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"Gilda! Gilda, wake up!"
Gilda jerked, hitting away a claw. She squinted at the orange sky through an open window, trying to identify the silhouette who awoke her. Spying a scarf rustling in the breeze, she groaned.
"What are you doing in my house?" She rubbed her eyes. "It can't be past six in the morning." She yawned, stretching out to sleep again.
Greta danced about a bit. "W-well, no, it's nearly eight—"
"What?" Gilda cracked open an eye, looking past Greta at the sky. "It can't be eight."
Greta shuddered and cleared her throat. "I think the Pride killed Princess Celestia."
Gilda snapped up, falling out of her straw bed. "What?!" She scrambled up, keeping her eyes on Greta. "What do you mean they killed her?!"
"No," Greta said, pointing out a nearby window. "I didn't say— I meant that the Pride is back from wherever, a-and they're chanting something about a Swan, and it's almost eight, and the sun's not up, and—"
Gilda brushed past Greta and poked her head through the open window. Griffons had gathered in the streets, looking upward. Gilda craned her neck and saw a flock of griffons slowly circling above. A chant echoed down, but the words were indiscernible.
"I-I just talked to her," Greta mumbled from behind. Gilda glanced back, but Greta hushed. Gilda looked back outside, straining to hear what they were saying. She motioned Greta to follow her, but Greta didn't move, shaking her head. Gilda grumbled and flew outside onto the street.
She joined a gathering crowd. The flock above continued to circle and chant. The words shocked her ears: "The Swan is dead. The Swan is dead. The Swan is dead." It wasn't excited or bloodthirsty, as was the case when they killed a dragon; it felt ominous, almost solemn in a way. The words followed the pattern of a slow heart—continuous, droning, thudding.
The flock had the appearance of an arrowhead. Squinting, Gilda saw griffons laden with carts and sacks, and with wide eyes she could only presume them to be full of bits. The flock was led by one griffon: Gale. He held something in his claws, but Gilda couldn't tell what. She turned back to the window and saw Greta peeking down at her. Gilda leapt up and flapped her wings once, skittering into the window with a retreating Greta.
"That's what they're chanting, all right," Gilda said.
"O-o-oh," Greta mumbled, sitting down and clutching her scarf. "This is bad, Gilda. This is bad, this is bad..."
"Greta," Gilda tried to reassure, "we don't know if the Swan is Celestia."
Greta looked at Gilda incredulously, nearly shaking. "Who else could it be?! Who else would they call that?!"
A cry from outside saved Gilda from answering. She ran to the window again and saw the procession slowly descending to the the top of the great tree holding up Griffonstone. A few griffons from the procession dove down to the crowd, and as they left, the crowd made their way up, some zipping there immediately, others ambling slowly, talking with one another.
"I think we should go," Greta said from behind.
Gilda turned around, confused. "Really?"
"Well," Greta went on, "I think we need to know what happened, or at least what they say they did."
An odd sense of dread filled Gilda's heart. "Yeah, I get what you mean, but..." She sighed. "Whatever. Let's go." She began stepping out of the window when she stopped. "Oh! Grampa Gruff!" She went by Greta to the door and called down the stairs. "Hey, Grampa! Are you going to—"
"Bah!" was his reply. "I don't want anythin' to do with 'em!"
Gilda turned to Greta and shrugged. Greta nervously motioned to the window with her head, and the two flew outside. The procession had circled down over the capital building, giving the appearance of some great, slow tornado. From below, the crowd trickled into the building. Gilda and Greta made their way over, filing in behind a group of others.
They found spots in the middle of the crowd, away from the large open doors and the platform up front with Gale and his griffons. The Pride had tucked the cartloads of gold in the far back of the building and guarded it greedily. The crowd was abuzz with talk of what they had done, or where they had gotten their loot, or what their grand announcement might be. Two griffons in the group left and soon returned with what looked to be a fish tank. After a while, the group settled, and they turned to face the crowd with a militaristic air.
Gale finally walked forward from the group a little ways, still carrying his package. He was a smaller griffon, hardly larger than Gilda herself, but he nevertheless commanded the attention of his group and the crowd. The feathers around his face and adorning his chest were ashen grey. His golden eyes were encircled by stark white feathers. Other feathers on his chest were tipped with white as well, giving them an appearance of snow-capped mountains. His beak was small and slightly curved, like that of a shrike, and, along with his talons, was charcoal in color. A pair of white wings poked out from underneath a black cloak, which was fastened by a ruby clasp.
