tragedy years ago, where once thousands upon thousand of his kind lived, now only a few thousand of his kind remained. Anger grew within him when the princesses were mentioned. When word came of the destruction of their city, and the massacre of his people, the Princesses of Equestria were shocked and even condemned those that attacked them, even offering aid to search for those that caused the slaughter. However, his father rebuttled them, stating that all ponies are the same, and he would curse their names and attack their nearby villages if they set a hoof into their lands.

He wanted no outsider to mettle in their affairs.

Tenoch soon spoke of the hardships that they went through since the massacre, telling of how his father continued to keep his people happy, despite their loss. The elder then declared that if it weren’t for his father, the people would have been destroyed long ago. The elder, now finished, stepped aside as the people began to place flowers around his body. They passed his body, giving a small blessing or an offer of gratitude. Ahuizotl remained where he was, watching his people and the ponies of the jungle continue to pass by and offer their thanks to their leader. Hours soon passed and many of the people left, yet he remained where he was, staring at his father's grave, now buried into the earth. When the last of his people had gone, and the elder was the only one remaining, Ahuizotl felt the courage to step forward to his father’s grave. When he approached he stared at the ground for a moment before looking at the headstones. Upon the graves he could clearly see the names.

“Here lies Icnoyotl Kahn, righteous king of all Amarezon. Alongside his wife, beloved queen Citlali. May they always be remembered for their sacrifice and may their memories be treasured forever.”

Ahuizotl stared at the name of his mother. He remembered all too well at what she did for him. For she was the one who saved his life. She whisked him away to the jungle while being pursued. She placed him in a hollow near a river bed, away from the prying eyes of his pursuers. He awoke in the final moments where she held him close, hugging him for the last time and kissing his cheek. He called out for her but she had already turned and ran, leading the pursuers away from him. He heard her cries soon after and he cried himself to sleep that very night.

He placed a paw on the gravestones, gently rubbing across its smooth surface. It was right then and there that all the emotion he had built up had now broken and tears were streaming down his face. He lowered his head, placing it firmly against the gravestones. He stayed like that for what felt like hours. He never wanted to leave, he never wanted to go, yet he knew that they were gone.

He would never see them again.

“Ahuizotl,” Tenoch spoke, his voice soft and raspy, “your father wanted you to have this.”

Ahuizotl turned to the elder and saw him holding something that he thought he would never see again. In his paws he held his father’s sword. He moved closer to the elder, his eyes never straying from the blade itself. The blade’s surface was smooth and obsidian stones were jagged and sharp. The length was at least over three feet, long enough to reach any enemy and to cut him down. As he stared at the blade Ahuizotl eagerly grabbed for it. The elder nodded to him.

“You take the oath of your forefathers to uphold our sacred duties, to honor our people with dignity and pride and to bring our fallen people to justice?”

“ I swear!”

Tenoch nodded and the two walked away from the grave stones. As they walked the elder noticed tears coming down Ahuizotl’s cheeks. He smiled and placed a paw onto his shoulder.

“Your parents are proud of you, Ahuizotl. Never forget that.”

He turned to the elder a smile broadened on his face.

“I know.”