The sensation of falling never came. No cold embrace of death. No spectral figures waiting beyond the veil. Instead, there was warmth—a pulse of magic, steady and vast, unlike anything Harry had felt before.
He opened his eyes.
The sky stretched endlessly above him, painted in hues of violet and gold, twilight lingering as if frozen between night and day. A soft breeze rustled through the towering trees, carrying the scent of flowers and dew-soaked earth.
He sat up—only to realize something was terribly wrong.
His body felt… different. Lighter, yet stronger. His limbs weren't his own. His fingers—no, hooves—pressed against the cool grass. Panic surged through him as he scrambled to his feet—or rather, to all fours.
He gasped when he caught sight of his reflection.
A nearby lake mirrored his new form: a **black-coated alicorn** stood where he once was, his mane flowing in silver strands, shimmering like the night sky itself. His wings, now powerful and vast, twitched at his sides, while his horn pulsed with an arcane glow—deep crimson at the tip, an echo of the magic that had defined his old life.
And there, emblazoned upon his flank, was a mark. A **blazing sun wrapped in shadows.**
A cutie mark?
This wasn't the afterlife. This was something else entirely.
His magic—his **true** magic—still thrummed within him. He could feel it, woven into his very being, no longer restrained by wands or incantations. It was raw, boundless, an energy far different from the arcane rules of Hogwarts.
For the first time in his life, he wasn't merely **using** magic. He **was** magic.
But why was he here? Why was he **this**?
Before he could dwell on the impossible questions, a sudden gust of wind swept through the trees, and a voice—curious, cautious—called out.
"Who… who are you?"
Harry turned.
Standing before him was a lavender alicorn with wide, intelligent eyes—her stance hesitant, as if recognizing something she couldn't quite explain.
Twilight Sparkle.