Celestia was on her third slice of cake.
I sat quietly across from her, watching as she savored every bite with a strange mixture of elegance and desperation. It wasn't just her usual sweet tooth at work. I knew the signs. This was a ritual—her way of grounding herself before something heavy. She chewed slowly, eyes half-lidded, as the tension melted from her shoulders piece by piece.
By the time the plate was empty, her posture had changed. She reclined slightly in her seat, finally allowing herself a breath that didn't carry the weight of a thousand expectations. Still, I could tell it wasn't over yet. Not entirely.
A quiet sigh escaped her lips. Soft, tired. But not defeated.
"That's enough waiting," she said, placing the fork down with delicate finality. "Enough theatrics. It's time you knew why I called you."
She didn't wait for a reply. With a flick of her horn, a soft golden glow filled the room. A roll of parchment appeared in midair, followed by several rounded stones—each small enough to fit in a hoof, yet carved with deliberate care. Tiny etched shapes adorned their faces: a horn, a star, a butterfly, a balloon.
At first glance, they looked like simple crystal trinkets. But my magical senses stirred before my brain caught up. There was something old in them. Not aged, but ancient. Fundamental. Like the hum of a primal truth buried beneath the surface.
The shapes… I recognized them.
Symbols.
No—more than that.
Icons.
My breath caught slightly as I stared at them, realization settling like a weight in my chest.
The Elements of Harmony.
Or at least… something connected to them.
Celestia's expression shifted as she noticed my reaction. She didn't smile. Didn't nod. She simply let the silence speak as the last echoes of magic faded from the summoning.
The stones landed softly on the table between us, their carved surfaces catching the light in subtle gleams.
Celestia's magic faded, and for a brief moment, she just looked at them. Her eyes didn't hold nostalgia or reverence. Just focus. Like a mathematician reviewing a known formula, precise and worn by use.
"You recognize them," she said.
It wasn't a question.
She gestured lightly with her hoof, pointing to each in turn. "Honesty. Laughter. Loyalty. Kindness. Generosity."
Then she stopped.
The sixth stone—a pale crystal etched with the image of a star—remained untouched, unnamed.
She didn't look at it. She didn't explain.
I didn't ask.
I wanted to. The silence around that last symbol felt deliberate, weighted. But her tone shifted, and the moment passed.
"These scrolls," she continued, unfurling the parchment next to the stones, "contain a prophecy. One I wrote long ago. And one I recently gave to Twilight."
There was something in her voice—something old. Not regret, exactly. But distance. Like she was looking at her own words from very far away.
"She's become… fixated on it," Celestia said. "More than I intended. Just in the past two days, she's sent nearly a dozen letters—questions, theories, warnings." She sighed, not with frustration, but with something more tired, more knowing. "If she asks you about it—if she wants to know what you think—say nothing. Let her search. Let her draw her own conclusions. It's necessary."
Her magic shimmered again, and one of the scrolls hovered toward me. Then she nodded to the stones.
"I need you to place these," she said, "at a specific location in the Everfree Forest. Not far. But not within Ponyville's borders either."
With a second spell, the table shifted. A projection unfolded above it: a holographic map marked with ley lines and terrain notations, centered around a ruined structure half-swallowed by the forest. My eyes narrowed slightly at the layout—broken towers, collapsed arches, wild overgrowth surrounding crumbling stone.
It didn't look familiar.
But when the spell zoomed in further and revealed the age of the structure—its architecture, the patterns in the cracked glass, the worn tiles—I understood.
The Castle of the Two Sisters.
I had only seen references to it in books, old ones buried beneath Canterlot's archives. But this… this was more than ruins. This was history, forgotten and overgrown.
I said nothing. My curiosity flared, of course, but I stayed quiet. My attention drifted between the map, the stones, and Celestia's calm but careful posture.
It wasn't just a delivery. This was a setup.
A ritual.
Too precise. Too controlled.
Even WARDS was involved—subtly, but undeniably. The way their agents moved when I left, the way doors opened before I even reached them. Someone had cleared the path. Someone had been told.
No, this wasn't just some errand.
It was orchestrated.
But it didn't matter. I would play my part.
Celestia's voice pulled me out of my analysis.
"It's going to be a difficult day, Wizbell," she said gently. "And I need you to follow your heart—just like I've tried to teach you."
Her gaze was steady, but softer now.
"Not the cold, calculating logic that works so well with your magic. But the compassion… the duty… that lives in your heart, with your kind. I need you to choose the path that protects others. The path that keeps them safe."
Something shifted in the air.
It wasn't her tone, or her posture—but her magic. A quiet storm beneath her words. Grief wrapped in gold. Power held back by purpose.
My thoughts raced.
Why?
Why was she saying all this?
Why did this sound like something that had to happen, not something she was trying to stop?
Why did her aura feel so heavy with sadness, so hard to endure, even for someone like me—trained to keep emotion at bay when working with unstable energies?
I couldn't help it.
"…Why?" I asked.
"Why are you doing this? Why does this feel… inevitable? And why aren't you stopping it?"