He set down the package carefully underneath him, seemingly guarding it. He looked back, and with a jerk of his head, motioned for another griffon. One flew over to him carrying what looked to be a covered bird cage. Gale nodded to the griffon, and the griffon flew back. Gale held up his claw, silencing the chattering crowd quickly. He looked about them and cleared his throat, straightening his clasp.
"Though I would be most eager to tell you of our recent conquest," he said, "I would like to give a little... demonstration." His voice took Gilda aback. Before today, he was able to make a decent speech once in a while, but it was never anything noteworthy. Now, he could very well be a genuine orator. His voice was more sonorous than before, and a subtle intonation of confidence pervaded. It exuded charisma and eloquence. Gilda for a moment thought his voice was in her own head, but she brushed it aside.
Gale propped up the collar on his cloak with a grin. With a flourish, he withdrew the small cover on the cage to reveal, to the astonishment of the crowd, a terrified crimson and gold phoenix. Its feathers were ruffled in every which way, some on the bottom of the cage, others still holding on but threatening to do the same. Seeing Gale, it backed to the opposite side of the cage and began violently flapping its wings. Gale rapped the cage sharply, and it ceased.
"I assume you all know how phoenixes live and die, hm?" he posed to the crowd. They murmured their assent, and Gale smiled. "Good, good. That saves us all time. So, as you all know, they are immortal. They cannot die. At least," he hit the cage again, causing the bird to squawk, "not without help." He plucked a golden feather from the bird and twirled it in his claw. "Well, how do you suppose we could kill a phoenix, an immortal bird of fire?"
Gale snapped his claws, and two griffons from behind laden with the fish tank waddled up to him and set it down. With a twirl of his claw, Gale let the golden feather tumble down into the water. It hit the surface and sizzled, quickly turning grey and black before disintegrating. The phoenix began to screech, tipping over the cage. With an amused chuckle, Gale set the cage back upright and rested a claw on top of it.
"Now," he resumed, looking back at the audience. "However a phoenix dies, as long as its ashes are able to reignite, it lives again. But drowning a phoenix..." He lifted the cage up and suspended it over the tank. He leered at the bird, who cowered from him as best it could, pushing up against the bars. "Are you ready for a swim?"
The phoenix began howling, flapping its wings in protest and futilely trying to bite at Gale's claws. He slowly lowered the cage into the water, letting its surface singe the poor bird's feet. Its cries rose in pitch to a shrill. It began hopping around and frantically sweeping its wings, casting gold and crimson feathers aside into the water. Its wails pierced Gilda's ears, went through her head, and landed in her chest. She plugged her ears to no avail, as did Greta and many others in the audience.
The cage continued to lower, and the phoenix inside could no longer avoid the water. It then tried to fly, hitting its great wings against the cage, though it soon hit the top and fell. The water rose to its belly, then its chest; the water was boiling now. All the while, the protests of the phoenix were becoming more frantic and choppy, and it splashed and thrashed about in the cage. The feathers in the submerged water were becoming dull, slowly turning black. Soon, the water was up to its neck, and it made a last attempt to bite at Gale's claws. With a sudden movement and a final squawk, the whole of the cage was released and submerged. Then everything was silent.
It sank right to the bottom, and Gale watched attentively. The cage became momentarily obscured by bubbles, but they soon cleared, and the phoenix's agony was visible again. It continued writhing and flapping its wings, and it began to swim up and grabbed the bars with its talons, trying to force itself through the cage. Its warm glow was entirely gone now, and it had changed to a sooty black. It spun around desperately, shedding more and more crumbling feathers. Its movements finally began to slow, eventually stopping altogether. A last gasp of air escaped from its beak.
A few moments passed before the black figure slowly collapsed into a cloud of ashes. They settled at the bottom of the cage, creating a pile as chaotic as the phoenix's final throes. After a few seconds, a flash of white flared from the ashes but afterwards remained undisturbed. A few more seconds, and a flash of light yellow appeared, but still nothing happened. A longer stretch of time passed before the ashes glowed orange, longer still before they feebly pulsed red, and then they finally stopped.
The crowd began chittering, most in impressed voices. Gilda had been unable to tear her gaze during the display, a dark feeling billowing in her chest.
"I can't believe he did that," Greta muttered. Gilda's eyes darted to her, and Greta looked at her. "I mean, drowning a phoenix? That's just..." She shook her head in disgust. "That's like... a sin. They're a symbol of life itself. Killing one is just... so wrong, like... It makes me feel sick." Gilda could only nod solemnly. The crowd around them hushed, and Gilda looked at Gale again with a renewed sense of foreboding.
