The gala began to thin out as the night stretched on. One by one, the nobles and their entourages started to depart, their carriages waiting under the moonlit arches of Canterlot. The music softened into a gentle background hum, the lights dimmed to a warmer glow, and laughter echoed fainter in the grand halls.
Mom approached me first, already wearing her travel cloak over her elegant dress. She gently cupped Bonny's cheek, who was half-asleep against her side.
"She danced her heart out tonight," Mom smiled softly. "We'll head back ahead of you. Your father needs to wake early tomorrow, and Bonny's long past her bedtime."
Bonny stirred at the mention of her name, blinking up at me with heavy-lidded eyes. "Wizzy… I won, didn't I?" she mumbled.
I chuckled, brushing a stray bead from her mane. "Of course you did, little star."
Satisfied, she sighed happily and let herself be carried in Mom's magic aura. Dad gave me a nod, a quiet gesture that spoke both pride and understanding, before following them toward the exit.
I watched them go until they vanished past the marble doors, leaving me alone in the slowly emptying ballroom.
I exhaled. It felt lighter without the crowd, quieter. Almost peaceful.
As I turned, I caught sight of movement by the columns near the staircase. Twilight.
She was tiptoeing—yes, tiptoeing—trying to stay unnoticed as she crept toward the hall that led to the castle towers. Her cloak was wrapped snug around her, but underneath it… I spotted the unmistakable outline of several cupcakes, two chocolate éclairs, and what suspiciously looked like a half-hidden tray of brownies floating in her magic.
I couldn't stop the grin that spread across my face.
"Twilight," I called gently.
She froze mid-step, her ears flicking back. Slowly, she turned, her cheeks already tinted with that adorable guilty pink.
"Wizbell!" she whispered, darting closer, glancing around to make sure no nobles were watching. "I wasn't stealing! I just… they were going to throw the extra ones away, and it's such a waste, and—"
I laughed, shaking my head. "Twilight, you don't have to justify it. I've seen Spike do worse."
She sighed in relief, then giggled under her breath. "Okay, okay, you caught me. But you're sworn to secrecy." She levitated one of the cupcakes toward me. "Bribe?"
I accepted it, taking a bite. It was still warm, the frosting rich with dark chocolate.
"So," she said, settling beside me on the steps, her cloak pooling around her like a little midnight nest, "how was it? The gala?"
I hesitated, glancing back at the ballroom. The fading lights, the empty tables, the lingering scents of perfume and enchanted flowers.
"Overwhelming," I admitted. "Expected. A little… hollow."
She tilted her head, thoughtful. "But you endured it. That's impressive."
I shrugged. "I had to."
She studied me quietly, her gaze soft but sharp, like she was trying to read beyond my words. "But… did you want to?"
That question made me pause. I looked at her—at her tired but content smile, at the little chocolate smudge on her cheek, at the glint of determination still alive in her violet eyes despite the late hour.
"No," I said honestly. "Not really. But I think… it was part of it."
Twilight nodded slowly, her smile deepening, as if satisfied by my answer. She leaned a little closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially.
"Want to help me smuggle these upstairs?" she asked, lifting the remaining desserts. "I was planning a study session. Ancient rune theory. But… maybe it could use a taste test too."
I chuckled again, standing up and offering a hoof. "Lead the way, criminal mastermind."
She grinned brightly, taking my hoof as she balanced the plates with her magic. "Let's go before Spike catches me. He's surprisingly good at midnight patrols."
And so, under the quiet stars of Canterlot, we slipped away from the grand halls and golden chandeliers, up winding stairs, toward her tower.
Of course, our little escape didn't go unnoticed. Somewhere above, from her balcony, Celestia watched quietly, her gaze as steady and knowing as ever. She didn't call out. She didn't intervene. But I knew she saw. She always did.
Twilight didn't notice—or maybe she didn't care. She was too focused on keeping her wobbling tower of cupcakes, brownies, and chocolates balanced in her magic.
We walked side by side, trading old stories, half-forgotten pranks, harmless jokes from our school days. Twilight laughed freely, letting her voice echo in the empty corridors.
When we reached the landing outside her tower, she turned to me with a small smile.
