We are Legion!

Chapter 7: Curse of the Three Wires The generator room of Haifisch resembled the innards of a dead mechanical god. The hum of the crystalline reactor filled the space, vibrating in the bones. But instead of the steady sound of a working system, there was the crackle of sparks and frantic fussing. Legion stood over an open control panel. His fingers in heavy gauntlets twitched nervously. In front of him, three Diamond Dogs from the engineering crew bustled. They held bundles of wires in their paws—colored, shiny, and completely incomprehensible to their brains. — Their level of understanding is below critical, — the Scholar stated. — They perceive electricity as a liquid. Or as magic. — Execution, — the Warlord suggested. — Incompetence at a strategic facility is punishable by death. — They’re trying, — the Philosopher objected. — It’s just that their evolution took a different path. They know how to dig. Creating current? No. — It’s painful to watch, — the Creator grimaced. — A blue wire to a red contact? That’s an aesthetic crime! Legion took a deep breath. Exhaled. Tried to maintain the calm of an Emperor. — Blue to the negative, — he said slowly, as if explaining to a child. — Red to the positive. Yellow to ground. This is basics. This is the alphabet. A dog named Spark (he insisted on this name to sound smarter) guiltily lowered his ears: — But... Emperor... They all conduct current, don’t they? If you connect them—there’ll be light? Legion froze. His eyes behind the visor flared bright red. — Are you stupid? — it slipped out. His voice boomed under the room’s arches. The dogs pressed themselves to the floor. — No, step back! I’ll do it all myself! — Legion sharply waved his paw, pushing Spark away. — Get out! He grabbed the bundle of wires. His movements were fast, precise, but full of fury. — You’re removing a line that’s needed! — he yanked a wire from another dog’s paws. — This one isn’t needed!.. Here, this one isn’t needed! He poked his claw at the schematic drawn in chalk on the wall. — Leave this one, you damn cretin! Just stop! — Legion barely refrained from striking the dog with his gauntlet’s hilt. — You’re about to short the circuit and blow up half the citadel! The dogs stood, heads lowered in guilt. They felt less like engineers and more like puppies punished for a puddle on the floor. Rico, observing the process from a corner, coughed: — Emperor... maybe it’s time for a break? Legion turned sharply. His chest heaved heavily. — Who asked you to connect 5 wires at once when you only need 3? — his voice trembled with suppressed anger. — Negative! Positive! And ground! Three! Not five, not ten! THREE! He threw the wires to the floor. Sparks sprayed to the sides. — You’re losing control, — the Philosopher noted. — Anger clouds reason. — I’m losing time! — Legion snapped mentally. — We don’t have time to retrain primitives! — They’re far from primitive, — the Scholar countered. — They’re just different. You’re asking a fish to climb trees. Legion closed his eyes. The four voices in his head fell silent, giving him space to think. He looked at the dogs. They didn’t fear him as an enemy. They feared disappointing him as a teacher. In their eyes was the same loyalty his legions had three hundred thousand years ago. But back then, soldiers knew how to hold a sword. Now, he was trying to teach children how to wield a star. He slowly straightened up. Adjusted his cloak. — Do you... — he hesitated. — Do you want to learn? Spark nodded, not raising his head: — Yes, Emperor. We want... to be useful. Not just dig. Legion approached the panel. He took one wire. Blue. — Watch, — his voice became quieter, but firmer. — This isn’t just wire. It’s a flow. The life of the machine. He handed the wire to the dog. — Take it. Feel the vibration? The dog carefully took the wire. — Yes... it tingles. — It’s energy. It wants to flow. But if you guide it wrong... — Legion pointed to a scorched contact. — ...it bites. Like a beast. He took another wire. Red. — Positive. That’s the beast’s head. Negative... — he took the blue one, — ...that’s the tail. Ground... — the yellow, — ...that’s the leash. Without the leash, the beast runs away and burns the house down. The dogs listened, holding their breath. To them, this wasn’t a technical manual. It was a legend. The mythology of electricity. — Try it, — Legion nodded to Spark. — Positive to the head. Slowly. Spark brought the red wire closer with trembling paws. Touched the contact. No spark jumped. The connection held. — Good job, — Legion said. Without sarcasm. Without anger. — Good job, lad, you’re doing great! The dog smiled. Timidly, but sincerely. — Now the negative. The process went slower. Legion stood over them, growling