She didn't answer right away.
For a heartbeat, her mask cracked.
Just enough.
...
He saw it.
Of course he did.
He's always been too perceptive. Too quiet in the ways that matter. I never disliked that—how could I? But it makes it harder now. Harder to lie by omission. Harder to keep my fears buried where they belong.
He looks at me and I feel the weight of everything I haven't said. The plans. The risks. The centuries of hoping things don't unravel at the final moment.
I don't want to place that on him.
I don't want my doubts to become his burden.
And yet… the magic whispers.
It tells me things might go right. That maybe—just maybe—this time, everything will fall into place.
...
Celestia let out a breath—half a laugh, half a sigh. Bitter, and almost hopeful.
"My little sister," she whispered. "My only sister… will be freed."
She looked at me—not as a princess, not even as a teacher—but as someone deeply tired.
"And I need everything to follow the plan. One I've been preparing for longer than I dare admit. One that only works if others help carry it forward. Years, Wizbell. Centuries. Waiting for the right conditions. Waiting for the pieces to align. You don't know what that does to a pony…"
She didn't finish the thought.
She didn't have to.
"Please," she said, with more weight than any order she had ever given me. "Place the stones where I showed you. And protect those who cannot protect themselves."
Her magic flickered again, subtle and uneasy.
"…Because my sister might not return alone."
"I'll do it," I said, steady but firm. "But that doesn't mean I'm happy with how you're handling this."
She blinked, slightly taken aback.
"You could've talked to us. To Cadance. To me. Shared the weight before it grew into something unbearable."
I shook my head, not angry—just disappointed.
"For that reason alone, I expect a letter from you. Written with your own hoof. A letter of reflection. Of how you could've asked for help, and why you must learn to trust others more."
Her eyes widened a fraction.
"You've lived for over a thousand years, Celestia. That doesn't make you perfect. And certainly not emotionless. I know you care deeply. That's why you should've known better."
I stared at her for a moment, letting the words settle in the quiet between us.
"I want that letter by Wednesday."
I didn't wait for a reply.
Still a bit bitter, I gathered the orbs one by one, leaving the scroll behind on the table. I had no interest in reading it now. Not when my mind was already bracing for whatever storm was about to hit—and Ponyville was likely to be at its center.
With a burst of magic, I invoked Flash.
Then another.
And another.
A chain of golden pulses carried me through the corridors and back to the agency, leaving Celestia behind—still seated, still watching the sky in silence.
———
Celestia didn't speak as he vanished.
Not a word. Not a sigh.
Just silence.
She remained seated, eyes fixed on the sky where the clouds drifted lazily across the sun's path. And yet, despite everything—the weight of what was coming, the centuries of planning, the sharp truth laid bare by her own student—there was no anguish in her chest.
Only warmth.
A quiet, steady warmth that dulled the sharp edges of her thoughts.
There's always one, she mused. One pony who dares to speak to me plainly, no matter who I am or how long I've lived.
Not even Twilight has ever raised her voice to me...
She smiled, faintly.
But that doesn't stop Wizbell. Not when he sees something wrong. Even as a colt—
Her eyes softened as memory took hold.
I still remember catching him correcting beginner-level magical formulas on the chalkboard in one of the classrooms… during his very first tour of the school. He was so sure of himself. So certain that the structure could be improved. His poor parents looked mortified…
She chuckled softly.
Oh, Luna… I wish you could meet them. Both of them. My two little apprentices. I wonder what you'd say.
Her gaze drifted again, but this time not to the sun.
To the horizon, where the sky would darken.
Ponies no longer fear the night. They welcome it. Some with curiosity, some with joy. Others live their whole lives beneath a canopy of stars in cities so bright, so full of life…
This is no longer the Equestria we once ruled.
For better… and for worse.
Celestia remained seated.
She didn't move. Didn't call for assistance. Didn't return to her work.
She simply waited.
As she always had.
Her eyes followed the clouds as they drifted. She didn't blink when the time came to lower the sun—she just did it, her horn glowing with practiced grace. The world dimmed, bathed in orange and violet hues.
And still, she waited.
The sky darkened slowly. The stars began to blink into view.
Her chest tightened, but she kept her posture straight.
Then, with a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding, she reached for the moon.
Rising it slowly—deliberately—letting it climb above the mountains with an elegance only she could give it. But her magic trembled slightly, just for a moment.
Not enough to falter. But enough to feel.
The anxiety gnawed at her from within. Old, familiar, and unwelcome. Yet her gaze stayed steady, her face composed, her expression carved in quiet resignation.
And then, softly, barely louder than a whisper:
"…It's time."
She lit her horn again, golden light flickering as her aura shifted into something older—something ceremonial. Ancient runes stirred to life around her, etched deep into the marble beneath the floor and long hidden from sight.
A mantra left her lips, a spell woven not with power, but with memory. With grief. With hope.
Her eyes closed as the magic began to ripple outward.
The seal would break. Her sister would return. And so would Nightmare Moon.
