We are Legion!

Chapter 17: Eyes of the Sun The workshop of Haifisch smelled of ozone and machine oil. Legion stood over a workbench, his claws deftly manipulating tiny components. Before him hovered an object assembled from a lightweight alloy and enchanted crystals. Reconnaissance drone "Skull-1". The casing was stylized as a wolf's skull—a tribute to the ancestors. Four propellers, hidden within magical fields, made it virtually silent. The eye sockets glowed with a dull red—high-resolution cameras. — Aerodynamics nominal, — the Scholar reported. — Magical signature minimal. They won't notice. — Launch, — the Warlord commanded. Legion activated the control crystal. The drone shot upward, hovered for a second, and darted out of the open tower window, dissolving into the night sky. --- Sky Over Canterlot The flight was smooth. The drone descended, weaving around the golden spires of the capital. Below, lanterns burned, and guards in golden armor patrolled. — Movement detected, — the Scholar warned. — Unicorn patrol. Legion maneuvered the drone with a single thought. "Skull" dove down, slipped between columns, and froze in the shadow of statues as magical scanners swept overhead. — They're blind, — the Warlord scoffed. — Their defense is mere decoration. — They don't expect threats from above, — Legion replied. — That's their mistake. The drone slipped into the main castle. Open windows, ventilation shafts. It penetrated inside like a ghost. The camera fed images directly into the Emperor's consciousness. Corridors. Servants carrying trays. Guards yawning at their posts. Legion recorded everything: guard post locations, patrol routes, magical barriers. But that wasn't his target. Ventilation led him to a large hall. The negotiation room. --- Throne Room. Night. The drone hovered beneath the ceiling, in the shadow of a chandelier. Below, at a massive marble table, sat Them. The Princesses. Luna stood by an open balcony. Her dark blue mane flowed like a starry sky. She gazed into the night, her face a mask of calm. Stoic. Cold. She was scanning the surroundings, her magical sense sweeping the horizon, but not looking up. — The Night's Guardian, — the Philosopher noted. — She bears the burden of the night. As lonely as we are. But Legion's gaze was drawn to the other. Princess Celestia sat at the table. Her snow-white coat seemed almost luminous in the candlelight. Her mane, shimmering in pastel rainbow tones, swayed slowly without wind—living magic. On the table lay a map of Equestria. Covered in notes. Red circles marked anomaly zones. One large circle encompassed the abandoned mines. Where Haifisch stood. Legion zoomed the camera. Celestia stared into the void. Her eyes—two large, round amethysts—were filled not with a ruler's anger, but with... exhaustion. — Look, — the Creator whispered. — What sorrowful beauty. Legion didn't move the drone. He forgot about the mission. He forgot about security. He watched her wing twitch. He watched her slowly exhale, lowering her head to her hooves. Doubt was written on her face. Anxiety about the unknown. Grief, heavy as lead. Something inside Legion stirred. Deep down. Where memories of life before the Ritual slept. Where the heart of the whelp who once sat alone, watching the cold sun, was buried. — This is empathy, — the Philosopher stated. — You feel her pain. — She's a ruler, — the Warlord said. — An enemy. A target. — She's the same, — Legion countered mentally. — She carries a world on her shoulders. Just as I carry souls. He saw her magical aura. It didn't shine triumphantly. It burned like a candle in the wind. Three hundred thousand years, Legion thought. I thought I forgot this feeling. Under the ice. Under the armor. Under the voices. But it returned. Pity? No. Recognition. Celestia lifted her head. For a second, it seemed she looked straight into the camera, into Legion's soul. — Sister, — her voice was quiet, but the drone's microphones caught every word. — Do you feel this? Luna turned from the balcony: — I do. Ancient power. But it... doesn't strike. — I fear we're too late, — Celestia whispered. — I fear we won't be able to help. Legion ordered a retreat. — Enough, — he said. — That's enough. --- Return to Haifisch The drone returned to the workshop at dawn. Legion powered it down but didn't dismantle it. He sat in the throne room. The crystal light was dim. The four voices were silent. They felt his state. — Did you acquire the data? — the Scholar asked. — Yes. — Defense plans? Weak points? — Yes. — Then why don't we attack? — the Warlord insisted. Legion raised a paw. A hologram hung before him—a still frame from the drone. Celestia's face. — Because even an enemy has a soul, — he said quietly. — That's weakness, — the Warlord snapped. — That's understanding, — the Philosopher corrected. — If we destroy her... who will raise the sun tomorrow? Legion stood and walked to the window. Canterlot was visible in the distance, shrouded in morning fog. — I thought I was the only one who remembered the ancient times. The only one bearing the burden of the past. He pressed a paw to the glass. — But she remembers. She feels. She... is afraid. — You're thinking about her, — the Creator observed. — Not as a target. As a... — Don't finish that, — Legion cut him off. But he knew they were right. That night, he didn't sleep. He didn't meditate. He didn't plan a conquest. He thought about the white alicorn with amethyst eyes. About how heavy it is to be a god to those who don't understand the price of your existence. "Outcasts are not