if someone made a mistake, but no longer striking or insulting. He guided. — You’ve grown softer, — the Warlord noted. — I’ve grown more effective, — Legion replied. — Dead engineers are no use to me. — You’re getting attached, — the Philosopher said. — I’m forging a legion, — the Emperor corrected. An hour later, the generator hummed steadily. The light in the room became bright, stable. Crystal-based lamps ignited with a cold white glow. Legion stepped away from the panel. His armor was covered in soot. — That’s enough for today, — he announced. — We’ll repeat tomorrow. Until you memorize it by heart. Until you can do it blindfolded. The dogs exhaled in relief. — Thank you, Emperor! — they said in unison and ran off, discussing where the "beast’s head" was and where the "tail" was. Rico remained last. — You were close to killing them, — he said quietly. Legion looked at his paws. — I know. — But you held back. — Because I realized one thing, — Legion turned to the exit. — I can’t be everything. I can’t be both the brain and the hands. If I want Haifisch to stand for centuries... they must learn. He stepped into the corridor. The lamplight reflected off his armor. — Still, — the Scholar grumbled. — Next time they’ll connect water to the power grid. — Let them try, — Legion smirked mentally. — Then I’ll show them what real anger is. He walked on. After all, even an Emperor is e ntitled to a small weakness. And the lesson was learned. Electricity is on. Legion is intact. The dogs are alive. For now. Chapter 8: Operation "Mosquito" The throne room of Haifisch was shrouded in semi-darkness. The only source of light was a large crystal embedded in the armrest of Legion’s throne. Inside the crystal, an image flickered, transmitted from a bird’s-eye view. Legion sat motionless. His consciousness was divided. Part of his mind controlled his body, while another part was entirely housed within a small mechanism currently hovering over the ground. Reconnaissance drone "Eye-1". Assembled from scrap alloy, ancient mechanisms, and crystal magic, it looked like a metallic bird with a single large eye. Silent. Invisible to ordinary magic. — Connection stability at 98%, — the Scholar reported. — The crystal is handling the load. — Too quiet, — the Warlord noted. — Where’s the defense? Where are the patrols? — They’re careless, — said the Philosopher. — Or they’re confident in their safety. — Look at them, — the Creator whispered. — They’re... herding animals. Gathering fruit. No survival logic at all. Pure idyll. Legion didn’t answer. He was looking through the drone’s eyes. --- View from Above Ponyville turned out to be smaller than Legion had expected. The houses looked like toys. Ponies ran, laughed, traded. No military bearing. No discipline. The drone descended, flying over the rooftops. Legion scanned faces. Emotions. Interactions. “Strange,” he thought. “No hierarchy. No fear. How do they survive in this world?” The drone headed toward the outskirts. Where endless rows of apple orchards began. Sweet Apple Acres. — Food source, — the Scholar noted. — Agricultural sector. Likely key to the regional economy. — Weak point, — added the Warlord. — Destroy the harvest, and they’ll fall to their knees. — Barbarism, — the Philosopher scoffed. Legion guided the drone lower, closer to the ground. He needed to understand the locals' technology level and reaction. --- The Apple Orchard Apple Bloom sat on a fence, swinging her legs. She was drawing something with chalk on a board, trying to come up with a new Cutie Mark symbol. Suddenly, she heard a strange sound. A barely noticeable hum. — Hey! — she looked up. Something metallic flew over the apple tree. Small, shiny, with a red eye. — Sweetie Belle! Scootaloo! — she cried out, though her friends weren’t nearby. — Something’s flying here! The drone hovered in place, its camera focusing on the little pony. Legion analyzed: Young specimen. No combat training. High level of curiosity. — Zoom in, — He ordered the Scholar. The drone zoomed. Apple Bloom squinted: — Is that some new toy of Twilight’s? She hopped off the fence and stamped her hoof: — Hey! What are you? The drone didn’t answer. It just observed. — Granny! — Apple Bloom called out, realizing the toy wasn’t responding. — There’s something strange here! From the house, limping slightly, emerged an elderly pony in thick-lensed glasses. Granny Smith held a basket of freshly canned jars in her hooves. — What now, dear? — she rumbled, squinting. — Rattlesnakes crawled in again? — No! There! — Apple Bloom pointed a hoof at the sky. — A metal bird! It’s spying! Granny Smith looked up. Her old eyes saw a blurry spot that was buzzing and flying in circles. — A bird? — she snorted. — That’s just a mosquito! A