Celestia didn't have to turn.
She felt the presence—cold, vast, and painfully familiar—as it took shape behind her.
A silence deeper than magic settled across the chamber.
"Hello, sister…" she said softly.
——
I was already running by the time the spell anchored me back at home.
No cloak. No saddlebags. Just the orbs held tightly in my telekinetic grip and a burning urgency in my chest.
Stella had tried to say something—probably to ask where I was going or complain about being left behind again—but I didn't stop to listen.
There was no time.
The Everfree Forest loomed ahead, wild and alive. I didn't hesitate. The path to the castle was burned into my memory from the projection Celestia showed me. I didn't need a map.
I cast a quick veil on myself—nothing complex, just enough to slide past any wandering eyes or curious ponies. A spell of passive misdirection, tied to ambient perception. To most, I wouldn't even register as more than a gust of wind or a half-heard rustle.
Then I focused inward.
Channeled magic to my legs, to my lungs, to the muscles that carried me forward. Every movement sharpened, strengthened, made faster. The forest passed around me in a blur of trees, roots, and damp earth.
I had to place the orbs. I had to get back and prepare.
The clock was already ticking.
Just as I leapt over a low embankment, something pink zipped across the path.
Confetti.
A flash of curly mane.
Pinkie Pie.
She was… delivering letters? No—party invitations. Her saddlebags overflowed with cards, and she moved from one spot to the next with impossible speed, leaving a cheerful mess of paper and glitter in her wake.
For a moment—just a second—we locked eyes.
Or maybe we didn't.
Maybe it was just my imagination.
She didn't react. Didn't smile. Didn't even blink.
She just kept moving.
I didn't slow down.
The moment passed.
And once I was deep enough into the forest, far beyond the town's borders—
The veil lifted.
——
Elsewhere…
Pinkie Pie halted mid-bounce, one ear twitching.
She slowly turned her head, eyes narrowing with sudden focus.
"I feel it," she said aloud, to no one in particular. "There's a magic pony trying to hide from my party."
Her tail gave a tight little spiral, and her left knee gave a very specific itch.
"That was definitely a 'party-avoidance spell in motion' combo," she muttered.
Then she smiled. A slow, thoughtful smile.
"I see…"
Pinkie Pie remained still for a moment, one hoof lifted mid-step.
Then, slowly, deliberately, she lowered her nose to the ground.
She sniffed once.
Then twice.
And with a surprising precision, she began to track—zigzagging along the trail, her hooves almost silent, her tail twitching in sync with each step.
A few more sniffs.
A pause.
Another sniff.
Then, in a low whisper, barely audible beneath the rustling leaves:
"…Wizzy."
Her eyes gleamed with a mix of curiosity and certainty.
The only wizard in town.
And he was definitely up to something.
The wind pushed against my face as I darted through the forest, my hooves barely touching the ground with each stride.
Roots, fallen branches, uneven terrain—none of it mattered. My body moved on instinct, enhanced by the magic flowing through my muscles. My breaths came steady, controlled. Every motion efficient. Every step guided by the image in my mind: the castle ruins.
Trees closed in, their silhouettes warped in the dimming light, but I didn't falter.
The Everfree was alive, as always. Buzzing. Breathing.
But not hostile.
Not yet.
Leaves brushed past me, disturbed by my passage, and small creatures skittered away through the underbrush, startled by a presence they couldn't see but certainly felt.
The veil held strong.
I remained unseen, unheard, untouched.
And I was getting close.
I could feel it in the way the ambient magic shifted—thicker, older, less wild and more… woven. Like the forest itself recognized the weight of the place I was heading toward.
After climbing a steep hill, I found myself facing a crumbling cliff—the remains of what must've been an old landslide. The path just ended there, broken into a steep drop littered with jagged rocks and twisted roots. I stepped closer to the edge, trying to figure out the best way down—
—and then the ground cracked beneath my hooves.
With a spark of energy, I invoked Flash—displacing myself across the gap with precision—and hit the slope on the other side in a controlled slide. Dirt and loose stones flew around me, but I kept my balance. The moment my hooves found stable ground, I triggered another Flash, shifting left to dodge a thick cluster of boulders, then again to avoid a fallen tree.
Momentum never broke.
I didn't let it.
There was no time.
The trees narrowed around me, shadows growing deeper—but I was already gone before they could close in.
Then it happened.
A sudden rustle. A growl. Heavy paws slamming against the ground.
A manticore leapt from the undergrowth, its wings flaring and claws extended—aiming straight for my face.
I didn't think.
Instinct fired.
A pulse of raw magic exploded from my horn, blasting the beast mid-air. It yelped as the force sent it crashing through the trees in a blur of fur and snapping branches.
I didn't stop to check if it was okay.
I had a goal.
No hesitation. No distractions.
I kept running—faster now, if anything. A streak of light weaving through the undergrowth, a presence barely visible to the world around me.
I wasn't a pony.
Not here. Not now.
Just a flash of magic moving through the wild.
Magic burned and returned in equal measure.
