At the hour of dawn, the sun did not rise.

Darkness enveloped her realm as the Lady walked amongst her people. It was customary for her to emerge in the night, for it was only when those she served (just as they served her, in turn) slept that she felt truly able to protect them. Leadership had surprised her; she had not been able to simply assume the throne with her flock bleating eagerly around her. She had been forced to work hard to earn their trust and devotion, and though she had gone to great lengths to ensure their loyalty, there were times even now that she felt lacking. When they fell into the embrace of sleep, they did not question her. They were forced to trust in her completely, for she was the sword in the night that kept them from harm. The night, some would argue, was dark and full of terrors, and the Dark Empress was the guard against them all.

The Lady had never feared the absence of the sun, preferring the shadows to the light, but when dawn failed to come, she was filled with a sense of dread. What had befallen their land that the world would stop turning, that time would, in a sense, halt? What evils crept their way in the gloom? Were they obscenities that she could combat? Or would she be left helpless and in ruins, unable to protect those loyal to her? She refused to believe that to be the case, for if her followers fell, she would not be far behind; and those at the top had the farthest to fall. She would not lose everything that she had worked so hard to build in the farthest reaches of the North. And yet still the question lingered as time ticked ever onward, as it is so wont to do: what villainy crept silently over Helovia, stealing away the luminescence of the gods themselves (for surely the only explanation when the sun does not rise must be that the Sun God has fallen)?

Agitation and worry etched faint lines on her brow, a small frown covering her features. Few had awoken as of yet, and she moved in silence from her band of followers, following the distant, shimmering glow of a tree. The shadow-mare's trepidation grew as she realized the course of the light, for it was unnatural and unexplained, and such things are usually accompanied by dire consequences. But she had survived the Steppe against the odds; more than just that, she had led her herd to safety in the harshest Frostfall anyone could remember. Was it a year ago so soon? In any case, she was not about to let one more faulty god's mistakes send her to an early grave; she had bested them before and would do so again.

To her surprise, another figure stood in the gentle radiance, one that she had perhaps met when he had first arrived but had little to do with since. As she grew closer, she raised her eyes in a mixture of astonishment and respect, for dangling from the steed's maw was the wing of a skyrat. Even for one such as the Empress, who adorned herself with trophies from past murders, this seemed superfluous. He called out for her then, and she wondered if he had seen her approach or had simply expected her to hear his summons. She suspected the latter, for she rarely missed a call for her attention. "This is impressive," I say with a smile as I step into the shine from the light-tree. "Whereever did you get it?"

@[Crash Course]
"Talk talk talk."