huge one, probably with a bite like a snake’s. In my day, mosquitoes were smaller! — Granny, it’s not a mosquito! — Apple Bloom insisted. — Don’t argue with your elders, little one. — Granny Smith set down the basket. — If it’s a mosquito, it needs to be swatted. Or it’ll ruin the whole harvest. Legion, watching through the camera, felt a slight unease. — She’s noticed us, — the Scholar said. — But misclassified us. — Threat? — asked the Warlord. — Underestimation, — replied the Philosopher. — That’s more dangerous than a threat. Granny Smith began looking around. — Now then, where’s that failed batch of mine... She reached into the basket and pulled out a jar of canned tomatoes. The glass gleamed in the sun. Inside, red fruits floated in their own juice. — Granny, what are you doing?! — Apple Bloom squeaked. — Hunting, dear! — Granny’s eyes sparkled with excitement. — Old school! She took aim. Legion saw the old pony’s muscles tense. — Trajectory calculated, — the Scholar instantly computed. — Probability of impact... 14%. — Too low, — Legion reassured himself. Granny Smith swung. — Take that, pest! The jar flew. Legion tried to steer the drone aside. — Evasive maneuver! But the drone was heavy, made of dense alloy. It wasn’t designed for such sharp movements. CLANG! The glass jar shattered right against the drone’s hull. Tomato juice splashed across the camera. Red sludge dripped down the crystal. — Visual contact lost! — the Scholar yelled. — Stabilizers damaged! — Engine stalled! Blinded and damaged, the drone began to fall. It crashed into a pile of manure near the barn with a dull squelching sound. The connection cut out. --- Haifisch Throne Room The crystal in the armrest went dark. Legion sat motionless. His claws dug into the throne’s armrests. Silence fell over the hall. Rico, standing near the entrance, asked cautiously: — Emperor? Everything alright? The four voices in Legion’s head were silent. This was rare. Usually, they argued constantly. But now, they were... stunned. Finally, the Philosopher spoke first: — We were... defeated by a tomato? — Canned, — the Scholar clarified, analyzing the last data. — Glass. Brine. Kinetic impact. — This is a disgrace, — the Warlord growled. — Taken down by an old nag! — It was... beautiful, — the Creator whispered. — The jar’s flight trajectory was perfect. Top-tier improvisation. Legion slowly exhaled. He pulled his claws from the armrests. Deep scratches on the metal slowly healed with magical energy. — We got the data, — he said aloud. His voice was calm, but a note of respect could be heard in it. Rico blinked: — Data? But the drone is destroyed. — We learned the main thing, — Legion said, rising from the throne. He walked to the window, looking toward the apple orchards. — What exactly? — the Scholar asked. — Never underestimate the enemy, — Legion replied. — Even if that enemy is an old mare with a jar of pickles. Their strength isn’t in magic. Not in technology. It’s in... unpredictability. He turned to Rico: — Order a halt to reconnaissance flights over sector "Sweet Apple Acres". — Understood. What if they come here? Legion smirked. For the first time in a long while, it wasn’t a warrior’s cold smirk, but something resembling a genuine emotion. — If they come... prepare jars. Lots of jars. — Are you joking? — the Philosopher was surprised. — No, — Legion replied mentally. — I’m analyzing. If they can shoot down my drone with a tomato, what will they do if they sense a real threat? He looked again at the darkened crystal. — This world is full of surprises. And I’m starting to think... we might like it here. — Or we’ll perish at the hands of farmers, — the Warlord grumbled. — Anything’s possible, — Legion agreed. He waved a paw, ordering the dogs to disperse. — Take positions. Wait. And no one... hear me, no one... flies over the apple orchards. Until I develop protection against canned vegetables. The dogs disappeared into the corridors, suppressing chuckles. Legion remained alone in the hall. — An old nag shot down my drone with a jar of tomatoes... — he muttered to himself. Somewhere deep in his mind, among thousands of souls, one voice laughed. The one that remembered what it meant to be just a living creature, not an Emperor. Legion didn’t stop it. War could wait. The lesson was learned. Chapter 9: Shadows Over Ponyville While technical matters were being settled deep within Haifisch, life on the surface flowed as usual. But the calm was deceptive—like the surface of a lake before a storm. --- Golden Oak Library Twilight Sparkle hadn't slept for three days. Books were scattered across the entire library. Scrolls, maps, ancient treatises—everything had been searched, reread, analyzed. Spike, the poor little dragon, could barely stay on his feet, hauling new volumes at his mistress's request. — Twilight, maybe you should rest a little? — he mumbled, yawning. — You've already checked every book on ancient civilizations. Even the ones written in Draconic. Twilight didn't look up from the page. Her purple eyes scanned the lines, catching key words: wolves, legion, ancient magic, ice grave, soul ritual. — I can't, Spike, — she replied quietly but tensely. — This fortress... it appeared in one week. In one week, Spike! Even unicorn magic isn't capable of that without preparation. And here—bam!