born. They are made," he recalled the Librarian's words. Rulers are too, he added mentally. Legion turned off the hologram. The hall plunged into darkness. — Tomorrow, — he said into the void. — Tomorrow we decide who we are to them. A threat... or allies. But deep inside, he already knew the answer. You cannot destroy someone whose pain you felt as your own. Chapter 18: Tears of the Shark Three hours. That was exactly how long Legion slept. For a being carrying eternity within himself, it was a mere blink. But it was enough for the dream to turn into an obsessive image. A white figure. Amethyst eyes. Sorrow, heavier than mountains. He stepped out of Haifisch at dawn. Mist still clung to the ground, concealing the sharp edges of the citadel. Legion walked not as a conqueror, but as a pilgrim. His destination was neither the pony city nor the throne room. He was looking for stone. --- The Quarry of Silence A few kilometers from the fortress, amidst a rocky wasteland, he found it. A massive boulder of gray granite. Without cracks. Without flaws. A monolith. Legion walked around it. His mind, amplified by thousands of intellects, already saw what was not yet there. Like Michelangelo looking at a block of marble and seeing the angel within, Legion saw Her inside the stone. Not the Princess of the Sun. Not a Goddess. Not a Ruler. A tired alicorn. A grieving sister. — It is irrational, — the Scholar stated, scanning the stone's structure. — Energy expenditure exceeds utility. You are wasting resources on an object with no tactical value. — Art has no value? — the Creator protested. — Look at the form! That curve of the neck! That posture! — It is weakness, — the Warlord growled. — Instead of planning defenses, attacks, reinforcing walls, training the dogs... you're going to play sculptor? — Silence, — Legion said. He removed his gauntlets. His claws, harder than steel, flared with blue light. --- Birth from Stone The first strike. A piece of granite chipped off like butter. Legion moved in a trance. His paws flashed, striking sparks. Dust settled on his black cloak. He did not use magic to shape it. Only physical strength and precision. Every strike was a word. Every chip was a sentence. — Do you remember every pixel? — the Scholar asked with a note of respect. — Reproduction from memory with 99.8% accuracy. — I remember her gaze, — Legion replied mentally. The Philosopher was silent. He did not comment. He felt it. In every movement of Legion was a confession. He was not carving stone. He was carving his understanding of her pain. The granite took shape. Head. Wings. Posture—seated, bowed, hooves folded. The Warlord grumbled but could not look away. — Anatomy is flawless. Muscles relaxed, yet ready to tense. This... is worthy work. A pity it is not a warrior's statue. — She fights every day, — Legion said aloud, without stopping. — Her war is quieter. But heavier. He took the tools. Chisels. Now detail was needed. Mane. Feathers. And most importantly—the eyes. He worked for hours. The sun climbed to its zenith. The statue's shadow grew short. Finally, he stepped back. Celestia looked out from the stone. Not majestic. She sat, head lowered, wings folded. On her stone face was frozen an expression of quiet despair. The very exhaustion Legion had seen through the drone's camera. It was terrifyingly real. --- The Inscription Legion approached the pedestal, which he had left untouched at the base. He carved the letters with his claws. Deep, clear. The language of the ancient empire, understandable to the educated minds of Equestria. `[His onus est]` — "Here lies the burden," the Philosopher translated quietly. — Or "This is her burden." — Let them read it as they wish, — Legion said. — The meaning is one. He stepped aside, wiping dust from his paws. — Why? — asked the Scholar. — What is the strategic purpose of this monument? Legion looked at the statue. The wind played with the stone mane. — A reminder, — he answered. — For me. For them. For the future. — You are becoming attached, — the Philosopher noted. — I am understanding, — Legion corrected. --- Name and Song Legion turned his back to the statue and began the walk back to Haifisch. But in his mind, among thousands of voices and memories, something else surfaced. Not a military march. Not a priest's prayer. A song. Old. Forgotten. From a world that no longer exists. From an era when wolves still sang by campfires, before the ice locked the world. And the name of his fortress... Haifisch. Shark. Lines surfaced in his memory. In a language long considered dead. Legion stopped in the middle of the path. "A shark has tears that start to fall, They trace the face, unseen by all. But sharks must live beneath the sea, And water hides their misery." Silence within the mind. Even the Warlord fell quiet. — You compare yourself to a shark, — the Philosopher said. — A predator whose pain is hidden by its environment. — And her, — Legion added. — She lives in the sunlight. In radiance. In adoration. Who will see her tears behind that light? — It is poetic, — the Creator whispered. — But dangerous. — It is the truth, — Legion cut in. He continued his path. His silhouette stood black against the rocks. — Are you crying? — the Philosopher asked. Legion did not answer. But the wind blowing in his face was damp. The shark lives in darkness The Princess lives in lightness Legion lives with spears And no one sees the tears He entered the gates of Haifisch. The statue remained standing in the wasteland. Lonely. Eternal. A witness to pain that cannot be shown.