Flash had become second nature by now—woven so deeply into my reflexes that casting it no longer required thought. Just impulse. A flicker of need, and I moved.
I liked it.
There was something comforting about a spell that never questioned your intent.
Soon, the chaotic tangle of the forest gave way to a calmer patch. Still wild, still ancient—but quieter. The underbrush thinned. The air cooled.
Then I saw it.
A river, wide and slow-moving, cutting across the terrain like a silver scar. Mist hung over it, and for a moment, I thought I was alone.
But the water rippled.
Something stirred.
A large form rose from the surface, glistening with algae and scale. Long whiskers dripped with moisture. Its voice boomed across the clearing, laced with outrage.
"C–Come now! How dare you! How dare you enter my domain without greeting or gift!"
I blinked once.
Raised an eyebrow.
And without a word, I fired a sharp, slicing spell toward his oversized, pompous-looking mustache.
He saw it coming. His reflexes were good—refined by survival in the Everfree—but not perfect. The attack missed by a hair's width, yet his expression changed instantly.
Fear.
Real, visible fear.
"A pony…! A pony attacked me?"
The disbelief in his tone was almost amusing.
Then his eyes flared with fury.
Too slow.
Before he could do anything else, I wrapped him in a cold, dense grip of pure telekinesis. No elegance. No fancy layering. Just force.
"Stop being a nuisance and shut up."
The words came out colder than I intended—but I didn't regret them.
He froze.
Whether it was my magic or my tone, I didn't care.
I didn't stop to find out.
The grip released.
And I ran.
..
.
It didn't take long before I saw it.
The castle.
Half-buried in time, but still standing.
Its towers rose unevenly above the treetops, worn down by centuries of rain and silence. Vines clung to the stone like claws, cracks ran through old murals, and pieces of the outer wall had collapsed into moss-covered piles. Yet despite the decay, the structure held a certain weight—like the shadow of its former glory still lingered in the air.
But something felt wrong.
The grass was low. Too low.
There were roots, vines, creeping enredaderas that spread across the walls like veins, but the ground... it was level. Tamed. Maintained.
Artificial.
In the rest of the Everfree, visibility was a luxury. Wild trees, thick undergrowth, and uneven terrain ruled everything.
But here?
The clearing was too clean.
Too exposed.
The imbalance was subtle—but I noticed it instantly.
I didn't stop to dwell on it.
The bridge awaited me, stretched over a deep ravine. Rotted rope, aged wood, and a whole lot of bad luck just waiting to happen.
I took a breath, letting the run of spells cool inside me, letting my magic stabilize. I stepped onto the first plank.
It creaked under my weight.
Halfway across, I exhaled. My heart had calmed. My body felt lighter. Magic reserves already regenerating.
Then the ropes snapped.
The far end buckled with a snap of tension released, sending the entire structure downward in a chaotic swing.
I didn't panic.
I leapt.
One clean jump. One calculated burst of Flash.
And I landed safely on the other side.
I turned my head back, watching as the bridge swung loosely in the wind, the far end now hanging low against the rock wall.
How would Twilight cross this?
The thought struck me harder than I expected.
She wasn't a combat mage. No field training. No defensive spells beyond basic shields. Would she really be expected to get here alone?
Maybe not.
Maybe she'd be given a support team. A cleanup squad sent ahead to clear out the worst threats. It would be strange if Celestia let her march blindly into the Everfree without backup. There were several scouting groups deployed through the region—I'd passed close to one near the outer ridge.
It wouldn't surprise me if some kind of hidden route had already been prepped. Maybe disguised security wards, gentle guidance runes that only activated if she strayed too far off the right path.
I could do something similar.
Set up light formations on the way back. Nothing flashy. Just enough to ward off predators and nudge her subtly toward the safest trail.
Yeah. That's possible.
I gave the broken bridge one last glance.
No need to fix it.
If Twilight was resourceful enough—and she was—she'd figure it out. She knew enough magic to levitate, repair, or even teleport short distances if it came to it.
And right now, I had a job to finish.
Finding the chamber wasn't difficult.
The magic in the air practically guided me—thicker with each step, more focused. The old architecture of the castle helped too: straight corridors, broken but traceable patterns in the design. Even through the dust and decay, there was an order beneath the chaos.
I reached the room.
It was circular, with stone pedestals set in a formation that mirrored the layout Celestia had shown me. The floor bore traces of ancient carvings—mostly eroded—but still active in a passive way. They resonated faintly when I stepped across them.
One by one, I placed the orbs in their designated positions.
They didn't resist.
No clicks. No bursts of light. Just… harmony.
Each one settled into place as if it had always belonged there.
No friction. No rejection.
As if the castle itself had been waiting.
I didn't linger.
Once the last orb was placed, I turned and began the return path.
But this time, I didn't rush.
As I walked, I started weaving small formational runes into the terrain. Nothing large—just thin magical threads wrapped around stones, etched into tree bark, or buried lightly in the dirt.
Repulsion wards. Low-level deterrents.
Designed not to alert, but to nudge.