—a whole castle grew out of the rock. She set the book down and walked to the window. In the distance, on the horizon, the grim silhouette of Haifisch was visible. Even in daylight, it looked like a dark smudge against the sky. — And this energy surge... — Twilight frowned. — It's unlike anything I know. It's not unicorn magic. Not dragon power. Not even Princess magic. It's something... ancient. Cold. Spike stepped closer: — Do you think it's dangerous? Twilight was silent for a long time. — I don't know. But I feel... — she placed a hoof to her chest, — ...that inside, someone is suffering. Not a villain. Not a monster. Someone carrying a heavy burden. — Like Princess Luna when she was Nightmare Moon? — Spike asked cautiously. Twilight shook her head: — No. Not like that. Luna was consumed by darkness. But here... the darkness is the armor. And inside... inside is someone who remembers too much. She turned to the desk, where a scroll with the Canterlot seal lay. — Princess Celestia asks us to be careful. Not to provoke. To observe. But how do you observe when you don't even have a theory on where to start? Spike sighed: — Maybe just go and talk? Twilight smirked: — Just go and talk to a being older than Equestria, who managed to build a fortress in a week? Yeah, great idea. — Hey! — a voice called from outside. — Did someone say "fortress"? Pinkie Pie burst through the door, as always, with confetti in her mane and boundless optimism in her eyes. — Pinkie! — Twilight nearly jumped. — You... how did you know? — Oh, Twilight, I always know everything! — Pinkie winked. — Especially when it comes to parties! And a new fortress is a perfect excuse for a grand housewarming party! — Pinkie, it's not a party, — Twilight said seriously. — It's... a potential threat. Pinkie thought for a second. Her eyes lost their usual sparkle. — But what if... — she began quietly, — ...he's just lonely? Twilight and Spike froze. — What? — Twilight repeated. — Well, think about it! — Pinkie was back to herself. — Who builds a huge fortress alone? Someone who wants to protect themselves! And from what? From loneliness! I say: cake, balloons, music—and he'll be nice right away! Spike chuckled: — You know, Pinkie... sometimes your crazy ideas sound smarter than scholarly treatises. Twilight looked at her friend. And for the first time in days of tense reflection... she smiled. — Thanks, Pinkie. I... I'll think about it. --- Sweet Apple Acres Apple Bloom sat on the porch, examining the remains of a tomato jar with a piece of metal still stuck in it. — I still can't believe we took down a spy with a tomato, — she said proudly. Granny Smith, fixing a fence nearby, snorted: — Not a spy, sugarcube. A mosquito. A huge, metallic one, but a mosquito. — Granny, it had a camera! — Apple Bloom insisted. — I saw it! A red eye, like a robot! Applejack, carrying a basket of apples, stopped nearby: — Girls, stop fantasizing. If there's someone in there, the Princesses will handle it. Our job is to pick apples, not sneak into foreign fortresses. But worry was clear in her eyes. Apple Bloom hopped off the porch: — What if they're hungry? The fortress is huge, but there are no ponies nearby. Maybe we should help? Applejack sighed: — Sugarcube, we don't know who's in there. Could be friends. Or maybe... — she hesitated, — ...maybe they're the ones Granny told us about. Old stories. Wolves that lived before Equestria. Granny Smith stopped fixing the fence. Her old eyes grew serious. — Wolves... — she whispered. — My grandmother said they were noble. Warriors. But then... they vanished. And that legend has been passed down through generations. — What if they came back? — Apple Bloom asked quietly. Applejack set down the basket: — Then we'll welcome them as the Apple family ought to. With dignity. And with good food. A hungry guest is a bad guest. She smiled, but there was firmness in it. — But first—we find out who they are. Without tomatoes. --- Canterlot. Throne Room Princess Celestia stood by the window, watching the sunset. Her face was calm, but deep thought was clear in her eyes. Luna entered silently, her dark mane flowing like the night sky. — Sister, — she