"Thus," Gale said, "as a phoenix can be killed, the very creature which represents immortality, so too can other supposedly immortal beings." He made a movement towards the package.
"Now, I feel the tale of our recent exploits is long overdue. Would I be incorrect by saying a great many of you are now more focused on the cartloads of gold than on me?" He garnered some scattered laughter from the crowd. "Yes, I thought so. Of what you see before you we have not a tally, but we do estimate our modest earnings to be exceeding a few hundred million bits!" Surprised cheers rippled through the crowd. "For you see," Gale said, his voice cutting through the crowd, "last night, our gallant griffons here attacked and plundered the Equestrian city of Canterlot and the Crystal Empire!"
The crowd quieted in astonishment, with only a few awed whispers being traded here and there. Greta began to tremble.
"And not only was this bird a phoenix," he continued, hitting the tank in front of him, "it was none other than the beloved pet of Princess Celestia." He raised a claw to his beak in mock thought. "How elegant, how… poetic; an immortal princess companioned with another immortal creature. Though, as I have just demonstrated, immortality does not entail invulnerability." He slowly undid the knot on the package.
"The raid was not merely for gold, my friends. Last night, we accomplished something no other nation nor species nor generation could ever dare to achieve! Last night, we have made our voice heard throughout Equestria and the world! Last night, we united the griffons once more! Last night..." He grasped something from inside the package and began flying upwards, no longer taking care to conceal it. Gilda faltered and held her wings closer to herself. Gale was clutching a pair of white wings and a long white unicorn horn. He stopped, and, raising his trophies in the air, he shouted triumphantly, "We killed Princess Celestia!"
His voice reverberated in Gilda's skull, and she nearly staggered, her insides turning cold. Greta helped her, but she herself seemed unstable. The rest of the crowd looked in awe between the trophy and one another as if to be reassured what they heard was what was spoken.
"Princess Celestia is dead!" Gale declared again. The crowd around Gilda and Greta finally erupted in yells and cheers, and the two looked at each other with dread. Gale's laugh echoed in the building. "The Sun has set! The Swan has sung her last song!"
At that moment, the first beams of sunlight forced its way through the dilapidated ceiling, casting its golden light into Gale's eyes. He drew his cloak up to cover his face, and a few griffons from the back took some fallen drapery and covered the holes. The light soon vanished, and Gale nodded at the back. He slowly descended, still proudly displaying the wings and horn. When he landed again, he took great care to wrap his trophies up again.
"Unfortunately," he continued, turning back to the crowd, "the Raven still lives." He growled, swishing his tail. "In spite of this, our plan worked beautifully. The ponies have been successfully blinded. We left Canterlot burning and in turmoil. Without their Heart... hold on." He stopped, turning and motioning to a cart behind him. A griffon hefted over to him a sizable turquoise heart.
He looked back at the crowd and held up the Heart, letting the griffons gaze at it. "Without their Heart, the Crystal Empire and its citizens lie frozen. I think this Heart could be a worthy replacement for our long-lost Idol of Boreas, no?" The majority of the crowd assented, and he set the Heart down next to the package.
"Their armies were weak," he continued, "as we had supposed, and we predict Equestria shall not be ready to retaliate for weeks to come." He made a grand sweep with his claw. "In the interim betwixt now and their attack, we shall prepare as well."
He sighed heavily and looked at the crowd. "Now, I perceive there are a few of you who feel what we did was... unwarranted." He said the last word with contempt. He continued angrily, his feathers ruffling around his neck. "Need I remind you the reason why we live in squalor, why the Idol of Boreas lies in the bottom of the Abysmal Abyss, why we have lost our pride and our unity?" He glowered. "I should think not."
He snapped his claws, and a griffon handed him a scroll. Gale unfurled it and with a loud voice proclaimed, "We the Griffons of the once mighty Kingdom of Griffonstone, in order to restore Pride, establish Unity amongst ourselves and our fellow griffons in the east and abroad, ensure future economic Prosperity, and to right the wrongs dealt to us by Equestria, do hereby reestablish the Griffon Kingdom and do declare war on the Tyranny that is Equestria!"
The crowd whooped and hollered their approval. Greta started to back towards the door, but the griffons behind them were blocking the way, both on the ground and in the now raucous air. Gilda kept muttering to herself, "This isn't happening, this isn't happening, this isn't happening..."
