Partially inspired by Ten Years - one of the best Momlestia works ever made.

>There is a legend that is sometimes recited among other fairy tales and predictions.
>Not as old as one about Nightmare Moon or the stories of Crystal Empire, but still known to the ponies.
>This legend is of a prince who was forced into exile and will some day return to deal with everything evil, unjust and unfair.
>He will return, and the true summer will come with him.
>And the worse the situation becomes, the more it is being reminded about.


>Well, Equestria has been going downhill ever since, slowly but steadily.
>Changeling Remnant, led by rogue general Xargash, has achieved a victory over joint army in the battle of Vanhoover just three months ago: this catastrophe opened the gates to whole Northwest.
>Griffons have been increasing their military presence in South Foalster with border checkpoints reporting of hundreds of soldiers nearby.
>And there was a thing even worse.
>A "very clever" idea from Prince Blueblood - emission of the stocks of Manehattan Port - and some briberies led to the GriffinTrade Co. buying the controling stake.
>The budget was at all-time low, and civil unrests have been sparking all over the country.
>General Soarin was forced to use Wonderbolts while dispersing a crowd in Fillydelphia - a precedent unbeknownst before.
>But, worst of all, Princess Celestia, Equestrian diarch and the Sun Goddess, was feeling very unwell. Constant headaches, overall tiredness - all of this led to her collapsing right in the Day Court.
>Despite strict censorship of all materials concerning her health, rumors have been spreading far and wide.
>Equestria is in peril.

>"Vice Admiral Stormhoof, Southern Fleet, with a report, Your Majesty!"
"Let him...in."
>The last word was fairly difficult to say, as everything started to blur in front of your eyes. But you HAVE to stay here.
>The last time you've been visiting the doctor was about 1100 years ago, even before the first battle with Nightmare Moon. But everything has drastically changed.
>Twelve years after the...event...and Equestria, a magnificent country that has existed for millennia, is falling apart.
>You still shudder when trying to remember a terrible chain of events that is now called the Week of Infamy.
>White jacket-clad vice admiral with scars and bruise marks all over his face approaches the throne and bows.
>"Your Majesty, will you allow me to give you a report on an unusual situation that is happening now?"
"Yes, please, vice admiral."
>"As you wish."
>"Fisherponies along the south-eastern coast were saying that there was a large fleet patrolling near our waters, so I've led a large expedition to investigate, Your Majesty."
>"They've noticed a big group of ships, probably even more advanced than the best of what we have at our disposal."
>"They haven't shown any signs of aggression, though, and are probably manned by ponies, not griffons or any other species."
>"And they have something odd on their sails..."
>"...the sun is emblazoned on every each of them."
"Send recon flotillas to keep track of them, but don't open fire unless they do."
>Seems like this is the only logical way out of this situation.
>"As you wish, Your Majesty. Thank you for your patience."
>With that, he gets up and walks away; some noble visitor, probably asking for expansion of his domain, takes his place.
>"Your Majesty, I sincerely ask of your mercy..."

>What is it...four o'clock in the morning?
>Definitely not the intended time for you to raise the sun.
>But you can't just go to sleep again, memories like photographs appearing in your mind one by one.
>Of course you've made sure that everyone at least partially responsible for this was properly punished, with "being turned to stone and then shattered" being the most merciful of executions.
>Luna said afterwards that she was worried about you going full Daybreaker and committing a full purge of their families.
>That didn't happen, though.
>BUT THAT WAS WHAT THEY DESERVED!
>Boiling rage overcomes you, when you are yet again reminded by your rogue memory of what was taken from you.
>Amidst all that suffering, you hear a quiet tune playing somewhere away.
>The castle's orchestra is asleep at the time, so who may be playing this?
>Anyway, you try to concentrate and guess what is this melody.
>After a minute, an even quieter chorus, probably of mares, adds to the tune. You still can't recognise the words, but the melody seems very familiar.
>And then it all ends; you suddenly feeling exhausted as if after a ten-mile run with Luna on your back.
>Very strange.
>Nonetheless, what was all that about the strange fleet in the southern waters - with Sun symbols on their sails? 
>Maybe you can ask Luna to fill in for you for a day, while you'll travel to the south and meet that fleet's commander yourself.
>Sounds like a good idea.
>Now...you have to brew yourself some coffee. There is a lot of irony in the fact that Sun Goddess is not a morning pony.

"What's the distance?"
>"Two hundred and fifty to the shore, three hundred to the nearest port, sir."
"Status?"
>"All ships are present, sir."
"Great."
>"What's the supposed day of landing, sir?"
"Landing? Huh. I think we'll begin this in a week."
>"No problems with that, sir."
>Western wind throws another wave of saltwater right into your face, as you take another generous sip from your cup of grog.
>Although it may sound very clichéd, but you've really been waiting for this moment for twelve years or so.
>You're pretty sure that Mom had her revenge on those cretins, but everything what she could've done is not enough.
>It's now the proper time to announce your presence to everypony else.
>But mostly all this is happening because you don't want her to worry about you anymore. If she had worried...
>That rogue thought is thrown out - of course she had worried about you! Mom is not that kind of pony to easily forget about something like this.
>But it's not the time to think too hard about this.
"Prepare the gig to the Death's Head. Admiral Saltmane is currently appointed my deputy, inform him of this."
>"Yes, sir."
>As you descend into the small boat, your thoughts