Eight years have passed.
Eight years since everything changed. Since we were just foals at the School for Gifted Ponies, playing among spells and dreams, not fully understanding the weight of the future.
Eight years of watching each of us take our own path.
Lyra followed music, leaving behind the magic classrooms for stages filled with applause. Flash trained beneath the clouds, following his mother's guidance to become a weather pegasus. Sunburst graduated with honors and vanished into his own research, chasing answers he never shared.
Twilight… Twilight never left magic. Or books. Or history. She loves all three. She loves learning, understanding, discovering. She's still Celestia's student, like me, though our paths have diverged. Sometimes I see her crossing the university halls, always with a new book, always with a pending question, always trying to decipher her own magical trait… just like I'm still trying to understand mine.
And me… I'm still here.
Among books. Among private lessons with Celestia. Among spells that no longer surprise me the way they used to. I still love magic, yes. But I'm starting to wonder… what for?
Bonny Belle is growing in her own way, overflowing with charm and style. She prefers fashion, design, enchanted fabrics. But sometimes, when she thinks no one's watching, she flips through my books with that curious spark she doesn't know how to hide.
Eight years. And I still feel like… something's missing.
Today is the solstice. A day off for almost everyone… except me.
Well, "off" in quotes. As Celestia's apprentice, I'll be by her side during the sun-raising ceremony. Twilight will be there too, along with Spike. I wonder if she'll say a word to me, or if she'll stay as focused as ever on those old scrolls of ancient history. I don't blame her… actually, I envy her a little. She has a clear path. Flash, Lyra, Sunburst… they all have goals. I… I only have magic.
It's not that I don't love it. Every spell, every theory, every small breakthrough excites me. But the more I learn, the more I feel like I'm just filling a book without knowing what I want to write on the last page.
"Wizzy?" Bonny Belle's small voice breaks my thoughts.
She's standing in the doorway of my study, wearing a sequined dress that sparkles even without magic. Her horn glows faintly pink as she floats a silver ribbon, trying to tie it into her mane.
"Can I stay here?" she asks, stepping inside without waiting for an answer.
I let her. She always comes in without asking. She settles onto one of the cushions near the bookshelf, flipping through a fashion magazine while her eyes sneak glances at me, as if reading two things at once.
On my desk, an old notebook lies open. Not just any notebook. My father's. I found it weeks ago among his things, forgotten—or maybe left there on purpose. Scattered notes, diagrams, and above all… vague references to an unnamed agency, just initials and acronyms, crossed out and rewritten. Nothing concrete.
I've searched the royal library. Nothing. Not even Celestia mentions anything similar. And that only makes my curiosity grow.
Stella jumps onto the desk, interrupting my thoughts. Her feline form is still just as elegant, though in recent years she's learned… things. I glance at her. Her black fur seems to absorb the room's light. Her eyes, like two split moons, study me in silence.
"You're not going to say anything, are you?" I murmur.
She simply blinks and stretches out across my notes, as if claiming the space. That's her way. It's also her way to disappear and reappear, sometimes with a silver flash… like Flash. The first time I saw her do it I nearly fell out of my chair. Now, it's her way of playing… or warning. I'm never sure.
Sometimes I've caught her practicing magic. Not on her body, but in the air, trying to manipulate something outside herself. Her control is… chaotic. As if magic responds to her, but only halfway.
"Stella…" I whisper, running a hoof over her head. "Do you know something? What is this agency? Why won't Dad or Mom talk to me about it?"
She just stares. And for the first time in a long while, I feel like she knows more than she lets on.
Bonny jumps off the cushion, walking over to us.
"Talking to Stella again?" she asks, laughing. "She always looks like she understands, doesn't she? Hey… are you going to be busy? I wanted you to help me with my dress for the gala."
I look at her. Her face is lit up with pure excitement. A mix of innocence and ambition that reminds me of how much she still has to discover… and at the same time, makes me realize she already knows more about what she wants than I do.
"Of course, Bonny," I reply, lighting my horn.
The lights wrap around her dress, creating sparkles that make her twirl in front of the mirror. Stella yawns and curls up on the notes, resigned.
In the distance, the bells begin to ring. That's the signal. The solstice is about to begin.
I take a deep breath, close the notebook, and glance one last time at the blurred initials on the cover.
"Someday," I think, "I'm going to find out what they're hiding."
And with Stella quietly following me, and Bonny dancing in her glowing dress, we head toward the grand balcony, where Celestia, Twilight, and Spike are already waiting. Where the sun is about to rise… and maybe, with it, an answer.
Even after all these years, it still amazes me.
To see Celestia standing there, wrapped in that impossible light, raising the celestial body as if she's merely lifting her gaze. She doesn't cast a spell. She doesn't recite an incantation. She is magic. Her will moves creation, not her technique.