began quietly. — My dreams... they are troubled. Celestia turned: — Did you see him? Luna nodded: — Not him. Them. Thousands of voices in one mind. Pain that has gathered for millennia. And... hope. Faint, but there. Celestia stepped closer: — Do you think he's dangerous? — I think, — Luna replied slowly, — that he's dangerous the same way a storm is. Not because he's evil. But because he's powerful. Unpredictable. She paused: — But in his mind... I sense discipline. Honor. He doesn't want war. He doesn't seek it. But if it comes... he's ready. Celestia sighed: — Twilight sent a report. They're trying to make contact. But they're afraid to take the first step. — Wise, — Luna said. — But sometimes the first step must be taken by the stronger one. — Are you suggesting... we meet him? — Celestia asked. Luna looked at her sister: — Are you? The sisters were silent. Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang, signaling the changing of the guard. — We'll go together, — Celestia finally said. — As sisters. As rulers. But not as an army. — Without guards? — Luna asked, surprised. — Without an army, — Celestia clarified. — But with trust. If he senses our power as a threat—all is lost. If he senses our sincerity... perhaps we can find common ground. Luna smiled: — You've always believed in the power of friendship. — And you've always believed in the power of understanding, — Celestia replied. — Maybe today we'll need both. --- Sky Patrol Rainbow Dash flew over the forest, studying the fortress from above. Her rainbow tail left a streak in the sky. — Wow... — she whispered. — This... this is awesome. She descended, circling the towers of Haifisch. The walls were smooth, without a single crack. The towers were sharp as fangs. And the silence... absolute silence. — Hey! — she called out, flying close to the wall. — Anybody home? No answer. She flew closer, peering into the windows. And suddenly... she saw movement. In one of the windows, on the top floor, stood a figure. Tall. In armor. With a helmet resembling a wolf's skull. Rainbow froze. The figure raised a paw. Not in threat. Not in greeting. Just... acknowledging her presence. And vanished into the shadows. Rainbow Dash flew back, her heart pounding wildly. — Alright... — she muttered. — That was... creepy. And awesome. At the same time. She bolted back toward Ponyville—to tell Twilight. But somewhere deep inside, she already knew: Something big was coming. And this "something" wasn't evil. But it wasn't good either. It was... different. --- Haifisch. Throne Room Legion stood by the window, watching the rainbow trail fade into the sky. — She's fast, — the Scholar noted. — A scout, — added the Warlord. — Curious, — said the Creator. — Fearless, — observed the Philosopher. — Good, — Legion said aloud. Rico approached from the side: — Emperor? They're starting to show interest. — Let them show it, — Legion replied. — Interest is the first step to understanding. He turned from the window. His eyes behind the visor glowed with a steady light. — Prepare the council hall. Clear weapons from sight. Prepare... refreshments. Rico blinked: — Refreshments? — Yes, — Legion said. — If they come in peace... we will meet them as hosts. And a good host always offers guests food. — And if they come with war? — asked the Warlord. Legion slowly clenched his claws into a fist. — Then they will learn why our people survived where others perished. He looked at his dogs: — But I hope... today will be the first option. The wind struck the citadel walls, and thunder rumbled in the distance. The meeting was approaching. Chapter 10: The Little Scouts Ponyville was asleep. Luna had raised her moon high into the sky, studding the dark velvet of the night with stars. Lights in the houses were fading out, only crickets chirping in the grass broke the silence. But in a treehouse hidden among the apple orchards, a dim lantern still burned. --- The Cutie Mark Crusaders' Clubhouse — I still think this is a bad idea, — Sweetie Belle whispered, nervously fiddling with her mane. — If my sister finds out... Rarity will just cut me off from the fabric stash for a month! — What if we find out who lives there? — Apple Bloom's eyes burned with determination. — Maybe they need help! Have you seen that fortress? It's huge! There could be wounded inside! Scootaloo stood by the window, scanning the horizon. Where the forest usually lay in darkness, a shadow now loomed. Haifisch. Even at night it seemed alive—some windows glowed with a strange white light (the result of Legion's success with electricity). — Did you see how Rainbow Dash described him? — Scootaloo turned to her friends. — He stood in the window. Like a statue. That's... that's cooler than any monster! That's