Keep larger threats away. Guide wandering hooves toward safer ground. They wouldn't last long—maybe a few hours, a day at best—but they would help.
Especially if Twilight came this way.
I didn't leave a map. Didn't mark the path.
Just a quiet trail of protective influence.
A hidden hand.
Nothing more.
The way back was… clear.
Too clear.
No shifting in the bushes. No distant howls. Not even the usual rustle of wings or chitter of insects.
The forest felt like it was holding its breath.
I noticed it, of course. Any unicorn attuned to magic would have. The Everfree was never silent, and certainly never welcoming. But now… the path unfolded in front of me like it had been cleared.
Deliberately.
I didn't like it.
But I didn't stop.
I kept my pace—not as fast as before, but quick enough. Focused. Efficient. My hooves moved over dirt and root, aided by lingering enchantments still circulating through my limbs. Each step pushed me closer to the edge of the forest. Closer to town.
The moonlight filtered through the branches above, painting silver across the leaves.
And still, no resistance.
No creatures. No obstacles. Not even a misplaced stone.
It was unnatural.
But I had no time to entertain paranoia.
Not tonight.
So I kept moving, crossing the final rise that marked the border of the Everfree. In the distance, the faint glow of lanterns lit the edges of Ponyville.
Night had settled in.
And I had returned.
As I crossed into town, the stillness struck me harder than the Everfree's silence.
All the houses were dark.
No lamps. No silhouettes in the windows. Not even the flicker of late dinners or the sound of chatter through slightly open doors.
That was strange.
This was dinner hour. Ponies should be awake—gathering, talking, getting ready for the solstice at first light.
But the town felt… paused.
Except for one building.
The only light came from the giant tree near the center of town—faint glows pouring from its windows, colored paper lining the glass, and the unmistakable echo of muffled music.
Right… Pinkie Pie.
I remembered seeing her earlier, zipping through the streets delivering invitations like a party-crazed mailmare.
That had to be it.
Everyone must be there.
I stopped for a moment, debating whether I should at least show my face, but shook my head. No time. I needed to get home. Clean up. Recast my anchor spells. I'd burned through a lot of energy today, and I had the distinct feeling things were only going to get worse from here.
I turned down the road toward my house.
Then, a voice cut through the air—sharp and sudden.
"And just where do you think you're going?"
Pinkie Pie stepped into my path, practically materializing from the shadows with a wide grin and eyes that sparkled with purpose.
"There you are!" she shouted, bouncing in place. "You! You're the missing piece! Finally!"
I blinked.
Too late.
"You're gonna be the perfect gift for our brand-new best friend!" she declared, throwing confetti into the air—don't ask from where. "C'mon, come on! I need you now!"
"Wait, what are you—?"
I didn't get to finish the sentence.
Pinkie grabbed my foreleg with terrifying enthusiasm and began dragging me toward the glowing tree-library-party-cakebox. I tried to resist, to dig in my hooves or phase away with a short jump spell—but somehow, her grip defied physics. Or reason. Or mercy.
"I just got back—Pinkie, I really don't have time for—"
"Nope!" she chirped, still pulling. "Too late! You're already part of the plan!"
"Plan? What plan—?"
"Party plan!" she beamed. "Now shut up and sparkle."
I opened my mouth again, but there was no point.
Resistance was futile.
And so, dragged by a pony somehow even smaller than me but with ten times my energy, I was pulled into a celebration I never agreed to.
…What am I even doing here?
I glanced over at Pinkie Pie.
She was practically vibrating with excitement. Her eyes sparkled like she'd just pulled off a grand heist and was now watching the fireworks.
"Just stay still and wait!" she said, humming as she tied a small ribbon around my horn like I was some kind of present.
I stared at her, more confused than anything.
A gift? For who—?
"WIZ!!"
A purple blur slammed into me with enough force to knock the air from my lungs.
Twilight.
She wrapped her forelegs around me, squeezing tight—her magic crackling slightly with barely-contained nerves.
"Finally, we found you!" she said, voice high with relief.
Spike trotted up behind her, wearing what looked like the light-diffuser panel from a lamp as a hat. "Hey, man. We've been looking all over."
"Hey… both of you," I managed to say, still mid-hug and more than a little disoriented.
Before I could say anything else, Twilight began dragging me away from the main party area, muttering something about needing to talk.
"Come on—we have a lot to discuss. It's important."
Pinkie appeared beside her instantly, walking backward with a grin far too wide.
"Did you like your surprise gift?" she asked with sparkles in her voice.
"Yes! Yes, it was great—thank you!" Twilight replied, only half-paying attention… until she glanced up.
And saw the ribbon on my horn.
She froze for exactly one second.
Then turned around.
And doubled her grip on my foreleg, dragging me faster, as if trying to flee the scene of a crime.
Pinkie just watched her go, eyes wide and thrilled. She looked at Twilight, then at me. Then back at Twilight. Then at me again.
Her smile only grew.
I passed a few ponies on the way to whatever quiet corner Twilight had in mind. Some waved. Others nodded.