"You sure you don't wanna come in?" she asked, casually, like it wasn't the third time she'd offered. "I've got the new star charts. And… leftover cupcakes."
I stayed a step back, offering a polite smile. "I can't. Not tonight."
She frowned a little, puzzled, but didn't push. "You're really serious about those rules, huh?"
"Yeah," I said simply. "I am."
She shrugged, adjusting the plates in her magic. "Well, more cupcakes for me."
The door closed softly behind her, the wards flickering quietly back into place.
I stood there a moment longer, then turned and made my way back down the halls.
It wasn't hard to say no. It wasn't a struggle.
It was just… normal.
I'm human, I thought, as the corridor stretched quietly ahead of me. They're not.
The words weren't bitter. They weren't sad. Just… a quiet fact, one more thread in the weave of things I'd long accepted.
When I reached my tower, Stella was waiting on the windowsill, tail flicking lazily, golden eyes gleaming under the moonlight.
"Well, well," she purred. "Back so soon? Flash said if you stayed past midnight, it was a sign."
I sighed, setting my cloak over the chair. "Let me guess: a sign I'm secretly in love with her."
Stella hopped down onto the desk, knocking aside a stray quill. "Nope. A sign you're a coward."
I snorted, sitting down. "Of course he'd say that."
She stretched, curling atop a stack of scrolls. "He's not wrong, you know."
I glanced at her, a tired smile pulling at my lips. "Yeah. I'm a coward." I leaned back in the chair. "So's he. That's why we're friends."
Stella blinked once, then gave a quiet hum, settling deeper into her curl.
"Fair enough," she murmured.
The room fell quiet again, save for her soft purring and the faint rustle of parchment in the night breeze.
Outside, the last lights of Canterlot faded beneath the clouds.
Inside, everything felt… exactly as it should.
————————————————————————————————
————————————————————————————————
Morning light streamed gently through the curtains, casting warm patterns over my desk. The envelope lay beneath my hoof, its seal glinting softly in the sun.
The emblem of WARDS—a stylized compass encircled by three protective rings—seemed to watch me silently from the wax.
I broke the seal.
The letter unfolded under my gaze, each line carefully penned in formal, steady hornscript.
———————
"To Wizbell Star,
It is with great honor that we extend this invitation to join the WARDS initiative—an opportunity offered to a select few whose abilities, discipline, and character align with our highest standards.
Your aptitude for magic has not gone unnoticed. Through years of discreet observation, private evaluations, and trusted recommendations, we have identified in you a rare synthesis of power, adaptability, and control. Such a combination is uncommon—rarer still in one so young.
Under WARDS, your talents would not simply be observed, but applied, refined, and forged into tools of purpose: to defend those who cannot defend themselves, and quietly uphold balance."
I read on:
"There is no obligation. This invitation carries no debt or binding duty. However, such opportunities are not offered twice. Should you decline, no further contact will follow, and your path will remain undisturbed.
Should you accept, please use the enclosed enchanted letter to confirm. This reply is pre-bound to a secure destination, enchanted for non-traceable delivery, and self-sealing upon activation. Such measures are necessary to protect the confidentiality of our agents and operatives."
At the bottom, beneath a smaller emblem, a simple line:
"We await your answer."
———————
I set the letter down and picked up the smaller envelope inside the packet. Its parchment gleamed faintly, the embossed seal humming softly with dormant magic.
Stella stirred from the windowsill, stretching with a quiet yawn, her golden eyes half-lidded with mild amusement. "So," she murmured lazily, "decided yet?"
I didn't look at her. My gaze stayed on the blank parchment waiting before me.
She gave a soft flick of her tail, curling back into her spot. "Cadance says she smells something… stirring," she added offhandedly, a subtle note of curiosity beneath her words. "Between you and the scholar."
I smiled faintly, neither confirming nor denying, and lit my horn.
Slowly, deliberately, I guided the quill hovering above the parchment. Every stroke precise, the ink flowing perfectly under my magical control, forming each letter with care.
I'm ready.
The words settled onto the page with elegant finality, the ink glistening for a brief moment before sinking into the fibers.