"Now, now," said Gale, pretending to quiet the audience. "Let us continue." The fervor of the crowd took a little while to settle, of which Gale seemed to be pleased. "I do not think it too presumptuous we are all in agreement, that we are of one mind." He paused in what Gilda could tell was feigned thought. "Now, what kingdom can call itself such without a king?" He made an innocent gesture to himself and smiled.
Silence followed for a moment. Then, a griffon behind Gale shouted, "Long live King Gale!" The group then started a chant, "Gale! Gale! Gale!" The first few in the front joined in, "Gale! Gale! Gale!" followed by more and more from the middle, "Gale! Gale! Gale!" until the whole building shook with his name, "Gale! Gale! Gale!"
Gilda nudged Greta. "C'mon," she whispered, "let's get outta here. This is making me sick."
Greta shook her head. "We can't, not with this crowd."
"We'll slip right out," Gilda said. "They won't even notice—"
"No, no," Greta insisted. "I mean, we can't leave until they leave. Think of what they might do to us." Gilda winced, and Greta nodded. "We'll just wait until—"
"But where are the others?" Gale said. Gilda turned to look at him with a newfound distaste. Gale held up an upturned claw. "Surely—and I am not unappreciative of your generous support—but surely there must be more griffons in Griffonstone than are present."
Someone from behind Gale flew up and towards the doors. "Round them up!" he called below. The sense of dread came back to Gilda in full force. The group on the platform immediately followed the first griffon with bloodthirsty cries. Many in the back crammed through the doors, flooding outside.
Greta, shuddering, looked at Gilda. "I-I don't like the way he said that," she said.
Gilda nodded curtly. She looked at the jammed doors, and the flapping of the drapery blocking the sun caught her gaze. She half picked up Greta and motioned to the crack. They quickly flew over and tore down the tattered fabric, letting light shine through. It was just big enough. Gilda forced her way through, tumbling outside. Blinking, she turned to see Greta doing the same. Soon, she was out, and the two looked around Griffonstone.
A portion of the crowd had flowed through the streets, some knocking on doors and others barging in bearing the good news and recruiting. Most of the crowd flew up, creating their own processions like the Pride when they had returned, complete with chants of their new King and the dead Swan.
Gilda looked to her house and gasped. The door had just slammed shut, and a group of griffons were flying away. Gilda saw a glint in one of their claws. "Grampa Gruff!" she cried. She dove down to her house, Greta struggling to keep up.
Gilda landed and barged through the door, her eyes blinking in the dark. "Grampa?! Where are you?! Are you alri—" She froze, her heart skipping a beat. Gruff was on his back, gasping and sputtering. He shakily turned to look at Gilda, and she leapt over to him, her eyes darting everywhere. His claws held at his rising and falling chest, a fast red stream flowing through them into a puddle underneath him. Greta still stood by the door, too stunned to move.
Wheezing, Gruff shakily raised a claw, and Greta took it with both of hers. He tried to say something, but he coughed and sputtered blood on himself. He locked eyes with Gilda, and it seemed to her as though he were trying to speak through them. He gasped once more before his head fell back and hit the ground. Gilda was still looking through tears into his eyes, still holding with shaking claws onto his. Greta yelled something at her, but Gilda was somewhere else.
A rough set of claws grabbed Gilda's shoulders and tore her away from Gruff, leading her outside. She kept her eyes on him until the front door shut was slammed shut. The claws forced her up into the air and took her over to the town square, where around thirty other griffons had been corralled. The claws, once she had landed, then shoved her stumbling into the crowd. Greta quickly found her and stood next to her, saying something. Gilda looked at the straw-hewn ground, her gaze distant and her tears silent.
"It doesn't have to be this way," Gale said from somewhere above Gilda. He spoke as though betrayed. "It's not too late to accept our offer. We griffons can be united once more in pride. Don't you see? This is our great future. Please. Join me, join us. We can be together again." No one said anything. No one moved.
"Then leave."
The words prickled the back of Gilda's mind, and she jumped. She looked around, blinking tears away, and everyone else seemed to have been startled too. She glanced at Gale's commanding claw and saw he was pointing north. Greta gently nudged Gilda and flew upwards. She looked at her humble group of thirty and then at Gale, who reaffirmed his gesture with a stern nod. She tearfully turned and began flying north. Gilda numbly followed, and, one by one, the rest of the group took off. They slowly gained altitude and distance, slipping away from their Griffonstone and its split mountain.