Pretty sure someone yelled, "That's a stallion right there!" from across the room.
I didn't look to see who it was.
I had bigger problems.
The door shut behind us with a soft thud, muffling the noise of the party into a distant hum.
The air in the room was still—quiet in a way that made the sudden shift feel heavier than it should have.
Twilight let go of my leg and began pacing immediately, her steps sharp and restless.
"This is it," she muttered, almost to herself. "Today's the day. I've triple-checked the dates, the constellations, the prophetic structures—everything lines up. The signs are there. They've been there."
She turned abruptly.
"Wizbell, you do understand what this means, right? We're not just talking about a magical phenomenon. This could be a cataclysm. A global threat. The return of a lunar figure—a mare—from the moon. It all fits. It has to be tonight!"
She kept going, circling the room like her thoughts needed physical space to unravel.
"A thousand years. A sealed presence. Celestial movement anomalies. Historic suppression of arcane references to duality in the royal line. Why else would so much of Equestrian history avoid the topic of Princess Luna directly?"
More pacing. More muttering.
I stood still.
Tried to keep up.
But half of what she was saying blurred into fragments. Cataclysm. Moon. Mare. Tonight. Return. Suppression. Hidden history.
What I did catch—what stuck out through the flood—was something I recognized.
She was talking about the castle.
The one where I had just placed the orbs.
That couldn't be coincidence.
Not with how agitated Celestia had been.
Not with what I had seen.
And certainly not with how quiet the Everfree had been on the way back.
My expression didn't change. I stayed calm. Listening.
But inside?
My thoughts were already racing.
"Look!" Twilight suddenly rushed to the window, her hoof pointing upward with trembling urgency. "The stars—they're aligning!"
I followed her gaze.
High above the treetops, the moon shone in full brilliance, and around it, four distant stars had begun to shift, slowly drawing toward its edges. It was subtle, but unmistakable. A pattern forming in real time.
"The prophecy said this would happen," she whispered. "And it's happening tonight. In just a few hours... she'll be free."
She turned back to me, eyes wide, her mane slightly frazzled.
"I don't know what to do. Celestia won't answer me, Spike thinks I'm losing it—and you…" Her voice wavered. "Do you think I'm crazy too?"
I didn't answer right away.
Her expression was cracking—strained from holding too much for too long. The stress of the day, the weight of uncertainty, the creeping fear that everyone around her might be wrong... or worse, might be ignoring something vital.
Lying wouldn't help.
Not with her.
So I kept my tone calm. Neutral. And leaned into logic.
"I don't know this prophecy," I said plainly. "With the amount of magical texts I've read, I feel like I'd remember one involving celestial formations triggering arcane events. But if it exists... it must be buried. Or hidden for a reason."
She swallowed hard, still watching me.
"There's not much I can do," I continued. "But if it helps, I could send a letter to Celestia myself. If she gets a warning from both of us, maybe she'll take it seriously."
Twilight hesitated, the tension in her face shifting as she tried to process that.
"But," I added, "if this really is as important as you say, I don't think Celestia would ignore it. Maybe she's keeping you in the dark for a reason—not because she doesn't trust you, but to stop you from panicking. Or interfering."
"Because she already has a plan," Twilight whispered.
"Exactly. Maybe she knows how to stop it. Or redirect it. Or control it."
Twilight stepped away from the window, sitting down slowly as if the weight of those possibilities had hit her all at once.
"She said not to obsess. Told me to rest. That I should trust her."
She stared down at the floor, voice quieter now.
"But… I don't know. Something inside me keeps saying it won't be okay. That I'm not ready. That Equestria's not ready."
Then she looked up, eyes softer, almost ashamed.
"…Is it wrong that I feel this way?"
I let the silence sit between us for a moment before answering.
"No."
I meant it.
"It's not wrong to feel. Especially when the world doesn't make sense. But maybe... feeling like something's wrong is the first step in understanding what needs to be done.
I felt… uncomfortable.
Not because Twilight was wrong—she wasn't.
But because I already knew something she didn't.
A few hours ago, I had spoken with Celestia myself.
And her words hadn't carried urgency.
There was no talk of resistance. No call to action. No command to prepare defenses.
Only acceptance.
Whatever was coming… she had already made peace with it. She would welcome it—with hope that, somehow, things would work out. That the right pieces were in place.
And from the way she spoke… Twilight was one of those pieces.
Maybe her role was critical. Maybe she was the key to making sure the outcome didn't spiral out of control. Or maybe… she just needed to be in the right mindset, strong and confident, to fulfill whatever part Celestia had carved for her in this plan.
Whatever the case, I hoped that scroll she promised to write would be more than surface-level reflection.
It needed to be honest.
I kept the thought to myself and stayed with Twilight a little longer, letting her vent, letting her breathe.
When I felt the mood shift slightly—less tense, more tired—I reached into my pocket dimension and pulled out a small, wrapped parcel.
Dark. Dense. Dangerous.
A Death Muffin.
