Many moons ago, in the early days of Equestria, there were two princesses. The oldest raised the sun while the youngest raised the moon. The country lived in harmony for countless years. However, the young princess had grown jealous of her sister. Seeing how ponies basked in the light and yet slept in during her darkness. So, eons before the night princess was banished to the moon, using her godlike powers, she created a sub-race.

Thestrals was what they were. Ponies with bat like qualities, a special kind of ponies that live and basked in her precious moon.

For many years, even during the time Princess Luna was banished to the moon, the race of bat ponies thrived and lived on.

Then, when Equestria fallen to dark times, when factories exploded and radiation plagued the top surface, everything changed.

Most who were hit by the full blast died instantly, a lot flown off just far enough to where they wouldn't get affected. But, some thestrals weren't so lucky.

When the blast hit them, they changed. Their strengths increased ten-fold, they became faster, stenima increased like none other. Plagued with black or silver manes, crimson red eyes, gained abilities that was impossible for a normal winged pony to have. And when Luna's moon rises even after her death, their power increased when the moon is at its highest. Harder to kill….

The downside to all of that, they crave blood.

Scientific new Equestrian term, we're called Equine Nosferatu Vampiris. In old Equestrian, we were called vampires.

The Originals, the first of my kind, thrived the wasteland. Sure back then, they couldn't step foot outside during the day without getting burned to ash. They and the ghouls and ghosts rule the ghastly top world of Equestria and other parts of the world. The ponies who managed to survive either crammed into multiple shelters called Stables in the world to hide out the radiation, or those who were fortunate to live throughout the world fought constantly to stay alive.

For years, the Originals thrived with their own set of rules, their own cultures to fight, not just for survival, but to live. As time went on, the race grew and grew, producing offspring and they rule the night of the wasteland. Always evolving, always changing.

The more power we grew, the more we became a target. A target to those who believe they could use our DNA to harness our abilities to thrive themselves. To those who believe that if that if we had our way, we'd kill everypony in sight.

One night, my brother and I, young fledglings, both age ten, lost our group and was left to die in midst of a deadly sand storm. We haven't grown into our abilities yet, we wouldn't be able to heal as the storm would rip the flesh from our very bones. Just as the storm was about to hit us, an armored convoyed came in. A group of tracker ponies from a nearby stable. The ponies thought nothing of us, seeing a couple of young kids out here during a storm, they took pity and dragged our bodies with them.

Stable 609 it was called. Built under a city that used to be called Dodge Junction. When my brother and I woke up and saw where we were, we were scared beyond our minds. Being in a new place, away from our group, we didn't know what to think. The first pony we saw that tried to quote-on-quote "help us", we lashed out and attacked him. Though we didn't have our abilities just yet, we were still slightly stronger than average ponies and such, took down that pony in just seconds and took off down the halls.

We ended up getting lost down the halls, trying to find our way back up top. We weren't used to being inside a metal box, we wanted to go outside, back to our group.

It wasn't until he came. The Overstallion, Iron Wrought, he cornered us - along with several of armed guards - up against a wall.

My brother and I were ready for a fight for what was coming. We were ready.

But Iron Wrought, he took one look at us. Seeing us for who we were, he smiled at us.

"Now now, ya'll." The southern sounded stallion spoke in New Equestrian, telling to his men. "It's just a couple of young fillies and colts scared. They shown that they have that flight or fight in 'em. And I like that." He chuckled, shooing them away. We knew what he was saying but the way he was saying it was strange, we spoke the old version of the language. The way he spoke sounded like nails scratching against the glass.

My brother and I stared down at him as he crouched down to our level. "Easy now, I ain't gonna hurt ya...though you two did take down some of my people. They were good folks trying to help ya'll."

My brother stood in front of me, shielding me from the stallion. We didn't know what to think of him, he looked charming, kind. Something in me though - and I'd confirmed it later on - that Iron Wrought, was a wolf in sheep's clothing.

Judging by his brown eyes staring down at us and that smirk, he knew just what we were. That we weren't normal bat ponies.

He then reached down to his boot and grabbed out a large knife. Making sure that we weren't frightened, he takes his left hand out, turning to where we were looking down at his wrist. The Overstallion takes his knife and slowly cut his wrist along the pulsing vein, blood quickly swelled up and dripped onto the cold hard floor, quickly switching hands and slitting his other wrist before he offered them up to us.

"It's alright, ya'll must be starving." he said nonchalantly, that smirk of his not leaving his muzzle. "It's good."

No doubt my brother and I's eyes flashed pure red when seeing the blood drip to the ground.

With our starving bellies, we latched onto his wrists and instantly began feeding off of him. We hadn't grown our fangs yet so we drank from his cuts.

"Take as much as you like." Iron Wrought calmly said. "There's plenty more where that came from."

That's how he roped us into staying. Promising us that my brother and I would be safe and be properly fed while living among others in this Stable. We'd get our own rooms, warm beds, safe down here as the world above continued to go to hell.

That first night was the hardest, I couldn't sleep right. Being put into my own room. No window to remind me what was going on outside, I felt my twin feeling the same way.

So, I went to my brother's room and we curled up under his bed, both of us listening to the faint sounds of machines turning and groaning, footsteps walking up and down the halls. Somewhere in the stable were music playing.

"I don't like it here, Maverick." I told my brother that as we lie next to each other. "I wanna go home."

"I got a feeling this is our home now, Moonstone," Maverick told me, holding me close with his wing draped around my back. "Maybe this is better. Iron Wrought said he'll take care of us."

"I don't like him, he's too nice."

Maverick chuckled softly. "There are ponies out there who are generally nice. He did let us feed off of him, how many ponies we came across offered themselves to us?"

"Still don't like him."

"Stubborn Moon."

We fell asleep next to each other that night.

My name is Moonstone, this is my story.