I know there's a spell that imitates what she does. I've read it. I've practiced it in theory. But it's not the same. What she does isn't magic… it's connection.
Beside me, Twilight greets us before turning her attention back to Celestia, utterly absorbed. Spike walks over to Bonny; they laugh and joke as if they've always been siblings. And in a way… they are. I watch them and feel that warm closeness… but distant.
Stella, curled up in my mane, watches too. Her golden eyes reflect the sun with an almost solemn stillness.
The bells ring. Celestia gives her opening and closing speech. The crowd erupts in cheers. And while the ponies celebrate… I feel an emptiness.
Magic has always been my passion. But the more I master it, the more I know it's not an end. It's a tool. And I… haven't found what for.
When the ceremony ends, I carry Bonny on my back. "The gala won't start until the clouds bring shade," I tell her. She nods happily.
We return home amidst laughter, music, and the smell of cake. Bonny runs to her room. Stella leaps onto the windowsill. And I… find a letter on the floor, slipped under the door.
No sender. Just my name, written in precise, almost mechanical handwriting.
I open it.
Inside: several pages. Diagrams. Notes. Fragments. All revolving around a single repeated word: WARDS.
My eyes fix on those initials. The same ones I'd heard whispered in my father's papers. The same ones that appeared, blurred, in the margins of his old books.
I read. And the more I read, the more something clicks. A place. A purpose. A space where magic isn't just beauty… but usefulness. Where I can protect. Defend. Apply what I've learned… not just study it.
I finish reading. My heart races. My breathing grows heavy.
I grab the letter. I go downstairs. I walk into the study.
My father is there, surrounded by papers, his pipe lit. He looks up as I enter. His expression changes when he sees me.
Without saying a word, I hand him the letter.
He takes it. His gaze hardens. He unfolds it. He reads.
Silence.
His expression turns cold. Analytical. He closes his eyes for a moment. Then… his horn glows faintly. A flicker. A barely perceptible trace of magic appears over the paper.
"I knew it was you, bastard," he mutters under his breath, almost tired.
He sighs. Shakes his head.
"That's the third time they've put pressure."
He turns to me. There's anger. Frustration. But also… resignation.
"One of my colleagues sent this. Not out of malice. Not because they doubt you. But because they believe… they believe I've been a coward for not inviting you sooner."
He sets the letter down on the desk. Looks at me. More serious than ever.
"I didn't want it to be like this, Wizbell. I didn't want it to reach you this way. But… I guess I can't avoid it anymore."
He pauses. Studies me.
"You know what it means, right?"
I nod. My chest pounding. My thoughts spinning fast.
"Yes," I answer. "It's… a place to use my magic. Where it really… matters."
He smiles, but it's a bittersweet smile.
"We always knew this was your path. Your mother, me, even Celestia. Since you were little… your magic was never just for show. Never just for spectacle. It was always meant to protect. To solve. To stand at the front."
He swallows.
"I just… wanted to give you time. Wanted you to choose on your own. But… it was always clear. To everyone. Except you."
The letter remains open on the table. Its words still echoing in my mind.
For the first time… I feel like I belong.
Magic has always been my passion. But now I know it wasn't just admiration. It was… a tool waiting for a purpose.
I take a deep breath.
"Dad…" my voice trembles, but not from fear. "I want to join."
His expression changes. Pride. Sadness. Relief.
"I'm not surprised, son," he whispers.
And as Stella watches us from the window, and the lights of the gala begin to illuminate the city, I take the letter and retreat to my room.
I close the door behind me. I stand still for a moment, looking around.
My room… feels small. It's been years since I've spent more nights here than at the castle. The bed, the shelves, the scrolls… they feel more like decorations than refuge.
I can almost see a younger version of myself, running from side to side, jumping between books, practicing spells until falling asleep at the desk. That shadow of the past still lingers within these walls.
On the shelf, the demon cube stares silently at me. Its casing, once shining with a mysterious glow, now looks dull, worn, as if it too had lost some of its essence over the years.
I sit on the bed. It sinks under my weight, creaking softly. It's no longer a foal's bed. It's no longer my bed. I'm no longer that foal.
I stare at the ceiling. Take a deep breath.
I feel out of place. Disconnected from everything. It's a feeling that's been with me these past few months, one I couldn't quite explain… until now.
Maybe… maybe this is what I was waiting for. A purpose. A direction. An anchor.
I open the sealed envelope inside.
It's an official letter. Signed by Celestia.
I read.
"We hereby approve the admission of Wizbell Star as a candidate for WARDS. Evaluation attached. Assigned tutor: Commander Sylveria Veil, specialist in magical combat and Void Space analysis, former apprentice of Agent Willstone."
I flip through the pages.
A report.