One of Celestia's personal favorites, made from chocolate so rich it could knock out a grown stallion. I'd grabbed an extra from the delivery meant for her back at the castle, just in case.
Twilight's eyes locked on it instantly.
She lunged.
"Aa~ you have no idea how much I needed this."
She devoured it like a predator. I didn't even get the wrapper back.
"Maybe you're right," she muttered through a mouthful. "Maybe I just need to breathe. Calm down. Trust her. She's Princess Celestia, after all. She always has a plan."
I nodded, offering a half-smile. Not quite sincere. Not quite false either.
We stayed like that for a while, just talking.
The quiet helped. The walls here blocked out the noise of the party, and with the stars still slowly aligning outside, it felt like a calm before something none of us fully understood.
Eventually, I stood up.
"I should go," I said. "I've got some things to take care of. And… Pinkie Pie sort of dragged me into this party. I think I'm still technically being held hostage."
Twilight snorted.
"Yeah, that sounds like her. She startled me so badly when we first met. And this party? It's intense."
She paused, then smiled gently.
"Say hi to Stella for me. I think I'll stay here for a while. It's peaceful."
I gave her a small nod and made my way to the door, leaving her to the quiet and the sky.
As I stepped out of the room, the noise of the party returned all at once.
Laughter, music, bouncing hooves on wooden floors—it was like walking into another world entirely. Pinkie Pie was in full command, standing on a table while directing some kind of chaotic contest involving cupcakes, blindfolds, and rubber chickens.
Spike was the judge, wearing a tie two sizes too big and holding up scorecards with exaggerated seriousness.
Several ponies were gathered around, cheering, shouting, playing.
On the far side of the room, away from the spotlight, I spotted Flash.
He stood near the edge of the crowd, half a smile on his face as he watched the madness unfold. Not participating, not hiding—just… there. Present.
When our eyes met, I gave him a subtle nod.
Then turned and walked toward the exit.
No words.
No signs.
Just that.
A moment later, I heard hooves behind me.
Flash followed.
Rainbow Dash noticed him moving and, true to form, shot after him like she'd been waiting for a reason.
She didn't get far.
Applejack intercepted her mid-sprint, blocking her with a casual stance and a grin.
"Race ya," I heard her say.
Rainbow paused.
Then grinned right back.
And just like that, she was distracted.
Flash reached me without fanfare, falling into step beside me as we left the noise behind.
We stood outside in silence for a few seconds.
The cool night air settled around us, and the muffled sounds of the party drifted faintly behind the closed door.
Flash didn't say anything right away. He just raised an eyebrow, studying me.
He was thinking—calculating what he could ask, what I might say.
That was one of the reasons I trusted him.
Since we were colts, Flash had always had a calm head. Emotionally stable, rational under pressure. Never asked questions out of fear—only out of purpose. That's why we got along so well.
Because sometimes, I didn't need comfort.
I needed structure.
Support.
And Flash was exactly that.
"…Bad things are going to happen tonight," I said finally, keeping my voice low.
His brow furrowed instantly, not in panic—but in full attention.
He nodded once. "How bad?"
"Classified."
I didn't like saying that to him. But it was the truth.
"Then what do you need from me?"
I looked ahead, then glanced back toward the party.
"I need you to keep an eye on the girls," I said. "If something breaks loose—if things go south—I'll be focused on holding defenses. My magic can do a lot, but I can't be everywhere at once."
Flash's posture straightened slightly, his muscles already tense like he was getting into a mental formation.
"You want me to pull anypony out?"
"If necessary, yes. Prioritize the stragglers. I'm setting up a secure zone in case things go wrong. You'll know where to take them when the time comes."
He didn't argue.
Didn't question the plan.
But he still frowned.
"I don't like being left in the dark, Wiz."
I gave him a nod. "Better than not being warned at all."
"Do any of them know?"
"Just Twilight. But even she only has part of the picture. A prophecy she read in some obscure book. It led her to the right idea, but not the full truth."
Flash narrowed his eyes slightly. "And if she decides to go into the Everfree?"
"Let her."
His reaction was immediate.
"But it's the Everfree! That place is a nightmare—"
"I know," I cut in. "But it's necessary."
He stared at me like I'd lost my mind.
"I just came from there," I added, calmer. "I cleared the path. Set up repulsion wards. If she's going to walk into something dangerous... at least I made sure it'll be the cleanest version of dangerous I could manage."
Flash didn't respond for a moment.
Then he gave me a quiet, resigned sigh.
"…I hate this."
"I know."
"But I've got your back."
I nodded again, this time more firmly.
"Always."
We bumped hooves—quiet, solid, and without a word more than necessary.
"Keep in mind," I added, "we might get more help. I don't know who or when, but if they come unprepared—if they can't control the herd instinct—things could get messy. Fast."
Flash exhaled slowly, processing that.
"Then we'll minimize the panic," he said. "Or at least redirect it."
I nodded once more. "I'll handle my part. You know what to do."
"Yeah. Take care, Wiz. You've given me a lot to think about."