a real warrior! — A warrior whose drone got taken down by a jar of tomatoes, — Apple Bloom giggled, but quickly grew serious. — But Granny Smith said ancient wolves live there. Maybe they're dangerous? — That's exactly why we have to go! — Scootaloo stomped her hoof. — If they're dangerous, we'll warn the Princesses! If they're good... — she hesitated, — ...we might get our cutie marks for the first contact mission! Sweetie Belle sighed. Scootaloo's logic was ironclad when it came to admiring Rainbow Dash or seeking adventure. — Fine, — she agreed reluctantly. — But quietly. And if anyone growls—we run immediately. Deal? — Deal! — the friends answered in unison. They extinguished the lantern and slipped out of the clubhouse. The night swallowed them into its embrace. --- The Path to Haifisch They moved carefully, keeping low to the ground. Apple Bloom led the way—her farm skills helping her avoid dry branches that might crack. Scootaloo followed, trying not to rattle her helmet. Sweetie Belle brought up the rear, her horn glowing faintly so they wouldn't lose each other in the dark. The closer they got to the fortress, the stranger the air felt. — Do you feel it? — Sweetie Belle whispered. — It's... cold here. But not like winter. Like in a tomb. — It's magic, — Apple Bloom said. — Twilight said there are strange energy surges coming from there. The walls of Haifisch rose before them. Up close, they seemed even more massive. The stone felt warm to the touch, as if a heart burned deep inside the mountain. Tall towers cut the sky like fangs. — Wow... — Scootaloo breathed out. — This is better than Canterlot Castle. — Shh! — Apple Bloom hissed. — Look, patrol. Two figures emerged from the shadows. Diamond Dogs. But not the dirty, grumbling diggers they had seen before. These wore uniforms—elements of steel armor similar to what legions used to wear. They held spears with crystalline tips. — Sector Four is clear, — one dog said in a low voice. — Moving on, — the second replied. They spoke clearly, without barking or growling. Like soldiers. The Crusaders hid behind a rock. — They... talk? — Sweetie Belle gasped. — I thought they only barked about treasure. — They've changed, — Apple Bloom whispered. — Look at their eyes. There's no greed in them. — Let's sneak closer, — Scootaloo suggested. — Maybe we'll see the Emperor himself. — The Emperor? — Sweetie Belle repeated. — That's what they call him, — Scootaloo explained. — I heard the adults whispering. They crawled further, skirting the perimeter. Led by childlike curiosity, stripped of the fear adults would feel. They saw no threat. They saw a mystery. --- Inside the Perimeter They reached the rear side of the fortress. The wall was lower here, and pipes stuck out, venting steam. — What's this? — Sweetie Belle asked, poking a pipe with her hoof. — Don't touch it! — Apple Bloom warned. But it was too late. Sweetie Belle accidentally bumped a lever hidden in the stone. It was a pressure relief valve the dogs hadn't yet camouflaged. HISSSSSS! A jet of steam burst out, illuminating the area with white fog. — Alarm! — a voice rang out from the wall. Crystal-powered spotlights switched on instantly, blinding the little ponies. — Run, Forrest, run! — Scootaloo yelled. But there was no way back. Four Diamond Dogs stepped out from the gates. They didn't growl. They didn't bare their teeth. They simply surrounded them, positioning their spears to block the exit without causing harm. — Perimeter breach, — said one of them. It was Spark, the very same "engineer" Legion had taught to wire circuits. — We... we just wanted to look! — Apple Bloom stepped forward, though her legs trembled. — We're not enemies! Spark tilted his head. His eyes studied the little ponies. — Children, — he stated. — Unarmed. No combat magic. — Take them to the antechamber, — he ordered the others. — The Emperor must know. But no one is to harm them. — You're not gonna eat us, are you? — Sweetie Belle squeaked. The dogs exchanged glances. — We don't eat ponies, — Spark said seriously. — We... guard. Now come. --- The Throne Room Legion wasn't asleep. He sat in meditation, his consciousness linked to the perimeter observation crystals. When the alarm triggered, he opened his eyes. — Children? — the Scholar expressed surprise. — Spies? — the Warlord suggested. — They are sincere, — the Philosopher said. — There is no deception in their thoughts. Only curiosity. — How adorable, — the Creator added. Legion rose from the throne. His cloak slid across the floor. — Bring them, — he ordered Rico. — Emperor, this is risky, — Rico began. — What if it's a trap? — A trap made of three little ponies? — Legion smirked. — If it's a trap, then their adults are so foolish they don't