"Aptitudes: high magical capacity, innate mastery of light, physical and mental adaptability, instinctive tactical resolution, marked protective response. Potential: underutilized. His talent is gathering dust as a mere scholar. This resource needs to be activated. Record: clear precedent of protective tendencies, mastery of combat techniques with minimal training, natural instinct for conflict resolution. Comment: it's rare to find a profile like this. The last colt recruited proved exceptional. This case… surpasses him. We've waited too long. His potential risks going to waste."
At the end, a personal note from Celestia:
"…I understand his father's concern. But I also understand the need to act. Wizbell Star has the right to choose. I give him my blessing, trusting his heart."
I stare at those words. Let them sink in.
I lie back. Stella jumps onto the bed, curling up silently beside me.
I look at the ceiling. The books. The dimmed cube. The shadow of my younger self still lingering, playing at the edges of my vision.
Am I doing the right thing? Is this too rushed?
The more I think… the more unsure I feel.
But in the end… I sigh.
If it's not for me… then it's not. If I don't fit there… I'll walk away. The princess supports me. Trying won't kill me. Not yet.
And for some reason… that doesn't scare me.
I close my eyes.
I let myself fall into that strange tiredness, that quiet melancholy I'm not sure is sadness or just the weight of growing up. The bed feels small. The room, distant. My mind drifts. I sink into thoughts I can't quite organize.
Until, without warning, the door swings open.
"Wizzy!" Bonny's voice bursts into the silence like a joyful trumpet.
Before I can react, she leaps straight onto the bed, tackling me with a hug powerful for her size. Her laughter fills the room, bringing a light I didn't know I needed.
"Look at me, look at me, look at me!" she squeals, twirling her braided mane adorned with shiny beads. "I made another hairstyle for the gala! Isn't it amazing? Aren't I the best?"
I can't help but laugh.
"You're… dazzling," I say honestly.
She leans back, satisfied, and then throws herself forward again, this time just to cuddle against my side.
"Can you do magic tickles?" she asks, with those big eyes she knows how to use.
And even though moments ago I was lost in doubts, I light up my horn and cast a gentle spell of warm lights, dancing around her like tiny fireflies. Bonny giggles, spinning to catch them, while Stella watches from the corner, patient.
Then, I hear soft footsteps at the door.
Alegría is there, leaning against the frame, watching us.
She doesn't say anything. But her smile is calm. Her eyes, attentive. Warm. Relieved.
And I understand. She knew. She had noticed the shadows under my eyes, the long stares into nothing, the silences in the middle of conversations. But she never said a word. She just waited. Just watched.
And now, seeing us like this, her expression says it all: "It's okay. You're okay."
"Bonny, don't squash him," she says softly.
Bonny only laughs harder.
"But he's so soft!" she protests, hugging me tighter.
I let myself be hugged. The magic flickers around us, illuminating the room with gentle sparkles.
For a moment, the room feels full. Alive. Light.
Soon after, we head downstairs, where Mom is already preparing the final details. Bonny spins around, making her dress fly as Alegría adjusts a stubborn ribbon. Dad reviews some documents while putting on his formal cloak.
The house smells of soft perfume and new fabrics.
"Time to go," Mom announces, checking the clock.
We head out together, walking under the city lights toward the castle. The streets gleam with floating lanterns and magical garlands. Bonny bounces beside me, thrilled for the gala.
Once inside… the atmosphere shifts.
The gala is majestic. The columns adorned with enchantments, the tables overflowing with self-replenishing dishes, the music floating like an enchanted whisper. My parents, invited by their high-ranking professions, mingle with other familiar faces from the academic and diplomatic worlds.
"Come on, Wizzy!" Bonny tugs at my cape.
I follow her, walking with her between the tables, letting her admire the decorations, the desserts, the musicians. I guide her to the area where the foals play and chat, that little corner that once was my refuge when the adult world felt too big.
I stop at the entrance.
I watch them play, run, invent adventures in their little space within the grand hall.
But… I don't belong there anymore.
For the first time, I feel that place is far away. That version of me who hid there no longer exists.
I sigh.
"Take care, Bonny." I tuck a loose strand behind her ear.
She nods, too excited by her new friends to notice my melancholy.
I walk away, heading toward the main stairs.
It's time to go to Celestia.
As her apprentice, I must stand by her side tonight. Her presence is imposing on the royal balcony, greeting the nobles who approach one by one. I position myself discreetly beside her, following her protocol.
And, like every gala… the greetings come. And the smiles loaded with ulterior motives. And the noblemares laughing a bit too loudly as they introduce me to their daughters or nieces or relatives, wrapped in glances and whispers.
— "Such a promising young stallion…"
— "So handsome, don't you think, dear?"
— "I'm sure he'll soon be engaged to someone worthy of his rank…"
I smile. I nod. I endure.