I paused, watching them.
Then, without hesitation, I activated the spell woven into the parchment.
A ripple of light swept across the page, the words glowing softly as the paper folded itself, the seal binding shut with a subtle flash.
A quiet pulse.
And in a breath, the letter vanished—disappearing in a shimmer of arcane energy, leaving only stillness in its place.
Stella leapt gracefully down from the windowsill, padding toward the door as she shifted seamlessly into her quiet, feline form, tail curling in a slow arc.
"Come on," she said, her voice softer now, more companion than tease. "Celestia's waiting. And the tea won't drink itself."
I stood, gathering my cloak, and followed her down the winding steps.
Ahead, the halls glowed in soft morning light, leading toward the royal dining room.
Celestia sat at the head of the table, serene as ever, with Twilight beside her, already pouring a cup for Spike, who bounced eagerly in his seat.
Stella trotted ahead of me, settling herself beneath my chair, her golden eyes quietly watchful. Her tail curled neatly around her paws, silent and still.
Celestia lifted her gaze as I approached, smiling softly. "Good morning, Wizbell."
"Morning, Tía," I replied casually, sliding into my seat as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Twilight's ears twitched faintly at the nickname. She didn't comment, but her posture straightened, the same small reflex she'd had since we were foals, as if silently reminding me: titles matter. Even knowing Celestia didn't mind, she still felt it wasn't entirely proper.
"Good morning, Princess Celestia!" Twilight greeted, her tone respectful but bright. "I finished reorganizing the eastern archive and reviewed the annotated runes—some might be mislabeled, but I triple-checked."
Celestia chuckled softly. "Ever diligent, Twilight. Thank you."
Spike, half-asleep, leaned forward for a gem-shaped muffin. "She didn't sleep again," he mumbled, earning a half-hearted glare from Twilight.
Celestia's attention turned to me. "And you, Wizbell? Any progress?"
"Just more theories," I replied, stirring my tea. "More threads to follow."
Twilight leaned closer. "That's the fun part!"
Celestia's serene smile deepened. "Indeed."
We chatted quietly a little longer until Celestia stood, smoothing her mane. "I must go," she said, voice tinged with quiet resolve. "The petitions won't solve themselves."
With a last smile, she left, her flowing mane trailing behind.
Twilight turned to me eagerly. "I'm going to the university. Guest lecture on arcane resonance, plus I want to check some books." Her eyes brightened. "Want to come?"
I hesitated briefly, then nodded. "Sure. I need better sources for my circle research anyway."
Her grin widened. "Great! I'll wait for you in the main hall—I just need my bag."
She trotted off, Spike scrambling after her. "Wait—Twilight! Where are we going?!"
Their voices faded. I took a moment to finish my tea, then made my way to the main hall.
As I approached, a castle guard intercepted me, handing over an envelope without explanation. "Delivered for you. No message." He left immediately, no time for questions.
I turned the envelope over. The seal of WARDS gleamed faintly under the light, subtly woven with magic rather than wax.
I unfolded the letter carefully.
"Your acceptance is confirmed.
Report at Entry Point 4-7-3 at 0500 hours tomorrow.
Use this letter to access the entry. No further instructions will be provided externally.
Your Trainer awaits."
I frowned slightly, reading the time again. 0500 hours. Five in the morning. Sharp. Not a suggestion. A command.
I held the letter in my magic, tracing the faint pulse of the enchantment woven into its fibers. It wasn't just a message—it was the key itself.
I frowned slightly, scanning the words again. No knock. No passphrase. Just… "use this letter."
I held the paper in my magic, focusing.
A faint pulse responded—quiet, delicate, layered deep within the fibers.
It's enchanted, I realized, leaning closer. Not just enchanted—
The spell inside wasn't simply a message carrier. It was… a key.
Carefully, I traced my magic along its edges, feeling the structure hidden beneath the outer spell. Complex—beautifully so. A sequence of shifting glyphs nested inside layers of illusion, like a lock that only responded to the specific magical signature bound into the parchment itself.
A grin crept onto my face. This is incredible…
But as I probed further, a second pulse pushed back—firm, silent, unyielding.
A safeguard.