deserve mercy. He stepped to the window. — Besides... they're the first to come without weapons. And without tomatoes. --- The Antechamber of Haifisch The Crusaders sat on a stone bench. No one had tied them up, but dogs stood by the door, preventing them from leaving. — I think we're gonna get eaten now, — Sweetie Belle whispered. — We won't, — Apple Bloom said confidently, though she was paling. — They said they guard. — Maybe they want a ransom? — Scootaloo guessed. — I have a collection of Rainbow Dash trading cards! The door opened. Legion entered. Up close, he seemed even taller. His armor clinked softly. The helmet with its conical visor hid his face, but red eyes glowed in the dark. The Crusaders froze. Legion stopped before them. He slowly knelt on one knee to be at their level. Even so, he towered over them. — Why are you here? — his voice was deep, vibrating, but not angry. Apple Bloom swallowed hard: — We... we wanted to know who you are. Everyone's scared. And we... we thought maybe you're just lonely. Legion fell silent. The four voices in his mind quieted down. — Lonely, — the Philosopher echoed. — They see the truth. Legion only shook his head. — Young fillies, — he said hoarsely, in a fatherly tone. — you shouldn't be here. Night is no time for reckless actions... He looked at them again, feeling that their curiosity outweighed their terror. — Are you not afraid? — Legion asked. — We are, — Scootaloo admitted honestly. — But Rainbow Dash says courage is when you're scared but you do it anyway. Legion slowly nodded. — Your Rainbow Dash... is wise. He stood up. — You will be taken home. At dawn. But... — he raised a claw, — ...tell no one what you saw inside. This isn't a game. This is a fortress. Warriors live here, not toys. — We're not toys! — Apple Bloom protested. — We're Cutie Mark Crusaders! Legion paused. — Crusaders... — the Scholar mused. — They seek their purpose. — Just as we do, — the Philosopher added. — Very well, — Legion said. — Then remember this: purpose isn't found. It's created. Like this fortress. Like yourselves. He turned to the dogs: — Escort them out. And make sure no one sees you. — Yes, sir! — Spark replied. As the ponies were led out, Sweetie Belle turned back: — Can we come again? Like... to learn about electricity? Legion looked at her. For the first time in a long while, there was no debate in his mind. — We'll see, — he answered. — Just bring... not tomatoes. I think I'm developing an allergy to them now. The door closed. Legion remained alone in the hall. — They're sweet, — the Creator said. — They are the future, — Legion replied aloud. — And if we want to live in this world... we'll have to learn to get along with it. He looked at his claws. — Even if the future wears helmets that are too big. Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed, announcing the approaching morning. First contact was made. No blood. No tomatoes. For now. Chapter 11: Echo of the Past The throne room of Haifisch fell silent. The guards had led the little ponies away, leaving only shadows, stone, and Him. Legion returned to his throne. His body was still, but his mind raged. The encounter with the Cutie Mark Crusaders had reopened an old wound. Their eyes... hungry, curious, full of hope. They reminded him of himself. Of who he was before he became a vessel for thousands of souls. — You're troubled, — the Philosopher noted. — This memory didn't surface by chance. — They're the same, — Legion replied mentally. — Outcasts. Searching for a place in the world. — You could become for them what that old wolf once became for you, — said the Scholar. Legion closed his eyes. The red glow behind his visor faded. He let his consciousness sink into the depths of time. Three hundred thousand years ago. Before the Ice. Before the Ritual. --- Memory: Library of the North Wind The cold bit to the bone. Even here, within the stone walls of the Great Library, warmth existed only where the rare lanterns burned. A thin whelp with matted fur slipped between the shelves. His paws moved silently across the cold floor. He didn't want to steal. He wanted... warmth. And knowledge. The books smelled of dust and secrets, which was better than the smell of hunger. He pulled a tome from the bottom shelf. A heavy folio inscribed with ancestral hieroglyphs. He opened it, trying to make out the letters in the dim moonlight filtering through the arched windows. — Lost in the library, whelp? A voice boomed from the dark corridor. The whelp flinched. The book fell from his paws with a dull thud. From the shadows emerged an old wolf. His fur was gray, his muzzle scarred, one eye missing, covered by a patch. He leaned on a staff topped with a crystal. The whelp froze. He tried to pretend