Celestia throws me a knowing glance between greetings. She knows. She always knows.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot Twilight in a far corner, speaking briefly with a noblemare. Her dress is simple, her hairstyle understated. When no one's looking, she slips her cloak over her shoulders and vanishes between the columns.
I know where she's going. To her tower. To her books.
I watch her leave.
Part of me understands her. Part of me envies her.
— "Seems your friend prefers scrolls over dances," Celestia says softly, never ceasing to smile as she welcomes another noble.
I nod.
— "She's always been like that."
The night moves on. Toasts follow. The lights spin. The greetings repeat.
And while I smile out of courtesy and answer compliments I never asked for, I can't help but feel… a little lonely. A little trapped.
But I know this is the path.
This is the price.
The purpose I chose isn't just adventure and magic. It's also politics. Expectation. Appearance.
I take a deep breath. I straighten up.
If this is the world awaiting me… so be it.
I look toward the heights. Where Canterlot's towers rise above everything.
Where moonlight caresses the stone.
And then, a memory comes to me, like a distant whisper.
That time Cadance burst into my meeting with Celestia, storming into the office, venting her frustration about the nobles, their games, their intrigue, their masks.
"They're all the same, Auntie! Fake smiles, empty words, ulterior motives everywhere…"
Celestia simply listened in silence, with that infinite patience of hers. In the end, Cadance let it all out, sighed… and left through the same door. She never complained in front of me again.
Only that once.
— "Now I understand, Cadance…" I whisper.
I understand why you only said it once. Why you learned to keep quiet. Why you chose to smile.
And then, another memory—one even more unexpected.
Prince Blueblood.
One afternoon, he found me alone in the west wing library, surrounded by books on etiquette, manners, diplomacy.
He sat beside me in silence. Glanced at the titles. Then looked at me.
And with a seriousness I'd never seen from him, he said:
— "Fake it, kid. Fake it when you have to. Fake it until it stops hurting. And when it doesn't hurt anymore… keep faking. You'll do better."
He never gave me another piece of advice. That was the only one… and, oddly, the best he ever gave me.
And now… I understand.
Blueblood, Cadance, Celestia… they all knew. They had all been through this. They had all carried this before me.
I smile—but not out of courtesy. I smile because, for the first time, I feel part of that chain.
One more thread in this silent weave connecting those who walk these halls.
I look at Celestia, who returns a brief knowing glance between greetings.
The night… wasn't as heavy as I thought.
The rural nobles were the easiest to deal with. Straightforward, kind, good conversationalists. Some even apologized for not fully understanding magic, but showed sincere interest in practical applications. We talked about spells for crops, barriers against pests, and they listened more attentively than some of the university academics.
Fancy Pants turned out better than I expected too. Polite, relaxed, with a quiet yet effective sense of humor. He earned my respect effortlessly. It was easy to talk to him, even fun at times. By the time we said goodbye, I had already put him on my short list of decent ponies.
Celestia did her part. With her subtle jokes and well-timed comments, she managed to unsettle the most bothersome nobles without ever stopping smiling at them. Every word was a calculated move, an elegant play. Watching her work like this was another silent lesson.
And then there was Prince Blueblood.
No words were needed with him. Just watching him in action was enough. He attracted the most pompous nobles as if he collected them. Kept them spinning around him, entertained, occupied, pleased. I don't know if he did it out of gratitude to Celestia for everything she gave him… or if that was simply his role, his way of existing in this world.
I couldn't tell anymore.
But that night, he did his job. And he did it well.
The hours passed. The lights stayed bright. The conversations continued floating in the air.
Not long after, Bonny appeared again.
She found me at the edge of the dance floor, trying to stay out of sight while the adults carried on with their endless conversations. But she wasn't about to let me escape.
— "Wizzy, it's time!" she said, tugging hard on my cape.
— "Time for what?"
— "To dance, silly!" she laughed.
Before I could refuse, she was already dragging me toward the center, weaving expertly between older dancers with surprising skill for her age.
— "Remember why we practiced?" she winked at me.
Ah, right. For this. For this moment. For this gala. All those afternoons at home when she insisted on pulling me away from the books, the scrolls, the equations, to teach me steps. Because "someday" I'd need it.
And that day was today.
The music began, and Bonny led without hesitation. She guided as if she'd been doing it her whole life. She spun me, made me jump, pulled me into her rhythm. And though my steps were clumsy at first, her infectious laughter soon swept me into the game.
We had fun. Truly.
It didn't matter who watched. It didn't matter the suits, the rules, the hierarchies. For that brief while, we were just two siblings dancing in the middle of it all.
The music swelled. The floor spun. The lights mixed with the glow of decorative spells.
Bonny laughed. And I, for the first time all night, laughed with her.