They expected curiosity, I thought, both impressed and humbled. But they made sure curiosity stops here.
The real workings remained veiled, wrapped beneath a deeper, heavier layer of protective magic—one I instinctively knew not to tamper with.
Whatever lay beyond wasn't meant to be seen until the key met its lock.
I folded the letter carefully, slipping it back under my cloak just as Twilight's voice called from down the hall:
"Wizbell!"
I turned to see her waving brightly, bag slung across her side, Spike trailing behind looking half-panicked.
"Thanks for waiting!" she beamed, trotting toward me.
I smiled softly. "Wouldn't leave without you."
Stella padded silently at my side, her golden eyes flicking briefly toward the hidden letter before settling back into their usual quiet watchfulness.
Together, we stepped forward, the castle's light stretching ahead of us into a day that felt both ordinary… and quietly unknown.
————————————————————————————————
————————————————————————————————
Outside the castle, life moved steadily. Ponies filled the gardens, some strolling, others waiting in line to present their petitions to the Princess. Guards kept the order without trouble. I spotted Serene among them—not by sight, but by her magical signature, unmistakable even in a crowd.
Twilight walked beside me, relaxed. Every so often she pointed something out.
"That arch was rebuilt after an earthquake," she commented, then later, "That statue isn't just Clover the Clever—it's a mix of old mages."
I nodded, letting her words fill the quiet between steps.
When the University of Canterlot came into view, she paused, looking up. "It still amazes me," she said softly.
"You say that every time," I replied with a small smile.
We stepped inside. No one stopped us. As honorary students, we didn't need passes or explanations.
"The lecture's in the east wing," Twilight said, checking her bag. "But I need to drop off some books at the library first."
"Fine by me," I said. "I've got things to look up anyway."
We walked together down the main hall, surrounded by scattered voices, the scratch of quills, and the faint hum of magic.
————————————————————————————————
————————————————————————————————
Inside the library, I watched the students scattered around the tables, pouring over scrolls and books, flipping pages with tired determination. Some scribbled frantically, others whispered debates, a few dozed over open tomes.
I wondered, not for the first time, what my life would look like if I weren't Celestia's student. Would I be here every day, chasing answers in ink and parchment? Would I be among them, struggling to connect the dots, fighting to be noticed?
Instead, my questions came wrapped in different layers—private letters, hidden instructions, expectations no textbook could explain.
Still, there was something grounding in this quiet struggle, something real in their earnest search for knowledge.
I found the references I needed. A few promising titles, a stack I could work through later. As I made my way out, balancing the books under my magic, a familiar sound of hoofsteps pulled my attention.
Three mares stood by the exit, chatting quietly. I recognized them from occasional academy functions—daughters of noble families, dressed elegantly even outside formal halls.
Their eyes lit up when they saw me.
"Wizbell Star," one said with a warm smile, stepping closer. "I didn't expect to see you here. Always so… studious."
Another tilted her head, her voice light, playful. "We were just talking about you. Some of us wondered if you'd be attending the gala next month. You know… we always need someone interesting to talk to."
The third gave a soft chuckle, brushing her mane back. "Or maybe someone to help us practice dueling spells. Or… other things."
Their words danced around intentions, never direct, each one testing reactions, gauging the air.
I opened my mouth to answer when a new voice cut through, bright and fast.
"There you are!" Twilight called, trotting up quickly, her bag bouncing at her side. "We're late!"
"Late for what?" I started to ask, but she grabbed my hoof with her magic, tugging me firmly away.
"Doesn't matter, come on!" she urged, pulling me past the three mares before they could say another word.
I glanced back as they exchanged glances, one raising a curious brow before they drifted away, losing interest once I'd been whisked off.
We hurried down the steps, across the courtyard, past the outer gates. Only once we were well away from the university did Twilight slow down, releasing me with a small huff.
"Twilight… what was that?" I asked, catching my breath. "What are we late for?"
She didn't answer at first, avoiding my gaze as she rummaged through her bag. Then, casually, she levitated a small pouch of bits.
"Want ice cream?" she offered, looking straight ahead. "Vanilla's on me."
I blinked, confused. "That's not an answer."