He turned toward the open sky, already shifting into that alert posture only a pegasus could pull off. "I'll get some rest. Find a cloud. Keep watch from above."
With that, he took off into the air, wings slicing the night wind.
I watched him go for a moment, then made my way home.
The walk wasn't long.
The streets were still oddly quiet, Ponyville sleeping beneath a sky full of omens. I didn't expect anything else to happen tonight—not until the stars finished aligning.
But as I rounded the final corner to my house…
Someone was waiting.
A large stallion stood silently near the entrance, unmoving, posture relaxed but imposing. He didn't say a word as I approached. Just watched.
It wasn't until I got closer that I recognized him.
Big Macintosh.
I'd seen him a few times around town—usually hauling absurdly heavy carts like they were empty. His strength was unmistakable. So was his silence.
Which made his presence now… interesting.
I slowed my steps, unsure if he was there for me… or just happened to be standing in exactly the wrong spot at exactly the wrong hour.
But something about the way he watched me told me it wasn't a coincidence.
"Warden Big Macintosh, reporting to assist Warden Wizbell Star. Pleasure to meet you. I look forward to working with you."
He spoke the moment I got close enough.
No hesitation. No theatrics.
Just a deep, steady voice with the clarity of someone who meant every word.
Interesting.
So this was the "other rookie" Rogue had mentioned long ago—the one who supposedly made waves without making noise. It finally made sense why Rogue had looked so surprised when I asked about Ponyville assignments.
I nodded in greeting, still a bit unsure.
Big Mac didn't look like he was lying… but then again, who would lie about being part of a secret agency? And why would an honest earth pony farmer from a rural town fake something like that?
He noticed the hesitation in my expression.
Without a word, he reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a smooth, dark-metal emblem—etched with the sigil of WARDS and charged faintly with magical authentication runes.
That was enough.
I stepped aside and gestured toward the door.
"Come in."
He followed quietly.
Inside, the house was dim and calm. The low hum of lingering enchantments buzzed faintly through the structure, still holding from my earlier reactivations.
Stella was curled up on the couch.
She cracked one eye open as the door closed, glanced at Big Mac with zero urgency, then groaned lightly and turned away—pulling her blanket over her head.
Business as usual.
I motioned toward the open sitting area and lowered my voice.
"Well then... I guess we have things to discuss."
"How much do you know?" I asked, setting down two glasses of fresh water.
Big Mac sat across from me, his posture steady, his presence oddly calm despite everything.
"Nothing," he said plainly. "Just got the call to report to you. They said you had the mission, and I was here to assist. That's my role most of the time."
He took a sip of water, then added with quiet confidence:
"You need something flattened, just point. I'll level it."
I gave a small smirk. "Good enthusiasm."
He met my eyes, voice low.
"Wouldn't you be, if the threat was near your family?"
That shut me up.
I nodded, slowly. "Fair enough."
Without another word, I summoned a scroll from my pocket dimension and unrolled it across the table. It displayed a full layout of Ponyville, carefully annotated with ley lines and overlapping magic flow patterns. I marked eleven specific locations—two separate five-point nodes, and one central point acting as a focal anchor.
"This," I said, tapping the center with a hoof, "is the safe zone. These other ten points feed into it as stabilizers. The full formation will act as a shield and fallback ground if things go bad."
I summoned two small pouches, each one filled with glimmering, carved rune-dice.
"These are the anchors. We'll each take a set and deploy them in the marked locations. Once in place, the formation will activate."
Then I reached into my storage and carefully levitated a solid metallic cube onto the table.
It didn't thud—because I didn't let it.
Its weight would've shattered the furniture.
Compressed magical space. Incredibly dense. Several thousand tons of force, bound and contained in a single meter. Untouched, it would have collapsed the foundation of the house.
But with its gravity nullified, it floated like a feather in my field.
"This will be our battlefield once the formation is active," I said. "In here, you crush anything that comes through—anything that isn't a pony."
Big Mac raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed—but didn't comment. Just nodded in understanding.
I continued.
"If anything breaches the formation, we guide it here. We don't scatter. We pull it in. This is the control zone. This is where we finish it."
He looked at the cube, then at the map, then at me.
"…Understood."
We went over a few more ideas—target prioritization, fallback positions, signal codes—until everything felt solid between us.
Once the plan was clear, Big Mac stood up and strapped his pouch of rune anchors across his back.
"I'll start placing the anchors," he said. "Want to make sure they're set before things go bad."
He paused at the door.
"…Also, if possible—I'd like an extra formation near my home. My grandma and little sister will be there tonight. I want them protected."
I nodded without hesitation.
"Consider it done. I'll weave a small passive array around the area. It'll blend into the others, won't draw attention."
He gave a single, grateful nod.
Then left.
I stayed behind, finishing preparations.
More spell crystals—compressed, charged, and sealed for rapid use. Shields. Bursts. Movement support. A few emergency binds. They shimmered faintly in the air as I floated them into place inside a padded satchel.
You could never have too many.
If I didn't use them, the agency paid well for clean casts.
But if I did?
They could save a life.