King Sombra- Before the obsidian throne
Long before the age of Harmony descended upon Equestria, there was only cold, unrelenting dominion. The Crystal Empire wept black tears of obsidian, and its people moved like ghosts through a world carved from suffering. For in those days, the land was gripped by the iron will of one being: Sombra, the Obsidian Emperor. A creature wrought from nightmare and flame, from hatred calcified into sentience, Sombra did not rule; he consumed. Yet in the darkest crevices, something dared to breathe. She—a mare whose name once sparked warmth in the hearts of the enslaved—stood as the last flame against his encroaching dark. She who healed the wounded, whispered songs of the old sun to wide-eyed colts and fillies, and united the broken into an army of memory. But hope is fragile when crushed between the teeth of tyranny. At Bloodsworne Gorge, her rebellion was swallowed whole. Now, within the throne chamber—a cathedral of pain carved from blackened stone—he studies her as a child might a broken toy. The mare is shackled in silver that burns, etched with runes that gnaw at her soul. Sombra did not kill their leader. No. That would be mercy.