"It's close enough," she replied quickly, already leading the way toward the vendor's cart down the street.
Twilight handed me my cone with a cheerful grin. "Told you vanilla fixes everything."
I took a bite, letting the cold sweetness melt on my tongue. We sat for a while in a quiet corner near the park, just watching ponies pass by—no spells, no theories, no plans. Just a simple peace between us, sharing ice cream under the afternoon sun.
Eventually, we made our way back to the castle. The halls were quieter now, the morning rush fading into midday routine. Twilight waved as we parted ways at the stairs, heading toward her study. I went back to my tower, where a new stack of assignments awaited me on the desk.
Celestia's handwriting flowed across each parchment, elegant and steady. Some were straightforward: magical equations with intentional gaps, spell matrices missing key components. Others were stranger: hypothetical scenarios asking how I would handle problems beyond magic—situations about leadership, diplomacy, even judgment.
"If the eastern province's food supply were failing due to a magical blight, but lifting the blight would destabilize the neighboring kingdom's wards, what course of action would you take, and why?"
I frowned at that one. Another page asked how I'd resolve a dispute between two noble houses without official intervention.
Why are these in my assignment? I wondered, flipping through them. This isn't spellwork… this is governance.
I didn't question it aloud. I never did.
I answered as best as I could—calculating solutions based on efficiency, fairness, sustainability. When I was in a good mood, I tried to answer with compassion, weighing both sides with care.
But on days when my patience ran thin, when something gnawed quietly in the back of my mind, I fell into cold, logical answers: efficient but detached. Practical but unyielding.
And I'd begun to notice…
Those answers never earned me Celestia's smile.
I leaned back in my chair, staring at the last answer I'd written. Cold. Precise. Efficient.
I knew it was correct. On paper, it solved the problem cleanly.
But even as I capped my inkwell, I could almost feel it—Celestia's quiet disapproval.
Not anger. Not disappointment in the way teachers mark a wrong answer.
Something softer. A gentle warmth that somehow made her silence louder.
Celestia had that gift—the kind of presence that could comfort and guide like a loving mother, yet still make you realize, without a single word, when you'd missed the heart of what mattered.
Her smiles weren't just smiles. They carried meanings. Her silences weren't empty. They spoke.
And when her eyes softened with that knowing patience, it was easy to tell…
You can do better than this.
I set the quill down quietly, staring at my notes a little longer.
It wasn't that the answer was wrong. It wasn't even incomplete.
It was just… missing something.
Something Celestia saw, even if I didn't.
————————————————————————————————
————————————————————————————————
I stared at the assignment a little longer.
I don't know what she's looking for in me, I admitted silently. But it's not cold logic. Anyone properly trained could give those answers.
I didn't like these questions. Not really. They made me overthink every possibility, turning simple problems into webs of consequences. But I'd promised—promised myself and her—that I'd always give my best.
And a few difficult questions wouldn't stop me.
I pushed the papers aside once I finished, letting the ink dry, and turned my focus to something else—my own research.
Compared to Celestia's puzzles, this was a different kind of challenge. A complex, uncharted field of magic.
I understood the fantasy logic of my magic circle—the theoretical framework that made sense in diagrams and models. But the real logic, the way it fit into this world's fundamental laws… that eluded me.
That's what made the investigation so difficult.
Months ago, with precise magical control, I had managed to alter the rhythm of the circle—accelerating it, slowing it down. Each adjustment had noticeable effects: faster meant stronger bursts of power; slower meant tighter, finer control. I'd even discovered that if I slowed it enough, my magical signature practically vanished, hidden beneath its suppressed pulse.
But understanding why this circle could exist at all… that was the missing piece.
And without that answer… I couldn't replicate it.
I leaned over my notes, scanning old equations, faded annotations in the margins.
If I can't understand its origin, I can't reproduce it. If I can't reproduce it… it's just an anomaly. A lucky flaw. A one-time accident.
And I refused to leave it at that.
[N/A: I'd really appreciate any reviews or feedback!][1]
[1] think that with over 70k words so far, it would be a good time to receive a review about their thoughts on the story so far. It would really help the story finally get a proper rating.