he was just reading. He picked up the book, clutching it to his chest. The old wolf chuckled. The sound was dry, like cracking ice. — Stop pretending to read. I know you have nowhere to sleep. The whelp curled into a tight ball. Fear choked his throat. They would drive him out. Or worse—turn him over to the guards. In this city, strays weren't loved. The weak weren't loved. — Don't be afraid, — the librarian slowly approached, not raising his staff. — I understand how outcasts like you feel. He stopped a pace away. His single eye carefully studied the trembling whelp. — You're so hungry you'd devour all my books, but know this... outcasts aren't born. They're made. The whelp bristled. Survival instinct flared. He reared up, trying to look bigger, more dangerous. Broken teeth glinted in the dark. — Don't come near me! — his voice broke into a yelp. — Or... or bring me something to eat! Please... The last word slipped out on its own. The threat crumbled, exposing desperation. The old librarian looked at his pitiful stance. The corners of his mouth twitched. Not in a smirk of contempt. In a smile of... understanding. — Would you eat the stew I made with my own paws? — the old wolf slowly lowered himself to his hind legs, becoming smaller. — You know what, whelp... I'm just as hungry and angry at the world as you are. The whelp blinked. His stance softened. He dropped back to all fours but kept his eyes on the elder. — So you're an outcast too?.. — he whispered. The old wolf sighed, rising and nodding toward a service door behind the shelves. — I'm a librarian by necessity. Once, I was a warrior. But the wound... — he touched the patch over his eye, — ...forced me to pick up a book instead of a blade. He flicked his tail, inviting him to follow. — Come. I can teach you to read. These books are useless if you don't know the letters. But first... They entered a small room behind the hall. A brazier stood there with several bowls. The old wolf pulled strange bricks of dried noodles from a sack, pouring hot water from a kettle over them. The scent of herbs and spices filled the air. — ...let's dig into some instant noodles, — the old wolf said, sliding a bowl toward the whelp. The whelp stared at the steaming food. — In... stant noodles? — he repeated. — That's what they called quick-cook ration packs, — the old wolf explained, stirring his own bowl. — Student food. Fast. Hot. Filling. The whelp cautiously sniffed. Then he began to eat greedily, burning his mouth but not stopping. The old wolf watched him, slowly chewing his portion. — Eat. Your body needs to grow. And tomorrow... tomorrow we start with the alphabet. — Why?.. — the whelp mumbled with a full mouth. The old wolf looked at him seriously: — Because strength isn't just in your claws, whelp. Strength is in your head. If you want to survive in this world... learn. The whelp nodded. For the first time in a long while, he wasn't cold. --- Present Time. Haifisch. Legion opened his eyes. The red glow returned. The hall was quiet, but the silence felt less oppressive now. — Are you crying? — the Creator asked, surprised. Legion raised a paw to his helmet. Beneath the metal, on his cheek, was moisture. A single tear. — A memory of who I was, — he answered quietly. — Before I became the Legion. — That old wolf... — the Scholar began. — Did he perish during the Ice Grave? — Yes, — Legion answered aloud. — He refused the ritual. Said his time had passed. Gave his place to me. — That's why you preserved the library in the citadel, — the Philosopher realized. — That's why I didn't drive those three out, — Legion said. He rose from the throne. His footsteps echoed through the hall. — Rico! The dog entered instantly, bowing his head: — Emperor? — Prepare the guest quarters. Not for enemies. For... guests. Rico blinked: — You mean the little ponies? — Yes. They will return. And when they do... — Legion approached the window, looking toward Ponyville, — ...we will be ready. — Ready for what? Legion smirked. In that smirk was something almost human. Warm. — To teach them. As I was once taught. — What if they bring tomatoes? — the Warlord asked. — Then we'll offer them instant noodles, — Legion replied. Silence fell over the hall. The four Hypostases were quiet, digesting the joke. — Go, Rico, — Legion said. The dog left, clearly bewildered by what "instant noodles" meant, but deciding not to ask. Legion was alone again. But the loneliness no longer chilled him. He remembered the taste of those noodles. Cheap, hot, life-saving. — Thank you, teacher, — he whispered into the void. The wind outside the wind ow shifted. It no longer blew from the glaciers, but from the warm valley. Legion remembered his beginning. And that helped him build his future.